by Jules Marks
He seemed to accept that. He sighed, as if a weight had been lifted from him, and he looked into my eyes.
“I’m glad that I didn’t disappoint you, Gael.”
I flicked his chin with my thumb.
“I couldn’t be prouder if you were my own son, Larkin.”
He looked at me as if he wanted to say something in response, but instead he turned his face away, and murmured his thanks.
For my part, I felt I was becoming a maudlin old man, and I didn’t want Larkin to believe that. I reached over and tapped at his plate and its uneaten contents.
“You’ve wasted some good food there, Larkin. Do you feel like finishing?”
He nodded. “I believe that I do; I’m hungrier than I thought.” He reached for a portion of bread. “It’s amazing how it helps to talk out problems. I wonder that more people don’t do it, don’t you?”
“You’re right, Lad, if people did, it would be a different world to live in.”
Chapter Fifteen
We may not have slept like the dead—there was too much moaning and groaning going on for that—but we did manage to sleep the night through, and we all felt rested the next morning. Even before we broke our fast, Ioan and I rushed off to Nordz’ room to check on his condition. Upon finding him sitting up eating breakfast, we allowed ourselves to be cautiously optimistic regarding his recovery: his fever was down, but still present; his color was not much improved, but that was to be expected, considering the blood loss. Yet, as he ate some gray-colored gruel, he spoke about upcoming events as if he might actually be around to witness them. Ioan and I allowed ourselves the luxury of hope; we wished Nordz well, and told the servant in attendance to find us if there was any change.
We met Sir Hugh in the great hall, and he beckoned us join him.
“Akimba has sent word that something is amiss with the captives. I’m on my way to the dungeons to meet him.” He must have noticed that Ioan was about to speak, for he shook his head and beckoned him wait. “I know nothing more to tell you. Let us make haste.” He gestured for us to follow the servant who led him. “Now, how did Nordz seem this morning?”
The dungeons at Castle Beckman were typical: dark, dank, and foul of smell. Our guide lit a torch when we reached the landing of the narrow staircase, and the smoky illumination did nothing to enhance our opinion of that dreary place.
Akimba was outside a cell. He was obviously irate; he was limping around fretfully, with fists clenched and head bent low. When he heard us coming, he turned to face us.
“Do you see what a little kindness has gotten me? Do you see the consequences of trying to be humane?” He gesticulated with his fists in the air. “Those bastards! I should have chained them to the walls, wounded or not…I should have chained them!”
Hugh attempted to placate him. “I say, Akimba! Whatever is amiss that you should rail so?”
“See for yourselves! Look you, and see the penalty of my compassion!”
With that, he reached over and pushed open the heavy door. It opened into a small, dark cell. Sir Hugh took the torch from the servant and held it aloft so we all could see inside.
There were three bodies in the cell. All were virtually nude—as a matter of course the Uplanders’ clothing had been taken from them—and the only fabric upon their bodies was that of the bandages to bind their wounds. Two of the men lay upon the straw-strewn floor. There was heavy bruising around their necks; by their bulging eyes and tongues, it appeared they’d been strangled. The third Uplander had divested himself of the bandages wrapped around his body. Instead, he had fashioned those bloody bands into a noose; he had hung himself from one of the iron rings imbedded into the stone walls. It seemed obvious that he had killed the others—with or without their permission—and then had killed himself. (The scene was disgusting: it made me truly grateful that I hadn’t done myself in that way.) It was a grisly sight, very depressing, and I didn’t look for long; instead, I turned away.
“Did they give any useful information before killing themselves?” I asked.
“…Little more than our previous captives,” answered Akimba in a bitter voice. “They had heard of a great leader, a ‘wolf-king’ who had brought the clans from their barbaric lawlessness in the Uplands to attack at the very heart of Halwick’s holdings. They knew of the recent successes in battle; they knew that the countryside had been emptied and was vulnerable. Still, they could not tell me more of this alleged king. Not one of them had actually seen him, but all three so desired. His legend is growing; his numbers become stronger every day. There has been a general call to arms among all of the clans; this lot was to meet up with the main body of warriors within the next week.”
“Did you ask them about what we found in the caves?” asked Hugh.
Akimba grimaced. “Yes, that I did, and their reaction was disbelief…that is, two of them acted incredulous. The other denied knowledge of such acts, but he seemed evasive, as if he’d heard something, but hadn’t believed it could be true.”
“What of the wolves with them?” asked Ioan. “Did they say anything about them?”
Akimba nodded. “They were as surprised by their appearance as we were…as terrified as well.” He looked back to the cell doorway and exhaled. “I doubt we would have gotten more information from them—I don’t know that they had any to give—but I can’t help but wonder…now that they’re dead.”
Hugh scratched at his jaw and looked troubled. “You are absolutely certain they did this to themselves…that this wasn’t staged to look like a murder/suicide?”
