Bardess of Rhulon

by Verna McKinnon

  It was a cemetery, but which one? Rose directed her thoughts to Crimson directly, singing her questions.

  Where is Princess Lilias?

  Rose stumbled and suddenly found herself in the royal courtyard beneath the night sky. Crimson fled the palace in the darkness, hidden beneath the voluminous purple cloak. Rose recalled that damn purple cloak when she saw a woman running across the courtyard, when she was feeding the raven on her windowsill at the palace.

  If only I had known what you were then!

  Rose’s chased the changeling’s memory. It was oddly freeing for her consciousness to run alongside the swift demon on its night journey. The flight ended in a stark wilderness, choked with weeds and tall yellow grass. The changeling absconded for a gloomy ruined church surrounded by ancient graves overlooking White Thorn. Crimson sprinted up the steep peak to a ruined church, shrieking with joy, driving the small nocturnal animals to flee from its violent wail.

  Rose dashed through the forgotten graveyard like a stubborn ghost, pursuing the changeling. Tombstones covered a weedy hillside, the timeworn stones etched with the names of the dead, so ancient now that some of the gravestones had crumbled into chalky memory of the dead they once marked. Rose watched Crimson beneath the moonlit sky, creeping behind the demon until it entered the crumbling chapel. The rickety place lost its sanctity long ago. Crimson rushed to a broken door in the floor that led to an underground crypt.

  Her thoughts bound to the demon, Rose followed Crimson into the underground of rot and death to a forlorn crypt bed where a pale cocooned figure lay in blackness. The Princess was bound in a white death shroud and the red amulet a glowing grave marker set in dark gold. Crimson needed to return often to renew the link; else the spell would have been broken. The mystical bond was nearly severed because Crimson had kept the shrouded Princess enchanted for too long. Rose sensed the waning spell, like a dying song. She knew they had to act fast or the victim would die without mystical help. Crimson did not care if Lilias died. The demon only regretted it would not get to feast on her now. Rose shuddered, wishing she had not heard that. The changeling fled, and Rose was in pursuit. An ancient iron fence, bowed with time and weather, circled the ancient graveyard. She could not make out words in the darkness, but the moonlight shown on the image of a crow or raven wrought from the iron on the main gate.

  The changeling’s memory was shifting, shaking off the memories that Rose had woke. There was a terrifying shift that gave Rose pause. She was so focused on watching and directly connecting with Crimson, that she did not know that Crimson had finally become aware of her intrusion. Fury replaced memories and her gruesome face loomed; the eyes glinted, like black flames of hate. The images fractured into chaos again when Rose faltered. Rose was trapped and unable to free herself. She was weakening which each heartbeat as fever burned her body.

  I’m dying.

  Rose desperately fought to free her mind, but she remained trapped in its consciousness as its demonic visage snarled down.

  A giant raven burst between them, bringing a rush of wind that hurled Rose across the abyss. Black sweeping wings and sharp talons forced Crimson back into the dark void. Rose was falling now, but the raven’s swift wings caught her. Feathers soft and warm embraced her as the raven carried her away.

  “Karta!” Rose gasped and opened her eyes.

  Culain and Meg hovered over her, looking down at her as though she were past hope.

  Rose sat up, head throbbing with fever, but coherent. “I’m not dead yet, so please shake off that mournful look.”

  Culain’s strong hand was on her shoulder. “Lay back and rest. Your friends should be here very soon with the antidote.”

  Robert brought her an icy cloth to soothe her fever. Culain laid it on her forehead. For a brief second its coolness soothed her heated brow.

  “Go to the graveyard,” Rose insisted, trying to make them understand. “I think I know where she hid the Princess.”

  “How? What graveyard?” Aristide started. “There are many in White Thorn. How can that be possible you saw where?”

  “I saw where Lilias is hidden. If I describe the place, perhaps you would know where to search. Find some city maps. I know it must be nearby if Crimson had to visit her often.”

  “Rose, calm down,” Culain told her gently. “It was a just a bad dream.”

