‘I am a daughter of Verdan,’ she said, yet the sound of her voice was weak even in her own ears. The trees, which were deeply shadowed in the early morning light, offered no companionship and neither did the cold stone of the castle beyond. She must take her leave and speed away lest the castle guard find her. Yet even at the start of her journey she faltered. Which path should she take?
The trail that led to the base of Volcastle Mountain was directly opposite the gate, yet in her mad flight she had lost all sense of place and direction. Slowly then she set off, losing the pale sun as she entered the deep cool glade, her slippered feet crunching fallen leaves as she searched out the wide beaten earth of the trail she must follow.
Hours later, with scratched hands and her castle slippers worn to threads, Ellega emerged from the rocky mountain trail onto the thin mist of the grasslands below. Tears tracked her face and her stomach clutched on itself for hunger, but she forced herself on. Her tender feet ached and she wished for the sturdy walking slippers she’d left in her rooms. Ached, too, for the hearty breakfast she had missed, but she could not falter. Castle guards would come looking for her soon and she must not be found. Must not be returned to the Volcastle.
So, hardening her heart to her own plight, she ran across the grasslands and into the welcome shade of the forest that lay below Volcastle Mountain. Mayhap there would be berries here she could eat. And had she not heard that Raiders supped from the dew on the leaves? She would do likewise, although each leaf she passed, whether broad or thin, was as dry as her own throat.
‘Never mind,’ she said aloud, and continued through the trees, keeping the rising sun directly behind. ‘I shall find succour at my own house.’ For surely a daughter of Verdan was made of such strong fibre as would allow her to go two days altogether without partaking food or drink. In truth, Ellega had never done this in her life, but she knew of warriors who had. And was she not a warrior in her heart?
Her heart … Ellega’s steps slowed and her thin fingers gripped the precious wedding gown soiled by her flight. The forest seemed to blur around her and a shard of pain sliced through her breast. Mihale. She moaned and fell to her knees, unable to block the pain any longer. Great waves of it washed over her and she was fit to drown in it. save that after a time the sound of voices intruded on her sobbing.
Her next moan was caught on a gasp as they came nearer. She raised her head, wiping her face with her palms, pushing the unbound braids from her eyes. Curse the amount of noise she had made. Volcastle guards would find her and —
‘A woman. Noble by the look.’
Ellega could barely swallow. Northmen, in the royal forest, standing a scant ten steps before her. Though she had never seen one alive before, their copper skin and the strange hanging cloths that covered their lower halves were familiar to her. She had seen corpses in her brother’s dungeon and they had terrified her. The moving, threatening reality was infinitely worse.
‘Stand, woman, or die where you sit.’
Ellega merely stared. No words could pass her numbed lips and she was incapable of any movement, either acquiescence to their demands, or flight, though what purpose flight would serve, save to end her life more quickly, she could not discern. Still, might that not be the favoured course? A quick death. Her brother had shielded her young ears from talk of Northmen practices, but Ellega had wits and imagination. Should they keep her alive, it would not be to cook for them.
‘I am m … maid,’ she told them, clutching her dress around herself, pulling the overskirt up to cover her low bridal bodice. ‘Daughter of …’ She trailed off, her teeth chattering as the closest Northman stepped forward and crouched before her. His hanging cloth moved aside and Ellega’s eyes skittered away from the amount of skin displayed. Bared chest, bare legs. All terrifying muscles and brute strength. Yet she could not look at his face, at his merciless black eyes.
‘Daughter of a noble house by the cloth of her gown,’ he said, gripping her chin in one hand to tilt it up and inspect her.
His fetid breath, redolent with odours of strange oils and smoked flesh, filled her nostrils and she gagged. His fingers tightened and she felt their cruelty, closed her eyes against it.
‘This is a prize worthy of Kraal,’ the Northman said to his fellow warriors, and though she swooned from fear, Ellega felt inside herself a prickling of something more than fear. Something of mortal terror and a threat to her very soul. Had she been able to speak she would have screamed, and had her limbs not been frozen she would have struggled and leapt up to run, to escape her fate in death.
