The Heir of Garstwrot

by Veras Alnar

  The evening's light was red as blood, an evil sunset that foretold a rough night. Much as Lord Guain had predicted, rain began along with a low and rumbling lightning. With difficulty Amis had helped Fulk gather water from the cliff edge river nearly going over the side again, until Fulk told him to get indoors if he couldn't be useful. In a foul mood, Amis was resting on his elbows looking out the last open window of Garstwrot keep. It still didn't feel like safety with the doors shut, rather that they were locked inside.

  Down in the great hall, Lord Guain had set the table. He had taken on the role of cook and kitchen master and pantry, it seemed one of the few lowly positions he had any skill in executing. It was for the best, as Amis himself couldn't do much beyond boiling gruel and Fulk he was unsure about but would have worried about the food being tainted by his foulness leaking into it.

  “I should hope you eat well,” Lord Guain said, in way of greeting, “your pallor grows and it worries me.”

  “Surely I can be of some use still cutting off heads if we're attacked,” Amis said.

  Lord Guain had the nerve to laugh, “I should hope we won't need those skills any time soon.”

  It wasn't supposed to be homey and pleasant, Amis was supposed to be sussing out his companion's evil intentions but the broth, wine and gruel smelled wonderful and he found himself sitting at the table without much more thought. The candles burned low but the multitudes of them lit up the room in an orange glow, it was one of the few stores they had in great profusion.

  “Let's drink to our health,” Guain said, his blonde hair nearly red in the glow of the lamps, “and to the souls who have left us, may they reach God and heaven in their due time.”

  Amis took the cup and could see his own pale, thin face reflected in the dark liquid. It looked troubled and wasted, compared to Lord Guain's handsome full fleshed face at ease with everything.

  “To their souls,” Fulk said, “wherever they may be, better than here at any rate.”

  It was difficult to eat the gruel even if it smelled very finely spiced, something about it turned Amis' stomach but he drank plenty of wine and the thickened blood soup Lord Guain had made from the black pudding in his larder.

  “What are the stores like,” Fulk asked, “are we doomed to slow starvation or can we hold out some?”

  “Unfortunately our keep is old and ill equipped,” Lord Guain said, “there is no working well on the grounds that I could ever find or a proper basement larder room. But there is a rather wonderfully furnished dungeon with antique torture implements and plenty of dusty skeletons.”

  Even Amis managed an amused laugh at the thought of that.

  “However,” Lord Guain said, “over a century can pass without any great war or devastating battles, nothing but the smallest skirmishes from our envious neighbors or some lesser noble thinking they'd expand their holdings. But the people here are used to being on the edge of war and hardly defenseless, I had Conrad upkeep the standard of training all the young men in the village just in case we'd ever need them. Sadly most will never get to wear proudly the banner of their home again but the military stores are plentiful without anyone to consume them. It is modest food but certainly hardy, we could last for several months and maybe even a year were we to be extremely reserved with rations. But I hope it wouldn't come to that.”

  “I should hope we get out of here,” Fulk said, “before a year runs out.”

  Fulk leaned back on his chair and eyed Lord Guain with an appraising look.

  “I suppose it would do your holds in Adelaide well if there were to be a war,” Fulk said, “plenty made in trading between countries.”

  “I have no holds left in Adelaide,” Lord Guain said shortly.

  A slow and easy smile crossed Fulk's face and Amis realized some bit of intrigue was going on that he couldn't place.

  “Wonder why that might be,” Fulk said.

  “The reasons aren't obscure,” Lord Guain said, “it's a very difficult country to live in, though far easier now than years passed with order since restored. Lands pass to those who are favored at any moment by the Empress and her chosen governors and sometimes that means other families faired less well in troubled times as her needs shift and the needs of the country grow beyond inherited fiefdoms and familial responsibilities. I'm more curious about your fiefdom, Amis. You fight like a practiced knight, have clearly had at least some experience in courtly matters and yet, your manners are unkempt and generally untidy and sometimes, you're not aware of things that are of utmost importance in the wider world. I can't imagine a proper nursemaid ever letting a child grow up without so little upbringing. ”

  Amis sat still and offered no discussion.

