Clara

by Suzanna J. Linton

  At the castle, servants and slaves cleaned the halls and corridors of the castle. Maids aired out linens and freshened wardrobes with new bunches of herbs. Gavin took in these signs of spring with a heart struggling around a core of lead. Nothing pleased him about battle.

  Mud squelched under his boots as he walked through the town to the temple. Poor merchants hawked their wares with an almost desperate vigor. The bones of more than one face stood out in sharp relief. It had not been an easy winter.

  The temple sat empty, the presbyter gone to officiate yet another graveside service. Up the stairs to the belfry, his falcon Portent waited for him patiently perched on a sill. Gavin gave him a soothing stroke as he unhooked the latest message from his talon. Portent looked at him almost disdainfully before preening his feathers.

  The message read, “All is well. We will be there on schedule.”

  He rolled up the little slip of paper and regarded the village below him with a somber gaze.

  The final night of Carnival came in splashes of color and noise. Men and women dressed in costumes danced and roamed the streets and alleys as children ran through the crowds, shrieking with joy. Musicians congregated in the square as vendors sold food and drink. In the castle, Gavin entertained the nobility along with a troupe of performers who had come in the night before. The state of their bodies and their clothing saddened him.

  At the tables, food and drink washed down gullets liberally. People laughed loud and often. As the night edged closer to its middle, Gavin hopped onto the performer’s dais and held up his hands for silence.

  “Lords and ladies! Soldiers and wenches! Let me regale you with a small bit of country piety on this, a holy night.” And he launched into the Hymn of Light. After a few lines, those of slightly lower classes began to sing along, albeit a little drunkenly. He noticed Clara watching him with serious, dark eyes before slipping away, the chain (forgotten by Lady Dwervin) wrapped around her hands. No one at the tables noticed, too drunk and too happy to care if a little slave girl took herself to bed. After the song, when he felt no one watching him, he too slipped outside, going up to the parapets.

  One of the guards over the east wall gave him a bored, lazy wave as he approached. “Come to entertain us, Gavin?”

  “More like to get a breath of good, clean air.”

  He chuckled. “Aye, lords and ladies are not always good at washin'.”

  Gavin patted him on the shoulder as he nonchalantly strolled along. He lazily swung around to the front, approaching the portcullis. Another guard greeted him. In the far distance, he saw a light flare, then douse.

  The guard grunted. “Wonder what–” An arrow pierced his throat, blood gushing down the front of his chain mail. His knees buckled and he fell. Gavin dropped to his knees as, below, in the town, screams erupted. He stared at the man, feeling the bile rise in the back of his throat. His name had been Percival.

  “Raise the bridge!” cried the captain of the guard. “Get his lordship to safety!”

  A horn winded. Gavin crawled to the stairs and rushed down them into the gatehouse. Two soldiers cranked the wheel as quickly as they could. He crept up to the first and struck him over the head with the hilt of his boot knife. The other guard turned on him, shocked.

  “Gavin? What is this?”

  Without a word, he shoved the soldier away, sending him sprawling, and kicked the lever. Outside, the bridge fell with an earth-trembling crash. The soldier, a new recruit whom Gavin had been teaching to read and write, stared up at him.

  Gavin said, “Do you love your lord?” The boy shook his head. “Then leave! Take off your livery and hide, because soon you'll get a new lord who isn't going to let you starve!”

  The boy tore off his tunic and ran away. Gavin followed, thinking about a scared slave in the kitchen gardens.

  Clara burst into the kitchens. The cooks, sitting at their private feast, looked at her in surprise. Relly got up.

  “Why, Mouse! I haven't seen you in so long!”

  Clara ran up and grabbed her arm, tugging her in the direction of the gardens. The other cooks gawked at her.

  “Child, what is it?” she asked gently.

  Taking up slate and chalk, Clara wrote, “An army comes. We must hide!”

  The older woman shook her head sadly. “I canna read, me girl.” She looked at the other cooks, who only shook their heads, looking at the girl as if she had lost her mind.

