Chapter One, Part Three: Murder and Memories

 

     Myra and Auria sat at the little table in the tower room of the library, talking in low voices of dark memories and arguing over the possible implications of Auria’s dreams.

            “Auria, I think you must be overreacting. I know you’ve been pushing yourself in your studies, trying to teach yourself magic and all-“

            “I know…I know. But it worries me just the same.” She sighed. “But perhaps you’re right, Myra. It may simply be the result of stress, anxiety… dwelling too much on the past…”

     “Excuse me, Miss Auria, Miss Myra, I thought you might like some hot tea.” The two young women looked up to see Gretchen, Westin’s wife, in the doorway with a tray of tea and honey cakes. “Land sakes, but you look gloomy! Here, I have something that may cheer you up.” She pulled a book out of her apron pocket. Its title read: The Art of Healing Magic. 

            Myra’s eyes grew wide, which Gretchen took as a sign of joyful appreciation. “I thought that’d lift your spirits a bit. I remembered you’ve been searching for a book on healing magic, and I just came across this two days ago. Seems it’s been hiding out in our binding room for awhile, now. I keep telling Westin he needs to clean the place, but it never gets done. Isn’t that right, Auria?”

            Auria smiled weakly, which Gretchen took as a sign of sympathetic agreement.

“Come to think of it, I’m surprised you didn’t come across it yourself; you’re in that room often enough, binding books and making charms for them so the ink won’t fade and the cover won’t tear and whatnot.”

            “I…suppose I must have overlooked it.”

            “Well, it’s found, now. I do hope that satisfies your curiosity, Myra. When you’re through I may want to have a look at that book myself…there are so few who are apt with healing magic these days that no one knows much about it anymore. Well, enjoy your tea! You know where to find me if you need anything else.”

Silence followed Gretchen’s departure. Myra picked up the book and looked it over carefully, smiling.

            “Speaking of dwelling too much on the past…” Auria muttered. Myra did not appear to hear her.

**~**~**

     “Dead?! What—how?! When?!” Skye cried, grabbing Rhys’s arm.

            “I don’t know! When I went up to find him, he was just slumped on the floor, and for a minute I thought he was asleep, but…but…there was blood, and—“

            Lord Shaanon held up a hand to silence Rhys. “I will see for myself. Take me to where you found him, Rhys.”

            Rhys nodded, and Skye released him. “This way, m’lord.”

The four men climbed the winding stairs up to the lookout tower in uneasy silence. A feeling of dread passed between them, unspoken, but potent and stifling. They reached the tower, and Rhys pointed toward the dead body. “H-here.”

            Lord Shaanon knelt beside his fallen guard, who was propped up against the wall, a sword still clenched tightly in his hand. The wall was stained red with his blood. Lord Shaanon sighed and shook his head angrily. “He was stabbed in the back. And he was prepared to fight, but his attacker was not about to show him such honor. Still,” he rose, looking at the others grimly, “Gerard died a nobler death than that criminal will.”

            “Are you so sure it was our prisoner? He may have had an accomplice, you know. Or more than one.”

            “Yes, Aaron, I did think of that. But two of my guards are now dead, and at least one of them died by that man’s hand. We should go question him now. Rhys, Skye, will you please take care of your fallen comrade, and make sure his family knows what has happened here? Right now, we need to find out if there are any more Asrian guests running about the castle. Come with me, Aaron.”

            They left Skye and Rhys and quickly made their way down the winding stairs again. Aaron watched Lord Shaanon closely; he was walking with a stiff gait, controlled, as if he were suppressing the urge to run. Still, he was moving swiftly, and Aaron almost had to jog to keep up with his lord’s long strides. They reached the bottom of the stairway and turned out into the main hall. There, Victor was pacing nervously by the windows. 

            “My lord,” he began, trying to intercept Lord Shaanon. 

Something’s got him all worked up, thought Aaron, smirking. Probably mold on the bricks in the castle walls again, or some such emergency.

