The Line of Illeniel

by Michael G. Manning

  “Did you find anything interesting in there while you were searching for your wit?” Rose replied.

  “Just your dignity,” I shot back, “but there wasn’t enough left of it to bother with.” I’ll admit it, that remark was a bit mean, but she started it.

  Rose grinned at me and was ready to continue our banter but Penny stepped in, “Let’s go look around the master bedroom before I die of a broken funny bone.”

  “Spoilsport,” I said.

  We went down the hall to where the bedrooms were located and began poking around. Most of the rooms were quite spacious and despite Penny’s statement earlier there was very little dust to be found. I suspected the house had some means of keeping itself clean. Still I would be glad of the new linens Rose had mentioned. No amount of cleaning could keep sheets fresh that had been on a bed for almost twenty years.

  I only spent a short while examining the guest rooms. They were lovely rooms but the furnishings were nothing special. Naturally the master bedroom drew most of my attention. It held my parents’ things. Entering that room was a strange experience. I knew the last two people to be there were the parents I had never known.

  The first thing that grabbed my attention was a large portrait on one wall. The face of a beautiful woman stared back at me. The artist had skillfully captured her expression, a look that held both beauty and mystery. Blond hair stood out against a background of dark green ivy, while her blue eyes drew me in, hinting at intelligence and strong determination.

  The picture was unsigned and had no name beneath it so I had no way of knowing for sure who the painting represented, but my heart knew. It was my mother. Unbidden tears came to my eyes as emotions I had not known I possessed came to the fore. Learning my mother’s fate years before had stunned me, but still I had not felt sorrow. She was a stranger to me and her tale had evoked only the natural pity anyone might feel. Seeing her now filled me with a wistful sadness as I finally felt the loss of a love I had never had a chance to know.

  A soft hand on my back told me Penny was there, but she didn’t intrude upon the moment. I looked at the portrait till I could stand it no longer, then I turned and put my arms around her. She held me, without words or questions, till I had regained my composure.

  Rose came in then, as I was wiping my face. Her quick eyes took in the painting and I’m sure she must have understood. She was kind enough to avoid the question and instead asked about the room, breaking the awkward silence. “This must have been your parents’ room?” The answer to that was obvious but the question worked.

  “I believe so.”

  Penny walked over to a large wooden wardrobe, “I wonder if they left any clothes behind.” Pulling the doors open she looked inside. The interior was half empty but a few dresses still hung there alongside a doublet and a robe. I would have expected the items to be moth-eaten but the house apparently did not tolerate vermin any more than it tolerated dust.

  “Oh that’s lovely!” Rose remarked, running her fingers down the sleeve of a silken gown. “The style is so traditional.”

  “It almost looks as if they were just here. Everything is so well preserved,” Penny added.

  I was opening the drawers of the dresser but there were no surprises there. Just the things you’d expect in a nobleman’s house. They had probably taken most of their valuable personal effects with them when they went on their trip. A variety of clothes, socks and undergarments were all that remained. An expensive jewelry box sat on top of the dresser but I saved it for last.

  Opening it I was startled at how much it contained. Brooches, necklaces, earrings, bracelets and more sparkled where they nestled in velvet. It looked as though they had left most of their jewelry behind. I had no idea what any of it was worth.

  Rose and Penny were both looking over my shoulder. “Do you see that?” Rose pointed at one of the rings.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Penny replied.

  They were examining a gold ring with a flat engraved top. It showed a dragon with its wings unfurled and circled by seven stars, the signet ring of Illeniel. “Why is it here?” I asked. I had always assumed that Tyndal had been wearing the ring when he destroyed half of Castle Cameron. “Shouldn’t it have been with him when he died?” I already wore the signet ring of the Camerons. The old Count had been far enough away from the fire and heat when he died that it had survived and James Lancaster had saved it for me.

