Blood roared in Eni’s ears at her last words.
Tears slid down Lydia’s cheeks. “Eni said he would not stand by and let Flynn Valense touch his woman. He vowed to kill him.”
Eni’s restraint snapped and he leapt towards Lydia; only to have Valense’s guards grasp him and drag him back.
“Lying bitch!” he bellowed. “There’s not one word of truth in this tale. Not one!”
“Quiet!”
Realmlord Valense loomed from his chair. Fury had finally overtaken grief. Valense’s thin body shook as if he had been stricken by palsy. Next to him, his wife was so pale she looked near to fainting. Her eyes were huge on her white face, and she gazed upon Eni as if he were a monster.
The realmlord stepped up to the stone slab where his son lay, and retrieved the hunting knife from where it sat on a velvet cloth next to Flynn’s body.
“This is your work, is it not?”
Eni drew a deep shuddering breath and attempted to calm himself.
“Yes Milord, I have made weapons for many in Catedrâl – but…”
Valense held up a hand to silence him, before he motioned to the guards.
“Get this murderer out of my sight!”
The realmlord then turned to Lydia, his stare wintry.
“You are no longer welcome here. Gather your possessions and leave Haladyn Castle immediately.”
Chapter Three
A Librarian’s Errand
Tarrancrest, Farindell
Val Falkyn often lost himself in his work, and this morning was no exception.
A chest of books bequeathed to Realmlord Kaur by one of his marshals sat in front of Val, and he had the laborious task of unpacking and sorting them. At first, upon lifting the heavy lid of the chest and casting his gaze over the books, Val worried that none of them would be worthy of gracing the shelves in his library. Yet, on closer inspection he saw some of the volumes were extremely old; most of them histories and memoirs.
A forest of books surrounded Val as he worked, rising from a flagstone floor up through a three tiered gallery to a domed ceiling. Tarrancrest’s Library was a shrine to the written word; an altar to culture and civilisation. Val was its only custodian.
Val pushed his shaggy blond hair out of his eyes and lifted the books carefully from the chest, before setting them upon the table in the centre of the library. He began sorting through the books and felt a flutter of excitement. They were all exquisitely made, with embossed leather covers and the finest Marl parchment. Occasionally, Tarrancrest Library received books from marshals and other dignitaries from throughout the Realm, but they were often a mixed bag. However, this marshal had bequeathed some treasures. It appeared that the marshal had once lived here at Tarrancrest, and his forefathers had all served generations of realmlords as stewards, chamberlains, scholars and librarians.
Dust covered many of the books, as if they had been pulled down off shelves and hurriedly packed into the chest without much thought or care. Val cleaned the cover of one of the dustiest books, using the sleeve of his robe. He caught his breath when he saw the title of the book.
“The Complete Book of Sorcery,” Val whispered, “what a find!”
It was rare to discover a book that covered all of Palâdnith’s magical orders – but this one had sections on each of them: Sentorân, Esquill and the Sisters of Sial. Val loved to read about magic, and such books were difficult to come across these days. Ever since the last Sentorân vanished from Palâdnith and all but a few of the Esquill had retreated to Deep-Spire, magic played very little part in the everyday lives of realmlords, nobility and common-folk alike.
Like most people, Val knew that the Sentorân had once been advisors to kings. After the Realm War nearly five centuries earlier, which split Palâdnith into six realms: Omagen, Sude, Farindell, Westhealm, Marl and Cathernis; the Sentorân had also counseled the realmlords. Then, one of the Sentorân, a young sorceress named Riadamor, had broken away from the order and formed the Esquill. At first, the two orders co-existed – but it was not long before Riadamor’s ambitions grew. She wanted Deep-Spire, and the power held by the Sentorân, for herself.
Intrigued, Val flicked to the chapter about the conflict between the Esquill and the Sentorân and began reading.
