The Scarecrow (Master of Malice Book 1)

by Peace, Cas

  The Colonel wasted no time. He brushed past the Adept and headed down the hallway toward the stairs.

  “Wake Levant, will you, Taran? And anyone else you can think of. I’ll turn out the garrison.”

  Taran sped for Levant’s chambers, but the First Minister had already heard the alarm. Taran gave his information and left Levant to organize the castle. The Adept hurried after Vassa, clattering down the stairway to the lower floor, shouldering through the castle’s milling inhabitants, some of whom tried to waylay him with questions or pleas for information. Taran referred them all to Levant and forged his way outside.

  He emerged into the castle courtyard, from where he could hear the Colonel’s stentorian roar alerting the garrison and yelling orders. Running beneath the archway that led to the garrison compound, his breath streaming white in the freezing air, Taran made for the stables. Grooms and swordsmen were everywhere. Taran had to fight to reach the barn where the harness was stored. He snatched up Bucyrus’s saddle and bridle and made his way to his mount’s stall.

  Bucyrus, like the other horses, had caught the pervading sense of urgency and snorted in alarm. Taran spared him a gentle word and a soothing hand before flinging on the saddle and slipping the bridle over the stallion’s ears. He led the beast from his stall and vaulted to his back before they had even cleared the door.

  Emerging into the compound, Taran was assailed by the shouts of men, the calls of fretting horses, and the press of bodies. He touched heels to Bucyrus’s sides and sent the horse out into the castle parklands, heading, like so many others, for the gates to the city. He heard Denny’s yell close behind him and turned, seeing the Major leading a band of around forty mounted men, all running hard on Taran’s heels. They clattered through the opened gates and into the city streets.

  Taran ignored the tumult, the freezing air, the falling snow, and also the cries of the men around him. Reaching within himself for his psyche, Taran attuned himself to the element of Fire. He wrapped its signature about his consciousness, made himself part of it, sensitized his spirit to its nature. Then he cast his awareness out over the city, trying to shut out Denny’s voice demanding he do what he was already doing.

  The city was quiet, save for the districts nearest the castle where the inhabitants had heard the yells and were beginning to come to their doors. Puzzled, Taran pulled back his senses, turning questioning eyes to the red-hued sky. Denny sent one of his men to tell Vassa the city was safe, and turned to yell at Taran.

  “Seems to be coming from the north!”

  Taran looked that way. The night was still. No scent of smoke reached their nostrils; no floating soot marred the pristine white snow. What movement of air there was carried the faint tang of brine, as usual. The castle was to the north and west of the city. Beyond it were the cliffs dropping down to the sea, and the erstwhile Baron’s estate.

  Taran’s blood froze. His whole body shuddered and a cold hand of panic gripped a heart that labored under the pang of shock. His face drained and his sight blurred. Now he knew why he had startled awake, sweat-ridden, lungs burning. He knew the name of the nightmare that had jolted him from sleep. He once again felt sick and dizzy and swayed in his saddle.

  Denny noted his reaction, even in the gloom. He reached out to steady his friend. “What, Taran? What is it?”

  Taran turned fearful eyes on him. “Oh, gods! It’s not the city, Denny, it’s the estate! It’s Jinny’s estate! Quickly, Denny, hurry! Oh, dear gods! Jinny!”

  Taran dug his heels into Bucyrus’s sides. The mettlesome stallion, unused to such harsh treatment, squealed as he surged forward, leaping into a flat-out gallop as Taran laid the reins across his neck, urging the great beast faster and faster through the narrow, twisting streets, Denny’s men right behind him.

  He dimly heard a yell from Denny—whether warning or command, he couldn’t say. He didn’t hear the words, had no thought for his safety. All he knew was that Jinny had called to him in her terror and, miraculously, he’d heard her. The one thing he had been hoping for during their three years together had finally happened. They’d achieved a pair-bonding, a true merging of spirit and soul—the one irrefutable indication they were meant to be together. All their passionate coupling, their enjoyment of each other’s company, their ease together, had broken down the barrier of Jinella’s lack of talent and allowed this incredible link to be forged. It had taken panic to release it.

