The Scarecrow (Master of Malice Book 1)

by Peace, Cas

  Elias could say none of this. He was the villain in her eyes for sending her away. She would never feel any different and he mustn’t let himself be stung by her venom. With a visible effort, he ignored her challenging tone.

  “Madam, we’ve been long hours on the frozen road this morning and we’re tired. We shouldn’t dishonor your father by ignoring this sumptuous meal. I suggest we leave our discussions until we’ve done justice to his kitchens and can relax in less formal surroundings. Allow me to pour you some of this excellent wine.”

  Sofira’s eyes hardened, but she could hardly refuse in front of the General and Robin. She could see Elias was determined not to be goaded and Robin also sensed her intrigue at his motives. If he truly had proposals concerning their children, she wouldn’t prejudice her position by antagonizing him. He had come a long way in foul weather to speak with her and that indicated an important decision. She needed to hear what it was. She smiled at Elias.

  Robin was astounded at how a simple smile, not even a particularly warm one, could transform so stern a face. Sofira’s bleached skin and hard gray eyes weren’t given to softness, and the scraped-back style in which she wore her blonde hair did nothing to smooth the angles of her face. But her smile brought animation to her features and he caught a brief glimpse of the woman Elias had married: stern, quick-witted, and stiff-backed, yes, but still an attractive woman.

  As if she’d sensed his surprise, Sofira turned the smile first on Robin and then on the General. She allowed Elias to pull out her chair and sank gracefully into it, arranging the folds of her expensive court gown. She accepted the goblet he poured for her and raised it to them.

  “Very well, gentlemen, we will put aside our differences and our business and concentrate upon enjoying a rare occasion to indulge ourselves. This winter has been a difficult time for our province and luxuries are hard to come by. My father and I have done our best and we hope you approve of our humble attempts. Let us drink to tolerance and reason, if not to friendship.”

  Elias clearly didn’t like her reference to hardship, echoing as it did her father’s. He was also unsure as to her toast, but could think of no way to counter it. He took his place at the head of the table and raised his glass. They all drank, and Lerric signaled to the servants. As the food was served and the conversation turned to more mundane matters, Robin determined to enjoy the meal if nothing else.

  + + + + +

  Ardoch and his somber band arrived at the Forest Gate just before dusk. The laden clouds fulfilled their earlier promise and flakes of white swirled around the burdened riders. The rising wind had teeth of ice. The old Torlander, huddled deep inside his fur-lined cloak, was heartily glad to see the welcoming glow of lamps as he approached the gates to the city.

  “Nearly home, Denny lad,” he murmured, but of course there was no response from the deadweight on his saddlebow.

  The gate guards, expecting their return, had already observed their approach and registered their sorry state. The gates were hauled open before the company reached them and the four guards stood to attention, eyes hard and vengeful, saluting in silence as their fallen comrades were borne past them into the city. Ardoch took his band through the darkening streets, making no attempt to hide from the populace, most of whom were on their way home after the day’s business. His dour mien and the obvious burdens he and his men carried soon attracted the attention of Loxton’s inhabitants. They swarmed around the horses, exclaiming in dismay, pointing at the bodies and gasping in shock.

  The news flashed ahead of them, faster than their sober pace, and crowds flocked every street they rode through. Neremiah’s murder the day before was now common knowledge, as were the terrible fire at Jinny’s estate and the purpose of the dawn patrols. In a bustling, cosmopolitan city like Loxton rumor worked its spell swiftly. Ardoch heard all sorts of theories bandied about.

  The churchman had offended the King and the murder had been carried out by King’s Guard attempting to recover gold from the Arch Patrio. Neremiah’s murderer was someone with a grudge against the Matria Church, against Elias, against the city, and Loxton Forest was thronging with brigands and cutthroats. Trade was to be cut, the port blockaded, and the city’s inhabitants were to be penned inside the walls until the murderer should be found. Elias had lost his reason, fleeing the city in fear of his life, taking his senior ministers with him. The King had gone to kill Lerric, suspecting him of being behind both murder and fire. Ardoch heard the rumors and saw the beginnings of panic in people’s faces.

