"We searched the castle but it was not there. He had it with him at Stormridge. Yeates was very protective of it. Treteste also failed to retrieve it from Yeates. It was not at Stormridge after Treteste took control."
"Plenty of time to point fingers later Garlac. The book is beyond us now. Galamog will send other agents for it. So let's discuss what you can get for me. I desire information about the Brotherhood. Military power, wealth, and anything on Daass's schemes."
"I don't feel comfortable discussing the business of the Brotherhood."
"Don't make me laugh Garlac. You look out for yourself. You'd sell your own mother if it would benefit you. Now will you do as I ask? Or shall I find another source?"
"I can help with some information, but Daass's mind is a closed door. He shares few confidences and even has me followed."
"Followed?" Mortic voice rose. Only the fingers holding the bottle displayed emotion; whitening knuckles and a slight tremor. "You did not tell me of that development."
"I lost him, do not worry. It would take more than the best Calendia can offer to trail me."
"I see. I certainly hope so, for your sake." Mortic relaxed in stages, his eyes continually checking the doors. "I have too many projects that must remain discreet. There are many things in motion. Wierland is invading Calendia."
"I knew that," said Garlac. "That's all the messengers have brought to us lately. I'm not sure where our position will be."
"Really? Wierland is attacking your kingdom and you don't know where you stand?"
"Speaking as a Brother of the Rose. I have not heard Lord Daass make a statement on the upcoming war."
"I see. They are led by a knight called Galen. A large fellow with broad shoulders, long shaggy brown hair and dark green eyes."
"Galen? Dark green eyes? Are you sure?" Garlac's eyes looked far beyond Mortic's shoulder.
"You sound as if you know of him," said Mortic.
"I knew of a boy named Galen, many years ago. My son actually. His mother ran away with him; she did not appreciate my position in the Brotherhood. It can't be the same person." Garlac suddenly realized he spoke too freely and said no more.
Mortic smiled and continued.
"He is a berserker, I'm told. He kills for the pleasure of it. This is of course distressing in Mordyn. The invasion, I mean. If Wierland and Calendia unite without severe losses the combined might would be too great for Mordyn to contend with."
"Is Mordyn going to invade?"
Mortic put his finger on his chest as if to say 'you are asking me?'
"I cannot say. I do not know the mind of Lady Galamog. I do know that the security of Mordyn is always a topic of discussion and the Kingdoms of Men are considered a threat to Mordyn. The recovery of the book was of extreme importance to Lady Galamog. Several of the messengers I sent to tell her of our progress did not survive their meeting with Lady Galamog; it is perilous to bring ill news to her. An important event to note; Lord Berimar is abroad and that has not happened in my lifetime."
"The sorcerer really exists?"
"Yes, he does." Mortic cringed, remembering a past encounter with Berimar. "Although he is cruel and powerful, he is but a servant for Lady Galamog as I am. Pray she does not personally enter the battle, else you will see a horror this world is not prepared for."
"You speak so harshly of your queen."
"I admit it. But I speak no falsehoods. It is said she is not a creature of this world." Mortic returned to his private thoughts.
"Tell me," Mortic said at last. "What do you wish for your assistance in my requests?"
"Magic. Sorcery. I want the power they bring. I am tired of serving others."
"I see. Very sensible. I can obtain some spells for you, perhaps from Berimar himself. If I can, you must be very careful to follow the instructions exactly. There are many souls in Galamog's torment because they were imprecise with their spells. And be certain that the Lady would be delighted in your company. I should not say this perhaps, but Berimar has been known to weave a trap in the spells he hands out."
"A trap? What for?"
"To insure no one becomes as powerful as himself perhaps, I do not know. But sorcerers are a jealous lot. I have heard Berimar raise his fists to the sky cursing Blackthorne for some indignity from past eons. For all their power they can be quite petty. I will obtain the spells for you, but I do not guarantee your safety. The very first one could kill you, or none of them. It is your chance to risk."
"Your words are not comforting," said Garlac.
