42
Soon, the city would burn, and the survivors would be put to the sword. To send the guards of the palace was all he could have done in such a short time. Mauger strode through the halls, grousing. His spies had warned him that the king was on his way back, and he didn’t return empty-handed. The cure would save the city, thus ruining his plans. However, it was not what alarmed him.
What had they found beyond the mountains? Were the Nuharinni still alive and ready to take over the realm? Did the king make an alliance with them? Why hadn’t the monk-brat kept him informed? He should have gone himself. To hell with the brat’s connections. Even his seductive look didn’t seem to have helped him mingle. Mauger knew he was only musing on vain thoughts out of bitter jealousy. His part was crucial here. He was the one who had instigated the events in this city. He who had stepped from the shadows and risked all he had built. Yet, they should have chosen him. Now, they all hid like rats in their castles, villas, and town houses, leaving him exposed to the king’s wrath. The monk had fiddled around, losing time in observation and futile analysis. To eliminate them one after the other. That had been his task. When the realm would have been cleansed, only then would have they sent a delegation through the mountains. But no, the brat had been curious and had underestimated the king and his friends. Eliot was a sadist, but they were killers. As soon as they entered the city, he would end on a spike.
No. It wouldn’t happen. Though he had hoped never to reach such extremities, he had prepared himself for the eventuality. The plan wasn’t ripe. Worse, it had failed. But he could still lead a part of it to term.
With his hounds at his side, Mauger was on his way to verify if the final cleansing had been done. He reached Kaeden’s chambers and pushed the door open. Clothes, books, golden knickknacks, and trifles lay in disarray between laced bags. A heap of overcoats and furs wiggled bent over a trunk. When he heard him, Kaeden jerked up his head and straightened. He already wore a heavy woolen cap wrapped around his head.
“Oh. Hum. You surprised me,” Kaeden stammered. “Did you hear the news?”
Mauger wondered how the Chamberlain had heard it. “I did. Yes. But you should not alarm our guests,” he suggested. Calmly, he took a step inside.
“There is nothing to worry about that,” Kaeden retorted with relief. “I threw them the most dispendious banquet with the rest of our provisions. While we speak, they are all gathered in the great hall and fill themselves with spicy wines and marinated geese.” Kaeden dropped a couple of silk linens in the trunk. He looked at him and grinned. “I didn’t forget to praise them the virtues of our surprise ingredient.”
Mauger took another step. “Therefore, you judged it comfortable to pack.”
“Well, the king…” Kaeden winced.
“…Won’t appreciate. Of course. I guess you didn’t miss to take your share in this?” Mauger slid slightly forward.
Kaeden paused, stared at him, and swallowed. A drop shone on his temple. “I visited some of our guests’ chambers.” Kaeden tried to rise, but as Mauger moved closer, he tumbled backwards. “I can give you my share.” Kaeden glanced at the door. “I need to leave,” he squeaked. His lips shook. “Please.”
“You should know better. I have no taste for money.”
Mauger turned around and made for the door. Before he crossed the doorway, he whistled. As he headed towards the great hall, the deep growls, the spongy scratches, and the piercing shrieks faded.
Once Mauger reached the main gallery, the moans and screams coming from the great hall informed him all unfolded as planned. He passed in front of the doors, towards the inner garden. From a cask, under a layer of gardening tools, he retrieved a bag. The food should last several days and wouldn’t burden him. Light scrapes signaled that his dogs were back at his side. He slipped his leather gloves on and made for the postern in the west corner.
“Wait!”
Mauger turned around. Breness’s hands flitted around in search of a grip. His hose and doublets were soiled with dark patches. From the corner of his eyes trickled thick, gelatinous drops of blood. His eyes blinked time and again as if blinded by the light.
“What…did you do…to us…?” Breness panted. With each word, he spattered gushes of blood.
Mauger tilted his head. “Mercury. With crushed emeralds.”
“Poison.” Breness’s breath was ragged. “Traitor.” A crimson pool formed on the white gravel under him.
