The enormous double doors leading to the Great Hall, and beyond that, the inner courtyard, were open. This appeared to be the norm for when the castle was not under siege. The Great Hall was exactly that; an expansive receiving area for visiting hordes, Calder supposed. Even the furniture seemed larger than life, with wooden tables that stretched the length of the hall, and huge padded chairs next to a giant hearth. Four sentries guarded a large, ornate wooden door on one side, which Calder suspected might be the entrance to Fellstone’s private chambers.
He crossed the hall quickly and left by way of open doors leading to the inner courtyard. He paused at the top of the steps and scanned the broad area. On the opposite side, a tower was set between the castle walls. An arched opening flanked by two guards armed with spears and daggers provided entry at the base of the tower. As Calder watched, two soldiers approached carrying Ash, and spoke to one of the guards, who then left his post to lead them into the building.
Calder flew down the steps after them. He ran across the stone courtyard, around a fountain, and past some sort of staging area with a viewing platform. He preferred not to think of the type of entertainment Fellstone might be in the habit of watching. Slowing down as he drew near the guards, he took silent steps between them into the tower. Inside, he found a plain circular room from which one set of stairs went down, and another went up. From the sound of things, they’d taken Ash below. Calder descended the stone steps cautiously; it wouldn’t do to fall down them and make a ruckus. Or break his neck.
At the bottom, he came to a row of iron doors cut into the stone. The guard stood waiting by one that was open, and a moment later the soldiers emerged from the cell carrying Ash’s boots, coat, and sword, which they tossed into a corner. The guard locked the door, then slid the key onto a hook. Calder pressed himself and his bag against the wall as the three men trooped past him and clomped up the stairs.
His first thought was to applaud himself on his good luck. Ash must be alive or they would not have put him in the dungeon. Secondly, they left the key right there. He pulled himself up to peer through the peephole of Ash’s cell. The boy lay on the floor unconscious, with his wrists shackled and chained to the wall, and his ankles manacled to each other. The prospect of escape did not look quite so easy anymore. The key on the hook must be for the doors only; it was much too large to work on the small padlocks that held the chains together. But there were no other keys in sight. Moreover, Calder did not have enough invisibility powder to cover Ash. Since the stuff cost an arm and two legs, he’d only purchased the amount needed for himself and his bag, with a little extra for touch-ups. So even if he could somehow get Ash out of his manacles, he would not be able to whisk him past the guards at the tower entry.
He briefly considered taking Ash’s sword, but just as quickly rejected the notion. He did not want to waste what little powder he had left, in making the sword invisible, and in any case, he was better off defending himself with his dagger.
The boy and his sword would have to wait. He was passed out anyway; it couldn’t hurt to let him sleep it off. At least Calder knew precisely where he was and could work on a plan to break him out. In the meantime, he needed to find Tessa. He checked the four remaining cells to make certain she hadn’t already been brought here. Surprisingly, all were empty. He took this as an indication that prisoners were dispatched with little delay. He would need to work fast. There would be no forgiving himself if they dealt with Ash before he managed to return.
The dungeon was not the only thing down here. At the bottom of the stairs, the stone corridor branched off in another direction, and Calder meant to explore it. He set out along its clammy interior, glancing into dark rooms as he passed. A rat scampered across one chamber, which was filled with broken weapons in need of repair. The next housed instruments of torture. His insides turned to jelly at the thought of himself or either of his companions being taken here. He’d been tortured once before and would rather die than allow it to happen again. But he would deal with that problem if and when it arose.
The stench of rot and putrefaction increased as he approached the final chamber along the passage. It was the morgue, the place which he’d hoped to find, though he dreaded to enter it. His heart skipped a beat as he glimpsed a body on a table across the room, with a white sheet spread over it. He had to pause and lean against the wall, steadying himself. Please, I beg you… let it not be Tessa.
He had to be certain. Calder stepped forward as two men appeared from another part of the room and approached the body, muttering between themselves. The older man had white hair and a grizzled appearance, while the other was quite young and suffered from the deformity of a club foot. The latter man carried a bucket of water toward the table, sloshing as he went.
