Louis had a quick look at Selen. “We thank you for your offer, but the guestrooms will be perfect.”
Kendal nodded. “I will ask my people to make everything ready.”
They had lingered in the great hall and had drunk liquors until they could retire to their rooms. Though weak, Lissandro had regained a bit of color and was helped upstairs by Kilda. While the rest of their companions packed in the second chamber, Folc got to share the room with Louis and Selen. The furniture was basic, the stone walls naked but for the short tapestries in front of the windows. However, the two beds were done and littered with grey furs, and the floor was covered with woven mats made of rushes. Folc had removed his hauberk and sat near the fire, dozing.
“I can feel my toes again,” Selen said, joyful.
“Considering how long you have been macerating in the tub, I would hope so,” Louis mocked.
Dressed in only his pants, Louis sat on a stool on the other side of the fire and finished shaving. Even a one-day beard was a stain on his impeccable appearance. Yet, after the third day in the wild, Louis’s hands had started shaking, and he had found no strength to shave. Folc was glad to have opted for a beard, as short as it might be. For a reason he ignored, only Selen and Lissandro could keep baby skin without ever using a blade.
With a splash of water, Selen rose and stepped out of the tub to come and kneel between them in front of the fire. He twisted and spread his long hair over his chest to help it dry. Engulfed by the warmth, Selen closed his eyes with bliss. The way his friend exposed his body without an ounce of inhibition could be slightly perturbing sometimes. It was common that men went about naked to share a public bath or a bed but never with such natural lasciviousness as if Selen liked to enhance every inch of himself. Folc undressed and stepped into the bath. The water was tepid as he had expected.
“Why do I always have to go last?” he grumbled.
“Because you are the dirtiest,” his friends chuckled.
Folc felt a bit offended. He wasn’t dirty. He took a bath every week. It was a lot more than most people. Though no more steaming, the water still warmed his body to the bone. He took the soap and washed himself from head to toe.
“Folc?” Louis asked.
Folc washed the soap from off his face and hair and turned his head towards Louis. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry for what happened to your friend. I know you don’t have that many and that you two were getting along fine.” Louis paused. “I have a question to ask. I must know, so don’t take it wrong.” Louis concentrated as if choosing his words. “Do you think Askjell would have been able to lure us?”
“What do you mean?” Folc asked, uncertain.
“People have died in mysterious circumstances during our journey. Besides, I will never believe that Selen could be so neglectful with the wineskins.”
“And you suspect it might have been Askjell?” Folc rose, stepped out of the tub, and picked up a towel. Once dry, he took his night coif out of his bag.
“I don’t know,” Louis answered. “The only thing I know is that it wasn’t me or Selen…or you.”
“Or Lissandro,” Folc added while heading to his bed. The sheets were rough and smelled of lavender. He slipped under them and adjusted his coif on his head. The bed was warm. Someone had passed with a warming pan. With the feather pillow, this bed was real luxury.
“I am not sure for Lissandro,” Selen said.
Folc opened his eyes wide and pushed himself up on his elbow. “Why?”
A frown of incredulity creased Louis’s brow. “Lilo has always been a bit weird, but…”
“Yes, I know what you think. I don’t suggest Lilo is working against us.” Selen rose and settled down on the other bed, his knees against his chest. “But…” Louis and Folc stared at Selen, waiting for the rest of his thoughts. “When we were in the village, he was weird. I mean, like out of his mind.”
“I noticed something too,” Louis said. He sat on the bed next to Selen. “But Lilo is not a cold-blooded murderer. And we all killed those villagers.”
“I know,” Selen sighed and leaned against Louis. One of his hands fiddled with a lock of his lilac hair. “I must say that I first thought of Askjell as well.” Selen bit his lip and lowered his head. “I saw him with the gypsy girl,” he added in a whisper as if he had committed a crime.
Folc repressed a chuckle. So, Askjell had managed to get her too, like the farmer’s girl. “I don’t believe Askjell killed any of those people,” Folc said. “As it can’t be Ahanu either. He joined us after the first crime.”
