Blood of the Delphi (The Harmatia Cycle Book 2)
Page 50
What had Rufus done? Rufus, whose hands were so freshly stained with the blood of an innocent, and the deaths of so many of his pursuers? It was possible Rufus had killed more men that even Zachary by now.
Saes’s face changed to one of horror, in tune with Rufus’s thoughts. “That was in defence!”
“Is it so very different?”
“Yes!”
“I’m not sure.” Rufus pursed his lips. “There’s so much darkness here, do I add to that? Take pleasure in it?”
“Choose to pity him if you wish, but not to forgive!”
“He was a good man.”
“No he wasn’t!”
“My friend.”
“He betrayed you!”
“My brother.” Rufus lashed out his hand, taking Saes by the front of his robe. “Even you called him such.”
“Brothers fight. They even kill!”
“But against a common foe, they will unite,” Rufus finished the phrase. “I could blame him for all my misfortune if I wanted, mark him out as the cause, but it was my father who gave the order that killed Sverrin. In the end, the pair of us were caught in a pattern that defined our actions. What I choose now, however, will decide whether we remain captors to that pattern, or defy it…And as you so rightly said, I’m not good at conforming.”
Saes was speechless. Rufus, feeling triumphant, walked over to the water’s edge.
Saes spluttered. “Fine! Use your pretty words! Say you forgive him,” he hissed. “But I don’t, and I’m a part of you!”
“Yes, well,” Rufus said simply, not looking back, “I’m stronger than you.”
There was a second of silence, then an explosion of laugher which made Rufus jump. He twisted around to find Saes on his back in the sand, an arm thrown over his eyes, his legs kicking as he laughed. Gone was the long, lanky form of Rufus’s reflection, replaced with the ever familiar, and more appealing, face of Jionat.
“Finally,” Saes managed to say, sand sticking to his oaken curls as he lifted his head, “the idiot has his answer.”
Rufus looked back out over the moving water, smiling. He welcomed the sensation of the strange and tranquil peace that settled over him. The last of the weight lingering on his shoulders lifted, and at last he felt clean. He felt whole.
No one in the room was talking. Daniel was stood in the corner, his fists clenched. He’d been pacing furiously, but had now stopped, glaring at the floor. At the table Marcel and Belphegore were both staring at each other, as if waiting for the other to confess something. The tension in the room was palpable.
“She knows where he is,” Daniel broke the silence. His voice was still hoarse—there had been a lot of shouting and screaming over the last few days.
“She does not,” Marcel said and there was a finality to his tone.
“Well she has to know something!” Daniel stomped over to the table. “Someone has to know where DuGilles took him!”
“As far as all the records show,” Belphegore spoke, his voice terse and deep, “Arlen is simply on commission.”
“He is not on commission!” Daniel roared, his voice jumped two tones. The volume made Emeric’s head pound. “I know what I saw—DuGilles killed Heather! He knocked Arlen unconscious! They dragged him away—”
“No one is disputing that,” Emeric cut over Daniel, his own patience thin. “We believe you…But no one else in Harmatia seems to know anything.”
“Talk to the Royal Guard!” Daniel turned on Belphegore. “They took him!”
“They did,” Belphegore said, very quietly. “But only to the dungeons. The captain of the Guard told me they put Arlen in the cell and that was the last they saw of him.”
“They must know something else,” Daniel insisted.
“No.” Belphegore’s hands clenched. There was spatter of blood on his chemise cuff. “I made sure the captain told me everything.”
Emeric had a good idea of how Belphegore had managed to do that. No one had seen the captain of the guard in some time. Emeric suspected no one ever would again. There had been a cold steeliness about Belphegore from the moment Marcel had relayed what Béatrice told him.
For days, the three of them had hunted for any clues to where Zachary had been taken. It was difficult, because so long as Daniel was in danger, they couldn’t bring him forward as a witness, or raise suspicion that they knew what had happened.
Their investigation had turned up nothing. Emeric, for his part, couldn’t stop thinking of Béatrice’s warning—that it would be kinder if they never saw Zachary again. That it would be better if he was dead. Emeric wasn’t sure he believed that—but then he wasn’t really sure what to believe.
