Fortress of Mist

by Sigmund Brouwer

  “I catch doubt of his innocence even in your voice, child.”

  Katherine sighed. “Slight doubts only. How could our enemies be capable of calling bats to hurl themselves down from the sky?”

  “It is a question not easily answered,” Hawkwood agreed. “Let me think.”

  Katherine knew better than to speak again.

  He then sat cross-legged and arranged his mantle over him to fend off the cold night air. He seemed to slip into a trance.

  Katherine waited. And knew too well how long that wait might be. She waited as the cold seeped into her. She waited as her tired legs grew to feel soreness even more. She waited in silence broken only by distant muttering of owls and the light skipping of mice across leaves.

  Not until the gray fingers of false dawn reached into the valley did Hawkwood stir.

  When he finally spoke, it was gentle.

  “Close your eyes,” he said to Katherine. “Do you recall if you saw smoke as the creatures howled in Magnus?”

  She did as instructed. Eyes closed lightly, at first she saw only the frantic movement of bats against the morning sky. Then, dimly, something snagged in her memory because it did not belong against that sky.

  “Yes,” she said with triumph. “Smoke from the bell tower of the church!”

  Hawkwood let out held breath. “And you say you felt as if you should shake your head free from a grip you couldn’t explain.”

  Katherine nodded. In the cold dawn, slight wisps rose white from her mouth with the rise and fall of her chest. Even in summer, the high moors and valleys could not escape chill.

  Did she imagine that a smile appeared in the shadows of his cowl?

  “I believe I understand their methods. I would have done the same were I them. As would Merlin himself.” Hawkwood spoke slowly. “And I believe there is a way that Merlin would have countered those actions. Return to Magnus, but this time, visit Thomas so you can become close to him.”

  “Is he to see my face?”

  “Not yet. Let’s first wait to see if he can defeat the Earl of York. We’ll both return to Magnus. We have to get inside before the siege begins. Me as the herbalist he already knows, and you as the Katherine he remembers. You do have your mask?”

  She held out a small travel bag as an answer.

  With practiced movements, she flipped her hair upward and pushed the long tail into a flat bundle against her head and held it there as she wrapped the cloth around her jaws, then her nose and eyes and forehead.

  When she finished, only a large black hole for her mouth and two dark narrow slits for her eyes showed any degree of humanity. It was time for Katherine, the scarred freak and friend of Thomas, to return to Magnus.

  From the ramparts of the castle, Thomas and Robert watched the faraway blur of banners and horses as the front of the army approached. The mass of men and beasts was plain to see as it wound its way through the valley.

  The sounds of that army drifted upward to them. Grunting beasts. The slap of leather against ground as men marched in unison. And the rise of voices below Thomas and Robert as villagers heard of the army’s progress.

  “Anywhere else,” Robert said, “and I would advise immediate surrender. But there’s a reason Magnus has survived all through the centuries.”

  “I know I can depend on the castle walls and the moat,” Thomas said. “But Magnus will not stand unless the soldiers fight for me and the villagers support the soldiers.”

  Robert put a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “But you are well trusted, m’lord. While there are whispers of dissent among the people, as to be expected, the soldiers still are loyal to you.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  Robert opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.

  Thomas smiled. “Out with it.”

  “There has been talk, however, and much speculation.”

  “Yes?” Thomas asked.

  “Nobody knows why the earl has declared war. They wonder how you might have offended him to drive him to battle.”

  Thomas lost his smile. “That is something I wish I knew.”

  They watched in silence for long minutes.

  When the army reached the narrow bridge of land that connected the island fortress to the land around the lake, one man, on foot, detached himself from the front of the army.

  Thomas watched briefly, then spoke more to himself than to Robert as the man, alone, walked slowly toward the castle.

  “He holds paper rolled and sealed. I have little faith the message is a greeting of friendship.”

  Katherine woke in the gutter to hands reaching roughly within her blanket. Sour breath, heavy garlic, and the odor of unwashed skin pressed down.

  Katherine almost screamed in rage, then remembered her role—burned and scarred too horribly to deserve any form of kindness.

  Her voice became a low begging moan instead.

  “Awake? Bad luck for you!” From the darkness, a broad hand loomed to block out the light of the stars, and the blow that followed shot white flashes through her closed eyes. Her left cheek swelled immediately tight beneath the bandages.

  Katherine bit back a yelp of pain and resigned herself to being robbed of what little she owned.

  Another voice interrupted the figure above her.

  “My good man,” it called cheerfully from just down the street, “you show kindness to assist strangers during this dangerous time of night. Here, now, let me help you get this poor woman from the gutters.”

  “Eh?”

  The voice from behind its candle moved closer. “And probably not a moment too soon. Why, any common gutter thief might have swooped in like a pest-ridden vulture. And then where would this poor woman be without our help?”

  The startled man above Katherine swore under his breath, then fled.

  She drew herself upright into a sitting position and hugged her knees. Through the narrow slits of the constricting bandages, it was difficult to see her rescuer as he approached. It was easy, however, to hear his warm chuckle.

  “Like a rat scurrying away from a torch. And without a shred of good humor.”