            “Not now, Victor. I have some pressing matters to attend to,” said Lord Shaanon, brushing past Victor.

            “Wait, my lord…our appointment!”  

But Aaron and Lord Shaanon had already left the castle.

**~**~**

            Myra gathered her cloak and a few extra books to take back with her to her family, where they lived by the mead hall on the northeastern border of Esselya. Auria sat at her desk, pretending to be busy mending bindings. The two had not spoken much in the last hour of their visit. The anxiety that had been steadily growing in Auria’s heart for the past week was beginning to weigh more and more heavily on her as Myra prepared to leave. 

            She did not particularly want Myra to go, because for some reason she was beginning to feel uneasy about being alone; but then, Gretchen had brought in that book on healing magic. And I had hidden it so well, too...She glanced over at Myra, who was smiling at something amusing in the periodical from Agris. It was very different from the smile she had when she received the book. I wish she could just let it be…It’s been eight years since—

 

The sound of metal upon metal, bows singing, arrows piercing flesh…

 

Auria held her hands over her ears, blocking out the sounds of memory…

 

Crackling flames, carrion birds calling overhead, the cries and groans of the dying…

 

Myra turned and asked something, but she couldn’t hear…

 

Myra’s face, contorted with pain, sobbing, clinging to her skirt. “Auria!! Auria, he’s dead!  They let him die! Why couldn’t someone do something?! Auria!!”

 

            “Auria!!” Myra stood before her, her face and posture calm; the only indication that anything was troubling her were her slightly wrinkled brows. These smoothed as Auria blinked at her in surprise.

            “Hello! Yes! I’m fine!” 

            Myra laughed.  “I think you should really get some sleep. Your eyes were beginning to glaze over. Have a I worn you out that much?”

            “No, no! You’re right. I should sleep. After that, I’ll be all right, I promise.”

For a moment, Myra looked skeptical. But then, she eyed the book that still lay on Auria’s desk, and reached for it, smiling a very different smile than before.

            “Finally, I can find out the truth,” Myra said to the book.

            Auria’s stomach tightened. “The truth?” she asked quietly.

            “Yes. I want to know if my guess is correct. If he could have been saved.”

            “And what will you do when you find out?”

            “I’m not sure,” Myra turned to go, slipping the book into her pocket. “But at least I’ll know.”

            “Myra—“ Auria stood, starting to follow her friend.

            “Don’t!” Myra snapped, stopping at the door. “I know what you think. We’ve talked about this before. But I have to know.”

            Auria quietly walked over and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I know. But it worries me, and I feel responsible.”

            Myra turned. “You don’t need to. This is my decision. I’ll be all right.” She smiled reassuringly, then embraced Auria. “Thank you. Send word if you need anything at all.” She shut the door, leaving Auria alone.

**~**~** 

            As Myra descended the stairs, images of past events clouded her mind’s eye, distracting her from the scholars and library assistants that greeted her as she passed by. She responded to no one, but instead fingered the book in her pocket, as if she feared that breaking contact with it would cause it to disappear. As she walked through the foyer, one thing caught her attention and brought her back to the present: a soft, green glow shimmering around the edges of the door to one of Westin’s workshops.

            “Westin?” she asked, tapping lightly on the door. There was no answer, though the green glow flickered briefly.  She tried the door handle; it was unlocked. “Westin? I’m coming in…” As she opened the door, she was blinded by a bright flash of emerald light, followed by a light humming sound which quickly receded into silence. 

            “Hello, Myra,” said a tired but cheerful voice. “How was your visit?”

            “Westin?” Myra asked, blinking in disorientation. “What was that light all about?”  

            “I’m over here, Myra,” said Westin’s voice, slightly to the left of the direction she had been facing. He chuckled, and as her vision began to clear, Myra could make out a massive, golden book with gilded pages on his desk. 

            “Oh…Westin, this is beautiful…what is this book?”