As Calder drew nearer, he became convinced the form was simply too large for a girl. Clearly a man lay under the sheet, a fact that was confirmed as soon as the white-haired worker lowered the cloth to the corpse’s chest. The deceased was a person of middle-age, with strong shoulders, grey hair, and a pointed beard. It took a moment for Calder to recall where he’d seen him before. The man was Sir Warley, formerly captain of the garrison. Whenever he came to a new town, Calder made it his business to find out who was in charge of enforcing the law, though it had not helped him to avoid the pillory this time.
The two undertakers stood with the bucket of water between them at the end of the table, and each dipped a cloth into it. They washed the corpse one section at a time, gradually lowering the sheet until the cut in his stomach that must have killed him was exposed.
“His lordship said we was to give him all the respect of his station,” the old man said.
The other man snickered. “Even though the lord’s own apprentice gutted Sir Warley?”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Jamie the footman told me. Seen it with his own eyes.”
“Why would she do that?” the old man said.
“Jamie said, it were all about a bird. Sir Warley brought Lord Fellstone a sparrow in a cage. His lordship and Ratcher looked at each other and said, ‘Wrong one.’ Then Ratcher turned to Sir Warley and stuck her dagger in ’im.”
“Over a bloody sparrow? I don’t believe it.”
“I’ve seen stranger round here,” the one with the club foot said. He lowered his voice. “I were here last night when they brung in Sir Warley’s body. Ratcher came after they left. She didn’t notice me behind the stack of ledgers. When I looked over, she were squeezing blood into a vial from Sir Warley’s vein.”
“Did she see you then?” the old man asked sharply.
The younger one shook his head. “She left right after.”
“Best not to wonder about their goings on. Less you know, the longer you live.”
Calder could not argue with the man’s wisdom. From what he’d heard, half the conjurers’ potions required blood from someone or something. It wasn’t his concern; he’d seen what he needed to see. Tessa was not in the morgue. He still couldn’t be certain she was alive, but there was hope now, and he would not rest till he found her.
ASH
When he first opened his eyes, he couldn’t understand where he was or how he got there. It felt as if someone were pounding the back of his skull with a hammer, over and over and over. He came to realize he was lying on his back on the cold stone floor of a dank cell, chained to the wall. It took a while longer before his memory came rushing back, bringing with it a surge of cold fury. Lance. It had not been enough for Ratcher to have him killed; she must condemn him to eternal torment as well.
Ash pulled himself up, sending another piercing stab of pain through his head. He raised his shackled hands and felt his scalp; a significant welt had already risen. But at least he was alive and uncut. What of his companions? What of Tessa, surrounded by the horde of wraiths? She’d fallen from the sky, and it seemed she could no longer fly. Only Calder could have saved her with something from his bag of tricks. Surely he had an ointment or
talisman in there that could repel wraiths. But what if he hadn’t reached her in time?
They were alive; they must be alive. Only their lifeless bodies laid out before him on a slab would convince him otherwise.
The clang of metal rattling in the keyhole made Ash look up. A guard with heavy-lidded eyes and hollow cheeks opened the door and made way for Ratcher to enter the cell. He closed the door behind her.
She stood staring down at him. Ash felt a loathing so strong, he wanted to leap up, throw his arms over her, and tighten his shackles around her neck until she breathed no more. He held himself back, mainly because he doubted the chains were long enough to allow him to reach her. The time would come for his revenge, but first he must find out if she would reveal anything about the fate of his friends.
He wondered if she remembered him or his brother. He didn’t think they were any more remarkable to her than many others whose deaths she must have ordered without remorse. But the emerald ring must be unique, and its recovery a significant event. When she came to their house, he had thought at first that the ring belonged to her. But later when he learned she was only an apprentice… what apprentice could afford a ring at all, let alone one with an enormous emerald? It had to be Fellstone’s. Having robbed the residents of Sorrenwood of all their worth, he could afford to line the fingers of both hands with precious gems.
