by E. V. Greig
“What a truly pious man!”
Misericord turned to face the speaker. His captors had forced him to learn the Anyosian language. They tortured my tongue until it took to theirs.
The elderly Anyosian man smiled. “Forgive me, sir, but it is a rare wonder indeed to see such a demonstration of faith in these dark times! To think, you have scarred yourself thusly in the image of our beloved Lord Anyo! Truly, such devotion is a balm to my old soul! May Anyo bless you and keep you, sir!”
“I serve the Lady. Our Gods...!”
“Our God’s will is incredibly important to us, of course it is, that’s why we’re on a pilgrimage, isn’t it Misericord?” Naomi smiled and curtsied as she darted back to join him. “Thank you for your kind words, goodly sir! I wonder though – might you be able to direct us to a place of shelter? My pious companion has been cruelly treated by some wicked folk, and is in need of rest and clean clothing.”
“One such as he has no need to hide his body from the light of our Lord Anyo.” The old man bowed stiffly. “He shares the glorious scars of our Lord Himself! Ah, but where are my manners? Please – I am Father Olwyn: the abbot of the local monastery. Allow me to grant both of you shelter within our walls. It is a very fine thing that you are doing: a very fine thing indeed.” He beckoned to them and shuffled off, smiling happily.
Naomi nodded to Misericord and followed their new host. “Thank you for your hospitality, Father Olwyn. I am Naomi Du’Valle, and this noble servant is named Misericord.”
A decidedly dubious decision...do we dare to deceive this devout individual?
Father Olwyn led them to a tall iron gate, guarded by two golden armoured cavalrymen mounted upon pale chestnut coloured horses with neatly pulled flaxen tails and golden barding. The two knights saluted. “Welcome back, Father Olwyn; we were about to seek you!”
“Ah, Sir Palos, Sir Barnan: these two folk are pilgrims, and require sanctuary.”
“They shall be safe here, Father Olwyn. You are come just in time: for lo! The great lantern of our beloved Lord Anyo is lowering in the west!”
“Indeed, Sir Palos,” Father Olwyn agreed. “Night is gathering in swiftly. All too soon, the lantern of the wicked one shall light instead! And then all manner of evil creatures shall rouse from their lairs to trouble decent folk.” The old priest sighed and beckoned to his guests. “Come, come now, my children! There is nothing for you to fear whilst you are within these walls, I promise you.”
Naomi raised an eyebrow. Strange: the restless dead that we have faced so far have not seemed troubled by the sun! But then again, when are they ever, although certainly they do increase in power when it is dark. What other creatures could he mean?
Misericord’s instincts, honed to a fine edge through years of experience, were all but screaming at him not to trust this man. “My Lady,” he murmured softly, “we ought not to accept this offer.”
“We’ve no choice,” she breathed, her voice the echo of a moth’s wing. “Keep close to my side.”
“Does something trouble you, my children?”
“Oh no, Father Olwyn,” Naomi simpered. “We were simply thinking aloud upon matters of prayer.”
The old man beamed again, and patted her hand. “Such piety,” he crooned, “and in one so very young too! Two pure and innocent souls: guided to safety by the will of our Lord Anyo - walking in His light!”
∞∞∞
“How long should it take us to reach Anyosia?” Elharan checked the girth on his mule.
Luath frowned. “No more than a week, provided that we do not meet with too much trouble along the way. King Ravin’s palace is in the capitol city of Anyos and that is on the eastern coast. It will take us at least a month to cross Anyosia and reach there.”
“Too bad Lord Von Rosenhof is still away.” Gyrfalcon shook his head. “He could get there in under a day on that griffin of his! Maybe we would be as well to send a messenger after him.”
“Aye, that’s not a bad idea,” Elharan nodded. “Hey now – look who’s back!”
Spellsnitcher sprang down from the battlements and prowled to where they stood, a sheet of parchment crushed in his long hand. “Mine cousin was already removed from that carriage! This is all that remained – thou shalt read it to me now!”
Luath took the letter and studied it carefully. “It is as I had feared: this communication is indeed a ransom, and from King Ravin’s own hand, by the look of it!”
To the Lady Naomi Du’Valle of Briersburge,
I have captured the one that you call Misericord. He was silent at first, but I have taught him to sing very prettily indeed. He has told me much of your beauty and of your intelligence. I must demand that you make your way to my court forthwith so that I might see you for myself. Come alone – I have sent my personal coach. It is outside your main gate. Tell no one of where it is that you are going or I shall know. Any attempt at disobedience shall result in my returning Misericord to you in a series of small, tortured pieces across the next decade or so.
Your diligent host,
King Ravin.
Spellsnitcher growled. “He shalt pay most dearly for this!”