"We Mordyn are not a comforting race. We delight in misery and misfortune. We live in a harsh climate with a demanding Jungegud to rule us. I remind you to think carefully before you accept magic from Mordyn."
"You sound as if it is guaranteed to harm me."
"I cannot say, but it is likely. So, think of some other trade. We have ample gold, for example. Perhaps too mundane for a particular man like yourself, but still useful and it may help you in other matters."
"I will settle for magic."
"As you wish." Mortic smiled to himself. "Let us speak of information I do not possess."
"Here? We could be overheard. You put me in terrible danger. Even at this moment Daass is preparing to expose the failings of Kirkes to Treteste. Treteste will be in a terrible anger, killing anyone who opposes him."
"Ah, Sir Kirkes. Surely Treteste is aware of the infidelity. Seemingly everyone in Calendia has that knowledge. I was amazed by the gossip of one of the serving girls in an inn I frequent. There could not be any way she could have the information except from another's indiscretion."
"Nobles don't speak of it."
"Really. I am amazed once again. The nobility, people who thrive on the shortcomings of others are so refined as to refrain from discussing the queen's love life. I hardly find that ringing true. I think you have paid little attention to the people around you if they do not figure in your immediate plans."
"I have no time."
"Make time, Garlac. If you truly want what I can provide. Make the time or find your spells elsewhere. My task is the study of Men and their motives. I want no other information nor do I need it. You have stated what you want and so have I. I will contact you in three days. Do not look for me."
Mortic stood up and walked away, leaving Garlac to pay for the wine.
The older man stood erect, unbowed by his age and waited patiently. He knew the nuances of the court and ignored all the subtle moves of disrespect sent his way. Pettiness was not worth his effort. He pretended to admire the intricate carving of the arch of the doorway.
"Be welcome, Lord Daass. It is indeed a pleasure to have the company of the guiding light of the Brotherhood of the Rose. Your works have inspired me for many years." The king sat on his throne, eating a pear. Juice ran down his chin, dripping on his robe. His face was flushed and his eyes bright under his bushy eyebrows.
"Thank you, your highness. Your praise is gracious. I trust your coronation has brought what you have sought?"
"You speak in riddles, Daass. I am king and it is all I desired. What else do you mean?"
"I was speaking of fulfillment, a contentment of the soul as you begin your reign."
"Well, yes. I am very content. Are you surprised?"
"My brethren hear troubling stories from many types of people, whether in confession, which seals them from repeating the words or during counseling. Many items are mere ramblings of sick people but when the rumors become consistent from a wide range of people I tend to give credit to them."
"What are you saying, Daass? I can't spare the entire night."
"I have a troubling matter to relate to your majesty."
"You may speak freely without fear. Provided you finally do speak."
Daass nodded, inwardly cursing the pompous man.
"I fear there are rumors of a friendship between the queen and a knight."
"Ah, I see where this is leading. I, too, have heard these rumors, but there are no grounds for
them. None whatsoever."
"I beg to differ on that point, your majesty. Although the man would not verbalize it, I was able to gleam information from one of my brothers. He had heard a confession from a noblewoman. Now, I want it to be clear that he did not break the seal of the confessional. Garlac was able to ask piercing questions of this brother for which even a non-answer was an answer. I can state with confidence that Sir Kirkes is the man in question and the relationship has a long history."
Treteste stood still, his puffy face pink with anger. His knuckles were white as he tried unsuccessfully to crush the goblet in his hand. He threw it into the fireplace.
"Now I know how Yeates felt!" He spoke through clenched teeth as he turned away. Daass allowed himself a smile at the king's back.
Several minutes passed before the king spoke. Pear juice still clung to his beard. Daass noticed the tremor in his hands.
"I said I knew of the rumors, but the reality hits me like a stave. And what of you, Lord Daass? What does the Brotherhood seek to gain by telling me this? Surely your coming here was not to spare your king further embarrassment. Your welfare is your only concern. Come tell me your price."
