Their Pestilence was spreading.
“Pestilence” was his name for the virulent plague that had sickened the mountain lion, along with numerous other beasts of the forest. This included, he now knew, the bear that had attacked Lionel. It also explained the monstrosity at the Elysian River. To his knowledge, only animals had been infected so far, but how long would it remain that way? How susceptible were people? Alucard’s newfound confidence about the whole thing didn’t sit well with him at all.
Stellan came to an uneasy realization–he may have to forego isolation and make formal contact with King Leopold to warn him of the danger. How much assistance should he offer? After all, the affected creatures tended to hide in dark and isolated places such as Dungeon Forest. But recently the tide had shifted. Aldebaran royalty had been exposed. What, he wondered, had Lionel and the others reported to the King? Stellan frowned. Everything, most likely, down to his wolf’s furry tail.
If Stellan himself reported these new developments, would the King believe him? Would he even allow Stellan to enter his halls? But most importantly, should Stellan even care about Aldebaran considering the kingdom’s long-standing prejudice and hatred of those who practiced the Arts? Questions, so many questions.
He smiled wryly while mounting his horse. I’m sure they would think it some kind of trick or blackmail scheme. You’re a rascal, a fiend–even by the standards of your own clan. No, it probably wasn’t worth the effort.
These thoughts rebounded in his head, but instead of heading home, Stellan made for his neighbor’s border. Perhaps his brush with the mystery woman at the Elysian River had something to do with it. Perhaps not. Nevertheless, sunset was hours away. He still had time for another patrol. Stellan spurred on his stallion and bolted out of the forest.
* * * *
An upsurge of land overlooked the large meadow, one of many in Aldebaran’s hunting ground. It swelled high into the air like a wave perpetually cresting and offered an excellent vantage point of the surrounding area. As luck–or Stellan’s careful planning–would have it, he came to this hill on the last day of the month.
He gazed upon the spot where Lionel had been attacked two months earlier. Usually he would keep to the borders of his own land while scouting for Pestilence victims, but occasionally he slipped past Aldebaran’s perimeter guards. It was a necessary risk, because one too many times during the past year had found him tracking infected animals across its lines–creatures that knew no borders. Most he had destroyed, but a few had escaped, disappearing into the lush lands or populated areas where he could not follow.
Stellan feared such failures would come back to haunt him. So many people live there!
Staring out across the plain, he idly watched several horsemen crisscross the ground in an attempt to corner a pack of angry boars. A few already lay pierced with arrows, awaiting a fire to blacken their hides and tease out the succulent juices.
Stellan’s mouth watered. These Aldebaran royalty certainly knew how to feast. But how long until they became aware of his presence? He withdrew an arrow and cocked it against his bow. His keen eyes narrowed as he aimed for the center of the pack.
Fwip! The bow twanged pleasantly as he released the arrow. It soared straight down to the meadow, carried aloft even faster by the southeast wind. Stellan watched in satisfaction as one of the larger boars suddenly reared up and fell back.
That did the trick. A number of confused riders below turned about to scan the surrounding land. They then turned in unison to the hilltop. No doubt, he had been spotted. One of them broke away, galloping toward Stellan’s vantage point. A second rider soon followed, then a third.
Stellan waited patiently for their arrival. Hooves pounded closer and closer. A blond mane of hair appeared over the crest, followed by a rider clothed in maroon and green hunting gear.
“Well met, my friend!” Lionel reared his horse a few feet shy of Stellan’s mount. The animals greeted each other with snorts and stamping hooves. “I was wondering when we would see you again.” The duke flexed his biceps, a wide grin plastered on his face. “See here, my arm is just like new!” Then he reached out to clasp Stellan’s arm.
Stellan noted his companions, however, were not as jovial. Hm, I wonder why. Edward nodded curtly, letting his scowl speak for him. The third rider watched him guardedly.
Stellan bowed his head courteously to each in return however, and then gave Lionel his full attention. “I fear this call isn’t entirely social. I’ve come to warn you of something, Lionel. We need to talk. Now.”
