“If I'm a while, don't worry,” Amy said. “I have an errand to run on my return.”
“What are you up to, Amy Hasbrook?” The crease between her eyes had returned.
“Nothing.” She placed a hand on Alice's shoulder. “Just don't ask after me or alert anyone of my absence. Please.”
Alice studied her for a moment. “This had better not get me into trouble, whatever it is you're up to.”
“It won't. Don't worry.”
Alice sighed. “If someone asks where you are, I'll make something up.”
Amy would've hugged Alice if she were able, but she was fearful it would attract unwanted attention. Not the sort of thing servant girls do to each other in a busy kitchen. “Thank you. I won't be too long. An hour, at the most.”
“An hour?” Alice exclaimed. “The mind boggles. Go, before I get into trouble for talking to you.”
Amy picked up the wooden tray on which rested the bowl of soup and the hunk of bread.
“Hang on,” Alice said. She picked up a large knife and placed in on the tray. “The king likes to carve his bread.”
Amy nodded and went on her way. As she walked through the Great Hall she found her hands were shaking like an old woman's, causing the thick soup in the bowl to slosh from side to side. She tried to steady her hands, but failed. I'm so nervous, she thought. Perhaps I should've had a swig of wine first. But if the queen were to smell alcohol on her breath she would likely lose her job, she knew. Thinking of the queen, she glanced over her shoulder to where Rose had been standing. She was still there, barking orders at a cup bearer who looked old enough to have served The Ancients. As if sensing Amy's stare, the queen turned her head in Amy's direction. Amy looked away, wishing she hadn't been so nosey. She continued on not daring to look back. Once in the hallway she risked a look. To her relief, the queen was gone. She hurried on her way with the smell of soup sickening her already unsettled stomach.
CHAPTER 31
“We need to decide on a new Grand Master,” Lambert Germain was saying to the king, who was sitting on the edge of the room's four-poster bed.
“In due course, Lambert,” King Bahlinger said, impatiently. The old steward had been lingering in the king's bedchamber for the past half an hour.
“I will act at Grand Master, if you command it, Sire, but it is not my area of expertise, as you know. I would rather give it up to someone with more experience.”
Just leave me alone, you old fool. He wanted to prepare for the servant girl's arrival. He had ordered his supper ten minutes past. She will be here at any moment. “It is my command, Lambert. We will hold counsel in the morning, but for tonight the king's guard is yours.”
The old steward's pale complexion seemed to turn whiter. “Sire, forgive me, but we don't have enough men to deal with the crowd at the gates. I fear it could get out of hand.”
For God's sake, Lambert. Can't the king have his wicked way with a servant girl without an old fool mithering him?
“Then take some off the walls,” Bahlinger snapped. “It's not like we're going to be attacked tonight, now, is it?”
“As you wish, Sire. I'll give the order.”
Perhaps sensing Bahlinger's impatience, Lambert bowed and left the room. Alone, the king checked that all the buttons on his tunic were fastened and then brushed a piece of fluff from the green velvet with the back of his hand. I must lose weight, he thought, looking down at his ample gut with disgust. One of the tunic's buttons was straining to contain his girth. He tried to suck in his belly, but he couldn’t hold it in for long. He wondered if the servant girl would be disgusted by the sight of him. Especially when I remove my clothes.
He remembered the first time he'd slept with Rose. On our wedding night that had been. She had been a maiden, but he had lost his innocence two months before, to a lord's daughter with a mischievous glint in her eye. Nevertheless, he'd been nervous when he took Rose to his bedchamber for the first time, but he had tried not to show it. At sixteen, she was a girl any man in the realm would have gladly bedded, with her hair the colour of gold and her blue eyes full of innocence. He couldn't remember how many times he and Rose had made love that night, but it was many. Of course, I was slimmer back then, and muscular besides.
