“Terms?”
“Well, there would always be some of those, of course. I'm certain it won't be as bad as it sounds,” said Tramae, taking on a hurried tone. “I haven't the slightest idea what such terms would be, and I don't even truly know for sure that he is indeed turning you loose. And even if I did, he'd be furious if I discussed it with you. Just remember that he loved Mother very deeply, and if for no other reason than that, he'll not harm you.”
Myrtlebell searched Tramae's face, then turned away with a nod. “I'll dress at once. I accept that my fate is in your father's hands, though I don't trust him one bit,” she said, intercepting Tramae's sharp glance, with a determined look of her own. Tramae gave a sigh as she stepped outside to wait for her with Etharnan. Soon they were underway, through the meandering corridors and up the winding stone stairways to Talorg's dining hall. Myrtlebell was keenly aware of Etharnan being on her heels the entire way. “Tramae mightn't like my not trusting her father,” thought Myrtlebell, “but he certainly doesn't trust me to come with her, so what kind of freedom could he possibly be about to offer?” She slowed to run her fingertips over the stylized relief of a wolf, one of many such carvings in the stone walls of the passageways, done in a style much like the paintings and tattoos on the Beak soldiers.
“Madadh-Allaidh Neartmhor,” said Tramae, turning back to see. “He's Father's protector. See this one in the wall, just ahead of me?”
“Uh...yes...” said Myrtlebell, knitting her brow at the stone carving.
“This is Eochaid,” said Tramae proudly. “He's Father's direct ancestor.”
“But that's a unicorn, isn't it?”
“Certainly. Father descends from Eochaid, the fastest luathas unicorn that ever lived,” she said as she turned and hurried on.
Myrtlebell's jaw dropped. She glanced aside to see by Etharnan's face that he was treating Tramae's claim with utter seriousness. “These people really are barbarians,” she thought as she hurried to keep up with Tramae.
The top of the last winding stairway opened at the end of a broad, straight hallway that lead directly to Talorg's dining hall. Its walls were completely covered with strange stylized relief carvings of beasts, fowl, fish and human figures as well as odd crescent shapes here and there. The dining hall was large and airy by anyone's reckoning, with stone columns supporting a high vaulted ceiling, and though Myrtlebell had been entertained in at least a score of palatial dining halls in her time, this one left her momentarily speechless. Instead of the typical heraldic tapestries and banners, the walls were hung with animal skins and skulls of all sorts along with a myriad of dented and punctured helms and armor of enemies, collected over generations of raids. Down the length of the room a huge polished board rested on trestles, flanked by benches.
At the far end, chairs replaced the benches, and there stood Talorg and a small entourage of tattooed soldiers, not yet seated. He looked up at the sight of Myrtlebell, Tramae and Etharnan and waved for them to be seated next to him on his left, as orderlies drew back his huge chair for him at the head of the table. He waited for her arrival with a warm smile, then bowed grandly in spite of his lack of clothes.
She was stunned by how changed he seemed from when she was brought before him as a bound captive. She curtseyed and they sat.
Behind his chair on the wall was stretched the hide of an enormous buttox. To either side of it were huge relief carvings of Eochaid and Madadh-Allaidh Neartmhor, while centered high over the three was another one of the curious crescents, points down, superimposed over a huge cryptic vee and heart design. Tramae could undoubtedly explain it, but Myrtlebell was not entirely sure she wanted another explanation after the one about the unicorn. Suddenly she was captivated by the arrival of a young blond boy wearing a loose white tunic.
“This is Donnel, our younger brother,” said Tramae.
“Right pleased to meet you, Donnel,” stammered Myrtlebell, as she beheld his tattooed chin and his arms and legs stained a startling dark blue. “I'm Myrtlebell.” He was much bigger than Edward, though he could easily pass for an older version of him even with his pagan embellishments. A strong pang of longing for Edward swept over her, but she pushed it away. Donnel bowed, then immediately took his place directly to Talorg's right.
