The Bellringer

by William Timothy Murray

  "Just as the first, do then the next, with dark and equal wine.

  Go quick to dry before the flame, my words then to divine."

  Taking the second letter, and breaking the green wax seal, she placed its two sheets into a new basin, and over it she poured first a goblet of water then a goblet of dark red wine before adding the contents of the green vial. She knew not to let it soak but for the slightest moment, or else the paper would dissolve, and she carefully lifted out the sheets and held them close to the fire. They cracked and stiffened quickly, as she watched the small lines of writing appear, nearly covering the entire front and back of each sheet. Going to her chair, she sat and read.

  Esildre,

  Forgive the secret manner of this letter. My apologies, too, for having it delivered as it was by the messenger. His name is (or was, as I assume he has by now succumbed to you), Nermon Denegan. He was arrested last month for the rape and murder of a young lady of Glareth whom he had been courting. The crime took place here, in Duinnor, and against the protests of Glareth he was tried here for his acts. But since he was favored by those close in service to the King, he was not convicted as he should have been. However, I was party to the proceedings and saw plainly, as did others, that he was guilty, even though he was acquitted.

  Freed, the man's behavior continued the same as before. Yet, his commanders and comrades could no longer abide his conduct, but nor could they expel him from the ranks. I was approached for advice, and since I was preparing this letter to you, I suggested that he be assigned to me as a special courier.

  He knew your reputation, for tales of you are regrettably commonplace, and so he was quick to agree. I gave him strict instructions to leave these missives with your ferryman, and to tell him the key to the cipher. Of course, I suspected that he would not obey, and I had reason to think that he made a bargain with some other person, highly placed, to relay the contents of this note back to Duinnor. Even with the cipher key, he could not know how to use it, so to obtain the knowledge he was paid for, he would first have to let you have them. Trusting in his character, I knew that if he obeyed my instructions, and thus survived to return to Duinnor, then he must be innocent of my suspicions, and probably of the crime of which he was accused. Otherwise, I was confident that you would serve as the ultimate hand of justice.

  Since I predict that using you in this manner will anger you, I do apologize again. Although we have never spoken of it, I can only assume that you suffer greatly at each such encounter. But, where in years past madness may have gripped you, and you may have indulged it, I feel that you have come to understand somewhat Secundur's curse upon you. If you feel nothing but anger at me, and no pain at the messenger's demise, I am wrong. But if you feel any remorse, even knowing that justice was served, then I am correct. If you have such feelings, then your healing is surely at hand, though the curse upon you remains. Forgive me this test of you, and read on.

  Esildre stood abruptly and paced back and forth across the room, clutching the letter fiercely, her face red with insult at Raynor's abuse of her. As she slowed her pace and stared across the room at the window, she more carefully considered his words and searched her heart.

  "Could it be true?" she wondered silently.

  When she first came here, all were invited, and many, many came. But they were the dregs of society, rejects from every realm. Men and women alike attended the fantastic celebrations she threw, full of drinking and music and debauchery. The worse ones, criminals who had no place else to run, hardened soldiers ready to forget what their eyes had seen or their hands had done, pox-riddled lords and ladies—all of them were easily seduced and driven into madness. Some went away, never the same, useless and babbling. Some met their end in the cold waters of her lake, or by their own blades. A few, refusing to depart, had to be chained. One or two, who turned their induced insanity against her servants, she slew. Between visits, she swore she would entertain never again, so wracked with black depression they left her. She gouged out her eyes. But they grew back. And once, in the throes of despair, she attempted to gouge out her heart with a dagger, but was prevented by one of her astute and quick-witted maidservants who was near at hand and who pressed herself against Esildre's chest and put her arms around her.

  "Please, no! For our sake, stay your hand! Where would we go, my lady?" the blind girl pleaded. "No one but you would take a sightless servant. The men would become beggars and starve. And the girls would be preyed upon, defenseless. Oh, I beg you, do no harm to yourself!"

