Dark Oak

by Sannox, Jacob

  Cathryn drew back from his touch, and he could see she was a little unsteady on her feet.

  ‘I will think on this tonight and speak to Lachlan tomorrow morning. We shall see if there is some middle ground that might satisfy all, without leading us into new conflict. There has been no war between mankind these thousand years past, and I would not have that change in the years of my reign.’

  Aldwyn almost warned her against telling Lachlan they had met, but had been scolded for it many times before in the early years of her marriage, before he had taken to the sea to escape her. Even then she had always been true to her word, kept their liaisons secret and not jeopardised his standing with the Lord of the Isles.

  He remained silent and watched her as she thought. Her skin was less taut than it had been, but her eyes were still as young as ever. He felt almost overwhelmed by the sight and the scent of her; it pained him. He looked down into his wine, cursing his misfortunes.

  ‘Lachlan spoke of running away whilst we rode,’ she whispered, not looking at him.

  ‘Oh?’

  She nodded then went on.

  ‘I love him. He can be so bullish, courageous and strong at times, but he is a deeply flawed man. When I am with him now, I often feel like his mother rather than his lover.’ She snorted.

  ‘This seems to be a recurring theme, doesn’t it, Wyn?’ She smiled. Aldwyn could see she was well on her way to drunk. He decided to placate rather than engage.

  ‘It can be hardly as bad as what passed between us?’ he asked.

  She shook her head.

  ‘No. I exaggerate. All is as well as marriage ever leaves it, I suppose. We actually share a bed, unlike many royal husbands and wives.’

  She continued to grin at him with something of a ghoulish aspect and Aldwyn began to feel a little revolted. She had a salacious look in her eye, and the thought of her as a sexual animal only brought the arrow of pain nearer the mark. She saw his discomfort and her smile faded.

  ‘I do not mean to hurt you. You know how I feel for you, even now. If I hadn’t been forced to choose duty over the heart…,’ she whispered once more and again drained her glass.

  Aldwyn sighed. Were they really to have this conversation again?

  ‘This is an old path, well-worn and long abandoned for other roads. Let’s not speak of it, you chose who you chose, for reasons we both know. You have princelings and princesses. You continued your name. Your house goes on. You are lucky to have found a man you can tolerate and even love. Many a marriage is not so blessed,’ he scolded her, but his voice was soft and kind.

  She did not meet his gaze.

  ‘I do still love you. I’ll always love you.’

  He nodded.

  ‘I know. And I am grateful to be near you for this time that we have, but, in truth, I will be glad to be parted as well. You understand.’

  ‘I understand,’ she said. The words were slightly slurred. He hoped she would return to her own apartments soon.

  ‘Besides, it is not often that a spurned man’s attempts to escape his hurt lead to the discovery of a whole new continent.’ He laughed.

  The expression on her face was bitter, but gradually softened as she saw that he was trying to lighten her mood.

  She slapped the stone sill under the window in a hearty gesture more reminiscent of a farmer in a tavern at the end of the night rather than the action of a queen. His heart fluttered a little, seeing her off her guard. He softened towards her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  She addressed him once more before taking her leave.

  ‘I thank you once again for your honesty, my lord. We will address the situation on the morrow.’

  When she was gone Aldwyn gathered up his furs once more and returned to the fire, turning her glass in half circles. It was no use trying to stop thinking on the old hurts and the confusions ahead, so he escaped them by finding his bed. Many a man is kept awake by his troubles, but Aldwyn had long made his peace with his lot in life and fell asleep in minutes.

  The following morning, Linwood and Aldwyn were summoned to the throne room of the Maw Keep. Lachlan and Cathryn were dressed in their most formal garb. The two lords advanced upon the dais and knelt before their rulers.

  Lachlan reached out and took Cathryn’s hand. Together, they stood.

  ‘My lords,’ said Lachlan, ‘the queen and I have come to a decision. The Combined People came together because we were forced from these lands centuries ago. Though my blood flows from Culrain, the truth is that my kin have found their true home in the Isles. Lord Aldwyn has made inroads into the South Continent. Linwood, your people have prospered in Stragglers’ Drift. Yet together we have combined our strengths and bent our will on gaining vengeance and retaking our ancestral homes. It stands now before us once more under our rule. But how best to go about taming it?’

