by Evren, S. K.
“What is the meaning of this?” Ythel asked dangerously. The red-garbed man stared at Ythel’s feet and answered.
“My Lord of Ythel,” he began, “I am commanded by His Majesty to summon you to a meeting of all nobles and commanders at the Krenthorn Palace.”
“What is this about?” Ythel asked, hostility ebbing from his voice.
“My Lord,” the herald replied, “I do not know. I am commanded to summon you and to escort you to the King.” He looked up at Ythel. “If I may speak freely, my Lord?”
“Go on,” Ythel allowed.
“My Lord, there was great urgency in the King’s summons. Rumors fly that Æostemark has been razed, though no one has either confirmed or denied such allegations. This, my Lord, is all that I know.”
“I see,” Ythel nodded. “Wait outside this chamber. Do not enter again unbidden. I will join you presently.”
“Yes, my Lord.” The messenger looked satisfied that all responsibility had fallen on Ythel’s shoulders, turned and left.
“Cardalan,” Ythel called.
“Yes, my Lord?” Cardalan got to his feet and snapped to attention before his master. Ythel leaned close and whispered instructions to Cardalan.
“Do you understand?” Ythel asked in a normal tone of voice.
“Yes, my Lord.”
“You are dismissed.”
Cardalan bowed and turned to leave the room. Slowly, Drothspar reversed the man’s sword and handed it back to him. Cardalan stared at the sword and the apparition before him. He took his sword quickly and nodded, curtly, to Drothspar.
“I have to leave,” Ythel said, turning to Drothspar, Petreus, and Chance. “I suppose you will be returning to the chapter house?”
“We will, my Lord,” Petreus answered for them all. Ythel nodded.
“This has been a trying day,” Ythel said earnestly. “I didn’t expect your visit,” he said to Petreus. “And I was certain you were dead,” he said to Drothspar. “Believe me, son, I had truly hoped otherwise. I have prayed with all my heart as a father that my daughter had escaped to some far off place with you.”
Drothspar nodded.
“I hope that we will have a chance to speak again,” Ythel continued. “If you are amenable, I will send someone to the chapter house when this other matter is finished.”
“We will await your messenger, my Lord,” Petreus said, bowing. His eyes, like Ythel’s, had lost their edge of hostility. His brow, however, was still furrowed in tension.
“Good day, my Lord,” Chance said with a curtsey. Ythel inclined his head, then looked at Drothspar.
“I never saw my daughter truly happy until she met you,” he told Drothspar almost grudgingly.
“Thank you,” Drothspar said simply. To his surprise, his father-in-law held out his hand. Drothspar hesitated for a moment, then stretched out his own hand to take Ythel’s.
“Oh God,” Ythel exclaimed, “That’s positively unique.” He took a deep breath and shook Drothspar’s hand. “We will talk again soon,” he said, releasing the skeletal hand.
Drothspar nodded. Weeks of silence had made him laconic. He was also keenly aware of the unnerving quality of his unnatural voice. He bent to retrieve his dagger and followed Petreus and Chance out of the chamber. They passed by the scarlet messenger, but Cardalan was nowhere in sight.
Chapter 28 – Chance Encounters
There was no escort waiting to lead them through the hallways, but Petreus was quite familiar with the house. The priest stopped to shake hands with Dobbins, the doorman, and slipped the man a few coins. Dobbins started to protest, but Petreus closed Dobbins’ hand around the money. Petreus again led the way as they started walking back toward the Cathedral.
“Is the dagger really cursed?” Chance asked.
“Like I said,” Petreus answered, “I’ve never touched anything cursed in my life. Something inside me, though, tells me that dagger is cursed. I know it just as sure as the cock knows the sun’s coming.” He looked carefully at his niece. “I don’t recommend you touch it, either,” he said seriously. She started to protest, but he looked at her sternly. “I know how you are. It feels cold, Sasha, like ice. It feels like its pulling the life from your body the same way ice pulls the heat from your hands.” He rubbed his hands together absently. “So you keep your hands to yourself,” he told her. “And you,” he said to Drothspar, “keep a close eye on your dagger. She’s a little careless about things like personal property when she’s curious.”
