The Winds of Strife (The War of the Veil Book 1)

by John Donlan

  “I am. We have been looking for this Tho'reen girl for some time. You have done your duke a service. Come to the castle when you are able and we shall see you amply rewarded.”

  The man cracked a smile for the first time, showing off a row of cracked, yellowed teeth. “Thank you, my lord. And you needn't worry. I'll take good care of your mount.”

  “See that you do. This is my favourite mare.”

  Torelle had clambered down from her own steed and was hiking up her dress in preparation for entering the swamp. As the farmer led the two mounts away, Darius turned to his sister.

  “You should stay here,” he told her. “From what we have been told, this girl may be dangerous. And you are not well dressed for the swamp...”

  “All the more reason there should be two of us when you confront her,” Torelle responded crisply. She ignored his second comment as her gaze swept over the tree line.

  Darius sighed. There was no way to reason with his sister when she had it in her mind to do something. He found it endearing for the most part, but at other times it was frustrating beyond measure. This was one of those times. “Very well then. Stay close to me, and step where I step. The marsh is often deeper than it looks, and if you fall into a pool, I may not be able to get you out again before the mud pulls you under.”

  She nodded without comment, though her lips curled up at the corners in disgust. She followed him into the swamp.

  The trees were thick here, at the edge of the bog, and their long, spindly branches craned overhead, casting deep, dark shadows over the murky waters. Bubbles broke the surface in places, where gasses were released from the decaying vegetable matter below. Frogs croaked out from hiding places in the mud and briar, and insects chirped. Ugly clumps of Skullshead gathered along the edges of the pools, their stalks waving slightly in the breeze.

  As Darius stepped down into one of the pools of brackish black water, the noxious scent of the swamp drifted to his nostrils. Torelle wrinkled her nose in distaste.

  “Over there,” Darius said, pointing. There was a small break in the foliage on the far side of the pool allowing access to the deeper parts of the swamp. But it was not a natural break. Branches had been snapped from the trees, and reeds trampled underfoot; Darius was fairly certain he could see footprints in the thickest part of the mud, too. Someone had passed this way recently, and they had been in a hurry.

  Darius led the way forward grimly, taking care where he placed his boots. He had his hand on the hilt of his sword, mostly through habit, but also because he was not looking forward to facing any nasty surprises. If this girl had bitten the hand of one of the farmers, then she was a fighter, and it was unlikely she would allow herself to be cornered without putting up a struggle.

  Darius found himself getting curious as to his quarry. He knew from his second visit to the site of the slaughter that she had left after he and his father had first seen the bodies. The tracks had not been there previously. That meant she had been in hiding, watching them. It also meant that she had likely seen whoever it was that had committed the atrocity. It was vital that he find her and speak to her. She had to be one of the delegation; a slave perhaps? He knew that the Tho'reen indulged in that obscene practise. He did not blame this runaway for hiding and keeping out of sight. She must be afraid of the consequences that would befall her as an escaped slave. If the stories about the empire were true, they dealt with runaway or escaped slaves very harshly indeed. Mutilation, public flogging or whipping, and in the extreme cases, death.

  Darius pushed forward. The girl's trail was not a difficult one to follow. He could see footprints in the mud; fresh footprints. More broken branches and crushed undergrowth. Either the girl had no skills in bush-craft, or she was too afraid of being caught to take the time to hide her passage. If pressed on it, Darius would have wagered coin on the latter.

  Torelle had noticed the same thing. “She is moving quickly. If the swamp is as dangerous as you say, she is taking a great risk.”

  “She likely thinks it the lesser of two dangers. Those men back there were angry. I do not blame them for it, but I can also see things from the girl's viewpoint. She is scared. Can you imagine what she must have witnessed?”

  “Poor thing.” Torelle crept forward, dress hitched up almost to her knees to keep it free of the foul, muddy waters.

