Earls of Iron: Part 4 of 6

no chance of overcoming. We are therefore vastly outnumbered. More importantly, for numbers count for little without skill, we are outclassed.
‘With these facts in mind, I recommend that you all accompany me to Seilgscoil, on the island of Inisfiain. My School. There, you can each learn the arts and talents that shall enable you to confront your enemies... and someday defeat them. This shall take time. Mastery, and the rank of Lord, requires fourteen full years of vigorous training and study.’
The Huntlady places her hands on the table and looks around at the young men. Earnest fervour shines in her eyes.
‘Castus, Vivus, Silex, Sedulus, Virtus, Liun, Beatus, Passer, Merus,’ she says. ‘Each of you, all of you, I implore you, trust me in this. Have faith in my judgment, my knowledge, my experience, and come with me to a place where you shall all be safe. Where you can learn all that you need to learn. Then return when you are ready and exact your righteous vengeance.
‘Please, do not, out of rage, or grief, or pain, throw your lives away in some noble, glorious, doomed action. Do not sacrifice yourselves in vain. Have patience. Abide. Give yourselves time to grow stronger in every way, before you try to contend with the fearsome forces arrayed against you.
‘Come with me to Inisfiain. Therein lies your only hope of immediate survival... and eventual justice.’
The door to the cottage bursts open and one of the Guardsmen who had been stationed outside rushes in. Sergeant Probitas Vaquus is forty-three with greying hair and dark eyes and his broad face is flushed.
‘Captain, Huntlady, my Lords,’ he says, ‘one of the men has been murdered and another, Modus, has disappeared. He has taken his horse.’
‘Siorai,’ Calma says, ‘go and examine the scene for sign. I shall stop this traitor dead in his tracks.’
Huntlady Taiscealai closes her eyes and her Apprentice moves towards the door with Sieur Ducere at her side.
‘Please lead me to the body,’ says Siorai.
Sergeant Vaquus nods and goes out.
‘You mind if I join you?’ asks Castus.
‘Come,’ she says. ‘All of you, if you like. Best, perhaps, to leave my Mistress in peace. I am sure she would be most upset, were she disturbed.’
‘We would not want that,’ says Beatus.
He rubs at his sword arm and uneasy laughter escapes a few of the others as they follow the Scout out of the cottage.

‘Yah,’ Modus Modicare yells and jabs his heels into the roan mare’s flanks in a futile attempt to encourage greater speed from the beast as it gallops along the narrow forest trail while thoughts race through his mind in a furious rush.
faster ye accursed fleabitten nag faster just git me outta this bleedin forest an away from that damned huntress an er unnatural ways an Ill keep ye on the finest oats an grain with a stableful of fine fresh fillies fer the rest of yer days thats a promise urry up or its the knackers yard an theyll be renderin yer bones fer glue an thats a promise too cmon cmon cmon cause if that selfrighteous wee pintle sieur omnis igh an mighty ducere an em other fools catch me itll be worse than the knackers yard fer poor auld modus modicare an theres no two ways about it
they all think Im some kinda fool but I aint enough of one to reckon theyd just lemme off with a scoldin after me goin an betrayin em an never mind what appened to that nosy auld bugger fer stickin is big conk in where it didnt belong well e got what were comin to im an cant say e didnt deserve it still its gonna be worth it in the long run once I git outta these damned woods an let this bunch of butchers know exactly where little lord castus ferrumanus an the rest of em are hidin git a bloody move on ye sad sorry miserable excuse fer an orse
I wonder ow much its gonna be worth to em villains well now lets see shall we the original plan were only fer me to keep an eye on em fool Nabbers an lend an and when these throatcutters kill em but thats just a great big steamin pile of orseturds now aint it aye it is alright an theres no two ways about it still an all that got me a nice shiny truesilver tear with the promise of another once that auld drunkard feroxos is earl an all of is enemies are dead
bloody nobles small wonder guardcaptain pedester were able to git so many of us lads to turn our backs on daft auld suavis what with all em truesilver mines the tightfisted whoreson ad more coin than e knew what to do with an if e only woulda paid us poor guardsmen better well then e woulda ad our loyalty till is dyin day though I suppose e got that anyways fer all the good it did im so theres another one thats only got imself to blame