  Esildre never understood how the blind girl knew to block her dagger-thrust. They fell into tears together, falling to their knees in their embrace. And Esildre made her a promise to keep them and provide for them as long as she lived.

  That was when Esildre finally began to see. At least she had some purpose left to her. She would keep to herself, and see no more visitors. It was just as well, for fear of her had spread, and after but a few years no one else dared come. And no one was bidden. She kept her castle dark, and made it foreboding in appearance. Hiring mercenaries on occasion, she turned away settlers, and made travelers unwelcome along the roads that skirted her lands. Alone with her servants, she began to believe that she might find peace.

  Then, decades later, a party of innocent travelers came, having lost their way in the mountains. Realizing where they were, they feared to accept the shelter she, through her servants, offered them. But a winter storm raged, and the passes filled with ice and snow, so they reluctantly accepted. For a week the storm pounded the mountains, freezing her lake, and covering her castle with ice. For three weeks after the skies cleared, the wind blasted the land, and nothing melted. All during this time, she succeeded in avoiding her several hapless guests. They dined together, and she alone. She permitted them books from her library, and wine from her cellars. But she kept her maidservants away from them. Indeed, when the first warm sun came out to slicken the ice with meltwater, they prepared to depart, anxious to continue their journey. That night they celebrated, sending their thanks to Esildre and begging the honor of her company before taking their leave. She kindly refused. When they had drunk their nightly portion of wine, and her servant refused more to them, they beat him until he relented the key to the wine cellar. Later, they forced her chamber door. She killed two before the others had her pinned. But they met the same fate, in turn, as all the others had. None of them ever left her castle alive.

  Yes. She regretted it. She sat back down with Raynor's letter in her lap. She could have prevented that night. Were they all bad men? Was it her presence that made them so? Was it her eyes?

  She glanced at the window, considering again Raynor's words. Yes, deserving or not, she regretted the fate of the man who had just died. She regretted them all. And she had been filled with regret all along, all throughout her sordid time at this castle, though for so many lost years her regret was masked by the depravity of Secundur's shadowing curse. But, at this moment, reading again Raynor's words, she knew that even though her curse remained, the madness of it was gone. If she carefully guarded herself, all would be safe.

  Smiling, and shaking her head at Raynor's insight, faraway though he was, she continued to read, noticing for the first time that one edge of the sheet had telltale signs of having been nibbled. This made her smile even more, and she anticipated good news concerning the small creature who did it.

  Be that as it may, I have important news for you. First, there are many signs that point to the end of the current reign. I do not merely mean the continued weakening of resolve, or of the favoritism of our courts in making just sentences. There are signs in the sky, and in the stirrings of Men, and farther west, in that shadowed land that, alas, you know too well. I hope we may speak of these things.

  Of immediate concern to you, however, is that I have recently learned the true fate of your brother, Navis. It has been many years since his disappearance, and until now it was assumed that he was lost in Shatuum, and his mission to find you, and
his life, ended there. I'm afraid he never made it that far. Let me tell you how I know.

  As I have written you before, my dear companion, Beauchamp, the Familiar who has been my friend, was parted from me many, many years ago, and I gave up hope of ever seeing him again. I have ever after regretted sending him on the errand that parted us! But, miracles abide! He returned to me just two months ago, filling me with joy! And he is at this very moment nibbling the page I write upon to send his own greetings to you.

  Naturally, he has had much to share, having been gone for nearly three centuries, and I am still learning from him somewhat of his adventures, which took him as far south as the Green Citadel, where he was trapped for most of his time away. But he escaped and, with some help, made it out of the desert lands and all the way back to me. I cannot share all with you, but by way of him, I learned the terrible news of your brother's disappearance. In fact, Navis was murdered by the very men who were sent as his escort. It took place many leagues west of here, on the border of Shatuum.