  And he hadn’t recognized it.

  + + + + +

  They labored long and hard into the dawn. Straining together, gasping for breath in the smoke-laden air, they struggled to fight the flames. Finding water wherever they could—the well, the horses’ buckets, the dew-pond—their existence merged into one long chain of passing heavy buckets down the line to be thrown, hissing and steaming, into the all-consuming maw of flame.

  The servants had been spared. Wakened by the roar as the fire attacked the main building, they escaped their rooms just before the inferno burst the door separating their wing from the mansion. Leaving all their possessions, fleeing in night robes and blankets, they spilled into the freezing night, screaming for help, milling frantically until someone ran to the chapel and tolled the bell. The estate’s inhabitants poured from their houses to help.

  Taran, Denny, and the men from the garrison arrived in the midst of this chaos. So swift had been their flight through the city that the guard at the gate hadn’t been able to get the ponderous portal open fast enough. Taran, desperate to reach Jinny, had spurred his mount through an opening too small to accommodate horse and rider, resulting in his leg and the horse’s flank being crushed against the stout wood. He had not stopped to assess the damage and was one of the first off his horse when at last they reached the inferno.

  They soon saw it was hopeless. The mansion was completely alight. Flames roared from every window, spat from the roof beams, leaped feet into the air as internal walls collapsed. The servants’ wing went the same way. There simply wasn’t enough water to combat such a ferocious conflagration.

  It was Matty who saved the horses. Disobeying his father’s orders, he sprinted across the fields and opened the stable doors. Yelling at the frightened horses, he chased them into the yard where their own terror goaded them past the flames and out into the cold safety of the night. They would suffer in the cold, but better to shiver in the darkness than roast alive in their stalls.

  Taran fought his own private battle with terror and panic as he strained his powers beyond their limits. The agony of his crushed leg was forgotten in the urgency of the moment. He wanted to run into the flames, throw himself up the charred stairs, and batter his way to Jinny’s door in the desperate hope he’d find her safe and well. But the heat was too fierce and the building too damaged. The stairs were gone anyway, long since collapsed, along with most of the second floor. The flames exulted high above his head, leaping maniacally through the burned-out roof trusses, mocking him with his impotence as he strove to damp them down. As Adept-elite he could influence Fire, but he doubted even Sullyan could have banished this ravening monster.

  He fought on, turning all the love in his heart, the panic in his veins, and the valor in his soul into strength of will as he pitted his inadequate skills against the unstoppable fire.

  He never noticed the faint flush of dawn staining the east. He didn’t realize the chain of buckets had ceased to move, didn’t know the space around the mansion was now cleared of people. Denny had long since realized the task was hopeless and the best they could hope for was containment. He cleared an area around the burning buildings and removed everything that could catch alight, forming a fire-break. The mansion and the servants’ wing were lost. Better to sacrifice what couldn’t be saved in order to redeem the rest.

  Now it was over. The fire still raged, but it was running out of fuel and could be left to consume itself. The still winter air was a blessing; no wind would blow the flames to claim further victims. Denny sent the exhausted villagers back to
their homes and organized temporary care for the displaced servants. Any with wounds or burns too serious to treat in the village were transported back to the city. Denny had to return also. He was due out on patrol at dawn. Vassa wouldn’t appreciate his being late, not even for this. So Denny approached Taran, who had fallen to his knees with exhaustion, but was still trying to quell the flames.

  He nearly cried out when Denny touched his arm. His eyes snapped open as Denny crouched down beside him.

  “It’s over, Taran. You can do no more. Let it go, man, you’ll kill yourself.”

  Taran turned brimming eyes on the Major. “It’s over?” he whispered. “It’s gone? The whole house?”

  “See for yourself.” Denny directed Taran’s gaze to the ravaged building.

