by Lee C Conley
Arnulf stared, restraining his grief.
‘It is a hard thing,’ continued Angus, ‘such a terrible thing, to lose them.’ Angus paused thoughtfully. He wore an old pain in his eye. ‘To lose them… Aye, I know this for myself.
‘They are with Old Night. We will see them all again.’ Angus placed a hand upon Arnulf’s shoulder. ‘Both you, and I also. It is a hard thing, lad, a hard thing.’
They stared into the embers for a short while before moving back to join the others.
‘We will hunt these things, Arnulf,’ said Angus. ‘Kill these dead men, and these cursed ones. Scour these lands. We must. I will not have this evil befall my land, this I swear now before you all.
‘Now come, let us find a suitable building and we can get one of your people to find us some ale, and we will talk.’
***
Settled into the guard building beside the gates the lords of Arnar sat around a modest table before a log fire. The guard building sheltered up against the palisade immediately beside the gates. It was a place where the warriors of the Motte often spent time when between duties – or when not at home with their families.
Fergus poured himself another ale into a plain pewter cup. Young Erran sat at a table by the door with one of Fergus’s men and another from the high lord’s retinue playing a game of winds. Fergus hovered around their table looking at their hands before smiling knowingly and returning to the central table.
Engle and Hafgan were still busy discussing the distribution of warriors and defences with Angus as Fergus seated himself. Arnulf had sat mostly in silence nursing his ale, occasionally venturing forth a suggestion or nodding in agreement to the trusted counsel of his advisors. Angus and Fergus had their men billeted in defendable buildings throughout the town as suggested by Hafgan. Barricades and pickets were to be set up on the towns and thoroughfares. All routes would be watched closely, and the town would be heavily guarded. Talk was turning to the pursuit of the enemy. It was being proposed that patrols were to scour the surrounding countryside for any sign of the cursed dead.
Astrid entered the guardhouse followed by two men. The first man was one of Angus’s lieutenants. He was mailed and wore an axe and a seax at his waist. He removed the helmet he wore over his straggled dark hair, which tumbled about his shoulders. He was not a big man and had a short untidy beard. For a man of rank amongst the high lord’s warriors, he had an unassuming look to him. Hafgan did not know his name.
The second man that entered was not of the warrior’s mould. He was balding with a thin face. He wore robes and carried a satchel. He slipped in quietly.
‘Lord’ said the mailed lieutenant with a nod. ‘The men are settled, and we’ve set a heavy guard out in the town, lord.’
‘As are ours,’ said Astrid.
Fergus nodded in acknowledgement.
Erran seemed abnormally distracted from his game, his eyes following Astrid. She returned him a stern glance as she surveyed the room.
‘Good, good,’ said Angus, ‘Speak with Engle and Hafgan here. They will direct you with what we have just decided. But first, come. Have a swift drink with us.’
The lieutenant poured ale into a tin mug from a large earthen jug. He poured another and handed it to the shield-maiden.
Angus turned to Astrid as she took the mug. ‘You still keeping his arse safe, Astrid?’ asked the high lord with a thumb at his son. ‘I couldn’t put up with his crap. I don’t know how you do it,’ he added.
She kept a grim face and replied, ‘Aye, lord. I do my duties, and he pays us well.’ She paused, ‘Our lord Fergus needs keeping an eye on, as I am sure you know. And for the sake of the womenfolk, of course,’ she added with nothing but a slight smirk at the corner of her mouth. ‘They pay us nearly as much as he does to keep him away,’ she added with a glance at Fergus.
‘Don’t listen to her, Father,’ Fergus protested. ‘She has a viper’s tongue. If she wasn’t so good with a sword, I’d have her serving in the hall.’ Fergus grinned at her. She gave him a wry but stern look.
‘Worked out well for the last man that tried that,’ muttered Hafgan.
Fergus’s father grunted in amusement. ‘I can very well believe it,’ said Angus as he feigned a disapproving frown at his son.
Hafgan concealed a grin.
‘I’ll remember that next time I’m handing out silver,’ said Fergus directing a glowering smirk at Astrid.
The shield-maiden caught Erran’s lingering eye.
