The Dotard

by Greg Curtis

  Instead she kept quiet and sipped at her tea, letting silence reign once again. The sun was warm and she could hear the quiet roaring of the griffins as they squabbled. The gentle breeze rustled through the leaves above her head. This was a strange world she thought. Alien but still beautiful. There were worse places she could be. But there were no answers here. But maybe there had been once?

  “Do you think the Faeries would know?”

  “Possibly. But they aren't here to answer our questions.”

  That was of course the problem, Carrie knew. Whatever they knew or had known, was now hidden behind the veil of history. She knew of no spell that could lift that veil. Quite possibly there wasn't one. The dimensions of time and space stubbornly refused to yield to magic.

  “So, when does everything happen?” She turned to the more immediate problem. When did Lord Baraman attack? When was her grandfather going to die – assuming he wasn't actually dead – as well as a lot of soldiers and wizards.

  “Don't know.” Edrick shrugged helplessly. “I don't think my father's made a decision yet. But he has to soon. He's got five thousand men simply standing around doing nothing. And doing nothing on full pay. Sooner or later he has to either send them in or send them home.”

  Coin! It all came down to coin! Why did so much always seem to depend on it she wondered? It wasn't going to bring back the dead and it wasn't going to stop any more people being hurt or killed. Yet he was right. It was still in charge. The true ruler of the world.

  “There must be a way to stop him. To contain him without killing him!” It was her only hope. Because all the alternatives were bathed in blood. Soldiers' blood. Her grandfather's blood.

  Edrick didn't answer. She knew why. Because while he too might agree – not for her grandfather's sake, but for hers – he doubted it could be done. Just as it might well be impossible for them to kill her grandfather, it might be just as impossible to contain him. Seeking his death might be the only option. Assuming they found a way to do so. But Edrick obviously didn't want to tell her that.

  “In the morning I'm travelling to Edgefall. I may be late back. I may even have to stay the night. But I want you to stay here. You're safe in this place. Protected. My father can't reach you here. And I will return.”

  “Your father –,” she began.

  “Is still a very dangerous man,” he finished for her. “He is unhappy with the way things have fallen. And you need to remember that for him it is always about the Baraman name. I don't know what his plans are. But I doubt he's finished with you. Or with me. I want you safe while I'm away.”

  Carrie didn't want to think about his father and whatever plans Lord Baraman might still have for her. She hadn't told Edrick about his father's visits, and the threats he'd made. It would only add to his pain. But he probably knew something of what sort of man his father was anyway. Instead she let her thoughts turn in a different direction.

  “He can't do much. Surely. After all we're …” She couldn't say the last. It was just too much for her right then. But he clearly understood.

  “Husband and wife?” He looked curiously at her. “Yes, according to everyone except the Priests we are. And that limits him. And he's been exposed as having harmed his own daughter by marriage. That cuts deep. But don't think it will stop him. It just holds him back from doing anything too obvious. And he is a dangerous man.”

  “I heard from Marshan only yesterday that he'd given the orders to have the former Commander in Reedton, the gaoler and the torturers executed. He said I was too merciful. But the truth is he's getting rid of witnesses. The other soldiers have been reassigned to new duties in the front lines of the army. To reclaim their honour he says. I'm guessing they aren't expected to survive.”

  “And when the witnesses are gone it'll be your word against his as to what happened. He'll be planning even now to make your word worthless. And by the time he's finished you'll have been spending your days in a sunny villa in Reedton under house arrest!”

  “How can he do that?” She was now noble by marriage after all. And she was a wizard. He would have a fight on his hands if he tried to arrest her again.

  “I think he'll go through me.” Edrick turned away from her to stare at the distant valleys. “You are only noble through marriage to me. If I'm no longer of noble blood, neither are you.”

  “And?” Carrie started to worry.

  “I ran away from a marriage. I shamed the family. Now that I'm no longer dead and the truth is out, he'll have the perfect excuse to disown me. Undoubtedly he'll weep the tears of the basilisk as he signs the papers, at least in public, but he will sign the papers.”

  “Oh!” Carrie wasn't sure how she felt about that. Or how she should feel. Or even how Edrick felt about it. To lose his station? His title? That was surely a terrible thing. It wasn’t as if she’d even had the chance to try out the title of “Lady”.

  “It's fine. In fact, it's probably for the best. It saves me from any number of awkward family encounters. And it's good for you too.”

  “How?” She wasn't troubled by no longer being noble. Still, it might have been nice to play the role for a while.

  “Commoners have some freedoms the nobility don't. And one is that they can get divorced.” He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the distant valleys. “Commoners have no honour, so they can't lose it through such a dishonourable action.”