  “No! I can’t be calm. The light of the amulet on Lilias has faded,” Rose choked. “Lilias is dying. She will be lost unless you act soon. The amulet’s link is symbiotic in some way. I don’t know about dark magic. But I saw hertruly I did.”

  “Rose, can you describe what you saw?” Darius asked gently.

  Rose struggled to get out of bed. “It was very old. Abandoned. Desolate. An old graveyard with an abandoned church.”

  Thera knelt by her side and pleaded. “I know Karta is watching over you. She guided you to this knowledge. Tell us how to save Lilias. But if you harm yourself, you will both be lost forever. Rest little one. Trust us to listen.”

  “Bring another cold cloth,” Culain whispered. “She’s burning up.”

  Robert Silverberry added ice to a bowl of water. “Coming sir,” he answered.

  Rose closed her eyes and told them the detail of the gravestones, the years that were still etched on the gravestones, and the ruined church. The underground crypt. Her detail was vibrant and precise, for her recall was always perfect. She described the crow’s sculpture on the cemetery’s broken gate.

  “I think I know this place,” Aristide exclaimed with surprise. “That’s Crow Hill. The decrepit old church on top is the old Holy Spear of Ursas chapel, located on the east edge of the city. It was abandoned over three hundred years ago. As the empire grew and expanded, it became largely forgotten as the city grew and took different directions. It’s the oldest cemetery in White Thorn. We told ghost stories about it even when I was a boy.”

  “A lot of local folk believe it’s haunted. We should go now, Your Majesty,” Meg said, “with your permission of course.”

  “I’ll ride with you,” Darius said.

  Culain glanced at Darius at nodded, “Go be a hero and save the captive Princess. I’ll take care of Rose.”

  “Your Bardess possesses great bravery and is a credit to your house.” The Emperor looked down at Rose. “I will pray for your recovery.” He turned to Meg. “Commander Sparrow, you may stay here with your friend of you wish.”

  “No, Meg should go,” Rose insisted. “She’s so good at rescue. She rescued me from slavers my first day here, you know.”

  The Emperor marched away with an escort of guards, with his son at his side.

  Meg squeezed her hand before she left. “Don’t you dare, die,” she threatened. “

  Rose noted Culain appeared to be heartened Aristide and Darius left side by side. Thera, ever vigilant for rescue of her royal charge, followed them. Rose wanted to go with them, but she collapsed back on the pillow, fever consuming her.

  Rose turned to Culain. “You were the one who planned the trap for the changeling, yet you gave Darius all the credit.”

  “It helped Aristide to see his son in a different light. As an Ambassador, that is what we call establishing good diplomatic relations.”

  Incessant taps on the window glass from outside alerted Rose.

  “Damned birds!” Robert complained.

  “What is it?” Culain asked.

  Robert grumbled, “I’ll shoo it away.”

  “No, let it in,” Rose gasped. “I think it’s Owena. Skullcap must have sent her.”

  Robert opened the casement window and an irate crow flew inside and landed at the foot of her bed.

  “Owena,” Rose laughed. “Did Zula send you?”

  Culain carefully approached and the crow patiently waited as he untied a small vial the crow had carried. “It’s a potion bottle.”

  “Owena is such a good crow,” Rose whispered. “Skullcap’s crow for the crown.”

  Culain uncorked the blu
e bottle and gently lifted her head. Rose swallowed the potion and then laid her head back on the pillow.

  “See,” Rose said. “Magic will make it all better soon. Tasted just like honey too. I’ll be better after a nap. Then I’ll have quite a heroic poem to compose. Do you think Belenus will be proud of me?”

  “Of course he will,” Culain assured her.

  In about a quarter hour, Zula and Skullcap ran into the room. Owena flew over to her ranger and perched on his arm.

  “Did she get the potion?” Zula asked. “This palace is like a city. So huge. We knew it would take too much time to walk from the Emperor’s apothecary, so we sent Owena on ahead with the potion just in case.”