five friggin silver spheres a month whats that then sixty a year fair enough I suppose since that might be twice what them simple servants an labourers an the like git fer all their efforts but its still a pittance laughable definitely not enough to let an onest ardworkin man indulge in a few armless pastimes like drinkin an whorin an gamblin not as much as e wants or deserves thats fer sure just enough to whet is appetites without ever satisfyin em not proper like sure only a complete fool would settle fer that an modus modicare might be many things but es never been any mans fool not in all of is twenty five years not fer a day not even fer an our not when just the one wee truesilver tears worth a thousand silver spheres an thats the same as near seventeen years as a guardsman trudgin the damned streets in the dark an the cold an the rain an gittin spat on by beggars an bit by mad dogs an maniacs an looked down on by stuck up bloody nobles in their satins an their silks
seventeen years Id be in me forties an still only about alfway to fulfillin me dream of ownin a tavern an not one of em auld piss an pigshit slopouses me an the rest of the lads drink in neither oh no mines is gonna be a real exclusive establishment right an fancy like the gilded swan a veritable monument to opulence an excess all plush furnishins an tasteful decor with the best durian chandeliers an reaumish silverware an inish crystal an a staff of refined beauties all elegance an class an decked out in the finest coutured uniforms not to mention the peerless chefs an the most celebrated artistes an entertainers all of em only there to cater fer me affluent clienteles every last little whim
but that theres just me auld dream when I only ad the two tears to consider why think so small these assassins are gonna be pretty damned grateful when I can take em straight to castus an they can stop im an all of em other wee toerags from gittin away so theyre bound to gimme some kinda reward fer that but the real question as to be ow much ow much fer servin up em nabbers an the rest on a silver platter caught plucked an in the pot fer that its gotta be somethin fabulous alright then
five probably no less than that at least five fair enough
ten?
maybe just maybe if Im lucky but then again it might be more why not no theres no way modus dont git greedy tens plenty an more besides by any mans reckonin an sure itd be next to nothin fer em killers sure didnt auld custos say theyre swimmin in coin cmon modus ye craven whatve ye gotta lose alright alright
twenty there its done twenty truesilver tears twenty thousand spheres an absolute bloody fortune an no doubt about it forget the stupid tavern I can git meself a great big bloody mansion never mind that I can ave em both or a villa with a massive estate an vineyards an stables an coaches an servants with me own livery an insignia an all of em other fancy trappins noblemen ave an all of em ones whove sneered an looked down their noses at me in me lowly guardsmans uniform would ave to tap their brows an call me sieur
sieur modus modicare yes me lord no me lord what can I do fer ye me lord even that pompous stiffbacked auld windbag ducere would ave to pay the customary respects when Im a lord an that aint alf bad fer the son of an umble thatcher not bad at all only dopey auld ducere wont be payin me anything cause it wont be long till the oh so grand sieur omnis duceres gonna be as dead as dirt along with all the rest of em stupid wee...
Modus shakes his head to clear his thoughts. He was so lost in his fantasies that he failed to notice the gradual lag in his horse’s pace. He rams his boots into the tender point in the mare’s hindquarters but rather than lurch back into a gallop the animal bucks. Modus grabs the pommel of his saddle as he is thrown forwards. The horse rears and he loses his grip and then he flies backwards over the crupper. He yelps when his rump connects with the solid packed earth of the road and a sharp spike of agony jolts up his spine.
With bewildered dismay Modus watches his mount gallop away eastwards as fast as her hooves can carry her. In an instant his confusion dissolves into the frightful realisation that the docile mare’s bizarre behaviour is the work of that accursed Huntress Calma Taiscealai.
Modus stumbles to his feet and a torrent of profanity pours from his mouth as a fresh spear of pain jabs at his tailbone. Something down there is damaged maybe broken.
The Guardsman grits his teeth and takes a few tentative steps. Every movement sends a stab of pain through his lower back. Beads of sweat break out on his brow and his breathing grows heavy and Modus grunts with effort as he tries not to hobble along like a lame old man.
He moves off the path and surveys the deadfall that litters the forest floor until he spots a branch that looks stout enough to support his weight. Modus moans as he bends over to pick it up and then hisses with ire when the rotted wood crumbles to pieces in his fingers.
He moves deeper under the trees where the leafy canopy is thicker and the ground below stay dry in all but the heaviest of downpours. With a grumbled complaint he stoops for another stick.