            Westin turned the book toward Myra so she could see it better. Large, golden script danced across the pages like sunlight on a lake. She found that if she tried to focus on any one letter, it seemed that it flitted just out of sight, though the letters never moved. But if she carefully relaxed her gaze, and looked at each word individually, she could discern a beautifully exotic, flowing script, though the language and alphabet were foreign to her.       

            “It is written in the language of Ether, a language not created or used by any people for vernacular use, but discovered by scholars of the magical arts. In its original state it had no script at all. This form of writing was invented so that words of power might be preserved and passed on,” Westin explained.

            “And you can read this…?” Myra trailed off, looking at him in awe.

            He laughed. “Yes, a bit. Not very well, I’m afraid, but enough to weave some charms of my own fancy. That was the light that you saw.”

            “I didn’t know you were adept with magic.”

            “Adept is perhaps the wrong word. I am a scholar, and I like to dabble. Now Auria, on the other hand, has shown some real talent with the linguistic magics. She has the mind and the voice for it. In fact, I wonder at times if she may possess some personal magic of her own that may explain her ability to manipulate the external powers so well. But, speaking of Auria, tell me: how did your visit go?”

            “It was a little strange. Auria seemed distracted, and nervous…it’s obvious that she hasn’t been sleeping well. But other than that, she seems to be all right…just the same as she always is.” 

            Westin cocked an eyebrow. “Is that all? You didn’t pick up on anything else?” 

Myra sighed.  “Well...there was something about her that left me feeling uneasy. And not just for her sake. But I’m not sure how to explain it.”

            Westin nodded, and regarded her thoughtfully. “I thought so. Yes. I’ve felt it, too.” After a moment’s pause, he seemed to make a decision. “Here, let me show you what I’ve been working on before you leave. Perhaps you’ll feel a bit better.”  

**~**~** 

            Esselya’s jail was located outside, on the same lot as a feed stand and a blacksmith’s shop. Lord Shaanon, like his predecessors, had never felt the need for a dungeon within the castle, as most of the criminals they dealt with were common thieves and drunkards, not spies or assassins. And yet, he now held captive a man who was both.          

            The prison guard bowed respectfully as the two men approached.

            “Good day to you, Marc. Any trouble?” Lord Shaanon greeted him as he unlocked the door and guided them inside.

            “No, m’lord. All the pris’ners ‘a been good today. Though most ‘a been too drunk to stand, much less beat on each other. There’s been a bit ‘o mouthin’ off, but not much else.” 

            “Excellent; I’m glad to hear it. And how is our Asrian guest?”

            “Asrian??” Marc looked appalled. “Y’mean that nice chap who just come in this mornin’? Aw, ‘e ain’t given me no trouble, sir. Best be’aved pris’ner I ever ‘ad. Never would ‘a guessed he was Asrian!”

            “Come to visit me, Your Magnanimity? Is it time for my last meal already, or did you just stop by for tea?” came a voice from one of the cells. 

            “Real gent, ain’t ‘e, m’lord?” exclaimed Marc, grinning.

            “Yes, a real gent. Very well-mannered. Well, let him out, Marc. I’d like to have a chat with our guest,” said Lord Shaanon.

            Marc unlocked the cell door, and Barad emerged, smiling at Lord Shaanon. He had been stripped down to a pair of ragged trousers, and his bare feet were covered with filth from the dirty prison floor, but he still managed to carry himself with an air of smug arrogance. “Oh no, you don’t need to unbind my wrists, Marc old chap,” he said to Marc. “Your lord might not like that. I might slit his throat…”

            Marc gasped, putting himself between Barad and Lord Shaanon.

            “It’s all right, Marc. He’s been disarmed, but it’s better not to take chances. In fact, you may want to bind his feet as well; though I doubt he’s planning to kick me to death.”    

            Marc reddened a bit at the ears, but did as he was told.  Then, glancing at Barad with confusion and a little suspicion, he excused himself and went back to his post. 