Elharan held up a hand. “Heideir may have hit upon the best solution. Spellsnitcher – how long would it take for you to locate the Lord Von Rosenhof?”
“A matter of days at most, why dost thou ask?”
“Because he can reach the capitol city faster than any of us, and I reckon that can only be a good thing.”
∞∞∞
Naomi paced about the tiny pilgrim’s cell. Misericord was housed elsewhere: in the men’s quarter of the monastery. She had not seen him since they ate supper together. At least he now had something to wear, although these followers of Anyo seemed to regard his scars as being marks of extreme religious fervour. It’s an odd sort of a cult, really! I hope they shan’t attempt to indoctrinate either of us. Things are complicated enough already.
There was a knock at the door of her cell. Naomi sprang instinctively into the rafters, drawing her dagger. “Child, are you yet awake?”
“What?” She feigned sleepiness. “Is that you, Father Olwyn?”
“Yes, my child. I have come to pray with you. Might I enter?”
“Forgive me, Father Olwyn, but I am not decent. You find me sleeping.”
“That is well, my child. I shall wait here until you are dressed.”
“Just a moment please.” Naomi dropped lightly back to the floor and hid her blade once more. Turning back the blankets as if she had been asleep, she wrinkled the sheet with her foot whilst unsettling her hair with her hands. At last, she opened the door: blinking sleepily at the abbot.
His staff came down firmly upon her right shoulder and shattered her collarbone. She screamed and staggered backwards, only for a second blow to cave in her ribs. As Naomi gasped and doubled over, the abbot swung again. This time he broke her left hip. “No true worshipper of Anyo would ever agree to pray during the dark hours, heretic! You have dared to lie to the Church: you shall be punished most severely for your wickedness!”
Naomi snarled and went for her dagger with her left hand. “I don’t think so!”
Father Olwyn brought his staff down upon her left wrist. It shattered beneath the force of the blow and Naomi screamed again. “It is time to bring you into the Light of Anyo, my child!”
Alright then, Misericord...any time now please...?
The abbot struck her hard across both shins this time. She heard and felt the bones snap. By the time that he swung at her knees, Naomi was losing consciousness from the pain.
Misericord...where are you...?
The staff came down again and cracked her sternum.
Misericord...?
This time her face took the blow. Naomi realised dully that the enraged clergyman had broken her nose and shattered her left cheekbone. She couldn’t move.
He’s going to beat me to death...what happens when I come back to life, I wonder?
“Fath
er Olwyn! What are you doing?” Sir Palos had heard screaming from the women’s quarter and rushed to investigate. The scarred pilgrim was close at his heels: now dressed in a simple linen robe and sandals. “Father Olwyn, stop!”
“My Lady, what wicked wounds has this wanton wretch wrought upon you?” Misericord darted past the abbot and shielded Naomi’s broken body from any further fury.
Sir Palos was dragging Father Olwyn away. “Abbot, please! You are in the grip of the battle madness again!”
“She agreed to pray at night!” Spittle flew from the old priest’s lips. “At night!”
“Father Olwyn, the Church made that legal twenty years ago as our Lord Anyo’s sleep is believed to be soothed by such late prayers, remember?”
“I – we did? Of course we did!” The clergyman smiled indulgently at that. “Ah, it is good to witness such piety!”
“Forgive me please: I must get him back to the infirmary now. He keeps escaping and going for walks. That’s what he was doing out of the monastery earlier today, I’m afraid. Did no one warn either of you?”
“Remove that regrettable old rascal from my reach,” Misericord answered him quietly. He cradled Naomi in his arms and carefully smoothed her hair. “I am here, my Lady.”
She whimpered softly: unable to manage speech yet. He decided to distract her during her duress.
“Bide sweet bird upon thy bough;
Ne’er the nighthawks spy thee now.
For neatly buried is thy nest:
Deep within the deep woods. Rest.”
Her eyelids drooped shut and she sighed. Misericord thought that she appeared happier. “My mother murmured that melody to me, when I was but a babe in arms, my Lady.”
He has an excellent singing voice...why didn’t I know that about him? That was unexpected...ouch...this bloody hurts...!
“I shall not stray from your side again, my Lady.”
“Good to know...!” Naomi shuddered.
“You are most maddeningly afflicted by awfulness whenever I do dare to wander.”
∞∞∞
“I came back as soon as I received your message, Captain Elharan.” Ranulf slid down from Snapper’s back and patted the griffin. Spellsnitcher mewled from one of the saddlebags: once again nothing but a small black and white cat with a disgruntled expression. “Has there been any further word?”
“No, milord, and this degenerate holds court a full month’s travel from here!”
“Not by griffin,” the nobleman replied grimly. “I shall travel to his castle forthwith and retrieve my dear niece. Oh, and her retainer too, I suppose. What was the fool thinking: allowing himself to be taken alive by the enemy? I shall have a few sharp words with him!”