To have her lifeless body consumed by the Serpent of Death in some future ceremony of Haddash was an unpleasant thought. But to meet the serpent while consciousness still clung to the mind was a horror Ellega had not thought to experience. Could not dare to imagine.
Resolve to end her life quickly steeled her limbs and her eyes flew open, her hands tensing before her on the ground. But even before her thoughts produced action, the Northman lowered his hand from her chin to her throat.
‘You will do as I command,’ he said, and squeezed enough to keep air from her, yet not enough to bruise the pale flesh.
Ellega stared into his small black eyes and knew she did not have the courage to fight. Barrion! her heart screamed, but her brother was not there, did not know of her fate, could not come to her aid. There was none to bring rescue. Those she had left in the Volcastle would search the high forest and think her dead. Which indeed she soon would be. But before that death she would stand in the presence of the Lord of Haddash, the legendary Serpent of Death.
As his minion’s hold on her throat loosened Ellega should have revived, yet such was her fear that she continued to succumb to the fading of her senses. The hot, acrid breath of her captor and a loud discordant buzzing in her ears faded down to a single point, like a rock falling into a well. The point was reached and Ellega’s muscles went limp.
The Northman leader cut two braids from her head and tore a strip from her dress for their standard. Then he stood and nodded to his aide who snatched her from the ground, ‘Take her back to Kraal and earn honour with our gift. We will continue to the volcano castle to lay siege.’
‘A tasty morsel,’ his aide replied, hefting Ellega. The others laughed and then they moved on, striding through the forest as though stealth were of no consequence at all.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘My Lord Sh’hale,’ the dungeon master called, his voice hearty as always with the cheerfulness of his trade. ‘Do you bring me fresh prisoners?’
‘Indeed I do not,’ Kert replied, ‘for though Northmen now surround the Volcastle we are yet to take one prisoner. I fear they are coy of your gentle embrace.’
This jest elicited a huge rolling laugh from deep within the dungeon master’s barrel chest. ‘Then if you do not bring a prisoner …?’ he asked.
‘I come to see a prisoner,’ Kert replied, and pointed to the cell where Lae was kept.
‘Our Lady of Be’uccdha.’ The dungeon master nodded, stepping towards the cell, and though Kert was aggravated by the dungeon master’s continuing use of her title, he let the matter pass. ‘Here, My Lord,’ he said, opening the iron door with a key from the ring on his belt. ‘Shall I come and unchain her?’
‘Not yet. I would see her alone first.’ To gag her before she was moved lest she speak of the king’s child growing within Ghett and be overheard.
This was his first visit since her incarceration a week ago. During that time Kert had found little sleep, stamping his authority over the Royal Guard and dealing with the appearance of a hundred filthy Northmen intent on laying siege to the Volcastle, Northmen who bore souvenirs of Ellega Verdan’s death. Yet he knew Lae would have been kept alive as ordered. The dungeon master, however, would show no kindness, and it was that lack of kindness which was most evident when Kert entered the cell.
Despite the chill of the dungeons, Lae was curled naked on the straw in the corner of her cell, her iron ankl
e chain crusted with blood and the flesh beneath it swollen and red. Infected?
‘Be’uccdha,’ he called, slamming the metal door shut behind himself with a resounding clang. She stirred not at all, and yet rather than irritation, Kert’s first reaction to this sight was trepidation that she had succumbed to her exhaustion. She was of no use to him dead. ‘Awaken traitor,’ he said and stepped over to her, looking down on her pitiful form — thin limbs and matted hair, small breasts and no belly to speak of, rather a concave where a hearty meal should have rested. ‘Has she not eaten?’ he called to the dungeon master. Did she fast merely to provoke his temper?
‘She has not woken these past two days, My Lord,’ the dungeon master called back.
Kert stepped back to the door and flung it open. ‘Unclasp her ankle,’ he commanded and the dungeon master hurried to obey. When she was freed of the rusty manacle Kert covered her in his cloak and lifted her, startled momentarily by how little she weighed compared to the plump proportions of her nemesis Ghett.
