by E. V. Greig
“Fool! I am King Ravin: the Eternal Blood King of all Anyosia! I cannot be slain!” The vandreth hurled the dagger back at Misericord then, laughing as it hit home. Misericord looked down at the hilt that now protruded from his chest. “But it would seem that you can. Goodbye, witchfinder!”
The soft turf kindly caught him as he collapsed then, coughing up his own bright blood. It filled his mouth and made its meandering way out from beneath his mask as he rolled onto his back. His lungs were growing loath to obey him. A searing agony assailed his abdomen as the Blood King’s steed stamped down upon him, and then his ribs ruptured.
It appears that it is still perfectly possible for me to suffer pain from within my own person... such fierce flowers behind my eyes! Do I dance at last with death...?
Then there were voices echoing in his ears: beckoning him back. “Get him back to Briersburge, Spellsnitcher!”
Ah...good friend Gyrfalcon...I am dying, did you know...?
“Mine cousin shalt be most displeased at your injuries, witchfinder.” The ground rushed away from him as the curious creature carried him hastily homewards.
I never did solve your strange secret, did I beast...?
Then they were climbing, and leaping, and suddenly the smooth stones of the courtyard were beneath them both. The Lady’s voice rang out, and Misericord strove to stay awake long enough to be granted his rest.
So sadly sore and tired now...most terribly tired, my Lady...prithee, let me lie but a little while longer...!
Chapter Ten
“Misericord!” Naomi knelt to cradle the witchfinder’s head in her lap and breathed his name. “No – I refuse to allow this! Stay with me, Misericord: stay with me! Do not die...Gods, what bargain must I make to save him: to save all of them? Tell me and I shall agree to it!”
“My Lady must not...make such...mortgages...!”
“Then my retainer must agree not to die!” She gripped his hands in her own: squeezing his fingers hard enough for his bones to feel her.
“But...’tis my time, my Lady...!”
“No it bloody well isn’t, Misericord. I shan’t permit it! I refuse to lose you – any of you! This madness ends now!” Naomi rose to her feet then. Her eyes flashed. “Healers – attend to him!”
“At once, milady!”
Naomi strode to the battlements with Spellsnitcher. They paused for a moment to survey the carnage below them. The enemy had proven to be a far greater force than they had expected. Skegyl and Gyrfalcon were fighting back to back against a horde of shambling monstrosities. Ranulf was high above the field: resorting now to fire spells as he was out of quicklime and blessed water. Elharan and Tik-Tik stood with the artillery line. The pikes held for now, at least, but their nerve was beginning to wear thin. There were no cavalry left on either side, but Ravin seemed about to correct that for his own forces. “Get me to Ravin, cousin. It’s time that I ended this.”
“Hold on tightly, dear cousin!” Spellsnitcher scooped her up and sprang down from the battlements: bounding forwards to challenge the Anyosian ruler face to face.
“And what is this – the Lady Naomi comes at last to my summons! If you hoped for mercy to be granted, then I am about to disappoint you greatly, my dear!” Ravin reached down to where Naomi stood.
She met his gaze: his eyes already healed, and caught his gauntleted hand in her own pale grasp. “I’ll take your army now, thank you.” Her eyes gleamed and a cold wind blew down from Briersburge. “You are not the only one that can control the dead!”
He laughed at her. “By all means, you may try! But even if you succeed, I shall simply raise more!” The Blood King gestured grandly, and another ten thousand dead clawed their way up to replace his stolen forces. “Tell me, my dear: how many restless dead can you hope to control before your will fails and they turn upon you?”
Naomi smirked. “How many can you?” With that, she released her hold upon Ravin’s hand. Her temporary command over his initial army vanished and suddenly the vandreth found that he was in charge of all of them again.
“Wait – what have you done? Foolish woman: no one mind can control this many! You must assist me else they shall run amok!”
“That’s your kingdom’s problem, not mine!” She spun and ran from him then. “Hear me, all of you that live! Retreat to Briersburge and let the dead attend to their own!”
Behind her, Ravin was cursing and vowing revenge. He was also fleeing, but where the surviving troops of Briersburge had the advantage of the high ground to slow their pursuers and cover by artillery fire as they fled, the Blood King and his lieutenants were not so very well prepared. Their path led them downhill: past their still rising army – an army that was now far beyond the control of either side’s generals.
Spellsnitcher and Naomi were the last to pass through the gates of the keep. “The restless are pursuing their former master, milady!” A rousing cheer came from the battlements. “Briersburge is saved!”
Ranulf and his griffin riders were dismounting upon the flat roof of the aviary tower. Skegyl and Gyrfalcon were already breaking out the largest barrel of ale that they could lay their hands on to celebrate. Elharan simply nodded from where he was leaning against one of the cannons: Tik-Tik dancing at his feet. Spellsnitcher yawned his way into his feline shape and slipped off to nap somewhere quiet. Naomi wiped her brow and crossed to where the healers still clustered. She slipped past them and walked amongst the injured. Her heart broke a little more at every broken form before her.