  But he said nothing and his men said nothing. They rode with heads bowed in silence, honoring their dead, looking neither left nor right. They moved through the swelling, murmuring crowd, untouched by the accusations and speculations, and the crowd—like the rumors—grew and moved with them. People were drawn irresistibly in the wake of the sad procession, right up to the castle gates.

  The castle guards heard them coming. The crowd’s anxious muttering rolled before the procession like the outriding wind of a storm. One guard sprinted for the castle, calling Captain Valustin, and the Captain alerted Colonel Vassa. Together they raced for the gates, unable to believe the spectacle before them.

  Ardoch and his men, dour and snow-covered, sat their mounts outside the gates. The guards hadn’t opened the gates in case the crowd surged through. For the moment, the mob only wanted answers and reassurance. If they didn’t get it soon, the mood would turn ugly and Vassa would have a situation on his hands.

  Through the gates, the Colonel looked into Ardoch’s haunted eyes. He took a breath, casting his gaze over the riders, taking account of each horse with its sorry burden. He focused once more on the Torlander. “All of them?”

  Ardoch nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Valustin took a shuddering breath and Vassa cursed.

  “We need to get you inside. Captain, get these people back.”

  Valustin slipped out of the postern gate, drawing the guards with him. Together they encouraged the swarming people to move back, just far enough to open the gates. The crowd fell silent, save for a few rowdier ones to the rear who couldn’t see what was happening. Taciturn and somber, Ardoch led his band into the relative calm of the castle park.

  Once the gates clanged shut and the cavalcade moved off, the clamor rose once more. Angry shouts and demands for explanations filled the air and the gates themselves were rattled. Ardoch roused from his lethargy long enough to glance at them.

  “They followed us from the outskirts,” he told Vassa. “They’re frightened and they feel insecure. Someone will have to speak to them or there’ll be a riot.”

  Vassa pursed his lips. “They’ll have to wait. I have more important things on my mind.”

  But Ardoch was right. As they neared the castle and saw the courtyard filled with servants, ministers, and courtiers, all avid for the truth of the massacre, Vassa realized this event could be the spark to ignite the tinder of rumor. A city like Loxton was always one step from unrest, and the atmosphere of apprehension created by Neremiah’s murder, the King’s absence, and now the fire, was ripe for the flame of panic. He would fail in his duty to his King if he did nothing to calm the overanxious inhabitants.

  He roared for assistance and swordsmen came forward to relieve their living comrades of the burden of the dead. The fallen would be laid respectfully in the castle mortuary until their pyres could be built. The men of Ardoch’s command were led away to be fed, warmed, and comforted. Vassa himself led the old Torlander into the castle and up to Levant’s chambers, where he was required to give the details of the day’s terrible events.

  + + + + +

  The wastrel, unnoticed by most, lingered among the crowd by the gates. He had received fresh instructions. Satisfied so far as to how his plans had progressed, Reen had decided to push his luck. He intended to make use of the link forged with Princess Seline, but left it up to his minion as to how this could be achieved.

  The vagabond had heard the clamoring crowds accompanying Ardoch
’s band and joined the throng. At least the brigands had upheld their part of the bargain. Perhaps they had even gleaned sufficient spoils from their staged robbery to make up for what he had promised them in final payment. They would get no more gold from the Baron.

  He scrutinized the despondent cavalcade as it bore its sorry burdens to the castle, mildly surprised at the thoroughness of the brigands’ ambush. He hadn’t expected them to succeed in killing the entire patrol. Their specific instructions had concerned Denny only. They were almost worth the extra gold they wouldn’t receive. But enough of that. He must turn his thoughts away and concentrate on his next task. Somehow he had to contact the young Princess again, and the mob clamoring at the gates gave him an idea.

