The Baron’s Gargoyle
by
Cassandra Pierce
Published by Cassandra Pierce at Kindle Direct Publishing
First published by Less than Three Press in 2012.
Copyright 2016 Cassandra Pierce
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is strictly coincidental.
Chapter 1
For seven long days he had traveled, and the terrain was swiftly becoming more treacherous. Though Jothan was eager to reach his new castle, he had not realized upon first setting out that his journey would be so long and so taxing. Surely a solitary quest such as this befitted a knight of a much earlier era and a more noble character than his own.
Jothan, the newly created first Baron of Darkwood, clucked to soothe to his horse as the stallion picked its way up the steep mountain path, gingerly stepping past the tangled undergrowth and avoiding hazardous bramble patches. Jothan’s armor hung heavy on his travel-weary limbs, but at least it provided some protection against the blasts of cold air whistling around him.
As he journeyed on, he mulled over his liege’s words to him—concise and forceful and deceptively benevolent.
“An abandoned castle sits empty in the north. I hereby create you Baron of Darkwood, and send you to take the place of my previous vassal, who disappeared from his fiefdom nearly five years ago. You will reclaim these lands on my behalf and make the northern territory a vibrant part of my kingdom, something my lord Peredur was unable to accomplish. Prepare to journey there at once.”
Though conferring of such a title was a great honor that most men would have wept or even killed for, Jothan had accepted the king’s gift with a heaviness of heart. He knew there was another reason for it that had little to do with the king’s favor, and he also knew that the primary purpose was to remove him from court. Though rumors had long circulated about Jothan’s preference for men in his bedchamber, the gossip had now grown both too specific and too salacious for the king to tolerate it for long. Jothan’s affair with a visiting dignitary had been quick, purely physical, and more satisfying than anything Jothan had ever known before. The court looked at it less auspiciously.
Yet Jothan’s many years of loyal service and his prowess in battle protected him from outright exile and disgrace. A distant, difficult fiefdom had been the logical solution. Too long the northern territories had grown wild, overrun by pagan chieftains and infested by evil spirits. Jothan only hoped the previous lord, wherever he had absconded to, had left behind enough staff to keep the castle functioning. Recruiting servants from the local populations of wildmen did not appeal to Jothan in the least.
Finally, when he reached the top of the hill, his gaze latched immediately upon a distinctive grey shape set in the middle of a clearing . Even from a distance, he could discern the rugged face of curtain walls, the threadlike silver moat and four surging towers. Here, at last, stood Castle Darkwood.
The moment after relief lifted his heart, though, a surge of despair crushed it flat again. On every side of the castle, for as far as he could see, stretched a rough landscape unmarred by a single cathedral, village, or even the faintest whisper of a road.
The king’s generosity had ensured that Jothan would trouble no one at court for many years to come. If he even survived the coming winter, he would consider it nearly a miracle.
****
A short time later, Jothan sat astride his stallion on the outer bank of the moat. Dark, slimy weeds choked the shallows, though the water appeared to flow fresh and clear, fed from a stream that wound its way from the mountain.
Strangely, the drawbridge was down, suggesting there was either no one to keep out or no one inside to pull it back up. With a sigh he noted its weathered condition, the wood even rotted through in certain places.
Clicking his tongue, he nudged his mount slowly forward, his eyes on the damaged planks beneath him. One cautious step at a time, the stallion carried Jothan closer to his future and his fate.
They were halfway across when the horse suddenly reared up, whinnying in panic. Jothan just had time to grip the reins and draw in his legs to prevent himself from being thrown. At the same instant, he saw something massive land directly in his path.
The creature before him resembled no living animal Jothan had ever seen or even heard described. Taller and broader than any man, yet retaining a man’s basic shape, the beast sported massive wings, a pointed tail as thick as Jothan’s wrist, and coarse skin flecked with jagged grey scales. As it crouched in front of him, barring his way, it opened its protruding muzzle to reveal dagger-like teeth that dripped with frothy saliva.
Silver flashed in the muted sunlight as Jothan snapped down his visor and readied his broadsword. Upon reflection, it occurred to him that he had seen such a creature once. It had been carved into the side of a great cathedral he had visited once during his travels to a foreign land. His guide had informed him that it was called a gargoyle, and its purpose was to stand sentry against evil spirits. This one, however, looked less like a protector and more like an evil spirit itself. Icy black eyes surveyed him from the top of his plumed helmet to the shoes on his horse’s nervously shifting feet.
“Move aside, demon!” Jothan shouted, gathering the reins in his free hand and pulling them taut to ready his horse for a charge. “You will allow me passage or I shall strike you down.”
The beast’s clawed feet clattered against the bridge as it stepped toward him, rolling its shoulders and hissing. Jothan lifted his sword over his head, ready to administer a single lethal blow the moment the horse bolted forward.
Before he could lower his heels and shout the command, the creature flapped its enormous wings and propelled itself into the overcast sky. The barbed tip of its tail swished past Jothan’s visor as it sailed away into the thicket of trees.