  “As old as the line of Illeniel is there might have been more than one made,” Rose answered. “Either that or he left it here for some reason, but that would be unusual.” We discussed it for a while but no better ideas came to us. I tried to put the ring on but it was too tight so I put it on a chain around my neck instead. I would have it re-sized later.

  We finished searching the room but didn’t find anything else of note. Having determined that the bedrooms were safe I left the girls to making arrangements for the evening and went back to the library. I started to pick up ‘The History of Illeniel’ again but I noticed a writing desk off to one side. I crossed over to look at it.

  The top bore a dried out inkwell and several pens but the drawers of the desk held a collection of letters and other documents. I sifted through them, curious, but most of them were what you would expect. Messages from the king, calling for Tyndal’s presence in court were the most numerous, along with notices from a shipping company regarding some business concerns. Wait, what?

  I looked over the letters from the shipping company; Trigard Exporters was the name of the business. Most of them detailed deposits at the royal bank here in Lothion. It appeared my father held a large portion of the rights to the business. That of course led to several other questions... if he had an account at the bank how much was in it? Did the company still exist? Who took control of his shares after he died?

  The longer I was in Albamarl the more unfinished business I found that needed attending to. I would have to make a trip to the bank before I left. I grew tired of sifting through the correspondence and business papers but before I shut the desk a letter caught my eye. What I had hoped to find in the desk were personal letters but naturally anything my father had written was in the hands of whomever he had sent it to. This letter had the look of a personal letter written to him. What made it stand out was the fact that the outer seal looked like it bore the imprint of the royal arms of Gododdin.

  I unfolded it, curious who would have sent my father a letter from that unfortunate country. As far as I knew the royal family there was executed about six years before I was born.

  My Dear Friend,

  I trust this letter finds you well. I wish I could say the same about things here. The Children of Mal’goroth have not been so foolish to disrupt trade yet, so our mutual concerns here are still doing well.

  Vendraccus grows bolder by the day and I fear he has agents even within my home. It is impossible to be sure and paranoia and suspicion are now the rule rather than the exception. Thus far he has done little more than harass and antagonize the church of Celior, but numerous murders and back alley brawls hint that he is not content with civilized debate.

  Of more immediate concern, I have sad news to deliver. Your friend George Prathion was murdered and the evidence indicates that Nathan Balabas was most likely responsible. Unfortunately we are unable to find him for questioning, but what would you expect when a wizard commits murder? I doubt we could hold him even if we found him.

  As I’m sure you know… George was one of the most outspoken detractors of Vendraccus and the Children. I now suspect that Nathan may have thrown his lot in with the cultists since he had no personal issues with George that I am aware of. That bodes ill for all of us as I’m sure you know how badly Vendraccus would love to have a wizard on his side, even if he isn’t one of the old lines.

  Take extra caution in your own dealings. Now that George is gone you are the last known descendant of one of the great lines, not that I have to remind you of that.

  Please give my r
egards to your companion, Elena. Though I have not met her I have heard she was good friends with Phillip Balistair. According to all accounts he died well. Had it not been for Nathan’s treachery I am sure he would have kept George safe.

  Your Friend,

  V.

  My father had been friends with another wizard of the old families. That shouldn’t have surprised me, but then I had never known any of them. More interesting was the name ‘Phillip Balistair’. I wondered if he was some relative of Elizabeth Balistair, who I had met last year when she visited Lancaster. From the wording I assumed he was the Anath’Meridum of George Prathion. Too many new facts were rattling around in my skull and I struggled to put them all in place.

  More curious was the way the letter was signed, ‘V’. The only person with a V in their name of the royal family in Gododdin, that I knew of, was Valerius; the ill-fated last king of that country. That didn’t mean much of course, my knowledge of royal bloodlines was next to nothing. The royal Graeling family could have had a dozen members with names beginning in the letter ‘v’. I only happened to know Valerius’ name because he had been the last king there.

  Had King Edward known of Tyndal’s connections to Gododdin? There were too many things I was ignorant of. Considering what had happened at Lancaster last year many of those things might be deadly. Ignorance would be no shield if more of my father’s old enemies came knocking on my door.