‘And you, boy, what are you staring at?’ she demanded with a scowl suddenly.
The young warrior flushed for an instant but quickly recovered, ‘Nothing, forgive me.’ He nearly floundered, but then added, ‘When you have a moment, I would ask you if you would consider my request.’
‘What is this?’ enquired Angus.
‘The lad asked her to spar, so she can kick his ass,’ replied Fergus, still amused.
‘It would be an honour,’ added Erran.
‘And will you?’ asked Angus curiously to Astrid.
‘If I have to, but don’t you think this is not the time for such foolishness, boy,’ said Astrid harshly, the latter directed at Erran.
Erran looked slightly abashed. He smiled meekly and busied himself in the game before him, not meeting anyone’s eye.
Fergus raised his eyebrows. Fergus was about to say something, then thought better of it. She did not look like she would say anymore on the matter, and by her scowl, it did not seem wise to pursue the topic.
‘Well,’ said Angus cutting the moment of awkward silence that followed, ‘how do you like the ale?’ He took a deep draught of his mug and nodded with satisfaction. ‘Long ride,’ he added to no one in particular.
‘Lord, if I may…’ said the quiet man in the corner.
‘Oh yes, of course. Get yourself one, too, man,’ barked Angus.
‘Ah, no…thank you, lord, but…I didn’t mean…’ The thin man awkwardly floundered.
‘Someone get the man a drink before even the gods hear of his thirst. Ha,’ laughed Angus.
‘I will, lord, thank you. Uh… But that wasn’t why I… Ah…’ He stuttered, and then composed himself. ‘Sorry, lord. I have been chronicling all I can. There are some strange tales I am hearing. I don’t know if I can quite believe it.’
‘Believe it,’ said Hafgan harshly.
The thin man looked at stern faces surrounding him and pursued the subject no further. When the subject of the dead arose, Hafgan had noticed a certain reservation behind the eyes of those who had not witnessed it themselves. An almost amused disbelief, yet none dared challenge those whose eyes were wrought with grief and terrified by what they had seen.
The thin man addressed Arnulf, ‘I am sorry for the fell happenings here, Lord Arnulf.’
Arnulf seemed distant. He sat absently stroking Fear’s ears as the hound sat at his feet.
‘It is a small gesture,’ he went on, ‘but with your leave, I can let my apprentice help with work on rebuilding your hall. He has studied the building craft of some of the greatest artisans in the known world.’
Arnulf looked at the man as if he had only just noticed him for the first time but said nothing.
‘Aye, we will rebuild the great hall of your fathers,’ promised Angus. ‘Do not fear, Arnulf. Life for the folks of Ravenshold will return to as it once was. We will rebuild it all, Arnulf. I will send for what help you may need. And there will be vengeance upon the evil responsible. This I promise.’
‘I fear many have lost so much, life will never return. How can it? We lost so many. But you have my thanks, lord,’ said Arnulf. ‘As do you, friend,’ said Arnulf to the thin man.
‘Ah, of course. Sorry, Arnulf. This is Calimir, one of my advisors.’
Arnulf nodded a greeting to the man as Angus began introducing him to the others.
Angus continued, ‘A fine scholar. His people are already showing their worth in Eymsford. They have made some worthy changes to the running of the har
bours and several of the local farmsteads have been producing much more than last year. Our coffers have certainly noticed the difference, aye. He insisted he come along to… How did you say it? To chronicle events as they unfolded.’
‘Indeed lords, an attack on a watch post is unprecedented. Someone should be there to make an account firsthand for the Great Histories,’ said Calimir eagerly.
‘Since we arrived, I have attempted to speak with several of the men who were up in the passes with you but…’
‘But what?’ demanded Fergus.
‘Well, lord, I understand some do not wish to talk but many have become…well, hostile, once I have greeted them. Folk are whispering as I pass, it seems none have any love for a man of the College. I don’t understand it.’
Arnulf, Fergus, and Hafgan exchanged glances.
‘I do not doubt it,’ said Fergus rising. ‘The folk with us have returned to their families. I have no doubt word has spread about what we found.’