Once everyone was settled, Talorg gave Myrtlebell a grand smile.
“Thank you for inviting me to join you for breakfast, sire,” she said, feeling that she must say something.
He nodded and looked up at once at the arrival of servants with the first of the breakfast and then turned back to her, grandly spreading wide his arms, inviting her to partake.
And what a bounty it was, replete with a mountain of sumptuous pears, egg-in-a-hole, poached goose eggs, pickled quail eggs, corned buttox from a brute Talorg had speared himself, and red-eyed gravy, spotted pudding and blistering hot brown barley bread, sweet butter and honey that tasted like the very flowers of clover in spring.
Myrtlebell had not tasted the like since she had fled Loxmere after Edmond's murder. It brought the first smile to her face since her strawberries with Edward, as she shook her head at the thought that once upon a time she actually used to turn up her nose at brown bread.
She was greatly relieved that Talorg did not attempt to carry on small talk with her while she ate. His wordless nods of generosity were quite enough. It was another matter when the meal drew to a close.
“I trust you enjoyed your meal?” he said.
Myrtlebell nodded as she put down her napkin. “It was right excellent, sire, and I thank you.”
“Exactly what I desired,” he said with a decisive nod. “Then would you honor me by going with me on a morning stroll?” He took her hand and rose with her. “I'd very much like to discuss your position here, and that of the three witches who were captured with you...in private.” He glanced aside to catch the eyes of first Donnel and then Tramae.
Myrtlebell was utterly speechless as he took her by the elbow and steered her out of the dining hall, followed by two soldiers a discreet distance behind. He led her down one long twisting corridor after another until she was thoroughly turned around. He said not a word the whole way, which was a relief to her at first, but after a while his silence began to frighten her. As she struggled with a rising panic, he came to a door and ushered her onto a balcony overlooking a lovely garden. He seated her on a stone settee and sat beside her at a considerate conversational distance. A balmy breeze stirred her hair. She looked out at the rows upon rows of pear trees, all heavy with fruit, stretching away to the stone wall at the far end. Gratefully, she began to relax.
“I understand that my daughter has told you of your dear mother's relationship to her, and thereby to me,” said Talog, as he studied her face.
Myrtlebell nodded, scarcely hearing, hoping he was starting to tell her that she was no longer his prisoner.
“Good. Then you'll understand that since we are actually family, I feel I should tell you that the three witches who were captured with you are going to be executed in the morning.”
Myrtlebell blanched, working her mouth. “But surely you don't mean Mary!” she blurted out at last. “She's a white witch. She does only good.”
Talorg stood up and paced about the balcony in silence for a maddeningly long time before turning to face her. “I understand she was aiding you in your plight,” he said coldly, “but she's long been an adversary of us Beaks. She's worked against every one of our attempts at expansion and exploration. Indeed, she's done everything in her power to keep us here in the marsh. She needs to die.”
“Your daughter said you were not a cruel man, sire,” cried Myrtlebell, springing to her feet. “But either she's blind to you or she has tried to deceive me.” She wheeled about smartly to be stopped at the door by the two soldiers. She turned back to glare at Talorg, who calmly motioned for her to return to the settee. She did so at once, sitting stiffly and staring straight ahead through the furious teardrops which spilt from her eyes, no matter how har
d she had tried to prevent them.
“I respect your loyalty to your friends. It speaks well of what kind of person you are,” said Talorg, as he carefully sat back beside her, “though I would be most surprised to find you otherwise considering who your mother was. She also had a fiercely loyal heart. So that's why I've decided to make an exception regarding the White Witch, even though by virtue of precedent, the woman has earned her death. However,” he said, raising his hand at the sight of Myrtlebell drawing a breath, “there are indeed conditions that must be satisfied in order for me to go so far as to grant her freedom. Do you follow me?”
“Certainly,” said Myrtlebell with a nod.
Talorg stood and studied her. “By law, the life of the condemned may be purchased by the life of another.”
“You mean Mary's free if I die in her place?”