  Carrie didn't say anything for a while after that. She didn't know what to say. She'd been trying not to think about the idea that she was married at all. Even if it was in name only. And there was so much else to worry about and so many bad memories to try and block out that it had been easy to simply forget it. She didn't want to be married. Not without a wedding and her grandfather to give her hand away. And not to a man who didn't love her. Edrick liked her. She knew that. But did he love her? If he was talking about divorce, that suggested not. Mostly though she didn't want to be Lady Carrie Baraman. She had come to hate that name. Then again, Wilberton was a cursed name too these days.

  Strangely though, now he had suggested it, she discovered that she didn't want to be divorced either. What under all the stars was wrong with her?!

  Carrie abruptly decided it was best not to continue the conversation. It could go nowhere good. And there were other things to talk about.

  “Why Edgefall?” It seemed an odd place for him to travel to she thought.

  “The monastery. It's the largest one to the Father that I know of in this region. I’m hoping that some of the Brothers may know something about liches. Or a useful prayer at least.”

  A prayer to banish a demon, Carrie wondered? Because that was all she could think that he meant. But she kept her question to herself. He was only doing what he thought was right. And as she didn't know what was right, she couldn't ask him not to.

  Carrie drained her cup and handed it to him. “Thank you for the tea. But you should really be preparing for your trip.” She tried to dismiss him as tactfully as she could. But she knew by the way his expression momentarily fell that she had upset him. It seemed he did want more from her than she had to give at that moment. And she might have wanted it too, once. If it hadn't been for the deceit he'd insisted on. She had hated that. Now though, she understood the reason for the deceit, and she could even accept it. But it just wasn't the right time. Still, he was quick to hide his hurt, and she needed to be alone with her thoughts.

  Edrick stood and left her, heading back to the house. And while she knew she owed him an apology since he had only been trying to help, she said nothing. In the end all she could do was try to take some comfort in a relentlessly sunny day. And maybe offer her own prayer to the Goddess Sirtis.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Edgefall Monastery to the Temple of Golanar was a surprising building Edrick thought as he drove the last few hundred yards to it. It stood prouder than he'd expected. Taller and heavier. With walls that looked like those of a fortress. A good-sized fortress! Who knew, maybe it had
once been one. He wasn't familiar with the history of the city.

  If it had been though, it clearly wasn't anymore. Not when the Brothers had gone to the trouble of planting extensive vegetable gardens on both sides of the road approaching it. Or with so many of the small square windows festooned with flower boxes. The fact that the front gate leading to the central courtyard was also absent was also a pretty good clue that it no longer served any military function. Then again, maybe it had never been a fortress at all.

  “Dour looking building, isn't it? Looks more like a home for trolls than monks!” Master Thatchwell commented sourly. “And all the flowers – no more convincing than the rouge on the cheeks of a woman of the night!”

  “I don't think I'd mention that to the Brothers,” Edrick responded, wondering for surely the thousandth time why he'd brought his old tutor with him. With his constant vinegary comments, the trip here had been anything but pleasant. However, when he'd mentioned his plans to Mistress Yolande, Master Thatchwell had insisted on coming. “They're likely quite proud of their home.”

  “Priests! Simple creatures – easily pleased!”

  “Sweet Sirtis, bless this meeting,” Edrick mumbled under his breath. He had fears that this wasn't going to go well. Unfortunately, Master Thatchwell heard him.

  “Your prayers are in order Boy. But I doubt they'll help. Priests aren't really the most knowledgeable of people.”

  Edrick stifled a groan – just barely – but resisted the urge to comment. He knew there was no point. Instead he concentrated on the driving, bringing the wagon to a halt just inside the gate, and then damped down the boiler fire. He suspected he was going to be here for a while.

  He would be glad of that. Not just because of what he hoped he might learn. But because his backside was aching from having been sat on for six long hours as the wagon had bounced along the poorly graded roads. Padded leather and springs could only do so much and after a while the ride had become torturous. And then there were his ears, burning after six long hours of being criticised by his old tutor. Master Thatchwell had taken the opportunity to examine him on everything he'd learned in the last six years – and naturally been disappointed. He'd expressed that disappointment at every opportunity. Edrick wasn't looking forwards to the drive back and the longer he could put it off, the better.

  One of the Brothers approached them as Edrick was engaged in the pastime of standing up on the wagon and trying to shake the cramp out of his legs while at the same time rubbing his aching backside. Master Thatchwell was doing much the same – with an extremely sour look on his face. Seeing the Brother approaching, Edrick quickly jumped down to greet him.

  Other members of the Order who were busy tending the gardens were casting surreptitious glances their way he noticed as he waited. They looked curious. He suspected they didn't get a lot of visitors – probably because of how far they were from the city.

  “Greetings, Brother. I'm Edrick Baraman and this is Master Thomas Thatchwell of the Guild of the Arcane. We'd like to speak with the head of your Order if we may.”

  “Baraman?” The Brother looked at him, a question in his eyes.