  Sighing, she ran out into the gardens to a corner and hid behind the only non-utilitarian plant: a rosebush Relly loved like a child. She heard the woman say, “I best go up to her ladyship and let her know about Mouse.”

  A man's voice said, “Don't worry yourself. They'll come fetch her, soon enough.”

  And that's when the screams began. Images bombarded Clara, suddenly, over and over. Men fighting. Guts falling from opened bellies, the smell of rot making her gag. Limbs severed from trunks to fall, twitching, onto the ground, only to be reattached as the men replayed the fight but with a different ending. Her lying dead and broken under the angry glare of her betrayed lord. Her kneeling before a new one. The images blended together until she couldn't tell one from another. Blood. So much blood and death and fear. Sunbursts of pain blinded her.

  Hands shook her roughly. “Clara! Clara! Damn, girl, what is wrong?”

  The voice faded. There was only pain and the dark.

  When she awoke, Clara found herself in her bed. Her head ached terribly. Rolling slowly over onto her side, she saw Gavin sleeping in a chair by the bed. It occurred to her that he was handsome. The beginnings of a beard shadowed his cheeks and chin. His long fingered hands spread out on his knees as his head lolled back. He snored lightly.

  She sat up, then froze. Her hands flew up to her neck. Her bare neck. Tears welled in her eyes. She gingerly walked over to him, every part of her aching, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  Gavin woke with a start and she pulled away.

  “You're awake,” he breathed.

  She tapped her neck, then hugged his again. Slowly, he returned the embrace.

  “Aye,” he said, “the General gave you your freedom. The least he could have done, really, as you kept the truth a secret from Lord Dwervin. He's still alive, you know.” Clara jerked back and looked at him. Gavin frowned. “Emmerich will be passing judgment on him soon enough, once he's healed from his wounds. Lady Dwervin died, however, which wouldn't have happened if she hadn't foolishly tried to attack my friend. Don't worry, the lady's maids are alive. Emmerich sent them packing to a nearby convent.” He stood.

  “Emmerich,” he continued, “wanted to see you when you awoke. I, ah, think you need to get dressed first.” He gestured to her shift. “I'll leave you to that.” He turned, then paused. “What happened that night? In the garden? It was like you were having a seizure of some kind. Dove, you've been asleep for two days now. We were afraid you weren't going to wake.”

  She looked away and began trembling. He reached for her but she stepped back. After a long moment, he let his hand drop.

  “I'll wait for you in the sitting room.”

  The castle felt very empty as the two walked down to the audience room. No maids bustled through the corridors. No messengers running on errands. No baronet having a tryst in a corner. Clara suppressed a shiver as she tugged on her sky blue tunic.

  In the audience room, gaggles of attendants and officials stood about in groups talking, holding sheaves of papers and making gestures. A very strained Steward Warren was speaking with a man in his third decade with black hair, who stood with his back to them and his sun-browned hands clasped at the small of his back. He wore a forest green tunic over black shirt and trousers. From a plain leather belt hung a sword in a battered sheath.

  As they approached, the man turned–and Clara saw again the boy with eyes like clouded silver, whose fate she had always wondered about. The boy–man, she corrected–studied her with a bemused expression. She beamed at him, incredibly happy, as if t
he world all of a sudden righted itself. She noticed a blue and white starburst embroidered on his chest.

  “General Emmerich, allow me to introduce to you Clara,” said Gavin in introduction. “She claims to remember you.”

  Hurriedly, she wrote, “You were the boy who came to my village in your father's merchant train. You had a tinker named Merton. I helped to make the tonic you bottled. You fought the man who took me.” She couldn't bear to spell out Haggard's name.

  Emmerich read the message then looked her over again, recognition dawning. “Why, the little witchling. I often wondered what happened to you. But couldn't you talk then? What happened to your voice?”

  She reddened a little and shrugged.

