‘Ho, king’s Champion,’ came the reply from above them. ‘You come ahead of the royal party?’
Kert was silent a moment and Lae simply stood, swaying, her eyes closed. She had no energy left for emotion. It was hard enough merely to remain conscious. But she could think, and now she wondered how Kert would reply to this question. Would he announce, here in the open, that his king was dead?
‘Open the gate!’ he bellowed in a voice that brooked no arguments.
A grating sound issued from high atop the pale stone wall and Lae opened slitted eyelids to see the huge timber portcullis before them rising to allow entry. Kert strode forward without his customary warning tug on the rope and Lae stumbled and scrambled to keep her footing. Ghett hurried to keep at his side as they entered the arched portal and turned sharp left into a dark tunnel.
Once inside the entryway, Kert paused to light a brand and Lae didn’t dare to rest, to close her eyes and relax. Frustration and anger etched sharp lines in Kert’s profile and she knew any misstep on her part would be met with fury. She must be ready to start off again when he did, never mind that her legs trembled with exhaustion and her wrists were rubbed raw from their binding rope.
Not much further, her tired mind offered by way of consolation and Lae tried to hold onto that thought. Speculating on the future of her captivity with Kert would only bring anxiety. Better to concentrate on the ending of her ordeal this night and the bliss she would find in falling onto a soft bed and sleeping at last.
Kert started forward and the two women with him, Ghett taking two small strides to his one and Lae shuffling behind like the wooden pull-toy she’d owned as a child, flickering torchlight cast ominous shadows on the huge stones, some larger than themselves, which lined the tunnel, yet Lae felt none of the excitement and awe she usually experienced when entering the royal castle. There was only pain. Cramping, aching, stinging, burning. How she longed for an easing of these physical burdens, yet as they traversed the stone entryway and the cooler castle air blew over her, Lae felt her spirits buoyed.
‘Stupid device,’ Ghett hissed when angled air rushed into the tunnel, extinguishing their torches.
Kert made no comment and Lae had her own opinion on what, or rather, who was stupid.
They trudged the remaining hundred paces in darkness and Lae steeled herself for the blinding light of the courtyard. The Volcastle construction was an excellent defence against enemies who, having breeched the main gate, would have their torches extinguished mid-charge by a channelled downdraft. King’s archers would be positioned to welcome them with sharp arrows when they eventually emerged dazzled by harsh light into the castle courtyard. In all of their history, since the Ancients had built their castles, the Volcastle had never been overrun.
It was indeed masterful planning, but as Lae stumbled forward, bumping into the wall and then into Ghett who slapped her, she couldn’t help wishing that for the everyday traveller there was a less intimidating entrance.
‘My Lord Sh’hale,’ a deferential voice proclaimed as they took the final curve.
Kert and Ghett could shield their eyes against the harsh light with an upraised hand, but Lae, with hers tethered to a rope and leaden with exhaustion, had no such luxury. She merely kept her eyelids tightly closed and through the buzzing in her ears attempted to hear the footfalls before her and estimate when to stop.
‘My Lady of Be’uccdha!’ the same voice said in consternation, and Lae wondered who it was. The Volcastle Guard Captain?
Kert’s voice, directly ahead of her, alerted her to stop. ‘The daughter of Be’uccdha is a prisoner of war,’ he said and Lae thought she heard a gasp.
‘War …’ The other man’s voice sounded so lost Lae wanted to cry for him. For all of them. Not the least for herself.
‘Is there another lord in the Volcastle?’ Kert demanded. ‘Verdan?’
‘My Lord Sh’hale, there is none. The Lady Ellega of Verdan awaits the return of the king whereupon they are to wed …’ Again the voice trailed off, as though fearing what would be said next.
‘That weak girl,’ Ghett said. ‘She is naught but a weeping waif. When she hears of —’
‘Shut up, whore,’ Kert snapped, then lowered his voice, speaking again to the guardsman who had addressed him. ‘Gather the castle guard in the main hall. War is upon us. As the highest ranking lord I am taking control of the Volcastle defences in the King’s name. We must ready ourselves —’
Another voice intruded. ‘My Lord Sh’hale!’
Lae tilted her head and struggled to open her eyes. That voice. Was it Ellega of Verdan?
