They had sustained some losses, both human and faerie. Several enemy prisoners had been taken, men who’d willingly served Venefica and continued to fight even after their defeat. The forest folk who had answered Reina’s call had fought dark creatures at the fringes of the wood and ushered stray villagers to safety.
“Only one traitor to our ranks survived the battle,” Captain Alvar said. “I’ve sent him, under guard, to await your judgment, Your Majesty.”
“I shall see to that once matters are settled here,” Serena said. “Lyssanne may yet have need of me.”
“Will you put on feathers again, then?” Olivia asked.
“No, I shall assume a human guise.” Stretching out her arms, Serena grew to Aderyn’s height. The instant her feet touched the ground, her shimmering wings vanished. “Now, dear friends, I’m certain you wish to seek your rest and see to what duties remain. We must get our King’s daughter to her people, so she may do the same.”
Alvar bowed low, then streaked away in a blur of midnight purple. Olivia and Jada fluttered over to Lyssanne and clasped each of her hands.
“It has been an honor serving beside you, Child of Light,” Olivia said.
“It was my honor, being allowed to know you all,” Lyssanne said in a small voice. “Will I ever see you again?”
“That is not for us to know,” Olivia said.
“But,” Jada said, “you can be sure, we’ll cherish that reunion if ever the King permits.”
Lyssanne cleared her burning throat. “Until such a time, I shall miss you both.”
Jada released Lyssanne’s hand and wrapped miniature arms about her neck. The hug lasted less than a heartbeat, then she streaked off after Alvar.
Olivia squeezed Lyssanne’s hand then she, too, backed away and vanished.
Lyssanne stared at the once neat row of cottages, her mind churning with a tumult of emotions. What would be the reaction to her return? She was, just by setting foot upon a single street of the village, breaking a law of her people.
She took that fateful first step into Cloistervale, and another mental blow assaulted her resolve. Had Captain Alvar been right? Might lives have been spared if she’d only been stronger? Bile choked her throat. With a supreme effort, she forced that line of thought down into the depths of darkness where it belonged. The King had been victorious; all else was secondary.
Even so, her steps faltered. This wasn’t the Cloistervale she’d known. Her beloved village might have been a tomb, for not even birds or animals stirred the dead air. Debris and fragments of buildings covered the deserted streets. Boards, broken shutters, shards of pottery, and unrecognizable bits and pieces made her passage more a challenge than crossing Stupasce.
Lyssanne gaped as she passed boarded-up shops, burned out husks of homes, and building after building showing signs of decay and destruction. Lawns were overgrown or mottled with bare patches of dirt. Even the paving stones of the once smooth streets were, here and there, lifted out of place or broken into chunks.
“All this couldn’t be the result of a single day’s fighting,” Lyssanne whispered. “Where is everyone? If they survived…”
She darted glances at her companions. Brennus’s posture was rigid, his jaw set, gaze fixed ahead. Clark’s silence was ominous. Even his lumbering footfalls made little sound.
“Do not give in to premature fear,” Serena said. “My captains assured us the battle was won.”
Near the end of a lane leading to the village square, Lyssanne tripped over a lump the color of the paving stones. Brennus caught her before she could fall. She stooped and picked up the book that had snagged her foot.
“One of Mr. DeLivre’s,” she said. She turned the book over, then gasped and flung it away. Its back cover was soaked in a dark stain that could only be blood.
Keeping a hand on her arm, Brennus led her onward. Lyssanne paused at the entrance to the square. The smells were wrong. After a few more steps, she discovered why. A jagged, blackened hole and charred splinters were all that remained of Flora’s candle shop.
“That damage is months old,” Brennus said. “The shop burned before winter. Some boys overturned a vat of hot wax. Just one of many pranks that went awry before the Council fell.”
The closer they ventured to the scribe’s shop, more and more books and torn pages littered the square. Lyssanne fought back a sob. What had befallen Mr. DeLivre?
Except for a shutter hanging by one hinge, his shop appeared unchanged. She stopped in the open doorway and called in vain for her mentor then stepped inside.