“I am pretty sure it’s the monk,” Louis mumbled.
Selen tilted his head up. “You hate anyone in a frock,” he teased Louis.
“That’s not true,” Louis objected, staring down at Selen. “Not everyone.”
“What we can say is that the traitor, murderer, or whatever you call him is in the other room,” Folc said.
“Exactly. And we should watch our back,” Louis said. He shifted and lay down under the covers and furs. Selen slipped next to him.
Folc turned on his back and watched the beams of the ceiling. It was obvious that the traitor didn’t want them to reach their destination, and he didn’t hesitate to kill either. None of them had been directly threatened. Yet, he was the king’s guard. It was his duty to find the culprit. Should he fail, the shame would be unbearable. His function filled him with such honor that it was all he had lived for since his promotion as captain. Louis was right. Askjell had been his friend, not the most righteous he could have wished, but the first one for an eternity. And he was dead now. They both had been the youngest of their party. Folc realized that it didn’t make them immortal. Maybe I’ll die too? He had accomplished much in his life already. He had survived a war and battles. He had the highest status he could have dreamed of. He was a lord and would recover his family estate once of age. His future was bright, and there was much he longed for. Askjell hadn’t been a virgin, but Folc was. His parents were dead. I’m alone. I have everything, but I’m alone. No. Not entirely. Folc turned his head to the side.
Louis slept on his stomach. His face, half-buried in his pillow, was serene and his lips slightly open. Selen lay across his back, his face resting on Louis’s hair. The grey furs were pulled over his bare shoulders and mingled with his spread locks of lilac hair. He too had his lips parted and was fast asleep. Folc heard him snore faintly. The two men’s left hands were on each other, the fingers entwined. Folc had noticed that the marks of affection they repressed all day long found their place in their nights. He remembered their meeting almost two years ago. The two men had taken him under their protection from the start, without knowing him, though he had been nothing more than a wretch, a thief. All Folc had today was thanks to them. No. He had lost his parents, but he had a family. They had called him family, and a part of him longed to call them dads. That’s what they are. That’s why I have to find the traitor before he hurts them. That’s what family is for. Folc closed his eyes and fell asleep, a smile on his face.
A knock at the door woke him up. The fire in the hearth had died out. The room was pitch black and freezing cold. Folc got out of bed, took his dagger, and went for the door. When he opened it, his eyelids fell low over his eyes, fighting against the light. A servant stood in the doorway and looked at him over a pile of clothes.
“What is it?” Folc mumbled. He shivered. From head to foot, his body hair stood straight. He would have moaned if it hadn’t sounded awkward.
“Lord Kendal asked me to bring you these, my lord. He said it would help you for the crossing.” The servant handed him the pile.
Folc took it and, noticing he could make good use of some clothes right now, pressed it against his naked body. He stretched out his hand towards the servant. “May I have your candle?”
The servant was surprised but handed him the candlestick. Folc closed the door, put the pile on the side, and minced to the hearth to build a new fire.
“Wha
t was that about?” Selen mumbled behind him. “Is it dawn already?” his friend asked, cranky.
“A servant brought clothes. I would assume it’s dawn or early morning,” Folc answered.
Selen sighed long. Sheets were crumpled. Selen uttered a shriek of pain. “Oh, damn… Light a fire!” Bare feet scurried on the mats to where the new clothes lay. “There are furs, linen lined with silk, and thick wool enough for the three of us.”
“Tell me there’re socks,” Louis asked, still half asleep.
“Socks and scarves,” Selen answered. Folc glimpsed him slipping a linen on. Selen’s nimble feet pattered back to the bed.
The tinder ignited. Slender flames licked the logs and illuminated the room. Folc hastened to join his friends busy picking among the clothes spread over the bed. There were several pairs of pants, some of wool and some of leather. Folc put on one of each, pulled socks over it, and completed his outfit with several layers of shirts and tunics under his gambeson. He wouldn’t be able to carry his hauberk, but he thought wool had more chance to keep him alive than steel.