  The Adept stood painfully, leaning on Denny’s arm. Tears streamed down his sweat-soaked face as he stared at the dreadful mess the fire had made of Jinny’s home. He covered his face with his hands and stood there shaking.

  Denny glanced at his men, who waited awkwardly, unsure what to do. They weren’t the ones picked by him to patrol Loxton Forest today—he’d left those behind with orders to report to Colonel Vassa. He would have sent the men back to their rest until dawn. Denny was needed there to lead them. He turned once more to the distraught Adept.

  “Taran, I’m so sorry, but I have to go now. I have patrols to lead. I’ll leave my men here with you. They’ll help you look through the house once it’s cooled down a bit, see if they can find … you know … what’s left. But I have to go. I have my orders. I’ll make sure Vassa knows what’s happened, if he doesn’t already; he won’t expect you at the castle this morning.”

  He got no response. Taran simply stared at the smoldering mess.

  “Taran—oh gods, man, I’m so sorry. None of this was your fault; you could have done nothing to prevent it. It was an accident, by the looks of things—a spilt lamp, probably. You know what these old houses are like, tinder-dry, most of them. And you tried the hardest of anyone to stop the fire. Don’t make yourself ill with blame. Jinny wouldn’t have wanted that.”

  Denny’s words finally seemed to register. Taran turned red-rimmed, guilt-ridden eyes on his friend, his tortured soul naked and burning. A terrible rage seemed to well inside him, and for one awful moment Denny thought Taran might strike him, might even try to kill him. The insane despair smothering his senses threatened to overwhelm all other concerns. But then he turned, faced once more the savage pyre of his love, his hopes, and his dreams, and screamed his loss to the sky. He threw back his head, fists beating at the frozen air, throat clawing harshly at the tatters of his life, and then he collapsed to his knees once again, tearing sobs muffled under futile hands—hands that had failed to save his love.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  They left him to the course of his grief. It was the only thing they could think to do for him. They withdrew a polite distance and watched him, concerned lest he try to harm himself in the depths of his despair. Denny left for the garrison and made his sad report to the Colonel. Vassa had indeed learned of the night’s terrible events and sent what help he could spare. Levant had been informed and the First Minister asked the Major what he thought he should do for Taran. Denny shrugged helplessly and advised Levant to send someone for Sullyan. He didn’t know anyone else who might be able to help.

  But sending for Sullyan would take too long without Taran’s help. The King’s runners took two days by fast horse to reach the Manor. With Taran out of action, they couldn’t contact General Blaine or the King, either. Levant couldn’t ignore this situation. Callous as it might seem, Taran was too valuable to risk losing to despair. Levant called for his horse and left at a gallop.

  + + + + +

  Jinny swam in a sea of pain. Her head ached ferociously and there was a nauseating light across her closed eyes, flashing jagged barbs into her brain. She lay on her back, her limbs finally free of restraint. She could even get her breath, which was a mercy, although her throat was painfully raw. She couldn’t recall ever feeling so utterly dreadful.

  She was shivering. Wherever she was, it was freezing cold. She had been wearing her night things when she was abducted, and although they were fine for her cozy bedchamber, they were no use at all against the winter cold. If she wasn’t to freeze to death she would have to combat this frightening headache, rouse herself, and get warm.

  Drawing in a breath, she tried to move her head. Nausea rushed over her, but she managed to contain it. Very slowly, she opened her eyes. There was a dim amber glow in the room. She could just make it out through half-opened lids. As her sight became used to the gloom, she made out a very small fire in one corner, opposite where she lay. Rustic bowls and utensils lay on the ground next to the fire, but otherwise the place was bare. Gradually, groaning at the jagged stabs shooting into her brain, Jinny sat up.

  She’d been lying on a wooden shelf bed, about two feet off the ground. Beneath her was the silken comforter from her own bed that had been used to restrain her. She eased it out and wrapped it tightly about her body, but it didn’t do much to warm her chilled flesh. She gazed fearfully about her, taking in the rough stone walls, the dirt-packed floor littered with old straw, the stout wooden door, and the tiny fire in the corner. She was quite alone.