“It’s been weeks…” Daniel’s voice shook, and he slowly sank into a chair. “Where did they take him…?” He dropped his head into his hands, just as a soft, hasty knock came from the door.
Marcel, who was closest, rose and answered it. “Thornton?” he said with surprise, and Emeric looked up in time to see Isaac Thornton slip into the room.
“I’m sorry for barging in like this. I’ve only just arrived. Béatrice told me I would find you all here.” Isaac shook Marcel’s hand, then Emeric’s as he quickly crossed the room to greet him. “Lord Odin.” Isaac bowed deeply to Belphegore.
“Lord Thornton,” Belphegore said, with a forced smile. “It is a pleasure to see you.”
“Would that it were under better circumstances.” Isaac looked up and spotted Daniel. “You must be Daniel. I’ve been looking toward to meeting you.”
Daniel sat up straight. “Who are you?”
“My name is Isaac Thornton. From today you are my apprentice.”
Daniel stared, blank face. “What?”
Isaac moved around the table and took a seat at Daniel’s side. He clasped his hands together in a matter of fact way. “I know about what’s happened—and I swear,” he added, looking around the rest of the table, “had I known about it when Zachary came to see me, I would have done something.”
“You’re the other one he flew to see in Sigel’eg.” Realisation dawned in Daniel’s eyes. Isaac nodded.
“Yes—he and I are old friends,” Thornton gave a rueful smile, “in a manner of speaking.” His smile fell. “Daniel, Zachary asked me to apprentice you. He wanted me to take you to away somewhere safe. And I intend to fulfil that promise.”
“Away?” Daniel looked up with panic to the rest of them. “No,” he said, “not until Arlen’s found! I can’t leave without him.”
Isaac’s mouth drew into a long thin line. He sank further into the chair, resting back with a long sigh. “I understand,” he said. “He’s your brother, after all. You love him.”
“Love him?” Daniel seethed. “I want to shake him!”
Isaac actually laughed. It was a strange sound in the tense room. “Yes,” he chuckled, “that sounds about right.” He sniffed, sighing again. “I’ve spent most of my life wanting to shake the little bastard too.”
This earned Isaac a very bemused expression from Daniel, and a small grunt of laughter from Marcel.
“You know,” Isaac continued, pushing himself forward in his seat and slouching against the table, “we were in the same class in the academy. He used to get on everybody’s nerves. He was odd, you see—quick. Had an enviable aptitude for learning and a stamina that no eight year old had the right to. Worse than that, he bloody knew it. I confess—I considered just smothering him a few times.”
Another grumbling laugh from Marcel, and Daniel even smiled. “Me too,” he admitted. “More than once.”
“See—intolerable, no matter the age.” Isaac smiled. “He was so smug and smart-tongued all the time. We used to duel, him and me, and he was so clever about it. Everybody wanted to beat him, but no one in the class ever could.”
Until now. Emeric thought, the unspoken words lingering in the air. The most harrowing part of Daniel’s tale had been the account of Zachary’s screams. No one had ever heard Zachary scream before.
“Arlen did?” Daniel also sat forward, and for the first time in days, some of the tension left his body.
“Yes. Lord Fallon was his name. A rather strict fellow, but good with the sword. He commanded respect and obedience, until one day your brother challenged him.”
“Typical,” Daniel growled, but Isaac held up his hand.
“You misunderstand. Zachary didn’t challenge Lord Fallon to a duel—he challenged Lord Fallon’s technique. You see, Lord Fallon was in-charge of training Prince Sverrin. Zachary, who often joined the class, made an observation about how a strike could be better performed. Lord Fallon took it personally.”
“You mean Lord Fallon challenged Arlen to a duel?” Daniel said slowly.
“Yes he did,” Belphegore murmured from his seat, his eyes distant with memory. He too looked a little more relaxed—Isaac was distracting them from them fears, if only momentarily. “Arlen was terrified.”