  ‘The queen and I believe that now our purpose is done, we should do right by the descendants of the great houses of the old countries.’

  Now the queen spoke.

  ‘Lord Linwood, I hereby decree that Stragglers’ Drift and the territory that was once Crinan are now duchies of the realm. We are prepared to allow you to govern these lands as you see fit. Arise now, Lord Linwood, Duke of Crinan and Stragglers’ Drift.’

  Lord Linwood seemed unaffected, his face giving away nothing. He stood and bowed his head. He seemed about to speak, but Cathryn stepped forward and addressed Aldwyn.

  ‘Lord Aldwyn. I hereby decree that the Hinterland and the territory that was once Culrain are now duchies of the realm. Arise now, Lord Aldwyn, Duke of Culrain and the Hinterland.’

  Aldwyn almost let his mouth hang, but was too conscious of Linwood’s presence to show weakness. Cathryn knew how he longed to return to the south and yet she tied him to these lands? His thoughts raced as he got to his feet and bowed, realisation dawning. His new charge in the Hinterland would put him directly between Linwood’s lands in the north and Crinan. She had placed him in the path of confrontation should Linwood continue with his plans for a road.

  ‘I am honoured, Your Majesty,’ he said. Both the lord and queen nodded towards him in acceptance of his appreciation. They turned to Linwood.

  There was a moment’s silence. Linwood kept his eyes lowered, his chest heaving.

  ‘My thanks.’ He spoke slowly and deliberately. Aldwyn shot him a concerned look and then, unable to contain himself, practically barked at Cathryn.

  ‘Your Majesty, what of the forest that lies between Stragglers’ Drift and the Hinterland?’

  ‘The Impassable Forest will stand as a lasting monument to our reign. I name it a royal hunting ground and it shall be protected in our name, as will old Tayne.’ She returned to her throne, and Lachlan spoke, even though Linwood continued to stare at the floor.

  ‘The queen and I will grant you both powers to govern your own lands. Renewing them will be challenging, and we leave it to you both to decide how you go about it. Lord Linwood, you will be able to supply Crinan by sea and, as the Hinterland is self-sustaining, Lord Aldwyn will be able to offer aid from his surplus, I am sure.’

  The Lord of the Isles went on, detailing their powers and though Aldwyn took most of it in, he tried to catch Cathryn’s gaze, trying to convey his dismay. But her resolve was relentless; she ignored his attempts, and eventually he paid full heed to Lachlan. Aldwyn knew he had been out-manoeuvred and felt betrayed by her; he had confided in her and she had used him against her enemy. He realised that the lord had addressed him again.

  ‘Apologies. My lord?’

  ‘The folk of the Hinterland. What say you of their fate?’

  At this Linwood’s head snapped round and he could feel the bigger, stronger man glaring at him. He had given little thought to the subject, but the duke’s reaction immediately provoked a response from him.

  ‘Both Culrain and the Hinterland will be lands that embrace forgiveness and justice. I will formally pardon them, if it pleases you?’

  Lachla
n smiled.

  ‘May your lands be blessed, my friend.’

  Linwood coughed.

  ‘I thank you for your generosity, my lord, Your Majesty. By your leave, I will away and make my plans,’ he said.

  Lachlan frowned and, despairing at Linwood’s lack of reaction, he sighed and said,

  ‘Away then.’

  Linwood turned on his heel and marched out of the room, his armour clanking and his sword swinging at his side.

  Aldwyn stood silent.

  ‘Would you ask anything more of us?’ said Lachlan.

  Aldwyn clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to control his breathing.

  ‘What of the South Continent?’

  ‘Your cousin will rule in your stead,’ said Lachlan.

  He stepped down from the dais and grasped Aldwyn by the shoulders.