“No, Lyssanne,” Brennus said, pulling her away from the entrance.
“I’ll look inside, if you wish,” Clark said. He returned within moments. “Shop’s mostly intact. No sign of anyone, alive or dead, on either level of the building.”
“The old man is doubtless helping someone elsewhere,” Brennus said.
Lyssanne could only nod.
They’d taken a few more strides when the wind shifted, wafting a flurry of torn pages into their faces, and with them, a foul stench.
Lyssanne covered her mouth and nose, fighting a gag. “What is that?”
“Eggs,” Clark said, his voice muffled. “Burned ones, and…something else.”
“The bakery,” Brennus said.
Lyssanne swung toward the building across the street and a few shops down. A dark lump lay half in, half out, of the doorway. She gasped, inhaling more of the rancid odor. Swallowing bile, she lunged toward the bakery. It was burning, and someone was injured!
“Wait.” Again, Brennus restrained her. “There’s nothing you can do. Lyssanne, you…you don’t want to see that.”
“Mr. Whiskin?” The baker’s name was a broken groan torn from her lips.
“No,” Brennus said, “’Tis…not human.”
She shivered. “What if there’s someone inside?”
“The roof’s collapsed,” Brennus said. “It isn’t safe. Once we find Jarad, I shall do what I can. Before all else, I must get you to a place of safety—in company I trust.”
Lyssanne nodded. It was pointless to protest when his voice took on that steely edge.
“Where do you go in times of danger?” Clark asked. “For us, it's behind the inner walls.”
“The meeting hall, of course!” Lyssanne pulled free of Brennus and rushed past Serena.
Chatter rang distinct through the hall’s windows as she approached. Someone asked how Queen Stella had known Cloistervale would have need of the Starguard.
“We aren’t with your queen’s forces,” a familiar voice said, halting her progress up the hall steps. “We hail from Lyrya.”
Lord Duncan…he was alive.
She reached for the door handle. It grew slick beneath her hand, as memories of the last time she’d entered the hall froze her where she stood. Jarad, Aderyn, Mr. DeLivre…their faces swam before her as footfalls joined her on the steps. This time, she did not stand alone.
Taking a deep breath, she pulled open the door.
31
Reckoning
Lyssanne blinked several times, attempting to focus on the dizzying swarm of activity filling the hall. Villagers rushed about, huddled in groups, or bent over the figures lying prone along one wall. Two men shuffled past, carrying a woman.
“More bandages over here!” Mistress Evlia shouted, hurrying to join them as they laid their burden on a blanket near the door. “What happened?”
“She was on her way back from Mortiferra Manor,” Mr. Colby said. “Two of those creatures attacked her at the edge of the forest. Anything you can do?”
Evlia covered the woman with another blanket, then led the men a few paces away. “Her wounds are too numerous and have already begun to putrefy. Laced with venom, I suspect. Fever’s raging, and her breathing’s shallow. You’d best find her sons.”
As they moved off in varied directions, Lyssanne slipped in and knelt beside the dying woman. Her own breaths constricted at the sight of that familiar, pa
in-etched face. “Madam Nettleworth?” she whispered.
Madam Nettleworth’s eyes fluttered open, and a wheeze lifted her chest. “You were…right,” she whispered. “That…fog…”
“’Tis gone,” Lyssanne said. “It can’t hurt you anymore. Nor can those creatures.”
“S-so…sorry,” Madam Nettleworth said. “For…give…”
Lyssanne clasped her hand. “There is nothing to forgive.” Closing her eyes, she petitioned the King’s mercy as she once had for Noel. Ringing filled her ears, and she grew dizzy.
“You!” a male voice shouted. “You brought this upon us, and now Mother is…is…”
Lyssanne glanced up at the man looming over her. Behind him, several people turned their direction. Evlia rushed forward and grasped him by the arm.
“Lower your voice,” she said. “You’ll only make matters worse if…Lyssanne?” Evlia flung her arms wide. “How in the Seven Lands—?” She gasped and dropped to her knees beside Madam Nettleworth. “Her wounds are changing. Their color, they hardly appear inflamed and, wait…now they’re a healthy hue, as though they’ve had days to heal!” She looked up. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Lyssanne said, dropping Madam Nettleworth’s hand. “The King answered my plea. With enough trust, anyone may call forth His healing Light thus.”