Akimba’s brow made a hard, single line as he scowled. “Do you honestly think…?” He shook his head. “I certainly hope there’s no connection. After Baldrig, I suppose it is a possibility, but I don’t see signs of a struggle in there, and, though they were wounded, I think they would have put up a fight if someone other than one of their own threatened to kill them.” He leaned forward a bit, and he moaned as he held a hand to his injured thigh. “Ohhh…I didn’t need this today.”
“You shouldn’t be on that leg,” said Ioan.
Akimba straightened, and the expression on his face was passing mournful. “If my father was still alive, I wouldn’t be on it: he’d make sure of that. Without him, there is too much to do, so much to decide!”
Hugh placed a hand upon Akimba’s arm. “What can we do to help?”
Akimba shrugged. “I hardly know where to begin…” He then shook his head. “No, that isn’t true; Halwick taught me well. If what those cursed Uplanders said was true—and our scouts’ reports bear them out—we are in for a major attack within the next week. We—Rebeccah and I—have already ordered the castle prepared for siege, in spite of the fact that I don’t believe it’ll ever come to that. I have able commanders who are doing my bidding even as we speak. When the enemy comes, we shall go out to meet them. If we live, the rebellion will be crushed, and the more than half the people staying within these walls will return thither to their own homes. If we fail, if we die, a siege won’t last long: Castle Beckman will fall.” He sighed at the thought of such a dismal prospect, and then scrubbed his hands over his face. “Have any of you broken your fast?”
We all three shook our heads and murmured replies in the negative.
“Then let us leave this dreadful scene, and find some sunlight and some food.”
“You’ll prop the leg up while we eat?” prompted Ioan.
Akimba waved the comment away. “I need your sword more than your mothering, Ioan.” He looked sideways at his friend, and then he grinned. “I’ll put the leg up, if it will make you happy.”
We were just finishing our meal when a servant came into the room to speak with Akimba. He leaned down and spoke into Akimba’s ear. Akimba’s expression changed from one of curiosity to dismay.
“Are you certain?” he asked.
The servant shrugged. “No one seems to know what happened to them.”
Akimba scowled. “Have them search again. They c
ouldn’t have simply disappeared.”
“As you wish, Lord.” The servant bowed, and departed.
“What was that all about?” asked Hugh.
Akimba shook his head. “This place has gone mad,” he grumbled. “Someone has misplaced the wolf pelts…from those two wolves they brought back yesterday. One of the men who brought back a carcass is accusing the other of taking that pelt to keep along with his own.”
“What does the other fellow say in response?” asked Ioan.
“He hasn’t had the chance to say anything; he can’t be found. That is why Adran is accusing Terrel. He thinks Terrel has taken off with the pelts.”
“Is that likely?” asked Hugh.
Akimba shook his head. “No. Terrel is a good man…a true and honest soldier who would not desert. He wouldn’t take anything of Adran’s, much less those useless pelts. He probably went down into the town last night; chances are he’s sleeping off too much ale.”
I felt decidedly uneasy about what he’d told us. “Is anyone looking for Terrel?”
“Adran certainly is. He is as mad as a hive of angry bees. That’s why I want those pelts found: I don’t want Adran to say or do anything he’ll regret if he finds Terrel before the pelts are recovered.”
Hugh had a suggestion. “Surely they still smell to heaven. They’ve only been curing for a day.”
“Good point. If Den comes back and still hasn’t found them, I’ll tell him to follow his nose.”
With that subject dismissed for the moment, Akimba began discussing his battle plans. He assumed that Hugh and Ioan would ride with the mounted knights, but he had other designs for me.
“Hugh tells me you’re quite a marksman, Gael.”
I couldn’t help but lower my eyes…though it was true enough. “Sir Hugh is generous with his praise, Lord Akimba.”
“No modesty is needed from you, Gael. I’ve already seen how you handle yourself in a fight, and if Hugh says you’re even better with the bow, I’d prefer that you join my archer’s ranks. Their numbers have been reduced of late, and they need more experienced leadership. I believe archers don’t get enough credit: they can make or break the tide of the battle; their importance cannot be overstated. What say you? Will you do this for me?”
I looked at Sir Hugh. His expression was neutral. “I will do as you wish…as long as Sir Hugh agrees. He enjoys my first allegiance, and I obey his orders.”
Akimba smiled and nodded. “Then it’s decided: Hugh and I already discussed this, and we only needed a word of agreement from you.”
I hadn’t thought about it long enough to know if the idea was to my liking or not, but I did have a question. “What of Larkin? Where will he be?”
Akimba’s face softened on hearing Larkin’s name. “Given a choice, I would rather Larkin did not see battle at all. I only wish I had men enough to spare to keep such youngsters out of it. Still, he served us well in our last encounter—has it been two days now?—and I’m certain we couldn’t keep him out of this one by any means other than locking him up. He is young, and inexperienced, but the lad has such heart!” Akimba paused long enough to sigh, as if he was remembering his own first battles. “I’d prefer that Larkin be where he’s safest. I will leave that decision to Hugh.”