            Barad smirked. “And what about you there, lurking in the shadows?” he asked, nodding toward Aaron. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” 

            “This is Aaron, retired general of the Esselyan army, trainer of the young recruits, and my dear friend and advisor.”

            Aaron nodded gravely, but did not speak.

            “Talkative fellow. Ah, wait! Now I remember you. General Aaron, the young leader of the Esselyan army. Yes, that was about eight years ago. What a charming sight it was! But, Lord Shaanon, we Asrians have always been confused as to why you sent a lad to lead your men to their deaths.”

            “He was our most capable man; he demonstrated wisdom and skill beyond his years.”

            “And if I recall, he nearly died, did he not? But then, he was luckier than many others who were under his command. Tell me, Aaron, how is that shoulder of yours? Does it give you much pain?”

            “We won the war,” Aaron growled.

            “Oh, you can speak! That’s a relief. I was beginning to wonder if perhaps one of our men had cut out your tongue. But as for winning,” here, Barad dropped his air of casual sarcasm and lowered his voice to a venomous hiss, “Esselya lost over two thousand men in five days. Asria lost a mere two hundred. Who really won the war? If the High Kingdom had not interfered, who would be Lord of Esselya?”

                “I did not come to mince words with you over old conflicts,” said Lord Shaanon in a dangerously calm voice, “I came to discuss something a little more recent. Your murdering of two of my guards, for example.”

            “Do you think that present events are not affected by the past? And really, murder is such an ugly term. I felt sorry for your weak little underlings—lead by men who care more for old books than for their people’s lives—I was putting them out of their misery.” 

            “You alone? Or did you have assistance?”

            Barad grinned maliciously. “I killed them myself.”

            Without warning, Lord Shaanon backhanded him sharply across the face, knocking him off-balance and stumbling down to his knees. He winced slightly, but stood again with an arrogant smirk. “You don’t believe me?”

            Lord Shaanon smiled, but there was little mercy left in his eyes. “I’ve been given little reason to trust any word that comes from the mouth of an Asrian,” he said tiredly. “You attacked our city without provocation or warning. You burned the homes of farmers and healers, murdering whole families in their beds. You pride yourself in your strength and skill in battle, not your sense of morality. Why should I believe you?”

            “Forgive me, my liege, but what other choice do you have?”

            Lord Shaanon beckoned Aaron to step forward. “Despite your opinion of our military expertise, we have developed some very serviceable means of persuasion.”

            Barad glanced at Aaron, then nodded with a knowing smile. “You intend to torture me? With that stick?” he asked, gesturing to Aaron’s staff.

            “No. The quarterstaff is intended for active combat and will not do for such purposes. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just fetch something from the blacksmith’s shop next door.”

            “What is he going to do, put horseshoes on me?” Barad asked as Aaron was leaving.

            “Why do you think I keep my prison next to a blacksmith’s shop, Barad?”

           “Oh, was there a reason? I had assumed that it was because you were a simpleton.”

            “Yes, there is a reason. Before the war, our prison was actually located in the basement of the library. It was the most secure location we had at the time. But during the war, our number of prisoners increased tenfold, and our prison could not contain them all. That, and the librarians began to complain about the smell. So this new prison was built next to the blacksmith’s shop, because it conveniently gave us easy access to shackles, replacement prison bars, and other miscellaneous needs. That, and it gave our interrogation techniques a little more…edge.”

            “Did it? Well, Lord Shaanon, I must admit I’m disappointed. I thought your moral standards were far above such unsavory practices as torture and the like. You should leave them to filth like me.”  

            “Are we ready to begin?” Aaron asked as he returned. In his hand, which was now gloved, he held a long iron bar with a sharply pointed tip. The tip was glowing red, fresh from the hottest coals of the blacksmith’s fire.

            Barad eyed the instrument curiously. “Quaint, but not very creative. I could provide some helpful tips as we go along, if you like.”

            “Oh, I doubt it will be necessary,” Aaron replied. “I think you’ll find our techniques are simple, but effective.” Aaron stepped beside him and waited for Lord Shaanon to begin.