  “Lord Baraman is my father. But I'm not here on his behalf,” Edrick hastily clarified. The last thing anyone needed was news of his visit getting back to his father when he knew nothing of it. Edrick hadn't spoken to him since the night he’d rescued Carrie, and he didn't want to do so again any time soon, let alone to answer angry questions.

  “May I then know the purpose of your visit?”

  “You may not!” Master Thatchwell instantly snapped at him. He was clearly not in the best of moods. It probably had something to do with the fact that he too was rubbing his backside. “Some things are not for the ears of the subordinates.”

  “I apol –.” Edrick began.

  “You do not apologise for me Lukas Edrick Baraman!” Master Thatchwell cut in. “I speak for myself as should all wizards. And clearly if this Brother is fool enough to shave the top of his head he is not someone to whom we should divulge sensitive information.”

  “The act of tonsure is a mark of respect and obedience to our Lord,” the Brother protested calmly.

  “Really? I thought you were just creating a target on the tops of your heads for birds to aim at!”

  Edrick groaned and briefly buried his face in his hands, barely able to believe that his old tutor had said something so ill-mannered. Master Thatchwell was often short but he'd never seen him so ill-tempered before. The Brother meanwhile stood there, staring at Master Thatchwell, and no doubt wondering just what sort of oaf he was. But he held his peace and eventually he came to a decision.

  “Then if you'll follow me.” The Brother quickly turned and escorted them across the courtyard, past several other members of the Order who were busy weeding and a few others who were simply standing around talking, heading for the portcullis at the front of the building opposite the gate they'd driven through. They walked slowly, something that was necessary given the pain Edrick was suffering, and that gave him a chance to look around. Master Thatchwell meanwhile kept muttering quiet curses under his breath as he struggled to keep up. He too was hurting.

  The entire monastery was made up of a series of large stone buildings arranged in a square that were connected by smaller single-story buildings.. It looked odd to Edrick's eye – the different roof heights and set backs of the walls of each of the sections was disjointed – but it wasn't unattractive. Not to him. Master Thatchwell though seemed unimpressed as he looked around. But then he'd never been the sort to be easily impressed. The Brothers clearly took good care of their home. They tended to the flowers in the brightly painted window boxes, making certain that they were well watered and the flowers bloomed. They scrubbed the cobbles of the courtyard – one of them was busy with a broom and a bucket of soapy water even as they passed him by. They also tended to the gardens, kept the drive way cobbles free of weeds, and even cleaned the walls so that the light grey granite shone in the sun. He respected the pride they took in their home.

  At the same time though, he had to wonder; just how many Brothers called this place home? He had heard it said that it was large, but a rough estimate of the numbers who could be accommodated in it still surprised him. He would have guessed that three hundred at least could live in it comfortably.

  Stepping through the portcullis and then the inner doors with their brightly polished brass handles he found himself in a large, open living area. Very large actually. Surely fifty people could have sat comfortably in the room during the evenings as they waited for their dinner or evening prayers. It had two huge fireplaces, one at each end, and heavy drapes hanging from the windows. It would be a warm chamber even on the coldest night he suspected. Perhaps the Brothers sat here reading by the light of the gas lamps or simply talking in the evenings? It looked comfortable enough. The sofas and divans that had been set out around the room were of the best quality and well padded. There were blankets laid out on the arms of the chairs, and plenty of cushions as well. And his feet did not clank on the hard wooden floor either, because it had been covered from one end to the other with thick rugs. That would be a real boon in the cold of winter.

  The one thing he didn't see in the room was austerity. That surprised him. He had always thought of the monastic life as being one of hardship. That the Brothers saw part of their spiritual growth as coming through personal hardship and austerity. But apparently they liked their comfort too. Edrick kept his thoughts to himself. He was here to gain answers to his questions, and upsetting the Brothers by making foolish comments would not help. Besides, he already had Master Thatchwell with him; and he was doing enough on his own to upset the monks.

  They were led through the main room and then the dining hall to a passageway that connected to a set of small offices. At the end of it, before the passage turned right, they found themselves being escorted into a larger office. This he guessed must be the office of the Head of the Monastery. Looking through the
open door he could see the man was sitting behind a great walnut desk that had been pushed up against the wall.

  He was a strikingly bald, older man of robust build as would have been said in polite society. The less charitable would have called him fat. Clearly the food in the Monastery was to his satisfaction. But at least Master Thatchwell couldn't make another less than witty jest about him shaving his head. Clearly the man didn't. He had no need. Although he had his back to them and Edrick could see little of him, he guessed from the piles of unopened letters on one side of his desk, and opened ones on the other, that the Brother was reading his correspondence. He was also clearly engrossed in his work as he hadn't heard them arrive. Their guide coughed politely at the doorway to gain the man’s attention.