"Price? I ask no price, sire. Sir Kirkes has been a problem for us for many years. It was the hand of Cothos that delivered this information to the Brotherhood. We did not seek it, nor set the process in motion. I would be remiss in not adding that I desired Kirkes' downfall, for I did, vehemently. We believed it was our duty to Cothos to bring this information to you. We also believed withholding it could be detrimental to Calendia."
"I see. I admit I don't trust you, Daass, but I recognize when someone is trying to forge a relationship. I will work with you to draw the Brotherhood of the Rose and the throne closer together. Calendia will be mighty again." He was calm again, no sign of the rage or tremors. Perhaps he had put it all out of his mind. He appeared totally concerned with the combination of the Brotherhood and the throne. He spoke for several minutes. Daass had a newfound respect for the king.
"Yes, your Highness," said Daass. "May I offer a squad of the Rose Knights to aid your soldiers? The Brotherhood wants to do all it can."
"That's a generous offer, Lord Daass. I accept. I will send Sir Crestan to Vizier Garlac to work out the command. Please come again soon." Treteste left the room. Daass stood staring at the doorway where the king had exited. He is insane, yet there is a glimmer of brilliance behind the bloodshot eyes.
Daass returned to his quarters to find messages for him, but no one had seen Brother Carle recently. He wanted to know more about the Queen's confession. Perhaps she spoke of more than Sir Kirkes.
A sharp rap on the door to the queen's apartment brought curses from within. When the servant opened the door a soldier pushed her aside to allow others to enter.
"What's the meaning of this?" cried the queen. She recognized the colors of the Rose Knights. "The Brotherhood!! What is going on?"
"We are in the service of the king, your highness." The captain averted his eyes. Three soldiers surrounded her, their eyes downcast. They blocked all escape. "We are commanded to arrest you and take you to the dungeon."
"Arrested for what?"
"I do not know. Come quickly, else we use force."
She picked up a bottle to throw but another knight struck her arm sending the bottle to the floor. She watched it spin until it stopped.
"Please, your highness. Do not make it any more difficult. Please dress."
"I know you. Foract! How can you do this? I am your queen. Obey me."
"I am sorry your highness. Lord Daass commanded us to the king's service and it was the king himself who ordered you imprisoned. I heard the words myself."
Richela pulled a knife from her gown and struck Foract in the shoulder. He cried out, knocking her to the floor with his mailed fist.
"Take her like that. She has lost the privilege to dress. She will go to the dungeon in her nightgown."
Kirkes entered and dropped to his knee, waiting for the command to rise. Treteste said nothing. Kirkes looked up to see the king staring at him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Crestan smirking. Too late he reached for the hilt of his sword. Two blades rested on his neck.
"Ah, Sir Kirkes, I am afraid I know now, the secret of your loyalty," said Treteste. "Once I believed, as the world believed, that you are a man whose word was stone. Once I believed that you were content in your knighthood and wealth, that nothing could entice you to betray your vows. How wrong I was. How blind I was. How stupid. And the most galling of all was Lord Daass had to inform me of what so many others knew. Lord Daass! Do you realize how embarrassing that is for that viper to bring the truth to me? And I had to acknowledge his friendship to receive his information." He paced, his hand trembling.
"Richela confessed at once, almost at once. Now she is in the dungeon, and you shall join her. The war with Wierland takes precedent. I do not have the time to enjoy killing you, but after Wierland is defeated, I shall take all the time the world can offer to make you suffer. All the time. I look forward to it." He nodded to Crestan.
"Disarm him," said Crestan. "Take him away." Crestan smiled at Kirkes whose venomous glance vanquished Crestan's smile. Kirkes glared at him until the door was shut.
The soldiers pushed the huge man ahead of them, afraid of the mood of the king. They were not gentle with Kirkes, knowing Crestan hated him. Crestan would find out how they treated him and their fate in Treteste's regime depended on it. Kirkes said nothing to the indignity.