On this night the bedchamber shimmered in the light of the many candles placed around the room. He'd decided to extinguish some to reduce the light when there was a knock at the door. Bahlinger checked his buttons one last time and then said: “Come.”
The door opened and in walked the fiery-haired servant girl holding a wooden tray. Bahlinger could smell the pleasant aroma of the soup. What a shame I won't get to eat it, he thought.
“Come, put the tray down,” the king said, patting the bedside table. Bahlinger realised he'd forgotten the servant girl's name. “Forgive me, child, I hear so many names throughout my day it seems I've forgotten yours.”
“Amy. Amy Hasbrook.” Amy walked across the room and placed the tray on the bedside table next to a candle. The flame danced in the draught.
“Silly me. Of course it is. Such a pretty name.” Amy picked up the knife and began to slice the bread. “Leave that for now. That's not why you're here, is it.”
“No, Sire.” The servant girl walked back across the room, her hips swaying, and closed the door.
Alone, Bahlinger thought. We're alone.
She walked back to the bed and stood before the king with her hands clasped in front of her. Her flame-coloured hair was pinned up in a bun.
“Let your hair go free, Amy,” the king pleaded.
“Of course, Sire.” She reached into her hair and pulled free several hair pins. Her locks tumbled free, falling almost to her waist.
Bahlinger felt a stirring in his trousers.
CHAPTER 32
The steps down to the cells below the tower were dark and damp. Rose touched the stone walls as she descended the spiralling staircase but quickly pulled her hand away when she felt moss there, moist and slimy. This place is fit for no one, she thought. Not even the dregs of society.
During daylight hours, the sun would stream through the numerous arrow slits in the walls lighting the way for those who wished to descend its stairs, but at night the cold moonlight struggled to give the perilous slabs of stone anything more than a suggestion. One must place one’s feet carefully. A king's guard had offered to take her down – he had practically insisted – but she had declined forcefully. Besides, there was only room enough for one on the stairwell, she discovered. She took each step carefully. If she were to slip and fall she would likely tumble to the very bottom, she knew. Her careful descent took her perhaps ten minutes. When she arrived at the castle's deepest lair a surprised looking guard greeted her. After squinting through the semi-darkness, perhaps making sure his eyes were not deceiving him, he straightened and then bowed.
“Your Majesty,” he said. “What brings you to such a dark and dingy place, and at such a late hour besides?”
“I wish to see Sir Gaillart Gregory.”
The guard hesitated. “The Grand Master. Yes. Of course.”
There's something amiss here, she thought.
The guard took a torch from a sconce on the wall and stepped towards a gate of steel bars. Another guard unlocked it with a large key. As he pushed it open the hinges screamed their displeasure. The guard motioned for Rose to step through.
On the other side a narrow corridor stretched into darkness. On either side were numerous doors made from the thickest oak, reinforced by steel and bolts. The guard led her to the third door on the right in front of which he stopped.
He hesitated and then said: “The Grand Master put up a bit of a fight, Ma'am.”
A fight? “That does not sound like Sir Gaillart. A knight he is, but a violent one he is not.”
“Men change when they're brought down here, Ma'am. I've seen it on many occasion. Most men never leave this place. It's only natural they resist it.”
“Just open the door,” she said,
perhaps too sternly.
The guard placed the torch in a sconce and jangled a set of keys on a large hoop. With light flickering across his face, he found the correct key and slotted it into the lock.
“I'll wait for you out here,” the guard said before turning the key and pulling open the door. “Any problems, give me a shout.”
If this prisoner is so violent, then why are you leaving me alone with him?
She took the torch from the wall and then stepped into the cell. A man was standing at the back of the small square room concealed by darkness. It could have been any man, but when she walked towards him, the torch-light illuminated the Grand Master's swollen face.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Sir Gaillart said.
“Your face,” Rose said. Gaillart touched his bruised cheek. Both of his eyes were black and puffy; there was a nasty gash along his jawline, too. “What did they do to you?”