“Uncle!” Her voice was filled with indignation and she looked at Petreus as if she’d been greatly insulted. They were moving back into the press of the crowds. The sun was much lower on the horizon, and great shadows of tall buildings loomed darkly over the streets.
“This is impossible,” Petreus complained of the crowds. He looked at the throng of people choking the street in front of a baker’s shop. The scent of freshly baked dinner bread carried sweetly in the brisk air. “Let’s go this way,” he suggested, leading them into an alley in hopes of bypassing the bakery.
They turned off the street and again behind the baker’s building. They were completely concealed from the street when they heard the rushing of several feet. Three men in dark clothing ran at them with weapons drawn. Drothspar stepped in front of Chance as the men came to a halt.
“Out of our way, priest,” one of the men said. He had scraggly hair and several days’ growth of beard. He reeked of stale sweat and his mouth showed several missing teeth as he spoke. “We want the girl,” the man said, dripping spittle down his chin. “Give her to us and we might let you live.”
“You’re one of the beggars from the Cathedral,” Chance accused him. It had taken her a moment to remember where she’d seen the face before.
“‘At’s right, Missy, they said you was a sharp one.” The man preened himself as if pleased to be remembered.
“What do you want with me?” she said defiantly.
“There’s someone as willing to pay quite a price for you,” he answered in a self-satisfied tone. “Wasn’t none too concerned about how you was presented, neither. Me an’ the boys figure you’re worth a bit of fun and cash to boot.” He moved toward Chance. Drothspar stepped in front of him.
“I warned you, priest,” the man said. He thrust his knife into Drothspar’s midsection just as his friends moved to flank him. The knife passed through the robes with little resistance and Drothspar caught the man’s arm. The thug gasped as Drothspar closed his fingers. Pulling the assailant’s arm away, Drothspar drew the attacker’s knife out of his robes and dropped his hood with his free hand.
“I think you’ve chosen a poor target, mortal,” he said, drawing out his words to make his ghostly voice more pronounced. The man tried to pull his arm out of Drothspar’s grasp, but dislocated his shoulder instead. He let out a yelp and turned to watch his friends dash out of the alley.
“There’s no one here to help you now,” Drothspar pointed out coldly. He was filled with a chill fury. He knew what this criminal had meant about “fun” with Chance. It had been one of his final living fears for his wife, something he had died being unable to prevent. He closed his hand more tightly around the criminal’s forearm and heard the man’s bone snap in his grasp.
“Now,” Drothspar continued, “tell me about the ‘someone’ who was going to pay you.” Petreus and Chance had stepped back from Drothspar, their faces white. The criminal, too, had drained of all color. The pain and shock of his dislocated shoulder and broken arm reflected in his eyes.
“I-I don’t know nothing,” the man stammered, his eyes darting back and forth.
“I see,” Drothspar drawled. “I will find the answers on my own as I suck the very life out of you.” He drew his rusted dagger slowly, letting the blade grate against his bone. “I have not yet drunk enough blood today…” He moved the knife toward the man’s throat.
“Brenham,” the man sputtered, “his name was Brenham.” Drothspar’s dagger stood rock-steady ne
ar the man’s throat.
“Where did you meet him?” Drothspar asked. The man clamped his mouth shut and twisted his head to get a look at the alley, hoping to see his friends return. Drothspar grated the broken ends of the man’s arm in his hand. White pain shot through the man’s eyes and he nearly passed out. “Where did you meet him?” Drothspar repeated implacably.
“Boar’s Tusk,” the man gasped, “issa pub on the Thord side.” The words tumbled out of his mouth. “He was looking for the girl, gave a good description he did. Flashed a bag of gold, too, the real stuff.” He looked pleadingly at Drothspar’s vacant eye sockets, retched, and looked at the cobble stones.