‘Where is my new betrothed?’ she asked. ‘Does he follow far behind? I must not let him see me in my wedding finery.’
Unbidden to Lae came the memory of their young king’s death; fallen from a knife wound to his side, his royal hued eves gazing into his sister’s in disbelief as his life ebbed away with the vibrant royal blood that marked them both as ancestors of the Ancients. Lae had felt sadness then. And anger. Not only for her friend Khatrene who had lost her twin, but for all of Ennae. The loss of Mihale was the loss of Ennae’s happy future. Ellega of Verdan’s innocence of this evil was their reminder of that.
‘Why do you look at me so oddly, My Lord Sh’hale?’ Ellega asked, her voice wavering now. ‘If the wedding is to be on the morrow —’
‘There will be no wedding,’ Ghett said, and Lae could see the cruel smile on her lips as clearly as though her eyes were open. ‘Because your precious betrothed is dead.’
Ellega of Verdan’s eves widened in preparation for a show of elaborate grief and Kert turned away from her. He had no time for her foolishness, parading around the castle in her wedding gown. Bad enough that she had frightened her brother Barrion by starving herself into illness when the king had first refused her simpering suit. Now that her beloved was dead she would not think of the cost to their kingdom, only that she would never be queen. Still, he felt angered when he saw her stricken face and knew Ghett had delivered the tragic news in just such fashion as to cause the most upset.
The whore’s triumphant smile faded from her lips as she met his gaze. ‘She had to be told,’ Ghett said, but he could see fear in her eyes and wanted to see more.
‘Do not tempt my anger,’ he said, then turned to the captain who had also heard, though thankfully not his guard who stood further back, ‘Gather your men in the main hall. If we would avenge the death of our king, we must be ready when his murderer, Be’uccdha, attacks the Volcastle.’
The Guard Captain’s eyes widened but he nodded sharply and turned away, his shock and grief erased by purpose. As soon as he was out of earshot, Ghett said, ‘Why can we not tell him that I bear the king’s child. He will have more respect —’
Beside them Ellega gasped and Kert glared at Ghett. ‘Stupid whore,’ he said and held her face with one hand, his fingers biting into her cheeks. ‘Do not speak of this again or I will bind and gag you for the remainder of your confinement.’
Ghett nodded and was silent, knowing when she had gone too far, but the damage was done.
‘My Lord and King has …’ Ellega’s breath caught on a sob as she pointed a wavering finger at Ghett. ‘Mihale has sired a child on this … servant?’ Thankfully her words were spoken in a disbelieving whisper and none of the guard who were rallying to their captain overheard.
Ghett said nothing in reply but her satisfied smile spoke of pleasure given and taken. Kert ached to slap it from her face.
Ellega, wide-eyed and distressed, shook her head, wailed once, then covered her thin face with her hands and fell to the ground sobbing, her delicately braided hair falling about her face like fronds in a storm. Her wedding gown, which she had no doubt worn many times in girlish anticipation, spread around her like riverwater frothing at an unexpected turn.
The Guard Captain turned back but Kert waved him away and damned Ghett as a meddling whore. They were to tell no one of the child lest the news reach Be’uccdha, who
would likely try to kill their new king as he had killed the child’s father.
When he addressed Ghett again Kert spoke slowly, pacing his fury. ‘Go to the Volcastle entry hall and wait for me there. Do not speak another word.’ He gestured for two guardsmen to come forward and accompany her.
Ghett raised an eyebrow at his tone but she obeyed, stepping around the fallen Verdan daughter with much show of condescension and distaste.
Kert stared at the sobbing girl, wondering how he could reach past her grief to secure her silence on the matter of an heir ‘Ellega,’ he said and stepped forward, yet the rope which held Lae as his captive snagged his hand. Frustrated by the impediment, he reefed it around, pulling Lae to the ground with a gratifying thud. He turned on her. ‘You will spend this night in a dungeon,’ he hissed, and untied himself, tossing the rope in her face.
‘Dungeon?’ Lae spat dirt from her mouth, her eyelids struggling to open.