“That's one way, or you could offer your life to the crown in service.”
“As your slave?”
“Certainly not, dear girl,” said Talorg ebulliently, as he pulled her smartly to her feet. “I want you to be my wife.”
“I'm right flattered, King Talorg, but you must understand that whatever happens, I must find my son,” she said, turned frantic at her own words. “He's lost somewhere in your marsh and he has no idea where I am. He's only five years old. He may be hurt. He must be terrified. I refuse to abandon him for a new life the way my mother did me.”
“Listen to me,” said Talorg with a sudden raptor's gaze, as he took her firmly by the shoulders. “Your mother never abandoned you. She was trapped here, just as we all were. There was not a day, not a single moment that she didn't long for you and want to be with you. She simply had no choice in the matter.”
“So, I'm trapped here, also by virtue of being your prisoner. Is that it?”
“No,” sighed Talorg, “you're free to go this minute if you must.”
Myrtlebell blinked. “I am? I can?”
Talorg nodded.
“And Mary?”
Talorg shook his head. “It is the law. The White Witch will die in the morning.”
“Either way, I must find my son,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “Who knows what's happened to him by now. He's just a helpless little boy.”
“Your son is safe and being taken care of by the dragons.”
“What?” cried Myrtlebell. “How do you know this? Why didn't you tell me this before?”
“My rangers tracked him and his diatrymas to the Dragon Caves.”
“But, you said your men slaughtered the diatrymas.”
“I lied.”
“How do I know you aren't lying now?”
“I swear it on your sweet mother's memory.”
Myrtlebell stared at him, then nodded at the truth she saw in his eyes. “All right, I believe you, but I want my son back, now. He's my life.”
“You'll have your son, but you can still have the White Witch's freedom. If you truly trust her, we could set her free on the condition that she bring your son here to you in payment for her freedom. In the meantime, of course, you become my queen. Once you have your son, she goes her own way, all debts paid.”
Myrtlebell bit her lip as she sat back down on the settee to vacantly watch a pair of servants as they came out below to address a pear tree with a ladder and a couple of baskets. She had so hoped that if she were to remarry, that it would be to someone whom she was madly in love with. She had cared for Edmond, but it was by no means the wild romantic kind of love she had come to long for. Perhaps it simply wasn't meant to be. At least if she accepted King Talorg's terms, Mary would live. “Yes, I trust Mary completely,” she said, nodding her assent. “If I ask her to bring Edward here, she will.”
“Then you're agreeing to be my wife?”
She nodded again, wondering if he would ever see her for herself, rather than his banrigh or as a mere substitute for her mother.
“Wonderful!” he said with an ebullient flourish. “We shall be married this very evening and then the White Witch will be set free.”
“I'd prefer Mary set free first, then we marry,” said Myrtlebell grimly.
A dark look swept across Talorg's eyes. “Ah!” he said with a jovial recovery. “How I love a lass who knows her own mind. It shall be exactly as you wish. Let's go to the White Witch this minute and set things in motion, shall we?” And with that, he offered Myrtlebell his arm.
“Yes,” said Myrtlebell, “Let's.”
They found Caelis and Buthut discussing something in low frantic tones just outside Mary's open cell door. At the sound of their footsteps, the pair wheeled 'round, panic stricken.
“So,” said Talorg. “Has the White Witch treated you to one of her 'good deeds? Or is she dead?”
The pair exchanged horrified looks and nodded.
“Well speak up! She dead or what?” said Talorg, taking on a fiery tone.
“Good, thought Myrtlebell. That cruel pair needs to tremble.”
“It's the White Witch, Your Majesty...” stammered Caelis with a cringing face of shame.
“We already had that figured out!” thundered Talorg. “What about her?”
Caelis worked his mouth a time or two with a sound like sticky clay. “Gone sire,” he finally managed, as he took a step backward and stared at the floor.
“Gone?” said Talorg softly.
“Yes...” squeaked Buthut.
“Fascinating,” said Talorg, “particularly with you two in charge.”
