Mad Lord Lucian

by West, Shay

  “We've checked everywhere. Lilla's missing, taken by the spirits of the dead!” One of the scullion maids burst into fresh tears.

  Dear Spirits. The head of the kitchens is now missing.

  “Senda. Have you seen Lilla this morning?” When Senda shook his head, Dreban cursed. “Simon, you are in charge of the kitchens until further notice. I suggest we all get to work. Mandor won't want to be waiting for his breakfast.” He stormed out mumbling about the injustice of it all, that he should have to deal with having to tell Lord Mandor that his head cook was missing.

  Senda went to work, his mind numb. It had been easy to ignore the reports of the missing when it wasn't anyone he knew. Lilla wouldn't have run off. If she wasn't at her station, something was dreadfully wrong.

  Lord Mandor did not seem to care that Lilla was gone. As long as Dreban kept the household running smoothly, he was perfectly happy.

  Weeks passed, and each night, more people disappeared from their beds or never returned from their errands, leaving their frantic families to guess what might have happened. They began to look at each other with suspicion and fear, wondering if their neighbors and friends had anything to do with the disappearances.

  And yet, no one looked to the one man who was responsible. Not one of the townsfolk seemed to put Anali's arrival together with the horrible happenings on the island. Senda imagined him watching over the chaos he created, smiling in malicious glee.

  Many folk started to talk about leaving the island. Senda worried what would happen if word reached Anali's ears. Surely he couldn't allow people to leave and spread tales of what was happening here. Someone was bound to question Lucian's murdering of Lord Suasor and Anali's hanging of Lord Byron's household.

  Senda watched soldiers make their way through the city. The sound of their marching was deafening. People watched from doorways, windows, and balconies wondering what the commotion was all about. Their tear-filled eyes met Senda's own, and all he could do was stare back, mouth slack, head moving from side-to-side in useless denial. The soldiers pulled people into the streets, kicking and screaming, only to slit their throats and leave them to bleed to death in the dirt and filth.

  Senda shrank back into the shadows of the buttery, hands over his ears, trying to shut out the screams, the sound of crunching metal on bone, the splatter of blood and gore against the walls, the wails of the injured and dying.

  “I told you Lucian had appointed me as overseer, to dig out the rotten filth of his people. I told you I have ways of detecting the seeds of treachery. What happens today is on your heads.”

  Senda whimpered in fear as Anali's voice washed over the entire island. The same prayer played over and over in his mind: Dear Spirits, please help us!

  But no help came. The soldiers moved across the island, dragging commoner and noble alike into the streets to kill them in cold blood. The Mystic's voice rang out, telling the people that it was their fault and that he and Lucian meant to destroy the scourge that infected the island.

  After what seemed an eternity, the soldiers marched back to the castle, their shining armor covered in blood. No one wanted to be the first to step out of their homes. Children clung to their parents, or stood in doorways staring at the bodies of their parents in the street. The silence was deafening. Not one woman wailed, not one child sobbed.

  Senda ventured from the buttery when he heard Dreban's voice asking everyone to return to their duties.

  “How can Mandor expect us to clean and scrub? Shouldn't we be worried about the bodies?” a groom asked. To do his duties, he would be required to go outside to the stables.

  “I only know what Lord Mandor ordered. Do you want him to throw you out of his home? You will be killed come nightfall by the ghosts for sure,” Dreban said.

  Senda agreed with the groom, but kept his thoughts to himself. Since there wasn't any cleaning or rearranging to do in the buttery, he helped scrub the floors in the large dining hall. The mundane task left his mind free to ponder what was happening. He wouldn't have believed the tales of the spirits roaming the streets at night, except that he had seen Lord Suasor with his own eyes.

  His heart broke at the full realization of what Lucian had done. He never would have thought Lucian to be so cruel as to put people to the sword for no reason. It's not my Lord that did this deed. Senda knew the real Lucian was dead and gone, replaced with a man with no soul.