Kert saw that the bloody lip he’d given her had swollen and made speech difficult. Fierce satisfaction sang through him at this sight. She had suffered at his hands and would suffer more for the sins of her father. Yet his nearest concern was to placate the grieving daughter of Verdan.
‘Your betrothed died defending The Light’s child,’ he said, his voice not as gentle as would soften Ellega’s grief, but rather hinting of tiredness and his anger at Be’uccdha. ‘He has risen to Atheyre where he rests —’
‘Noooooo,’ Ellega wailed, dropping her hands, and Kert was startled by her wild eyes and gritted teeth. White-knuckled fingers now bunched her gown of gold weave at her sides, and her scant bosom rose and fell in fierce agitation. Was she railing at Mihale’s fate? What greater glory but to ascend to the Airworld where … Ellega may not follow him. Kert suddenly understood and reached forward a hand, yet before he could touch her she sprung into frenzied action.
‘My love is not dead!’ she cried and lunged to her feet, her unseeing eves trained on some distant goal. ‘He is not’ she screamed and before Kert could react, she shot past him into the pitch-black tunnel, screaming Mihale’s name.
‘Stop her,’ Lae hissed. ‘She knows of the child.’
‘Be silent,’ Kert said, then turned to stare into the dark mouth of the tunnel, wondering what powers of persuasion he could bring to bear to ensure Ellega’s silence. Her brother was the Lord of Verdan who would not take kindly to having his sister’s tongue removed from her head. How else then —?
‘Mihale …’ came a pitiful wail from a way off.
‘The castle gate is open,’ Lae said. ‘You’ve let her escape.’
Kert wanted to argue, but tracking back over the past moments in his memory, he could not remember hearing the solid clang that heralded the closure of the gate.
‘Hold the gate!’ he bellowed to the gatekeeper above, and set off into the tunnel, feeling his way in the absolute darkness with a hand on the cool stone walls. No sound came to him save that of his own footsteps, and frustration ate at him. That and exhaustion. He had guards to brief and a castle to ready before sleep would claim him this night and there was little patience left in him.
The gate was up. Kert stepped into the opening and looked out into the night, now strangely still.
‘Mihale …’ a voice called softly from the forest beyond and Kert saw Ellega at a distance, the pale fabric of her gown glowing in the moonlight like a gilt-handled bell.
‘Witless waif,’ he muttered. He should let her stay in the forest to teach her that there were worse things than moaning and tears. Let her be cold and frightened. In the morning she may be more disposed to listen to his counsel and carry herself in a manner more fitting of a lady, and of a daughter of Verdan. But even as he thought this, he strode out into the forest to retrieve her.
Yet having returned Ellega to the Volcastle, how was Kert to keep her silent on the matter of Ghett’s child? The more people she wailed her woes to, the harder it would be to keep their secret secure.
Kert reached her side and pulled her roughly to her feet, meaning to speak harshly to her, to snap her out of grief. But instead of a limp bundle of misery, Kert found a screaming madwoman in his arms. Before he could push her away she had scratched his face and torn his shirt.
‘Witch,’ he shouted and shoved her away, then turned on his heel and stormed back into the Volcastle.
‘Close fast the gate and open it to none save on my authority. Let her rail and beg.’ He would not admit her until she had found her wits.
‘As you will, My Lord,’ the gatekeeper replied, and as Kert felt his way back through the dark tunnel he heard the gate lowering behind him.
Lae of Be’uccdha lay on the ground where he’d left her, his cloak clinging to her body like a skin of night, her dark legs visible below it. She opened her eyes at his approach and through dishevelled hair her tired gaze searched the empty tunnel behind him. ‘Ellega of Verdan?’ she whispered.
‘Concern yourself with your own safety,’ Kert said.
They gazed at each other, neither trusting the other, until Kert reached down to pick up the rope and drag her to her feet. ‘Your cold dungeon cell awaits,’ he said, but she made no reply, merely stumbled and straightened, then waited patiently with her eyes closed for his next torture.
Her forbearance should have infuriated him, yet instead Kert found his tired mind had weakened to feelings of pity for her being separated from all she knew and blamed for the sins of her father. Kert himself had railed against being tarred with the brush of his father’s sedition and had killed his own father to protect the throne. Yet before he could imagine they were kindred spirits, Lae would have to kill her murderous father to protect Mihale’s unborn child.