“If I ever set eyes on you again,” Drothspar hissed threateningly, “I will kill you.” He grated the man’s broken bones sickeningly in his hand. The criminal screamed sharply before his eyes rolled back into his head. Drothspar released the unconscious man’s arm and let him slump into the street. He turned to face Petreus and Chance. Their eyes were wide and their faces still quite pale.
“What?” he asked them, more harshly than he’d intended. Chance looked meaningfully at his dagger, which he still held at the ready. “Oh,” he said, managing to sound slightly embarrassed.
“That was, uh, quite the performance,” Petreus said tentatively.
“I don’t drink blood, Petreus,” Drothspar told him, “at least I haven’t yet.” He looked at their shocked expressions. “I’m joking. Joking… I was angry, I admit it.”
Chance nodded.
“The man did attack us…”
“You’re a lot to take in,” Petreus tried to explain. “Your visage is quite startling enough,” he said, “add violence and that gravestone voice of yours, and you’re, well, unnerving, to say the least.”
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Drothspar apologized.
“Quite all right, dear boy,” Petreus said magnanimously, “just a bit shocking, that’s all. You certainly got us out of a tight spot.” He smiled. “Besides, I’m rather fond of my niece, you know.”
Chance looked at Drothspar, her eyes flickering though various emotions. Over time, she had become accustomed to his presence and his unique form. It had been quite a while since she’d been afraid of him. This encounter had scared her. To have come face to face with someone who had been hunting her confirmed the reasons she had started running in the first place. Drothspar’s sudden turn to violence had also shocked and frightened her. She remembered what Petreus had said about Drothspar having once been a guard. Of course he would be familiar with violence.
He had, however, done all of this to protect them, to protect her. He had been attacked. He had been stabbed. All of which he could easily have ignored, because he simply couldn’t be hurt. Everything he had done, he had done for their sake, for her sake. She felt her cheeks starting to flush. Fear subsided, replaced with gratitude. She looked at Drothspar as he pulled his hood back over his skull.
“Thank you,” she said shyly.
“Are you okay?” he asked her seriously.
“Fine, thank you.” Her voice felt tiny, even to her.
“That’s what matters,” Drothspar said. “Let’s get going.”
“Right,” Petreus said, eyeing his niece speculatively.
Drothspar didn’t notice the difference in his friends’ eyes as he followed behind Petreus. He was too busy thinking back over the exchange with their would-be assailant. He had been angry, but it was unlike any experience of anger he had known while living. He wasn’t breathing hard, his heart wasn’t racing. Either of these things, he thought, would have been truly miraculous without lungs or a heart. His mind hadn’t been clouded even at the peak of his anger. Everything about the exchange had been lucid, clear. He could recall the feeling of the man’s arm snapping in his hand quite clearly. He had held still as stone while the man twisted and pulled wildly. He hadn’t wanted to kill the man, though he did admit that the thought had crossed his mind. He had not been pushed to excessive violence.
In his past life, the life before marriage and the life before his novitiate, he had been a guard and he had been in many scuffles. He recalled more than one occasion when he had caught himself just on the verge of crossing the line between self-defense and murder. When that had happened, his heart and lungs had burst into a frenzy of work. His memory of such times was sporadic, as if he had been intoxicated by them. He had always been afraid afterwards; afraid of what he might have done and afraid of what he might yet do.
He once again felt the footpad’s arm snap. He clearly remembered grinding the ends of the bones together to coerce the man to speak. He had watched the man’s eyes closely to gauge how much pain was too much. He had held the man’s life in balance. He had thought of the pain the man was likely to inflict if he were allowed to live and balanced it against what he, Drothspar, had learned as a priest. So long as the man lived, there was a chance, however slim, that he might reform. In the end, Drothspar had said a silent prayer and left the man unconscious. He could only hope his decision had been the correct one.
He had frightened Chance and Petreus, and he felt a little guilty about that. What had been a controlled, if highly dramatic, experience for him had been terrifying for them. It hadn’t helped that he’d forgotten about the dagger, he thought wryly. He’d try to explain it all to them when they were back in Petreus’ cell. Hopefully, they would understand.