“Once the Esquill’s power grew to rival the Sentorân’s, Riadamor began to challenge her rivals openly. Their conflict culminated in the Battle of Deep-Spire, in the Year 322 of the Age of the Realms. The Esquill won that battle and the surviving Sentorân fled. With possession of Deep-Spire, Riadamor began tracking her rivals down. It was said that she had turned some of them into great feral birds; monstrous creatures that fed on human flesh – which came to be known as harlets. Riadamor and her Esquill used these birds to hunt down many of the remaining Sentorân.”
Val paused here and suppressed a shudder. Fortunately, he had never seen a harlet – few did and lived to tell the tale – for the birds lived high in the peaks of Palâdnith’s mountains. Had Riadamor not disappeared, Val reflected, the world he inhabited would be very different. These days, the magic of mankind was limited to the Esquill, who had chosen to use their skills to aid the realmlords; and the cure-alls, potions and incantations of the Sisters of Sial – who rarely strayed from the backwaters of Sude. Some said that soothsayers, ubiquitous throughout Palâdnith in their purple robes, had magical powers – but Val seriously doubted such talk.
Leafing through the book, Val saw that there was also an additional chapter on the Malwagen. He knew he should get back to work but was unable to resist reading the first few lines.
“Like the harlets, this secretive race of winged-sprites lives high in the mountains,” he read, “they are known to have colonies in the Rock and Pillars, the Starwalden Alps and the High Dragon Spines. Many do not realise that the Malwagen possess magical abilities. Yet, their magic is not like that of men – it is altogether subtler, crueler and more dangerous.” Val felt excitement flutter in the base of his stomach. For centuries, men had given the Malwagen a wide berth but Val was keen to know more about them.
This book was indeed rare and Val forced himself to put it to one side. He would take it to his chamber and read it from cover-to-cover before he placed it on the shelves.
It was quiet in the library, and dimly lit. There was little natural light, save for the tiny windows high up, as sunlight faded the books. Instead, a chandelier hung from the high ceiling and cast flickering shadows across the walls of books. Few people bothered Val here in the library, save those who sent their servants to collect books, and so Val spent a great deal of time on his own.
He was so engrossed in his task that he did not notice the small figure, dressed in black robes with a high collar, which marched into the library and strode towards him. The little man strutted across the floor, noiseless in velvet slippers, and halted in front of Val. He stood there for a few moments, waiting for the librarian to notice him – but when this did not happen, the man cleared his throat.
“Librarian Falkyn!”
Val looked up and frowned at Mirkel Rod, the realmlord’s chamberlain.
“What is it Mirkel?” he asked curtly.
The chamberlain thrust a parchment into Val’s hand.
“The realmlord has requested these two books.”
Val looked at the parchment and raised his eyebrows.
“The Secrets of the Great Bibliotheca and Lost Magical Artefacts of the Realms,” he read aloud. “A bit of light reading for our master?”
“That’s no business of yours, Falkyn,” Mirkel replied with a scowl. “Just get the books.”
Val brushed past him and went to fetch his ladder. He carried it over to the far wall of the library and climbed to the top. The two books Lord Kaur had requested were obscure, and Val knew he would find them on the top shelf of the restricted section. It was dusty up here and Val’s nose itched as he traced the leather spines. Eventually locating the books, Val removed them from the shelf and descended the ladder.
He brought the books back to his desk, before entering their titles and the date into a ledger.
“Here you are, Mirkel.”
Mirkel Rod gave Val a sour look, picked up the books and strode out of the library without a word of thanks. Val watched him go before turning back to his new books.
“Now where was I,” he murmured. “Ah yes – here’s another find: The Creation of Moden.”
Val could not resist taking a peek at this volume as well. The underworld prison, where until recently Palâdnith’s rulers – kings, and even a few of the early realmlords – had incarcerated their enemies, was another one of Val’s fascinations.
“Palâdnith’s rulers used a powerful charm, the Blood Stone, to open a portal between the two worlds and banish prisoners to Moden,” Val read aloud. “Large, red gems with a splash of black at their hearts – the Blood Stones were the work of the warlocks who created Moden itself. Those condemned to Moden would be tied to a pillar in the centre of a large stone platform. The judge would then stand a safe distance back, before casting the stone at the feet of the prisoner. One word unlocked the portal: Marthragin. The Ancient Goranthian word for ‘banish’. A vortex would then open and suck the condemned into the underworld. There were originally ten Blood Stones fashioned from the heart of a volcano but, over the centuries, all the stones have been lost.”
