The Scarecrow (Master of Malice Book 1)

by Peace, Cas

  Now, while still not at anything approaching full capacity, the College at least had a fair number of trainees. Elias was beginning to feel proud of his innovation and foresight. He grinned at Sullyan.

  “I trust you will make him welcome, Brynne. Perhaps it will even be a good excuse for a royal visit.”

  Sullyan was aware there were two very compelling reasons why Elias should wish to visit the Manor while she was there. His loneliness and deep-seated need for her was only one of them. The other was currently fast asleep in the nursery, worn out by the excitement and exertions of the day. She gave her sovereign a look full of sympathy, which brought a flush to Elias’s complexion.

  “He will be completely safe with us,” she murmured. “You have my sworn word on that. You know I will guard him with my life.”

  Elias did know this. She had already laid her own life on the line in his service more than once. He had no doubt she would do so again, despite all she now had to lose. As always, he was humbled by the depths of her love and commitment.

  Their eyes met as if there was no one else in the room. “I do know that, Brynne.” Well used to their sovereign’s behavior around Sullyan, the others tactfully looked away or spoke of other things.

  It had taken Sullyan some time to convince her monarch Eadan was ready to begin training in the handling of his emerging Artesan talents. Elias had no traces of the gift and neither, as far as either of them knew, did his mother. General Blaine, who had known Elias’s father, thought the talent probably came from his side, but as none of them knew much about Sofira’s family history, this was pure speculation.

  Elias had always been a supporter of Artesans. Growing up in his father’s court and listening to the intrigue that went on as a matter of course, Elias, who had a lively mind and never suffered from prejudicial thinking, was quick to see the advantages of surrounding himself with loyal servants who possessed valuable talents. The fact they were reviled and mistrusted by most of the populace and, more seriously, a large portion of the ministers at his father’s court did nothing to dissuade the young Elias. The civil war that resulted in the death of King Kandaran left the new High King with a clearer field in which to practice his beliefs. The fact there were still those who plainly disapproved moved Elias not one whit, nor dampened his fascination with Artesans. It came as a complete shock to him when Sullyan blithely announced his baby son would one day exhibit the gifts that so impressed him.

  That was three years ago. Since then she had kept a close eye on the little boy and his embryo talent, and Taran’s move to the capital a year ago meant the Adept-elite could also report to her on Eadan’s progress. It had become clear over her recent tour of duty that Eadan would now benefit from a good grounding in the basics of the Artesan craft.

  She had felt guilty about mentioning it to the King. She was well aware how close Elias and Eadan were. Since the boy’s abduction at the hands of Reen, Elias had become understandably more protective of his son and Heir. Sullyan knew how desolate Elias would be to lose his son’s company, even though he knew he would be as safe—if not safer—at the Manor.

  And then there was Eadan himself. The boy was full of life, full of fun, and very fond of his father. Although she was not to blame for Sofira’s actions, Sullyan felt responsible for Eadan losing his mother. She was an orphan herself and understood only too well how the loss of parents could affect a child. Yet it was Sullyan’s actions that saw Sofira impeached for her treacherous activities, and her subsequent exile from Port Loxton.

  Once their marriage was dissolved, Elias imprisoned Sofira within the castle, placing strict limits and conditions on her access to her children. It was never his wish to deprive his children of their mother, but Sofira, always vocal in her opinions, railed constantly against the strictures placed upon her, making a misery of her children’s visits.

  It was Seline who felt it most. The young Princess had been close to her mother and was very like her in temperament. She was spoiled and haughty and guarded her privileges and status fiercely, permitting no liberties. She had been brought up with certain expectations and was wholly convinced of her mother’s innocence. Despite the guards and carefully selected ladies who accompanied the children every time they visited their mother, Sofira managed to instill in Seline the conviction that the King had treated her harshly, and that she was the victim of a sly and invidious plot. Seline had been heard on numerous occasions berating her father bitterly for her mother’s plight.

