by K. C. Herbel
“Where’s my sister?”
Ergyfel hesitated. The sounding of one name had snatched him from sleep. His mind was quite clear, and yet the answer to the question was muddied. He needed to answer—to answer before she suspected.
“What do you mean?”
“Caenne was here in our bed. I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have allowed it, but she was frightened. She had a bad dream, and you were gone.”
“A bad dream?”
“Yes. She’s always depended on me for comfort when she’s had one.”
“I see.”
“I’m sorry, my lord. I shall tell her she can no longer come to me.”
“No, it is ... well.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Did she say what it was about?”
“Her dream?”
“Yes.”
“No, my lord.”
Ergyfel nodded.
“Did you speak to her, my lord?”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“Oh. Um … no. She wasn’t here when I returned from my hunt. Perhaps she went back to her own bed.”
“Hmm. Yes. Good night, my love.”
“Good night.”
Maeven closed her eyes and fell back to sleep. It would take Ergyfel the better part of an hour before utter exhaustion dragged him down to an uneasy slumber.
***
When grey dawn arrived, the castle stumbled awake at a limping pace and steadfastly progressed to a groggy stagger. It was nearing midday before it approached anything like the gait of a listing sailor.
Though their activities turned slow, each inhabitant of Castle Orgulous chafed under masked agitation. There was an undercurrent of tension, as if the whole were expecting some still shrouded and stupendous event to burst through the gloomy tide brought by the drab morning. All the while, the ominous storm wheeled overhead, gaining force and pressing down on the castle, keeping a lid on the cauldron.
And then the storm lifted. Just like that, it swept away from Nyraval and strode like a hungry lion toward the Irish Sea, leaving the bruised spirit of Orgulous to recover. But it was not to be a cheery day, for as soon as the ill-omened storm disappeared, Lord and Lady Feolaghe realized that their youngest daughter was missing.
Maeven rushed to the king’s chamber to gain his aid, only to find him still in bed, sick with fever. The festering wound on his hand now stretched to his forearm and was inflamed. The smell attacked Maeven’s nose as she bent to feel Ergyfel’s forehead.
While the king slept in a fevered dream, Maeven removed the old bandages and washed the wound with wine and water. She then summoned the king’s physician and waited by her moaning lord until he arrived. While she waited, she further examined the wound.
Maeven had learned from her mother, the Lady Barane, to care for various injuries—the sort of wounds a caring wife of a knight knew about. In fact, she had learned much while helping her mother tend to her father’s wounds. However, she had never seen anything like this. Had never seen a burn that continued to grow and consume flesh long after the initial injury. What’s more, something strange was happening deep within the wound, beneath the strange translucent skin. New tissue grew within the wound, but of a color and texture unlike any flesh she could remember seeing.
Finally, the doctor arrived. He bowed to Lady Maeven and proceeded to care for his royal patient.
With the king in good hands, Maeven rose to leave. On the way from the bedchamber, she noticed that his clothes from the night before still littered the floor near the door. She scooped them up, and perceiving their damp muddied state, took them to be cleaned.
Upon finding a servant girl, Maeven handed her the king’s clothing and boots. “You must have quite a mess on your hands, today.”
“Not more than we can handle, milady.”
“Yes, I’m sure. But with the storm last night, you must be up to your elbows in wet clothes and mud.”
“Oh that, it has been a bit messy. I’m just glad that the hunting party returned before the storm started. Otherwise, we’d really have our hands full.”
“But I thought—”
“Maeven,” a voice screeched from down the corridor. She turned to see Lady Barane sailing like a great ship towards her with several servants in her wake. “Where have you been?”
“I have been tending to the king, Mother.”
“You’ll have time for that later. We’ve got to find Caenne, now!”
“I only went to the king to see if he would order his men to form search parties.”
“And did he?”
“He’s too sick, Mother.”
“Too sick to make a simple order.”
“Mother! The king is in a fever, and I could not wake him.”
“Where is his physician?”
“He has only just arrived, Mother.”
“Come, then. You have done all you can. We must search for your sister without the king’s help.”
Maeven and Lady Barane took their servants and split up to search Orgulous. Along the way, they each spread the word and enlisted the aid of any servant who was available. Several nobles joined in, while others volunteered their servant’s efforts and, before long, many knights and off-duty guards got in on the search.
***
Two days later, King Ergyfel held court in the great hall. His war council and other influential lords were present, as well as the senior servants of Orgulous, officers of Ergyfel’s guard, and his personal physician. Lady Maeven stood near the dais with her weary father and sobbing mother. She appeared red-eyed but held tight to her tears to lend strength and hope to her parents.
“My apologies, Majesty,” the seneschal of Orgulous said. “But we have searched everywhere with no sign of the girl.”
“Obviously, you have not searched everywhere!” Ergyfel shouted. “She has to be somewhere.”
“Everywhere in Orgulous has been searched, Your Majesty. Every passage, both common and secret, has been searched. Every room, closet, pantry, trunk, barrel, and well has been searched. I even searched ...” The seneschal stopped.
“What? You even searched what?”
