The Heir of Garstwrot

by Veras Alnar

  It was very quiet and very, very still. All the commotion downstairs lent an air of emptiness to the upper solar and the plaster walls, though lurid with their colours, were starting to peel away. It was as if all the illusions of the place were breaking like a witch's spell and he whispered to himself, as only he could hear it.

  “Garstwrot keep is mine.”

  Pressing his hands to his mouth, he nearly choked on his acknowledged wealth. After all the struggles and his difficulties, there was something in the world left for him. His strange inheritance and surely, though it might be frightening, it was something worth fighting for.

  His strength lay under the bed and Amis took it, his great sword. And quietly, he crept back through the fireplace and into the darkened hallway. As he walked with his sword in his hand he realized the inner windows had no reach into the outside courtyard beyond their edges but light was still coming in, a dark and sinister red. Amis swallowed his fear and kept moving, feeling and hearing whispers in the dark he dared not think about or give voice to. It was then he realized that behind the tapestries were hidden doors and Lord Guain's words came back to him.

  Don't touch the tapestries, they're worth more than your heads...

  The passages were there, all there hidden behind them. He pulled one door gently open with his left hand and saw the backside of the tapestry in the great hall, the one with the unicorn's hunt on it.

  The great hall was a catastrophe of broken plaster and shattered furniture but the table had been righted and Lord Guain was chained to one of its elaborate chairs in the shackles he had rescued from the keep's own dungeon. He was visibly distressed and had a damp face that was rather incongruous with the blood stained shirt he was still wearing and torn leggings.

  “Why the tears for Carbone,” the Lady said, “You certainly hadn't shed any for my daughter when you helped her to her end.”

  “If you lived the hell that I did,” Lord Guain said, “you'd realize what a friend can mean who has suffered through the same.”

  The Baroness was an older woman who resembled Lady Anna just a little in the face but it was her strange conical hat covered in gauze that draped around her heavily powdered features that gave her away as a foreigner. Her elaborate dress was a lurid red and blue, the mourning colors of Adelaide.

  “I know suffering, Gessetto,” the Baroness said, “and it's here you'll meet your end. I'll be sure to throw your body into the crag where you belong, the darkest part of the kingdom where light shall never touch it for a thousand years.”

  Several knights stood and shuffled nervously and the executioner looked impatient to wield his sword. Amis crept from behind the tapestry slowly, sword in hand. He knew it would be difficult but he could make some work out of these men before they had a chance to overcome him. The light from the candles sputtered and flickered and made his sword shine ever brighter. That was when Lord Guain saw him and curiously cocked his head. The Baroness followed his gaze until she looked as if her eyes weren't seeing what she saw.

  “You,” the Baroness said, her eyes as if she'd seen a ghost, “out of Fairfax tower, I see.”

  The wracking sound meant that Lord Guain had tried to escape his chair but had failed and remained fast strapped to it.

  “Ah, how delightful. You've finally arrived, Amis,” Lord Guan said, placidly, as if he wasn't strapped tight to a chair, “may I introduce the Baroness of J'Andeux, a woman who was most interested in your death.”

  “I only wanted to know,” the Baroness said, “if the keep was mine or not. I paid that spindly lout for proof but I see he only managed to cut your hair and not your neck.”

  “Fulk's not like that,” Amis said, “he doesn't do work he finds annoying or cowardly. And you probably didn't pay him near enough to do in a man who could cut someone in half.”

  “You little fool!” the Lady shrieked, “What a stupid thing you've done in coming here! If you knew what I knew about Garstwrot you'd have stayed away!”

  “I won't deny Lord Guain is a horrible man who deserves whatever comes to him,” Amis said, “but this isn't your keep.”

  The knights stepped forward but the Baroness halted them. Amis smiled wickedly at her, his sword arm as still and strong as ever.

  “I didn't know anything because no one told me,” Amis said, advancing, “and it won't take me much to cut you lot down and take back my land.”