“They fought it off in-front of an audience,” Isaac said. “Lord Fallon wanted to publically discipline Zachary on his impertinence. As it turned out, this wasn’t a very wise decision.”
“Arlen actually beat him?”
“He claims it was by chance, but yes.” Isaac shrugged. “It was a close fight, but the conclusion was obvious. Your brother, at the mere age of twenty, was already the superior swordsman. Does that surprise you?”
“No. Only that he never mentioned it. Seems like just the sort of thing he’d brag about,” Daniel said, seemingly caught between bitterness and amusement.
“Ah,” Isaac sighed. “And therein lies the true key to your brother’s nature. You see, Zachary never bragged about what he’d done, because he was ashamed of it. In his eye, he hadn’t won a victory, he’d humiliated a man of whom he had great respect. Lord Fallon was gracious in his defeat—it was Zachary who was embarrassed.”
Daniel sat, his eyes cast down into his lap. He fiddled with his hands. Isaac’s expression softened. He leant in a little closer, speaking gently.
“Daniel,” he said, “you know that despite all his theatrics, Zachary has always put others before himself. That’s who your brother is at his core. And that is the person you are hoping to find. That is the person DuGilles took.” Isaac’s rested his hand on Daniel’s shoulder, his voice hardening. “But that person is gone. He’s not coming back. Not now.” Isaac looked up at the rest of them. “You have to proceed as if he is dead.”
“I can’t,” Daniel said, his voice so soft and lilting, it was like a child. “I have to know…I have to know if he’s alive. I have to know if DuGilles…if DuGilles…”
Isaac sighed heavily. “Three days,” he said. “I’ll give you three more days to wait. After which,” he rose, “I am taking you away. Don’t waste the sacrifice Zachary made for you Daniel. If you love him, then live.”
“We should be marching on Harmatia this instant!” Hamish raged, and Aurora sat back, her eyes closed.
She’d had no appetite the last few days, and felt light-headed and sickly as a result. Still, she’d came to the meeting, eager to be present when they started speaking about her.
“This atrocity has been left unpunished for near a fortnight now! Sverrin of Harmatia almost raped my sister—your Princess! And yet no action has been taken to show our outrage! What must they think of us?” Hamish continued, and Aurora could hear the rustle of her brother’s clothes as he moved his arms wildly about. The people at the table were all muttering with agreement. “This was an insult not only to Princess Aurora but to all of us! They see us as weak, let us show them we are not!”
A loud cry of agreement rose from the table and Aurora forced her aching eyes open. “Hamish,” she brought him down from his battle-frenzy, “your love for me does you credit, but outrage alone will not win us a war. If we march against Harmatia now, Kathra will descend upon us. Between the Magi and the Isny armies, led by that new Dragon Hunter, our enemies are strong.”
“Are you not angry sister? Does your blood not boil?”
It was a goading question, though well meant. Hamish wanted her to rage and shout, to rally the council to his side with cries of agreement. They valued their Princess, and would avenge her tears, which is why Aurora had been forced to keep all such emotions under check.
“Of course I am angry,” she confessed, her voice collected. “I was welcomed as a guest, and left as a fugitive, my clothes in tatters. I was forced to abandon my people—my faithful servants and knights, who are now prisoners in Sverrin’s keeping. There is no one here today whose fury outmatches mine.”
“Then how can you be so calm?” Hamish came to her side, his red hair catching the light so that it glowed against his fair skin. “After what was done to you?”
“I am calm, because I must be,” Aurora stated simply. “War has only ever served tyrants—I want justice and vengeance, but I will not play into Sverrin and Bozidar’s hands to get it.”
“Father.” Hamish turned to his right side, where King Markus was observing both of his children, heeding each of their arguments, and measuring the response of the rest of the council.
“Aurora,” Markus shifted forward, “as a father, I want nothing more than to punish Sverrin for what he has done. As a King, however, I see your wisdom, but also that of your brother’s. This attack was a declaration against Bethean. Am I to ignore it? Am I to let Sverrin think he may do with us as he pleases?”