  “Yes, we received it,” Culain answered. “Now what happens?”

  Zula went to Rose. “Rose will sleep. We will wait and pray. We should know before morning.”

  “I wonder if my parents have my letter yet,” Rose said. “I didn’t tell them about being kidnapped of course. It was such a long journey here from Stone Haven,” she murmured in her delirium. “I walked you know,” Rose whispered, fever consuming her. “I walked here all the way from Rhulon.”

  “That’s quite a journey,” Culain said. “I would love to hear the tale.”

  “I have so many new tales to tell, songs to write,” Rose murmured. “My mother won’t be proud though,” Rose uttered bitterly as she drifted, a tear welling in her eye. “I always burned the pies.”

  “Hush child,” Zula whispered. “Sleep.”

  Rose dreamed of ravens watching over her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Nashim sat at the rickety table with a metal bowl, mixing soap and water into a foamy mound. “I was worried you would come back with a black eye this time,” Nashim laughed. “Your former wife has such a volatile temper.” Nashim stirred the frothy soap in the wooden mug and creamed his black scalp with it. Then he took his dagger and carefully and quickly shaved his head.

  Mathias watched him shave with careful and swift precision. “I don’t know how you do that without a mirror or without cutting yourself to ribbons.”

  “Practice. A lifetime of soldiering in the field, boy. You do or you perish. I do, however, miss the luxury of my wife doing this is for me, but she is beyond my reach right now. I miss my wife. I miss my daughters. I console myself that they are safe in another land. Tell me, Mathias, is your conscience appeased now?”

  “Yes,” Mathias nodded, sitting on the narrow bed. “We can go back to Shadulai now.”

  Nashim carefully scraped his left scalp and wiped the blade. His ebony skin glistened. His large dark eyes glinted at him as he shaved. “We did not get weapons, but the king’s agents agreed to cash, with the condition there is no mention of them helping us. That will buy us weapons. The King was preoccupied today. Apparently there is some changeling running amok. They tried to keep it quiet, but I heard some servants whispering in terror.”

  “Well, at least we will leave with something. Maybe we can build that army and regain our homeland. We can finally bring down the king.”

  “Remember, I served that crazy man until he started to think of people as kindling. He was once a good king, but bad religion and curses twisted his mind. But I agree, now is the time to rid ourselves of King Josiah. To remove a bad king you need a lot of swords. You need support of other realms, money, and men to fight it. Are you done in White Thorn now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your martyr obsession is becoming dangerous, you know.”

  “I just needed to see her.”

  “She obviously did not feel the same way.”

  “That’s my burden.”

  “There is a great deal of burden now. None of it is going to get better until we remove that madman from the throne. You coming here was a mistake. A time waster, Mathias. We need to get back.” He rinsed the dagger and smoothly shaved the right side of his head. “I have men to recruit and train. Bargains to strike for food and weapons. Rebellion is demanding work, Vicar. Did you at least book us passage on the ship?”

  “Yes, of course. I took care of everything.”

  “Good.” Nashim wiped his freshly shaven head with a damp towel and stood up. “Let’s find somewhere else to eat. I need some good ale and a hearty dish of beef. The food here isn’t fit to be pig swill.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Mathias replied. He fingered the burnt silver wedding ring on the chain around his neck like a talisman.

  * * *

  Meg maneuvered Fayre through the broken headstones on Crow’s Hill. She galloped up steep rocky ground toward the ancient derelict chapel on top of the mound that shone like a lonely ghost beneath the full moon. “Best to stop here, girl,” she whispered to Fayre and the horse stopped, bobbing her head up and down, anxious. Meg tried to calm her down, stroking her mane. “It’s a bad place. I don’t like it here either, but we won’t be long.”

  Prince Darius reigned in his horse at her side, “This place does look haunted.”

  Meg jerked back her hood and dismounted Fayre. “It’s a cemetery. It’s supposed to look haunted.” Fayre was still agitated and Meg stroked her head soothingly to calm her.

