The Scarecrow (Master of Malice Book 1)

by Peace, Cas

  This was almost true. Undecided as to his safest course of action once the wastrel disappeared with Jinny, Seth hid out of sight until the fire was well underway and too fierce to halt. He had seen Taran and Denny’s men race past and stayed where he was until they began clearing the area. Smearing soot on his face for effect, he joined the final throes of the futile struggle, taking care to be noticed by his fellow servants. Then Taran began his desolate search and Seth experienced a macabre desire to witness the outcome of the Baron’s plan. He thought his master might like to hear of Taran’s despair when he came across what remained of “Jinella.”

  Levant appeared satisfied with Seth’s explanation and waved him away. Seth went back to the ruins and slowly worked his way over to the distraught Adept, who was pushing at something lying beneath a blackened roof beam with the toe of his boot.

  With a sharp, heartbroken cry, Taran went down on one knee, reaching into the charred, sodden mess on the ground. His hand came up holding a long scrap of green silk, once richly embroidered, and a gold ring still encircling a blackened finger bone. Seth watched as Taran clutched the forlorn scraps to his breast and once more screamed his grief at the blank, uncaring sky. He bowed his head, his body racked by sobs.

  Seth approached him, pleased their deception had worked so well. He could see more tattered remnants of cloth, as well as the gleam of bone. The skull of the dead whore had been completely stripped of flesh, but pathetic wisps of blonde hair still fluttered nearby, and the expensive necklace could be seen draped around the neck bones.

  Seth stopped beside the moaning Adept. “I’m a bit surprised you’re so upset, sir,” he said.

  Taran jumped and shot the manservant a grief-filled look. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

  Seth shrugged. “The mistress mentioned you and she had quarreled. She told me it was all over between you. She said you’d let her down, badly. She was quite distraught.”

  “Distraught?” Taran’s eyes were fearful, haunted. “She was upset, of course, but it wasn’t over. I loved her, Seth, she knew that.”

  Seth shook his head sadly, warming to his theme. He hadn’t intended to do this. He’d simply wanted to remember the man’s reactions so he could tell his master. But he knew how the Baron hated Taran for his support of Sullyan, and for his rescue of Prince Eadan. He knew his master would want Taran to suffer whatever torments could be devised to repay him for his actions. And now Seth was in a position to increase that suffering.

  “I don’t think she did, sir. I heard her last night, before she told me to send the servants away. She was almost hysterical. I could tell she’d been crying when she summoned me to give her instructions to the household. I thought then something was badly wrong and I pleaded with her to allow me to fetch one of her friends, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She almost threw me out, sir. She told me she wanted everyone out of the house—she wanted to be alone.”

  Taran went white. “What are you saying, man? Why are you telling me this?”

  “Well, sir, it’s just that I overheard the Major earlier, before he left, saying he thought the fire must have been caused by a spilt lamp. But I checked all the lamps yesterday evening, as I always do, and I know they were all trimmed and safe. If it was a lamp that caused this fire, it was deliberately done.”

  Taran stared into Seth’s face, his eyes wide with horror. “No,” he cried, “she couldn’t have! She wouldn’t! She’d never take her own life—not like this!”

  Seth shrugged and began moving away. “I’m only telling you what I know and what I saw, sir. I’ve never seen the mistress so distraught. I remember thinking she might do anything in a state like that ….”

  + + + + +

  Taran couldn’t bear the implications. His guilt over the angry words of their last parting flared anew and his heart constricted painfully. He relived Jinny’s tearful fury as she had sent him away, betrayal and anguish rolling off her in waves. It was his fault, yet he had made no attempt to see her since, to comfort her, to reassure her of his love. And now she was gone and he would never have the chance again. All his hopes for the future, for a family, for the love and companionship he’d always craved, were gone, cremated on a pyre of his own cowardice and selfishness. Jinny had paid the price of his failures.

