Dal Gascovar held his sword out before him, awaiting Wulfric’s attack. Wulfric hurled himself at dal Gascovar, who parried two fast slashes with fluid movements. There was a beauty to it that emphasised the savagery of Wulfric’s attack, but Wulfric knew the end result was all that mattered. Dal Gascovar exploded into motion, driving Wulfric back across the chequered marble floor. He was too fast for dal Gascovar, though. He saw the briefest of frowns form on dal Gascovar’s brow, and Wulfric attacked again, retaking all the ground he had lost with a series of high and low cuts that flowed into one another.
Dal Gascovar parried frenziedly, until his hand was a moment too slow and Wulfric’s sabre parted his cheek. He grimaced and stepped back, raising his hand to the cut. He looked at the blood on his fingers for a moment, then burst into motion again, anger adding weight to his fast, precise attacks. Wulfric parried time and again, and realised he was enjoying the experience. This man was a master, yet he could not find a way through. Then dal Gascovar stopped. Wulfric glared at him and prepared to send another man to his death, another who would serve him in Jorundyr’s Hall.
Dal Gascovar stood at ease, then lowered his sword. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on Wulfric.
‘What in hells are you doing?’ dal Valeriano said.
‘My contract requires that I protect you,’ dal Gascovar said between heavy breaths, ‘not that I die for you. With my men dead, I’m afraid I can no longer do that, my lord. Should you wish to sue me for breach of contract, you know where to find my lawyers.’ His eyes still locked on Wulfric, he sheathed his sword and walked toward the door, giving Wulfric a curt nod as he passed.
‘Get back here,’ dal Valeriano shouted. ‘Coward!’
Dal Gascovar walked out the door without so much as a backward glance.
‘It seems you have been abandoned, my lord,’ Jagovere said, stepping into the hallway. ‘I can commiserate with you on that, having experienced it recently myself.’
Wulfric took a step toward dal Valeriano, but Jagovere held out a hand to stop him. He started up the steps, drawing his rapier. ‘Do you have a sword, my lord?’
Dal Valeriano shook his head and pressed against the wall behind him. There was nowhere else he could go.
‘It’s a shame,’ Jagovere said, ‘but I doubt it would have made any difference.’
‘This is murder,’ dal Valeriano said. ‘Where’s your honour?’
‘In a small grotto in the Warrens of Darvaros, with my father and a great many men I counted as friends. This isn’t murder, my lord. It’s justice.’
Jagovere thrust quickly, and dal Valeriano let out a gasp. A twist of Jagovere’s wrist, and it was done. Jagovere stood over dal Valeriano’s body for a moment before turning.
‘Time to go home,’ he said.
52
AETHELMAN
Aethelman hurried down the hall toward an alcove he had scouted out earlier. Caught up as he was in his task, he still noticed there was something going on in the palace, a change of mood. Something had happened, but he had neither the time nor the interest to find out what. The Stone was everything. He could not rest until it was destroyed.
He was moving so quickly he did not even see the person he bumped into until after they had contacted. He looked up to see Rodulf staring at him. His heart leapt into his throat, but his mouth had opened and his eyes widened before he realised Rodulf had not recognised him.
‘Excuse me, my lord,’ he said, turning his face away and moving off as quickly as he could without arousing any more suspicion.
He had only taken a few steps when Rodulf called after him.
‘Wait!’ he said. ‘I know you, don’t I?’
Aethelman pretended not to hear him, and kept going. Blood pounded through his ears.
‘I said wait! So you bloody well wait!’ Rodulf said.
The voice was closer, and followed by a firm hand grabbing his shoulder. Rodulf spun him around and narrowed his one good eye as he looked Aethelman over. The corners of his mouth slowly lifted.
‘Aethelman, my old chum. I hardly recognised you in that fancy clobber. Much nicer than those moth-eaten old grey rags. What in hells brings you here?’ His eyes widened and his hand went to his pocket.
‘You old bastard,’ he said, grabbing Aethelman by the scruff of the neck.