  The crowd’s mood was turning ugly. They had obeyed the Guards’ commands to let the dead through out of respect, but once the gates clanged shut they realized answers wouldn’t be forthcoming. Urged on by a few who were bolder than the rest, the mob bayed for attention. The vagrant quietly encouraged the troublemakers. A few choice remarks about the disinterest of their leaders and the contempt of the nobility for the common populace soon found fertile ground. An undercurrent of viciousness, present in any large gathering of people, crept to the fore. Within a very short time, the initially curious and nervous crowd had become a slavering beast threatening to tear down the gates.

  The wastrel smiled. Elias’s ministers couldn’t afford to ignore such unrest. This volatile mood would only encourage the criminal element to commit atrocities, and the last thing the city needed was more trouble. Very soon now someone would come and speak to the mob, maybe invite the ringleaders into the castle. Therein lay his opportunity.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The fine meal went a long way toward mellowing the mood between Elias and his subordinate. Even Sofira seemed willing to abandon her hostility and proved a pleasant, if quiet, hostess. She made conversation with both General Blaine and Robin, although she studiously avoided Elias’s attempts to engage her attention. He was relieved the meal went as smoothly as it had. He’d anticipated long, frosty silences and awkward moments. Yet they had all managed to put aside their differences while doing justice to the truly delicious meal.

  Elias complimented Lerric on his kitchen and allowed himself to be led into the comfortable, smaller room that served Lerric as both audience chamber and private living space. He was drawn over to the fire, where he and Blaine accepted their host’s offer of fellan laced with brandy.

  Robin accepted the fellan but refused the liquor. He also politely refused Lerric’s invitation to join their discussions, saying he needed to check on his men. Blaine gave him permission to withdraw, and Elias inclined his head in approval. His stated reasons for visiting Lerric were spurious, as Robin knew, but even had they been real they wouldn’t have concerned a major in Elias’s forces. Lerric’s obvious desire to keep both the King’s Artesans where he could see them was good enough reason for Elias to deny him that comfort. Besides, Robin was technically still on duty. Elias’s security was his responsibility and it was perfectly natural for the commander of the King’s escort to oversee the deployment of his men.

  Accepting the Major’s refusal, Lerric summoned a servant to convey him back to the barracks. He addressed the young man before he left.

  “Major, I allow those of my men who are off duty to walk into town of an evening and relax in the tavern. It might foster good relations among our forces if some of your men accompanied them. What do you say?”

  Robin bowed, his swift glance at the General going unnoticed by Lerric. “I will speak to the men, your Majesty, and suggest the idea. I thank you for your interest in their comfort. I’m sure they’ll have made friends by now among your guard. You know what soldiers are like.”

  Lerric grinned as Robin withdrew, commenting to Blaine, “Are you sure you can’t spare that young man? I could use a few like him, even for a season. He could teach manners to some of my ministers. Mind you, my ministers would be locking away their wives, too fearful of their virtue should they set eyes on that handsome face.”

  The General didn’t smile. “Your ministers would have no reason to fear Major Tamsen, your Majesty. He is happily married and far too honorable to behave improperly. But I fear his wife and young son might complain if I lent him to you. And I’d be hard-pressed to replace him, even for a season. He’s one of my finest officers.”

  Elias hid a smile. He knew the tale behind Robin’s arrival and early years at the Manor and how close he’d come—on more than one occasion—to summary dismissal by the very man now singing his praises. The hotheaded, impetuous youth, a talented swordsman and the best shot with a bow the Manor had ever seen, hadn’t endeared himself to the General with his undisciplined ways and reluctance to accept authority. Elias firmly believed that if not for Hal Bullen, Robin would either have found himself before a military court for insubordination or killed in some rash and ill-considered action. Either one would have been a criminal waste.

  Elias regarded Lerric, the turn of conversation leading him nicely toward his goal—the duplicitous discussion with Sofira about their children. He wanted to keep both her and her father talking, prick them into indiscretion if he could. They might just let something slip if their tongues were unguarded, and mention of either Seline or Eadan was guaranteed to provoke a reaction from the Princess.

  “Where are all your ministers, Lerric? I’m surprised to find your palace quite so deserted.”

