Part 3 Chapter 2

CHAPTER 18

 

 

T

he storm has passed. Thorne realises this as he wakes and hears no bangs of thunder, no rain pelting the ground, he hears nothing.

  When he opens his eyes he finds himself look at a wooden ceiling, brightly lit due to the sunshine coming from a small window on the wall behind him. The ceiling has cracks in places but doesn’t look as if it might break apart any time soon, his looking down the ceiling continues until it hits a beige wall. He sees the top of an open doorway but not a door to go with it, to the left is a set of shelves with blankets made from a variety of fabrics and in a variety of colours, on another one of the shelves is his sword still in its sheathe and belt, he reaches for his side not believing the sword is his, but, of course, it is. Next to it are his coin pouches and other assortments of his.

  As he continues to look down as the doorway and walls continue until the floor he finds a little girl standing in the doorway, staring at him as if fascinated. He jumps up but falls back down with a loud groan and a thump as pain hits his leg. He looks at his leg; there are two narrow planks of wood attached with thick rope at either side to keep the leg straight.

  He pushes himself up to a seated position and looks again at the silent girl. She is small and skinny, with stringy blond hair that is covering some of her face and light blue eyes. She is wearing a brown baggy dress that is torn and fixed in several places and seems to just be able to stay on her. Her feet are bare and only a little dirty which seems the result of whatever she has been doing in the past few hours. In her hands she is hugging tightly to her chest a ragged faceless doll with arms and legs the same colour as the walls and a green middle section representing a dress, it looks to be in worse condition than her dress.

  “What do you want?” Thorne growls, the girl doesn’t move just stares at him.

  Thorne quickly leans forward as if about to go after her but stops mid-motion as he feels another shot of pain. She doesn’t notice his pained stop and this time she runs out the doorway. He leans back with a sigh as he hears her loud footfalls quieten until again there is only silence. He closes his eyes and tries to control the pain shooting through his leg, it takes some time but he succeeds to a point.

  He puts his good foot on the side of the bed dangling there and with both his hands he lifts his bad one and carefully, painfully, places it next to the good one although a an straight angle so his foot is ahead of the other one. With a few breaths he lowers his feet to the floor, making sure his good leg touches first. When he places his bad leg onto the floor he feels nothing and thinks he is fine, but when he puts pressure on it pain shoots through him, making him cringe and fall back onto the bed.  He clenches a fist and is about to hit his leg in anger but stops himself, it hangs above the leg as if he is willing it to stop but his hand is fighting him.

  Finally his will wins and his fist unclenches and falls to the side. He pushes himself back onto the bed so his bad leg is pointing straight ahead.

  “It’s not broken,” says a voice that Thorne takes several seconds to realise it isn’t his.

  Thorne looks back to the doorway and finds the old man standing there. He looks older than Thorne remembers but is still fit. He is balding at the top and what hair he does have is stringy and mostly white. His eyes are the same colour as the young girl’s (they must be related) but where hers shown innocence his convey wisdom and experience that only comes from living a long and full life.

  “How bad is it?” Thorne asks, concerned that he will not be able to leave quickly. He isn’t sure if the old man knows who Thorne is or what way he feels towards Tov’ra and his family. Better to be on the safe side and not tell the old man who he is for as long as possible, not with a bad leg.

  “Just a sprain, you’ll be able to walk in a day or two.”

  This is not what Thorne wants to hear; in that time Olraym will be too far to catch. He has to move now. He tries again to stand, this time without hesitating and again falls back in pain. The old man walks in further, takes hold of the bad leg and turns him so he is lying on the bed again.

  “Trying to move will only make it worse, give it time and it’ll heal.”

  Thorne cannot accept that he might lose his chance to kill Olraym and therefore lose the crown. He has waited too long for this to slip by, but he knows this man is telling the truth.

  “Very well, I won’t try again yet.”

  The man nods happy, “I’ll get you something to eat,” he starts walking out.