  “He'll not tell you,” Fulk said, “too embarrassing to his lordling sensibilities.”

  “At the very least, I can suss out your story grave master,” Lord Guain said, “as it's clear you're origins are banditry fallen on hard times.”

  When Lord Guain looked up from his supper of stewed meat and met Fulk's gaze head on, it was if some exchange went between them that left Fulk a rigid pillar whose skin had turned rather paler.

  After supper, Amis found himself assisting Fulk in scrubbing pots and pans, a familiar task if not a very pleasant one. They were strange with each other, Fulk and Lord Guain and it was their old conversations that came to haunt Amis now. But what Fulk had attested was impossible and even the grave master seemed to doubt himself and its validity.

  “Lord Guain fancies you,” Fulk said.

  Amis nearly dropped a cleaned cauldron on his foot.

  “What?” he said, unsure if he had heard what he thought.

  “I said, he fancies you,” Fulk said, “he's interested in you, anyone could tell. Probably thinks your pretty, not sure why seeing as your nose is half your face and I can see your spine through your ribs when your shirt is off.”

  “Shut up!” Amis hissed.

  “Regardless of his deplorable taste,” Fulk said, “take my word; it's a grand idea to seduce him and gain his trust.”

  “I'll not- I can't even begin to think of how anyone would do such a thing,” Amis said.

  Perhaps he had already seduced Lord Guain without entirely knowing it but he wasn't about to ever tell that to Fulk.

  “You've been with Durgia,” Fulk said, “must know something about it.”

  “She seduced me!” Amis said.

  In fact, she had seduced most young men of the town. It wasn't something he held against her; she was beautiful and wonderful to him, even if she had never declared her love for him alone. It had certainly not occurred to Amis to pressure her because if he did, she would certainly abandon him for someone more agreeable, and he knew he had many shortcomings.

  “Figure it out yourself then,” Fulk said, “shouldn't be hard. Read Albin and Gamwyd, it's all right there. Every glorified detail of love between men.”

  Amis turned a terrific red, almost as cadmium as the painted walls.

  “What if I'm not interested in him,” Amis said.

  “You don't have to be,” Fulk said.

  “I can't do that!” Amis insisted, “Lie to someone like that!”

  “You'll have to learn,” Fulk said, “if he's killed Durgia, wouldn't you want revenge? It might be the only way we're able to suss it out of him.”

  Amis swallowed thickly, he would avenge her if it were true with a single swing of his sword as that was all he could count on to ring true. Returning to their rooms after a quick stop at the little library, Fulk recognized the sign of a man resigned to his fate. Clutched in Amis' hands was the book Albin and Gamwyd, he wouldn't dare attempt anything more advanced without some reading first, as much as he loathed the thought.

  “Yes, yes,” Fulk said, “good! You've got your head in the right place.”

  “I don't like this,” Amis said.

  “Don't have to like it,” Fulk said, “just make sure he thinks you like it.”

  “Ugh!” Amis said, with disgust.


  When their bed was made Amis yanked his curtains and put a wooden ledge on his bed to prop up a candle so he could read. He had only read the most sanitized version as a boy and could hardly remember what had actually gone on that had made the church so cross. The poetry was easier to read and more interesting than Amis would have ever admitted, though besides the old fashioned standards of manhood that were a bit outdated in their modern day, there was something seriously wrong with Albin. He suffered from fits and devilish hallucinations and demanded the total attention of his peasant page Gamwyd; when the peasant's eyes strayed to a beautiful maiden or another knight, Albin murdered them in a convoluted series of events that generally ended with a speech by the defeated party concerning Albin's superior ability in swordplay.