  ‘I am sorry to tear you away from your new home, Aldwyn. I am sure you can guess our concerns. We have little imperial ambition, but we cannot allow this continent to fall under Linwood’s sway when it is so lately freed from a long endured tyranny. Will you be our iron-clad fist here?’

  Aldwyn shot Cathryn a withering look.

  ‘I am yours to command,’ he said and bowed.

  Chapter Seven

  The dungeons of the Folly were unremarkable; stone floors, no sunlight, musty air and filth. There were no beds, and Morrick had been sat on his haunches, in conversation with a group of men, when the doors were flung open and the light from the passage outside spilled into the cell. A large man in armour stepped into the doorway.

  ‘Is Captain Morrick still alive?’ the man bellowed, and the sound echoed terribly around the dungeon causing many of the prisoners to duck and wince.

  ‘He is,’ announced a voice nearer the door. Morrick gathered his wits and stood up on stiff, complaining legs.

  ‘I am,’ he called out above the various replies.

  ‘Come forward,’ the man ordered and turned away. Morrick picked his way to the door, his bare feet slipping on excrement as he moved. He shielded his eyes against the light as he crossed the threshold, and the door clanged closed behind him. Two guards seized him then half-carried and half-propelled him down the passage and up steps until they stood outside in a courtyard.

  Morrick’s eyes could not adjust to the light, and he kept them tightly shut even as he enjoyed the sun on his skin. The men kept tight hold of him as he stood waiting. His heart beat fast as fear grew in him that he was about to be executed – possibly burned alive like the rest of Awgren’s army.

  Perhaps I deserve it, he thought.

  ‘Do you know who I am, Captain?’ came the big man’s voice.

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘No, Your Grace,’ said the voice. ‘I am Lord Linwood, Duke of Stragglers’ Drift and of Crinan.

  The words were grand and Morrick could think only how pompous and how dangerous this man sounded. He had heard the name, of course, but knew little that did not come from talk around a campfire whilst the war had still been on.

  ‘Your Grace.’

  ‘The Hinterland has been created a duchy of the realm under Lord Aldwyn of Culrain. The duke, in his wisdom, intends to pardon your people for facilitating the defeat of mine.’

  Linwood’s eyes blazed, but he continued.

  ‘But for now, you are prisoners of the realm and as it was my own cavalry who defeated your regiment, I will deal with you as I see fit. You may go free to see your family again, Captain Morrick, but wherever you go in the realm of the Combined People, all shall know what you are; a turncoat, a denizen of Awgren and one who stood on the side of evil against better men striving for the light.’

  Morrick was about to protest, but with a flick of his hand Linwood instructed the men either side of him.

  The guards hauled the woodcutter to his feet, and his aching muscles screamed. Morrick grunted in protest as they dragged him forward towards a wooden building from which smoke streamed.

  One of the guards kicked his feet from under him, and they drove him back onto the grass. Morrick cried out again.

  ‘Your Grace, please have mercy. I have a wife and sons.’

  Linwood stood above him brandishing a red hot poker. Morrick could not help himself; he screamed, realising suddenly what was coming. Lord Linwood dropped to his knees, laid the poker across Morrick’s face and drove it downwards. The pain was immense. The poker hissed against his flesh and a burnt odour filled his nose when he drew in desperate gasps of air between screams. Morrick struggled as his cheek melted under the heat until Linwood drew the poker away. Morrick breathed heavy and fast, feeling as though he would pass out but relieved it was over, but Linwood turned the poker in a different direction and the pain struck up again as the Duke of Crinan branded the side of Morrick’s face with a scorched ‘T’. ‘T’ for traitor, he would come to realise.

  Morrick screamed and screamed until finally and, so sweetly, he passed out.

  Linwood got to his feet and handed the poker back to the blacksmith.

  ‘Take him back to the dungeons and bring up the next man,’ he said to the guards.

  When next Morrick opened his eyes he was back in the dungeons. The cell was dark, but the reek, the damp and the sobbing gave away his location.

  The skin on his face was tight and when he raised his fingers to it he could feel wet pus and crisp, sharp edges. He drew his fingers back as his stomach began to churn, and he was suddenly, violently sick. On all fours, he panted and spat, then crawled back a little to lie against the wet stone wall.