  Seline’s character and demeanor worsened, and soon Elias could ignore it no longer. He put a stop to the children’s visits, and when this only deepened Seline’s resentment and anger, he banished Sofira from court. Having obtained her signed affidavit that she would never again rebel against him on pain of death for both her and her father, Elias had Sofira transported back to Bordenn, there to live her life in obscurity.

  Seline reacted very badly to her mother’s absence.

  Although Elias had never felt the depth of affection for Seline that he did for Eadan, he nevertheless recognized the girl’s pain, realizing she was too young to understand all that had happened. In an effort to placate the girl and show her he wasn’t completely heartless, Elias permitted the letters Sofira sent her daughter to reach their intended recipient. He did, of course, read them first.

  Eadan had been too young for Sofira to influence as she had Seline. She had attempted to bond the little boy ever more firmly to her by giving him treats and permitting him whatever he wanted while trying to poison his mind. It hadn’t worked, for Eadan seemed to intuit what she was doing and gave no credence to her malicious lies. Sullyan privately believed that Eadan, even then, was able to sense both his father’s integrity and his mother’s duplicity, and was only confused and upset by Sofira’s spite. But the fact remained Eadan had lost his mother’s love, and now Sullyan proposed he be removed from his father also.

  So she smiled her understanding at Elias, and the High King ducked his head and flushed again at the depth of commitment in her eyes.

  The party broke up shortly after. There was much to organize for the morning and Sullyan wanted to inspect the barracks and check on the men before going to her rest. Colonel Vassa would arrive sometime in the morning, granted access through the substrate by Lord-General Anjer in Andaryon, and she needed to ensure all was in readiness. She left the King and his other guests to their after-dinner liquor and moved through the castle toward the outer doors.

  Loxton Castle had undergone some structural changes since those dreadful events three years ago. The Queen’s apartments were in the east wing, and Elias had caused these to be walled off from the main castle after her impeachment. Her private rooms had remained untouched, but there was now only one access door to the entire wing.

  Since Sofira’s departure a year ago, the east wing remained deserted. The children’s nursery had been moved into the main castle, nearer Elias’s apartments, and the door to the Queen’s wing remained securely locked. Sullyan would pass this door as she made her way outside.

  As she came abreast of the stout iron-bound door, she halted mid-stride, arrested by the strangest feeling of foreboding. Prescience was not considered an Artesan talent, nor was it even widely accepted as existing, and Sullyan herself, for all her mighty powers, was skeptical. Yet she couldn’t deny there had been times in her life when momentous events seemed to affect her psyche, and she had even acted upon such feelings. They had rarely let her down.

  She searched her mind for what had caught at her senses, trying to pin down this vague sensation of wrong. As so often happened, the more she chased it, the more elusive it became. She had no patience with this. Her other talents were there for the asking. Her training, her knowledge, and her power allowed her access to her metaforce and psyche at will. Her gifts were as readily accessible as the senses of sight, touch, or smell. So she wasted no time in fruitless wonder, merely tucked the feeling away within her mind, to bring out and examine at a later date should she
feel the need. She walked on, ignoring the faint, natural sound of wood as it settled.

  Chapter Four

  Within the cheerless cell deep beneath the palace, the scarecrow grew weaker. He lay helpless on the uncomfortable bed, staring angrily at the leprous growths covering the slimy rock walls. He viciously cursed the ache gnawing at his body, the lassitude dragging at his limbs.

  Damn the boy! Surely he had possessed more strength than this? Surely Reen hadn’t used it all in the desperate escape from his island prison? But there was no denying the facts. His physical strength was waning fast and he would be forced to do something about it. He might as well do it now, and he blessed the foresight that had prompted him to take the action that would ensure he could renew his fading strength without revealing his true nature too soon.

  Reen was well aware that his host was suspicious. He clearly felt the waves of fear and revulsion given off by the older man and wondered briefly whether he ought to have expended more of his unsuspected powers to bind Lerric to him as he had Sofira. But his resources were finite, and he must spend them wisely.