  There were no windows; the smoke from the fire escaped through a small, angled smoke-hole in the roof. She could hear no sound, but the smells in the room reminded her of livestock—maybe sheep. Was this some herder’s cottage or hut, some shepherd’s refuge from the winter winds? If so, she could be anywhere.

  This thought brought tears to her eyes. She didn’t understand what had happened to her. How could she have been abducted from the bedchamber of her own house? What had happened to her servants? Why hadn’t Seth alerted her to intruders? Unless, she thought with a sudden shiver, he’d been killed. Hadn’t that dreadful voice told her Alice had been slaughtered, her throat cut? If it had been done to poor Alice, why not Seth? Why not all her servants?

  Jinella began to tremble uncontrollably, half with cold and half with terror. If her abductor could murder her household in cold blood, what lay in store for her? And when would it happen? How long would she be kept here, in fear and isolation, just waiting for her fate? Where was Taran when she needed him? Why had they fallen out so badly, why had she let things go so far?

  Piteously, hopelessly, Jinella wept.

  + + + + +

  Inconsolable, Taran stared at the mansion’s smoking ruins in the harsh light of day. The outer stone walls still stood, soot-scarred and stained, but practically everything within them had been destroyed, eaten by the ravening fire. A few roof trusses still reared their stark, black angles to the sky, but all recognizable features of the mansion’s interior were gone.

  Taran limped carefully over the wet, charred mess inside the walls, his crushed leg shooting pain up his thigh, his vision blurred, his heart dead and cold. In the face of such destructive ferocity, he thought, how had these few, incongruous items survived? Here and there among the detritus were household objects, strangely untouched. A porcelain figure, intact, its delicate colors unmarred. Over there lay a book—a book!—its leather cover soaked, but its pages whole. And here, in the center of the carnage, a glint of untarnished silver.

  Taran recognized that small, bright gleam and took a sobbing breath. He was looking at the finely-chased silver box he had bought as a surprise for Jinny. He remembered the look of pure joy and love on her face when he presented it to her, and how she’d thanked him for the gift.

  He froze, realizing where he stood. Above his head, such a short while ago, had been Jinny’s private rooms. She had kept this little box in her solar, and this is where it must have come to rest when the wooden floorboards and joists had been consumed, collapsing into this unrecognizable jumble of broken furniture and scorched, ruined fabric.

  Unable to help himself, yet frightened of what he might find, Taran picked through the mess. He knew Jinny would have
been in her chamber when the fire began, and the few servants he had spoken to confirmed that their mistress hadn’t escaped. His desperate prayers that she’d somehow climbed or jumped from a window went unanswered. No one had seen her or heard her. And so, tears stinging the scorched skin on his face, he tried to find her.

  + + + + +

  Seth watched Taran walk unsteadily through the smoldering rubble, unmoved by the Adept’s grief. He might have made a pretense of helping him, curious as to what might be left for him to find, but for the arrival of Lord Levant. Taran was oblivious, lost in sorrow, and didn’t see Levant as the man sat his horse, staring at the carnage.

  Looking around, Levant caught sight of Seth and hailed him. With no other choice Seth approached the lord, who indicated the ruins with a wave of his hand.

  “Is there any chance Lady Jinella survived?” he asked, speaking softly lest Taran hear him.

  Seth glanced at the building. “I doubt it, my Lord. The servants got out, but the mistress had retired to her bed. She’d have been asleep when the fire broke out.”

  Levant frowned. “You were the Baron’s manservant, were you not?”

  “Yes, my Lord. The mistress graciously kept me on because of my long service to her uncle.”

  “So where were you when the fire started?”

  Seth went cold, but didn’t allow himself to react. “I’d gone out earlier, my Lord. The mistress sent all of us early to our rest and I decided to visit with a … friend in the city. I heard the commotion and saw the King’s Guard race by, and someone said the mansion was burning. I ran here quick as I could to help with the buckets.”