  “Wait!” the man stops, “how long have I been unconscious?”

  “The storm ended when the sun rose, that was three hours ago.” Thorne and the old man hold gazes for a while then the man resumes walking out, this time unimpeded.

  Ten minutes later he brings in a bowl of porridge with a wooden spoon and a cup filled with water then leaves again. The porridge looks disgusting to Thorne and makes him feel sick, but he eats it anyway. Thankfully it tastes better than it looks and he finishes it and the water minutes later and puts them all onto the floor next to him, not knowing when the man will return to take the bowl away.

  Over the next hour he does as little moving as possible, as much as he doesn’t like it, and lies on the bed listening to the sounds outside the room. The sound of a metal object hitting the dirt ground, the old man, or someone else, is gardening. Then there is the sound of footfalls just outside the room, he knows they are from the little girl and they always stop just before they reach the doorway, silence, then they rush away quickly. Occasionally she comes so far that Thorne can see her shadow on the far wall or a strand of hair poking in the doorway, but she never comes into sight completely. Thorne finds it all annoying and wishes he can get out of bed to stop her.

  Finally after hearing her rush to the doorway and stop for the twelfth time he has had enough.

  “What do you want!?”

  This time, again, he can see strands of her hair so he knows that the sound of his voice makes her shy away. Thorne sighs, irritated and waits for what she does next. He can hear her breathing so he knows she is still there and after counting to five the girl pokes her head in through the doorway. The look of fascination is still there; obviously the first look didn’t satisfy her.

  “Do you want something?” says Thorne now with less force in his voice. If she leaves without getting whatever it is she wants she will keep coming again and again.

  The girl looks silently at him with still just her head in the doorway.

  “If you’re gonna stare at me all day you may as well come in,” she does and walks to the foot of the bed. She is still holding that faceless doll, but no longer in a hug, but limply at her side. “What is it you want?” he asks, trying best not to show the anger he feels.

  “She doesn’t speak,” says the old man, Thorne cannot remember seeing him enter. The old man’s hands are dirty so it must have been him working the garden.

  “She doesn’t, why not?”

  “Something happened that never should,” the man can see the mild confusion on Thorne’s part, “she is my granddaughter, she came to stay some years ago after her mother died and she left her father.” He can see that Thorne’s confusion is only slightly sated, “while I would love to talk more of it, I’m afraid it is a story for another time.”

  Thorne nods understanding as the man smiles and walks out. He thinks of the girl, of what it was that happened to her, and lets his imagination flow. He then considers if there is something he should do after all when he is crowned king he will be able to. He wants to be a benevolent king to the Highlands despite how he is going about getting it.

  With all his thoughts being on the girl and her grandfather he realises that the pain from his leg is much better. He tests it by wriggling his toes and feels nothing. Then he slowly lifts the leg straight up, he feels an ache but not as much as before.

  At this rate he will be able to leave in a day, maybe less.

 

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Moira’s plan seems to be working; when Bevil and everyone else that is needed were told by Moira what they need to do they all work to the best of their ability to make it happen.

  The idea is simple enough: Bevil and the others have to take on responsibilities (remembering to pay for guards’ wages, helping the people of Tov’ra whenever and wherever possible and taking important meetings with important people) that otherwise they would never go near. If needed Moira of course makes an appearance and for all business she has final say.

  It is a hard and slow process with so few noblemen in on this venture, but for Moira the fewer the better, she doesn’t want someone untrustworthy to know that she is in control they might see it as weakness and exploit it. Beside, even though this is just day one it is going rather well in her opinion.

  She is sitting at the moment on her seat in the main dining table with a plate and cup pushed to the side while she is looking over documents she got just an hour earlier, she hears Sertia enter with her own plate of meat. She smiles and nods at Sertia in greeting, too enamoured in the documents to do anything else, Sertia does the same to her as she sits down. Moira looks up from the documents at the intrusive clanking sound the metal plate makes as it lands on the table then seconds later the loud chewing Sertia makes as she eats the meat.