The crowd in the Arle Square had thinned as the day progressed. They passed through to the cathedral with little trouble. Chance spent more time examining her surroundings, wary, Drothspar suspected, after the earlier attack. Petreus led them up the broad steps to the cathedral door and ushered them inside.
The interior was cool and dim. Candles provided a warm glow that worked tirelessly to hold the shadows at bay. Petreus breathed in deeply, taking reassurance from the very air. Drothspar checked his hood to be sure it was covering his face.
As they walked to the sanctuary, Chance spied the craftsman. She took comfort in the stone eyes that seemed to look back at her wherever she stood. She smiled to herself and followed Petreus and Drothspar. She noticed a handful of people praying and watched them carefully. She looked over her shoulder as she walked through the rear door and out of the main hall, but no heads rose to mark their passing.
The warm glow of the dormitory’s windows spread over the bushes in the courtyard. They marched eagerly toward the light in the growing darkness of the short, autumn day. Stepping through the front door, Chance commented on how quiet the place was.
“Everyone’s at dinner,” Petreus explained. He led them back to his cell but stopped them just outside his door. “Need to be a little careful,” he said, examining the door closely.
“Why’s that?” Chance asked.
“Steadword,” Petreus said, as if the name explained everything.
“That priest?”
“He tends to be a bit vindictive,” Petreus snorted. He pulled a small cloth kerchief from his pocket and carefully touched the handle of his cell. He looked closely at the cloth to determine if it had wiped anything from the metal. Noting that it was clean, he used the cloth to slowly open the door.
The candles were all out in the room but a faint light seeped in through the window. Petreus examined the floor meticulously as he crossed to his desk for a candle. He took the candle outside and lit it from one of the sconces in the hall. Drothspar and Chance waited nervously, uncertain when the first resident would return from dinner.
“It’s clear,” Petreus called seriously from the cell. Drothspar and Chance moved inside. “I’m sure he’s done something,” Petreus added, “so just be careful.”
Drothspar and Chance sat at the desk while Petreus inspected his cell. He searched his cabinet and inventoried all of his clothing. He checked the contents of the desk and knelt to look under the bed. Borrowing Chance’s chair, he even checked his window. The more things that turned up normal, the more worried Petreus became. Finally, tired from the inspection, h
e sat down heavily on his bed.
A strange look passed over Petreus’ face. It was a combination of disgust, relief, and “I should have known.” He touched the feather-filled mattress gingerly and closed his eyes. When he stood up and turned around, his friends were surprised to see a dark, round spot covering his bottom.
“It’s soaked,” he said, his voice filled with exasperation.
“You’re kidding?” Chance said incredulously, trying to suppress a laugh.
“Not at all,” Petreus said flatly, ignoring her mirth. He reached under the mattress and scowled. “Both sides,” he confirmed.
Drothspar shook his head. He’d seen such pranks before and been victim to many. He had let the majority go without retaliation, but occasionally he had indulged himself. Life had been much simpler in the chapter house. Why, he wondered, was it only after something was over that it was truly appreciated?
Petreus was shaking his head, scowling and muttering to himself. He pulled his blanket and sheets off of the mattress and walked to the door. “I’m going to hang these outside on the line,” he said. “On my way back, I’ll get the key to the visitors’ quarters for you, Sasha.” He hauled his bedclothes through the door and closed it behind him.
Drothspar and Chance sat alone. Chance studied everything in the room, keeping her eyes off of Drothspar. He, in turn, looked only at her face.
“I’m sorry I frightened you,” he said softly. “Believe me, it’s the last thing I want to do.”
“It’s okay,” she said, glancing briefly at his covered head and then quickly down to his hands. “It was just surprising, that’s all.”
“I wouldn’t have killed him,” Drothspar went on, feeling the need to explain. “And I certainly wouldn’t have drunk his blood.”
“I should hope not,” Chance forced a laugh, “it probably wouldn’t have been very good.”
“I was angry,” he said, “but it was different. My thoughts were clear and my body, well, what’s left of it, was completely calm. I just wanted to put the fear of God into him.” He paused. “And punish him,” he admitted in a quiet tone.