  I know this news is disturbing to you, and I am sorry to give it. I remind you, as I have in letters past, that I tried my utmost to dissuade Navis from his mission to find you. Perhaps I felt it was ill-fated. But it would be truer to say that I cared deeply for him, and his ambition to find you filled me with fear. That was long ago, and I am deeply saddened by this new knowledge of his fate.

  It was related to me that members of your brother's party set upon him at night. Having committed their vile act, then one other of the party murdered all the rest, too, presumably so that none could speak of the atrocity. He could not know that humble eyes saw all from the edge of their camp. Beauchamp was shortly thereafter captured, and, as it happened, was taken away far southward as part of a menagerie of animals for exhibit, eventually arriving within the Green Citadel of the Dragonlands. It has been this long before he could escape and find his way back to me to relate his fantastic experiences.

  Beauchamp could not know or say the person's name who murdered your brother, but as soon as he revealed that portion of his adventure, I began to make discreet inquiries. Thus I have endeavored for the past month to learn the person's name, and to learn how he came to commit the act. I will tell you this much, but must refrain from telling you more until we may meet: The person is Elifaen. I do not know his House, but I think he was born sometime in the early years of this Age. His history is sketchy at best. But I discovered that he came into the service of one of the highest of this land. He served as the guide to Navis and his party, and he alone returned, saying they had all entered Shatuum, releasing him from their service. I have sought to find this person, whose name now appears on many leases of Vanara and properties in Duinnor. My intention was to confront him, or at least to make his whereabouts known to you. But he is no longer in Duinnor. I have learned that he was seen traveling from here with a small armed party late last year. And I have reason to believe he has some business in the old Eastlands Realm or perhaps in Glareth. Whether that is actually true, or whether he is still in the east, I cannot say. I intend to send word to a trusted colleague of mine, by the name of Collandoth, who now resides in those parts, to be alert for him, to be wary of him, and to send word of any news he may have of the person. However, it will be months before my letter will reach him, and longer, still, before I may hear from him.

  I can say no more, for I am watched closely, and all my dealings are scrutinized. I beg you to come to me secretly, in disguise as a pilgrim to the Temple. I know that you will be reluctant to do so, but only in person may I share the name of your brother's killer. I will dispatch a trusted guide who owes me a favor, named Tyrin, to await a pilgrim at the village Averstone, close by to your lands. Though somewhat a rogue, he is a brave and honorable man from Glareth Realm, capable of protecting you. He will arrive around Midsummer's with coin enough to keep him. He knows only that he is to remain at the inn until he is sent for by your servant, or until I summon him back to Duinnor, even though he may be weeks or months in the waiting. He will be rewarded again, once he delivers his charge safely to the Temple. I implore you to send for him to be your guide. Why you shall need him will be revealed in due time.

  Should you decide to come, and ONLY if you intend to come, read the final missive, using the potion in the blue vial. It will aid you greatly with your needed disguise, and thus help you have an uneventful journey. Tyrin will leave you at the Temple, and he will inform me once you are within. I will come to you there.

  ONLY if you are determined to come to me: Float the missive in a bowl of clear water, and pour the full contents of the blue vial over the missive all at once. You must put your face very close to the water to understand!

  Your anxious friend,

  Raynor

  Esildre unfolded the last edge and a small circle of parchment fell onto her lap. Picking it up, she noted that it smelled oddly like citrus. Standing, she put it beside the blue vial, and paced once again.

  "I may as well have murdered Navis myself!" she cried out. When she had finally escaped the clutches of Secundur, and learned of the disappearance of her brother from relatives in Vanara, she immediately traveled back to look for him in Shatuum, Secundur's shadowy realm. But once at the border with that land, her heart faltered. She knew if she re-entered the place, the lord of that land would have her again. It was then, at that moment of her faltering, that the madness of her curse overcame her. What could she do? No one, until she herself did it, ever escaped from there! How could she go back? There, at the edge of Shatuum, Secundur's curse landed its first blow upon her.

