by Jules Marks
“Enough…I get the idea.” He transferred his gaze from Larkin to me.
“Just how upset has she been?” he asked.
Over the years, I’d been in enough hot water with Sarei to know what the evening held in store for him. I shook my head, and tried to hold back a smirk. “You’re in for it, Ioan,” was my reply.
“Oh, the Devil!” he muttered. He turned and beckoned Den and his friend help him with Cuthbert. “Come, get this poor fellow to his quarters, will you?” He deposited a now semi-conscious Cuthbert in the waiting arms of his comrades. Then he turned back to me. “Where did you last see her?”
“The lady was in the draw-to room behind the great hall at half-past, but she’s been so restless, I don’t know that she’ll still be there.”
Ioan grimaced and shook his head. “I should go find her.” He looked up and grinned. “Would either of you care to join me?”
Larkin placed his hands on the hilt of his sword and, having gotten into the spirit of the exchange, he winked. “Will you need protection, Ioan?”
Ioan nodded. “Most likely, but I suppose it is my lot and duty to face her alone.” He reached out and placed his hands upon our forearms. “Thank you for your concern; I’m sorry to have worried you. There was a purpose in my absence, I assure you, and I shall tell all later this evening.”
We watched him go, and then I gave Larkin’s head a pat. “He’s in for it, lad, and I can’t say he doesn’t deserve it.” I chuckled. “It’s been a tough afternoon, Larkin, and I think we’ve both earned a cup of cider or two. Let’s see to it, shall we?”
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Down at the inn, the cider proved to be so good, we decided Nordz needed a sample to further his recuperation. We took a jug back to the castle and to his room, and found him more than willing to drink and to talk. Indeed, he had a juicy bit of gossip to tell.
“So, I hear our Hydorian friend has been busy this day,” he began.
We both of us nodded.
“He had us worried sick,” said Larkin.
“And the Lady Rebeccah, too, I hear,” said Nordz.
Again we nodded. I’d been imagining what harsh words might have crossed the lady’s lips when she found her errant knight.
“Well, he’s certainly stirred things up. The whole garrison is talking about it.” Nordz paused to take a sip of cider. He tipped his head back, and with eyes closed he offered his own evaluation of the drink: “Ahhhh…that’s good.”
“…Talking about what?” Larkin prompted him to continue.
“Tomorrow night. The Lydian moon will be full…” He stopped and took another sip.
“And?” My impatience was getting the better of me; this time I prompted him.
Nordz smacked his lips. “…And Ioan will perform a ceremony that will tell us who Terrel’s killer is.”
“WHAT!” Our responses were simultaneous.
Nordz ignored out outbursts. “Well, a mysterious stranger such as Ioan should fit the part. Don’t you think he’d make a good wizard?”
Larkin looked at me and then back at Nordz. “A wizard? Whatever are you talking about, Nordz?”
Nordz smiled. “I can see that you two haven’t quite gotten into the spirit of the thing just yet. Still, I’m certain that our Hydorian ‘wizard’ will be requesting your aid at some point. He’s bound to, after all.” Nordz took another healthy swig.
“How much of that cider have you had?” I asked. “Has it gone to your head so quickly? Ioan is no wizard.”
Nordz made a face and shrugged. “Perhaps not, but for the benefit of our local gossip mill he claims to be. We know he isn’t, but the others do not. Word has spread quickly; everyone is excited about tomorrow night’s expected revelation.”
“But why deceive everyone…I don’t understand?” asked Larkin.
I’d begun to realize where Nordz was leading. “Ioan wants to draw out the killer; he probably hopes to do so even before any ceremony can be performed.”
Nordz nodded. “Precisely.”
”But won’t he be putting himself at risk?” asked Larkin.
“He’s put the lot of you at risk,” answered Nordz. He looked at me, and with a brief, sideways glance he indicated Larkin. “Perhaps I need someone to stay with me here?”
“That won’t be necessary,” came a voice from the doorway. Ioan stepped into room, and walked towards Nordz’ bed.
I noticed his lower lip looked a bit swollen, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been punched or bitten. However, I doubted that I’d ever know the answer; I decided to hold my tongue about it.
Ioan nodded his head in greeting. “Are you feeling better?” he asked Nordz.
“Yes, indeed, I am.” Nordz held up his drink. “And these two have done their utmost to bring that about. Would you care for a cup?”
“No…” Ioan shook his head, and then absently touched a hand to his brow. “I had more than enough this afternoon.” He extended his hand towards Larkin. “Larkin, the Lady Rebeccah has need of you.”
Larkin’s eyes narrowed; perhaps he had picked up on the gist of Nordz’ comment moments before. “And why does the Lady have need of me just now?”
I smacked my fist into my palm. “And why is a squire questioning an order from a prince?” I could tell exactly what Ioan was doing, and I knew that neither of us would brook an argument from the lad.
Larkin’s reaction was pitiful. He lowered his head like a scolded child and mumbled that he hadn’t meant to sound impertinent…that he was sorry.