  Lerric poured more brandy into Elias’s cup, avoiding contact with his sharp blue eyes. “This dreadful winter has affected my poor province badly. Most of my ministers run estates of their own, as I can’t afford to pay them enough to retain a permanent court. They always prefer to spend the middle winter months in their own homes. It’s quite usual for Sofira and me to find ourselves alone at this time, so we adjust the business of the province accordingly. This year, what with the weather and the roads still being so bad, not even my closest nobles have wanted to return, so we remain as you find us. But as the inclement weather has also prevented the recommencement of trade, it hardly matters. Bordenn is a small and insignificant region, as you know, so I’m not as incommoded by a lack of advisors as you’d be in my position.”

  The King ignored Lerric’s reference to Bordenn’s poverty. “It’s also fortunate, is it not, that your lack of a court means you don’t have to attend to the repairs your palace needs?”

  Elias’s casual question seemed to catch Lerric unawares. “Repairs?” he echoed, staring blankly at his guest. But he didn’t have to struggle long before he was coolly rescued by his daughter.

  “I believe my Lord refers to the damaged lower floor, Father.”

  Lerric flushed, but Sofira gave him no opportunity to compound his lapse. She addressed Elias. “My father isn’t troubled by such minor matters, my Lord. He has more pressing business on which to dwell, especially now he’s bereft of advisors. I try to carry the burden of such trivial concerns, and discuss them with the servants and the chatelaine. As the stonemasons who advised us on what was needed were reluctant to carry out repairs during this dreadful weather, I decided it would be best to abandon the lower floor entirely, make it secure, and leave it till the spring. It’s not as if we need the space. We don’t have the size of court you support even in summer when trade and the affairs of the province are at their height.”

  Elias inclined his head. “You are prudent, Madam. You always did know how to manage your affairs to your best advantage.”

  Silence fell and Elias wondered if Sofira would take offence at his double-edged statement. However, he’d put no inflection on his words and for Sofira to take exception would make her sound petty. The controlled stiffness in her tone as she replied was his answer.

  “I thank you, my Lord, but you didn’t come here to compliment me on my handling of the housekeeping. I believe you wanted to discuss our children?”

  Elias was disappointed his first attempt to prick her temper had
failed, but he would have ample opportunity as the evening drew on. He was particularly keen to observe her reaction as he gave her a report of Eadan’s progress at the Manor. Her tantrum when he told her what Sullyan had said about Eadan’s emerging talent was still the subject of after-dinner conversation among his courtiers. He anticipated something similar when she learned of her son’s removal to Sullyan’s care.

  “So I did, Madam, so I did. But before I do, would you like me to tell you what they’ve been up to lately? You must be hungry for news.”

  Elias was well aware Sofira corresponded with Seline. He read all her letters to her daughter, as well as those Seline returned. So he knew his daughter hadn’t told Sofira of Eadan’s sojourn at the Manor, and she wouldn’t have had any word of her son for some while. He had much to tell her, for although Eadan was learning his letters as well as his more unusual lessons, he wasn’t yet able to construct a legible message.

  Elias’s offer to share his children’s progress with her must have felt like crumbs from a beggar’s table to the Princess. She couldn’t refuse, however, despite her obvious outrage. He was right, she was desperate for news. Her throat tightening on the words, she managed to say, “My Lord is most kind.”

  Elias smiled, enjoying the verbal fencing. Sofira possessed a sharp mind. It was a shame her tongue and her temper shared the same characteristic. Facing her squarely, holding her gaze, he said, “I don’t believe you know that your son has been taken for training at the King’s College. He was accepted as an Artesan Apprentice nearly three weeks ago. You’ll be pleased to hear that the reports I’ve received from Colonel Sullyan speak highly of his progress so far.”

  If Elias had hoped for an uncontrolled outburst, he was disappointed. Lerric gasped, but all the High King saw from Sofira was a further paling of her face and a tightening of her eyes. There must have been a very real struggle taking place within her heart, but all she did was clench her hands on the arm of her chair, striving for outward calm.