Bound in Stone 3

by K. M. Frontain

  “Where’s my gang?” Herfod said to Vik.

  “Sleeping by now, unless they’re as complete a set of dunces as you’ve often named them. They spent the night stumbling around in the dark looking for you despite that the abbot said to give up.” Vik lowered his voice. “Kehfrey, you must go to Nicky.”

  “Nicky? But I’ve ended it,” Herfod hissed back.

  “She had a vision.” Vik explained everything that had happened since his visit yesterday.

  “I should have been told at once!” Herfod said angrily.

  “I know that now. We had no idea that she would drag you down with the dance.”

  Herfod’s face drained of colour. “How did you know it was her?”

  “What else could it have been? Of course it was the Ancient Power. It has never been anything else.” He pulled his brother further from the bush. “Use my horse. Borrow my guards. Go see Nicky. See what you can do for her.”

  “Keep your guards.” Herfod handed Vik the curved blade. “But I’ll take the horse.” He hurried through the line of baffled bodyguards and mounted Vik’s gelding. He raced it toward the city.

  ***

  Nicky wasn’t in her bed when he entered the room, but at her dressing table, staring worriedly at her image in the mirror and wearing nothing but a thin, very revealing dressing gown.

  “What is that?” Herfod cried, walking in without knocking. “That’s not hiding a thing.”

  She laughed and rose to catch him in her arms, but he danced away.

  “None of that,” he said firmly.

  “Kehfrey! Come and kiss me!” She went after him again.

  “Stop! I have things to tell you. Stop and listen!”

  She halted. Her arms lowered. She stood motionless and regarded him anxiously. “What is happening, Kehfrey? I’ve lost an entire day.”

  “I know. I know why. Just go sit.” He swallowed uncomfortably. She discerned that he had trouble meeting her gaze. His attention drifted down her figure. She smiled suggestively, hoping to encourage him, but he protested further temptation. “Nicky! Sit!” he appealed again.

  She huffed in irritation, but all the same flounced over to the dressing table and sat. He groaned as her very visible bottom settled on the small chair. Her resultant sarcasm was like venom. “You did ask me to sit.”

  “Oh, be quiet.”

  “I could sit somewhere that will ease your pain,” she suggested.

  “Be quiet!” he cried a second time. He snatched a blanket from her bed and wrapped it around her, hiding what had already burned into his mind. He vaguely knew he was going to need that memory in the future. He’d have nothing else with which to please himself but his hand.

  “Kehfrey?” she said. “What is it? Why are you so upset?”

  He gazed down at her untidy crown of curls, pondering how best to go about telling her, discovering only that there was no easy way. “You’re a mess,” he said instead. She was. Her hair was everywhere. Given the perfect distraction, for him and for her, he grabbed a comb from the dressing table and began to work the snags from the mass of curls. “It’s been ages since I’ve done this. How long? Eight years, hasn’t it?”

  “Kehfrey! Just tell me what is happening to me!” she pleaded.

  And he told her. He told her what Vik had said about her vision, while his eyes and hands concentrated on her dark tresses, because he could not look into her eyes and say it.

  “I had that vision?” she whispered. “Oh, Kehfrey! What shall we do?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Kehfrey. Look at me.”

  He pulled his gaze up reluctantly. Her hair was safer to look at. His soul couldn’t drown in her hair. It could in her eyes.

  “Give me back my memory,” she commanded. “Give it back.”

  His soul almost bled. “Nicky! You may try to look again. You must not. Telling me wouldn’t change it. You said it yourself.”

  “What if I told Ugoth? Let me try scrying with you here. You can heal me after.”

  He shut his eyes on her.

  “Kehfrey!” she insisted.

  “All right! All right.” He uttered the words that would open her mind and watched through the mirror as it all flooded back. Her eyes filled with tears of grief. They lifted to meet his, drowning him immediately.

  “Oh, Kehfrey! You were never going to see me again!”