Lionel’s grin faltered. “Of course! But not over an empty stomach. Why even the very thought is abominable! Come finish the hunt with us, and then you can speak of your warning.”
Stellan hesitated, and then nodded. A few more minutes could hardly make any difference, and the thought of another hearty meal did sound enticing. It was settled then. He let them think Edward’s cutting glance had gone unnoticed as he followed the men down to the meadow.
Despise me if you must, but my news could very well change the course of your lives.
* * * *
Shortly after sunset, the hunters sat around a great fire. Most of them clustered about Stellan and Lionel. Two of the swine had been cooked and eaten, and now curls of pungent smoke rose from assorted pipes. A moment of silence greeted the sorcerer after he shared what he thought they should know about the growing threat of Pestilence. Alucard’s interest in the matter would remain secret for the time being.
Lionel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So you’re saying it’s mostly wild animals that have been infected. You’re not aware of any domestics being at risk?”
Stellan shrugged. “That depends on how much contact there’s been between the two. If you haven’t had any reports from your farmers, then count yourselves lucky. I’m only saying the risk is there.”
Lionel nodded. “Well, the monstrosity that nearly killed me should be enough to convince anybody.”
“I don’t think that’s quite the case,” Edward said.
Lionel cocked his head. “Oh, you don’t, eh?”
Stellan looked at the other men gathered around him. Each held Edward’s doubting gaze. “Aldebaran has been fortunate,” he murmured. “Pestilence has stalked my land for many years and has made its way north into Falcon Heights. If more forceful measures aren’t taken soon, the good citizens of your kingdom could become exposed.” He paused for a moment, measuring his next words for maximum effect. “There’s absolutely no cure–other than death.”
Edward snorted. “And I suppose you have the defense we require hidden up your warlock’s sleeve–for a price! Did I guess correctly, Sir Swindler?”
“Cousin!” Lionel hissed. “He’s trying to help us. How dare you insult him!”
“That’s only your opinion,” Edward said. He looked at Stellan. “Have I insulted you?”
Stellan shook his head. He’d heard much worse.
“There, you see?” Edward sniffed. “I’m only being cautious. I’m sure Prince Stellan would understand our misgivings. His family is hardly…reputable.”
Stellan eased himself into a standing position. “I’m just a messenger,” he told the group. “What you do with the information is none of my concern. If you wish to sign a death warrant, so be it.” He lifted a hand in a farewell gesture. “Thanks again for the meal.”
Stellan had almost reached his horse when someone grabbed his arm. He whirled around, simultaneously withdrawing a ready knife.
“It’s only me!” Lionel said with a nervous laugh. “You’re not really a people person, are you?”
Stellan sheathed his blade. “Not really.”
“Well, listen,” Lionel continued. “I have just the cure! One of the King’s daughters is getting married a month hence, at sundown on the twenty-seventh day. Guests will be plentiful, and everyone’s been dying to learn about my heroic rescuer. If you want, I can try and get you an audience with the King, my uncle. I’m sure he’d be most i
nterested in your findings.”
Stellan mounted his horse. He glanced over a few yards to Edward, who fumed darkly behind his cousin. Clearly, he had overheard the invitation. He looked down into Lionel’s expectant face. “I don’t know. Somehow I don’t sense my message–or myself, for that matter–being very welcome there.”
“Oh, nonsense, it’ll be fun!” Lionel cuffed him playfully. “I guarantee the most beautiful selection of ladies you’ve ever laid eyes on. Luscious…and looking.”
Stellan nearly gave in to a smile at the exaggeratedly fervent expression on the Duke’s face. Then he glanced at Edward once again, and the good feeling faded. “You’re very kind, Lionel, but I still don’t believe it to be a sound idea. Good night.”
Before Lionel could protest, he galloped away. He dove deeply into the night and made for home.
While navigating a path through Dungeon Forest, he ruminated about the day’s events. What was surely worse than the Pestilence threat he had encountered was the Pestilence threat unseen. How many more victims lurked in the shadows, watching and waiting to attack? How many more suffered violent mutations of form and mind, and how many yet would there be? More importantly, what hand did Alucard play in all of it?