  The candle flared and moved downward with the man’s slow, stooping motion. Katherine, still wrapped and hidden in a thin blanket, flinched at his touch.

  “Come, my child,” the voice. “I am one of several town guards, under hire to the lord of Magnus himself. I mean you no harm. I will bring you to the church where you will be fed and kept warm.”

  “I have no money,” Katherine replied. “Surely that must be obvious at my choice of accommodation.”

  Another warm chuckle. “You are a stranger here.”

  “No, I—”

  “Otherwise, you would know the lord of Magnus provides a generous allowance to the church for the purpose of sheltering those in need who are willing to work in exchange for the shelter.”

  His hand found her elbow and guided her to her feet.

  She could not see his face behind the candle. But she heard his gasp as he pushed aside the blanket that covered her face.

  That familiar sound tore at her heart. It reminded her again of the nightmare of living the life of a freak. Freedom from that life—traveling with the old man and watching the joy in Thomas’s eyes as he drank in the youth and beauty of her uncovered face—had been so precious after years imprisoned beneath the filthy bandages. And for a moment, she could not sponge away bitterness inside.

  “Horror?” she mocked his gasp. “You were expecting an angel, perhaps?”

  Long silence. Then words she would never forget. “Not horror, my child. Surprised relief. Thomas of Magnus has spoken to many, and often, of his friend Katherine. It will give him great joy to see you.”

  Katherine woke again to the touch of hands. These ones, however, were gentle, and plucked at the bandages on her face.

  “No!” Her terror was real—not acted, as so much of her life beneath bandages had been.

  The servant woman misunderstood the reason
for that terror.

  “Shh, my child. Thomas has instructed you be bathed and given fresh wraps and new clothing.”

  “No!” Katherine clutched the servant woman’s wrists. “My face!”

  “Hush, little one. You shall not be mocked in the lord’s home.”

  Katherine did not have time to appreciate the irony—after a lifetime of abuse, kindness itself finally threatened the secrecy of her disguise. Should those of the darkness discover she had been among them all these years …

  Katherine pushed herself into an upright position. “Please. Lead me to the bath. Leave the fresh wrap nearby. But I beg of you, grant me the solace of privacy. To inflict my face upon others …”

  “Of course,” the servant woman said softly.

  Katherine let strong, calloused hands guide her from the warmth of the bed. Before she could barely notice the coldness of the floor, the servant woman stooped and fitted on her feet slippers of sheepskin.

  As Katherine relaxed and turned to accept help into the offered robe, she smothered a cry of delighted surprise. The previous night had been too dark for her to see her new sleeping quarters in the castle. What she saw explained why sleep had been so sound.

  Her bed was huge, and canopied with veils of netting. Her mattress of straw—what luxury!—hung from the canopy on rope suspenders. The mattress was covered with linen sheets, and blankets of wool and fur. Feather-stuffed pillows too!

  Such softness of sleep. Such softness of the robe against her skin. Katherine suddenly became uncomfortably aware of her filth and how she did not belong in a room like this. Her arms and legs were smeared with grease and dirt. The pile of clothes beside her was little more than torn rags. And, in the cool freshness of the room, she suddenly became aware of the stink of the streets upon her body.

  She faltered slightly.

  The servant woman ignored that.

  “Come, m’lady,” the woman said. “Your bath awaits. And you shall greet Thomas of Magnus like a queen.”

  He appears so serious, Katherine thought. Already, the weight of his power bends him.

  So she began with an awkward bow. As her heart thudded, she wondered in anguish, knowing she could never ask. Does he feel for me the way I do for him? Or did my wishful imagination deceive me during those few moments he stared at me beneath the moonlight?

  Katherine forced herself to remember she was beneath bandages—not a midnight messenger—and began to speak as she finished her curtsy. “You overwhelm me with these gifts of …”

  Thomas frowned and shook his head slightly.

  Katherine stopped.

  Thomas stared straight ahead, every inch of his seated body the ruler of Magnus. Behind Katherine, each side of the huge double wooden door slowly swung closed under the guidance of the sentries just outside the room.

  The doors thudded shut.

  Thomas let out a great sigh.

  “They seem to prefer it when I am solemn,” he said with a slight smile. “And with the Earl of York determined to take Magnus, it is not difficult to appear that way. I’m glad, however, to see you.”

  Thomas stepped down lightly.

  “Katherine, you’ve returned.” He knelt, took one of her hands, and kissed the back of it. He stood and placed both his hands on her shoulders. “I’ve missed our conversations.”

  Katherine smiled beneath her bandages. He goes from formidable man to a sweet boyishness in such a short time. Not bragging about the Valley of Surrender. Not boasting of his new wealth. But spending effort setting me—a person he believes to be a freak—at ease. It would not be difficult to remain in love with such a person.

  She, of course, kept those thoughts to herself. Instead, she replied, “Thank you, m’lord.”

  “M’lord! Not ‘Thomas’? After you rescued me from the dungeon? After you made it possible to conquer the walls of Magnus? You gravely disappoint me with such an insult.”

  Grave disappointment, however, did not show on his face. Only warmth.