“We know sire,” said Buthut, “I mean we don't know! When last we looked she was quite unconscious, almost dead looking. We were going to dose her again, but she did not even respond when we jabbed her in the gut with the blunt ends of our spears. We were afraid that another dose would kill her, if we hadn't already, so we decided to check on her later...”
“Yes,” said Caelis, “When we came back, we found she'd somehow snapped her bonds and was clean gone. We'd just searched the entire dungeon when you arrived, sire.”
“Then widen and continue your search,” said Talorg, eyeing them like a hawk contemplating a pair of rabbits.
“Yes, Your Majesty!” they chorused, as they thumped their breasts with a fierce salute.
“You will find her,” he declared at their heels as they sped away.
Myrtlebell shuddered. She could tell by his tone that their lives were at stake, and she could see that he was a dangerous man. She was not at all certain that she wanted to be his queen.
Talorg quietly took her arm and began steering her back the way they had come.
“Sire,” she said, feeling powerless, “what'll happen if your men don't find her?”
Talorg slowed his pace. “Buthut and Caelis will take her place on the gallows,” he said without looking aside, “and you'll be free to return to your own people.”
Myrtlebell gasped.
“Beaks,” he blurted out before checking himself with clenched teeth, “are not without honor, my lady.” Then he lunged on, nearly yanking her by the arm.
“I'm not sure I understand, Your Majesty,” she said, trying not to stumble as she kept up. “I would never imply otherwise, Your Majesty, but surely those two guards don't deserve such severe punishment. They...”
“Cease!” roared Talorg, jerking her to a halt. “The law's the law! It's not yours to question. Be content that if the White Witch isn't found by dawn you'll be set free. Surely you don't suddenly wish to marry me just to save the miserable lives of your jailers.”
“If Mary was to bring me Edward, what of their fates if I did?” said Myrtlebell, hardly believing that she was asking such a question.
Talorg stopped short and turned to face her. “You're actually considering doing this, aren't you? You'd marry me to save the lives of the two turnkeys who kept you captive, so long as you got your son back.”
“Weren't they merely following orders? How were they responsible for Mary's crimes, as if she could commit any. If I married you, how could I do less than rescue them from exe
cution, if it be in my power?”
“You're definitely your mother's daughter,” he said, shaking his head with renewed awe. He studied her face minutely for a moment, gave a harrumph, then led her in silence the rest of the way back to her locked quarters where he left her to wait and wonder whether she was about to become the new Beak queen. She went straight to the hearth and stirred and fed the fire before collapsing into a chair to stare despondently into its flames.
***
Someone was gently shaking her shoulder and urgently whispering her name.
“What?” she said with a start, as she sat straight to find that she had been asleep.
“Hurry,” said the voice, as her cloak was thrown about her shoulders at the same time she was being pulled to her feet. Suddenly she saw that she was standing before not only Tramae, but also Mary. “What's going on?” she said, as if they had all day to discuss it.
“We don't have time,” said Mary, as she and Tramae shared a frantic look. “We have to move unless you really want to be the new Beak queen.”
“Of course I don't,” said Myrtlebell, sounding more cross than she had meant. “But neither do I wish for anyone to die because I refuse to marry King Talorg. And why are you still here, Mary? You should be long gone by now. And Tramae. If your father finds out you tried to set me free, what will keep you from being sent to the gallows along with those two guards?”
“You must not be awake yet,” said Mary, as she and Tramae began pushing her toward the door. “Do you think either of those guards would do the same for you, girl?”
“But I can't let...”
“Shhhh!”
Out in the passageways they only saw two Beak soldiers but Mary and Tramae yanked Myrtlebell into the shadows of nearby doorways unseen as the soldiers hurried by. In short order they had crossed the drawbridge and were outside the castle walls.
“Now go quickly, my sister,” said Tramae as she smiled and hugged Myrtlebell. “And remember me always with kindness.” And before Myrtlebell could manage a reply, she had vanished into the shrubbery along the moat.
Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 75