  “No matter. You'll still come in handy against Marduk.” Emmerich turned back to Gavin, saying, “Things went better than expected. The villagers gave up, no questions asked. I noticed the soldiers did more standing to the side than anything else.”

  “It looks like your storytellers helped.”

  “Aye. As did your songs.”

  Gavin shrugged off the compliment, his face dark. “I think I need to take Clara to the kitchens for some food.”

  “Oh. Well, come back when you get a chance. This is one of the best castles in Lorst. We were damn lucky, Gavin. Damn lucky.”

  With that, he turned back to Steward Warren and resumed the conversation, which seemed to be about grain supplies. Gavin took Clara's elbow but she pulled away.

  On her slate, she wrote, “I wish to see Dwervin.” She reached out to grab onto Emmerich's tunic, but Gavin snatched her hand away.

  “General,” he said, “Clara has a request.”

  Emmerich turned and, reading the message, raised a brow. “Why?”

  “I wish to speak to him,” she jotted out.

  He considered her for a long moment and then nodded. “Gavin will make the arrangements.”

  Emmerich watched them as they left, still feeling a little shock over meeting the fiery little girl (young woman, he corrected) after all this time. He remembered the gruff mother and mysterious one-eyed man who had left him pissing blood for a few days. The old anger stirred but he pushed it away to continue his conversation about rations.

  In the kitchen, a lone Relly cooked. She dropped her ladle when she saw Clara, and scooped the girl up in a vigorous hug.

  “Oh, child, ye tried to warn us, didn't ye! Oh, I'm so happy.” She glared at Gavin. “And ye knew! I can't believe I let ye take me for a fool.”

  “You're not a fool, Relly.”

  “I ought to chase ye right out of my kitchen.” She clutched protectively at Clara.

  “There's a war going on and Dwervin was on the wrong side. It wasn't anything against you.”

  “War? I haven't heard of a war!”

  “Well, I can't help that.” He sighed. “Could you please feed Clara? Then I can explain everything properly.”

  “Clara?” She turned to the former slave. “That is ye name, gel?”

  She smiled at her and nodded.

  “And ye are no longer a slave?”

  She shook her head.

  Relly studied Gavin for a moment, then let go of Clara. He took Clara's arm and led her to a small table. After a moment, Relly brought them steaming bowls of vegetable soup. She also set down crusty yeast rolls and joined them.

  As they ate, Gavin told Relly about the war and Marduk. The conversation lulled and, being done with her bowl, Clara took out her slate.

  She wrote, “Why would General Emmerich want this castle?”

  “The valley is entered by a small pass, making it easily defended. It's isolated, which means it would take time for Marduk to mount an army to come out here. It's small and unimportant, it's only claim to fame being its proximity to Orlind, which means it'll take a while before he'll care enough to do so. This is the perfect base for Emmerich's needs before launching against Orlind. And Orlind is the victory that matters.”

  Relly snorted. “Makes me wonder how it was so easy for him to take.”

  “Well, I was here to open the gate and the people were so tired of Lord Dwervin that many let Emmerich's band of warriors approach without stopping him or sending word. The soldiers met along the way were incredibly easy to bribe.”

  “I canna believe this!”

  “Do I look like I can help that?” He stuffed the rest of the bread in his mouth. “Finished?”

  Clara nodded and they stood. Relly got up and said, “I think she'll be staying. You go along now, Gavin.”

  “Why don't we let her decide? Clara?”

  She looked puzzled at being asked. Then, she wrote, “I need to go. Thank you, Relly, for your kindness.”

  Gavin read the slate aloud. Relly, tears brimming in her eyes, embraced her for a long moment.

  As they left, he asked, “Did you mean it, about seeing Dwervin again?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, let’s get it done.”

  Clara hesitated and the healer raised a brow, as if asking, “You sure you wish to do this?”

  She did. She couldn’t explain why, but she did. Stepping into the room, she looked up at the healer, who whispered, “I will be just outside, if you need me. Don’t be afraid. He’s too weak to do anything.” He left and the door latched closed behind him.