  He swallowed painfully. He hadn’t told her that part. He hadn’t been able to. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  He pulled his gaze away, and this simple act felt as if he were ripping his heart out. He bent his head and concentrated on her hair, pulling the tresses apart to braid a section. This! He would remember this forever. The smell of her. The feel. Her luminous tear-filled eyes. “Try it now,” he said. “Try it and then I must leave.”

  She sobbed once, but then shut her eyes on his overwhelmingly sad face. She attempted to scry further into that awful future, but though she pressed for it with all her might, she could not see that telling Ugoth would change the outcome. The children would die. Ugoth would not be there to see their caskets. That in itself was so frightening, she called out in terror. Then there was blackness.

  Her next image was of nothing but blue, bright shining warmth, indescribably comforting. Her eyes opened. Herfod yet stood behind her, but now held her up in the chair with his hands on her shoulders. An aura surrounded both of them. It was the strangest healing she’d ever experienced and the most wondrous. She felt as if he sank his strength into her, sank his very life, and as the curative progressed, her mind grew clear, clearer than it had been in decades. She felt renewed.

  He ended the chant. The glow faded slowly. The aura seemed reluctant to leave them both, but eventually it diminished from her skin and sank into Herfod as if returning home. He opened his eyes and looked at her through the mirror image.

  And it was there again, that ancient presence. It was indefinably sad and lonely. He blinked, and it was gone.

  “Nicky?” he said. “What did you see?”

  “It made no difference,” she whispered up to this mysterious, benevolent creature she loved with all her soul. “It still happens.”

  “Then say nothing,” he ordered. “Don’t try again. If an image comes on its own, then get a message to me. But don’t try again.”

  She nodded acquiescence. He heaved a deep breath and started a second braid.

  “I love you,” she said. His eyes shut to hide a torrent of anguish.

  The bedroom door suddenly opened. Ugoth stood in the entrance. He stared at them blankly, and then his face washed with rage. He pulled his sword from its scabbard and stalked forward. Herfod stepped away from Nicky, gaping in surprise.

  “You’re going to kill me for braiding her hair?” he cried in disbelief.

  “You bastard!” Ugoth hissed. “I trusted you!”

  “Ugoth! You said you would send him to help me!” Nicky reminded, her voice high and frightened.

  “I never sent the message!” Ugoth gritted out.

  “Vik sent me!” Herfod shouted, but even this reasonable and true response didn’t appease the king.

  Ugoth stepped forward and the sword lifted higher. “You love her!” he snarled. “You deceitful fuck! I’m going to take off your head!”

  “Love her?” Herfod cried. His white face abruptly darkened with outrage. “I love you!”

  That made Ugoth pause. He stood frozen with his arm arched back for the swing. His expression lengthened with shock a second time.

  Into the breach stepped Herfod. He grabbed Ugoth by the back of the neck and dragged his head down, to then kiss him just as he would Nicky. Ugoth’s eyes bugged. He bore the abuse for several unbelieving seconds before shoving the unseemly monk away.

  “Get off!” He swiped at his lips hastily. Herfod danced backward and eyed him cautiously.

  “You! You’re like Vik!” Ugoth gawped at Herfod for a few seconds and then shouted, “You are like Vik!”

>   “This is your fault! You made me say it!” Which was sort of true. Herfod estimated that Nicky’s danger was now eliminated and he only had his own neck to worry over. He glanced at Nicky. She had risen. Her face was drawn with panic. The concealing blanket had slipped to the floor. The revealing gown was an opportunity Herfod literally grabbed. “What is this?” he shouted at the king. He plucked the flimsy material off her side. “This hides nothing! Did you buy her this?”

  Ugoth slowly turned red. His sword arm lowered further with each passing second, the lethal strike forgotten for the disgust and confusion Herfod had engendered with his wild act. Herfod snorted at his mark. “And you think I’m a pervert,” he said coldly.

  He stomped past Ugoth, his greatest performance finished. He knew he’d discharged the murderous jealousy. Ugoth stared, the sword tip touching the carpet. Herfod didn’t dare look at Nicky a last time. He rushed down the stairs and out of the house, making a great noise of his progress. But within minutes after, he was up on the roof by the back alley, as silent as only an assassin thief could be. Hanging his head over the eave, he heard Nicky weeping loudly. Nicky was still performing. Herfod barely smiled.