“It's nothing.” Gaillart said. He sounded defeated. Like someone has beaten the life right out of him.
Rose realised that the Grand Master was holding his left arm to his chest. His arm is broken too.
“Who did this to you?” Rose persisted. “I'll have them thrown in the next cell.”
“The cells are all full, Ma'am. I'm lucky to have one to myself. Before long I'll be sharing, no doubt with some rapist or murderer. It's an education down here, I tell you.”
“You shouldn't be here.”
“Neither should you. I doubt this place has seen a queen for a hundred years or more.”
Rose considered this. How many times have I spared a thought for those serving time in these cells? Not until this afternoon was the answer.
“You can leave,” Rose said. “I'm releasing you.”
“Do you think they'll simply let me walk right out of here? The queen you may be, but they'll think I threatened you. They'll call for the king.”
“If they send for Bahlinger then I'll talk to him.”
“I think we both know how that will end.”
“We did nothing wrong, that night.”
Gaillart stepped closer, enabling her to see his bruised face more clearly. She was horrified to see that part of his earlobe was missing.
“I was in your bedchamber,” Gaillart said, “wanting to bed you on the night the wizard bearer was taken. That makes me innocent of the crime of which the king thinks I'm guilty of, but it makes me guilty of another. When he finds out want I wanted to do to his queen, he'll leave me down here to rot.”
“We didn't do anything wrong. It was just a simple kiss, that's all.” The ice in Rose's heart melted at the thought of the kiss they had shared. It had been so long since anyone had kissed her like that.
“But I came to you with disloyal intentions, Ma'am.”
“Disloyal to whom?”
“The king. The realm. I'm the Grand Master, not the queen's husband.”
She'd more or less invited him to her room on that night, she remembered. For weeks something unspoken had existed between them; a heavy gaze of lust across the table at the king's counsel; a brush of hands when they thought no one was looking. She'd told him she would be alone on that night and he'd taken the bait. She remembered the kiss. Such passion, such lust. Her stomach fluttered with a thousand wings at the thought of it.
“It was unfair of me to lure you there, only to turn you away again.” Her loins had been on fire, begging for him, but she couldn't break her vows, despite the loveless marriage she found herself in.
“I'd live that kiss again and again, a million times over, even it meant staying in this cell until my dying day.”
Rose felt like crying. Is it such a crime to want to be loved?
Gaillart touched her cheek. His hand was cold yet it filled her with warmth. Nevertheless, she pushed his hand away.
“Not here,” she said looking over her shoulder. “Someone might see.”
Gaillart withdrew his hand and stepped backwards, the shadows masking his face once again. “The way he treats you, your life is no different to one who spends his life in a cell like this, Ma’am”
“Call me Rose.”
“Rose. I've always loved you, Rose. Now leave me.”
“No. You're coming with me. We'll tell him together.” Even then, she knew how ridiculous that was. “Or we'll make something up; some other story. I can give you an alibi. I just need time to think of something.”
“Then come and get me when you've thought of a lie that might pass as the truth. I'm going nowhere, it seems.”
Rose stepped from the cell. Her stomach was in a knot and her heart bled.
CHAPTER 33
He couldn't believe Amber was here, but she was. As he climbed the stone steps, Marcus walked with an extra skip. In front of him was the king, the Grand Master, Stetland, and the knight from Kingstown. Christian was trailing behind, but now he tugged Marcus's sleeve.
“What will happen?” Christian said. “They killed the monks. They could kill us too.”
“They're not going to kill us, Christian. I'm one of them, remember? We may need High Hunsley’s help to take back Kingstown, though.”
“Will King Bahlinger be dead?”
“Unlikely. He'll be holed up in the keep with his queen, waiting for help to arrive.”
Marcus hoped that were true. If the king is dead, and the queen and the princess too, where will that leave us? High Hunsley will be on its own and Volk will have the throne.