  ‘Steady now lads,’ he called to reassure them though he was far from steady himself, but his voice broke, and his words did no good for those who could hear him..

  ‘They promise us we will go home. Just hold on and we’ll be free,’ Morrick continued.

  He was ever-weary in the dungeons, where there was no light. The oppressive darkness made him feel drowsy and depressed.

  He thought the pain would keep him awake, but before long his eyelids grew heavy, and he found relief in the nothingness of sleep; a nothingness that scared him when he woke. It bothered him how easily he had forgotten both his woes and his loved ones in order to rest, but that was not all. Sleep was a dark, empty cave in which the walls were always at an uncertain distance and one could never be sure of the nature of the company. The nothingness told him of what it felt like before he was born and how he would feel again after his death.

  As time went on, he lost all sense of it, and with only the cold stone floor to lie upon, the hours passed uncomfortably as he worried for the health of his men. How long before their raw wounds began to claim lives in these filthy lodgings?

  Morrick was awoken some time later by the door to the dungeon opening. He winced, shielding his eyes against the light with his hand. Armoured men flooded into the dungeon with flaming torches and began helping people to their feet rather than dragging them away. He too was hauled up, and he filed out of the dungeon then up once more to the yard.

  A lordly manwas waiting there with a small retinue. Morrick guessed this was Lord Aldwyn. The captain of the Hinterland rubbed his eyes as he emerged into the sunlight and steeled himself, ready to put on his best performance.

  ‘Men of the Hinterland, form up for inspection!’ he shouted.

  He had half expected some of them to look around bleary-eyed, in pain and far from at one with their senses, but to his relief his men formed ranks out of pure instinct. He ignored his own pain, straightened his back and strode along the front rank then in one fluid motion, turned his back to it and stood to attention. He gathered his breath then issued his best sergeant’s bellow.

  ‘The men of the Hinterland are ready for inspection and to serve, Your Grace.’

  Hoping, he clasped his hands behind his back and stared above the heads of the retinue to the top of a stone wall above the smithy’s thatched roof.

  Lord Aldwyn stepped in front of him and took him by the chin, turning his head to the side. Morrick allowed the
motion.

  ‘It is true then.’ Aldwyn sighed.

  ‘I am Lord Aldwyn. I am newly appointed Duke of Culrain and the Hinterland. I am led to believe you have all already been informed. Your name?’ he asked of Morrick.

  Morrick kept his eyes up and snapped back the reply.

  ‘Morrick, Your Grace. Captain of the men of the Hinterland who were conscripted cruelly and against their will, Your Grace. Ready to serve in the name of Queen Cathryn and Lord Lachlan, Your Grace.’

  Aldwyn smiled.

  ‘Look at me.’

  Morrick did as he was instructed. His lank, greasy hair fell in front of his eyes so he was looking at the duke as though through bars of a cell.

  ‘I am sorry for what Lord Linwood has done to you and your men. You will forever bear the mark of Awgren physically now, as well as in your hearts. Tell me truly and speak plain, Morrick. Will you and your men serve me faithfully?’

  Morrick could not keep the smile from his face.

  ‘We will gladly serve you, though in truth none of us wants anything more than to return to our homes and our families. We never wanted to march to war, but we are yours to command, sir. Telling you truly, telling you plain - if you’d let us run home, we’d prefer it.’

  ‘I empathise on that score, believe me,’ said Aldwyn. ‘Very well. Danyar…’ he beckoned for one of his retinue.

  ‘Danyar is one of my generals, and he is co-ordinating my people for the sailing to the Hinterland. Answer his questions and he will see that we find suitable accommodation for you and your men. When we march, you will have fresh arms and armour.’ Aldwyn turned and walked away. Morrick considered calling after him, asking what had become of their own armour and if they could perhaps have it back, but thought maybe silence was more appropriate. He determined that, given the chance at an opportune moment, he would ask General Danyar.

  However, there was more on his mind, and as Aldwyn disappeared into a side street, Morrick excused himself to run after him.