At length she reached Misericord. “Hello again, brave blade.” She lowered her voice to a whisper as she knelt beside him. “We won the day. You would have enjoyed watching our enemy fall upon their erstwhile generals.”
Yes, that was indeed delightful news. A jolly jape, my Lady.
She smiled and cradled his hands once more. “I’m sorry I had to leave you like that. There was simply no other way that I could end it.”
He understood, of course. My Lady does as she must do.
“So – you must get better now, Misericord, for I cannot continue without my retinue to aid me.” She kissed his mask tenderly. “I see they’ve removed the dagger at least. I’m glad of that.”
Its presence was most decidedly disturbing, my Lady.
“It is a pity that you aren’t well enough yet to speak, Misericord. But I suppose that I can guess at your replies until you are able to give them aloud.”
“Naomi.” Elharan was there then: lifting her to her feet and pulling her away. “It’s time to let him rest.”
“Yes, of course, Elharan.” Naomi smiled brightly. “I’ll visit you again once you are feeling up to it, Misericord.”
The aged guardsman nodded discreetly to the healers as he escorted her away to her own chambers. “Let’s get you to bed, eh? You need to sleep after all that effort.”
“Thank you, Elharan.” She leant on his arm: suddenly weary. The walk to the main tower seemed to take them forever to complete. “I’m so very cold as well.”
Behind them, the healers waited until their mistress was out of sight before they covered Misericord up completely with the sheet.
∞∞∞
Misericord was most perturbed. Why is everyone ignoring my injuries?
Please sir, ‘tis because you’re dead, sir.
Who said that? He turned then: unexpectedly upright.
A woman stepped into view, also ignored by everyone else. She was fair-haired and blue eyed, with a terrible wound across her slight form. Partola, sir. I came here with Hugo, but he has gone away.
The midwife murdered by the malcontent Bandhir.
Yes, sir. Why weren’t you there to stop him, Misericord?
A guardsman with a gaping hole in his chest appeared then. You failed me too, Misericord!
Aye, he did, and us as well! Two more came crawling into view. We were wicked, yes, but we didn’t deserve to die, did we? Did we, Misericord?
Misericord had no mercy to spare for the latter pair a
t least. He pushed past the other assorted phantoms assailing him now. Sacred Briersburge seems strangely set upon by spirits – I must at once advise the Lady!
The living does not heed the dead, sir.
No one will notice you.
You’re as damned as we are now.
“I serve the Lady!” Misericord sat up: throwing back the shroud and springing to his feet. The healers screamed, some fainted, whilst others made ready to defend their other patients. “As my Lady wishes, so shall I wander and my Lady has commanded that I live!” With that, he began to make his way towards the main tower.
“Witchfinder – you cannot be on your feet!” One of the healers objected to his passage. “You are dead, sir!”
Misericord pushed the man aside. “I do not have the time to dally: I must let the Lady learn of how her home is haunted!” He melted into the familiar shadows cast by the main tower and entered the hidden passageway to Naomi’s chamber. I shall die when the Lady discharges me from my duty, and not before!
∞∞∞
Elharan had rung for a maidservant. Naomi needed to bathe, and he wasn’t about to help with that. He knew the sort of talk that would spread if he did! Instead, he stood and waited whilst she sat at her desk: combing out her long black hair. “Naomi, there’s something important I need to tell you about – Misericord?” The aged guardsman stared at the witchfinder.
Misericord padded forward and bowed stiffly. “My Lady I have hastened hence to alert you to the haunting of these hallowed halls.”
“You don’t say!” Elharan collapsed backwards onto a chair and tried to grasp how the witchfinder was alive. Then he glanced towards Naomi, saw her smiling, and decided that actually he didn’t care to know. “Well then. I’d best leave you two to your discussion.” He shook his head and hurried out, catching the hapless maidservant by her elbow on his way. “Never mind, lass. The Lady’s busy now.”
Naomi nodded at Misericord as he closed the door behind Elharan. “I hadn’t expected to see you on your feet so soon. How are you feeling?”
“I have credible cause to fear myself a phantom, my Lady. And my body is badly broken.”
“Have the healers not given you anything?”
“They declared me dead, my Lady.”
“I need to hire better healers, don’t I, brave blade?”
“I suspect so, my Lady.”
“Misericord?”
“My Lady?”
“Bolt the door please.”
∞∞∞
Ranulf strode down from the aviary roof in a foul temper indeed. “Where the deuce is my niece?” He paused when he saw the healers panicking. “Oh very well then: what has happened now?”
“The witchfinder – he rose from the dead!”
“Eh? I thought for a moment that something bad had happened! Cease your foolishness this instant and attend to the rest of your patients! Now where may I find Naomi?”