Aethelman reached out for the Fount. Rodulf was young and strong, and there was no other way for him to get away. The Stone was in his purse, and his soul screamed in protest as the temptation to draw on it became overwhelming. He had used it once already. To do so a second time might rob him of the will to destroy it. In his mind’s eye, he saw the faint tendrils of blue coruscating energy drift through the hall, but they were so weak and far away.
He felt Rodulf tug at his purse, then release Aethelman’s scruff and step back.
‘Good,’ Rodulf said. ‘I suppose the girl was in on it. I’ll be sure to thank her if I see her again. But what to do with you?’ His face lit up with a wicked smile.
‘Guards!’ he said. ‘Guards!’
Men came running toward them, their weapons and armour rattling as they did.
‘This man is a sorcerer,’ Rodulf said. ‘I know him from the Northlands. You’ll need to send for an Intelligencier. I saw him outside Aenlin’s room last eve. I fear he may have something to do with her sudden death.’
Rodulf took the Stone from his hand. Guards arrived and Aethelman felt firm hands grab him, but what little strength there had been in his old body was gone. He had failed.
WULFRIC
Wulfric breathed deeply when they walked out the front door of dal Valeriano’s manor house. The air outside was filled with the scent of the flowers in the garden, a welcome change from the bloody tang of death inside. What was not so welcome was the company of soldiers standing at the end of the path.
‘Think you can pull off a repeat of that terrifying bloodlust?’ Jagovere said. ‘It would certainly come in handy around about now.’
Wulfric drew his sword, but the truth was he was exhausted and it felt like a bar of lead in his hand.
A man in a plumed hat walked forward from the soldiers.
‘Is he dead?’ the man said.
‘Is who dead?’ Wulfric said, his voice hoarse.
‘Dal Valeriano. Is he dead?’
‘He is,’ Jagovere said. ‘Got a problem with that?’
‘Far from it,’ the man said. ‘I’m Banneret-Captain Peruiz. The Duchess of Torona received word of your plans and sent us to help. I’m sorry we’ve arrived too late.’
‘As am I,’ Jagovere said, ‘but as you can see, we didn’t need any help.’
Peruiz doffed his hat. ‘I’ve been instructed to bring any survivors to an audience with Her Grace.’
‘As kind an offer as it is, we’ll be returning directly to Ruripathia,’ Jagovere said.
‘I’m afraid I must insist,’ Peruiz said. ‘Although I don’t think you’ll find it any imposition. I expect Her Grace will be extremely grateful.’
‘Might be worth seeing how grateful,’ Enderlain said.
‘Very well,’ Jagovere said. ‘We’ll come with you.’
RODULF
The Markgraf’s office was in almost complete darkness when Rodulf entered. He was nervous. Aethelman’s appearance and his attempt to steal the Stone had shaken him. He had become so focussed on his goals that he had become blind to all the dangers around him. He needed to be more observant in future. Nonetheless, it was time to discover if his plan had worked.
‘Sit, Rodulf, please,’ he said.
‘Of course, my lord. I’m so sorry for your loss. So much tragedy in such a short time. The gods can be cruel.’
‘I won’t be needing you for anything for a time,’ the Markgraf said. ‘You should feel free to visit home, visit family. Do you have much family in Leondorf?’
‘No, my lord. My mother and father are dead.’
‘A pity,’ the Markgraf said. ‘Family is important.’ His voice sounded em
pty; defeated.
‘Does this mean your plans are on hold?’
The Markgraf nodded. ‘Yes. With Petr and Aenlin gone, there hardly seems any point.’
‘I disagree,’ Rodulf said. His mouth felt dry, but he clutched the Stone for all he was worth, and forced himself to ignore the sting.
The Markgraf stared at him out of the darkness for a moment. He cleared his throat. ‘Really?’
‘Absolutely. I think you should continue as you had intended.’
It took the Markgraf what seemed like an age to respond. Rodulf thought his heart would explode as he waited.