  These sounds, while mildly distracting, do nothing to deter her from the documents before her. They are too important.

  “What’s that?” the suddenness of Sertia’s voice added into the mix of sounds makes Moira jump and look up at her again.

  Knowing there is no point in lying or even omitting truths, better to let her know all since it concerns her, Sertia as much as anyone, “it came to me a little earlier, it’s about Olraym.”

  This makes Sertia stop suddenly with a drop of fork and knife. They clatter loudly on the plate then onto the table where they lie still.

  “What um, what does it say?” Sertia’s composure is gone; she wants news of her brother but only good news. But there is a chance it might be bad, which she cannot take for several reasons. She soon controls herself as she stares at Moira who looks calm. ‘If she is calm it can’t be bad, it just can’t.’ this thought and others like it calm Sertia enough to regain composure to some degree.

  “Trustworthy people have told me he and that Cultist woman have reached Burden.”

  “Burden!?” this comes out between a shriek and a squeal, Moira looks surprised at Sertia. Why go there? Is that where he was planning to go the whole time or is it just some rest stop? Either way how long is he planning to stay there? These questions pop in her mind so fast it is hard for her to keep up. So fast she cannot give one an answer before another rears in. “Why are they there?” she asks Moira hoping to given one an answer.

  But instead she shakes her head as she looks back at the paper, “I haven’t a clue. Maybe, maybe they need a good rest.”

  “But surely there are better, safer, places than in Burden.”

  Moira shakes her head and Sertia can see she, Moira, is holding in her fears as much as she, Sertia, is. Sertia reaches out with her hand and Moira takes it in one of hers, a comforting gesture, one Sertia feels is needed despite how little it helps.

  After Moira looks better Sertia excuses herself and leaves, the meat only half eaten. The news about Olraym only half good: he is alive but in worse possible danger than when he was in Tov’ra. The royals (if they can be called that) in Burden were well known for their murderous thieving ways. They not only allow crimes to happen in Burden they encourage it and if they want it, they participate in it. Even if what they are participating in is just a simple mugging in the street or a murder in broad daylight. They feel safe because all the city guards are either under their thumb or too scared to do anything.

  What business does Olraym have there?

  But these thoughts, these questions, were not going to get answers, not right now. The bigger problem is that she and Moira can’t do anything to help Olraym. A message might never reach him and is she or Moira send someone else they might not reach him either. And, though Moira would never say it, Sertia knows that Thorne would try and stop whoever they send. Sometimes Sertia wished she had killed Thorne before he left for Olraym.

  All she can do is help out in Tov’ra. Until, that is, Olraym returns then she can ingratiate herself with him when he is crowned let him think he knows what he is doing, knows how to rule but it is her that really has final say.

  The only way to do anything here in Tov’ra is to know what Moira and the others are doing. What plans they have.

  It is time for another meeting with Bevil.

 

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Moira can only guess Olraym’s reasons for being in Burden. Though he has been gone for so long, first in the Tervunmal Islands and now this, she believes he is not being persuaded by anyone (least of all the Cultist) to do this.

  As she watches Sertia leave the dining hall she reaches for several other documents that she hid when she heard Sertia approach. She doesn’t want to but until she knows who wants Olraym dead she feels she has to. These documents were of the comings and goings of certain important people in Tov’ra including Sertia and Thorne until he left to catch Olraym. While there are things on it that are revealing of whoever it is about and maybe one day could be useful, none of it connects to the Starlight Cult’s assassination attempts.

  When she gets to the end she finds it to be about Sertia. She reads carefully not wanting to miss anything. When she gets to the end she stops, then reads it again. It tells of Sertia following Moira to the Fair Maiden brothel, watching Moira and Bevil exit it then Sertia herself enter. It doesn’t say exactly how long Sertia was in the brothel but it was too long to be just a simple chat with one or both of the sisters or (Twelve forbid) one of the w****s.