  Darius kept his gaze moving from side to side as they slogged through the water. He had a feeling they were getting close. The girl could not keep up the pace she had set for long. Several days, probably without fresh water and food would take its toll, especially here in the swamp. It was a marvel she had survived at all. Even without having met her, he found himself impressed by her fortitude and will to live.

  He emerged into a more open area that was flooded with stagnant, murky water. Trees grew from the mud on all sides, forming a ring around the space, and a rotting log poked up from the still surface of the pool with mushrooms growing along the crumbling bark. Flies buzzed through the air angrily.

  Darius paused here and frowned as he surveyed the way ahead. The trail he had been following seemed to have vanished. He could see no tracks leading from the pool, no disturbed plant life. She had entered here, he was sure, but then what?

  Torelle came up beside him, looking equally as perplexed. “I do not understand,” she said. “Did you misread the signs? Or has she been more clever than perhaps we gave her credit for?”

  Darius stepped forward into the pool and his feet sank down almost up to his knees. “Wait here,” he told his sister. “Let me see what signs I can find.”

  He was not hopeful that he would find anything. The girl had seemingly vanished, or else she had done as Torelle had suggested and tricked them somehow. Had she doubled back? Followed her own tracks back a distance then taken another route? He thought it unlikely. The tracks had been fresh; incredibly fresh. If she had tried such a deception she would have been seen. Which could only mean one of two things. She had taken to the trees and escaped without leaving a trail, or she had...

  Darius spun around, fear suddenly clutching at his chest. But he was already too late. A hollow reed close to the edge of the pool surged up, splashing water everywhere. A small, frail, human-shaped figure emerged, black with mud and moving as fast as lightning. It lurched towards Torelle and a pair of hands whipped out to grab her by the wrist.

  Torelle screamed, mostly from the surprise. But Darius saw her face twist into an expression of terror as a jagged piece of rock was thrust up against her throat.

  Darius' hand gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, but he did not draw it. He was too far away for his blade to be of any use; the girl could cut his sister's throat in an instant. But he also did not want to harm her. She was terrified. He could read the fear in her face as easily as he could read the words in one of the books in the castle library. It was etched into every bone in her body.

  Torelle was breathing heavily and barely moving for fear that the rock might cut into her flesh. Darius spared her one glance then focused his attention on the girl. She was watching him warily, like a deer cornered after a hunt. Those animals were always far more dangerous when they sensed they were trapped, and he suspected this girl would be much the same now.

  Darius let go of the hilt of his sword and held his hands out in a placating manner “We mean you no harm,” he said, keeping his voice as soft and as neutral as he could. The life of his sister hung on a knife's edge, and one wrong step could spell her doom. “We only wish to talk.”

  The girl made no response other than to tremble slightly as he spoke.

  Darius licked his lips and tried again. “Please. That is my sister. I only wish to see her unharmed, and for you to tell us what you saw. You were part of the delegation, were you not? You saw the slaughter. You saw me, too, yes? You were hiding. We found your tracks afterwards. We have been looking for you ever since, hoping for your aid.”

  The girl only stared. Darius was confused. Could she not understand him?
That was likely. The Tho'reen had their own language, and it was possible this girl had not learned the words of the kingdom. If true, it was going to make communication very difficult indeed.

  He changed tactics. If she could not understand what he was saying, them perhaps he could advance his meaning to her in other ways. Slowly, he mimed the slashing and hacking of a sword, then twisted his face into a death grimace, mimicking the butchery that had taken place. He pointed at the girl, then at his eyes.

  The girl watched the pantomime intently and then visibly swallowed. Success. Darius pointed to his sister, then spread his arms wide, a suggestion to let Torelle go.

  The girl shook her head vehemently, but she looked as though she was at least intrigued by what she was seeing, and willing to watch and listen. Darius would need to make a gesture of his intent.

  Slowly he reached for his belt. The girl tensed and shook as he unbuckled it from his waist and let the sword drop to the muddy waters. It stood up from the pool while the belt sunk beneath the surface.