“You wanted something effective to get rid of the disease. It seems to me it worked.”
The last flicker in Breness’s eyes was murderous. The mercer uttered a rale before his body collapsed in a heap of spasms.
A sour taste filled Mauger’s mouth. A life’s work and only a handful of death as a result. There would be no second chance. He had to contact the others. He had to know what the king and his party had found. And then…then it will be time for revenge. Sucking on his teeth, Mauger left through the postern and stepped onto the narrow mountains’ path.
43
Tired of waddling in the slosh, the draft horses whinnied. The axletrees creaked with each bump, threatening to break into splinters. Despite the horrendous road conditions, they arrived in sight of Nysa Serin three days after their departure. Thanks to Louis’s idea to make the wagons’ floors dip in their center and to add two horses to each carriage, they had traveled at relentless speed. The journey had still felt interminable to Selen, but the wagons had been necessary to transport the food, the medical supplies, and the cure’s components. In winter, they couldn’t harvest the verges along the way and thus had been forced to plunder apothecary’s backrooms and priory’s rafters.
Shifting his aching body in his saddle, Selen stared at the tents pitched outside the city walls. The site lacked the military feeling he had expected. It wasn’t a siege to get in but a blockade. From trenches to spiked poles, everything had been done so that no one would slip out of the heavy gatehouse. A red flag signaled the main pavilion. Louis headed towards it. Selen followed in his wake.
Alarmed by their heralds, the lords in charge waited in front of the tent. The two men, one a chubby, red-bearded, middle-aged man wrapped in furs, the other, a lofty fellow in an outdated armor, had folded their arms with uncertainty. Selen drew rein, and they trotted closer before dismounting—a hell of a job which awakened Selen’s tortured flesh.
“Can you sum up all that happened here?” Louis asked as he jumped off his horse.
“It has been very quiet, Your Majesty. No one has tried to pass the gates, and they didn’t try to communicate with us. All we know about the situation in the capital is the abundant columns of smoke rising continuously,” the bearded lord said.
Louis faced the walls. Selen followed his move and stared at the grey clouds over Nysa Serin. He didn’t see anything much alarming. “I don’t see much smoke. Has the city been on fire?” Selen asked.
“On fire or not, it is past time we break the quarantine,” Louis said. “Send words to make them open the gates.” He turned to the slender lord. “We came with supplies. Make sure everything makes it into the city and to the hospital. I want the people fed, clad, and nursed.”
As he returned to his horse, Louis stopped at his side and leaned to Selen’s shoulder, his hair hiding half of his face. “I’m scared,” he whispered.
“Whatever we see, it’s not your fault,” Selen whispered back.
He patted Louis’s shoulder with his gloved hand and hauled himself onto his horse. Reining to the headquarters’ side, he kicked his mount and headed to the gatehouse. The wagons followed behind.
With guards on each side, they waited while the heavy doors rattled on their hinges. Selen’s hands contracted on the reins, inadvertently closing on a strand of his horse’s mane. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The rattle stopped with a deep thud. The fetor hit his nose. Selen squinted, expecting to see cinders and bodies.
Though the filth of the square and streets was beyond description, the
houses still stood. There were neither corpses nor splattered blood on the walls. Riding alongside Louis, Selen progressed through the streets towards the hospital. The gutters were littered with excrement. Most of the buildings were in a state of abandon. Shutters had been torn open. Other still stood firmly nailed. Some houses had been branded with a cross. Vague smears on the walls were even more ominous. The stench didn’t come exclusively from the shit they squelched in. There was more than he could see. As they moved on, shadows stepped outside the houses. Slowly and hesitantly, carried by their weak limbs, ragged figures approached them. Their faces were soiled masks of disbelief. Their shaking hands rose with the hopes a touch would confirm their vision. Their lips moved, but only moans came out. There were no elderly, no youngsters, no rich nor poor. Only wailing vapors. Tottering, they followed them like beggars. Selen’s throat knotted. His body veered between a headache and nausea.