  “Mordecai...” Penny’s voice came to me from the hall. “Let’s find something to eat, the daylight is waning.” My stomach agreed with her, so I got up and we went in search of Rose, hoping she would know of a good place to eat.

  Chapter 10

  Royce Eldridge stood quietly by the outer gate. Since his son had left a week gone by there had been two more disappearances. Consequently Dorian had asked all the outlying villagers to sleep within the castle confines at night. It was a pain for the families that had to leave their homes each evening but they didn’t complain much. Safety was a welcome trade-off for fear. The new town militia couldn't possibly patrol all the outer farms.

  The outer curtain wall of Castle Cameron was still in good condition and encircled most of Washbrook. The families that had to relocate each evening found places to sleep with friends and relatives that lived inside the wall. The few who had nowhere to go slept in the completed portion of the castle garrison.

  Dorian and Joe McDaniel had done a good job organizing the men of Washbrook into a passable militia. Most of them kept to their normal jobs during the daytime, while a few would remain on duty guarding the gates. The daytime positions were rotated so that no one’s livelihood would be too greatly impacted and they all took turns. At night the men of the village would take up arms and work in shifts to watch the gates, of which there were two. Several would patrol the tops of the walls as well to ensure no one snuck over.

  The children were kept busy during the daytime preparing torches and oil lanterns to light the tops of the walls and the areas around the gates. The nighttime shifts and daytime guard positions meant that more work fell on the shoulders of the women of Washbrook but they managed it well. The people of the town were used to hard work. They were a community under siege, but strong organization and constant activity kept fear at bay.

  Royce looked over at the other man standing guard at the main gate with him. David Tanner was a lean man, slim and rangy. His work tanning leathers and hides had given him a chronic cough from the fumes but he seemed sturdy enough otherwise. Like Royce he wore a heavy leather jerkin and carried a spear.

  David’s daughter had been one of the first to disappear but despite his tragedy Royce found it hard to work up much sympathy for the man. He complained too much and had a tendency to fall asleep when he wasn’t talking. Royce preferred him asleep as opposed to listening to his constant bitching. He’d never cut it in a smithy, Royce thought to himself.

  The night was growing darker. No moon and an overcast sky ensured that it would soon be pitch black out. A lantern on a pole some twenty feet from the gate provided most of their light. It had been Joe McDaniel’s idea to post lanterns away from gates, that way they provided more illumination of the surrounding area, instead of just highlighting the guards at their posts.

  Royce nudged the other man, David had just started to drift off again, “Come on, it’s time shut the gate.” You’ll be able to sleep better on the battlements anyway, he thought uncharitably.

  “Alright, I’m about tired of standing out here,” Tanner responded. Lifting his spear he turned to walk back inside the gate. A third man, Sam Turner stood within, next to the warning bell. “Give me a hand with the doors Sam.” Tanner said.

  Royce was about to turn and follow him in when he heard a sound. Years hunting deer in the Duke’s forest had given him keen ears, but this was no deer. “Who’s out there?” he called.

  Sam had one of the two gate doors in place and David had his side halfway closed. Once the two met in the center they would throw the heavy bar to lock them in place, but they paused when they heard Royce’s voice. Sam looked out to see Royce backing slowly toward the opening. He thought he could see the form of a smaller person approaching from the darkness but it was still indistinct. “Royce, do I need to hold the gate for someone?” Sam asked.

  Royce had already recognized the person walking toward them; it was Rebecca Miller, the third person to go missing. She had been gone for almost three weeks now and Royce already knew the full details of Mordecai’s encounter with what had been Sadie Tanner. He backed steadily toward the gap in the gate doors, “No Sam, I think we’d best lock up tight as soon as I get through the gate.” He never took his eyes off the form of the thirteen year old girl walking steadily toward him. Two more steps and he would be inside. Rebecca was only ten feet away now.