  Numb and shocked, Taran stumbled away, clutching the scrap of cloth and the ring in his hand. As he did so his foot kicked against the small silver box he had bought with such love. The sight of it lying there among the ruins of all he held dear was too much for him to take. As he bent down to pick it up, the world blurred around him and he fell on his face in the smoldering rubble.

  + + + + +

  Denny and Ardoch rode at the head of their men through the Forest Gate and separated a mile into the trees. Denny took the northeastern side of the forest and Ardoch the southern. Although the snow had ceased falling, the weather was gloomy and overcast, the ever-present clouds promising more snow before the day was out. As Denny had feared, the night’s heavy snowfall had obliterated all tracks save those of fox or bird. There would be no clues to help them hunt their quarry.

  No clues had been forthcoming from the victims either. Lord Levant, having delivered an unconscious Taran to the physicians, made his promised visit to Sir Regus and his lady. He was gratified to find they were none the worse for their terrifying ordeal, for the only injuries they’d sustained related to their wealth. The promissory note from the Treasury went far toward healing that particular wound.

  Levant had hoped they would be able to give him some idea of where their attack took place so Denny could focus his search in a general area. But apart from a vague notion of how long it took them to reach the city on foot, neither were much help. And considering neither ever walked very far, their estimations were probably way out. So Denny had no help in his task and was forced to organize his searches in wide sweeps.

  Denny parted with the old Torlander and his band of twenty swordsmen at a junction marked only by a thinning of the trees in the deep snow. He watched them ride south and then led his own group northwest. They kept their eyes open for any signs of the gilded coach, traces of the horses’ harness—which would likely have been stripped of its gold and silver adornments and abandoned—or scraps of cloth from the clothing taken. Denny guessed the ruffians’ haul would have been reduced to small pieces, easily bartered or sold in the villages. Whole items such as gowns, the leather harness, or a complete coach, although worth more in their original state, would attract far too much attention and would be remembered. And as the coach was far too large to be taken far before being dismantled, Denny thought it might provide the first sign of the attack.

  He wasn’t wrong.

  His riders fanned out until they were just in sight of each other, easier in the leafless forest than it would’ve been in summer. The barren trees and the smothering of dead bracken by the snow meant they could cover more ground in less time. On their very first sweep northward, after an hour of searching, one of his men let out a yell.

  They gathered round to see what had been discovered. Denny praised the swordsman for his keen sight, for the small pieces of painted wood had been flung into a stand of evergreens and were only visible from a certain angle. If the man hadn’t turned his head at just that precise instant, he might not have seen them.

  Denny pulled the wood from the bushes. It was the right color, according to the description given, and Denny identified it positively. He glanced up at his men as he flung the wood back on the ground, exhorting them to be vigilant as they renewed their chase. They remounted and resumed the search.

  + + + + +

  The smallest member of the ruffians’ group grinned as he watched from another stand of evergreens, this one surrounded by a thick tangle of snow-laden bramble. The risk that the Major might order a search of nearby undergrowth was one he’d had to take, but the brambles would have discouraged any attempts to wade through them and, in the end, Denny hadn’t even glanced that way. As th
e ruffians’ leader had guessed, recovering bits of wood or scraps of clothing wasn’t part of Denny’s brief. Following a trail that might lead to the brigands themselves was.

  The little ruffian shook the cold from his limbs and shinned up the stout sapling growing in the copse’s center. The recent snowfall had covered his original tracks and now he crawled carefully along the overhanging branch that let him down just outside the ring of briar. He listened intently to the sounds of Denny’s men before slipping after them, carefully setting his feet in the same tracks left by their horses.

  + + + + +

  General Blaine, King Elias, and Robin took their leave of the innkeeper who had provided their night’s lodgings, ignoring his protests at the handful of gold Robin pressed on him. Throughout Loxton Province, Elias’s own demesne, the High King paid a network of tavern keepers and landlords to hold rooms available for those traveling on King’s business, but these were Lerric’s lands, where no such arrangement existed. And although Elias was High King and overlord of Albia, he didn’t believe in taking advantage of his position when he could afford to pay his way.

