Danamis touched his friend’s shoulder. “Yes, I will see you again soon.” He turned to the guardsman. “When you have tucked the Coronel into his palanquin, return to me. I have a message for you to bear to her Majesty.”
Strykar took Danamis off guard by throwing his arm around him and leaning in to give what bear hug he could with only one arm available. “We made it through another one, eh?” He gestured for the guardsman to support him and hobbled to the door, his crutch thumping. “And when my brother gives me the rights to distilling acqua miracula again, your ships will take it to every port in Valdur!”
Citala moved to stand by Danamis, her arm entwining around his. “He doesn’t know does he? You didn’t tell him.”
“No, he might feel obligated to tell the Duke... or her. He will understand my decision once he sees we’ve sailed.” He cracked open the small, sealed square of parchment that he held and read.
We would hear of your plans for the fleet and for our return to Perusia...
He tossed it onto the trestle and folded his hand over hers and squeezed before moving over to his chipped blackwood sea chest in the corner. He pulled out a large square pouch of oiled leather, opened the canvas tie, and removed a much larger square of parchment than the one he had just received from Queen Cressida. He returned to the table and laid it open, a work of intricate calligraphy in purple and red ink, triple-tailed ribbons and wax seals dangling down. His warrant as an admiral of Valdur.
Citala gripped his forearm. “You are certain of this, my love?”
He pulled her into his arms, their faces just a breath apart. “With all my heart. The throne has had its good service of me and I have shirked my duty to you and your people long enough. Necalli and I have spoken much about this. We don’t always see eye to eye, but we agree on one thing. The merfolk of Valdur must be saved. It is time for you and me to deal with both our fathers.”
A knock again sounded and Danamis broke their embrace. “Come!”
The guardsman stood before them and dipped his head. “Admiral, your message?”
Danamis folded the warrant and put it back into its pouch. He handed it to the soldier. “Take this to the queen.”
“No other instructions, my lord?”
Danamis shook his head. “No. She will know what it means.”
Alone again, he swept Citala up into his arms. “So it is for Palestro now.”
“And then to Nod’s Rock.”
He nodded. “We will have a little war on our hands. But we have a kraken. Fathers can be stubborn.”
She laughed, that peculiar musical trill that he knew so well.
“Which probably accounts for my mule-headedness... on account that I’m a father too. Cressida told—”
Citala’s violet eyes widened. “But I haven’t told you yet! The queen could not possibly know.” She pulled away from him, her long-fingered hands cupping her belly, a smile taking form on her round, blue-grey face.
Nicolo Danamis, pirate, then admiral, and now pirate once again, blinked a few times. Slowly, he felt the corners of his mouth turning up, mirroring hers.
Epilogue
DEEP WITHIN THE dormitory of the monastery of Maresto, Acquel pushed back his little bench along the rough-glazed and uneven terracotta tiles of the bedchamber floor. Before him on the table was Ugo Volpe’s leather satchel, its content spread out before him. His coiled rope of tied ribbons, a few phials, a knotted cord of incredible complexity, and a little book, well scribbled in. The latter was filled with drawings and symbols none of which Acquel understood. Lastly, there was a letter, written in the old monk’s crabbed hand and addressed to him.
Brother Acquel, if you are reading this then two things have happened. I am dead and you yet live. If Elded has given you the strength and the power then the old evil has been banished from Valdur. Do not grieve for me. I knew from the words of the mantichora that the price for our knowledge gained of him would be in blood. I am grateful that it was mine and not yours.
Take what you find in this sack and learn if you can. It will take devotion. And reflection. I would have taught you myself but the Arrow of Time flies quickly. Follow my path to Astilona: you will find wisdom there in the ruins. Keep too the sorbo blade but give it a twin of good steel and remember that God helps those who help themselves.
Lastly, whether or not the Witch of Torinia is slain, the evil she birthed will live on, always striving to gain a foothold in our world. I sensed a bitterness in the lady borne of guilt. But also, a still-glowing ember of conscience. There is no more powerful a weapon than an enemy turned ally. Remember this. Fare you well!
Acquel folded the parchment and returned it to the satchel along with the book and the other strange amulets of forgotten magic. He found himself smiling as he remembered what he thought upon first seeing the old monk when he waddled into the practice yard on the Ara mount, a fat grizzled fighting priest with a fondness for the wineskin. A living relic. Now he was beginning to see, just glimpse, the rough edges of Elded’s wisdom. Outside, bright sun shone through the leaded glass and he rose to go out into the cloister garden. He opened the heavy oak door and entered the fresh air, surrounded by climbing rose, camellia flowers, and olive trees. The rays of the sun covered his face and he shut his eyes.
“Magister?”
Acquel turned to find the High Prelate had joined him. He could see the priest was trying hard not to stare at the black poultice and bandage that covered half of his face and tied behind his neck.
“The brethren have prepared your horse and provisions as you asked. But I would beg you to stay here with us a bit longer that your wound may be tended each day.”
Acquel managed a smile. “That is kind but I must be on my way. The wound will heal... I will heal.”
“I do understand, magister. The Ara must be told of all that has happened. We will prepare the body of the High Priest and await instructions from the Council. A procession from Maresto to Livorna? In a few months, I mean... when all has settled.”
Acquel saw Kodoris’s face again, as he had found him, dead and abandoned in the camp of the Torinians. And for all the hurt and harm the priest had done, Acquel knew that Kodoris had atoned. He prayed he had found peace—and forgiveness. He nodded to the prelate but said nothing.
“If you think it not too improper,” said the Prelate, his voice lowering, “who might become High Priest? Someone who is destined to heal the rift in the Faith.”
“Someone who understands the weakness of men... but also their promise. And may Elded deliver him. It is not I.”