  “The horses are nervous here,” Thera commented, alighting from her horse with smooth grace. “Even I sense the aura of wickedness here.”

  “Blame the changeling for that.” Meg approached the open entrance, a black hole with broken doors, with care, noting the rotted beams and the collapsed roof. The other riders, a handpicked team of warriors, including a wagon to carry the Princess, dead or alive, arrived. Meg immediately began handing out orders. “Set up a circle of defense around the chapel. I want four men to accompany me inside to look for the Princess. I want the Emperor and the Prince guarded at all times. We have no idea if the changeling has friends lurking inside.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Darius volunteered.

  “I’m coming too,” Thera added. “You can’t stop me, so just accept it.” Her defiance brooked no refusal.

  Meg’s temper splintered with their bravado. As warriors, they were both mere amateurs and it pricked her temper that Darius or Thera thought they could cope with any unforeseen trouble. Her distress about Rose rattled her mood too, but she kept her tone tethered. “No, Your Highness, it’s not fitting to risk your royal person in such a reckless manner. If the Princess is within, I will bring her out to you. Trust that. We have no idea who else is inside either. And Lady Thera, the danger from a building in shambles is hazardous even without demonic influence. Plus you are wearing silk slippers.”

  “I am High Priestess of the Elemental Temple. Demons and ruins don’t scare me, Commander.”

  “As your Prince, I must overrule your orders,” Darius told her. “So I’m going with you. It is only right that I be part of this. Lilias is now my betrothed and I owe her my protection.”

  Aristide, calming his own agitated horse, walked toward them, scowling. “What is delaying us?”

  Meg turned to him and bowed. “Your son is determined on endangering himself. He is being stubborn, Your Majesty.”

  “I must do this, Father,” Darius insisted. “It is only honorable that I save her.”

  Aristide’s face was inscrutable, but Meg detected a trace of humor in his tone. “Commander Sparrow is correct, but I will permit this, Darius, but if you get hurt or eaten by a demon it’s on your head. However, I do sanction Commander Sparrow with full power to decide on how you will proceed once you walk into that church. Understood?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Meg bowed to Aristide’s decision. He had always been a fair and admirable man, and she owed her career to him. She turned to Darius with a severe look. “Your Highness, when we enter, you do this my way. I will precede you for your own protection, and your rear will be covered by two guards. Also, I charge you to protect Lady Thera, though I doubt she really needs it. Now follow me.”

  They lit lamps, knowing it would be too dangerous to take torches into the decrepit building. Me
g ventured inside the chapel first, followed by the others. Cobwebs covered everything, and the old religious house was a jumbled pile of broken timber inside. Thin beams of moonlight lit fragments of stained glass scattered on the ground.

  “It smells revolting, but I don’t see any evidence of animals or birds nesting here,” Darius commented, holding up his lamp. “Not even bats.”

  Meg lowered her lamp on the altar and looked around. “Not for a while. When the changeling used this old shrine as its lair, they must have fled. Animals don’t like demons and any living here cleared out when Crimson came to roost.”

  The entrance to the underground necropolis was found easily enough, just as Rose described, but Meg paused.

  Darius crouched next to her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Demons are tricky. I was just wondering what traps that thing might have left for any intruders. If you have a valuable hostage, you want to keep it protected from outside forces.”

  “In this desolate place it may have felt secure,” Thera suggested. “But then changelings are also stupid.”

  Meg pulled up the creaky door in the floor that led to the underground crypt and pushed it back. “All right, let’s rescue a princess.” She handed Darius her lamp. “Hold it over the entrance so I can see my way down better. Don’t drop it on my head.”

  The stairs were amazingly sturdy, but creaked so loudly any hidden enemies would be aware of her approach. The stench of dark magic escalated as they descended into the catacombs

  “Even with the lamps, it’s too dark to see anything,” Thera commented.

  “I can fix that,” Meg sighed. She conjured three shimmering ball of lights, casting a soft blue-white glow as they hovered in the air. The brightness did not make the tomb less grim, but they could move through the rank crypt without tripping on something.