  “Cease!” the Baroness said, “Stop advancing and I'll tell you something worth more than this mad liar's ramblings. I know the arm you have because I've seen it before on a woman who swept through my town many years ago. That's right boy, I knew your mother.”

  Amis hesitated, his sword ached to cut flesh but he couldn't deny his burning desire to know anything, anything at all about the woman who bore him.

  “Your father was a Muitanish fop,” the Lady said, “his skin dark as a nut put to flame. His name was Qays and all his countrymen considered him mad. Your mother was thin and pointed in the face, a haggard creature that was born weak and sickly. But she had a secret skill with the sword very much like your own. When her arms went back you'd hear the bones crack and pop and she could cut a man in half despite her thin and wastrel form. Their end was an unhappy one; your father betrayed your mother and left her for dead to be dismembered by a mob and he was burned as a heretic by his own kin but worst of all they had both been running from a most determined order of knights. And the very ones who chased them will no doubt come for you as soon as they get word a man of Garstwren's blood is still alive. If you let me help you, I can prevent it from happening again.”

  “Don't listen to her Amis,” Lord Guain said, his voice a smooth and pretty thing in all the darkness the world was unfolding, “it's not entirely the truth as I'm the only one who knows it. Your father didn't betray your mother but she had been undone by one of her most loyal servants who made a very foolish misstep. The man you've come to know only recently as Martin, your step-father. He would have done anything to protect you to make up for his idiotic mistakes and so he did his worst to keep everyone away because nobles like the lovely Baroness, would have struck you down to have Garstwrot for their own long before any erstwhile knights would have set foot upon this shore.”

  “You make yourself sound so noble,” the Baroness said, “when you're anything but. This man married my daughter and killed her to gain her treasury of books and nothing more. You should have seen him as he was, an ugly hunchback with a scarred face and unequal arms who plied roses and sweet poetry on those unfortunate enough to know him. But his words were just as smooth and lovely then as they are now and my idiot child was besotted. She was a creature made of words and not always of sense, I resent I never beat her enough as a child to teach her to obey her parents.”

  “The daughter who wasn't born from love but an arranged marriage that you grew tired of and paid a clever poisoner to end. She wept for her father, did you know that? It piles up like the gold from the mines, doesn't it? All of the nobility's disgusting sins,” Lord Guain said, “measured like sand running through an hour glass.”

  “And what gives you the claim to innocence,” the Baroness said, “who gives you the ability to judge?”

  “I never claimed innocence only genius,” Lord Guain said, “for you need me more than ever, Amis. I am the smartest man you will ever meet and this woman and those born into such riches could never hope to reach the lowland heights of my intellect. For all their cries of god blessed superiority, they have never once seen through me. No noble has earned a single thing but my great disdain, cut down this woman Amis she hasn't earned your pity.”

  “This man,” the Baroness said, her rage causing her to shake, “was a child born in a mine who grew up to hate all those superior to him.”

  “And it was that mine that twisted my body so,” Lord Guain said, “the blood of your daughter is a fair price for a life made of pain.”

  Between the two there was no one who could be considered worse or better but their
attestations chilled him. The town and all who had dwelt in it were dead, all questions he could have asked of his father had vanished into dust. But the decision who to champion was not to be his, suddenly the walls of Garstwren's ancient keep began to rattle, thunderously from the coming of an army's worth of feet.

  “My god,” the Baroness said, crossing herself, “it's the Kings of Elaine, they've struck out early!”

  The knights in their gleaming armor began to shift, unsettled their heads moving to and fro as if to try and point out the source of the sound. But it was no use, the throngs were at the gates and the Baroness knew very well that as she had forced her way in with much smaller numbers, it would be quick work with such a swell to move the massive gates wide open.

  In a matter of moments, bedlam would break through.

  “Run!” the Baroness said, “we'll regroup and return later!”