  The provisioning of fifty-three men and Elias’s appropriation of the inn’s three best rooms deserved some recompense in the King’s eyes. Especially as the innkeeper went to some lengths to entertain and amuse his distinguished guests, including the offer of his young, flaxen-haired daughter to warm the King’s bed. Although Elias felt real regret at turning down his host’s most tempting offer, he was no barbarian. His own scruples aside, the landlord’s implication that Lerric would have accepted the offer—would, in fact, have considered it his due—was more than enough to dismay Elias, who sent the disappointed girl away with more coin than she would normally see in a year. Elias retired to a cold and lonely bed, honor intact, but frustrated and angry.

  Now he rode at the head of the company, wrapped tightly in his sheepskin-lined cloak, bundled beneath his warmest clothing. This far south the climate should have been more temperate, but the winter had as firm a grip here as it did in the north. Elias’s hands were frozen within half an hour of riding.

  Blaine could sense the King regarding him and Robin enviously. They were snug and warm in their cloaks, able to regulate their body temperature to keep feet and hands comfortably warm. Elias was aware they had to pay for their use of power, but to the King it seemed unfair they should be warm while he suffered the cold. His mood, already sour, worsened as he rode.

  Blaine sighed. Elias still suffered from misplaced love and it often rendered him snappy and ill-tempered. The innkeeper’s inappropriate offer last night had angered and shocked him, but Blaine could see how hard-pressed Elias was to refuse the gift once he realized he wouldn’t be thought barbaric by accepting. His queen’s betrayal and her removal from his life had hit Elias hard, and even after three years he still hadn’t recovered from that fundamental wounding. His love for Brynne Sullyan, born of her selfless service and the wrong he did to her, only served to compound Elias’s misery and sense of abandonment. If she had been free to return his love—and Blaine suspected she would have if not for Robin—Elias would have been a happy man.

  As it was, he was prickly at best. This coming meeting with Lerric, never one of Elias’s easier client kings, and the probable appearance of his stiff-backed, spiteful daughter, was bound to bring all Elias’s baser qualities to the fore. Especially if Lerric trotted out his usual list of complaints and Sofira chose to be difficult.

  All in all, thought Blaine, it was likely to be an unpleasant two days.

  + + + + +

  Now that his plans were moving forward, it was necessary to increase the number of men Reen could call on to obey him without question. Of the original three sent by Lerric three months ago to pull him from the sea, one was about his master’s business elsewhere and the other two were fast approaching the end of their usefulness. Although Reen had found other means of renewing his energy, there were still times when he was forced to take what they could ill-afford. Both men were little better than slack-jawed idiots, their life energies so reduced they could only be given the simplest tasks.

  Reen had intended that he and Sofira would already be wed before coping with an occurrence such as this visit, but he was still learning how to use the powers that had been thrust upon him and wasn’t yet ready to make his final move. Elias’s God-be-damned announcement, while throwing up an interesting possibility too tempting to resist, complicated matters. And if the High King did suspect Lerric of collusion in the Baron’s disappearance from the island, Reen had to be all the more careful.

  He didn’t believe Elias suspected Lerric. He had gone to great lengths to ensure his “suicide” was convincing, and he knew Patrio Ruvar was ignorant of the terrible but fortuitous accident that befell Reen on that hellhole of an island, as well as the true story behind Reen’s “friendship” with the unfortunate Serrin.

  It had been Serrin’s slavish devotion to his “friend” that enabled Reen to survive the hideous flaying of his body, and the boy’s unconscious use of his embryonic Artesan talents had healed the worst of the burns and kept Reen alive during those agonized days when all he wanted was to cast his ravaged body into the sea to quench the Fire that had taken root deep in his soul.