‘I… I… You’re right. I can see that now.’
‘I can help you,’ Rodulf said. ‘I can do far more than carry your messages back and forth.’
‘Of course,’ the Markgraf said, his voice sounding hollow. ‘I’ve been wasting you. I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner.’
‘If you make me your lieutenant, I can take on much of your burden in this,’ Rodulf said, worried that he might be pushing things too far.
‘I would appreciate that greatly,’ the Markgraf said. ‘Thank you. I’ll see to it at once. I’m lucky to have you at my side at a time like this.’
Rodulf smiled, a satisfied calm enveloping him. ‘It’s both my honour and pleasure to serve, my lord.’
He left the Markgraf’s office barely able to contain his excitement. The Markgraf’s will was broken. Rodulf had him. He had whatever he wanted. He looked at his red, burned palm and grimaced. He hoped that was all the harm the Stone would do to him, at least until he had achieved everything he wanted.
AETHELMAN
Aethelman looked up through the small barred window on the wooden door to his cell. There was a silhouette blocking out most of the light.
‘I came as soon as I heard,’ Adalhaid said.
Aethelman tried to smile, but his face was so swollen from the beating the guards had given him it didn’t respond. They had told him he was in for far worse when the Intelligenciers arrived. He was going to meet the same terrible fate as his beloved Aesa. It didn’t terrify him as much as he had thought it would. Failure was the harshest punishment the world could have meted out. Now, however, he had a glimmer of hope.
He groaned as he lifted himself off the flagstone floor and moved to the door, his joints protesting with every movement.
‘They’re saying you killed Aenlin with magic,’ she said.
‘I couldn’t even imagine doing so hateful a thing,’ he said. ‘Please say you believe me.’
She nodded, and he could see tears form in her eyes.
‘I can’t save you,’ she said, the words choked. ‘I can’t get you out of here. They’re sure you’re the reason for her death. It was so sudden. When the Intelligenciers come, it will…’ Her voice faltered. She held a small, liquid-filled vial to the bars. ‘It won’t be painless,’ she said. ‘But it will be fast. It was all I could find in my medicine bag and there wasn’t time to look for anything else.’ She let out a pained sob.
Aethelman took the vial, and held her hand through the bars. ‘Won’t you get in trouble? When they find the vial?’
She shook her head. ‘You’re a sorcerer. This is the type of thing they’d expect from you.’
He smiled and enjoyed the touch of her hand a moment longer. It was home, it was friendship, it was love, it was happiness. It was all the good things in life, and he wished there had been more time to appreciate such things properly. The benefit of hindsight…
‘There isn’t much more time,’ Aethelman said, ‘so you must listen carefully. Go to my room at the White Horse. Here is the key.’
He passed the small blackened iron key between the bars of the cell door’s small window. Adalhaid took it, and after a moment’s consideration, hid it in her bodice and gave him a nod. He returned the gesture, and continued.
‘There is an engraved knife and a parchment with instructions on how to use it in the bedside table’s drawer. You’ll need them for what I’m about to ask you to do, but first I have to apologise. This was my great quest, my great responsibility, and I’ve failed in it. You’re the only person I can ask to take it on, but perhaps the gods smile on me, as I can’t think of anyone more capable of doing it.
‘Rodulf has an inscribed piece of ore. He keeps it in his pocket. It gives him power. Influence over others and far, far more, but I don’t think he’s learned even a tiny amount of its full potential yet. You need to take it from him and destroy it with the knife. It will cut through the Stone like warm butter, and send its potential for evil from the world forever. Do you understand?’
‘I— Yes, I do,’ Adalhaid said.
‘I’m so, so sorry for placing this burden on you. I wouldn’t unless it was absolutely necessary. Rodulf cannot be allowed keep that Stone. He will eventually realise what it is capable of and when he does, everyone around him will suffer for it.’ He frowned for a moment, thinking carefully. Was there anything he was forgetting?
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Never touch it with your bare skin. It can seduce even the noblest of hearts.’