“We will choose the furs after breakfast,” Louis said.
“Our last meal,” Folc muttered.
His words cast a chill. They left their room and made for the great hall across the keep’s sleeping corridors. A quick glance through a chink of two shutters told Folc that it was still night outside. His belly grumbled. Surprisingly, the halls didn’t smell of bacon.
Cutlery’s jingling welcomed their arrival in the great hall. Their companions already sat around the dressed table. Small hours must have discouraged the count and his family from keeping them company as they were conspicuous in their absence. When he saw them, Lissandro smiled broadly.
“Please, join us,” Lissandro exclaimed. “These giant meatballs in white wine are delicious.”
Folc took a seat next to Kilda. She held a slice of brown bread covered with layers of cheese with large holes. “Good morning,” she said, cheerful.
“Good morning,” Folc answered. He picked up a large dry biscuit shaped in a ring and dipped it in a mug of goat milk. The pastry tasted of anise.
“Could you give me a matafan?” Louis asked, pointing at a plate.
Folc passed him the pile of potato pancakes and took one for himself. All he put to his mouth, though tasty, was greasy and piled like mortar in his stomach. “If I eat too much of this food, I won’t move from my seat all day,” he said as he munched.
“This food is made so that you can hold the day without getting hungry,” Lissandro said. His face wasn’t pale anymore, and his eyes gleamed with vigor again. “Besides, it’s fried in oil,” Lissandro added with a wink at Selen.
Selen smiled and cocked his head. “Not my myrtle pie.” He turned to the group. “How will we organize the journey from now on?”
“I suppose Ahanu can guide us with the help of the map,” Louis said, turning to the Child.
Ahanu looked puzzled. “I can’t read maps.”
“You don’t need to know how to read to use a map,” Folc said, kindly. “It’s just drawings.”
“Yes, but… It doesn’t work. I can’t read them,” Ahanu insisted.
“But, you are our guide,” Louis objected. “How do you want to guide us there if you can’t read a map?”
“Oh, I know the way. I heard the legend many a time,” Ahanu exclaimed. “You have to climb between the teeth, then across the tears of the goddess and through the sunbeam…”
Lissandro’s mouth opened wide. Louis hit the board with his forehead. Folc choked on his biscuit.
“No. He’s joking,” Kilda said. “You’re joking, right?”
Ahanu shook his head. “No. This is the path,” he repeated, full of goodwill.
“You’ve never been there,” Selen said. He sucked on his lip and looked away.
Eliot broke into laughter. “I’m sorry…” he said between two spasms. “It’s nervous.” He laughed again.
“If we put you outside on the path, can you point out in a direction and say that way?” Louis asked.
“I’m not an animal. I’m a guide,” Ahanu said disdainfully and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I hope you are,” Louis said. He turned to the group. “Prepare yourself. We leave in a half hour. We will hike. The horses are useless in the mountains.”
They all rose. Lissandro walked towards Folc. He pushed his satchel in front of him and pulled out a notebook. Folc recognized Askjell’s chronicle. Lissandro put a hand on his shoulder and handed him the book.
“I’m not good at writing, but maybe you want to continue his work.”
“I do,” Folc answered with gratitude. “Thank you.” He took the notebook and opened it. Askjell had filled half of it. The days had been noted on the side. Folc skimmed the elegant writing. His friend had had a taste for pompous words. He fell on a comment and chuckled. The sterile sovereign’s sense of humor is, in contrast with his young and ardent subjects, desperately frigid. Note. I should leave that out of the official version.
Folc was the last to leave the great hall. He was heading to his room when a thought crossed his mind. A servant came the other way to clean the table. He was accompanied by Lord Kendal’s steward. Folc hailed him.
“Excuse me. May I ask you a question?” The steward halted, faced him, and gave a short bow. “Have you noticed the absence of one of your people this morning?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand your question, my lord,” the steward answered.
Folc took the risk to express his fears more clearly. “Did someone die during the night? Has someone disappeared?”