  Sam heard the tension in Royce’s voice. That and the fact that he didn’t turn his head to speak told him everything he needed to know, but David Tanner wasn’t so quick to understand. The light clearly showed the girl approaching when David spoke up, “Hey now! Isn’t that Rebecca Miller?” He started to step away from the gate but Sam grabbed his shoulder.

  “Wait up David,” Sam said.

  “Will you let me in? I’m ever so hungry and I’ve had nothing these past few days,” came a curiously monotone voice from the girl.

  “What’s your name girl?” Royce asked. He had stopped backing up since it was clear he wouldn’t be able to get them to close the gate doors till the girl’s identity was settled.

  “I can’t remember. Won’t you help me?” she replied. She was only feet from him now and might have gotten closer but Royce had his spear down, pointing squarely at her chest.

  David shook off Sam’s hand and stepped out, “It’s Rebecca. Dammit Royce, stop pointing that thing at her. She’s just a girl!” Shoving Royce’s spear aside he reached out to take the teenager’s arm, she eagerly clasped his hand.

  “Don’t touch her!” Royce shouted, but it was too late. David Tanner struggled to pull away from the girl, a look of terror on his face as he felt the dark pull on his spirit. She had both hands on him now and she held him with incredible strength. Royce didn’t wait; jerking his spear back into line he impaled the young girl on it, driving the long bladed head through her torso.

  Sam saw what was occurring from a few feet behind them, “By the gods! Royce what have you done?!” He started forward but Royce yelled for him to stop.

  “Ring the goddamned bell!” he shouted. The girl hadn’t let go of David and was pulling him closer as he weakened, his knees buckling. Royce struggled to push her off the other man with the spear but she showed no sign of letting go. The weapon might have gone all the way through her but it was a boar spear and the cross-piece kept it from passing, a good thing as it allowed him to push harder against her. Very little blood issued from the girl’s wound, and what there was seemed thick and black.

  Sam finally snapped out of his shock and ran back to ring the bell while the men struggle
d in front of the gate. A dark shadow on the periphery of his vision warned Royce that the girl wasn’t alone and he let go of the spear. Stepping back he drew his sword just in time to meet the charge of a man he didn’t recognize. The stranger was unarmed but his slack face and empty expression made it clear he was cut from the same cloth as the girl.

  Slashing sideways he severed the man’s hand at the wrist as he slammed into Royce. The weight of his body shoved Royce back into the unsecured gate door, causing it to swing wider. At his first touch Royce felt the coldness seeping into him, a dark biting wind drawing his life out. The creature’s remaining hand had him by the throat and try as he might he couldn’t pull it free. He could hear the bell starting to ring behind him, but help couldn’t possibly arrive soon enough.

  A lifetime shaping iron had given the blacksmith strength few men could hope to match. Even as he felt himself starting to weaken he slammed the hilt of his sword into the monster’s face. The blow had little effect on the creature but it gave him enough room to swing the sword properly and he used the opportunity to hack at the arm holding him. He failed to completely sever it, due to the awkward angle but he cut deeply into the elbow and dislodged the hand from his throat. “Get off me damn you!” he ground out the words as the hand came loose from his throat. He would have backed away but the creature’s other arm, the one missing a hand swung up to club him in the side of the head, sending him reeling.

  Royce wound up falling sideways onto the hard cobblestones but he kept his eyes on the creature as it turned to follow him. One step and it was to him but he didn’t wait for it to fall on him. If it landed on top of him he knew he would never have the strength to get out from under it. Sweeping the sword low to the ground he took the thing’s right foot off at the ankle and it toppled away.

  Scrabbling backward he looked over to see what had become of Tanner and what he saw wasn’t pretty. The other man had collapsed and the thing that was latched onto him was cooing softly, like a small child. The monster that had been Rebecca Miller had a look of rapture on her face while both of her hands were gripping the older man’s head. David’s eyes had rolled upward and he seemed completely unconscious now.