  Would that I could tear these bandages from my face, Katherine thought. Only to watch his eyes and hope he smiles to recognize me from my visit to his tent at the army camp.

  She tried to keep the conversation safe so nothing in her actions might betray her thoughts. So her questions would reflect ignorance. “How fares that rascal Tiny John? Or the knight Sir William?”

  A complex expression crossed Thomas’s face—a mixture of frown and smile. She soon understood why.

  “Tiny John still entertains us all,” Thomas told her as the smile triumphed briefly, then lost to the frown and his eyes darkened. “The knight bade farewell much too soon after Magnus was conquered. There was much about him that cannot be explained.”

  He tried a half smile in her direction. “Much, also, is a mystery to me here in Magnus. I feel there is no one here I can trust.”

  He looked at her strangely. “Even your disappearance the night we conquered Magnus …”

  Katherine bowed her head. “Thomas—”

  “No,” he said as if coming to a quick decision. “I was not seeking an explanation. You, more than anyone, assisted me to this lordship. I am happy that you have returned. Furthermore, urgent matters press upon me.”

  “Oh?”

  “Strange evil generated by an ancient circle of high priests known as Druids. And worse.”

  Thomas stared into space. “As you know,” he said, “when I first arrived in Magnus, the former lord, Richard Mewburn, had me arrested and thrown into the dungeon because of the deaths of three monks. My explanation to you was truth. One was bludgeoned by the other, and the remaining two killed themselves by accidently eating the food meant for me, food they had poisoned to murder me.”

  Katherine nodded.

  Thomas responded to her nod by starting to pace back and forth across the room, brows furrowed, hands clenched behind his back, and royal purple cloak across broad shoulders.

  “After Mewburn fled in defeat,” he continued while pacing, “all in Magnus accepted that the charges of murder had been false, merely an excuse to imprison me and the knight.”

  Katherine nodded again.

  “Yet today,” Thomas said, “I received a message from the Earl of York that he has sworn an oath of justice, that he is determined to overthrow Magnus and imprison me for those same murders. There was enough time during the march to the battle against the Scots for the Earl of York to accuse me of murder. There was enough time then for him to arrest me. Why did he not?”

  “Perhaps because the time is convenient for him now that his son is no longer a hostage in your castle?” Katherine suggested.

  Thomas glanced at her briefly, then shook off a strange expression.

  “There is also that matter,” he said a moment later. “He says he demands revenge for what I did to his son. This on the heels of a message I sent to him, telling him that his son broke honor by fleeing from my castle. It’s as if the earl is determined to find an excuse to take Magnus.”

  Long silence.

  “Had the Earl of York heard of the deaths before the march?” Katherine started.

  “That is what puzzles me. If so, why suddenly decide to act upon them later?” Thomas stopped pacing and stared directly at Katherine.

  “However,” he said, “the monastery of my childhood was obscure, and I as an orphan, more so. Thus, it is easier to think that the Earl of York had not heard of the deaths.”

  Thomas frowned, “How, then, did Mewburn, the former lord of Magnus—here in the isolated moors—know of those deaths soon enough to cast me into the dungeon, while others in power, such as the Earl of York, remained uninformed until much later?”

  “I wish I could answer that for you,” Katherine said.

  Thomas gripped the edge of the stone as he leaned forward. “I am not without hope.” He turned to her. “I am going to be gone for a day. Please don’t worry about my absence.”

  “You’re leaving Magnus? How? It is impossible. We are under siege.”
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  “At night,” he said. “On the water.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Some things,” he said, “I can’t share with anybody.”

  Thomas was on a hillside, miles from Magnus. He had carefully hidden himself in thick brush, where a gap in the branches allowed sunlight.

  He was hot and thirsty, and too often ants crawled up the outside of his clothing and onto his hands, but he dared not sit anywhere else.

  Not with the single book in his lap.

  There were others, wrapped carefully in oiled leather and hidden in a pile of rocks, but he only allowed himself to take one book at a time from the small collection.

  If, somehow, he were caught or trapped, then all he would lose was a single book. Unthinkable enough that he might lose the others in his collection, but totally unfathomable that he would risk his entire library.

  As for whether a man might be murdered to steal a book from him, that, too, was a possibility. It didn’t matter that the thief would more than likely be illiterate; when a book might take a year to be hand copied by a monk, any book was valuable merely for the labor put into it.

  Thomas’s books had far more value, however, for the knowledge contained in each.

  On the hillside, not for the first time did he wish earnestly that he had his entire library to consult. But it had been impossible to travel with them on his journey to conquer Magnus, when his only companions were those who had been condemned to hang before he helped them escape. Physically, to travel with the books would have required a horse and a cart, something that would have drawn too much attention to their escape.

  After becoming lord of Magnus, it had still been too risky to move his library. The appearance of Isabelle had proven that. He was watched—somehow—too closely at Magnus. How could he successfully bring the books in and keep them a secret? And where could he keep the books and trust they would be safe?

  The only alternative had been to make his way back to the cave near the abbey where the books truly were safe, and smuggle the most important ones almost back to Magnus, where he could reach them, like now, in under a day’s travel.