Navarin, Thunder and Shade

by William Stafford

  “My liege,” Smedlock dropped to one knee.

  Knuckles on hips, Argolef surveyed the carnage. “What now?”

  Smedlock straightened. “Now, Majesty, we wait.”

  ***

  They repaired to a tower to overlook the courtyard. At first there was nothing but the fading streaks of sunrise to admire until, after an hour, the building seemed to lurch beneath them. King and wizard alike clung to the masonry as if that would help them should the tower tumble.

  “There, Majesty!” Smedlock pointed over the parapet. “See!”

  Argolef peered over the wall. The dead bodies of the slain wizards were moving but not of their own volition. Small stones bounced around and the weeds waved as the ground shook.

  “It begins!” said Smedlock with melodramatic delight. Argolef gaped in wonder as the flagstones cracked and separated. The courtyard floor dropped into a yawning chasm, swallowing the bodies of Tarkwayne and Pezzackeron, and the citadel shook to an alarming degree.

  “Perhaps we should-” Argolef gestured to an exit but Smedlock waved dismissively.

  “We are as safe as houses up here, my liege.”

  “Houses in an earthquake,” muttered the king, clinging on for dear life.

  Smedlock laughed like a maniac falling down a drain and enjoying the ride. A mighty wind rushed from the gaping hole, a waking giant’s morning breath. Smedlock exulted. Leaves, twigs and rocks were hurled upward in a column of air as the ground beneath Tullen Spee gave up its secrets.

  Argolef stood back with his face averted and the back of his hand to his mouth. What have I done? What have I set in motion? It was a fine time to start questioning oneself. Perhaps one should have thought of that before.

  And then, suddenly, it stopped and silence and stillness reigned. Argolef found the wizard’s filthy finger tugging at his cloak.

  “Majesty,” the wizard grinned, inviting the king to peer over the parapet. “Your army awaits.”

  Twenty-Three

  Having shown Lughor all the important things like the servants’ stairs and the staff privy, Broad left the warrior in the anteroom of the Duke’s private apartment. It was after sundown and the youth was eager to let Shade out of the ring to stretch his shadowy legs.

  “You’ll never guess who’s here,” the lad enthused while Shade spilled from his confinement.

  “Lughor,” the soul-taker said flatly.

  “You guessed!” Broad was dismayed.

  “You forget,” said Shade, “I can still hear what goes on out here when I’m in there. Even when you’re on your tod. Remember that.”

  Broad blushed. “But yeah, Lughor’s here. I got him a job as a relief bodyguard. Well, sort of.”

  “Really?” Shade’s insubstantial nose wrinkled sceptically.

  “Well, not really,” Broad admitted. “But it’s nice to see him again.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes! It’s always good to see a familiar face.”

  “Going to piss on him again, are you?”

  Broad’s blushes redoubled. “No! Well, I hope not. And all right, so we don’t know much about him and he is a bit stand-uppish.”

  “Offish!” Shade corrected.

  “He is a bit offish-uppish,” Broad resumed. Shade marvelled at his denseness. “But I think it’s good to have the big fellow around again. Something’s coming - I can feel it - and we’re going to need him with us.”

  Shade frowned. “What’s coming?”

  “I don’t know; something.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “That may be true but something big is going to happen here. Trust me.”

  “I do,” Shade sighed. “And that’s what makes me an idiot too. Now, come on; there’s an old woman on the south side of town who’s going to kick the bucket tonight and I don’t want to miss her.”

  ***

  This is big! Lughor paced the floor of the anteroom - it only took him three strides before he had to change direction. If I do it now, while he’s through there, splashing about in his bath, I won’t have to unleash the two hundred. Then I could sneak out, the way the kid showed me, down the back stairs and no one would be the wiser. Accidents happen, especially around bathtubs... I just need to go in there and push his stupid head under the water for a moment...

  And if by some chance I am suspected and pursued then I may let the dragoon take over. None shall escape!

  It did not appeal to his warlike nature, all this sneaking around like a thief in the night. There was no honour in it - Hah! When was the last time he had done anything honourable?

  There was no challenge in it; he supposed that was closer to the truth. More than vengeance, Lughor craved glory.

  He craved redemption.

  Fat bloody chance. May as well just drown the bugger like an unwanted kitten and then piss off.

  He was roused from his embittered contemplations by knocking at the outer door. A man stepped in; Lughor drew his dagger and himself up to his full height. He was struck by the irony of protecting the Duke against all comers in order to reserve the honour of killing the bastard for himself. There was that word again: honour.

  “I said,” the man repeated, his hands in the air to show he was unarmed, “His Grace will like to hear what I have discovered.”

  “Oh?” said Lughor. “Why is that? Who the bloody hell are you?”

  The smaller man stood his ground. He lowered his hands and hooked them behind the lapels of his liveried weskit. “I am Frent. I am the master of fireworks.”

  The announcement cut no ice with the warrior. “His Grace is in his bath,” he sniffed. “He gave strict instructions not to be disturbed.”