  It was with surprise that Amis saw that smoke was billowing through the halls as if there was a fire and the clatter of armor was getting loud. No matter what evil power flowed through his veins a knight in armor with a sharpened sword was no weak thing. Three men turned the corner and shouted when they saw him. Amis stood his ground while holding his sword and tilted his chest hearing his bones creak and crack.

  The three men clattered forward with their swords drawn and Amis had to dive and sweep his arm under and upwards so they wouldn't chop off his arm as they swung down.

  It was bloody and terrible. One half a man thudded to the ground and Amis went through the other just as quick, like butter. The last man let out a cry and rushed forward. The struggle that ensued was tremendous; this was a cleverer knight who had used his head to crash into Amis' chest taking his balance and twisted them both around. His sword was poised over Amis' neck ready to strike. But Amis had supernatural gifts and even when he could feel his bones creak from the strength he still swung his sword from an impossible position on the ground. It went between the man's legs and cut him from below all the way through his skull, parting each piece like a cut pie.

  Blood rained down and offal and every foul thing a human body could produce. Amis heard himself shout, he scrambled to his feet. He looked back in sick horror at what he had done. It wasn't an ordinary battle of blood and honor, it was repugnant. Chopped up men that looked like butchered pigs. Staggering backwards through the great hall, Amis ran into a retinue from both sides that surrounded him.

  The muffled voice shouted from behind the helmet, “this land belongs to King Edgen! Stand down, knave!”

  “To King Hune!” the other group of knights shouted, “stand down, or face death!”

  A cheer rose up between them and Amis decided that there was no clear path to victory as both side wanted the keep for their own. When twelve men were gathered with swords and maces, they'd as soon cut off his head as bash it in and that was a death Amis didn't want to try recovering from, if he could, which he had no assurance of.

  “This is my tower!” Amis shouted, “And I answer to no king!”

  This began a roiling anger that spread through the ranks. The men began to run forward around the table, cornering Amis and making sure there was no escape. But as soon as they had gathered a door from the kitchen burst open and flames licked up the curtains violently, like hounds released from their enclosures. The kitchen barfed flames and from them a spindly man burst through with singed hair carrying a crooked scythe.

  “Shut up, Amis,” Fulk said, “I broke open the room, the devil's gone free! Run Amis, you idiot, run!”

  The first man ran forward and Fulk with his scythe above his head and with gleeful delight brought it around with such force, the man sprayed his guts as he was stabbed. The body twitched on the ground and writhed, the scythe had been heated in the fire and it wasn't the reflection of the flames that made it red.

  “It's my keep,” Amis said, “we have to defend it!”

  “Stop that fool talk,” Fulk said, “let's go and hope our shadows never darken Garstwrot again!”

  “But it's mine!” Amis insisted.

  “Trust me, I've seen what's been shut up behind those walls,” Fulk said, “it's not worth it!”

  Fulk hauled him forward with his one free arm by the collar of his shirt. Amis could do nothing but hope to fight his way beyond the throng that was encircling them.

  “For the King of Elaine!” one knight shouted.

  They all clattered and clamored and were struck down by Fulk's burning scythe and Amis' sword. They both had to fight for it, though Fulk's height was a clear advantage. He used his long legs to kick a knight or two on their backside and climb over them. Amis found himself diving between their legs and swinging up, meeting the point where the armor met cloth and cutting human meat. But Fulk was a wild swinger with no formal training beyond the most basic every village man endured. His cuts were lethal, wild and came mercilessly. He cackled as they fell while Amis screamed as hot blood spattered over his face and hoped the strength in his arms would hold out.

  In the grand hallway, they managed to beat back their enemy but now they were rather stuck. They darted into the side entrance and leaned up against the stones.

  “Did you set the fire in the kitchen,” Amis demanded.

  “I told you I cracked open that room upstairs,” Fulk said, “trying to gain the upper hand after the Baroness ran off. That thing was well pissed off at being locked up, and tried to roast me like a pig but I managed to get away.”

