The Heir of Garstwrot

by Veras Alnar

  “I told you,” Lord Guain said, “I told you he's still here! The heir of Garstwrot!”

  And the shadow began to burble and laugh a frightful sound. But Lord Guain emerged alone and absurdly was straightening his clothes, as if it would help the blood and madness seem less apparent.

  “Fulk,” Lord Guain said, “how delightful to see you still alive.”

  “Can't say the same,” Fulk said, “too bad about Carbone, paid me better than you did with half the trouble.”

  “He was always a man of honor despite his ambitions,” Guain said, “unlike yourself and your disgusting father. I look forward to killing you and ending your line of perversity.”

  “You're not killing him,” Amis said, drawing his sword.

  “And neither will you kill me,” Lord Guain said, “because I can't die, not with this power behind me.”

  “The only pervert here is you!” Amis shouted, “you killed the town and all the animals and murdered my cat! You're no better than a rabid dog!”

  “I'm the only dog you need following you,” Guain said, “Fulk will abandon you as soon as you get into town, your worth is only the length of your arm to him and as soon as some greater master comes along he'll leave.”

  Amis wished what he was saying was a lie but it was always there, that threat. He was only useful so long as he could swing a sword.

  “After all you've done who would ever care for you if they knew the truth,” Lord Guain said.

  Amis could still hear it, the wailing cry of an infant silenced. All the more terrible because now he knew exactly what he had done. His arms trembled.

  “No one can love you as I could,” Guain said, “put the sword down and come to me and I'll help you take back the tower and together we can live here, like the family you so desperately wished for.”

  “No,” Amis said, “I wouldn't trust you to throw you.”

  “Come on!” Fulk shouted, “forget him and his mad obsession! He can live or die here, who cares what happens to him! That thing can have him!”

  There was something, some mystery that Amis' mind didn't have the ability to work out. It was an intuitive belief that Lord Guain had some secret knowledge he held only in his head. What he knew Amis was sure, was something utterly essential to his own survival but better left alone for now.

  “We're leaving,” Amis said, “follow us or don't, it doesn't matter. But if you darken my door with violence, I'll cut off your head and avenge the Baroness' daughter and all the village!”

  When Amis had turned to run, forgoing all thoughts of horses, the sound of glass breaking assailed his ears. Fulk let out an ungainly shriek and all around the ground that marked the horses' track there was a sudden flame. It burned into a symbol through sand and grass. Amis had no idea what it meant but he could feel some heaviness inside of him growing, making him lax and stiff until he fell to his knees.

  “What the hell is this?” Fulk shouted.

  “I gave much to understand the workings of Garstwren,” Guain said, “Carbone's death wasn't all in vain, don't you see Amis? Blood and sacrifice no matter how cruel, all bring boons in Garstwrot keep.”

  There was indeed a terrible stain on the grass inside the circle that was a testament to the blood Nethir had shed when his head was cut off. Fulk was struggling to right Amis but was having no luck and Amis himself felt strange and blurry around the edges like a water logged vellum.

  “All things evil and strange were Garstwren's lot,” Guain said, “and so he made terrible things from the blood he spilled. Supposedly he learned his skills in Scholomance, unfortunately I can't say the same. I had to steal the books from very important people.”

  “Bet they left nothing of themselves behind but empty husks,” Fulk said, “come on, Amis! Get up, it's just superstition.”

  But it wasn't and Amis had no such skills or learning to defend himself. His eyes kept snapping back to the stains on the ground, the poem recited in his head.

  I called the powers of Garstwren's land,

  From blood sacrificed unwillingly,

  And bled my sorrow across its ground,

  Until the earth cracked in its great span.

  Amis closed his eyes.

  He wished Durgia hadn't died. But she had. He had killed his own son and his blood had spilled in Garstwort. Though unintentional it had been, it was his infant sent to most dread sacrifice on Walpurg's Eve.

  It was enough. It was his own blood he had shed unwillingly and his own sorrow that haunted his heart. When Amis felt the bile rise on the back of his throat he knew that whatever Garstwren's magic was, it was working. He vomited blood on the ground and it flew and splattered covering the shock white bones of the ancient horse as if it were fairies skipping on stones.