  The love scenes explained why there had been offense over its contents and Amis found them extremely difficult to get through; Albin was demanding of Gamwyd and dragged him through all manner of debauchery and did things that if Amis had attempted them on anyone, he was sure he'd have been slapped in the face for his trouble. It was nothing like what he had already experienced with Lord Guain and illuminated nothing of his experience or what he might do any further. The book was in effect utterly useless, he wrote it off as a deranged tale of a bizarre relationship that had no bearing on the real. But rather, was the perverse concoction of the person who had written it four hundred years ago, an authorship some attributed to a very ancient cloister from Elaine's southernmost islands.

  “Probably a deranged nun,” Amis thought, as no sensible man could have ever written such a thing in his estimation and called it good.

  Blowing out his candle, Amis laid back into his bed and nearly jumped out of skin when he heard a heavy thunk come from under his bed. Through the curtains Amis could see the spindly form of Fulk lurking at the edge of his bed frame.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Amis hissed, yanking aside his curtains.

  Fulk raised a finger to his lips, shushing him and pointed to the bed before returning to his own. Amis leaned over and looked under his bed and saw something he'd never expected to see again. It was his silver gilded longsword.

  “Remember that if things go bad,” Fulk hissed, “only one man is on your side in this.”

  Fulk yanked his curtains shut. Feeling rather conflicted, Amis laid back down in his bed and tired not to feel too grateful towards the scurrilous grave master.

  That night the dreams returned and they were worse than ever. Tossing and turning in bed, Amis fell asleep thinking of Durgia and it was to her his most awful nightmares turned.

  He could see her standing in the candlelight. Feel her embrace, the press of her lips against him. It had been the first time he had ever touched a woman, so soft and wonderful. His life had been so hollow, so long without real companionship he could count on and she had given him such precious moments of her time. Her brown hair had fallen on his shoulder and she had pushed him down in their secret meeting place, the unused stable on her father's plot. Made of stone hauled from the hills years ago, it still sported sweeping piles of crushed hay and tiny windows that would hide whatever they were about to do from anyone outside.

  “You've barely touched my breast. Are you going to blush so red,” Durgia had teased him, “when you see me naked?”

  He hadn't known what to do or what to say. He had just known that saying what was in his heart was a terrible idea.

  I love you, will you keep me, please, forget the rest I'm all alone.

  “When I hold you,” Amis said, his voice trembling, “I'll be lucky not to die from joy.”

  It had been a daring thing to say and Durgia's face had faltered a little, her confidence becoming a hint of reticence.

  “Those are sweet words coming from you,” she said, “I'd like to believe them.”

  “Believe in them,” Amis said, words after all were all he had possessed besides his sword.

  Her blue eyes and brown hair curled around her sun kissed shoulders, she was a blacksmith's daughter and had a physique to match. Strong and large boned with shapely arms and wide, shapely thighs. She held him down with all her weight and he couldn't have been happier in all his life than under her breasts.

  She guided him and helped him, pressed his hand to her breast and made him squeeze. Found a grinding rhythm that pleased them both.

  “Don't forget,” she panted in his ear, “right before, leave it out.”

  Amis groaned in heat and feverish bliss. He'd tried to listen to her warning, had attempted to obey her wishes. But there was no hope for him, he had been denied so much. He just wanted her to stay near him.

  Shock and heat in feverish bliss, he had held her tightly and trembled. He knew it let it out inside, he had done something wrong to her.

  “I couldn't,” he gasped, “I'm sorry.”

  He wanted to cry, he wanted to stay inside and hold her always.

  “Shh,” she had whispered, touching his mouth with her fingers, “it's all right. Shh, shh.”

  Collapsing on his back his head fell back, he could feels his eyes blinking closed. It had felt so good, been so much. How could anyone recover after something like it?

  “Got you now,” a monstrous voice whispered, fire licking from its maws.

  With a sharp gasp, Amis woke up standing in the middle of a dark room. The red gloom pouring in from the windows illuminated only enough to tell Amis where he was, in Lord Guain's room again. But the fire had never been lit and the room was icy cold.