  “I'll not be part of Baroness' schemes,” Amis shrieked, “The tower is mine, mine!”

  “Stop lying to yourself!” Fulk said, “you don't know the first thing about being a Lord or of taking care of anyone. Stop trying to be good! It neither benefits or suits someone so twisted up as you.”

  “Shut up!” Amis shouted, “My son may be dead but the keep still survives! The heir of Garstwrot still lives!”

  “The only thing Garstwrot was ever good for was drawing in knaves and murderers,” Fulk said, “and now the trend has been bucked. They've got a lunatic.”

  “I'm not insane, I'm angry!” Amis insisted.

  “It's not you I'm of thinking of!” Fulk shouted back.

  Above them Amis saw something very strange creeping along the ceiling, it was like a human shape made of dark ash but moved in a way no human ever could.

  “What's that?” Amis said.

  “Saint Christef save us!” Fulk said.

  He dragged Amis further down the stairs away from the strange shape creeping along the turning hallway.

  Panting and sweating, their fine clothes ruined beyond all help by blood, the soldiers kept rushing in an almost endless number. Amis made a despairing sound. His body trembled, dawn was coming and all the supernatural strengths he possessed were drawing away with the coming day. There was a break in the ranks as more of King Edgen's men burst through and their hiding place in the cramped passage would only last so long before they had to make for the main door.

  Fulk said, “how did you remain ignorant so long that something was off?”

  “Because it's insensible,” Amis said, “to think someone is dead when they're walking around and very much alive.”

  “You're not dead,” Fulk said, “un-dead.”

  “That's a foolish word,” Amis insisted, “it makes no sense.”

  “Vampire, then,” Fulk said.

  “That one's even stupider,” Amis said.

  Eyes closed and flickering like the flames, Amis wished he could feel anything like himself again. His body became more leaded, his thinness felt like its usual atrophy and dogged issue to his health. The remains of his sickness, the half cut hair, it was all for eternity. They had to leave before dawn took everything away from him and it was a hateful thought, he'd have to abandon the keep as there was no other way.

  “Down here,” Amis said, “we'll run past them.”

  Fulk didn't argue with him and they shuffled their way down the narrowing hall until they were near the bottom. But Amis felt more tha
n heard some strange presence at their back and as they reached the doorway into the grand entrance, his fear grew.

  It was like a shock of white leaped in front of them. Fulk let out a terrific shout and Amis found himself falling backwards into him. There in front of them was Durgia. Or rather, a pale woman that looked like her, half visible in the light. But then the spirit opened its mouth and cruelly laughed.

  HA HA HA!

  Its arms shot up in flames and Amis knew that this was in fact, what had been in the closed up room. They were looking at some form of devil. But as it was, Amis had decided that any ghosts or devils that may exist inside the keep were his. He let out a raucous shout and found himself hauling Fulk by the shirt collar and they burst through the vision, as they did it turned into a white streaming mist and when through it, Amis looked back and could see a wicked looking face that laughed at him.

  There were horses wandering the grounds around their riders who were dead on the ground in their armor. Amis badly wanted to steal the plate suits but he knew it would only encumber them. He began trying to coax a horse to come near but they darted when they saw him, some terror was about them that Amis thought had to do with the evil of Garstwren that had come to bloom inside of him at night. It wasn't a boon at all, that terrible curse. It might kill them yet if they couldn't get away from the keep.

  “I'm not giving you up, I've fought too long!” the sound of Lord Guain's voice was most unwelcome.

  The door to the flaming keep burst open and Lord Guain emerged looking rather worse for wear; his sleeves were stained with blood and his hair was shockingly unkempt. But what came behind him was more than anything Amis ever wanted to see. It was a man, but it wasn't. It was a dark and ashen shape that flickered and weaved and had flames for a face that were making the most hideous expressions. But it could go no further than the door, it stopped at its very edges looming in its weird ferocity.