Val had read references to Blood Stones before, but never in such detail. He wondered what had happened to them. Reluctantly, he forced himself to close the book and return to work.
At this rate, he would have enough bedtime reading for months.
Many hours later, Val left the sanctuary of his library and made his way down to Tarrancrest’s kitchens. The aroma of roasting fowl welcomed him and his stomach growled in response, reminding him that he had not eaten since his quick breakfast of pottage and bread at dawn.
It had been an eventful day. After Mirkel Rod’s visit, two others had come to collect books: Dafne, the governess who taught the realmlord’s two youngest daughters, Jasmina and Clarisa; and Meldwyn, Tarrancrest’s physician, who usually visited the library once a fortnight. Three visitors in one day might not have seemed many, but Val was used to days stretching by without seeing anyone. He massaged a stiff muscle in his neck and shrugged the tension out of his shoulders. At thirty-five, he sometimes felt decades older. He was stiff and sore after spending days bent over books.
The kitchens took up nearly half of one lower level of Tarrancrest’s great keep. Like the rest of the fortress, the walls were red, pitted stone and four-foot thick. Great fires burned along the exterior wall, with massive chimneys that pumped smoke outside. It was a vast, windowless space crammed with work benches, cupboards, and pantries that were the size of Val’s bed-chamber.
A huge scrubbed oak table dominated the space. Lined with stools and worn by generations of cooks slicing, dicing and pounding ingredients on its scarred surface, the table was the heart of the kitchen. Teams of cooks worked at this table from dawn to dusk, preparing food for Realmlord Kaur and the great number of relatives, noblemen, soldiers and servants who resided within Tarrancrest Keep.
This time of day was when the servants collectively paused. The realmlord and his family would dine later that evening but, for now, the cooks, servants and scullery maids had a rare moment of peace as they sat and ate their evening meal. Everyone was already seated as Val entered the kitchens. The roar of laughter and conversation was deafening.
Two boys rushed into the kitchen behind Val, and barreled into him in their haste to reach the table.
Val grabbed the first boy by the shoulders and pulled him up short, causing his brother to collide with them both.
“Slow down boys.”
He ruffled the lad’s dark hair and sent him on his way.
“Off you go. Your mother’s kept spaces for you both at the end of the table.”
The boys were a bit wild, as their father was off fighting on the Farindell-Sude border and their mother had little time for them; she was too busy running Tarrancrest kitchens as head cook. They reminded Val of him and his brothers at the same age – boys with energy to burn, in a household of adults too busy for them.
“Val!”
Rianna, one of the cooks, waved Val over and pulled up a stool next to her at the far end of the table. She shoved a huge plate of roast marsh hen, mashed potato and turnip, and hot gravy in front of him.
“Here – if you get any thinner you’ll snap. Eat this!”
Val gave her a timid smile before digging into his dinner. Usually, he took his meals alone in his chamber; but once a week he made an effort to join the other servants downstairs. Although he did not offer much in the way of conversation, often blushing the moment he became the centre of attention, the laughter and easy company were a welcome respite from the solitude of his day-to-day existence.
As usual, gossip was circulating the table. Most of it eddied and swirled around Val, and he only caught snippets. Val had finished his generous plate of food and was starting on a bowl of suet pudding with a honey and butter syrup, when he finally caught up with today’s main topic of discussion: the realmlord and his family. Rianna was leading the discussion.
“I don’t know how she puts up with him. Lady Mallory is such a well-mannered soul.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard,” one of the servants, Tobias, replied from across the table, “I’ve heard she’s barren and has a tongue like a viper. She should have borne him at least two children by now.”
“He killed his last wife with all her pregnancies,” Rianna muttered.
“Yes, but he still needs a son,” Tobias replied, “and after all that business with Lady Cirinna who can blame him?”