The seneschal cleared his throat and looked from side to side for support from his fellow servants. Finding them sullen and staring at the floor, he continued on his own, “I even searched the royal chambers. I beg Your Majesty’s forgiveness.”
Ergyfel flashed the seneschal a searing glance that transformed into a smile. “Very well. You have discharged your duty to the letter.”
At that moment, Hengest and several guards entered the great hall and strode past Lord Feolaghe and his family to the dais.
“Brother. What have you found?”
“As you requested, I took two-hundred men and searched Nyraval from cellar to rafter. We found nothing of the girl and no sign of Gwythian spies.”
“Gwythian spies?” one of Ergyfel’s war council exclaimed.
Immediately, a hubbub filled the room.
“Silence!” When they had quieted, Ergyfel turned to the audience of lords. “As a precaution, I had my brother search the town for Gwythian spies while they searched for the girl. Killing two birds ... there’s no need to be alarmed.”
Another lord stepped forward. “Do you think the Gwythies could have spies here already, Your Majesty?”
“Of course, you twit!” Lord Feolaghe said. “Why else search for them?”
Ergyfel nodded his approval. “Thank you, Lord Feolaghe. You are quite right. As I’m sure you have ascertained, the search for your daughter was a good opportunity to look stealthily for our enemies. Please, forgive me.”
Feolaghe bowed. “No need to apologize, Your Majesty.”
One of the nobles in the rear spoke up. “Did the Gwythies take the girl?”
Ergyfel held up his hands to preempt the return of chaos to the assembled crowd. “Please, my good lords, let us not get carried away by some imagined threat and go charging into the dark. While Gwyt
hia has invaded and we are at war, we have found no sign of them here in Nyraval. Lord Feolaghe, has there been a ransom demand?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“Now surely, if the Gwythies had kidnapped Lord Feolaghe’s daughter we would have heard a demand from them by now.”
A general, quiet agreement whispered throughout the hall.
“No. … The fiends who have done this have even less honor than the Gwythies. It is plain to me that this is nothing less than an attack against me, here in my own home! I am sure that most everyone in Castle Orgulous knows by now that Lady Maeven is special to me and that her family is like my family. This attack against them is an attack upon me! Upon us! Its purpose: to divide our energies and throw us off balance. But they will not succeed!”
The assembly cheered.
“Your Majesty. Your Majesty!”
“Yes, Lord Brabbelyn.”
“Your Majesty, perhaps it is the unnamed threat you have warned us about.”
Ergyfel stared at the young man, and then settled back into the throne. He stared through his bridged fingers as the audience watched him. The room held its breath.
Finally, Ergyfel exhaled. “Yes. It’s conceivable; they could have spies here in Orgulous.”
Again, a hubbub filled the chamber, growing louder as each of the lords strained to speak above the lord next to him. This continued until each became aware of the solemn figure of Lady Barane approaching the dais. As she passed, she left only silence in her wake.
The Lady of Feolaghe Tor bowed and waited for the king to speak to her.
Ergyfel acknowledged her. “Rise, good lady.”
“Your Majesty.” Lady Barane kept her eyes on the floor. “I know I am speaking out of turn, but I only ask for my daughter, Caenne.”
“Yes? What would you ask?”
The lady paused for a moment. “I ask that you use your powers to find her, Your Majesty.”
“My powers.” He paused to take in the anxious faces around the hall. All eyes were on him and the woman before his dais.
In the past, Ergyfel had found it useful for people to speculate about his magical powers. Their fear of him imparted greater influence, and at times, a freer hand than was customarily afforded one of his station. And so, he had allowed their tongues to wag and their imaginations to spin. However, to escape the wrathful hand of a superstitious lynch mob there was a balance to maintain, and uncertainty played counterweight to all his sins—real or imagined. He therefore never felt it prudent to confirm their fears about his magical powers. However, since his coronation, the opinion of the court had become much more diplomatic.
Is this the right time?
At that moment, his eyes fell upon Maeven. She bit her lip and stared at her love, her tense body leaning towards him.
“I don’t suppose you are referring to my powers as sovereign?” It was the closest to an admission his courage would allow.
Lady Barane bowed her head and cowered ever so slightly. Her husband was beside her now. He bowed to Ergyfel and took his wife by the arm.
“Please, forgive her, Your Majesty. She is distraught.”
“Yes. Quite.” Ergyfel nodded.
He was, in fact, feeling a sudden rush of relief, for he believed he had once again avoided openly admitting to his magical powers, and sustaining that deep-rooted practice brought him back within his established comfort zone. But his comfort lasted only a breath before his gaze fell on Maeven. He watched with growing remorse as her restrained expression of hope transformed to disappointment, and her expectant stance became listless.
Lord Feolaghe turned to take his wife back to their place in the crowd.
“Wait.”
The king’s voice clung on the assembly’s ears like the first clarion of a tourney. The hall was still. Lord Feolaghe and his wife remained frozen in mid-retreat.
If not now, when? I am the king! Why should I deny the better part of who I am? It will be a relief to stop with this foolish game.
“Milady,” he said in a commanding manner.
The Lord and Lady of Feolaghe Tor turned back to face him.