  The earth began to crack open and it issued forth the pieces, like dancing on a string they began to twitch. It rose from the dirt like an eidolon in the shape of a ghostly, skeletal horse. From Fulk's mouth came the most terrific shout. But Amis knew what it was for, they had their horse now they could get out. It was all worth it, each and every death if he could save himself. The sound of Lord Guain's screams was like music to his ears, it meant that Amis had won one over on him, for now.

  From the horizon came a streak of red shooting across the land. The sounds of the army was getting louder but it wouldn't matter. Lord Guain would have to retreat back into the keep, he didn't have Amis' power or Fulk's still living skin and there were devils waiting for him there. Who knew what might happen to him...

  “Get on!” Amis insisted.

  Fulk was understandably hesitant but when Lord Guain let out the most terrific angry shout with his mouth opened in a grimace and fangs red and angry, Fulk thought better of lingering. Amis mounted the bones and felt more right than he had in a very long time. Together they clattered off, away from Garstwren's lonely tower.

  While they were riding through the breaking dawn, Amis saw a man on a great black steed approach ahead of the oncoming army, as though riding at break neck speed towards Garstwrot keep. He glanced upwards and it was with some uneasiness that Amis noticed the man was wearing a glittering black mask to match his sinister dark cloak.

  “Who the hell could that be?” Fulk said.

  Though he spoke confidently, Amis could feel the shake of his body against his back.

  “I've no idea,” Amis said, “some knight of Elaine?”

  “No proper knight would ever look like that,” Fulk said.

  High above the green grass and over the grounds they flew, horse bones clattering until dawn broke freely and the horse began to slowly slide lower and lower to the ground. They got as far as they could until the sun lit the sky and the horse collapsed into the earth, spilling Amis and Fulk over the ground.

  Fulk lay panting on his back, his face a mixture of torpor and shock.

  Amis tried to stand up and fell over again. It was either the dawn or the lasting effects of Lord Guain's evil spell. He had no way of knowing, not unless they ever met again.

  “We're away,” Amis said, rolling over and breathing into the grass.

  “Barely,” Fulk said.

  “But we got out,” Amis said.

  “Just,” Fulk said.

  Amis tried to get up and fell over again. Nothing was listening to him, not his limbs or his head that had begun to pound.

  “My eyes hurt,” Fulk said, pressing his fingers to them, “this is the start, isn't it? Damn!”

  Stretching out into the grass Amis felt the horse bones between his fingers while very far away two armies fought until one became the victor.

  With some difficulty, Amis felt himself being dragged by Fulk and felt the welcome shade of a tree.

  “We'll stay here for a bit,” Fulk said, “then join King Hune. He won't know about it or care that we were in Garstwrot, it's the only choice we have.”

  “All right,” Amis said, too exhausted to argue.

  The fires of Garstwrot were put out just as a red, bloody dawn
burst from the horizon and lit the bones scattered on the grass in violent colours and Amis lay still and deathly pale on the grass as any corpse.

  The birds sung and light scattered over a tall, thin man with white blond hair who had pressed a hand over his mouth to keep quiet his distressed weeping. To any passer by it wouldn't seem strange, they would assume he was mourning the dead body that sat propped up next to him; a sallow skinned young man with hair black as night and shoulders far too thin whose almond shapes eyes were half lidded and staring into the bright, new dawn.

  Thank you so much for reading!

  If you enjoyed The Heir of Garstwrot, please consider leaving a review on amazon.

  ~Sequel Coming Soon~

  The King of Elaine

  A new mystery awaits in Castle Medlam, the very home of King Hune. Amis thought he would find honest work in Medlam but the King has other ideas. But was King Hune unfairly ousted from his throne or is there some other dark power at work behind the castle's troubles?

  Worse still, Amis must face one of Garstwren's old companions. The demon horse of Medlam, who has a special interest in the goings on of the castle.

  More terror, mystery and fear abounds. Old friends, old enemies and a dark mystery will take you into the heart of the kingdom all the way to the Otherworld. There's more than one kingship at stake and Amis will have to use every scrap of will to come out the victor and not the spoils of a terrible war thousands of years in the making.

  Copyright Veras Alnar, July8th 2019