Acquel looked past the Prelate to the corner of the garden most exposed to the burning sun. An angel in flowing white gossamer stood there, her face beaming at him, filled with undying love. A face he knew: Timandra, the widow Pandarus. And she was pointing north.
Dramatis Persona
Alonso – Duke of Maresto
Bero – a hunter and companion to Demerise
Lupo Aretini – a coronel of the Company of the Blue Boar
Caluro – captain of the palace guard at Perusia
Citala – daughter of king of the merfolk of Valdur
Cressida – daughter of House Guldi and Queen of Valdur
Nicolo Danamis – an admiral of Valdur and scion of Palestro
Valerian Danamis – explorer and High Steward of Palestro
Demerise – a huntress and Royal Forester
Acquelonius Galenus – monk, Captain-General, and prophet of Saint Elded
Gregorvero and Bassinio – master mariners of Palestro
Lucius Kodoris – High Priest of the One Faith at Livorna
Lazaro and Claudio – two knights of Torinia
Malvolio – commander of the Company of the Black Rose
Marsilius – High Steward of Livorna
Necalli – a merman of Atlcali across the sea and advisor of Valerian Danamis
Piero Polo – explorer, merchant and representative for the Silk Empire
Barto
lo Poule – a lieutenant of the Company of the Black Rose
Raganus – chancellor to the Queen
Lucinda della Rovera – noblewoman and sorceress, lover of the Duke of Torinia
Sarant – Crown Prince of Valdur
Julianus Strykar – coronel of the Black Rose, half-brother of the Duke of Maresto
Ursino – Duke of Torinia
Ugo Volpe – an old warrior monk of Astilona
Paolo Voltera – castellan to Marsilius
About the Author
CLIFFORD BEAL, AN international journalist for 20 years, is a Fellow of the Royal Aeronautical Society, and was the editor-in-chief of Jane’s Defence Weekly in London before turning his attention to writing history, historical fiction and epic fantasy. Over the years he has been flung about in military aircraft, fought in full medieval armour, trained in 17th century rapier combat, fired flintlock pistols, messed about in boats, and ridden both horses and motorcycles. When not writing and imbibing endless mugs of tea he is reading and imbibing endless mugs of tea. He lives in Surrey, England, with a fiery redhead of a wife and a Boston Terrier named Buzz.
You can follow his blog at cliffordbeal.com and on Twitter @clifford_beal
1653. The long, bloody English Civil War is at an end. King Charles is dead and Oliver Cromwell rules the land. Richard Treadwell, Royalist, exile, and now soldier for the King of France, burns for revenge on those who deprived him of his family and fortune. He returns to England in secret to assassinate Cromwell.
But his is not the only plot in motion. A secret army run by a deluded Puritan is bent on the same quest, guided by the Devil’s hand. When demonic entities are summoned, Treadwell finds his fortunes reversed: he must save Cromwell, or consign England to Hell...
But first he has to contend with a wife he left in Devon who believes she’s a widow, a furious Parisian mistress who has trailed him to England, and a young Musketeer named d’Artagnan, sent to drag him back to France. It’s a dangerous new Republic, for an old Cavalier coming home.
“Prepare for a swashbuckling, roller-coaster unputdownable read, full of derring do, bodice ripping and political intrigue. Clifford Beal is a great story teller who keeps his readers on the edge of their seats. Note to Hollywood producers, snap this one up now.”
– Jerry Hayes, The Spectator
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Germany 1626: A War, a Witch, a Reckoning...
Richard Treadwell is a young man who dreams of glory and honour on the battlefield—and the plunder and riches that would follow. Newly arrived in Hamburg to seek his fortune as a mercenary in the Danish army, he joins the vast war in northern Germany between the Catholic Hapsburg empire and the Protestant princes of the north. But he has also brought with him an old secret—and with it the seeds of his own destruction.
A young gypsy woman foretells that Richard cannot outrun his fate, and then he is swept headlong into the terrible war. The bloodshed he witnesses among the Danes strips him of conscience and hardens his heart, as the opposing armies close for the battle to decide the future of the kingdom—and maybe his own soul. But even as Treadwell steels himself for the final contest against the forces of the Holy Roman Emperor, an unseen enemy stalks him within his own camp...
The hero of Gideon’s Angel returns to tell how his journey into the supernatural began.
‘Prepare for a swashbuckling, roller-coaster unputdownable read, full of derring do, bodice ripping and political intrigue. Clifford Beal is a great story teller who keeps his readers on the edge of their seats. Note to Hollywood producers, snap this one up now.’
Jerry Hayes, The Spectator on Gideon’s Angel
‘Splendid... Seventeenth-century Britain in all its sweaty, superstitious, blood-soaked savagery, with the bonus of added demons.’
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The Gates of the World Book One
Merchant, industrialist and explorer Trassan Kressind has an audacious plan – combining the might of magic and iron in the heart of a great ship to navigate an uncrossed ocean, seeking the city of the extinct Morfaan to uncover the secrets of their lost sciences.
Ambition runs strongly in the Kressind family, and for each of Trassan’s siblings fate beckons. Soldier Rel is banished to a vital frontier, bureaucrat Garten balances responsibility with family loyalty, sister Katriona is determined to carve herself a place in a world of men, outcast Guis struggles to contain the energies of his soul, while priest Aarin dabbles in forbidden sorcery.
The world is in turmoil as new money brings new power, and the old social order crumbles. And as mankind’s arts grow stronger, a terror from the ancient past awakens...
This highly original fantasy depicts a unique world, where tired gods walk industrial streets and the tide’s rise and fall is extreme enough to swamp continents. Magic collides with science to create a rich backdrop for intrigue and adventure in the opening book of this epic saga.
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The Witch of Torinia Page 41