He kept his eyes averted from Ratcher, determined not to let her rattle him. To his surprise, she began to laugh. He couldn’t help but look up at her then, at the strange spectacle of the blank mask that hid everything but her eyes and mouth. She laughed harder and harder until the laughter became coughing that sounded like the caw, caw, caw of a crow. She stopped as abruptly as she’d begun and caught her breath.
“I haven’t seen anything so amusing in many a month,” she said. She spoke in low, honeyed tones that oozed into his ears. It was not a voice to be trusted: heavy sweetness layered over bile.
“You and your friend, that silly girl, expecting to breech the castle defenses, with nothing more than your sword and her…? Oh that’s right, she had no weapon, not so much as a sharp toothpick,” she went on. “So really it was just you in charge of slaying our entire army. It might’ve worked too, if each soldier had waited patiently in line to face you one by one. Was that your plan?”
Ash looked away. He would not give her the satisfaction of showing any reaction to her mocking.
“A plan must have some chance of success,” Ratcher said. “The odds must not be entirely against you,” she went on. “If your goal was to die, you could’ve chosen far easier ways. Now that we have you, that’s no longer an option. Only the most excruciating deaths are meted out here.”
Ash stared at a point on the wall. He refused to let her frighten him.
“Was there anyone else? An army of three-year-olds hiding in the woods? A legion of rats trained to do your bidding?” She laughed again. “I suppose you're wondering about the girl. The wraiths can be overzealous. Sometimes even we can't stop them. They're drawn to human warmth like moths to the light. If given a chance, they'll drain it out of you until your body freezes solid. Again, not an easy way to go.”
Beads of sweat gathered on Ash’s forehead. He could easily resist the taunts against himself, but not Tessa. Though he tried his best to block out Ratcher’s words, the image of Tessa lying frozen and alone near the castle moat flashed before his eyes. His right arm flinched.
It was enough to satisfy Ratcher. She opened the door. “Welcome to Fellstone Castle. When I return, I expect you to talk. If you’d rather not, I’ll invite Scarface the boarman to join us. I think you may remember him.”
The door shut and the keys jangled in the lock. Ash punched the air, yanking at his shackles, picturing Lance and his defilement again. His rage was the impulse that would keep him alive.
TESSA
I snapped awake, my hands beating at the air. Wraiths all around… intense cold… don’t touch me! I rocked back and forth, fighting an invisible enemy, until I realized they were gone and I was alone. I rubbed hard to heat my chilled limbs but the worst was inside, where it felt as if I’d swallowed a block of ice. It would take time for the warmth to seep all the way through me.
What place is this? I lay on a lavish canopied bed within the most exquisite bedchamber I’d ever seen. It was larger than our entire house, and filled with costly and elegant furniture. A tray of luscious fruit and nuts rested on the center table, which, like the dresser, was fashioned from fine oak, with flowering vines carved along the edges. The settee and chairs were upholstered in sky-blue brocade velvet, matching the color of the satin drapes. Parchment, quills, and an ink bottle were set out on the writing table. Sunlight poured in from the two windows, and a fire simmered in the magnificent hearth.
I grasped the thick white quilt that covered me, and pressed it against my face to warm my cheeks. I had no clue how I’d survived the ordeal of the wraiths, let alone ending up in this incredible room. Are my friends in a similar place? I wondered if the dark rumors surrounding Lord Fellstone’s life and actions were all just a terrible misunderstanding.
I didn’t have time to speculate. The clock was ticking down on the chance to save Papa’s life, and I needed to get up. But when I moved to raise myself, I was rewarded by a jolt of pain in my left arm. I stared down at it and noticed a small puncture where my vein was, and a drop of crimson on the sheet as if a bit of my blood had spilled out. I wasn’t sure, but I supposed it must be related to the injury I received outside the castle. The crow… that blasted crow again… had flown into me and damaged my wing. Would it heal when my arm healed? What if I never fly again? My hand shot to my neck, feeling for my windrider. Gone.