Modus’s eyes widens in horror as a blunt scaled head lunges from behind the fallen limb. Too slow he tries to snatch his hand away from the fangs that he glimpses within the snake’s agape pink maw. They sink deep into the flesh between his finger and thumb and Modus feels a prick of intense needle-sharp pain followed by tingling numbness that spasms up his arm.
The reptile slithers away and Modus’s face twists in stricken despair when he spots the pattern of dark blotches that run along its sinuous silvery body from neck to tail. An adder. Poisonous. Deadly.
The strength pours out of his legs like water from a leaky cup and Modus sits on the ground with a soft thump. He clasps his bitten hand and stares about him in panicked distress.
Then he recalls a drunken forester’s garbled ramblings one night years ago in a tavern and the advice that the ugly man had given in his low earnest voice should Modus ever find himself a victim of snakebite.
With frantic fingers Modus fumbles the knife from his belt. The hilt slips from his sweaty palm and a wave of dizziness washes over him. He moans with fear and gropes in the dirt. His hand brushes the knife and he snatches it up. Modus clutches the weapon to his chest and gives a curt sob of relief. His vision blurs. He holds out his injured right hand and slashes down.
The sharp steel glances off the knuckle and slices a sliver of flesh from his thumb an inch shy of the snakebite. The blade falls from his nerveless fingers and Modus raises the bloody wound to his mouth. He sucks at the cut as urgent as a baby at the breast and then his eyes roll up in his skull and Modus falls backwards with a long low groan. He lies flat on the forest floor and the ground welcomes him: soft and safe and warm as the bed of his favourite whore. His limbs begin to twitch and then the muscles spasm and he writhes like a snake in the grass. Fire blazes through his veins and Modus Modicare screams to the heavens above.
The Earls

Valentia Ferrumanus and his siblings follow the assassins into the antechamber. The capacious room is a quarter the size of Earlshome’s Great Hall. A long table of polished oak surrounded by high-backed upholstered chairs takes up the centre and the walls are adorned with portraits.
Heaps of plain white garments were piled on the table’s smooth shiny surface: during the massacre of the wedding guests twenty Guardsmen had held the servants in the room and forced them to strip before they were herded into the Great Hall and slaughtered like pigs.
Apart from Mancus and his cadre of seven false mystics the assassins removed the blood-stained costumes they had used to infiltrate the Wedding Feast and the black silk garb that they wore underneath. They also discarded most of their weapons although each assassin retained a few. Everything was sorted into three distinct piles: disguises and silks and arms.
Then while the killers attired themselves in the servants’ uniforms twenty Guardsmen also stripped. Their colleagues gathered up the discarded clothes and weapons and returned to the Great Hall where they dressed the butchered servants in sinister assassins’ attire and distinctive Guardsmen’s livery.
In the anteroom a dozen assassins stuffed the disguises into large sacks.
With Lascivia at his side Valentia walked around the table for a better view of the paintings. They depicted the fifteen previous Earls from five separate dynasties who had ruled during Tellus Isle’s three-hundred-and-twenty-five year history.
His siblings followed and clustered behind him when Valentia stopped to regard the first portrait. The thick paint was cracked and flaking and faded with age. It showed a young man with aquiline features and short blonde hair and defiant dark eyes. In flowing script a small verargent plate fixed to the wall below bore the legend:
~ Malleus Populi ~ 1114~1170 ~
~ Earl for 32 Years ~ 1138~1170~
‘Malleus was a year younger than I,’ says Valentia, ‘when he took the title. That was back when the Realm was formed, five years after the fall of the Agertellian Empire.’
‘Really?’ asks Lascivia.
‘The Agertellians invaded Duramuros in 926. Malleus’s ancestor, Primus Populi, was the Legion General of Salvagium. He led his troops into Melaurum Forest. While the rest of the Realm was conquered, he split his forces into small squads and they hid in the woods. Four years later, when he was forty-one, Primus was assassinated and his son succeeded him. The Agertellian soldiers and citizens who settled as colonists were harried by the Durian rebels throughout their two-hundred-year occupation. The conquerors tried to eradicate the insurgents. They failed.’
‘The rebels lived in the woods,’ Validus says. ‘The Agertellians should have just fired the forest and burned them out.’