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the narrow corridor outside the cell.
‘Scream at me like you blame me for the girl’s death,’ Aethelman said. ‘If the Intelligencier thinks we’re friends, his gaze will fall on you also. That can’t happen.’
Adalhaid forced a smile, then her face hardened. ‘I hope you burn in each of the three hells,’ she said, loud enough for anyone in the corridor to hear.
She spat through the window, but the spittle went nowhere near him. He smiled and nodded, and she left. He listened to the footfalls, thinking they were the last friendly sounds he would hear. He opened the vial, drained its bittersweet contents into his mouth, and swallowed hard. It burned his throat and stomach. The room filled with the sound of laughter. Beautiful, familiar laughter. It filled him with joy. There was no pain now. Aesa was waiting for him. She was calling him to her.
PROFESSOR KENGIL
Professor Kengil had heard of the Intelligencier headquarters in Ruripathia’s capital, Brixen. An old castle with a deep, dark dungeon where sorcerers, spies, and traitors would await their executions. Stories were always told about such places, but one could never know how much truth was in them. Still, if even a seed of it was true, the Intelligenciers were terrifying men to be on the wrong side of. Bringing a false accusation was dealt with as harshly on the accuser as a true one on the accused.
Nonetheless, Kengil was certain she was correct. She had gathered all the information, results, and correspondence about her patient with the mystery illness, but now miraculously cured—her evidence.
Their headquarters in Elzburg was small, and would be called nondescript were it not for the fact that everyone knew who occupied the building. With a deep breath, she walked up the steps and knocked on the door. She was doing the right thing. It was not malice. It was her responsibility. Sorcery was a foul thing.
The door opened, revealing a man in a black doublet and britches; he was every bit as menacing as she had expected. There was a staff, skull, and sword motif embroidered in silver thread on his left breast. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Kengil clutched her evidence to her chest. ‘I want to report a sorceress.’
WULFRIC
Banneret-Captain Peruiz maintained a hard pace, getting them back to Torona as quickly as he could. They were allowed a few hours to rest and clean up, then Peruiz collected them and brought them straight through the palace to the audience hall where Wulfric had spent so many hours of boredom on his previous visit. He spoke to an official and then bade them come forward.
‘The men who filled the bounty on the former Count of Valeriano, Your Grace,’ the official said.
She was a cold and emotionless-looking woman, with angular, aristocratic features bordering on harsh.
‘I understand you came to Estranza on contract to my late brother.’
‘Yes, Your Grace,’
Jagovere said.
‘I thank you for the service you have done me in bringing the Usurper to justice, and also that done for my brother. My seneschal will see that you are paid the bounty and the outstanding amount owed to you for the contract entered into with my brother.’
She fell silent, and the official ushered them away. Wulfric thought it an odd display of gratitude, and a long way to go to be spoken to for only a few seconds, but hoped the payment they were to receive would make the trip worthwhile. Jagovere disappeared with Peruiz through one of the camouflaged doors along the audience hall’s back wall.
He returned a few minutes later carrying a small chest in both arms.
‘A thousand crowns,’ he said smiling.
Enderlain’s face lit up, but Wulfric still had no real concept of the value of southern coin.
‘Is that a lot?’
‘It’s not bad at all,’ Jagovere said. ‘Your share’ll be enough to set yourself up with a small farm or tavern if soldiering no longer takes your fancy.’
His smile widened and he stepped to one side to reveal the two men behind him who were carrying a far larger chest between them. ‘The ten thousand outstanding on our contract.’
Enderlain whistled through his teeth.
‘Now it’s really time to go home,’ Jagovere said.
THE MAISTERSPAEKER
Over the years, particularly when he was soldiering, the Maisterspaeker had been in taverns and inns when there were spaekers plying their trade. Some were good, some not so, but he had always made his coming and going as quiet as possible so as not to disturb either the spaeker or those who were listening.
Jorundyr's Path: Wolf of the North Book 2 Page 37