  She reads it a third time then folds it and puts it into a pouch handing from her dress, gets up and leaves. She doesn’t want to go back to the Fair Maiden and most of her spies are outside Tov’ra following Olraym as best as possible, so Bevil is the best choice to get information, to get an answer to this.

  Though he works in the castle during the day his house is closer to the city’s market sector. A two-storey beige-coloured house slightly separated from the buildings around it.

  Knocking on it she hears creaking form inside, each one louder than the last, until it reaches the door. Then the door opens and Moira sees the left side of Bevil’s head as he pokes out the door. Once he sees her he opens it all the way. He gestures her inside then closes it.

  Moira enters into a spacious and plain sitting room and sits down with her back to the door; Bevil walks over and sits on a chair facing her. Moira can see him looking at her in a way that makes her uncomfortable. Ever since Gremborlin’s death he has looked at her in this way, she has said nothing about it and thinks it won’t go any further than the looks. But all the same it makes her cringe.

  “What do I owe the pleasure you’re Highness?”

  “Did you tell anyone of your time in that brothel?” she gets right to business, spitting out the word ‘brothel’ as if it is poison.

  Bevil looks shocked, as if the very idea she is suggesting is unthinkable. Moira perceives this and feels better about him. But that brings up the question of how Sertia knew that the two of them were there. Sertia could have followed her but why unless she already knew where Moira was going.

  “Who else knows?” Bevil wonders out loud.

  “Sertia does.”

  This worries Bevil, but also gives him a kind of revelation. Sertia knowing about his ‘pastime’ might be why she is always going at him trying to seduce him and get things out of him. ‘That b***h!’ his face becomes red with anger and shame.

  “This is not the time for anger, not yet. We must first figure out what she wants and what to do.”

  Bevil nods, the redness in his cheeks turns a slight pink, “whenever she comes to me-“ he stops as he notices Moira’s look of shock and realises he never told her about this before. He coughs and looks away, “-I’m sorry but when she did she always asked about either the crown or her brother Olraym.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well last time she asked when the naming of your husband’s successor will be held.”

  Moira nods quickly understanding. Sertia for some reason wants Olraym to be king and wants it to happen fast. Given the recent assassination attempts Moira can see why. With this new information Moira believes she can cross Sertia off the suspect list, but is it possible that Sertia knows who the real culprit is?

  They talk some more as Moira, remembering the letter her spies gave her earlier, gives Bevil news of Olraym stopping in Burden. They stop suddenly as they hear a knock at the door.

  “Expecting anyone?”

  “Bevil shakes his head, “I wasn’t even expecting you.” Bevil stands and moves up to the door, “Who is it?”

  “It’s me,” says Sertia, her voice a mumble through the door. But Bevil and Moira can definitely hear a sultry tone.

  Bevil turns around to Moira and mouths the word ‘hide’. She quickly looks around, thinking of rushing out of this main room to find a good hiding spot, but thinks there is not enough time. Bevil signals her to hurry up so she decides to rush past the door as quietly as possible and enters a different room which happens to be his bedroom.

  Once out of sight Bevil finally opens the front door. Sertia stands there with a hand on her hip and a smile, without waiting for an invitation she enters. Bevil closes the door for the second time and Sertia sits on the chair her mother sat on earlier. She has been in Bevil’s before.

  Moira puts her ear to the wall and tries to hear what is going on, but with the bedroom door closed, she cannot hear much and opening it right now is out of the question. She hears the door close but very little after that.

  Sertia keeps her eyes on Bevil as he cautiously walks back to his chair and sits. His eyes are on her as well, but his are filled with attentiveness and care.

  “So…what are you doing here princess?” he portrays humble reverence as best he can in his tone while inside he is both scared and curious.

Sertia’s smile broadens which Bevil doesn’t like, but he waits for Sertia to speak.

  “I think you know.”