Gyrfalcon answered him. “Elharan put her to bed. She’s exhausted, milord!”
Skegyl raised his flagon in a vague sort of a salute. “Ho there, Ranulf! Come and celebrate with us!” The northerner belched.
Ranulf nodded to the steward and accepted a draught. “Gods preserve us – what was this brewed from?”
“Don’t know.” Skegyl appeared to be happy. “The stuff tastes fucking vile though!”
“Then why are we drinking it?” The nobleman was already starting to feel the effects. “Dash it all, but ‘tis a strong brew!”
“I’m drinking to forget my troubles.” Skegyl’s speech was already slurred. “Bloody women...!”
“I’m drinking to get drunk!” Gyrfalcon was a sight more cheerful. “We won!”
Behind the par’dath, Tik–Tik peered up over the rim of the barrel. “Tik-Tik just swimming!” The squirrel-cat sneezed and fell backwards into the ale once more.
Ranulf sat down next to the others and shook his head. “Very well then: a toast - to troublesome women, victory in battle, and swimming in ale!”
∞∞∞
Althanor tugged at Luath’s elbow. “Look – up in the mountains! I see riders, Luath!”
The older par’anth followed his gaze. “I see them too, Althanor. They look to be sylvanthi. Come: we must warn the Alnaieans!” He led the boy down from the battlements and hurried over to where Captain Elharan was conversing with Madame Dolores. “Captain – forgive our intrusion, but there is an army of sylvanthir riding from the north, and it is unlikely that they mean peace.”
“Damn it all, can’t we have more than a day’s worth of rest between battles?” Elharan pecked Madame Dolores on her dimpled cheek and ran to alert the rest of the guards. “Rouse yourselves lads and lasses: we have sylvanthir approaching from the north! To the walls now, and ready your weapons – prepare the cannons too. I’ll alert the Lady Naomi: she’ll need to reset the wards again.”
Luath spoke again: nervous of angering the human. “Your soldiers must use cold iron – that is the only thing that can harm them. They are masters of sylth too, and can bend stone to their will, and travel through the shadows.”
Elharan scowled. “Anything else?”
“No, nothing that immediately comes to mind.”
“Let us know if you think of anything.” Elharan ran into the main tower and bounded up the stairwell. “Lady Naomi! The sylvanthir appear to be riding to call on us!” He hammered on her door. “Damn it all, Naomi: answer the door!”
It was another moment before he heard the bolt slide back. Naomi stuck her head out, clutching a sheet about her person. Her hair hung in a loose tangle of curls. “Elharan, please tell me that this isn’t another attack?”
“Luath seems to reckon that it will be. Can you fix the wards to keep out sylvanthir?”
“I’ll try, but I don’t know for certain that I have time to fully reset them. They are still acclimatising to this world and its sylth.” She pulled the door open. “Come in, please. You can fill me in on the details whilst I dress.”
Elharan glanced to where Misericord lay curled up atop the blankets. “How’s he doing anyhow?”
“He’s exhausted. We both are.”
“At least he’s dressed.”
“I was about to have a bath! Now tell me what you know.” She disappeared behind her dressing screen.
“Their one weakness is cold iron: they have control over stone, can move through shadows somehow, and are sylth users too.”
“How much cold iron do we have access to?”
“Enough to make perhaps a hundred pounds of shot, but whether we have time to do it in is anybody’s guess.”
“You say they’re riding here?” She hopped back into view: pulling on her stockings one handed.
“Aye and strange riders they make too, with such height. Still, their horses appear swift – come and look for yourself: I can see them from your balcony. They can’t be more than a day away from us now.”
Naomi joined him. “Elharan, there must be more than two thousand of them!” She straightened the bodice of her gown and yanked angrily at the laces. “Damn this dress!”
“We’re definitely outnumbered. You do realise that that dress is a full size too small for you?”
“Yes, it’s designed that way.”
“What the devil for?” Elharan stared at the offending garment.
“To make my breasts seem bigger.”
“That’s stupid.”
“I know, but it’s a part of being a noblewoman. People seem to expect you to wear ridiculous dresses, simper, and faint a lot.”
He closed his eyes. “Naomi, if you start simpering and fainting, I swear I’ll resign from your service!” There was a faint grumble from Misericord. “Gods – he really is exhausted! Should I take him to the infirmary?”
“I want him to recover, Elharan, and given my healers’ apparent inability to actually heal anyone, I suspect he’s better off here with me.”
“Aye, well, he’d best manage on his own for now: you need to
get to those wards quickly!”
∞∞∞
“My Lord, we cannot seem to enter the human keep. The Isylths have detected some form of barrier that prevents us from merely nightwalking inside.” Korius bowed deeply and hoped that his king would not kill him for bearing ill news.
“That is most intriguing, Korius. Then that shall carry us no further upon this journey. Still, it is no matter – have the troops concentrate their efforts upon eliminating the restless dead instead.”