  “But-”

  “So whatever it is can wait.”

  “But-”

  “Is there a problem?”

  A woman stood in the doorway. Lughor’s jaw dropped like a broken drawbridge when he saw her and the bones in his legs seemed to have been replaced by jelly. She slinked into the anteroom in a tightfitting dress of scarlet satin, her hair bouncing in long, black tresses. She addressed the fireworks master, apparently ignoring the giant.

  “Master Frent,” she smiled. “What has got your breeches in a bunch this time?”

  “I - I - I think I should tell the Duke.”

  The woman pouted as though insulted. “I am the Duke’s wife. My ears are his ears; his concerns my own. Come now, you can tell me.”

  She steered him out into the corridor and pulled the door shut. “Now, what is it?”

  Frent fumbled with a ledger. “It’s all here, my lady.”

  “What is?” She smiled and touched his hand. Frent reacted as though stung by nettles.

  “Storage records. Supplies. I sign them in and I sign them out.”

  “How thrilling.”

  “And it’s like this, you see: something has gone missing.”

  “What?”

  “It’s been going on for a twelvemonth as far as I can see.”

  “What, man?”

  “Here, see!” His finger traced a line across several columns of closely-written entries. “Gunpowder! Whole barrels of it! Gone!”

  “Gone powder!” Carith Drombo laughed - a hollow sound.

  “So you see it is imperative I inform His Grace at once.”

  He made to return to the anteroom but her voice stayed him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?”

  Frent frowned. “My lady...”

  “Think about it,” she purred. “His Grace will want to know why it has taken you a twelvemonth to bring this serious matter to light. He could be forgiven for believing you to be an incompetent and unworthy of your exalted position...”

  Frent gaped. “My lady! I have never-” His in
dignation would not permit him to complete the sentence.

  “Leave it with me,” she prised the ledger from his fingers and whipped it behind her back. “I will investigate and clear up this discrepancy and His Grace need never be troubled.”

  The fireworks master’s anger dissolved into relief and gratitude. “My lady, I-”

  “Run along,” she shooed him away. He scurried along the corridor like a squirrel freed from a snare. Carith returned to the Duke’s anteroom and almost walked into a wall of man-muscle.

  “Out of my way, dolt!” she snapped. She gasped as her wrists were seized by huge hands. Lughor lowered his face to hers.

  “Callie!” he croaked, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s me!”

  Carith Drombo had never been more surprised in all her long life.

  ***

  “You have changed,” she said. “Beefed up.”

  “You haven’t,” he marvelled.

  They were walking through the cloistered gardens, out of earshot of the attendant guards. “Your clothes are of finer quality but you haven’t aged a day.”

  “Oh, you!” she laughed dismissively and brought the focus back to him. “It looks good on you. You must be very strong.”

  “Oh, you have no idea,” he muttered but she heard it.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m a changed man, Callie. That night in the farmhouse - I am sorry if you do not wish to talk about it.”

  “That was a long time ago,” she shrugged, although to her it was the blink of an eye.

  “When I woke up, you were gone and everyone - my entire dragoon - was dead. Torn to pieces. I looked for you.”

  “Why? So you could finish what they failed to accomplish?”

  “What? No! I would never - What became of you? I thought you were dead too.”

  Carith Drombo made a nonchalant, expansive gesture but her mind was racing like an overwound clock. She had never imagined she would have to explain herself and especially not to Lughor, son of Lug.

  “Providence sent an angel to my rescue,” she said.

  “A what?”

  “Well, some passing sorceress must have heard my cries. She raised up some kind of storm to save me from those rapists. I wonder that you were spared.”

  “I wasn’t,” said Lughor bitterly. “Your sorceress,” he sounded sceptical, “left a terrible curse upon me and countless people have died because of it.” He looked at his hands as though seeing them for the first time. “Those men - their strength, their brutality - is within me and I cannot always control it. But there is no justice. Not for me. All who obstruct me end up the same way. Why would she do this to me?”

  “Who?”

  “Your passing sorceress.”

  “Perhaps she had a higher purpose. Perhaps there is some good to be done that will take the strength of two hundred men.”

  “No,” he said. “I think it is to punish me for not saving you.”

  And there he was, the uncertain young man again and Carith recalled she had felt something for him once. She touched his arm. “What brings you to the palace?”

  “I work for your husband now - oh, are you happy at last, Callie? Does he treat you well? Tell me if he does not and I shall - I shall - Damn it, I can conceal nothing from you. I came here with the intention of murdering the Duke but I will not go through with it if it should cause you a second of distress.”

  She stared at him. “Why would you possibly want to murder my husband?”

  “I - hardly know anymore. I had some misguided notion that he was to blame, being the figurehead of the army - it sounds stupid now. And it does not matter, now that we are together again! Not that I am suggesting - oh, stars, no! But I should be content to serve you, my lady, in any way I can. And if you were to look on me as a friend, then I could not hope for more.”