Aurora grew quiet. The mention of Sverrin still brought her out in a cold sweat. At night she could feel his body pinning her down, as she thrashed about in her nightmares. She tried not to let her heart rule her decision, but it was agonising. “Father, you have gathered our armies and been preparing for war nearly thirteen years now. Why is that?”
Markus didn’t smile but Aurora saw the faint approval in the line of his lips. The once-red stubble that framed his mouth was almost completely grey now. “I was warned that an attack was coming, by Prince Jionathan of the Delphi.”
“And you believed him?”
“I did.”
“Then believe him now, and restrain your rage. A boy will come and he will be known by the company he keeps. I believe that—I am dependent upon it. You will have your war, Hamish. We will fight and prove our worth, prove that Bethean is mighty and proud and does not forget. But first, let us prove our patience and our wisdom. We are not dogs to be goaded into a fight.” She rose slowly, placing her hands against the table. “Let Sverrin prepare and gather his forces, let him think he has us in the palm of his hand. He will soon learn why his ancestors made peace with our people, rather than go to war,” she let her voice grow. “My ladies, my lords, we have been preparing for over a decade. Sverrin’s a troublesome pike but he grows complacent, and soon enough, we will draw up our nets. But not yet. Let him grow tangled first.” She curled her hands into fists. “We are strong enough to wait.”
The summons came suddenly, and without reason. Heavy with a dark sense of foreboding, Emeric, Belphegore and Marcel gathered at the behest of their King. Sverrin met them in the throne room, excitement in his eyes.
“Lords Odin, Hathely, Fold,” he greeted, nauseatingly merry. “My faithful Magi, how are you all on this auspicious day?”
“Your Majesty.” They bowed, each stiff in their courtesy.
“Sombre as always,” Sverrin said. “It has reached my ears that you have all recently been concerned on whereabouts of our friend Lord Zachary. I apologise, Lord Odin, that I took your apprentice without consulting you first.”
Belphegore was apparently in no mood for niceties. “It would seem you have done many things without my consultation, Your Majesty.”
Sverrin’s mouth tightened but he maintained his potent cheeriness. “You’re still displeased with my invitation to the Betheanian Princess?”
“I am displeased by how her visit ended,” Belphegore said gravely.
Not much was known about Aurora’s departure, though people had noted her sudden disappearance. There were rumours she was locked in the dungeon somewhere, or even dead, but Emeric had heard from a reliable source that she was back in Bethean.
Her servants and guards had been gathered up quickly and vanished from sight. Emeric suspected they hadn’t gotten away so cleanly.
“A small inconvenience that will be dealt with.” Sverrin walked forward, beckoning them after him. “But come, my lords, I didn’t call you to speak of such things. I wanted to reunite you with your friend.”
“Do you mean to say Zachary is…returned?” Emeric asked cautiously.
The King beamed. “I sent him away to remind him of where his loyalties lay. He has returned with a clear mind. I thought you should be the first to know.”
Emeric felt shivers run up his spine. Marcel’s hand tapped against his, reminding him to maintain his composure. Emeric spotted something close to distress in Marcel’s even lips. He was worried. Isaac and Béatrice’s words haunted them.
They passed through the castle after their King, down into some of the inner, more private chambers and finally toward one of the old training salles.
The doors, strangely, were closed, and Sverrin stopped before them. Emeric sniffed the air. There was a heavy scent, one he knew well.
Blood. Blood and death. The particular, pungent smell of intestinal fluids and other things that only men bred in battle could know. It was faint, but there, seeping out from under the doors of the salle. Sverrin pushed the doors open with a dramatic flair, and stepped away with a flourish, letting the three Magi look in.
It was an absolute massacre. Bodies lay in pieces, torn apart as if savaged by wild animals. Limbs were strewn, separated and tossed from their bodies, torsos ripped open, organs hanging loose in a smattered mess. Some of the carcasses still twitched in the echoes of a violent death. Women, men…Emeric was only just able make out that the victims were Aurora’s entourage.
Their screams must have echoed long down the corridors, but they were so deep in the castle, nobody had heard—or, at least, nobody foolish enough to investigate.