I leapt up, hardly noticing in my distress that I was clean and wearing a pretty white nightgown. I tore through the room in a frantic search for my beloved sparrow. My key pouch had been left on the table, but there was no sign of the amulet or any of the clothes I’d been wearing. I searched the drawers. There were delicate undergarments in the dresser, made of silk, satin, and lace, folded to perfection. I pushed them aside to look underneath, making a mess of everything. When I came to the last drawer, I found a book.
I should not have been surprised and yet I was. It was Mama’s favorite, “The Trials of Kallos,” which I had come to love as much as she. I opened its cover; she’d signed it just where she’d signed the copy we had at home. Here it was not “Gillian Skye,” but “Faline Eldred Fellstone.” Though the names were different, the handwriting was the same graceful script, ending in an identical flourish trailing from the final “e” in her surname. Part of me had not really believed Calder… had not wanted to believe him… but this proof was more difficult to deny. Her favorite book, her own writing… it had to be true.
My gaze swept the room again. How much cruelty had she suffered at her husband’s hands, to drive her away from all of this? How courageous she must have been to even attempt an escape from his fortress. I felt ashamed for doubting her, for thinking her capable of betraying Papa and running off with another man. Somehow… I felt quite sure of it now… Fellstone had found her and taken her away from us. I began to let in the faintest glimmer of hope that she might still be alive, might, in fact, be somewhere in this castle now.
I looked in the wardrobe. A dozen gowns hung on the rack in different colors and textures. I drew out one to examine more closely, its shade a lovely cream, its style smooth and unaffected. I pictured my mother wearing it at a grand ball, every man’s eyes upon her. What a harsh fate that she’d been claimed by a wicked conjurer instead of a handsome, kind-hearted prince. I brushed the gown against my cheek and breathed in its scent, which reminded me of Mama’s jasmine perfume, though perhaps I only imagined it by wishing it to be so. I closed my eyes and pictured her kneeling next to me, kissing my cheek, smoothing my hair back from my brow. My heart filled with love for her, in a way I hadn’t allowed myself to feel for many years.
CALDER
One would think the ghastly odors Calder breathed inside the morgue would have quelled his appetite, but that wasn’t the case. In search of something to fill his stomach, he made his way back across the courtyard, and into the Great Hall. From there he found his way to the main corridor, which wrapped its way around the castle. The place was constructed as a rectangle, with the inner courtyard creating a hollow in the center of it. Everything of importance appeared to be arranged on the main level. He took a staircase to the second level, and concluded from its plain appearance, low ceilings, and bare floors, that it served as a garret for housing the servants.
He returned downstairs, following his nose to the bakehouse, which was nestled between the kitchen and the brewery. He crept past two scullery maids and the baker to reach a tray that had just been removed from the oven. Waiting until they were distracted preparing the next batch, he snatched three rolls and stuck them into his bag so they would not be seen. Perhaps hearing him, one of the scullery maids glanced back and noticed the empty spots where rolls should’ve been. She shot a look at the other maid, wondering if she could have stolen them.
Calder hurried away with his prize before questions could be asked. He would’ve loved to fill a tankard at the brewery, but it would spill if he put it into his bag, and if he carried it in his hand, someone would be certain to notice it floating through the air. He passed on that with regret, and headed back upstairs to the servants’ quarters. Rooms ought to be empty now, during mid-day when most were working, though there might be some who had night duty and slept in. The first door he tried must have been one of them. A man lay in his bed and opened his eyes groggily at the empty space that was Calder. He pushed the door shut and tried the next room. This one was unoccupied, with two beds neatly made. He slipped inside, closed the door, and took out his rolls. They tasted better than any he’d ever had before, and he wished he’d taken double the amount. But he did get lucky in finding a flagon which was half-filled with ale inside the room, and he gulped it all down with satisfaction.
Dreadmarrow Thief (The Conjurer Fellstone Book 1) Page 10