  The household staff remained quiet, their nervousness evident in the clinking of dishes as their hands trembled. Mandor seemed not to notice as he stuffed his face with dinner. He sat alone at the great table.

  When Mandor was done, the servants cleared the dishes and cleaned up without their usual banter and gossip.

  “Senda, I have a message for Lucian. Bring it to him at once,” Mandor ordered.

  Senda tentatively reached out for the envelope, wondering why Mandor wanted him to take the message to Lucian. His duty to serve too ingrained to argue; he bowed and left to deliver the rolled parchment.

  The sun had not yet sunk below the horizon. Senda decided to give the message to the first guard he saw and leave it at that. He refused to bring it to Lucian in person. I can't face him.

  A commotion just outside the main gates gave him pause. His already shattered nerves couldn't take any more surprises. A soldier was being dragged into the castle. His screams reached Senda.

  “Lucian is mad! Can you not see it? We must stand up to him, lest we all fall to the madness!”

  A rush of excitement swept through Senda. Someone else sees it too! He knew he would never make it to the castle before they forced him inside. Senda felt sorry for the man. The guards would bring him before Lucian. And at the rate Lucian was going, the soldier would be hanged.

  Moments later, a terrified scream echoed in the square. Senda looked up, and watched in horror as Lucian's guards flung the soldier to his death. He backed away from the grisly sight of the man's broken body and ran for Mandor's, dropping the letter in the street.

  NINE

  THE NEXT DAY, SENDA AWOKE to the sound of marching footsteps. Some stopped at the front of Mandor's manor, while the rest moved on. He quickly got dressed, wondering what foul plot was afoot. He crept down the back hallway to the kitchens. He could hear Lord Mandor arguing with the soldiers outside, calling them all sorts of foul names. Most of the staff peered from behind counters and barrels of flour and sugar.

  Mandor's roar of rage made them jump and squeal in fright. Senda peered out the window. Mandor was being led away by two soldiers. The rest were making their way into the house.

  “We must flee, or we will all be put to death just like Lord Byron's household!” Senda cried out to the others as he ran for the buttery.

  There was a small door leading to the outside. It hadn't been used in some time and the hinges were rusty. Senda tugged with all his might and felt the door open a mere inch. The rest of the staff pushed against him, urging him to hurry.

  Senda tried to shut out the sound of the soldiers moving through the house, grabbing anyone they found. The noise of the footsteps grew louder.

  “Here's a bunch who think they can escape Anali's justice.” The big man sneered and wiped his mouth.

  Senda's muscles ached and cords stood out on his neck as he wrestled with the door. The soldiers grabbed those closest to them and shoved them to their comrades in arms. The rest pushed against Senda, forcing the tiny door closed with the weight of their bodies. Senda tried to shove them backward but their fear took over. All they could think of was to get as far away from the soldiers as they could, and that meant forcing themselves against Senda, which made it impossible for him to open the door.

  Suddenly, the weight on Senda's back disappeared and he cried out as he yanked with all his might. The hinges opened with a loud creak. Senda threw himself through the door just as a soldier grabbed his foot. He kicked as hard as he could, smiling as he felt his foot connect with the man's face and laughing when he heard the grunt of pain. />
  “One of ‘em's gettin’ away!”

  Senda ran for the nearest alley, panic and instinct driving his feet. He pushed over barrels and crates, hoping to slow pursuers just enough to allow him to escape. Senda bolted through people's homes, closing the doors as he passed through them. He slowly but surely made his way for the coast. As he ran, the sound of pursuit grew quieter.

  He never looked back, just kept running for his life. His adrenaline began to give out as he got closer to the coast. The sound of the waves crashing on the rocky shore drowned out his heavy breathing.

  Senda knew he couldn't stop to rest. He had to find a boat and get off the island quickly. He climbed over rocks and boulders, wincing as they cut into the soles of his feet. As he caught sight of the docks, his heart sank. Someone had set fire to all of the boats, leaving behind charred bits of wood. There is no way off the island!