  The girl stared at it for a moment, then looked back to him. She licked her lips, then very slowly, let go of Torelle.

  Darius breathed a sigh of relief as his sister staggered away from her former captive. She rubbed at the flesh on her neck as though fearful that it was bleeding and cut open. But there was not a scratch visible.

  The girl dropped the stone limply to her side, and then suddenly crumpled, as though her exhaustion had been held back by the slimmest of threads. She sunk to her knees in the mire and began to sob.

  Darius felt his heart lurch in sympathy and was about to go to her, when Torelle suddenly twisted and bent, wrapping her arms comfortingly around the girl. Darius watched as the two embraced, the smaller figure sobbing openly against his sister's chest.

  “We must take her back to the castle,” Torelle said. “She can tell us what she knows there.”

  Darius shook his head slowly and stepped forward, splashing through the muck. “No, I do not think she can.” He bent next to the girl and she looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “You understand me, do you not? Yes, I think you do. But you... you cannot reply.”

  The girl squared her shoulders, straightened her neck and slowly got to her feet. Then, as though she had done it a thousand times before, opened her mouth to reveal the empty cavern beyond.

  Her tongue had been removed.

  Eleven

  The man had a look of smug satisfaction on his face that made Queen Lysena both nauseous and infuriated. She wanted to reach out and slap it from his face. By contrast, the woman standing beside him looked defeated, broken, and utterly dejected. She was wringing her hands nervously and had only managed to look up at the queen twice during their conversation. Her clothing was worn and threadbare, giving her a bedraggled and world-weary appearance that made the queen want to weep with pity. When she had spoken, it had been in soft, barely audible whispers that Lysena had to strain to hear.

  “And so you see, my queen, I was well within my rights to throw this... this woman from my property. Over a month without the coin that was owed me. By your father's laws, I could have done the same sooner. But I took pity, I allowed her the time she asked for...”

  Lysena's gaze flicked to the man. He was not looking at her, he was looking at the woman in a way that sent an uneasy chill through her body. She suddenly realised why this wretch of a man had allowed the woman to stay in his property for as long as he had. He had received something other than coin in payment. The woman had bruises on her cheeks. They were mostly hidden by the grime of the streets, but they were there. She had refused him what he wanted eventually, and in return, she had been tossed out into the cold.

  “Then why come before me?” Lysena asked when the man had finished speaking. “You have your property back, you have turned a woman from her home, left her with nothing. Do not think I am blind to the things you did give her, however.”

  “My queen!” The man looked aghast, shocked that she might even suggest such a thing. “I would not do what you are thinking. The injuries you see came from those who found her on the streets. As to why I partitioned you now... she owes me coin still, and she refuses to pay. I ask that you grant me leave to take her as my servant until such time as the debt is paid. I am not without compassion, your majesty. I will make sure she has a place to live, clothes, food...”

  Until such time as you tire of her body, she thought in disgust. Lysena had to fight the urge to order him beheaded. She still had the law to consider. To think that he'd had the gall to come before her and ask such a thing as this.

  “No,” she said simply. “There will be no servitude required. I will pay the debt she owes from the royal coffers.”

  The man stared at her in surprise. The expression that was etched into his features might have been comical under different circumstances. It told Lysena that he could not quite believe what he was hearing. He cleared his throat and chose his words carefully. “I could never ask that, my queen. I simply require what is owed from this woman as the law...”

  “The law is what I say it is,” Lysena told him sharply. “So long as her debt is cleared, it matters not where the coin came from. You shall be paid, and when you are, you will have nothing more to do with this woman. Am I understood, Master Gayne? You will not seek her out, nor speak to her again if you see her in the city. If I hear that you have, I will have you thrown in a cell to rot.”

  The man hesitated. She could see the anger over being denied what he wanted boiling behind his eyes. It gave her a small measure of satisfaction.