“I’d not advise it, milord.”
“Oh? And why’s that, Captain?”
Elharan sighed. “She cares for him: he’s like a lame chick that she fusses over! He does her good. If you reprimand him, she’ll not thank you.”
“Then perhaps my niece ought to remember that – yes, Althanor? What is it?”
“Please, milord. Ruiryk and Uncle Banor went to look for my father weeks ago. When are they coming back? Is my father alive still?”
Ranulf hesitated. The young par’anth stared up at him expectantly. “I cannot be certain of when they intend to return, Althanor. Nor can I be sure whether or not your father lives. I am sorry.”
The boy wailed. “I want my father!”
“There, there: do not – what the deuce? What do you reprobates think you are doing? Come back here with my griffin! Snapper – Snapper, get down here! Bad griffin!”
∞∞∞
Lonrari opened her eyes and realised two things almost at once: she was cold, and this was not her bed. Looking down, she saw an arm wrapped firmly about her waist. “What is the meaning of this?” She struggled to pull free. “Let go of me, you isthylk!”
“Calm down, Wildheart!” Korius sat up and pushed her from him. “You were poisoned with wyvern venom: I needed to keep you as cold as possible so that you could recover. Ask Anthalia if you don’t believe me. She’s the healer, after all.”
“I – you did not take advantage?”
“Of course not: I’m still waiting for you to submit to my charms willingly!” The Ves’Neryn smirked. “You really ought to, you know. We’d both enjoy it.”
“You have an unfailing ability to remind me why it is that I hate you.”
“Should I count that as a compliment?”
She hissed at him: baring her teeth in a half-hearted snarl. “Dolt!”
“That was nearly affectionate, by your standards.” Korius reached across to where Lonrari had curled up and carefully petted her face. “Let me see: first I saved you, then you saved me, then we saved each other, and now I have saved you again. So next time it’s your turn, I suppose.”
“You mean to say you are keeping a tally?”
“What – aren’t you?”
“This is all just a game to you, isn’t it?”
The sylvanth laughed at her. “All life is a game!” He tweaked the end of her nose. “You really do need to learn how to relax a little.”
“I shall end you, Korius.”
“So you keep promising.”
∞∞∞
“Did we really just steal Lord Von Rosenhof’s griffin?” Elharan was stunned.
Gyrfalcon shook his head. “Nah, of course not! We’re just borrowing it for a little while.”
Elharan groaned. “He’ll have our heads on pikes for this! How come the griffin is obeying us anyhow?”
Luath pointed wordlessly to where Tik-Tik was perched on the creature’s head. The squirrel-cat was holding a small rod: dangling a chunk of meat in front of Snapper’s beak.
“We’re going to die,” the aged guardsman muttered. “I blame you for this, Gyrfalcon!”
“Me?”
“Yes, since it was you that dragged me along!”
“Althanor did well though, didn’t he?” Gyrfalcon sounded proud.
“Oh, so you put him up to that, did you? Well, I hope Lord Von Rosenhof doesn’t blame him!”
“Well, it’s not as if we can let him go off to Anyosia if he’s going to accost Misericord! You said it yourself: Naomi wouldn’t like it. Besides, she’d be furious if anything happened to her uncle.”
“How long have you been planning this?” Elharan tried not to look down.
“We just sort of reacted to his complaining about Misericord, to be honest.”
“How did you manage to get Althanor on side so fast?”
The par’dath belched. “Easy – I paid him.”
∞∞∞
Ranulf was not at all pleased. “Those upstarts stole my prize griffin!”
Althanor decided to keep crying.
“Oh, now do not howl so, lad! Look here – if I promise to go and find your father once I have rescued my niece, then will you be brave?”
“But Lord Von Rosenhof: they took your griffin!”
“Hmm, yes indeed. I suppose that I shall have to saddle one of the others instead!”
“You mean you have more than one?”
“Why of course I do: everyone knows that griffins do best in flocks, Althanor.” He strode off towards the aviary. “Snapper just happens to be my favourite.”
“Did you know that Spellsnitcher wasn’t really a cat, milord?”
“Yes, of course I knew. Still, his arrival was most surprising. He came leaping out of some trees at me – I almost mistook him for a bear!”
“What is he?”
“I have absolutely no idea, Althanor. I suppose that he may be some ancient sort of vandreth.”
“But he can walk around in daylight!”
“Most vandrethir can. That whole fear of the sun is a myth. In truth, it merely causes them to become rather sleepy on occasion. They certainly do not die from it, more is the pity.”
“So he isn’t a lycarne then?”
“He is not a lycarne. Please try t
o use proper grammar, Althanor.”
“Sorry, Lord Von Rosenhof. And thank you for going to look for my father!”
