Druid's Bane

by Phillip Henderson

  She nodded, though not happily. “I’m going to visit each of the families this afternoon. You should know that I intend to go to the funerals as well. The royal treasury will support the widows and orphans, not that it makes any of this easier to bear.”

  “Do you want to talk about it? The cellar?”

  Danielle shook her head though he noticed her hands trembling as he pushed a plate of steaming chicken and vegetables across the table to her.

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Sure.” James ate a fork full of chicken then said, “Joseph wants me to remind you that he’d let you know the outcome of the council meeting once it’s over.”

  She smiled, though her thoughts were clearly elsewhere as she began to eat. Or more accurately pick at the food on her plate. Her eyes had glazed over.

  “Something else is troubling you, isn’t it?” James asked.

  She sighed and put her knife and fork down. She studied his face across the table for a moment then said. “The Lady Winters said something this morning and I know it’s going to cause conflict between father and I, but I can’t let it lie.”

  “What did she say?”

  “That the Archbishop is planning something that could reshape the balance of power in Arkaelyon.”

  “The Archbishop is as good as dead. When these slaves are found on Lord Helidon’s estate, he will hang, along with your brother.”

  “Perhaps, but I know this is linked to my dream.”

  “Yes, and with both your twin brother and the Archbishop dead, your dream and this prophecy are meaningless.”

  “I know all that. But it’s not what I feel. I can’t explain it. It’s like a horrible foreboding and it’s wearing me down.” She stopped abruptly and then got up quickly as tears threatened her eyes and she went to the balcony window.

  James rose from his chair and followed her across the room. He slipped his arms around her and eased her back against him.

  Danielle relaxed in his embrace and then said, “I just need to know I have your support at the very least.”

  “You have more than my support. You have me. All of me. Forever.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Kane sat on his mount considering the burnt out shell of his residence. He was oblivious of the traffic in the street moving around him. This day should have been the beginning of a new life of financial independence. It should have seen him elevated in the minds and hearts of the nobles. Instead he had been disowned and left with nothing to his name but the clothes on his back and the mount he rode, along with a sketchy plan to flee Arkaelyon with his share of the slaves. Pathetic.

  Then there were those responsible for this reversal of fortune. The anger in his belly had not eased on that account. But it would have to wait until he was in a position to exact revenge. Right now, he needed to find Orson and get out of Illandia—at least that’s what his rational mind was saying. The temptation to find his sister and bury his dagger deep in her gut and watch her bleed out and then pay the Archbishop a visit was dangerously high.

  His senses won out and he turned his horse back up the street, thinking Fren’s squalid little basement tenement in the southwestern quarter was likely the best place to start looking for Orson. And if he hadn’t run there, Fren would certainly know where he was.

  The back streets and the crowded thoroughfares offered the best route, for it had been clear since riding from the gates of the palace that someone was following him—likely a shadow in the employment of the Lord Protector. There was also an unprecedented number of mounted patrols scouring the city no doubt looking to arrest Orson for murder and attempted regicide.

  On reaching Harburn Street deep in the heart of the dilapidated section of Illandia’s southwestern quarter, Kane guided his horse into a blacksmith’s yard. The owner was working at his anvil and stopped long enough to grunt at an apprentice before his hammer resumed its work. It was the usual ritual; no questions asked, no answers to give, and Kane was happy with the agreement. The boy thanked him as he put a silver coin and the reins of his horse into his hands, then Kane slipped out of the yard through an old gate at the rear. A group of small children were playing in the filthy alleyway he stepped into, and they stopped and watched as Arkaelyon’s second prince walked by. It wasn’t ideal on a day such as this, but it couldn’t be helped. He ducked into another alley, checked no one was looking, and then knelt to pull the iron grate off a sewer hole. It didn’t matter how many times he took this route to Fren’s city abode, or how fast the sewers were flowing, the stench wasn’t something a civilised person could get used to. He stepped down onto the ladder and pulled the iron grate back into place. There was enough light in the gloom to see by with sunlight shafting in through the rusted iron grates that opened to the streets above at periodic intervals.

  Not about to take any chances with someone tailing him and the city in such turmoil, Kane climbed down the ladder to the ledge beside the flowing sewer and ducked in behind a stone support. He waited with a hand on his dagger and listened for any hint that he might have been followed. But there was nothing but the bubbling stream of effluent and river water and the filtered noise of the busy streets above. Sure he’d lost his tail and eager to be out of the foul stench, he continued along the slippery stone path beside the running sewer, passing two side tunnels before turning into the third. It was as he rounded the corner that a shadow moved from the darkness and a man stepped into the light shafting down from a grate in the brick ceiling above. It was the same red-haired bastard who’d been following him since his departure from the palace, only now he had a sword in his hand and a harsh sneer on his face. Kane drew his dagger and backed up. There were footsteps on the wet stone at his back and he half turned to find a large Surlemian in a black cloak blocking his retreat.

  “What in Vellum’s name is this? My father said in full council that I was free to go as long as I didn’t leave the city.”

  “We’re not your father’s animals, Mr Kane,” the red haired man said his sneer becoming a sadistic smile. “We are servants of a man who calls your sister friend, and thinks her dreams of late might have more credence than others of the Inner Council believe.”