  Amis shivered his eyes blinking in the darkness, unable to see much of anything at all but his own pale hands shaking in front of him. Behind him Amis heard a click and slowly, carefully, he turned.

  The ghostly woman sat at Lord Guain's fine wooden desk, she was white and almost iridescent. Amis shook all over but held his gazed fixed on her. This was not an illusion, it wasn't a fever dream. It was the phantom Lady Anna. She sat at the desk and wrote on an invisible paper and looked up from her task to meet eyes with him. Her filmy form vanished slowly, like a light drawing closed.

  It was very, very cold in the room and the darkness seemed to extend and swallow everything in its inky grasp. Amis stepped forward, little by little, until his thighs hit the desk. He felt around until he found a drawer that gently clicked as it was opened. On the desk was a candle and a metal fire striker, Amis made himself a light and blinked painfully in its orange halo. What he had pulled from a desk was a simple rope bound book, the kind that collected stacks of folios one might put together as a draft before a binding. When opening it, Amis was greeted with what was unmistakably a diabolical symbol.

  For Encouraging Conception

  Was neatly written underneath of it. Amis spun the paper around, it was an inverted star with several unrecognizable symbols. It looked hastily drawn out, as if the drawer had been in a hurry. The next few pages were similar to the first, though their purposes were listed slightly differently.

  For Safe Child Bearing

  In Hopes Of Producing Children

  And so on, each phrase having something to do with the concerns of becoming a parent. The next group of papers looked like it had been pulled from an entirely different book, the hand was different. It was organized and neat and written in symbols. But underlined at the top were words that were familiar; Garstwren of Garstwrot Keep, magical talismans.

  “What are you doing?”

  The sudden sound in the dead quiet of night had Amis nearly knocking over his candle, he scrambled to right it and saw Lord Guain standing in the open door with a lit candle in his hand.

  “I was,” Amis began, “I thought I was dreaming again-”

  Lord Guain was curiously observing him but not in any great anger.

  “Did I leave my notes open?” he asked, “Forgive me, they can seem quite frightening to someone who has no idea what they're looking at.”

  “They look like witchcraft,” Amis blurted.

  Lord Guain smiled at him, “that's because they are. T
hough it's not as if the diabolical arts ever do what's promised.”

  “What do you mean,” Amis said, feeling terribly uneasy.

  “It's a symptom of a rather embarrassing problem,” Lord Guain said, “looking for hope where there is none.”

  “Oh,” Amis said, the gist becoming clear to him.

  “I'm reaching the age where it only becomes increasingly difficult to hope. I've been looking everywhere for answers to my condition, I had a fever as a child you see and while I recovered fully, it only caused one severe lingering defect,” Lord Guain said.

  “So you can't have children,” Amis said.

  “Correct,” Lord Guain said, “but I trust you not to make light or gossip of something so severe.”

  “Of course not,” Amis said, quietly, “I suppose you've prayed and seen all the doctors you could have.”

  “Very much so,” Lord Guain said, “and my prayers were never answered nor could any medical figure seem to do anything for me. It isn't a lie to say I came here, hoping for some knowledge that could give me hope that my disease with no outward symptoms or visible effects could be cured. Perhaps Nethir is right and it is my obsessions that will lead me to ruin but I had to try.”

  “That must have been very difficult,” Amis said, “I'm sorry.”

  “Have you come to my room for any other reason, or only to discover all my embarrassing secrets?” Lord Guain said.

  It took Amis a moment to realize he was only teasing him good natured, Amis glanced at the desk. The lady had long vanished, the bitter cold had fled the room and Lord Guain set about lighting a low burning fire which Amis welcomed as his bare knees were getting extremely uncomfortable.

  “Get into bed,” Guain said, “the last thing we need is another bout of fever.”

  Amis didn't argue, he was freezing. He crawled under the sheets trembling slightly until Guain joined him, after getting ready for bed. The smell of roses permeated the room, easily explained. It was something in the water Lord Guain used to wash himself, a lingering pleasant scent from the basin.