I looked to see what Sir Hugh would have to say. He was just opening his mouth to speak when he was interrupted by the sound of a distant scream.
It was high-pitched, horrible, and lengthy. We all lurched up from our seats, but I, for one, didn’t know from whence the screaming came, so I stayed at table, as did the others. We could hear the sounds of running feet, but we didn’t move, and instead waited to see what would happen next.
Within moments a servant appeared with sword in hand. He was obviously flustered; he bowed his head to Akimba and then jerked his head sideways to look back in the direction from whence he’d come.
“Well, what is it?” asked an impatient Akimba.
“Den sent me ahead, my Lord. I wasn’t down there. I…I don’t quite know what she’s going on about. Nedra is…she’s screaming something about an animal skin…”
“A skin? What has transpired?”
The man shook his head, looking and sounding anxious. “I know not. Den sent me to be certain all was well with you, Lord Akimba.” He looked back again, and seemed wretchedly uncomfortable.
Akimba waved a hand in dismissal. “Go on, go on. We are all armed here; there’s no need for protection. Go see what is amiss…see to your Nedra.”
The servant mumbled his thanks, gave Akimba a quick bow of acknowledgement, and ran from the room.
Akimba made a face. “Nedra must have found one of those wolf skins someplace where she didn’t expect it. She’s one of the nervous types, prone to hysteria. No doubt we’ll be hearing about this for…” He stopped, because we heard the sound of running in the hall.
Den and one of the castle guards rushed into the room. “Lord Akimba…” he began. He paused, gulped, and almost looked as if he was going to retch.
“What is it?” asked Akimba.
“It’s Terrel. Nedra found him back behind the kitchens.” Den again paused, putting his hand to his mouth. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and composed himself to continue. “He’s dead. He…he was…” Den lurched forward, grabbed a goblet from the table, and vomited into it. His knees buckled, and he performed a slow sink towards the floor, where he knelt and vomited once again into the goblet.
Akimba left Den to his misery and turned his attention to the guard; he reached for the man, and shook his arm. “Do you know what happened?”
The guard’s colour was white as a sheet. He nodded, and forced words from his mouth. “Terrel…Terrel’s body was skinned, your Lordship. They left the face intact, but they took the hide clean off his body. They stuffed him behind some barrels out in the kitchen yard.”
“Show me,” ordered Akimba in a horribly grim voice.
The guard led the way, and we all (stupidly) followed.
Then we understood why Nedra had screamed and Den was vomiting.
It took all my will not to vomit as well.
Chapter Sixteen
We all of us were horrified. The body hardly looked human.
My first emotion was one of immense pity for the appalling sufferings of poor Terrel. I hadn’t actually known him—I’d only spoken to him once or twice during our previous outing—but I knew Akimba had lost a good man: you could see it in his sorrowful reaction.
My second feeling was one of relief, for I was incredibly grateful that Larkin wasn’t with us to see such an awful sight. I knew that I would be having nightmares about Terrel. Thankfully, Larkin wouldn’t.
“For Heaven’s sake, cover the pitiful fellow!” were Akimba’s first words.
His next words were not repeatable.
<><><>
“But who would do such a terrible thing?”
Larkin’s question was so very innocent. For my part, I could not think of an adequate answer. Who, after all, would conceive of such evil? Had I met anyone in the castle that I thought capable of this nightmarish barbarism?
From our vantage point where we stood in the courtyard, I looked up at the massive castle walls and considered what I knew of the place. It was precious little.
I shook my head. “I know not, Larkin, but that’s not surprising considering how few people we actually do know here. What worries me is that Akimba doesn’t seem to have any idea, either. He is completely at a loss as to who the villain could be.”
Larkin’s troubled face softened, and his subsequent sigh reflected all the confusion and upset his young mind was encountering. “Lord Akimba’s heart is too noble to comprehend that sort of wickedness. Had he known of such a villain in his own court, he would have rid it of the culprit long ago.”
I could tell by Larkin’s attitude and words that his case of hero-worship for Akimba had not lessened. For one brief moment I felt a twinge of jealousy, but it passed immediately. After all,
what normal boy could resist the impulse to admire such a knight as Akimba? I looked at Larkin as he, in turn, stared up at the guards atop the castle battlements. He was so young, so curious and open.
Suddenly I was overcome with uneasiness, a sense of dread. I felt an impulse to be gone, to get as far away from Castle Beckman as possible. I’d never suffered such foreboding before, and I hardly knew what to make of it. I closed my eyes and tried to overcome the sudden queasiness that swept over my gut.
“Gael…Gael, are you all right?” Larkin had a hand upon my shoulder. His face was full of concern.
“Make me a promise, lad.”