Ioan’s eyes met mine; he nodded. “Come, Larkin, you’ll see soon enough what the Lady has planned for you.” He moved to touch Nordz hand. “It’s good to see you feeling better; take care of yourself.” And then he turned to me. “Gael, we’ll see Larkin to Lady Rebeccah’s rooms, and then…”
Larkin had been quiet as we walked the dark hallways of the castle. We delivered him to Rebeccah’s chambers; he spoke only to bid us farewell. Rebeccah’s manner towards Ioan seemed surprisingly formal, as if they were both treading carefully after their earlier encounter. Their leave-taking included a brief hug and a hasty kiss on a cheek. Rebeccah’s parting words were reassuring: “Never fear about Larkin. He will be safe with me.”
Ioan stood staring at the closed door for several seconds. “Gael, you would have made an excellent tutor. I’ve rarely seen one so effective at calling a pupil down.”
“He did seem to take it hard, didn’t he?” I couldn’t help but regret the effect my admonition had had.
“Well, he’s safe, and that was the point of this, after all. Rebeccah will keep him busy.” He gestured for me to follow.
We went to our rooms, where we ate a small meal of food Ioan had packed earlier in the day. He explained that we needed to be wary of poison: the traitor might use any creative means to kill the enemy. Though I envied the other guests their feast of fresh meat, I could see his reasoning. The apples, bread and cheese would suffice. We finished our meal, and then headed for Akimba’s rooms.
“Do you truly expect an attack on your person?” I asked as we made our way up the stairs.
“That is the general idea, after all; I want to draw the scoundrel out.”
“But it seems so risky,” I said, even as I scanned the gloomy hallway behind and ahead for any lurking assailant.
Ioan noticed, and smiled. “It may be, but this intrigue needs to be resolved before we do battle. Akimba’s troops need the morale boost. Besides, I’d rather take the risk and hope something, anything happens before tomorrow night. I certainly don’t want to have to go through with that ridiculous ceremony.”
“You don’t fancy playing the wizard, then?”
“Certainly not!” He rolled his eyes. “ If it comes down to it, I have some items to add to my costume for effect, and there’s plenty of gibberish to say. I have a staff that looks the part, but I hope that all will be over before. Not only do I not want to play a wizard, I don’t want to have to come up with the identity o
f the killer without some help beforehand. No, I hope this is over with long before midnight, and I believe it will be. If there is an Uplander in our midst, I’ll warrant he’ll try something. They’re an extraordinarily superstitious lot; he’s likely bought the story of my telling him out, and he’ll probably want to stop me.”
“Perhaps he will…and you won’t have to carry out your ruse. I hope that by midnight tomorrow you’re still alive to enjoy the fact that you won’t have to play a wizard.” I said.
He guffawed. “Surely…that goes without saying.” He bowed, and with a flourish worthy of a courtier he gestured for me to enter Akimba’s chamber. The door was ajar, and I pushed it open and walked forward into the dimly lit room…only to immediately trip over something on the floor. Startled, I managed to regain my balance, and then I looked down, and realized I’d stepped on someone’s leg.
“Ioan…” I spun around, and dove for my friend in the doorway. I knocked him out into the hallway just as a knife whistled over our heads and thudded into the stone wall before clattering to the floor a mere hand-span from our heads. We both rolled to the side, and then scrambled to our feet, drawing our arms as we rose.
Not only was there movement in the room—I could see a shadowy figure coming towards us—I could also hear the sound of rushed footsteps nearing the corner we’d just turned. I glanced at Ioan, and in one scant second realized that he, too, recognized that we had two fronts to face. I turned towards the hallway, while Ioan braced himself for an attack through the doorway. Our foes showed themselves simultaneously. However, my “assailant” was Hugh rounding the corner on the run.
The other charged through the doorway, his sword leading. Metal clanged against metal as the attacker engaged Ioan. There was nothing for me to do but step back and join Hugh. It was over within seconds, as expected. Ioan had the good sense and physical control not to kill the man; he easily disarmed him—the man’s sword went flying down the hallway—and then Ioan knocked him in the side of the head with the flat of his blade. The man sunk to his knees, defeated, and he let out an eerie howl of anguish that sent shivers down my spine.
“Find something to bind him, Gael,” said Hugh.
I rushed into Akimba’s reception room, and grabbed at a tasseled cord hanging from one of the wall tapestries. I yanked at it, and the whole thing came down, but I managed to extract the cord and run back into the hallway.
Though he was held at sword point, Ioan’s captive was howling curses at us all. I shoved him facedown onto the floor and pulled his arms round to the back, and then I lashed his wrists together, even as he kicked and struggled. He kept screaming his curses, so I drew my knife and cut away a piece of fabric from his tunic to gag him. When I finished and looked up, Akimba was standing beside Hugh. He held his drawn sword in one hand, and had the other hand clasped to his aching thigh. Obviously, he had lost the footrace with Hugh to reach us, but I had no doubt that Ioan was grateful for their pains. Two of Akimba’s guards stood behind him, their swords at ready, and they moved forward to take command of the prisoner.
“How did you know to come?” I asked as I rose to face Akimba and Hugh.