The table fell silent then. The terrible events that had transpired at the end of last spring had rocked Tarrancrest to its core. Lady Cirinna, the eldest of Realmlord Kaur’s six daughters, had disgraced herself utterly. Yet, it had been her father’s cruel and vengeful response that had caused the greatest shock.
One of the cooks further down the table broke the hush
“I hear he’s finally managed to find a husband for Lady Cirinna,” she said, her voice high and excited. “Tasha told me that the Guardian of the Citadel of Lies has agreed to marry her!”
This juicy morsel caused the entire table to erupt in excited chatter. Tasha was Lady Cirinna’s handmaid so any news that filtered down from her was regarded as truth.
However, Tobias merely sneered at this news. “I’d wager the Guardian knows nothing of her disgrace.”
“That’s hardly news,” Rianna replied with a scowl. “We have all been threatened with our lives if we mention it outside these walls.”
Val listened to the conversation with interest. For a moment, his thoughts strayed to Lady Cirinna. He had seen her less than a handful of times in his decade here. Pale, pretty and slender, she looked a lot like the realmlord’s first wife. She had the same quiet manner and ethereal looks. Like everyone else at Tarrancrest he felt it hard to believe the scandal that had befallen her. However, it must have been true, for the body of her lover, one of the realmlord’s most trusted advisors, had been strung up over the moat and left to rot for weeks after the scandal broke.
Val finished his pudding and was half-way through a tankard of ale, when he spotted a familiar figure at the foot of the stairwell – Mirkel Rod. The chamberlain marched across the kitchen towards Val. Watching Mirkel approach, Val’s heart sank.
Not twice in one day, please.
“Val Falkyn!”
Mirkel Rod’s voice cut across the roar of excited voices. Upon seeing the realmlord’s chamberlain in their midst, the table fell silent. Their faces were aghast at what he might have overheard. However, Mirkel had not paid a visit to listen to their gossip. His gaze was fixed upon Tarrancrest’s librarian.
“What is it, Mirkel?” Val asked coldly.
“The realmlord summons you,” Mirkel informed him with equal coolness. “Come along – you d
on’t want to keep him waiting.”
***
Val followed Mirkel Rod inside Tarrancrest’s Great Hall. His gaze lifted to the high spider-vaulted ceiling before travelling down towards the floor – no matter how many times Val saw it, the Great Hall’s magnificence never failed to impress him. Gigantic, square pillars lined each side of the hall with a slenderer set of columns dissecting the centre. The floor was pink marble veined with crimson. A large circular window filled with yellow stained glass took up the entire back wall. Outside, the day was dim but, nonetheless, light flowed inside and pooled like molten gold on the marble floor.
Mirkel Rod strode ahead of Val and led him to the back of the hall, before smartly stepping to one side with a flourish.
“Librarian Falkyn, Milord.”
“Thank you Mirkel.”
Willem Kaur, Realmlord of Farindell lounged upon an iron throne at the top of marble steps. Behind him stood Roth Tobin; captain of the Tarrancrest Guard. Tobin was a tall, hard-faced man wearing a heavy chainmail vest that reached his knees and a long green cape. He was built like a bull and completely bald. Val had only ever seen Captain Tobin from afar, leading the guard during the Harvest Fest parade, or bellowing orders during sword practice in the keep’s inner-bailey. The captain’s gaze bored into him and Val looked away, instead focusing his attention on the man who had demanded his presence.
As always, the sight of Realmlord Kaur made Val nervous. Willem Kaur was not known for his gentle manners and Val’s few encounters with his master had left him shaken for days.
Lord Kaur leaned forward in his throne and clasped his hands in front of him,
“Librarian Falkyn, I apologise for tearing you away from your supper.”
Unlike his daughters, who were all willowy, Kaur was a short and stocky man. He was dressed in plush furs and jewels, while on his head he wore a delicate silver circlet. Despite that he was now entering his fifth decade, the realmlord still had a thick head of greying hair. It was his one vanity, and he wore it with a thick fringe, as if someone had placed a pudding bowl over his head and cut round it. The face below that fringe was sagging and bitter.
Journey of Shadows (The Palâdnith Chronicles Book 1) Page 5