Shaken, but keeping his sword at the ready, Jothan opened his visor and looked around. The creature had vanished, and the path between the castle walls remained free of further obstruction. Clucking to his horse, he started forward again. Still trembling, the horse carried him across the bridge and into the courtyard.
Once inside, he found a scene only slightly less alarming. As he crossed the bailey, small wild mammals and rats scuttled out of his way, taking refuge in broken wagons, heaps of household refuse, and stones that had fallen from the walls. Dark, mottled lichens and moss covered every available surface.
As his eyes swept the wreckage, Jothan’s caught sight of what appeared to be a moving pile of rags. Urging his horse forward at a gallop, Jothan leaned down and grasped the bundle before it could slide behind an overturned wooden tub.
The pathetic man encased in the rags let out a strangled cry of terror as Jothan hauled him in and turned him around. Hollow, half-starved eyes beseeched him.
“Beg mercy,” the old man wailed in a thick northern accent it took Jothan a moment to decipher. “Please don’t kill me.”
Without releasing his hold on the man’s bony shoulder, Jothan dismounted and faced him. “Why should I kill you? Surely you don’t present any threat to me.”
“Surely not, my dread lord.” The man got on his knees, trembling, as Jothan removed his helmet. He kept one hand on his sword and looked around, knowing not who els
e might be hiding nearby. Instinct warned that he was yet being watched.
“Who are you, old man? How came you to be here?”
“My name is Rulf, my dread lord. I beg your pardon for trespassing. Famine forced me from my native village some months ago. I took refuge here because I had nowhere else to go.”
“Are there others?” Jothan asked. The panicked look in Rulf’s eyes told him that there were. Jothan softened his tone. “They may show themselves. I mean them no harm.”
Rulf did not appear ready to trust him yet. “Are you lost, my lord?” he inquired nervously.
“No. By the grace of our good king, I have been titled Baron of Darkwood and granted this castle as my fief. I heard it has been without a lord for some time. By the appearance of things, I would say that is true.”
“I believe so, my lord,” Rulf agreed.
“What became of Lord Peredur? Why is the drawbridge down?”
“I fear I know not, my lord. The castle lay deserted when I arrived. We—er, I had not the strength to pull the bridge back up.”
Still resting his hand on his sword hilt, Jothan turned slowly and spoke loudly enough for anyone hiding in the bailey to hear him. “I am willing to offer protection and sustenance to any who is prepared to serve me here. But you must show yourselves now.”
He heard rustling sounds from different corners of the bailey, and soon the others crept out. First came two women, one older and one young, alike enough in features to be mother and daughter, and after that a man of middle years and a boy no more than seven years of age. The old man introduced each in turn, and Jothan soon learned that the women were called Catrain and Muriel and the child Althus. The younger man was Walter, the husband of Muriel and father of the child. They stood before him in a frightened row, their eyes on their feet. Only the young boy dared meet his curious gaze.
“How long have all of you lived here?” Jothan asked. “Have you any idea what became of this castle’s original inhabitants?”
“None, m’lord,” Walter replied. “We came upon this place in the summer. Now winter is coming, and we had hoped to spend it here.”
“And so you may.” Jothan’s jaw set in determination as he scanned the unsightly mess around him. At least it did not appear that the castle had been besieged or sacked, only abandoned and left to molder. “It will take all the strength we can muster, but we shall make this castle thrive again.”
His new team of servants murmured their assent, while Rulf began to look around as if expecting to see another horse. “Will my lord’s wife be arriving soon?”
“There is no Lady Darkwood. A good thing, too, as few ladies I know would tolerate living in such conditions as I see before me. No, you must take your lord exactly as you see him.”
“We will most gratefully do so,” Rulf said. He motioned to the others, who bowed and nodded with nervous expressions.
“Very well. Let us begin our new arrangement at once. Walter, you shall see that my horse is fed and made comfortable. Muriel may see to my chamber and Catrain, you shall take control of the kitchen. The boy may assist you as needed. Have we any provisions on hand?”
“Yes, my lord. We have tended the gardens all summer, and Walter has some skill with hunting. The wine cellar and bottlery were well stocked when we arrived, and they remain so to this day.”
“Good. Let us not waste another moment, then.” Jothan stepped back and waved one gloved hand to dismiss them. Walter led the horse across the bailey, while the women took Althus by the hands and led him inside the castle. Only Rulf remained. “I kept you aside because I require your assistance as a guide,” Jothan informed him. “I wish you to show me my chambers and solar so that I might rest a while. But first, where is the chapel here? It has been many days since I have knelt before an altar, and I must give thanks for my safe arrival.”
Rulf shook his head. “Though we have done our best, I fear it is in a sad state of disrepair. And we have no priest. He must have fled like the others, long ago.”
“I shall have to make do, then.” Inwardly Jothan shuddered. No priest and no lord. Little wonder evil had taken hold of the castle in the form of the monstrous creature. He had seen on the bridge. He would ask Rulf and the others about that later, but for now he did not wish to alarm them. They seemed more afraid of him than any outside intruder, and perhaps he would be wise to keep it so for a while. “Will you show me?”