  Soon, this would change. Once he had Sofira completely under his control he could act as he wished, and he would have both her backing and her authority to bolster him. Already she had unwittingly provided him with the means to implement a very important aspect of his plans. He could afford to relax once the next phase had borne its intended fruit, but for the moment he needed Lerric, and it would cost him more than he was prepared to pay to control the client-king’s will.

  Physical strength, though, was a priority. Angrily, gripping the livid wood of his cane, Reen exerted his will.

  Within minutes two of the men Lerric had sent to accomplish Reen’s rescue descended the winding stair to the cell of their new master. Reen’s hollow, hawk-like face broke into a sneer as he heard their reluctant progress. The door to the cell opened slowly with no courtesy, but the scarecrow expected none. He stared into the terrified eyes of the two men before him, an evil leer on his face. The tremble of their limbs was plain to see, and the abject fear they exuded fed him like an elixir. He breathed the scent of their horror deeply.

  “Come here.”

  The man he had addressed, the younger of the two, hesitated fractionally. Reen, mightily displeased by this unexpected display of resistance, lashed the man with his hatred; though he could ill afford the effort it cost him. The youthful face contorted with pain and tendons stood out in the strong neck as the man strove to scream. Sweat broke out over his body and his companion moaned in terror.

  “I said, come here!”

  The man obeyed, all sense of self smothered by the Baron’s controlling will.

  “Help me up.”

  Reen gleefully absorbed the rank miasma of the man’s terror, even this slight power lending him strength as the muscled arm reached out, pulling the feeble wastrel to his feet. The dreadful, wheezing voice came again.

  “Remove your shirt.”

  Hands fumbled with the fastenings of the sweat-dampened cloth, the man’s eyes bulging with fear. As the fabric came away and fell to the filthy floor, an angry circle of skin in the center of the man’s chest was revealed. Swollen and crusted with old blood and unwashed dirt, the affected area glowed with a sullen ruby light.

  Reen cast a swift glance over his shoulder to check the second man. He could not afford to be disturbed or have the man cry out. He needn’t have worried. Eyes screwed shut, sweat pouring down his face, teeth chattering in terror, the other servant was past all conscious thought or action.

  Well and good! Reen turned back, staring into the eyes of the man before him. He bared his teeth in a decaying smile. He slowly raised the tip of his cane and heard the faint, pleading whimper that escaped the captive’s throat. Drinking in the man’s essence, Reen placed the tip of the gnarled cane against the raw patch on the muscular chest. He leaned on it, hard.

  Immediately, he was falling, surrounded by terror, blasted by screams. The scarecrow’s arms cartwheeled as he flailed for balance, but the sensation lasted only a second. This was the moment of vulnerability; the one moment when he could be thwarted, cast out, denied. But he already knew the fellow no longer had the ability to resist him. This cataclysmic wailing and shrieking was the only release permitted the tortured man, and even this fed the scarecrow’s black soul.

  As he fed, Reen felt himself swelling. Twisted bones straightened, feeble muscles grew strong, and his skin regained a semblance of youth and vitality. Briefly, Reen regretted the weakness that prevented him from absorbing what he needed the other way, the more pleasurable way. Then he reminded himself sternly that such activities would have to wait. Much as he craved them, his need for physical strength was such that he must take it the simplest way possible, with the least cost to himself. Those other pleasures, the darker pleasures, would come later.

  Before he damaged the man too severely, Reen withdrew from his essence. He removed the tip of the cane from the man’s bubbling flesh and watched dispassionately as the drained body crumpled to the floor. Let it lie! It would recover soon enough. He couldn’t afford, just yet, to reduce it too much. Soon—ah, soon, he promised himself—he would do as he willed and not have to concern himself with the well-being of his creatures. For now, much as it galled him, he needed them alive.

  He turned toward the other man, his body now firmly fleshed, his movements sure. His lips once more broke into a sinister smile as he registered the blind panic on the older man’s face. He approached the gibbering servant, savoring the moment, drinking the terror, laughing at the tears that flowed as the captive’s gaze swung from the glowing tip of the cane to the ruby red points deep within the terrible gray eyes.