Likely attracted by the noise, more people came out.
“The king,” some whispered.
“The gods be praised!”
“The king is back!”
The word spread like wildfire, and a motley crowd gathered around them. Many fell to their knees, threw their arms high, or shed tears.
“The king came to save us. We’re saved!”
Next to Selen, Louis cringed on his horse. “Look,” Louis said, pointing up. “New smoke.”
Selen raised his head at the grey column. “It comes from the hospital. It must be the pyres.”
As they turned the corner, he realized he had been wrong. A line of furniture and random objects had been put on fire. Flames rose like a golden fence around the hospital walls. Though the building was of stone, the arson would spread sooner or later. Guards wearing the royal colors kept watch in front of the entrance. Bodies, lightly dressed and bearing sword wounds, had been heaped on the side. Whatever had happened here, there had been resistance. Selen was surprised that the hospital had been condemned and needed to be burnt down, but why set a watch? And by the guards of the palace? Then he realized that, should the place be cleansed, the fire would need to be started from the inside, which would still be a mad move threatening the preservation of the city. Rumble like thunder drew his attention. It came from behind the sealed doors.
“The building is not empty,” Selen murmured, incredulous.
“Open the doors!” Louis shouted to their men. “Put down the fire!” He motioned forward, swirling his mount. “And arrest those men!”
Selen dismounted, removed his unpractical furs, and grabbed a small barrel. After he filled it with liquid mud, he cast it onto the flames. The crowd that had followed them helped the guards in their task until the fence was no more than ashes and burnt mud. As the pounds behind the doors continued, the inhabitants of Nysa Serin backed away in fear. Sullied to the top of their heads, each searched in the eyes of his neighbor for an explanation.
Louis stepped onto the first stairs leading to the building’s entrance and stretched a hand towards the doors before turning around. He tried to roll up the sleeves of his besmirched blue coat but couldn’t have them higher than the wrists.
“What happened here?” Louis yelled at the miserable crowd.
Some people, embarrassed, lowered their heads to contemplate their shoes. However, the majority, aware of the wagons’ presence, waited impatiently for assistance. Selen looked around but didn’t recognize a familiar face. No one answered the question.
“What happened…” Louis repeated in a whisper. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a brown stain, and snapped his fingers towards the guards. “Help me remove that.” He turned to the doors.
With hammers and metal rods, they unfastened the nailed planks. Selen joined them. Once the planks were removed, the doors opened. They only had a second to move to the side before guards rushed outside in clouds of smoke. Selen recognized the men of the watch.
“What were you doing here?” Selen asked in the confusion of coughs and groans. He jostled a few shoulders to move inside. “Where is your commander? Where is Urian?”
“He is dead.” Josselin appeared on the threshold, his doublet covered in blood. “The gangs got him.” His eyes twitched erratically, staring away, before fixing on Selen. “Your Majesty. Where is my wife?” Josselin’s pleading blue eyes pierced his soul.
Selen didn’t know what to say. “She…” Josselin’s eyes turned red, and his head shook. His friend expected the worst. “She is…”
“She fell sick,” Louis said behind him. “Not the disease. Something…rare. She left with Lissandro.” Louis patted Josselin on the shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he added in a tone that left no place for hope.
Struck with grief, Josselin gaped and sunk on himself. “No…”
His high-pitched lament pierced Selen’s heart. “But she may come back one day,” he said, keen to comfort him. He caught Louis’s reproachful gaze. She is not dead, Selen thought, looking back at him. “She loves you,” Selen insisted. Louis bobbed his head with reproach. At least grant him that. Glancing behind Louis, Selen hoped to get a glimpse of Brother Benedict. His absence worried him.
“You must arrest me,” Josselin whispered.
“Why?” Louis asked.
“I committed a crime. I killed,” Josselin answered.