  “As you wish it, your majesty,” he said, bowing. “If I may ask, what will become...”

  “You may not. Our business is done now. Leave. The treasury clerk will see to your payment on the way out.”

  He left, far more quickly than she had expected. After he was gone, Lysena turned to the woman. She finally looked up.

  “Thank... thank you, my queen, he... he did...”

  Lysena felt her heart melt with pity. “I know what he did. But you do not have to fear his touch any longer. Nor will you have to sleep on the streets. I am told that you are a seamstress, yes? Your place of employment was lost in a fire, I understand? I know of a fine seamstress who supplies the crown with the best dresses and gowns I have ever worn. She just so happens to be in need of an assistant. You will go to work for her, and in return, she will take a small sum from your coin each month to repay the royal coffers. You will not remain in debt to that man, nor to me, and you will be left with more than enough to live your life as you see fit. In the meantime, I will arrange for you to stay at an inn close by.”

  Lysena beckoned to one of the serving girls who was hovering in the shadows. “Take this woman to be bathed. Provide her with new clothing. When she is presentable, have her taken, under escort, to the Lord's Banner Inn, on Weaver's Lane.”

  The serving girl bowed, beckoned to a companion, and then hurried forward to escort the woman away from the throne room.

  Captain Jaran stepped forward, frowning. “That was... reckless, my queen. Master Gayne is a wealthy, powerful man, with powerful friends. He will take your decision as an insult.”

  “He can take it however he wishes, captain, I care not. I do not deal with men of his sort. He is lucky I did not have him flogged for what he did to that woman.”

  “Without proof, my queen?”

  She sighed and shook her head. “No, not without proof, Jaran. Even if it was as plain as the floor beneath my throne. But I wanted to, Gods help me, I wanted to.”

  Lysena rose from her throne. “That is enough for today, captain; I do not have the strength to face another Master Gayne. Tell the rest of the petitioners to return in two days time. I will see them then.”

  Captain Jaran nodded and strode away to see to her orders.

  Lysena left the throne room as quickly as she could. Nobles were shuffling forward as she turned to go, eager to bombard her with requests and suggestions, and a host of other
things she did not care for. They had hounded her time for the past few days, ever since she had emerged from her self-imposed solitude. A part of her wished she had remained there, where she was safe from this inane babble. She shooed them away with a wave of her hand and then passed through the door into her private quarters where none could follow.

  She paused beyond the door, letting the silence of the hall wash over her. The babble of voices was gone, the endless parade of men and women clamouring for attention. She was alone at last. She took several deep breaths, calming herself, then started forward once more.

  She entered her room and cast the formal shawl of her station from her shoulders, glad to be free of the thick, heavy burden. She replaced it with another, lighter garment and then left the room again. She swept along the hall, her gown brushing the floor, and through a door at the far end. A set of stairs descended down in a tight spiral. She went down them as quickly as she could, into the stone passage below. It was more dimly lit here, away from the royal apartments above, and colder, too. She was below ground.

  Her destination was the royal archive. In essence it was a library, but unlike the huge room above where records and tomes outlining the long history of the country were kept, this archive was private, meant only for the royal family. Her father had built it up during his long reign for his own personal use, and now it belonged to Lysena. She had only been in there twice before, and one of those occasions had been to ensure that the old loremaster who kept the chambers had all that he needed. Her second visit had taken place just two days earlier.

  The door to the archive creaked open and Lysena went through without pause.

  The chamber beyond was cramped, but surprisingly large, even if it did not seem so at first glance. The room was filled with scrolls, brittle manuscripts, and ancient, time-worn books. Shelves lined the walls and great oak bookcases filled almost every available inch of space, leaving only narrow gaps through which a person might pass. The air was musty and stale, and strong with the scent of parchment and accumulated wisdom. It was dimly lit; the candles and lanterns around the room could not penetrate much beyond the stacks in which they had been placed.