‘What?’ asked Angus noticing a sudden change in the atmosphere of the room. Arnulf sat up straight, suddenly animated. He fixed his attention intently on the thin man named Calimir. Fear rose up and looked around warily also sensing the sudden change.
‘We found something up at the campsite,’ said Arnulf. He leaned over and murmured to Hafgan. The big warrior rose and left the room. He returned shortly and placed a large book and a tattered journal upon the table.
‘These are from the campsite up at the ruins,’ said Arnulf. He opened the larger book and revealed the seal of the College.
‘And we know these fucking bastards had something to do with this,’ said Arnulf, prodding the image of the College’s seal.
‘Now tell me…friend,’ said Arnulf, the latter dripping with vehemence. ‘What were your people doing up in the passes? Tell me all you know.’
‘I don’t know anything of it, lord. I swear,’ said Calimir.
‘Don’t lie to me,’ shouted Arnulf, Hammering the table with his fist. He advanced menacingly.
‘Please, lord,’ squealed the scholar.
Calimir raised his hands and backed away, intimidated.
‘I can help. I can tell you who that belonged to if you let me look at it a moment. I may be able to figure out what happened up there, lord.’
‘Why should I trust you?’ snarled Arnulf.
‘Let him look, Arnulf,’ commanded Angus, bewildered.
Arnulf paused and levelled an angry glare at the scholar, before relenting unhappily.
‘Do not let any of this out of your sight,’ fumed Arnulf, indicating the book to Hafgan.
Calimir timidly approached the table under the scrutiny of unfriendly eyes from all present but Angus. It was apparent all who had been up in the passes laid a heavy distrust upon his shoulders.
The scholar quickly scanned the first page.
‘It is the grimoire of Master Eldrick, my lords,’ said Calimir without meeting their eyes. ‘I know of him,’ he said as he continued to leaf through the thick vellum pages. ‘His work in the lore of healing is well known at the College. It appears he has some expertise in anatomy, herb craft, and ritual healing practices. Remarkable work, lords.’
The last statement elicited an irritated grunt from Arnulf.
‘So, what was he doing up there?’ asked Fergus as he eyed his old friend. Arnulf seethed beneath a controlled exterior, his eyes fixed hard upon the scholar.
‘I am not sure, lord,’ replied Calimir hesitantly.
‘Well, what are the last entries?’ asked Engle.
The scholar flicked to the last inscribed pages and began reading. Engle rose and moved to examine the book himself also.
‘Well?’ demanded Fergus.
‘It’s…it’s some sort of rambling notes from an experiment,’ said Calimir. ‘It doesn’t make much sense. There are detailed anatomical drawings here, and then there is work on some sort of glyphic text–I don’t recognise it–he keeps referring to the ritual… And the watching darkness…I can’t make sense of it, lord, it’s incomplete.’
‘These drawings are unsettling,’ said Engle. ‘This is some grim work. He is drawing the innards of limbs and bodies. How can he know of this? Unless…’ Engle trailed off, his face whitened.
‘What have you people been doing?’ demanded Engle. ‘Folk have been butchered for this. People have been butchered!’ He flicked an appalled gaze around the room. ‘What have they done.’
Fergus walked over and looked over the pages, and then said, ‘And this.’ He pointed at the strange text written in eerie looking glyphs. ‘What is this, some sort of fell sorcery? Is this what your College does?’
The scholar backed away, shaking his head at the tirade of accusing questions.
‘No, the College would not do such things. There are no true sorcerers as you hear in the old tales, they are just stories. There is no truth to it. We are recorders of truth, chroniclers of knowledge.’ He appealed to his lord, ‘I swear it.’
High Lord Angus nodded but remained uncertain, he obviously trusted this man.
‘This is madness,’ pleaded Calimir. ‘Any of us from the College would be the first to tell you there is no such thing as sorcery. There must be some innocent explanation. I would bet these men were not involved in this.’
‘He’s lying,’ said Arnulf.
The scholar began pleading with Angus.
‘Calimir, my friend, you would not lie to me?’ said Angus calmly. ‘I do not believe you had anything to do with this.’
‘Thank you, lord.’