A plan had come to him, and to execute it he needed Lae. So instead of leaving her to the ending all Be’uccdha deserved, he carried her from the dungeons to a guest suite beside Ghett’s, gathering maids on his way to attend to her wounds and guards to stand at her door.
‘She must not die,’ he told the senior lady’s maid who took his instruction, her narrow head bowed and eyes downcast. Lesser maids hovered in the shadows as he dropped Lae onto the large soft bed and reclaimed his cloak. Her thin form rolled at the action and then lay still, as though already dead. Kert frowned and stepped forward, placing a hand above her mouth which hung slackly open, faint breaths tickled his fingertips and he tried to reassure himself that she would survive. For the moment at least, he needed her to. Later she would die at his leisure.
He turned to the maid. ‘What is your name?’ he demanded.
‘Firde, My Lord,’ she replied quickly. Old enough to be Lae’s mother, she appeared to be of Verdan stock, tall, angular and with long capable hands.
‘Report to me this evening on her condition, Firde,’ he instructed. ‘She must speak to no one. If she babbles, gag her.’
‘I will do as you ask. My Lord,’ Firde replied, ‘and report to you this evening. At your map room?’ she inquired obediently, then lowered her voice. ‘Or will My Lord be visiting our Lady of Be’uccdha here?’
A silence settled over the room as Kert turned back to face the maid. Her implication was obvious, yet even as anger surged over him, Kert realised he could use this insinuation to his advantage, to further his plan. ‘I do not need to visit the traitor any night,’ he said softly, ‘for she already carries my child. If that were not so, do you think I would keep her alive when her father killed our king?’
The maid swallowed loudly. ‘My Lord, no,’ she replied, gazing at him in shock. If she had meant to inflate her importance in the kitchens with a breath of gossip, she now had a feast of scandal that would feed every loose ear in the castle.
‘When the child is born, this Be’uccdha traitor shall die. Until then she must remain in good health.’
Firde nodded at this yet appeared unable to speak.
Kert’s gaze swept the maids behind her. ‘Naturally, I do not wish these matters discussed in the hallways among servants.’
They all bowed quickly and mumbled, ‘My Lord, yes,’ keeping their heads lowered. Kert left the room, pleased with the knowledge that news of his impending fatherhood would be spread across the Volcastle quicker than a sped arrow.
Both Ghett and Lae would be hidden from view, and when Ghett’s babe was born he would claim the child as his own. Ghett’s corpse would disappear and Lae’s would be shown to prove she had died in childbirth.
These plans pleased him greatly, yet as he let himself out of Lae’s room and spoke to the guards he had placed at the door, he noticed that further down the hall the guards at Ghett’s door stood with their ears pressed to the panel. They quickly straightened at his approach and he took the key from the senior of the pair and dismissed them, telling them to wait outside his chambers until he had time to reprimand them. With that, he swung open the door and entered without bothering to announce his presence.
Ghett stilled on the bed and looked up. ‘My Lord Sh’hale,’ she said softly, surprise in her voice but no anger at his intrusion. ‘Would you join us?’
Kert stepped closer to the bed, looked down at the buxom kitchen maid who lay trembling in Ghett’s arms, fearful of his wrath. Was this the sound that had so enthralled the guards, the women’s moans of pleasure? He had told Ghett she would have to pleasure herself as he would allow her no bedmates while Mihale’s child grew within her. Obviously she considered the maid to be safe, but Kert did not. Soon Ghett’s belly would grow, and in this state of undress that would be easily noted. He would now have to ensure that her meals were delivered without anyone seeing her, much less being lured into her bed.
‘Then mayhap you will watch us?’ Ghett said, and with a last sloe-eyed glance she turned back to her lover to stroke her full breasts with dark fingertips that barely brushed her pale skin. ‘She has not been touched by a man, this one,’ Ghett said. The kitchen server, now stiff with fear, appeared close to twenty summers and Kert owned himself surprised that she was yet a virgin. ‘I have spoilt her,’ Ghett added, lowering her lips to brush against the girl’s. ‘She will not take to a man’s rough hands after mine have pleasured her.’