  The small bedchamber must have belonged to a minor cousin. A woman, if the pale yellows and greens of the tapestries and floor coverings were any indication.

  The once great, self-assured Lord Dwervin lay on the small bed, looking small and insignificant with a pretty green and blue quilt drawn over him. Sweat beaded his ashen face. He opened his eyes when she came to his bedside, her eyes traveling to the blood-flecked cloth covering his chest.

  She looked up to meet his gaze and almost winced away from the hate contorting his features.

  “You,” he hissed. “You knew. You knew all along. And now you’ve killed me.”

  She shook her head. No. No, she had just chosen a side. Wasn't it right of her to choose the side that gained her freedom?

  “Aye. You did. Even if I get off this bed, I’m still a dead man. All because of you. You could have warned me.” He could barely speak above a whisper, but, from the force of his words, he might as well have been shouting.

  She shook her head again, numb.

  Suddenly, Dwervin’s hand clamped over her wrist as his eyes bulged. “The healer,” he choked. “My heart.” He clutched at the cloth with his free hand, his mouth gaping in a silent scream.

  The anger, which had been lying dormant in her gut, flared in a fine fire. She snatched her arm away. He, who had bought her like she was a hunk of meat, who was willing to watch her be treated like an animal, who would have raped her if given the chance, who denied her freedom after saving his life—he wanted her to save him once again?

  Clara blinked away the tears of rage and only stood there. He bucked and writhed, his arm flailing impotently. The motions slowly became feebler until they stopped. A low rattle rushed from his lips, his chest stilled, and the light left his eyes.

  Lord Dwervin, scion to a long lineage of mountain lords, died. It took less than five minutes.

  Turning, Clara walked out of the room, passed a surprised Gavin and burst into a run. She didn't stop until she reached her room. Falling onto the bed, she wept.

  “We'll be making our move two se'ennights from now,” Emmerich said. “The neighboring fiefdom of Baroness Orlind will be able to provide plenty of supplies for the final push towards Castle Newfound and Candor City.” He unrolled a map and studied it.

  They were in the (now late) lord's chambers, which Emmerich had taken up for his own. He stood at a map table to the side while Gavin lounged by the fire.

  “Are you going to take the title?” asked Gavin.

  “Of Lord Dwervin? I don't see how I have much of a choice. But the steward will be doing most of the tending and ruling and such. He's not half so bad, especially since he's absolutely terrified of me.” The ex
pected laugh did not come and Emmerich looked up to see Gavin staring into the fire. “All right. What is it?”

  “It? Nothing.” He looked at him with wide, innocent eyes.

  “I really do think I'm the only one you can't lie to. Tell me what it is or I'll have you thrown in the dungeon or the stocks or something equally reprehensible.”

  “How can a soldier know a word as big as reprehensible?”

  “I like to read.” He walked over and sat across from his friend. “What's wrong?”

  Gavin sighed. “The healer on duty thinks Clara may not have gotten help for Dwervin when she could have.”

  Emmerich's clasped his hands and looked down at them. “What do you think?”

  “I think that would have been beneath her.”

  “But it is possible, or you wouldn't be upset about it. After all, by your account, she had every reason in the world to hate him.”

  “I just can't imagine Clara doing that.”

  “People are capable of all sorts of things.” His voice softened. “You and I should know that better than anyone.”

  An uncomfortable silence filled the pause. Finally, Gavin said, “You could have been happy to see her, when I introduced you.”

  Emmerich sighed in frustration. “Gav, I met her once over ten years ago. It's not like we were long-lost lovers.” He made a face. “She wasn't even near womanhood, in fact.”

  “Aye, but didn't you see how disappointed she was? I read the message on the slate, Emm. I know you tried to rescue her from slavery.”

  “What did you want me to do? Dance a jig? Propose marriage?” He laughed.

  Gavin sighed and shook his head. “Never mind.”