  The children of the island spent a lot of time playing on the shore, exploring the multitude of natural caves and enclosures formed by the rocks. Senda hoped he could escape detection long enough to begin searching the other side. A few of the Lords had estates close to shore. It was possible they had some kind of craft that could make it across the Sea of Solace. Senda heard shouting in the distance and clambered over the rocks, ignoring the pain in his feet. He found an opening and climbed inside, moving as far to the back as he could. The voices never got closer. They soon disappeared among the sound of the waves.

  As darkness fell, the temperature dropped. Senda's clothing had gotten wet and he shivered uncontrollably in his dank, dark hole. His stomach rumbled. Time to leave.

  He crept carefully from his cave, terrified he would find Anali waiting for him. There was no one nearby. Senda felt safer under cover of darkness than he had running from the soldiers in broad daylight.

  He could see the amber glow of the fires burning all over the island. The faint shouts of anger and shrill screams of terror drifted on the night air. Senda kept to the shoreline, unwilling to move any closer to the horror that was descending on the town. I wish I had a weapon of some kind.

  His feet protested every step, but he forced himself to keep going, to get to a boat and row to safety. The thought of there not being a way off the island except to swim was too much for Senda to bear.

  A large boulder pile forced him to move inland. If he was twenty years younger and had shoes, he might try to climb over the rocks, but his tender feet and aching bones screamed for an easier route. He passed near the outer wall of a Lord's manse. When his stomach gave a rumble, Senda decided to brave encountering the soldiers to find some food and maybe even some shoes.

  The smell of smoke lay thick and heavy in the air. Senda coughed, trying to quiet the noise against his sleeve. The manse still stood, though it looked to have sustained some damage. He gingerly stepped into the courtyard, testing the temperature of the ground, hoping the stones were not hot.

  The home was empty as a tomb. Senda sent up a prayer to the good Spirits and moved quickly to the kitchens. The larder was full and had not been touched by the fire. Senda grabbed some bread, cheese, and beef, throwing together a quick sandwich. He ate so fast he nearly choked. A swig of ale washed it all down.

  Senda made his way through the house in search of some clean clothes and shoes. His footsteps echoed in the empty house. He was afraid the noise would draw a soldier to investigate, or worse, a hungry spirit, eager to taste his living essence. He threw open a door to a room belonging to one of the servants. Once he had changed and pulled a pair of boots on his aching feet, he felt almost human again. As he made his way to the front door, he paused. I need a weapon. He ran back to the kitchens and grabbed a large butcher knife off the counter. The weight of the weapon in his hand made him feel better, braver somehow.

  The street outside was still empty, although he could hear people running and shouting nearby. Senda didn't know if they were friend or foe, so he assumed the worst and stayed hidden from view, darting in and out of the shadows, heading to the opposite end of the island.

  Senda stopped dead in his tracks. Apparitions floated down the street. He stayed where he was, terrified of alerting them to his presence.

  A man stumbled into view, a large knapsack over one shoulder pulling him off balance. He spotted the ghosts and tried to run. But the sack was too heavy. Senda silently prodded the man to drop it and run!

  He seemed to hear Senda's cry and let go of his burden, but it was too late. The spirits of the dead flew at the man at breakneck speed, surrounding him in a matter of seconds. His shrill scream pierced Senda to the bone, hurting his ears.

  In seconds, the spirits had reduced the man to nothing but skin and bones. They shoved his now lifeless body to the ground and continued their patrol.

  Senda stayed where he was, too scared to move. He glanced around, looking for any more spirits while he moved slowly through the shadows. His eyes were never still, probing the intersections, alleys, buildings, and shadows. Senda knew he had to not only watch for specters, but for the living as well. A soldier could end his escape just as easily as a ghost.

  He passed several more grisly scenes of the spirits of the dead sucking the life from the living. Senda kept his head down and his eyes peeled for danger. His instinct to survive outweighed the urge to help his fellow man. What can I do to help?

  The tang of salt water on the air alerted Senda to the coast. He sent up one final prayer for a boat or canoe, or even a raft that he could use to escape the island. It was blessedly quiet, lulling Senda into a false sense of security. He boldly walked toward the coast and stopped dead in his tracks when the cackle sounded from directly behind him.