Fabian looked even worse than he did before. His skin had lost more colour, making him resemble a corpse. Marcus remembered the living dead at Killingwoldgraves and shuddered. And don't forget the Soul Eater that looked so much like Amber.
“How is he?” Stetland said, walking to the bed.
“His heartbeat is so weak,” Cassandra said. “He's barely alive.”
Gladden was sitting on a stool, leaning on his staff. “It's unlikely he'll recover.”
“Who is this?” Hugo said, nodding towards the knight. “I can't help but notice the colour of Kingstown on his armour.”
“My name is Sir Arthur Drayton.”
Stetland quickly explained to the room all that he knew of the attack on Kingstown.
Cassandra stood. “But . . . my mother and father.” She put a hand to her forehead. “Can this night get any worse?”
Gladden went to her and put an arm around her shoulder.
“So this was the plan all along,” the young wizard said. “Steal my sister, get her away from Kingstown before the attack.”
“And make sure the last of Kingstown's threadbare guard left in her pursuit,” Marcus said.
“I have a plan, though,” Stetland said.
“Then let's hear it,” Gladden said.
Stetland walked to the bed. “Earlier, when Fabian made Eaglen disappear, he used a piece of magic only great wizards can perform.”
“It's called Dispersion,” Gladden said. “I was telling Christian about it only this morning.”
“Dispersion,” Stetland said, pointing to the young wizard, “that's right. I've seen Fabian perform it before, even using it on himself to travel great distances in a heartbeat.”
“But this is what happens,” Gladden said, motioning to the bed. “It saps energy. Fabian was already weakened from his battle with Emily Grouse.”
Stetland rubbed his chin and continued: “Once, though, he performed it on an entire army.” Marcus knew what Stetland was suggesting; the others were slower to catch on, though. “Kingstown is under attack. Women, children, they'll all die. Volk will seat himself on the throne unless we can come to Kingstown's aid. King Merek has offered nine thousand men. Along with the thousand Kingstown soldiers outside the city walls, we'd match Volk's army sword for sword.”
“But it would take an army until the morn to ride to Kingstown,” Cassandra said. “The city will have fallen by then. All we would be doing is reclaiming a ruined city. And my mother and father . . . all the people I know are there.”
�
�Not unless Fabian can perform Dispersion and send the army to Kingstown in a heartbeat.”
“But my great-uncle wouldn't survive that. It would kill him.”
“He's going to die anyway,” Gladden said. He sounded defeated, sitting there in the gloom, candlelight flickering across his sullen face. “Give Fabian the chance to save Kingstown, and possibly the whole of Elt, before he leaves us.”
Poppy began to weep. Hugo comforted her.
“How would it work?” Cassandra said. She wasn't looking at Stetland, instead she stared out of the window, holding back tears of her own, no doubt. “Fabian isn't even conscious. How can he perform such magic?”
“He will need your brother's help,” Stetland said. “Wizards can transfer energy to one another. If Gladden would lend some of his energy to Fabian it would bring your uncle round, giving him just enough time to perform what we ask of him.”
“This is crazy,” Cassandra said.
“It's what he would want, Cassandra,” Gladden said.
“What will happen to my brother?” Cassandra turned to Stetland, a tear rolling down her cheek. “Will this . . . this transfer of energy put his life at risk too?”
“No,” Stetland said, firmly. “He may feel light-headed, like someone does after losing blood in battle. But he will quickly recover.”
“I better,” Gladden said, “because I'm coming with you to Kingstown.”
“Must you?” Cassandra said. “I don't want to lose you too?”
“I might well be the only wizard left, Sister. I need to do this.”
King Merek stepped towards the bed. “Whatever we are going to do, we must do it quickly. Time is not dear to us. I will come with you too. My sword is yours, Stetland.”
The Dark Rider clasped a hand down on the king's shoulder. “Thank you.”
Battle for Elt: The Taking of the Wizard Bearer Page 27