‘They tried that,’ says Valentia. ‘Several times. The first effort failed, because the Durian rebels had cleared regular firebreaks all around the boundaries of Melaurum. They deliberately left a few gaps and had those watched constantly.
‘When an Agertellian Legion was seen approaching one of the vulnerable spots, the Durian troops mustered, slipped out of the forest and hid in the surrounding hills. The Agertellians made camp and fired the forest. The rebels let the fires rage unchecked until nightfall, and then they attacked. The Agertellian Legion was butchered, the remnants driven into the inferno. There were no further attempts for a long time after that.’
Four assassins dressed in servants’ attire with sacks slung over their shoulders opened the side-door to the antechamber and went out into the corridor beyond. Another group moved over to wait near the door. Valentia knew that they would stagger their departure with a team leaving every few minutes to avoid arousing the suspicions of anyone out in the passageways of the palace.
Assassins loitered about the antechamber because the next stage of the plan could not proceed until Mancus and all of his followers had departed. Still disguised as mystics the Deathlord and his seven higher-ranking colleagues had taken chairs around the table. There was little conversation among them.
‘Why not simply start a blaze in the middle of the forest?’ Alma asks.
‘Clever girl,’ says Valentia. ‘Such brains, such beauty. You always were more than just a pretty face.’
‘Oh, more than that, my Liege,’ says his sister. ‘Much more, I would hope.’
‘Most assuredly. To answer your question, the Agertellians lit a huge fire in the heart of Melaurum. Half-a-mile back in the woods, the rebel squads gathered in a great ring and started fires of their own. They fanned the flames with bed sheets, blankets and cloaks, directing them towards the Agertellians’ fire. When the two infernos met, with nothing left to burn, they died out.
‘After that debacle, the Agertellians gave up. They had more pressing concerns. This was around 1123, when the Meerlanters gathered an army of sixty-thousand and rebelled. A decade later, after more than two centuries of brutality, slavery and oppression, the Agertellian Empire was finally overthrown by the Great Slave Uprising of 1133.’
Valentia pointed at the portrait before him. ‘General Malleus Populi was leader of the Durian rebels at the time. A direct descendant of the first general, Primus, he was granted the Earldom of Tellus Isle by the King of Duramuros. His reign lasted thirty-two years. By all accounts, he was a wise and just ruler.’
‘Most fascinating, my dear,’ says Lascivia. ‘I would not have had you down as such an avid student of history.’
‘My Lady,’ says Valentia. ‘There is much about me... about us, our family and its history, that you do not know. Our mother insisted that we all receive an extensive education. She wanted to send each of us off to study at one of the Seven Schools, but our ignorant fool of a father refused. He was ever ruled by small-minded jealousies and spite.’
‘And look where that got him,’ laughed Validus.
‘He was suspicious of anyone more intelligent than him,’ says Alma. ‘Just about everyone. So, he surrounded himself with drunken lechers, braggarts and pillocks. Like-minded souls.’
‘Indeed,’ Validus says. ‘Yes, I fear the shade of the great Malleus here would have returned to haunt us, had our dear departed father ascended to the title.’
‘He, and every other Earl after him,’ says young Fornax.
‘Not so, little brother,’ Valentia says. ‘Some were worse than even Feroxos could ever have been.’
He moved to his right and spoke as he passed the next four paintings. ‘Origo Populi, son of Malleus, who ruled for forty-one years... Pacificus the Peacemaker, twenty-two years... Francus the Free, eighteen years... and Elabi the Ill, eight years. His health was poor and he was assassinated...’ Valentia came to a stop at the sixth portrait which showed a thin bald man with hawkish features and cold blue eyes, ‘... by his cousin through marriage, Dominus Vulgata. Called Dominus the Damned, for ending the prosperous one-hundred-and-twenty-one-year rule of Familia Populi. After just eight years, he was in turn murdered and succeeded by his son, Vovere.’
‘That sounds familiar,’ says Validus.
With a smile Valentia moved to the next painting. A young man glared out from the ebony frame with a murderous expression on his dark brooding countenance.