  TEN

  “I KNEW YOU WOULD END UP HERE.”

  Senda turned to face the one man he feared most. “Where is Lucian?”

  “He is in the castle. And there his spirit will stay for all eternity.”

  “He is dead, then?”

  “Oh, most surely. You see, one does not often long survive my…ahem…ministrations.” The Mystic laughed.

  Senda looked at the man, hope leaving him with each passing moment. “Why? Why did you come?”

  “You asked for someone who could cure your Lord. I merely answered the call.”

  “That's not what I mean,” Senda snapped. “Why did you turn Lucian against his own people? Why kill them?”

  “Because I can!” The Mystic stepped from the shadows and he raised his hands to lower his hood.

  Senda gasped at the changes that had occurred in the Mystic. His face was drawn and pale, looking much like the faces of the spirits that now inhabited Lucian's island. Anali had sprouted long fingernails, giving his hands the look of a predatory bird with its talons outstretched.

  “And now, it's time. I must be off soon, and I can't leave anyone living behind.”

  Anali raised his hands. Senda took his hand from behind his back where he had carefully kept the knife hidden. Just as Anali was about to say the word of power, Senda flung his hand forward, releasing the blade.

  The blade sunk to the hilt in the Mystic's chest. Senda dove to the side as a fireball flew past. He jumped to his feet. Anali stood in shock, gingerly touching the hilt of the knife. Blood dripped from his mouth as he hit his knees. His mouth worked, but no sound came out.

  Senda jumped as he felt rather than heard the unearthly screeching of the spirits moving toward him. Every time they opened their mouths, his skin crawled and pebbled in goose flesh. They swarmed over the Mystic. Anali screamed, blood gushing from his mouth. To Senda's horror, one of the spirits entered into Anali's open mouth. The Mystic's eyes bulged as he tried to draw breath.

  As Anali lay dying, Senda ran for the coast, panic nearly overwhelming any coherent thought. The twin moons lit his way, bathing the beaches in silvery light. There were several houses along this stretch of beach. Please, dear Spirits, let there be a boat!

  After moments of frantic searching, Senda spotted what he was looking for. A small rowboat was
tied to the post of a rickety dock. He jumped in, nearly capsizing it in his haste. Just as he reached for the rope, he spotted several spirits barreling toward him. He fumbled with the knot that kept him from escaping.

  Pull it over the post!

  Senda did not question this strange voice. He did exactly as he was told. He yanked the rope over the post and shoved off just as the dead reached the dock. They screamed their rage and anger, hands raking the air in frustration.

  Senda grabbed the oars and began to row in earnest, wishing to put as much distance between himself and the cursed island before his strength ran out. He watched the ghosts mill about the edge of the dock and the beaches, unwilling—or unable—to pass over the water to reach him.

  He rowed until the sun came up. His arms cramped and trembled with each push and pull. For the thousandth time, he wished he had brought along some food and water. His tongue felt like a piece of old shoe leather.

  Exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he toppled backward, unable to continue rowing. His eyes closed and fell into a deep, restless sleep.

  EPILOGUE

  SENDA MADE HIS WAY through the busy streets of Vis Rellisa, cursing himself for losing track of time. Lord Faesal had requested his presence at dinner. It would not do to anger his new Lord after only a few weeks in his employ.

  He burst through the kitchen door and winced as the chamberlain glared and shook his head. “You're late.”

  “I lost track of time.”

  “I suggest you change for dinner. There are more people present than Faesal expected.”

  Senda blanched. He had been dreading this moment for a week. He knew it would come sooner or later; he had hoped for later.

  “Come. They are waiting.”

  Senda followed the man, trying to think of what he would say to Faesal's and the others. They reached the main audience chamber much too soon. His heart thumped and his mouth went dry.

  “Ah, here is the lone survivor himself. Come, these men and women need to hear your tale.” Faesal beckoned Senda forward, his face kind and warm.