Kert doubted that would ever occur, and knew he was right to treat her with suspicion and mistrust, yet in moments of weakness he wished there was someone with whom he could share his burden of responsibility. Ghett, though she bore the king’s child, was no loyal subject of the throne and Kert trusted her less than Lae. Barrion of Verdan? He would rally to the cause, and so thinking, Kert decided he would send a messenger to the Verdan hold on the morrow. He could only hope that Ellega’s petty jealousy of Ghett would not influence her brother’s sound judgment.
As though reading his thoughts, Lae said. ‘You must hurry to inform Verdan of the king’s death and call him to the Volcastle. If my father reaches him first, he may sway Verdan to his cause.’
‘Your house may be disloyal,’ Kert said, ‘but Verdan’s is true to the throne.’
Lae didn’t open her eyes, merely continued in a tired voice, her head bowed as though in defeat, ‘My father may lie to Verdan as he lied to us all. He may blame another for the king’s murder. Mayhap yourself.’
Kert felt a chill premonition in these words, yet gazing at Lae’s swaying form he wondered if there was not some art in her argument aimed at distracting him from his duty. Might she not speak against her father and yet still do his bidding? ‘I take no advice from traitors,’ he said, and with a palm to her chest he shoved her to the ground.
Unprepared for the blow, Lae sprawled on the unyielding flagstones, cloak riding high this time to reveal all of her lower body, startlingly vulnerable with its curve and downing of newfound womanhood. Kert frowned and felt damnable pity swell within him again.
‘Get up,’ he snarled.
Lae struggled to her feet, limbs trembling, eyes closed. ‘I cannot hate you more than I already do,’ she whispered slowly. ‘Further displays of your physical superiority do but waste my time.’
Kert nodded at this and reached forward to grasp her hair, pulling it back so that her neck was stretched and her teeth gritted with the strain of not crying out. ‘I do with you as I please, Be’uccdha. Your hatred is of no consequence to me.’
But in truth, her hatred was what he sought. For while she hated him he could hate her back, discounting the persistent voice of reason that said she may be trustworthy after all. With one king dead due to his negligence, Kert coul
d take no risks with Mihale’s son.
Releasing her roughly, he gathered up her rope and led her from the courtyard along the deserted path Ghett and her guard had taken. Avoiding the laneways of the common folk, it led directly to the Volcastle, which they entered without challenge or comment, word having gone ahead that Be’uccdha had taken their king’s life.
‘I am tired,’ Ghett said to him as soon as he approached her waiting in the shadowed entryway. ‘I want to sleep.’
Kert eyed her guards to see any sign that she had spoken to them of her precious burden, but they appeared to show her no special deference. Perhaps, for once, she had obeyed his commands. ‘You slept on the journey,’ he replied, remembering the dead weight of her as she’d lain in his arms, snoring softly. ‘Do not feign that which you do not feel, or I will not believe you.’
She raised an eyebrow, eloquent comment on the fact that he believed her not at all, no matter that she exaggerated or not. ‘I am used to the royal chambers,’ she said, drawing herself up to her full height which was well below Kert’s. ‘They are mine now.’
This proclamation hung in the air between them and Kert noted that her guard glanced at her sharply.
‘I go now to take Be’uccdha to the dungeon,” Kert told Ghett. ‘If you would not reside there also, you will do as you are told.
‘Before I sleep I must eat,’ she said and patted her small belly.
Kert could not look at her a moment longer. He turned to her guards. ‘The former maid of The Light is to be fed well from the kitchens and not harmed in any way. Lock her into the rooms beside my own and do not release her unless it is at my bidding.’
They nodded at this and Ghett made no demur, setting off at a stately pace with her guard trailing her, a faint laugh echoing back to annoy him. Tomorrow Kert would have to devise a scheme to keep her isolated, even from the gossiping serving maids, so that her growing belly would not be discovered. If none knew that the child was hers when it was born, he may be able to hide its royal identity. The Dark would not search for an heir to the throne unless he believed one existed. The child’s safety would depend on secrecy, but if that failed and they were discovered, he still had his hostage.
Daughter of the Dark: Shadow Through Time 2 Page 12