“Aldebaran and its guileless, yet hateful citizens will soon acquaint themselves with the meaning of fear.”
A cold wave of morbid dread plucked at his nerves. It grew heavy and more pronounced, like the frozen precipitation that hallmarked the entrance to his kingdom. At the far side of Dungeon Forest, Stellan drew his cape about him tightly. He wound a dark, thick scarf around his head, revealing only his eyes, and plunged ahead. As usual, snow coated both him and his horse within minutes. No matter how many times he went through this, it was impossible to adjust. Only minutes ago Stellan had been perspiring against the heat and long ride; now an invasive chill had wormed its way down to his very bones.
He pulled his cape even tighter about him and sped onward. After a while, he stopped to cover his horse with a blanket, for even it could not withstand unguarded against the bitter cold for long. Stellan glanced skyward. A deep breath told him it was only a snowfall, not another storm. Good. He’d make decent time.
Stellan began to feel more secure, but also angrier. Over the years, his clan had mostly left him alone, save for a spy or two. But Alucard’s appearance made him suspect the game had changed. Either they wanted something from him, or they wanted to dispose of him.
He wondered if he should attempt a magickal barrier, but given his lack of training, such a defensive maneuver would be mere child’s play for the likes of his uncle. No, it was best to forget the whole idea. However, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something now threatened his solitary life. If so, this would be a change he both feared and welcomed simultaneously.
The thought prompted him to spur his steed on faster as they traversed the snowy plains. Only he and his animal companions knew the blighted terrain so well they could navigate it without the aid of torch or marker. His thoughts drifted to Lionel’s invitation. It was tempting. If he attended the wedding and spoke with Leopold, perhaps he’d gain entrance to Aldebaran for further exploration. How else would one such as himself obtain an audience with the King? But with the hope of contact came the risk of discovery, of derision, of rejection.
There was one positive note in favor of attending. Nothing would goad Alucard and his father more than him taking up with his virtuous neighbor, especially one whose citizens were so virulent in their blind prejudice against warlocks. Stellan still bristled at the thought, but how could he possibly measure his pride against the potential death of thousands?
Long ago, he had made himself a pledge to protect the Five Lands from Pestilence after learning how easily familial ties could be severed. The pledge tortured him because it went against everything he had been taught as a child–for he had not been taught to care.
Yet somehow he did. Stellan was sure that path would lead to his undoing, but neither could he stop from taking it.
Well, he thought. There it is, then… The answer. Stellan wasted no time upon his return to Vandeborg. After stabling his horse for a hard-earned rest, he sought out the one person in his kingdom who possessed the knowledge to help him succeed in his new mission. Finding his scullery maid at work by the kitchen hearth, he strode up to her with a newfound urgency.
“Teach me how to dance,” Stellan commanded.
Chapter 5
The sun’s rays warmed Stellan’s face as he regarded the festooned entrance of Aldebaran’s royal castle. Why, then, did he feel so cold? The answer came swiftly. Even though his intention was to help, it was unlikely the King and his people would agree.
Stellan slumped in his saddle. He had originally planned to enter the castle as unassuming as possible, but now the notion seemed unrealistic. There were guests everywhere. Even the youngest among them would instantly recognize him as an outsider. No doubt his arrival would spark the stern looks and bitter whispers for which he had, regrettably, grown accustomed.
Beneath him, his horse pawed the earth uneasily. Even the animal sensed his agitation. Stellan patted the stallion’s strong neck. You and me both, friend. You and me both.
It was now or never. Stellan urged his horse onward. The sounds of music and laughter filled his ears as he passed through the open gate. He marveled at the total contrast between this scene and his usual cold, desolate surroundings.
Freshly picked lavender flowers lined the nearby Maypole as laughing children skirted to and fro. They sang songs unfamiliar to Stellan’s ears, for these were tunes of family and mirth. Roasted duck, vegetables and fruit of all sorts flowed over mile-long tables adorned with silken cloth; minstrels played instruments from far away lands; people dressed in the finest regalia… It all seemed too much to take in at once.