Akimba blew his cheeks out, exhaled, and turned to Hugh. “You tell them…I still cannot believe it myself.”
Hugh nodded. “We may have a wizard among us after all. We…Akimba and I, that is…were in Rebeccah’s chambers speaking with her about our proposed battle plans. Larkin was across the room, standing at the window, staring out at the moon and stars. We were absorbed in conversation, not really paying attention to him, when we heard a loud thump. We all looked over, and, to our surprise, saw that Larkin had fallen to the floor…”
“Is he ill?” I asked.
Hugh held up a palm to stop more interruptions. “He is fine…quite well. Of course we rushed to his aid, even as he was sitting up and rubbing at his head. When we asked what had happened, he said that he wasn’t sure…he didn’t know. He told us that as he’d looked out into the night sky, he’d seen an image of Akimba’s chamber. He said he felt as if his blood was running cold, that he couldn’t breathe; he knew that some evil presence was there, that danger was skulking within the room. He had a vision of Gael coming through the doorway, and then the vision fell away into darkness.” Hugh looked at me with one eyebrow raised. “Larkin was overwrought; he simply would not be still; he insisted that we had to come to your aid; he was adamant that we do it immediately…that he would come if we did not, whether or not he had leave to do so.” Hugh snorted. “Up to this point in my life, I don’t recall a squire giving me a direct order, but now it has happened, and I willingly obeyed.”
“As did I,” added Akimba. “If you’d seen how serious Larkin was, how agitated, you’d understand.”
“It’s passing curious,” said Ioan. (I thought that was something of an understatement.) He turned to look through the doorway. “I fear the warning may have been too late for someone else, though.” He pointed with his sword. “What man is it who lies within?”
All eyes fixed on the body on the floor. Hugh grabbed one of the torches from its niche in the wall and led us into the dimly lit chamber.
We looked at the fallen form. There was no need to check for pulsing blood; the man stared up at the chamber’s ceiling with dead, sightless eyes. I recognized him as one of Akimba’s guard, but I had never spoken to the man, and knew not his name.
“Who was he?” asked Hugh.
Akimba’s first response was a sigh. “His name was Laban. He was a good man, loyal, honest, and brave. We shall miss him in the coming battle…we shall miss him, regardless.” He turned to look back at the prisoner in the hallway; his face became grim. He gestured to the guards standing watch over the man. “Check him for tattoos. Let’s see if we’ve had an Uplander in our midst all this time.”
On hearing those words, the gagged prisoner began to writhe and kick, even as the guards roughly tore at his jerkin. Within moments he was bare-chested. Fantastic black writhing serpents showed clearly upon his chest, shoulders, and biceps.
“Do you know this man?” asked Hugh.
Akimba didn’t answer at first. I could clearly see a muscle twitching in his jaw, and one of the veins on his clean-shaved head throbbed as if it might burst. His fists were clenched; his eyes were narrowed to slits.
“Akimba?” This time Ioan pushed for a response.
I already knew the answer; I’d seen the prisoner several times in the past week. He was Sir Thomas’ man.
Akimba’s answer was a low growl. He grabbed the man by his hair, and pulled him up enough to face him. He tore off the gag, and seized the Uplander’s jaw with an iron grip.
“Did he send you hither?” Even his voice was menacing.
The Uplander didn’t cower. He sneered at Akimba, and then spit in his face.
Akimba did manage to show a certain degree of restraint: he didn’t kill the man. Maintaining his grip upon the Uplander’s hair, he slammed the man’s head into the stone wall behind him. The Uplander began a slow sink to his knees, and would have fallen further had Akimba not held him fast.
“Did he send you?” Again, Akimba demanded an answer.
The man tried to repeat his bravado, but this time when he attempted to spit upon the lord of the castle, he only managed to slobber down his trembling lips. His eyelids were fluttering as he tried to focus upon his captor.
Akimba gave the Uplander’s head a quick shake. “Did he?” The question was getting shorter with the asking.
Now the Uplander’s response was a moan.
Akimba persevered. “Though you do not deserve it, I may yet be merciful: your death will be speedy if you tell us the truth.”
The Uplander roused at Akimba’s words; there was still a bit of belligerence left after all. “And how will you know if I speak the truth?” he murmured.
Ioan stepped forward and bent low to face the Uplander. He stared at the man. “I will see the truth in your eyes.” His voice was low, sepulchral, and
convincingly frightening.
I could only imagine that the superstitious Uplander believed him: I believed him once I got a look at his eyes. They were eerie, full of depth, yet strangely reflective, like mirrors within mirrors.
The Uplander’s reaction was as Ioan surely hoped. His eyes grew wide, and he looked like a man who was witnessing something mysterious and supernatural.
His eyes flitted in Akimba’s direction for just a moment, and then returned to stare into Ioan’s, even while he directed his words Akimba’s way. “And you will hold to your word…there are witnesses here, after all. A speedy death?”
We all knew how miserably drawn-out an execution could be: it could take hours, days even. A speedy death could be a worthy gift, indeed.