“Milady.” Ergyfel softened his tone. “Though my strength is not fully recovered from the fever, I will harness what arcane knowledge I possess to the task of finding your daughter.”
Caenne’s parents bowed with reverence to their king. A low buzz began in the crowd of lords and spread to the servants.
“Now, leave me.” The command had returned to his voice. When he saw that several gossiping lords remained unmoved, he shouted, “All of you!”
The rooted lords bowed, then scurried to catch up with the others at the rear of the hall. All save Lord Brabbelyn.
“What is it, Brabbelyn?” Ergyfel took no pains to disguise his annoyance.
“What of the spies, Your Majesty?”
“For now, leave them to me.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
Brabbelyn bowed and left the hall with his fellow noblemen. As Ergyfel watched them leave, he became aware of a hand on his wrist. He had almost forgotten the eager physician standing beside him.
“You too, leech. I need peace to prepare for this task.”
The last to leave were Lady Maeven and the king’s brother. Maeven bowed to her lord, who acknowledged her with a nod before she retired. Hengest then approached the throne, but Ergyfel waved him away. He felt weary.
As Hengest reached the doors to the great hall, Ergyfel called out, “Brother.”
Hengest spun to face him.
“Find me a spy.”
“A spy?”
“The one responsible for the girl.”
Hengest bowed his head and left his brother alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Storm
Billy watched from the stern of the Gyldan Mene as the last purple shadows and shining star-gems of Finvarra’s great cave passed out of view, and the ship slipped into the unfathomable fog. In the supernatural stillness, he felt alone. He turned to see Sylvys and Shaldra standing at the bow, scanning the way ahead in the frail hope they might see something.
Billy marched across the stern castle and started down its creaky staircase. At the bottom, Deordrif sat amid her obsidian-like armaments, polishing and sharpening. She seemed strangely at home, for a woman surrounded by the tools of war. There it was again, an embarrassing splinter in his eye. Drif is a woman. How could I have been so blind?
Deordrif stood up to allow Billy to slip by on the steps.
As he passed her, he muttered, “You might have told me.”
“Told you what?”
The sound of her voice threw Billy off balance. His statement had been for his own edification, as he expected her to uphold her usual stony silence.
Billy regained his footing and stepped in front of her. He stared beyond the ornate breastplate to study her elegant features.
Deordrif’s slender neck offered her regal head up to the heavens. Her smooth, high cheeks and full lips remained motionless while her catlike, lavender eyes regarded Billy from on high. There was something feral and yet stately in her gaze that made him feel uncomfortable. The visage of the Night Queen stirred up from his memory and settled perfectly over Deordrif’s face. Billy’s heart froze.
“Told you what?”
Her words shook Billy from his trance.
“That you’re a ...” He pulled himself up short when he realized how ridiculous he must appear, to have mistaken her for a man. It was rather obvious to him now that she was all woman. Any half-wit could see that, with or without armor. Billy also wondered how he had managed to miss her distinct resemblance to the Night Queen when Finvarra exposed her.
“Well,” he said. “That you’re a—oh, never mind.”
Billy turned, but found Deordrif’s hand on his arm. He faced her and watched as her aloof expression muted.
“Would it have made a difference?” she asked.
He looked down at her hand then back to her pier
cing eyes. The sound of her voice was pleasing to his ear.
Deordrif released his arm. “If you had known, would it have made a difference?”
Billy measured his answer carefully. “Yes.”
She smiled. “Ah, an honest answer.”
“Aye.”
“Well. … I am no stranger to the application of glamour, and my intent was in it for that end. I’m only surprised it worked so well on the ...” Drif pursed her lips.
“Worked so well on the what?”
Drif regarded him then said, “On the son of Eleanor.”
“Ah, an honest answer?”
Deordrif tilted her head and lowered her eyes. “It would appear so.”
He found her voice soothing, and felt the tensions of the quest ebbing away. His mind stumbled across the thought that this, too, might be faerie glamour. At this, his back stiffened while his collar pressed tighter against his pulse.
Billy tugged at his collar. Will I ever be able to trust her?
At that moment, Shaldra appeared between them. Billy watched as the two elves eyed each other in silence.
“What is it, Shaldra?”
“Something’s happening ahead.”
Billy followed Shaldra forward to the bow. When they reached Sylvys, the satyr was leaning out over the figurehead, facing ahead.
“I think we’re almost out, Your Highness.”
The ship remained shrouded in mist. All Billy could see was the light of their lanterns turned back against them.
“I can’t see anything.”
Shaldra faced the stern. “Don’t look with your eyes.”
Billy listened, but could only hear the creaking of the ship’s timbers. He then closed his eyes and concentrated the way Onian had taught him to do on Tirn Aill.
A sound crept into his ears, at first just a distant whisper, then a soft moan. It was the sound of water, the sound of the sea.
Billy turned to face his companions, but his eyes shifted to Deordrif. The dark elf was practicing a combat exercise with her sword. Her movements were strong and fluid.
“You’re right, Sylvys.”
“Good. I am?”
“Yes, we’re almost out.” Billy still stared beyond them.
Shaldra looked over his shoulder to see what had captivated Billy’s attention. Drif finished her exercise with a flourish and launched into another.