  Now, this! That, all the while, Navis had never even made it that far. That he was murdered!

  "Perhaps he could have found me!" she cried, new tears pouring from her eyes. "Oh, my brother! Perhaps you could have broken my bonds and freed me after all! Why did I ever go there? Oh, I am so sorry! Forgive me!"

  To the Elifaen, time does not pass as it does for mortals. Already it was many days since the messenger came, and now many more days and nights passed in her grief. She wandered the halls of her castle, aimless, like a ghost, speaking to no one. Finding herself at the high windy ramparts of the place, she stood, nearly motionless, staring away at the mountains by day and at the stars by night. For a month and longer, she grappled with herself. Winter gave over to spring, and still she debated. The icy white of the mountainsides slowly gave way to green, and the daytime air grew warm while the night-time insects learned to buzz. Midsummer's Day came and went, the ramparts grew hot in the full sun of the long days, the nights no longer held any threat of chill, and still she sparred with the shadows of her heart, agonized over her shame, and debated her decision. Was she to be feckless? She dreaded leaving her sanctuary, drab and grim though it was, and contriving to avoid the gaze of others. She hated the prospect of talk that would spread through Duinnor should she be seen there. How could she go? But how could she refuse?

  It was at dawn on the thirteenth day of Seventhmonth that she returned at last to her chamber, and she sat in her chair and stared again at the blue vial, undisturbed where she had left it, and the little circle of parchment nearby. Slowly, she had become resigned to her duty. She would go to Duinnor and meet with Raynor. She would learn the name, and all else that could be learned, and then she would track down her brother's murderer.

  Raynor was right. She must travel in disguise or else her curse would tempt any who saw her. A pilgrim, yes, that would work. But what could the third missive say to help her with that? And why should she need a guide? Or protection?

  "Does Raynor forget that I am a veteran of great battles? Or that I know the way to Duinnor like the back of my hand?"

  No, she decided, Raynor had good reasons, whatever they were.

  She went to the basin, poured water into it, and then floated the wafer of parchment on it. Kneeling over it, wondering again what words could possibly help her disguise, she poured the contents of the blue vial over the wafer. Small letters immediately began to
form as the wafer sank, and the citrus odor became stronger.

  "Look very closely," the writing said, and, in even smaller writing, "Wash your face only with Temple water. Look closely!"

  She leaned closer, to be sure of the words, her nose almost touching the water as it grew cloudy. Suddenly the basin erupted with smoke and a bright orange flash, and scalding water burned into her eyes and face. Screaming, she fell back, but instantly the pain was gone. Feeling her face, she touched hard scales, and, opening her eyes, she saw nothing but the faintest blur from the brightly burning hearth.

  "Raynor!" she cried, her anger rekindled. Aggravated and once again offended, she crawled back to the basin to wash away the scales. As she dipped her hands and bent her head to splash, she hesitated. Her anger suddenly vanished, replaced by a modicum of reproof as she realized that this ruse was probably the safest thing. If her eyes were scaled over, the curse must be rendered ineffective.

  "How did he know?" she wondered. But how do any of the Melnari know what they do? Raynor may be old, but he was certainly not without perception.

  Within the hour, Esildre began putting her arrangements in order. She ordered all of the servants, except three, to their quarters, and then summoned the ferryman to send him to Averstone. He knew the way, sight or no sight, and would ask for the Glareth man. He would say that a pilgrim bound for the Temple of Beras had gotten lost and had stumbled upon Esildre's castle. The Glareth man was to come and fetch the pitiful creature to Duinnor as quickly as possible.

  • • •

  And so it was done, and within only a few hours Esildre stepped off her barge, dressed in the plainest traveling robes, using a walking stick for guidance. The Glareth man was there, and he rushed to take her elbow and to guide her up the uneven path from the shore to an awaiting horse. He introduced himself as he did so, saying nothing about the terrible scars and scales that covered her face and eyes.