“I don’t know if someone died,” the steward said, startled, “but two of the servants didn’t show up for their wages this morning. They were on the night shift. I can let you know if I hear of them, my lord.”
“It won’t be necessary. Thank you,” Folc said and gave a faint smile. He walked back to his room. When he reached the door, he was running.
They gathered in the courtyard. Lord Kendal had shown up to pay his respects and to wish them a safe journey. All were heavily dressed with coats, furs, and hoods. Each one carried the content of his saddlebags on his back. This time, Folc was in charge of the wineskins with the firm intention to keep an eye on them. He would sleep on his bag if he needed to. Eliot tapped his stick against the ground with impatience.
“It is cute, but I don’t see the use of bringing it with us,” Kilda said, staring at the large shepherd dog.
“I have read in many books that you should have a dog when you journey into the mountains,” Lissandro said.
Louis tapped on his throat. “Shouldn’t it have a little barrel?” he asked, chuckling.
Lissandro grinned. A servant hurried towards them, holding high a small keg. “I found one, my lord!”
Lissandro took the barrel and handed it to Selen, who crouched near the dog and was rubbing it behind its ears. “Here. Make yourself useful instead of playing with the rescue team,” Lissandro said. Selen fastened the collar around the dog’s neck. Lissandro gave them a suspicious look. “And it’s only in case of emergency.”
“Can we leave already?” Eliot sighed.
“I think it’s about time, indeed,” Louis said. “We thank you for your hospitality, my lord.”
Lord Kendal made a sign towards the guards. The gates opened. “May the gods grant you success and a peaceful journey to your destination, Your Majesty.”
Louis nodded. Folc adjusted his bag on his shoulders and grasped his stick. Full of spirit, their group departed.
As dawn bathed Earthfell in shades of blue and pink, they took the path leading up the mountains. It was situated in the third district directly before the temple and rose in stages. Climbing the steps, Folc looked behind him. Inside the battlements, the merchants and builders bustled to their occupations. The smell of smoked ham blended with the scent of pine sawdust. The clanging of hammers, the singing of roosters, and the cries of children resounded over
the city. Folc was confident. A place which had survived a dragon would survive an epidemic. He felt a hand on his shoulder and swiveled his head.
“Come,” Selen said in his soft-spoken voice.
Folc smiled back at Selen and followed the rest of his companions. Ahead, the dog capered about, wagging its tail, exhorting them to quicken their pace.
“The dog is right,” Ahanu said. “It’s that way.” The Child laughed, soon joined by the rest of them.
31
The dogs growled at the heap of dark furs huddled in the corner of the cell. Mauger sniffled. His cold nose was already runny.
“Hush.”
The dogs crouched and backed away. Mauger waited until the furs moved and Pembroke turned around. His beard had grown wild, and his rheumy eyes showed wariness.
“It seems your isolation has spared you until now.” Mauger snickered.
“What do you want?” Pembroke grunted.
“You are probably not aware that the Bartels’ case has led to drastic measures from the outside world. The lords of the surroundings have gathered forces to circle the city.”
Pembroke snorted. “How is this of my concern?”
Mauger folded his arms behind his back. “Considering your present situation, none.” He paused to observe the anxiety rise in Pembroke. “I don’t recall you were allowed those furs.”
“You want to strip me naked and hasten my death?” Pembroke’s hand unclutched his coat and made a rejecting gesture. “Be my guest.”
“Tut-tut. What troubles me is how you managed to get hold of them. You see, I can’t allow people to enter into contact with you. They may get a false vision of things and spread adverse rumors.” Mauger stared at the minister, but Pembroke answered with silence. “Not everyone has the chance to be regent.”
The dark eyes narrowed. “I won’t give names.”
Mauger flickered a smile. “I already know them. But I could close my eyes in exchange for your deference.” He straightened himself. “As regent, you will contact the lords settled in front of our walls, reassure them of our situation, and forbid them to make contact with anyone in this city. For sanitary measures, of course.”
Light from Aphelion 2 - Tears of Winter Page 33