  Kane had heard Danielle had been having bad dreams, though what about and how that involved him he had not the slightest clue. “What in the name of the gods are you talking about?”

  “Sheath your weapon and no harm will come to you.”

  Kane didn’t see what choice he had. But the moment the dagger was back in its scabbard, the Surlemian grabbed him from behind with muscled arms. Realising he had been fooled, Kane fought hard to get free but the scuffle was brief and ended with one of the said arms wrapped around Kane’s neck and the point of the man’s dagger threatened Kane’s right eye. “Here’s the thing, Mr Kane. There can be no prophecy if Maig’s new Hand is dead, right?”

  If the man’s words were not clear his intent certainly was as he gave his companion a curt nod. A fist slammed into Kane’s side and he was wrestled to the ground.

  Kane felt a flood of terror like he’d never experience as he was pinned face down on the wet cobble, the large Surlemian man kneeing on top of him and securing his wrists with a piece of rope. “Please hear me. I have no idea what this is about.” It was the truth.

  “All for the better then,” the red haired man stepped forward and lowered the edge of his sword so it touched the back of Kane’s neck.

  “Gods, please, mercy, I beg you, mercy … I have gold.” Kane struggled violently but strong hands held him fast.

  “You murdering bastards!”

  In that instance a blinding green light filled the tunnel. Kane looked up the best he could and blinked against the blinding glare as a jagged shaft of lightening struck the tip of the raised sword. The man holding the weapon convulsed violently. Smoke rose from his skin and hair and fire leaped from his gaping mouth. Then his steaming eyes rolled into the back of his head and he keeled sideways into the sewer to be swallowed by
the rushing water, his red hot sword clattering on the wet slimy coble.

  The other attacker had not faired much better. In almost the same instant there had been a sickening thump of steel piercing fabric and flesh. The man shuddered and slumped over, landing face first on the cobble next to Kane, his lifeless eyes wide and staring. A knife cut Kane free, and he got up, not sure who had saved his life. An attractive dark haired woman was smiling at him as she cleaned the blood off her dagger. She was attired in a close fitting green dress that accented her lovely curves. Kane was certain he didn’t know her, though her lovely smile suggested she knew him.

  “Thank you,” he stammered, rubbing his burning wrists.

  Before he could recover sufficiently to say anything else, Fren stepped out of the darkness, dusting off her hands and cackling at his bewilderment like the bloody witch she was.

  ***

  “What in Vellum’s name is going on, Fren?”

  Except for the demand that he keep quiet, Kane’s questions—and there had been many as his wits returned—had been met with stony silence all the way from the sewer to Fren’s city abode in the cellar of an old brick tenement. And still she refused to talk to him as she rolled up the threadbare mat that graced the floor of her windowless chamber and began to redraw a faded circle and a bunch of bizarre symbols on the dusty stone with a charcoal stick. The other woman, they hadn’t yet been introduced, was also busy, moving around the room with a taper lighting the black candles that were placed in recesses in the stone wall of the room. Both women had pulled on coarse woollen robes the colour of charcoal and the ease with which this other woman undertook her task suggested she was one of Fren’s odd associates; more than likely another witch. None of this mystical nonsense improved Kane’s mood any. But he’d seen Fren indulge in it enough times across the years to know he’d be wasting his breath asking questions until it was complete. Instead he poured a little of her wine into a well used earthen mug and took a deep pull to calm his nerves. He was still struggling to believe someone had tried to kill him. Bloody Danielle. Bitch!

  When the patterns were newly drawn, Fren knelt down at the centre and began to mumble a series of chants. Kane watched as she collected her little pouch of bones from the pocket of her threadbare coat. They rattled as she shook them in both hands and lifted them above her head, the reverent chant on her lips growing ever louder. To Kane’s pleasant surprise, the other woman quickly undressed and stepped into the circle before lying down naked on her back. The sight was lovely to behold, but again, it did little to improve his mood.

  The bones stopped rattling and were tossed onto the woman’s flat belly.

  “You’re wasting your time, hag, they don’t bloody well work,” he said bitterly, before emptying his mug.

  Fren ignored him as she studied the little yellowed bones. When she stood again it was to nod at the younger woman and walk away to her workbench with is herbs and vials.

  “Where’s Orson?” Kane demanded, one eye on the other woman, who had given him a seductive smile and was now dressing again. “And what is going on? Who wants me dead?”

  Fren had started to mix one of her potions.

  “Orson and his men are safe enough for the time being. As for those that wish you dead, they would be the same ones who want to stop your bill.”

  Kane sniggered at that. “Want to stop my bill? Don’t you mean have stopped my bill? If your bones actually spoke the truth or if you’d been in the council chamber this morning you’d know that.”

  She merely grinned as she held a glass cup up to the light of a candle and swilled its yellowy contents. Kane wrinkled his nose. The concoction stank, and that was putting it mildly.

  “You bloody well said it would pass, Fren. And you said nothing of the Archbishop playing me like some puppet.” He wasn’t sure which angered him more or which puppet master was more skilled.