  When Reen finally emerged from that hellish torment, when he learned how he’d been altered and how Serrin had kept him from death, he had laughed aloud. What irony that the Almighty should place within Reen’s wracked, transmogrified body the means to wreak vengeance upon those who profaned the purity of God’s given life! Serrin, that embittered and friendless boy who had given his aid so selflessly, so unknowingly, was the first sacrifice to Reen’s new powers, the first to lose his life as well as his sacrilegious, Hell-given gifts.

  He had realized he could use Serrin’s vigorous life force to ensure he survived the perilous leap into the sea. It had been simplicity itself to drain the boy enough to keep him unconscious without killing him prematurely. The forged letter, left once the supply boat had gone, was a masterly stroke, ensuring no one looked for the boy before Reen was ready to leave. The idea of using the boy’s life blood to authenticate his “suicide” was another stroke of genius, and some of the lad’s stolen energy was used in disposing of his body at the site of the Baron’s transformation, ensuring it could never, ever, be found.

  Yet Reen, so new to his altered state, had underestimated his frailty. The boy’s youthful energy was all but used up in the painful toil to the island’s peak and his mighty leap to clear the lethal rocks surrounding the island’s base. Despite his careful plans and the men sent by Sofira’s father, Reen nearly died in the freezing sea. He had scarcely managed to hold his breath while the waiting boat strained against the waves to pull him to safety.

  Since then he had refined his control over his new powers, learning each day how to hone and direct this God-given gift, this weapon of vengeance against his enemies. With this greater understanding came the realization that he would be unable to deal with Elias’s visit or exploit it to his best advantage unless he had access to more men and more life force. He must increase his hold and build himself a band of loyal followers who would obey his every whim, whom he could control even at a distance should the need arise.

  Once Sofira left him, taking her concerns over the King’s visit to her bed, Reen summoned his first two slaves and ordered them to bring him, one by one, certain members of Lerric’s forces; the swordsmen of his personal guard and those on night duty at the palace.

  Each of them, knowing the men who summoned them, came trusting and unaware, succumbing to the terrible, leaching forces thrust violently into their bodies through the medium of Reen’s cane. The Baron drank avidly, savoring each terrified soul, taking only enough to chain each man to his will. There were so many that his body swelled with their life force, fed on their youth and strength, exulted in the sheer physical power coursing through his veins.

  He was most careful over the marks he left. Now his control was f
iner, the site of his violation was subtler. A small red mark was all that remained of his feeding, and he took care to vary the location of each. On the chest, over the heart, was easiest as it was the point of concentration for life force, but it wasn’t his only option. He should be able to take what he wanted from almost any area of exposed flesh, and there were plenty of victims on whom to experiment.

  The last thing he wanted was for Lerric to investigate the outbreak of nasty sores among his swordsmen. Not that the client king himself would be immune from Reen’s control should he prove troublesome, and it was this concern that made the scarecrow so keen to bind Lerric’s daughter to him legally. Once Elias’s inconvenient visit was over, Reen would hold the marriage ceremony as soon as possible.

  He smiled at the thought. He would have no trouble convincing Sofira. She was ready to give herself to him, although she’d get more than she anticipated on her wedding night—much, much more.

  Around midmorning, Reen summoned two of his new servants. As the swordsmen stood before him, the red-haired and the black-haired, he noted the tremble of their limbs. They remembered their ordeal of the night before only as a dimly perceived sense of terror. Reen had been careful to ensure they would be incapable of giving him away, especially if any of Elias’s men should question them. So although they went in terror of him and were bound irrevocably to his control and his will, they knew nothing damning about their condition, nothing that could implicate Reen. They would remember and act upon what he told them, not what they saw with their eyes.

  Pleased with his night’s work, Reen gave the two men their instructions. He had thought long and hard about Elias’s visit and how he could turn it to his advantage, and he’d decided on a course of action that would eventually guarantee the architect of all his woes, the one true enemy of his God, would be brought before him. Scarcely able to contain his glee at the torment he intended to inflict, Reen sent his minions away, a deep ruby glint suffusing his ruined eyes.