“This way, my lord,” Rulf bowed and gestured for him to follow.
As Jothan turned, he glanced up at the northernmost tower. Perched on the roof was the gargoyle. It lowered its head and the creature’s cold, dark eyes met his.
“Rulf—” he started to say, but the old man didn’t hear him and kept walking. Meanwhile, the beast flapped its great wings and took off.
Chapter 2
After an inspection, which revealed that the nomads had done a reasonable job of maintaining the interior, Jothan claimed the most spacious bedchamber near the base of the north tower to settle in for the evening. To his relief, the mattress and pillows were still filled with feathers, and the women had been able to provide clean linen. Tomorrow he would have Walter and Rulf drag the bedding outside for a good airing. Likewise, the dusty tapestries covering the walls could be cleaned on the morrow.
Soon enough, the comforts of civilization could be his again. Yet the winter would be harsh. Already the drafts blew chilly through the stones, and the dampness clung to his chamber walls.
Lifting his silver goblet, Jothan sipped the wine Catrain had found for him in the cellar. It still retained its taste, which would no doubt have pleased Lord Peredur. Jothan scowled. What had become of him and his household retainers? Had they been driven away by disease, invaders, or something else? Had they been frightened off—or worse—by the same hellish creature he had?
Then again, perhaps he had never really seen it at all. Could so many days of lonely travel and physical exhaustion simply tricked his mind? Though his new servants professed to be grateful for his arrival and eager for his protection, none of them had mentioned the creature. Though it was certainly possible that evil spirits dwelt in this forlorn place, it was also likely that sleep would banish them more efficiently than his sword.
Setting his empty goblet down on a small table, Jothan unbuckled his sword and began to remove his doublet. Before he could strip down to his linen underclothes, he heard a shuffling noise in the corridor outside his chamber.
Buckling his sword back on, Jothan went to the door and flung it open. Just ahead, he saw the shadow of someone turning the corner and hurrying out of sight.
“You!” he shouted. “Come back here at once!”
The shadow stopped moving, and Jothan grabbed a candle and hurried toward it. At the end of the corridor, beside the door that led to the tower staircase, he found a young man of perhaps twenty years of age waiting for him to catch up.
“Why were you listening outside my door?” Jothan demanded. “And why did you not return when I commanded you to do so?”
Receiving no answer, Jothan raised the candle to see him better. This was another of the peasants, he assumed, one who had not been present in the bailey for his announcement. Yet this man was unlike any of the others. The clothes he wore, though simple in design, appeared clean and well cared for, as did the dark hair that fell gently to his shoulders.
Candlelight shaded the smile that lifted his delicate mouth. On anyone else, it would have struck Jothan as insolent. On this man, he found the expression entrancing.
“Do you speak?” Jothan demanded after clearing his throat. “I assume you are in possession of your wits. Answer if you can hear me.”
The question seemed to amuse the trespasser. “Aye. I hear you quite well, my lord.”
He spoke clearly, without the thickness of the north pressing down on his tongue. This man was not of the same stock as the others, Jothan realized. “I am glad to know it. Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, my lord. The ne
w baron. Come to put the castle back in order.”
“Indeed that is my plan, not to mention my direct charge from the king himself. And what are you called?”
“Delphas, my lord.”
“You were not present in the bailey when I assigned the others their tasks. Nonetheless, I see that you are young and strong, no doubt fit for more strenuous tasks. We shall have many of those, as we gather firewood for the winter and lift the fallen stones back into place. Do you feel equal to these duties?”
Again his smile lengthened, its tilt almost playful this time. “I will do my best, my lord.”
“Good. Then you may begin immediately. Light the fire in my wardrobe and prepare me a bath. I am weary from my long journey and covered with the grime of many days’ travel.”
“As you wish, my lord. I shall return directly.” Delphas bowed and ducked away into the shadows. Between the strange glow cast by the candle and Jothan’s somewhat addled state, he seemed to vanish without actually taking a step.
Half-expecting that Delphas would not return, Jothan returned to his chamber and finish removing his clothes, wrapping himself instead in a floor-length cloak from his traveling bag. He was about to pour a fresh goblet of wine when he heard someone moving around in the wardrobe adjoining his room.
Stepping through the connecting door, he discovered Delphas in front of the fireplace, arranging kindling and logs he had obviously fetched from one of the storerooms. While the flames took hold, Delphas busied himself readying the wooden tub in the corner, lining it with cloth and then heading out to fill the pails at the cistern.
A few trips back and forth, some warming of the pails by the now-lively fire, and the bath was ready. As he completed the preparations, Delphas turned to look at Jothan as he watched from the connecting doorway. Delphas’s silvery-grey eyes remained most impudent for a servant, but Jothan felt no anger. He found himself far more caught up in anticipating a restorative soak of the sort he had not enjoyed since he had left court. His excitement grew when a scented tendril of steam rose to tickle his nose.
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