‘I hope for your sake you speak the truth,’ said Angus. He turned to Arnulf and Fergus, ‘Perhaps these College folk met the same evil that befell your men in the passes.’
‘I am not so sure, lord,’ said Arnulf. ‘Why were they up there? And without any leave or word to the Lord of the Watch or, indeed, to any of us. These are our lands. These College men think they can just go where they will, without our say.’ Arnulf levelled a finger at Calimir. ‘They did this, lord, and he is hiding something.’
Angus sighed, ‘Now, swear to me Calimir, you had no knowledge of this Eldrick being in the passes or of any of this.’
‘I swear, lord.’ The scholar hesitated, ‘but I must tell you now, I heard of their passing through Eymsford some moons back. I did not know why, nor did I ask, but I heard they were heading north for Cydor on College business. I did not know what, I swear.’
‘Why did you not mention this,’ demanded Angus.
‘Why would I, lord? Many College folk regularly come and go, all across the realm and beyond. It is no different to reporting a trader had passed through. Why would I?’
‘He is hiding something, my lord. I can feel it,’ growled Arnulf.
‘As far as I have seen, Calimir is a good man, Arnulf. I would see proof before I changed my mind. He has given me nothing but sound counsel’ said Angus.
Arnulf scowled and returned to his seat.
‘Now, Calimir,’ continued the high lord, ‘return to the men and keep your head down. The truth of this will come to light.
‘But, lord, I can be of help,’ protested the scholar. ‘If you would let me study this grimoire, or the journal, I can find answers.’
‘You will do no such thing,’ barked Arnulf. ‘These books will not leave Hafgan’s possession. Engle can study it. I do not want anything to…accidentally happen to it.’
‘But, lord, I would not…’
‘Just go, Calimir,’ rumbled Angus, ‘your presence is not helping here. I will come to you when this is done.’
The scholar backed away towards the door and left.
‘The College is to blame for this. Calimir should not be trusted,’ said Arnulf once the door closed. ‘He will cover for his College.’
‘Aye, Father,’ ventured Fergus, ‘the College is perhaps not what it seems. The evidence is right here before us. They have been practicing a grave evil. This is obvious looking at these portrayals of butchery.’
&nbs
p; ‘Perhaps we should not have that open,’ ventured Erran, indicating the open grimoire. ‘Who knows what evil could come from it.’
There were nods of agreement and Hafgan closed the grimoire’s heavy binding.
‘I know this man, and I have met others, they do not appear to be evil men, they are scholars,’ objected Angus. ‘We here are lords and warriors,’ he said with a gesture around the room. ‘It is us warriors who spill men’s blood in the name of Arnar. Surely we are the butchers here, not these meek men of letters.’
‘If you had seen what we saw you would be quicker to damn them for these crimes,’ said Fergus. ‘I saw pits of dead men, slaughtered, disembowelled, and then somehow risen again. Perhaps Old Night himself sent them back from the grave to avenge this evil wrought upon them. I stand with Arnulf in this, as do us all, they must answer for this.’
‘And what would you have me do?’ demanded Angus.
‘Word should be sent to the king. The men of the watch posts have been attacked. If so by the College’s doing, then they should answer for this treason.’
A murmur of agreement rippled through the room.
‘And tell him what? That dead men are walking? He will think me a madman,’ cried Angus.
‘I will go, lord,’ offered Arnulf. ‘It is my duty as Lord of the Watch.’
‘You have your duties here, Arnulf,’ replied the high lord. ‘The watch posts must be manned. It is your duty `til after the winter, and you are needed here with your people.’
‘I must go, lord,’ argued Arnulf. ‘As you say, he may not believe the tale from a messenger. And as Lord of the Watch, my sworn word will have weight.’
Angus looked sceptical.
‘I will go, too, Father,’ said Fergus.
‘No, no you will not, Son. I will not have our name mocked in the capital for this tale.’
‘I must, Father, Arnulf will need that very name to vouch for our tale. I saw this all with my own eyes as did everyone who was with us.’
Angus shook his head in disbelief.
‘You still doubt us, Father?’ asked Fergus.
‘I trust your word, all of you, but…forgive my doubts. Such fantastic claims, I have not seen with my own eyes…’