Selen sipped air through his teeth. His friend didn’t deserve more misery. “In such a situation, I suspect more than one person to have killed to relieve someone’s pain. Don’t blame yourself,” Selen said, motioning towards the square as his eyes scanned the end of the hall. Maybe Brother Benedict was at the bedside of a sick person.
“It was murder.”
Surprised, Selen turned his gaze on Josselin. His eyes downcast with guilt, Josselin frowned and twisted his mouth.
“Then you will be judged,” Louis said low. “Present yourself to a sergeant of the watch.”
Selen sighed. They should sort it out together before making it public and sealing Josselin’s fate, but he knew better than to contradict Louis in public. “But before you do, help the men distribute the food and prepare the cure. We didn’t come back empty-handed.”
At least this news brought the glimpse of a smile on Josselin’s face.
Selen kept staring around. His anxiety grew. “Where is Brother Benedict?”
“He sleeps in his office,” Josselin said. “I will take care of the wagons,” he added before slipping downstairs in a hurry.
His chest swollen with foreboding, Selen walked down the hall. On the floor, wounded soldiers sat or lay next to the dying. He didn’t glimpse inside the rooms. The whole place smelled of death. When he felt Louis’s hand take his, he realized he was tottering. Selen got a grip of himself as he reached the office. Slowly, he pushed the door open. Against the wall, the monk lay on a couch. His breath was ragged, his whole darkened face bathed in sweat.
“He looks so small,” Selen murmured. Like a corpse.
Louis let go of his hand and crouched next to the monk. “Brother, can you hear me?” he whispered. His shaking fingers reached for the monk’s wrist. He leaned closer. “We made it, Brother. We will save you.” His voice broke. “We will.”
Selen couldn’t stand it anymore. He backed away into the hall and turned around.
In front of him rose the stairs to the upper floors. His heart raced in his chest. One foot after the other, he took the steps. He needed to know. Too quickly, he reached the first landing. As if in a dream, he moved to the door and stopped. A hand squeezed his shoulder. Louis’s presence was slightly comforting. He breathed in and opened the door.
The silence struck him. In front of them, a grey nurse gathered toys from the mats and put them in a basket she held in her arm. She picked up a red and green woolen ball, inspected it, and tossed it in the basket. A rag doll that lay nearby suffered the same fate. The nurse took a step further and stretched her hand towards a little wooden dog on a rope. She lifted it and turned it around into the light. The toy had lost one of its whee
ls.
Louis stepped in and put his hand on hers. “No,” he murmured with a shift of the head. He lifted the toy and, keeping it against him, moved to the other side of the room where he knelt down.
“It’s his.”
Delicately, he handed the puppy into the hands of a dirty, blond child who creased an old blanket. Selen’s heart missed a beat. He’s alive.
His drooling mouth curved into an O, the boy stared at Louis with his wide, blue eyes. For an instant, no one moved. Selen didn’t see Louis’s face but heard the jerky breathing. Louis slipped his hands under the child’s armpits and carried him up. As his friend moved back to him, Selen saw the boy twist, the tiny fingers flutter towards his hair, and the smile form on the thin lips.
Selen uttered a gasp and lifted his trembling arms. As they folded around the fragile body, he nestled his face in the curve of the milky neck, drowning his heart in a stream of love. He heard Louis whisper.
“Take him home.”
44
The gate grated open. The gaoler moved to the side. Behind him stretched the row of the guards’ spears. One after the other, the cells had been emptied of their lots of prisoners, and no one had made it back. The cheers and jeers of the crowd outside spoke for themselves. It wouldn’t be long now.
“Get out.”
Though numb with the cold, Josselin’s back ached as he rose from the soaked floor. His green doublet was in a pitiful state and stuck on his skin. He extended his sore neck and scratched the flea bites on his shoulder. At least they hadn’t tied his single hand.
“Move your ass, scum.” The man behind jostled him. “About time they free us. All this waiting here got me thirsty for something stronger than the piss on the walls.”
Light from Aphelion 2 - Tears of Winter Page 47