            “Barad. I know that you were sent by Asria for a purpose, and I would like to know what that purpose is.”

            “What if I don’t feel inclined to tell you?”

            The iron bar thudded loudly as Aaron struck the dirt floor, close enough to Barad’s right foot that the searing heat from the metal burned his skin. He winced slightly. “I see. But your aim could use some work.”

            “That was a warning. I won’t miss again. I will be happy to drag you to the gallows myself tomorrow if you find yourself unable to walk.”

            Lord Shaanon took a step closer to Barad and asked again, “Why did Asria send you? I know it wasn’t merely for the purpose of killing off a few of my guards. What is your mission here?”

            “If you haven’t figured it out by now, my lord, then it’s already too late.”  

            “Explain!”

            “For all the books you Esselyans read, you don’t seem to have developed all that much intelligence.”

            “Forgive us if we have not your criminal mindset,” Aaron muttered.

            “I said any Esselyan, which you, my friend, are obviously not. You should watch what you say. We could even be related, you know…”

            Aaron struck at Barad with all the force he could muster, this time driving the hot iron straight through Barad’s foot. The latter gasped in pain as he fell to the ground, curling around his black and smoldering wound.

            “Aaron!! That’s enough!” Lord Shaanon pulled Aaron back sharply. “We use pain only as a tool; never out of anger!”

            Barad slowly uncurled himself, and rolled onto his back, grinning up at them. The grin was almost a grimace, and it gave him a slightly deranged look.

            “Lord Shaanon,” he said, chuckling. “It’s just his Asrian blood. We have a bit of trouble controlling our rage, at times. And our desire for vengeance.”

            Lord Shaanon restrained another outburst from Aaron, and softly replied: “Vengeance? Is that what this is all about? Vengeance for Asria’s humiliation eight years ago?”

            An expression of malice flickered over Barad’s face like a tongue of flame at the word “humiliation”. “Say not vengeance, my little lord. Say rather that we have come to finish what we started.”

            “Asria is going to attack Esselya again,” Lord Shaanon said, without inflection.

            Aaron felt his heart drop into his stomach as the realization, which he had been fighting off since the trial, was finally confirmed by Barad’s maniacal grin. He looked away, sickened. 

            Lord Shaanon walked over to Barad, who was still lying on his back on the floor, and looked down at him thoughtfully. “You know, Barad you have little reason for your mirth. We are warned. You are caught. And there will be no dawn for you.”

            Barad giggled. “There won’t be one for you, either. In fact, I doubt you’ll be around even as long as teatime this afternoon.”

            Aaron turned sharply. “What do you mean?”

“Did you bother to actually look from the tower where you found that boy’s body? Obviously not. Well, no matter. But it would have been fun to watch you all attempt to muster your pathetic police force before we slaughtered you all…” he sighed dramatically. “I’ll have no such pleasure now, I suppose. You’ve no time left. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if they were right outside…”

            To Aaron’s horror, sounds of unrest were slowly beginning to penetrate the prison walls, growing louder as Barad spoke. He looked quickly at Lord Shaanon, who seemed somewhat pale, but nonetheless wore a stern expression of authority and command.

            “Gather as many men in arms as you can, Aaron,” he said quietly. “We must hurry back to the castle. I’ll be right behind you.”

            As Aaron grabbed his staff and began running toward the door, the sounds of yelling and running feet grew louder; but not before he heard the sound of Lord Shaanon’s sword cutting through flesh.

Reviews

[D. Christian Baker]

brutal honesty has become my new policy, so bear with. hmm, the dialog is a little dry. over all it just doesn't live up to its predecessors. it's expected, not cliche, but nothing new and/or amazing. the details are a bit sparser, if memory serves, and was just a little bit hard to read through. what you had to say was ok, just the way it was said was... expected. i guess expected sums it up pretty well.

then again, you might want that. another edit or two would do good in any case.