  The young woman smiled suggestively at him again as she walked past to help the older witch.

  “He is lovely, Fren. You did not say he was so handsome.”

  “This is my sister, Keira.”

  Kane scowled at them both. He couldn’t care less who she was.

  “And the bones don’t lie, my young prince,” Fren continued.

  That she would dispute the obvious incensed him. “As I said, if you’d been present in the council chambers this morning you’d know I am no longer a prince.”

  That telling smirk he hated so much touched her wrinkled lips. She had come forward and he tolerated her touch as she dabbed the liquid she had mixed to the cut on his neck. “The bones said the bill will pass, and pass it will.” She admired her work, and then looked up at him, her eyes steady and knowing. “Unless, of course, you are as craven as Lord Helidon said and his Eminence fears?”

  The other woman was watching him just as intently, waiting for his answer. Fren’s meaning suddenly became clear. Kane stared at her, utterly bewildered. “You would have me accept the Archbishop’s offer? Is that what you’re suggesting?”

  “It’s the road the bones have shown,” Keira said.

  He had the sudden urge to strike both of them, or better still, break their scrawny necks. “You knew all this was going to happen and you kept it from me!” he said to Fren.

  “Of course I kept it from you. Until now you were not ready to hear it.” She tipped the rest of the liquid on the fire that was crackling in the hearth and walked back to her cluttered workbench.

  Kane laughed madly. “And you think I’m ready now?” He pointed a finger towards the door to the chamber. “I won’t be that man’s lackey. Not for all the gold in Arkaelyon—not even for my father’s throne.”

  To his surprise, Fren merely gave him that smug, toothless grin of hers. Keira’s smile was a great deal more alluring, but the sentiment was the same; that they knew better.

  “Of course you won’t,” Fren said enigmatically as she rummaged through a hamper, and then tossed him an apple before handing one off to her sister and biting into another herself.

  He blinked at her. “And what in Vellum’s name does that mean?”

  Her smug grin hardened a little as she said, “If you walk the path set before you, he shall be your lackey. His zeal for Amthenium blinds him, Kane, and I assure you in less than a year that zeal will also kill him.”

  This came as a shock. Kane sat down on a rickety chair by the hearth and squeezed his eyes shut. The chamber was silent except for Fren and her sister munching on their respective apples. Despite all her odd, even repugnant ways, he trusted none as much as this wily old woman. And on this matter he wanted to believe her, but this was treason! And that was rich even for his tastes. And to take Amthenium without lifting a sword—how was that possible? Then there was the issue of Danielle. He sighed, completely at a loss as to what he should do, and gazed across at her.

  “Even if I agreed to this, the Archbishop would never condone Danielle’s murder, and if I am to be the next high king, she must die, because I will not have one as dangerous as her around to un-throne me. It is a bloody shame Orson didn’t do the business properly this morning.”

  “On the contrary, Kane. We’re lucky she survived Orson’s folly. I told him to lock them in the cellar, not kill them.”

  “Why bloody not? This day would have been a great deal happier for it.”

  “I have told you before, she has to die in a certain way. However, I agree on both counts, she does have to die, and the sooner the better, and yes, the Archbishop will take some convincing.” Fren pulled a chair up next to his and tossed her apple core into the fire. “However, there are things you need to know. A group of very powerful men in this realm, among whom my sister and me walk as equals, want your sister dead as much as you, perhaps more, and it is we who seek your elevation to the throne. The Archbishop is merely the puppet, blissfully unaware others are pulling his strings.”

  “Who are these men, and what is their intent?”

  “It is enough to say, that you bear a
mark on your breast that makes them, and us as well, servants to your will.”

  Kane shook his head. “Fren, I take no interest in the devilry you get up.”

  The old witch smiled and placed a motherly hand on his arm. “You don’t have to believe, my child. But you must choose. Run like a coward, and royal and monastically knives and the White Ones will hunt you for the rest of your days. And I suspect those days will be considerably short in number. Or do as your heart beckons and I promise you, you’ll know kingship and a great deal more. Even things you haven’t dreamed possible.”

  “If I accept, Danielle dies along with my father?”

  “Within the month. If you go now and agree to this pact with the Archbishop, this evening I will introduce you to my esteemed colleagues, and by the end of the night you’ll know how your sister must die and why, and a great deal more besides.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Leaning heavily on his cane, Joseph climbed the stairs to the patio outside Danielle’s dining room. The day had been full of walking and his old legs were causing him some bother. Looking through the balcony door, he saw a sight that pleased him considerably. With a devilish grin he rapped on the glass with his cane. Danielle jerked out of James’ arms as if she’d been stung, and seeing him she walked over to open the balcony door. She was more than a little shame-faced as she let him inside. James, too, offered a bow stiff with embarrassment.

  Joseph was trying not to laugh and the sentiment helped the young lovers relax a little. “From what I can see, the sooner you two are married the better. Perhaps a joint royal wedding with Faith and Michael? It certainly would thrill the commoners.”

  “In truth, Joseph, I think we have more pressing matters,” Danielle said. “Though we both thank you for making this possible.” She kissed his bearded cheek as she slipped her hand under his arm and led him back to the patio.