  “Nicky!” Ugoth pleaded. “I’m sorry! I don’t know what came over me! I saw you both together and I went mad!”

  “You tried to kill him! He’s my best friend!” she shouted.

  “He was my best friend too!” Ugoth shouted back.

  Was? Herfod sighed. Ugoth wasn’t going to get over it. He’d known it from the beginning. The king had no tolerance inside him for a monk with homosexual inclinations.

  “Go away!” Nicky sobbed. “I remember everything! He gave me back my missing day! Go to your wife!”

  “Nicky!” Ugoth pleaded again. “Nicky!” Now his voice was softer. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

  There were no sounds for several minutes. Herfod waited. Presently he heard Ugoth moan and guessed that Nicky had literally taken him in hand. At this point, Herfod withdrew from the edge, paced softly across the roof to a narrow side alley and descended, clambering down with a set of limbs pressed to either wall. The feat was easy for him, ridiculously like walking down the sides of the houses.

  A child out in the street saw him and laughed in delight. Herfod dropped the rest of the way, grinned at the little boy and gave him a playful tug on the hair in passing. In retaliation, the child kicked at him.

  Herfod laughed and skipped aside. When he rode past with his borrowed gelding moments later, he looked in and discovered the child practicing the wall walk. Herfod laughed again and told him to be careful.

  “I’m not an idiot!” the child cried angrily.

  Herfod smiled. What a magnificent boy. He called a blessing for good luck in any case and kicked his mount forward. It was time to go back where he belonged. He had a confession to make. He had a mind to clear. Sex was a complete and total bother. He was relieved it was over.

  He swiped off the stupid tears that had begun to leak from his eyes.

  “Stop that, you idiot,” he muttered, but the tears wouldn’t end.

  After another few minutes of frustrated attempts to get himself together, he gave up. He spotted a monk in the gloom of the evening and hailed him. He dismounted, surreptitiously wiped his eyes clear, this while hiding on the other side of the horse, approached and begged the monk a favour, to bring the gelding back to his brother with a message that he’d be out walking for a bit. He handed the reins over and disappeared for a week.

  A few days before he returned, King Ugoth received a summons from Omera calling on that kingdom’s allies. Word had arrived that the Stohar had surrendered unconditionally to the Winfellan army. Marun had turned south at last, and Ulmenir was formally requested to send its promised forces north.

  ***

  King Ugoth opened the missive and read it. He read it twice.

  “He’s back,” he said. He dropped the small note and nodded a thank-you to the pigeon keeper. The man bowed and left. Ugoth continued to sit on the throne without moving. After minutes of silence, his queen finally demanded who was back.

  “Herfod,” he answered without looking.

  He didn’t see the disappointment flash over her face. She had been hoping it was Ufrid at last. She dared broach this subject to her husband. “I thought you were going to say your brother. He has been attending to the northern border for months now.”

  “He will return shortly,” Ugoth informed her. “Lord General Dals arrived to meet the vanguard weeks ago. Ufrid will return to give us his report, and then the main army will mobilize.”

  “You should have sent Dals long ago. The royalty have no business conducting warfare on their own.”

  Ugoth rose abruptly. He hated her! She was stupid and …! Stupid! He had to leave before he said something unforgivable before the entire court. He stalked around the dais, ignoring the wave of bows and curtseys he set off. He thrust the red tapestries aside and disappeared from view.

  “Get Brother Herfod!” he barked at a page as he stomped to his chambers. The page bowed and raced off.

  “Gods!” Ugoth hissed. He didn’t care if Herfod had only just arrived. He’d had enough of this nonsense. He’d had enough of the mysteries. He’d had enough of Herfod. He was going to break his bones if he had to, but he was going to make that roach talk.

  He paced for an expectant hour, waiting for the chance to start on him. He almost sent another messenger by the end of that time, along with guards to drag the monk to the castle, but Herfod arrived on his own. He walked in and bowed as a proper monk. His face was impassive. His first words were not.

  “I heard you asked for a new confessor.”

  “Yes,” the king admitted. He waved the servants out of the room. “You were too busy to see me.”

  “You don’t need to lie to me.”

  Ugoth scowled. “I was lying to save your reputation.” He stomped forward, shoved the last of the slow, very interested servants out and slammed the sitting room door shut with a bang. Brother Herfod lifted a mildly sardonic brow. “Start talking!” Ugoth barked. “I want the whole story. I want it now. No more lying.”

  “No more lying,” Herfod repeated. He stepped up and socked Ugoth hard in the jaw.

  “You bastard!” Ugoth hissed, righting himself. He touched his cheek gingerly. “I should be doing that to you! You roach!”

  “I lied to you about loving you,” Herfod snarled.

  “What? You lied …?” Ugoth’s expression fired with wrath. “You lied about Nicky?”

  Herfod’s face flushed with rage as well. “You idiot! You were going to kill me for braiding her hair. My best friend from the age of seven! Keep your new confessor, ass wipe. I’m through with you.” He turned about.

  Ugoth grabbed him and slammed him face forward against the door. “No! You speak it all now! All of it! I refuse to have you stalk out the door and disappear again! You …! You lying little bastard!”

  Herfod jabbed backward with his elbow and connected solidly. Ugoth’s breath hissed out. The monk whipped about and shoved the king away hard. To Herfod’s rear, the door opened and knocked him in the back. Several guards rushed in to detain him.

  “Get off!” Ugoth wheezed at them. He straightened himself as best he could. “Can’t you see we’re busy?”

  The guards looked at both men uncertainly. Herfod shrugged out of their grasps.

  “Get off!” He waved them away. “He’s only playing. If he were serious, I’d be dead now. Wouldn’t I?”

  That settled their worries. They left, one after the other, each looking back a last time to be certain. Herfod shut the door after them.

  “You’d be dead now?” Ugoth repeated. “That’s a laugh! You’re the assassin!”

  “Hi, now! You were the one with the sword and going for my neck the other day,” Herfod accused. “I never even pulled a weapon.” He crossed his arms triumphantly. “Just goes to show you which of us has the wits and which is all brawn.”

  �
��Oh, shut up! I thought you were there to … to …!”

  “I know what you thought. I was there to help her.” That time, in any case.

  “You kissed me!” Ugoth accused. “You … kissed me!”

  “I know that. It cut that unthinking rage off, didn’t it?” Herfod stomped over to a chair and slumped back on it in irritation, absently shrugging his killing wands into a more comfortable placement as he did. He set his fingers to his brow as if it ached. “Stop fussing. It didn’t kill you. You didn’t catch the roach disease.”

  Ugoth stomped to a different chair. He sat in it and scowled at the slighter man. “Start talking,” he ordered.

  “Bugger off!” Herfod spat. “Is that what you want? My life history before you dump me out of your royal life?”

  “You little shit!” Ugoth spat back. “You owe me for nearly eight years of patience with your endless mysteries. The attempts on you and on Vik. The secrecy even my mistress keeps for you! Start talking or our friendship is through this time.”

  “Fine!” Herfod snarled. “Knowing you and your cussed intolerance, it’s over anyway! Here it is, my bloody Liege!”

  And he told him. Most of it. The surface details. He avoided personal information as much as he could. He shunned mentioning Nicky. It was the most he would do, this highly edited account. He couldn’t bear to reveal Nicky’s slavery. He knew Ugoth would see too much then. Ugoth would put it all together.

  Ugoth watched him without moving throughout the recounting. Immobility was unusual for him; he was rarely able to remain still for long. But this? This was too important to be interrupted with idle motion. “You were Marun’s slave?” he recapped at the end. “Vik was his lover?”

  Brother Herfod glowered without answering. The man could act dense if he wanted to; he didn’t care.

  “Herfod! How did he enslave you?” Ugoth said.

  “Gods bust it! I told you! He had my family in his control!”