  She looked him up and down. “I see that I have misjudged you. All this time I believed you were party to - what those men tried to do to me. I should have realised you would never - I should have interceded - with the sorceress, I mean - and told her you would never-”

  She broke off and hung her head.

  Lughor marvelled at the untouched beauty of her. “Some kind of dye, I suppose.”

  “What?” she was puzzled.

  “Your hair. There is not a strand of grey.”

  She laughed and tossed her tresses. “Now, please don’t ask me to divulge my beauty secrets for then I should have to kill you.”

  He laughed too, enchanted by her dark eyes all over again as if the decades that parted them had never taken place - which was easy to believe, given how unchanged she was, her loveliness undiminished.

  They walked on, not quite arm in arm but almost.

  “Hang on,” he came to a halt. “Don’t you mean you’d get a passing sorceress to kill me?”

  “Oh, yes! Of course!”

  They took another turn of the garden, the warrior in a stupor of renewed infatuation and the witch wondering if there were ways to capitalise on this unexpected reunion.

  ***

  “I’m sure he’s not a bad man. Not really.” Carith, spending Lughor’s off-hours walking with him, was keen to sow poisonous seeds in his mind. “It’s probably just the way he was brought up. You know, to see women as inferior. I try not to let it hurt my feelings; it’s just his manner, I keep telling myself that.”

  Lughor grunted. “He doesn’t deserve you. If I-”

  He broke off, lest he say too much. He and Callie could never be together while the Duke lived... While the Duke lived...

  She patted his hand, as though reading his turbulent thoughts. A little more of this and the big ox would be completely subjugated to her will. It worked in her favour to have him kill her husband. No fingers of suspicion would be pointed in her direction and, if he was caught either he would let loose his two hundred men and effect his escape, or he would be executed for the crime. It was win-win. Carith Drombo knew as well as she knew her own name that lovesick Lughor would never implicate her.

  Satisfied that he was truly on side, she turned her attention to the more pressing matter of the renewal. It must take place that evening, the night before her anniversary. The moon would be full. It would be a shame to lose Milassa; the girl had been a discreet and loyal servant since her recruitment but Carith had Gonda now, waiting in the wings. Tonight the fork would see a lot of work: it would play its part in the ritual and it would tear out the tongue of that naïve goose girl-

  Hang about...

  Carith had an idea. Perhaps she would not have to ensure Gonda’s silence in a physical way. Perhaps her loyalty and discretion could be ascertained through the little boy. She seemed inordinately fond of the child even though he was no fruit of her womb. Do people do that, she wondered? Actually care about others when there is nothing to be gained in return?

  The world is peopled by fools.

  The girl was in her room, sitting on the bed with the boy on her lap. She was singing sweetly to him - he seemed to be taking no notice at all but looked calm enough so perhaps that was the point. Tongueless, the girl would be as mute as one of her geese - or am I thinking about swans? Whatever. There would be no more singing and that would be a pity. Carith resolved to try coercion as her preferred technique.

  “Just lovely, my dear,” she beamed at the girl. “But I think Liggy needs a nap now; there is something I should like you to do.”

  “It’s Tiggy,” mumbled Gonda. She carried the boy to his cot. He offered no resistance; her song had truly worked wonders. “What can I do for you, Mistress?”

  Carith jerked her head toward the door. “It’s a bit tricky,” she whispered. “I must first know that I may trust you unreservedly.”

  “As sure as eggs,” smiled Gonda, disingenuously.r />
  Carith scowled. “Why do you say that? Why do you bring eggs into it?”

  “It’s just a saying. Like ‘giddy as a goose’.”

  Carith sighed. Without a tongue there would be no more of these alarming, if hackneyed, sayings...

  “Accompany me to my quarters,” she led the way out. “I’ll send Lughor in to keep an eye on Ziggy.”

  “Tiggy!”

  “They know each other, do they not?”

  “Sort of. They’ve met - if that’s what you mean.”

  “Good. Although I doubt the big man will be able to sing as sweetly as you, should the need arise.”

  “No.”

  Gonda followed the grand lady into her private apartments, through the parlour and into the bedroom. Here, Carith pulled aside a heavy drape to reveal a hidden door. She looked the goose girl in the eye.

  “Once more: I may trust you?”

  “Wholeheartedly,” said Gonda. “Cut my tongue out if I breathe a word.”

  Carith marvelled at her. “What a curious thing to say!”

  “Blame my dad, Miss. He taught me all manner of nonsense.” A wave of sadness washed over the girl’s pretty face. “I miss him something rotten, Miss.”

  Something rotten! There was no doubt that was what Glenward had become. Carith turned away from the girl and opened the door, revealing a stone staircase that spiralled down and down to the very depths of the cellars and beyond.

  “Come,” Carith commanded. “And mind your step; it can be rather slippery.”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  Down and down, she followed. The air became chilly and dank. The sound of dripping water brought to mind the idea of a cave or - what was that place? That ruined citadel in the middle of the wood?