  Once again, silent screams rang in Reen’s mind.

  + + + + +

  “I’m not sure I can do it, Brynne. How can I bear to let him go? Are you sure you can’t stay and begin his training here at the castle? I could have rooms made available to you—a whole suite if you like! You’d have free rein; you wouldn’t be distracted by the duties of the garrison, you could devote all your time to my son …”

  And to you.

  Brynne Sullyan faced the distraught King of Albia. They stood in the quiet of the sunlit nursery. Seline was nowhere to be seen and Eadan had just gone scampering off in a state of high excitement to fetch his favorite wooden sword, without which he’d go nowhere. Sullyan sighed as she faced up to the inevitable battle of wills she had been both expecting and dreading this morning.

  “Elias, my friend, you already know my reasons for insisting Eadan come to the Manor. I am not free. I have a duty to the General and my company, as well as to you. The facilities of the College are what Eadan needs. The support and experience of his peers will go far toward encouraging his emerging talents. And besides, you saw how keen he is. Have you not promised him this from the moment he could understand your offer? How could you disappoint him now?”

  Elias’s blue eyes misted over at her argument and he opened his mouth to reply, but Sullyan was in no mood to endure his stalling tactics. He had made the decision and she would see him abide by it.

  “Have no fear, my lord. He will come to no harm with us. We will nurture him and care for him as surely as you would. He is one of us, and precious, doubly so as he will grow to be the first Artesan King of Albia. Do you think any of us would see that jeopardized?”

  “Of course not, Brynne, I understand that. It’s only that I will miss him so much, and you know how I’ll also—”

  “I know you will miss him, my friend.” Sullyan didn’t want to hear the rest of Elias’s sentiments. “And I am sure he will also miss you. I will be in regular contact with Taran as usual, and you will get a daily report on his progress and well-being. You are always welcome at the Manor, you know that, and Eadan will want regular visits from you so he can show off what he has learned. Let him go, Elias. You know you must.”

  The sandy-haired King gazed into Sullyan’s warm eyes, hearing her unspo
ken plea. He knew she referred not only to his protests over Eadan, but also his desire to keep her near him. He sighed, a sentiment she silently echoed. She knew he couldn’t help his feelings, and feared he would not be able to dispel the specter of loneliness that would descend once she was gone.

  He dropped his gaze and Sullyan saw capitulation in the weary slump of his shoulders. His defeated aspect pained her; it was what made her dread the end of each tour of duty at the castle. She longed to reach out to him, take him in her arms for comfort, but she didn’t dare. She had to keep her distance, for both their sakes. If she did not, if she once let slip her guard, they might well step beyond safe boundaries which could never be re-erected.

  Fortunately, Eadan reappeared at that uncomfortable moment, clutching his toy sword. He was followed by his nursemaid, Bessie. The little boy was in a state of rare excitement at the thought of his coming adventure, and he capered around his father, waving his sword, crowing his delight and dispelling Elias’s somber mood. It was hard to feel despondent when Eadan’s joy was so infectious.

  Despite his closeness to his father, Eadan obviously felt no fear of leaving him and traveling with Sullyan to the Manor, two days’ fast ride away from his home. During his adventures following his rescue from the Baron’s clutches at only one year of age, he had shown no anxiety at the many strange sights and sensations he experienced. Indeed, he seemed to form an attachment to Sullyan even then, due in part to her ability to perceive and understand his emerging psyche.

  He was also close to her son, and to Rienne’s daughter. They were always at the castle when Sullyan was there, and to Eadan, they were part of his family. So although he was leaving his father behind, he was going with people he knew and trusted. Morgan’s colorful and exciting descriptions of life at the Manor whetted the little Prince’s appetite all the more. That and the promise of training both in metaphysics and in sword play—Eadan’s chief joys—would have persuaded him even had he been reluctant.