‘For the last time.’ Kert’s nod towards the door propelled the maid into action. She slid out of Ghett’s embrace and paused only to snatch up her clothes on the way to the door, hastily donning her tunic before slipping out.
Ghett hid her frustration well. ‘I hope you are offering to replace her in my bed,’ she said and patted the mattress beside her, her other hand fondling her own breast, the many rings on her fingers glinting in the candlelight as she covered and uncovered the dark brown nipple.
‘We are under siege. The Volcastle is surrounded.’ Kert told her, and was rewarded by her complete and immediate attention.
‘Does The Dark come to —’
‘Northmen.’
Ghett, who had straightened in alarm now sank back against her pillows, smiling. ‘Then we are saved,’ she said. ‘For while the castle is surrounded by Northmen, The Dark may not enter.’
Kert nodded. ‘The advantage is ours,’ he said.
‘Yet what of the other Be’uccdha?’ Ghett asked. ‘How fares our young lady?’
‘She will not harm you or the future king,’ Kert said.
Ghett gazed at him, as though to see into his mind. ‘I fear nothing from the daughter,’ she said, ‘and believe her to be an ally. Yet you would project your hatred of the father onto her and lose that which may be of use to us.’
Kert took a step closer to the bed. ‘I trust neither of you,’ he assured Ghett. ‘Were you not the vessel for our new king, you would have lain in the dungeon beside her.’
‘This is the way you control the women in your life?’ she asked. ‘Punish and confine them if they argue with you. Pity help your wife when you choose one.’ She reached across to the bowl on the low side table and plucked off a handful of nectar balls, popping one past her lips. She munched as she waited for his reaction.
‘I treat those of Be’uccdha with the disdain they deserve.’
She pressed another nectar ball against her lips, making much show of licking and sucking it before it was devoured. Then she smiled and said, ‘I know you plan to kill me when my son is born.’
It was a reasonable assumption and little point in denying it. ‘Then best you enjoy your remaining time.’
Ghett’s expression altered slightly, as though she had expected him to assure her otherwise. They gazed at each other a moment longer before she conjured the confident smile he had hitherto thought natural, one hand twisting in a curl at her cheek. ‘Come,’ she said, and again patted the mattress at her side. ‘Take what I have to offer in the time I am here.’
>
He shook his head, knowing he would pity Ghett if she were not so dangerous. ‘I take my pleasure elsewhere,’ he said, and left her perfumed boudoir, pausing only to lock her door securely before striding down the corridor. Once Lae had recuperated he would isolate her as well. If he must bring them their meals himself he would do so to ensure that no one discovered it was Ghett and not Lae who bore the child he would claim as his own.
There were other matters to attend to, however, and Kert now made for the wide battlements where he found the Volcastle Guard Captain and a lieutenant looking down at the Northmen in the forest below.
‘Are there more?’ he asked when he reached their side.
‘My Lord, no,’ the Guard Captain replied, turning to face him. ‘Still only a hundred, yet they block our exit from the Volcastle.’
Kert nodded, satisfied. ‘We need no exit,’ he said. ‘Let them waste themselves railing against the impenetrable stone of these high walls. We shall overcome. We are well placed within the Volcastle, with all our necessities to hand.’
‘Indeed,’ the lieutenant agreed. ‘We are provisioned to withstand the Northmen in safety and comfort. I would not be a Plainsman or a Raider in these times,’ he added with a half-smile.
Kert nodded again. Those who were unprotected by castle walls would be slaughtered as a matter of course. The only-pattern in a Northman attack was total annihilation. Within the Volcastle precincts they would be safe, but only as long as they worked together to repel their attackers.
The silence between them grew awkward until at last the Guard Captain spoke again. ‘My Lord Sh’hale it is late. Will you retire?’
‘Indeed,’ Kert said, relieved. ‘On the morrow we will speak of that which we may do to thwart the Northmen.’
Daughter of the Dark: Shadow Through Time 2 Page 14