Stellan risked a glance about him as he rode. A spreading sea of disapproval withered the faces of passersby as he calmly slid by them. Their reactions did little to disprove his initial theories about the place. He stopped and dismounted, unsure how to proceed.
“Stellan! Bravo, my good man, you made it!”
He turned around to find Lionel striding toward him. The duke was dressed in colorful, magnificent evening attire befitting his jubilant personality. Stellan braced himself for a comment about his own outfit, a somber sea of ebony from top to bottom, but none came.
Lionel clapped him on the back several times as a wide grin split from ear to ear. “Come with me! I’ll get you some wine, and then there’s a whole gaggle of young ladies in the corner there who anxiously await the tale of how we met. Off with your cloak. The valet will see to it and stable your horse. There we go!”
With a flourish of his arm, Lionel led Stellan into the pre-ceremony soiree. Everything in sight befitted a royal wedding. The great hall was ablaze with bright lights at every turn. Intricately woven garlands of flowers and ribbons stretched overhead from wall to wall. Countless tables overflowed with savory appetizers and wines. Troubadours wandered about playing jaunty tunes, winking and smiling at the guests who mingled about. Stellan followed Lionel dutifully through the maze of bodies. He had never heard so much laughter in his entire life. It put him on edge.
At the far end of the room, he caught a glimpse of the King and Queen. Sparkling crowns and richly embroidered clothing distinguished them both. They were greeting a multitude of guests. Stellan immediately started forward, badly wanting a word alone with His Majesty Leopold, but Lionel grabbed his arm and proceeded to drag him in the opposite direction. Stellan’s mood darkened considerably. This proposed meeting with the King was why he had endured the long journey. This and this alone. Nothing else.
He turned back. But as he stepped toward the King, someone–probably a servant–pushed a glass of wine into his hand. The Duke of Belleressort promptly began to parade him before a seemingly endless cascade of faces and names, while his deeds on the hunting grounds were recounted repeatedly and at length.
&nb
sp; Lionel, charming though he was, proved to be an unreliable host. For a while, Stellan waited patiently during each time his attention wandered to a pretty face or long-unseen friend. Some of Lionel’s companions from the hunt joined him for a time, and the tale of Lionel’s rescue was described to other guests yet again. But then they, too, disappeared back into the sea of unfamiliar faces.
When not accompanied by Lionel or his hunting comrades, Stellan’s gaze was met with sneers or apprehensive stares. Edward especially seemed to make a point of conspicuously watching him. Even worse, by the time Stellan made his way to the King’s location, he discovered the monarch had disappeared. Regrettably, his meeting would have to wait. Perhaps he could speak with Leopold after the ceremony.
Unused to large crowds–or any crowd–Stellan soon drifted away from the other guests. His compulsion to isolate himself was a habit well refined, and so he found himself heading outside to walk through one of the adjacent gardens. Dusk was beginning to creep round the edges of the horizon. An explosion of deep red and orange hues ignited the western skies. The warm, invigorating air differed markedly from the sterile environs of his castle.
White, pink and magenta flowers of various types and sizes brimmed with fragrant scents. Stellan discovered a bench flanking the outer garden wall. It faced a large fountain and so he sat, idly watching the bubbling liquid squirt from the stone horn of a stone fairy. A footman passed by to light lanterns and candles scattered about the grounds. He acknowledged Stellan with a nod and then left.
Even in a room swelled with people, Stellan had never felt so alone. What was he doing there? He appreciated Lionel’s gesture, but these people clearly didn’t fancy him. Can’t say I fancy them so much either. And his mission was close to failing. How could he arrange a meeting with Leopold undetected? He rubbed his forehead in frustration.
A loud splintering sound erupted to his right. An intruder? Stellan leaped up, throwing back his cape and drawing his sword. He must have hurdled over the wall. A muttered curse confirmed Stellan’s suspicion. Nearby bushes shook violently as the intruder fought to extricate himself.
Lord of Snow and Ice Page 5