‘Called the Insane, he was Earl for just two years. But those were not a just two years for the people. They suffered greatly under this sadistic tyrant. He believed himself a sorcerer. He had babies snatched from their mothers. He drank their blood, had them cooked and ate their flesh. Vovere called them his ‘botelli’... his little sausages. The Kings of Duramuros and Reaumverd had him arrested and tried. He was flayed alive, then roasted in an oven for his crimes. He deserved worse.’
At his side Lascivia shuddered and stepped closer to wrap an arm around his waist. Valentia moved on to the portrait of a middle-aged man with greying hair and kindly eyes and a pleasant smile on his plump face.
‘Avunculus Nostrum. The twenty-year-old son of one of Elabi the Ill’s cousins, he was granted the title by the Kings after Vovere’s execution and the end of Familia Vulgata’s ten-year dynasty. He ruled well for thirty-three years and was followed by his son, Hirsutus, for thirty-one and his grandson, Buculus, for eighteen.’
Valentia strode past a fat bearded man and a slender balding one to reach the eleventh portrait. The broad-shouldered man in the painting looked every inch the Liegelord with a haughty air and patrician features and cropped black hair and imperious eyes.
‘In 1351, after eighty-two years, the reign of Familia Nostrum ended. Buculus died childless and the King of Duramuros sold the Earldom to Procurator Solucere, a Durian Baron, who had inherited a mercantile fortune. He also inherited his family’s uncanny ability to make money. Solucere the Golden brought great wealth to the Realm. When he died, twenty-nine years later...’
The next Earl was a gaunt dull-eyed youth with a slack expression.
‘... his seventeen-year-old son, Aleator, inherited all his riches along with the title. An inveterate gambler, he squandered his vast fortune in just fourteen years and buried himself under a mountain of debt. He ended the forty-three-year dynasty of Familia Solucere by selling his lands and title to this man...’
A bright smile lit up Valentia’s face and his brown eyes shone as he came to the thirteenth portrait in the room. He gazed up at the strong handsome face and long auburn hair and bright green eyes of its subject.
‘... our great-grandfather, Capax Ferrumanus. His sobriquet, Capax the Fox, was well earned. Look at him. He has shrewdness written all over his face.’
In the painting Capax’s eyes shone clear and true and a sparkle of humour glinted in their depths. Deep creases beside his eyes and mouth and the slight crooked smile that he wore hinted at profound knowledge and resourcefulness and capability.
‘Before he became Earl, he was a thief,’ Valentia says. ‘A fact that none of the histories mention, but Capax often refers to his past in his diaries and memoirs.’
‘You have read them?’ asks Alma. ‘I thought they were lost in that fire in the library. You remember, back when we were children?’
‘I was ten,’ says Valentia. ‘I was alone in the library when I found them in a bookcase... I knew they were treasures... more precious than verargent... thirty diaries and two big tomes. Capax filled a diary every year he served as Earl. All that Aestas, I stayed here and explored the castle. At the top of the northeast tower, there is a room that had lain empty since long before I found it, and lies empty still. It was an aviary, back when pigeons were used as messengers. The floor was black with filth and the room still reeked of birdshit.’
‘But messenger pigeons have been out of favour for over fifty years,’ Alma says. ‘Any fool with a bow could shoot one from the sky and seize what it carried. Men made a living at it. Blackmailers, forgers, extortionists. They stole love letters and documents. The details of secret schemes penned by careless hands. Deeds and Promissories... which saw the Mercantile Guilds come together to demand that the Realms outlaw the use of pigeons. They established the Guild of Messengers, whose riders must swear an oath to safeguard their despatches with their very lives... a guarantee that no bird could offer, no matter how well trained.’
‘You have studied this subject, dear sister,’ Valentia says.
‘A little,’ she says. ‘Some of the thieves were very cunning. Fascinating methods. One would camp near the home of a wealthy and extravagant Lord, find the aviary, kill every pigeon that came out, and steal the little scrolls he found tied to their legs. He stayed until he got a Promissory that named another Nobleman as Bearer.
‘The thief then travelled to that Nobleman’s seat and killed pigeons until he found a signed scroll. He forged the Bearer’s name onto the Promissory, went to the nearest Mercantile Guild, and posed as a messenger sent by his Lord to collect the sum on the signed Promissory. The Guild checked the Bearer’s signature, honoured the Promissory, and the Thief walked away with bags of money.’
As the others laughed at Alma’s tale the Guardsmen returned to the anteroom. