Bound in Stone 3

by K. M. Frontain

  Ugoth shivered in shock afterward. Every inch of him vibrated with excess life. What had this been? What was Herfod? What was he? There had been no prayer! No chant!

  He pulled away, and Herfod sprawled off of him, gasping weakly on the canvas with his eyes shut tight. “Herfod?” Ugoth whispered. He pulled his leather leggings back up.

  Herfod’s eyes opened. They peered upward in astonishment, glowing with inhuman presence, so old, so incredibly, inexplicably old. And it felt like time stopped beyond the pavilion, as if sound ceased and only their pained inhalations existed in the air. Ugoth stared, frozen but for his harsh breathing, frozen until the presence faded away.

  “Herfod?” he whispered a second time.

  Herfod blinked, the world of sound returned outside the canvas walls, and he looked at Ugoth. “What?” he said blankly.

  “What are you?”

  “I don’t know,” Herfod said. “I swear I don’t know.” He lifted himself. The borrowed trousers fell to his feet. He stepped out of them and walked to the washstand to bathe himself, his movements at first shaky, then steadying as if he pulled strength from a mysterious fount of power.

  Ugoth tentatively rose to his knees. He ached, but he didn’t hurt. It had been painful until the blue had taken him completely. He felt as if some unexplainable force invigorated him. His gaze returned to Herfod, who directed a puzzled stare at the wash basin. Ugoth couldn’t begin to fathom what his long-time friend could be thinking while wearing such a perplexed expression.

  Friend? Friends didn’t do what Herfod had just done. Didn’t he feel the least bit guilty?

  “Did you do that to Marun too?” Ugoth demanded. He almost cringed. Damn it! Not what he should have asked. His royal dignity was in tatters, and he worsened it asking questions like a jealous lover. That was just damned pitiful. He lurched off the floor. No damned way he’d stay kneeling, not after asking something so embarrassing.

  “No,” Herfod answered. “You were my first like that.” He gazed pensively at Ugoth. “It was better than I expected.” It was damned different too. What had he done?

  Ugoth flushed.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you,” Herfod said.

  Ugoth’s mortification lapsed. “It didn’t last,” he said and went to Herfod. “I love you! I have no idea why. I would kill any other man for having done that.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not,” Ugoth said. He kissed him. “I’m not,” he repeated. He shoved Herfod away. “Get dressed before someone sees you naked.”

  “As if no one hasn’t yet,” Vik said. They started, turning in unison to see him just inside the tent and grinning at them. “Hurry up, both of you,” he said, stepping forward quickly. He continued speaking in an undertone. “I had to stop Samel from coming in here three times. He’s very suspicious.”

  “Oh,” Herfod whispered. “I’m in trouble.”

  “Confess!” Ugoth snapped.

  “What?”

  Ugoth nudged him toward the black suit, which lay abandoned near the entrance. “Dress. Then go confess to breaking your vow of abstinence.”

  “He’ll be upset!”

  “But he won’t be able to discuss it with anyone after. Confessional silence, remember?”

  “Oh, right. Fine, I’ll do it, because the last thing I want is Abbot Anselm shouting at me again, which he’ll do even if we win the war.” Herfod picked up his black pants.

  “The abbot shouted at you?” Vik said. “I’ve never heard his voice rise higher than a whisper.”

  “He shouts louder than Samel,” Herfod said.

  “Seriously?” Vik replied. “Damn. You piss everyone off.”

  “Yes, he does,” Ugoth agreed. Herfod cast them a sour look and almost overbalanced while pulling on the second leg of his pants. Smirking, Vik steadied his brother.

  Smirking as well, Ugoth grabbed his tunic. “I’m confessing to Samel next,” he said.

  “You?” Herfod said in surprise.

  “He’ll be in a corner then, won’t he? Can’t do much but tell us to make penance.”

  “Which you never do!” Herfod said.

  “Knowing you is penance enough. Where are my gods cussed socks?”

  Vik walked by, snatched them off the floor and handed them over. “He’ll make Kehfrey do penance too,” he reminded Ugoth. “Have you forgotten? And Kehfrey will do it.”

  “No, I haven’t. But I doubt it’ll be that severe. What can Samel do, after all? I’m the king.”

  Vik shook his head. “You are so conceited.” He found Ugoth’s boots and shoved them at him. “I’ll call your squire back in.” He glanced at Kehfrey to be certain he was decently covered and left the tent.

  “Herfod,” Ugoth called.

  “What?” he said, at the moment strapping weapons down over the assassin’s costume.

  “Do you love me?”

  He looked at Ugoth in astonishment. “Gods, man! I’ve loved you forever!”

  And therein lay the solution to the failed blessings. The realization cast a dark cloud over Herfod’s protestation of devotion. He dampened a need to cringe with remorse. He’d just buggered a man who should never have been buggered, who would never have turned to another man for physical affection. He’d perverted his best friend.

  Unaware of his lover’s guilt, Ugoth half smiled, but his lips lost the upward curve almost instantly. “Vik said you would have kept it from me forever.”

  Herfod snatched another weapon up. He didn’t look at the king. “He’s correct. I would have.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s not your natural bent to want a man, Ugoth. You’ve said as much yourself.”

  “Why do I want you?”

  “I have no idea,” Herfod lied. He dared a quick pain-filled glance. “I have no idea why. I’ve given up understanding me, Ugoth. I don’t make sense.”

  Ugoth nodded. No, Herfod didn’t. He made no sense at all. He didn’t act like a lover of men. He’d been a perfectly abstinent monk for nearly eight years, up until these last few months, and then he’d taken two lovers, a man and a woman. It seemed his inclinations were triggered more by love itself than by physical stimuli. Otherwise, he appeared able to ignore his sexual needs completely. “It’s all going to make sense someday,” Ugoth said. “I hope I’m there to see it.”

  Herfod smiled. “So do I.”

  Marten returned and the private conversation ended. The squire froze in the entrance and gaped at the monk. He’d never seen such a get up before. He watched in amazement as Brother Herfod settled the habit over his body, hiding the astounding black suit and all the weaponry.

  Herfod lifted a finger to his lips. “Shh!” he whispered. “It’s a secret!” Grinning, he walked out of the tent while throwing his mantle over his shoulders.

  “Hurry up, Marten,” Ugoth said. “Where’s my damned chain mail? I can’t remember where I dropped it last night.”

  Marten eventually found the armour behind the trunk. The king donned it quickly, refusing the full gear in favour of just the black chain mail that day. He was delaying the army. The tent needed to be emptied and taken down. The moment Ugoth was ready, he left the pavilion and went to find Brother Samel. He had a confession to make.

  ***

  Brother Samel was patently furious. As Ugoth approached, Samel scowled, lips a flat line of disapproval. Samel stood in a small clearing that had been created by the removal of many tents. Saint Turamen monks pulled down more further off, but Herfod was nowhere in sight.

  Well, he’d likely been sent off after Samel heard the confession, but Ugoth intended to have him back at once. He stepped up to Samel and spoke the rote phrase demanding the confidentiality of the confessional.

  Samel scowled more deeply and granted it, staring at the angry gryphon that glared from Ugoth’s neck. The beast of the cloak pin looked ready to take life and fly.

  “I seduced Brother Herfod,” Ugoth said.

  “He said it the othe
r way around!” Samel snapped, gaze darting up to meet Ugoth’s.

  “Well he lied for my sake. Make him confess again. I forced him.”

  “You bastard!” Samel hissed.

  Ugoth stared blankly. “What?”

  “You heard me. You got even for his taking your mistress. Now leave him alone!”

  “You are under a misconception, Brother Samel,” Ugoth said. “I took Nicky by accident. I wanted Herfod all along.”

  “You can’t take a woman by accident! And you didn’t even know Herfod knew her to begin with!”

  “That’s why it was an accident,” Ugoth responded mildly.

  “What do you mean you wanted Herfod all along?” Samel demanded, suddenly comprehending the previous thing Ugoth had said.

  “I love him,” the king replied.

  Samel stared disbelievingly at him. “He’s a man. You prefer women.”

  “I’ve made an exception for him. Give me my penance. I’m late for breakfast.”

  “Don’t see him again!”

  “That’s not going to be possible. I can’t live without him. Try another penance.”

  Samel just about burst. “You don’t pick penances! Not even the king picks his penances! You will not see him again!”

  Ugoth stalked away.

  “I’m sequestering him in our camp from now on,” Samel threatened.

  Ugoth faced about. “And what reason will you give the holy brothers for denying him from me when I summon him next?” he demanded, stomping back.

  “I’ll tell them you corrupted him!”

  “And when they ask in what manner I did that?”

  Samel opened his mouth to answer; then he froze. He couldn’t tell the brethren anything. The silence of the confessional was a holy accord that could not be broken. “That little devil!” he hissed. “He knew this would happen. He planned for you both to confess to me.”

  “No, Brother Samel. This was my idea,” Ugoth admitted flatly. “I wanted you bound in a corner. So there you have it. I confess again.”

  “You did corrupt him,” Samel said crossly. “Ugoth! He has broken a vow of abstinence.”

  “And he’s going to do it again. Get used to forgiving him.”

  The king began to stride away a second time, but Samel rounded in front of him. “You will not keep him overnight in your pavilion again,” he hissed. “You will not have the camp pointing at him, calling him your boy. Not at a monk of Saint Turamen!”

  “Fair enough,” Ugoth said reluctantly.

  Samel stepped aside. “You were such a difficult child. Now you’re even more difficult. I had no idea letting him be with you would make it worse.”

  Ugoth turned his head and stared coldly. “He didn’t make it worse, Samel. You know that in your heart. I would have been more difficult without him. I was almost wild before him. I could barely learn, barely hold still, barely be around people in general. I only wanted to run into the forest and hunt or go off and kill someone in a war. Do you call that better?”

  The frustrated grimace upon Brother Samel’s aging face slowly lost some of its severity. “No, Ugoth,” he admitted. “That wouldn’t have been better.”

  Ugoth stared a moment longer and marched away. Samel sighed heavily. The gryphon had flown and wasn’t to be called back until he was good and ready.

  ***

  Ufrid watched covertly from a distance. He heard little of the conversation, but he observed enough to know his brother and the senior Turamen monk on the march disputed over something. Eventually Brother Samel surrendered to Ugoth over whatever the disagreement was about. The monk didn’t look happy about the settlement. Come to that, Ugoth seemed perturbed as well.

  The pair separated. Ufrid followed his sibling, hoping to see him with Brother Herfod, to catch any nuances, actions, gestures that would give them away, but Ugoth disappointed him by walking up to a campfire and sitting down at it. He received a simple soldier’s breakfast and began to eat. Ufrid scowled at his back. He should have followed that skinny monk.

  He turned about. Samel stood where he’d been before, gazing down at the trampled earth, deep in troubled thought. Almost as if he knew someone watched, his head lifted and he looked around. His gaze fixed on Ufrid. They stared at each other, and then the monk strode toward him. Samel bowed politely from a few feet off.

  “You have been injured, Prince Ufrid,” Brother Samel said. “May I be of assistance?”

  “What? Oh, you mean my chin. I didn’t get all the blood off, I suppose,” Ufrid said, touching his jaw briefly. He had a bruise on it, and his teeth hurt, his tongue as well. He’d bitten it. Ugoth hadn’t pulled any force from the clout he’d given.

  “Who hit you?” Samel asked.

  “Ugoth.” Ufrid watched the monk’s brows lift in surprise.

  “Ugoth? He hasn’t fought with you like that in years. May I ask what it was about?”

  “I accused him of using that little monk as a whore,” Ufrid responded.

  Samel turned white and then red. “That is inexcusable, Highness. You cause trouble for nothing.”

  Ufrid grinned maliciously. “Are they lovers?” he asked outright.

  Samel whitened again. “I will not heal you,” he said. “You are spiteful.” He walked away.

  Ufrid rushed after him. “Why does Marun want your monk, Samel?”

  “What?” Samel whirled to face off with the prince. “What did you say?”

  “He offered to end the war in exchange for him. Go have Ugoth confess it if you don’t believe me.”

  Samel stared at him in horror. Ufrid sneered.

  “Isn’t your monk from Wistal? Isn’t that where Marun comes from? Perhaps they knew each other. There are rumours flying about, you know.”

  “What rumours?” Samel demanded.

  “Just ask any Stohar deserter. They’ll tell you that Marun adores red-haired boys.” Ufrid found it interesting how the monk looked ready to dissolve after each sentence he uttered. He determined to see how much salting the too placid eunuch could take. “We’ll be meeting up with the Omeran army shortly. Should be interesting to have a conversation with Abbot Vehre. His order comes from Wistal originally. I wonder what he will tell me?”

  Samel proved that salt only hardened his skin. “You shut up!” he hissed. “You foul creature! If you say a word to Vehre about Herfod, you won’t need one of Marun’s witches to curse you! I’ll do it myself!” He spun about and stalked away.

  Ufrid stared after him, smiling in victory. So. It was true. Herfod was Marun’s boy or used to be. Somehow he had ended up in the Turamen order. “Must be quite a story,” he said to himself.

  He turned toward his brother and froze. Ugoth stood facing him. Suspicion bled from his eyes. Ufrid’s smile crumbled. He made a tactical retreat and marched away quickly.

  ***

  Eshaia entered the upper tower chamber and placed the keys in an inner pocket of her blue summer cloak. She shoved the heavy door shut, considered locking it from her side, but decided to forgo the task. The lock was sluggish and hard for her to turn. Locking it wasn’t really necessary in any case. This was a warded tower, after all.

  She regarded the single object in the room, the mirror covered with a padded woollen blanket. Inhaling a steadying breath, she drew herself straighter and pulled the cover off. The sorcerer already waited for her. Scanning down his figure, she had to stop herself from showing contempt. Although the cut of his clothes spoke of wealth, he was drab, ordinary, obviously some sort of peasant who’d gotten above his station. And now that he’d won himself a higher place, he didn’t even know enough to dress for the part. Yokel!

  “You took too long, Lady Queen,” the Shadow Master said. “My army should be marching.”

  “Well, if you would just give me another set of small mirrors, we could talk while you ride,” she said disdainfully.

  “These mirrors are rare,” Marun replied. “Has he returned?”

  “Ufrid hasn’t gotten back to me
yet,” Eshaia said, resentment fisting her hands. “I don’t know why. I told him to pick the mirror up each morning and each evening. He ignores me.”

  Marun stepped closer to the mirror. Suddenly he was there with her, just melting through the quicksilver as if through water. Her mouth dropped open in surprise.

  “Why … you’re here! I thought … I thought ….”

  “That I couldn’t enter the tower?” he provided. “I can, but I cannot touch that door, the walls, the roof or pass through that narrow window up there. I can’t even pass through the open door. You have no need to be concerned for your precious kingdom.” He waited a moment, but when Eshaia continued to stare in silent horror, he lifted her chin until her mouth snapped shut. “Queen Eshaia,” he said. “Did you get me what I needed?”

  “What? Oh! Yes!” She delved inside her skirt pocket and brought out a handkerchief. Her hand shook uncontrollably. She didn’t know why, but now that he was here, he frightened her terribly.

  Marun accepted the square of fabric and opened it. Several golden hairs rested within the folds. “And a letter with his signature?”

  “I couldn’t find any. He used only the gryphon seal.”

  Marun scowled. She flinched and stepped back.

  “Go and look again,” he commanded. He turned to the magical portal, but paused before he reached the mirror’s surface. “I have a gift for you.”

  “A gift?” she repeated.

  He stepped aside from the mirror. Another man stood in the tent on the other side of the portal, a tall cruel-looking man who wore spiked armour and the warrior braids of a Stohar. Eshaia stared at him in awe.

  “You can keep him until tonight,” Marun told her. “And if you find what I asked for, I’ll give him to you.”

  “But …! But I don’t want him!”

  Marun regarded her impassively. After a moment, his lips curved into a cold smile, and now he wasn’t the least bit ordinary. He was arresting, chillingly so. “Yes, you do,” he said. With a small motion, he waved the soldier forward. The man shoved through the quicksilver and towered over her. “He’ll do exactly as you dream, Majesty. Just as you dreamed last night,” Marun said. He melted into the mirror. “Don’t forget to look for the signature,” he warned from the further side, “or you can’t keep him.”