As they passed the guards to the dungeon a murmur of disbelief rose in their ranks and even the unfortunate souls behind the iron bars shook their heads at Treteste's folly.
Carle stood in the shadows, aghast at the sight of Kirkes, manacled and led to the lower levels. An extra guard stood at the door leading downward. Carle guessed that the more sensitive prisoners must be down there where no one would see them and protest. He knew Estes could not be down there for he had already searched the lower levels.
He stayed where he was listening to the rhythm of the dungeon, learning the guard changes, official visitors, and meal times. Most of all he listened to the guards talk, learning who was imprisoned and where they were. He found out exactly the locations of Kirkes and the Queen but heard nothing of Estes. That meant Estes' identity was unknown and that he was on the main level of the dungeon.
"Brother?" A voice whispered as Carle passed a cell. He hesitated, not sure what to do.
"Brother, help me." It was a woman's voice. Its lilting quality drew him to the cell.
"What is it? How can I help you?"
"My family doesn't know I'm here. They will be worried and looking for me. Will you send a message to them?"
"I might, if it's short. I'm not supposed to be here. What is your name?"
"Melana. I travel with a troupe of minstrels. Apal's troupe."
"Ah, then I know who you are and I can guess why you are here. I was at the mill when Apal spoke with the other lords."
"Then you must help me." She looked down the corridor. Carle's gaze followed hers; there was no one within hearing. She spoke quietly. "They are at the Boars head Tavern. Apal must be informed as soon as possible."
"I will do all I can."
"Bless you, Brother."
"Thanks, I'll need it."
He moved quickly in the shadows, treading his way back to the upper levels. He shook the dust off his habit and folding his hands, walked with the proper piety out of the castle proper and walked into Dellana.
She grabbed his arm.
"I'm in trouble. Will you help me?" Her eyes pierced him with her intensity.
Carle rolled his eyes. What had he become, a knight-errant, saving beautiful ladies? At least he knew Dellana was pretty and he thought Melana beautiful. Her voice was anyway; he couldn't see clearly into her dark cell. He smiled.
"Yes, my lady Dellana. For a single kiss I will help you." Why did he say that?
Dellana laughed. "You impertinent man!
Do you cast aside your vows so easily?"
"Perhaps. For you."
She squeezed his arm, leading him through the courtyard.
"I have a message I must deliver," said Carle. "Let me discharge that duty first."
"Of course, my gallant suitor. Do what you must do. I shall await you in my room."
Carle's face reddened. Did she mean it that way? She waved at him. He turned away. Not enough prayer that was the problem. When did he pray last? His mother suggested he join a men-only order to keep him focused on his faith, but he thought he was strong enough to work with women. At least he believed it at the time. Why was mother always right?
One crisis at a time. He neared the tavern, thinking of a legitimate reason for him to go there. He stood across the street watching the door. No good reason to enter the tavern came to mind. What was he to do? He watched people enter and toyed with the idea to ask one of them to find Apal but how to know who to trust? Suddenly, he felt someone standing next to him. It was Apal.
"I saw you at the mill, Brother. Are you will us or a spy?" He felt the knife in his ribs.
"I bring word from Melana," he said hoarsely. "I'm here to help."
"Good. Good. Go around the back. I will let you in. Mind the dogs. They don't eat regularly."
Carle nodded, wondering what wayward turns his life would take next. A rebel Brother with a lover. He laughed out loud, heedless of the stares of the rough people on the street. He felt buoyant, but did not know why. Nor did he care.
Chapter 11
Culver stared at the figure standing before him. A lean gnarled shape towered over him; a full foot taller than Blackthorne, its dusty cloak flapping in the calm air. The hands, long and yellow, clutched continuously, a raptor impatient to strike. The sallow face framed the red eyes. When the mouth opened, the white teeth sparkled, filed to points. Culver felt shocked by the sudden appearance of the shape. He had a prickling on the back of his neck that led him to walk to the gate, but he didn't expect to find anything. He never expected to face a seven-foot wraith. He was sorry they had left Paglo.
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