More and more townspeople swiveled to face them. Many uttered inarticulate cries, gasped, or muttered under their breaths.
“What is the meaning of this uproar?” Councilman Ratomer’s voice shouted from the dais.
“She’s back,” someone said. “Lyssanne has returned.”
People pressed together to form a haphazard aisle, revealing Ratomer’s shape presiding from the center of the council table.
“You dare?” Ratomer said, his voice ominous in the hush that had fallen. “Lyssanne Caelestis, you dare return after bringing this evil upon us?” He waved a hand. “Seize her!”
Lyssanne pushed to her feet and backed away, as three men broke free of the crowd and moved toward her. Warmth brushed her arms, and she glanced around. Brennus and Clark stepped up to each side of her. The prince gripped the hilt of his sword. Clark, too, stood ready to strike, the handle of his massive hammer held across his chest, its deadly, business end hooked over his shoulder.
The three men of Cloistervale halted and staggered back a pace.
“You must come with us,” said a burly man in a torn farmer’s tunic.
“Like the chief said,” one of his companions squeaked. “It…it’s l-law.”
Chief? Ratomer? Where was Aderyn’s father?
“Give the word, Lyssanne,” Brennus whispered, “and I shall take you from this place.”
She shook her head. “I must find Jarad, and I cannot leave lest I know Aderyn and Mr. DeLivre are safe.”
“As you wish,” he muttered, “but should they make a move against you, we leave.”
“What are you waiting for?” Ratomer shouted. “The law and safety of Cloistervale have been usurped! Take that woman to—”
“Lady Lyssanne!” called the most welcome of voices.
“Jarad!” she cried, her eyes welling. He was safe, this boy who was more brother than charge, more friend than student.
Jarad sidestepped the three motionless men who still eyed Brennus and Clark. “You’re all right?” He grasped her hands. “Does this mean…is she…?”
“The sorceress is dead,” Brennus said, his gaze fixed on the men.
“What happened?” Jarad asked. “Were you hurt? How’d she—”
“Later,” Brennus said.
Lyssanne squeezed Jarad’s hand then pulled him into a quick hug.
“Lyss?” a hesitant voice said.
“Aderyn?” Lyssanne’s eyes roved the sea of faces and colors for her friend.
Aderyn stepped forward with a child in her arms, as a shock of white hair shone against the dimness of the crowd.
“Mr. DeLivre?” Lyssanne asked.
“Fii,” he said. “Ah, but it gives these old eyes joy to see you, Shirii.”
“Oh, thank the King, you’re all safe!” she said over the clamor.
“Happy tidings indeed,” Brennus said. “Now, let us depart. Jarad, if you wish to—”
A sharp bang cut off his words. The gavel rapped thrice more, calling for order.
“Citizens!” Ratomer shouted. “We have business to attend. Justice must be served, so we can get back to the task of setting our homeland to rights.” He waited until all murmurs ceased. “In violating the terms of her exile, Lyssanne Caelestis has forfeited the mercy of banishment. Added to that, the crimes which led to our near destruction demand the highest penalty.”
“Councilman, if I may.” Lord Duncan’s voice rang clear and strong. “You asked what prompted me to come to your aid, though you are neither my kin nor countrymen.”
“What has that to do with—?”
“Mistress Lyssanne made it known to me that you faced a dire threat,” Lord Duncan said. “It is for her, the friend of my brother-in-arms Prince Brennus, who stands at her right hand, that we intervened.”
Murmurs swept through the hall, the comments now about Brennus.
“He’s a prince?”
“Her friend?”
“A prince of Lyrya? Here?”
People began curtseying and bowing all over the hall.
“Pardon the oversight, Your Highness,” Ratomer said. “We are grateful for your aid. Had I known of your esteemed presence, I would have welcomed you properly to our humble village. I shall be honored to do so, once this unpleasant business is ended.”
Brennus huffed then lifted a hand. “That is unnecessary. We are comrades in arms, this day, and more important matters are at hand.”
“Indeed,” Ratomer said. “If you and your friend with the hammer will take your ease, we’ll have this sorted momentarily.”
“I think not,” Brennus said.
“Your defense of the Caelestis woman is admirable, but you don’t know her crimes. I’m certain you’d not wish to interfere with the enforcement of our sovereign law.”
“You are mistaken,” Brennus said in that icy steel tone which still sent a chill up Lyssanne’s spine. “I know well the crimes of which the lady stands accused.” He paused, and the hall grew still. “In the time I’ve known her, she has endured numerous perils most of you wouldn’t have escaped with your sanity, including your merciful punishment. Not once did she turn from the impossible, but faced all with courage and grace.”
“Regardless,” Ratomer said, “her mere presence here warrants the death penalty.”
Drawing his sword, Brennus stepped in front of Lyssanne. “Fools,” he said, low and ominous. “After all you’ve seen, you persist in this? Her illness was a curse! The enemy who nearly destroyed you, one to whom you willingly gave control of this backwater village, attacked her and you banished her for it.” He raked them all with his dagger stare. “She’s suffered years of torture, a torture which came nigh to crushing her this very morn, all to save you!”
Lyssanne rested a hand on Brennus’s steely arm and stepped up to his side. “I would never have disobeyed the will of the Council,” she said, “but I discovered the cause of our woes, and that the village would soon be laid waste. I couldn’t leave you at the mercy of sorcery.”
“I knew it!” someone shouted. “She’s a witch! She just did magic on Madam Nettleworth.”
“Not I,” Lyssanne said, but the chatter grew louder, and she had no strength to shout.
“Silence!” Brennus said, sounding every bit the prince he was. He rested his free hand at the small of her back. “Tell them.”
“Lady Venefica Mortifer,” she said, her cheeks aflame, “the last descendant of those we’ve long called the Noble Oppressors, was a sorceress of the darkest kind. She had lived, for two years or more, in her family’s old estate on Mount Mortiferra.”
“No, Lyssanne,” Mr. Murrough said. “Lady Mortifer only arrived at the c
lose of winter. She offered to help us, and I suppose she did, in many ways.”
Grumbles echoed throughout the hall, not all in agreement.
“It was a ruse,” Lyssanne said, “to gain further power over you.” She had so much to tell them, but sensed her time was short. “The fog I saw before I left? It was a weapon of evil, her weapon.” She took a deep breath. “Lady Mortifer was the Keeper of the Shadow Mist.”
The room erupted again, people speaking of the Mist in frightened tones.
“We saw it,” Jarad said, leaning around Clark’s arm, “the Shadow Mist. Everyone did. We were singing, and it fled from us.”
Her command for truth had reached as far as the village?
“Was, you say?” asked Mr. DeLivre. “Is this lady sorceress gone, then?”
“Yes, she…” Lyssanne swallowed. “She’s dead.”
Gasps filled the room.
“What have you brought down upon us?” the apparent new chief councilman said. “Lady Mortifer was a favorite of the queen!”
“There will be no reprisals.” Serena’s calm voice brought a brief return of silence.
“Your pardon, madam, but who are you?” Ratomer asked. “And how can you know this?”
“You may call me Lady Serena,” she said. “I have connections in the highest courts. While Lyssanne’s hand brought about the sorceress’s defeat, her death was of her own making, and I assure you, no one in the Seven Lands will mourn her passing.”
Aderyn gasped. “She took her own life?”
“She was swallowed by the Shadow Mist,” Lyssanne said.
“Swallowed?” Madam Sewell asked. “It…ate her?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Serena said.
“That may be,” Ratomer said, “but Lyssanne has violated her exile and must face justice.”
“Tell me, people of Cloistervale,” Brennus said, his voice hard, “in her absence, did your troubles cease?” He waited a beat, but no one spoke. “Did they not, in fact, increase?” Murmurs coursed through the crowd. “Then, I ask you, how can it be her return which escalated them?”
Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1) Page 44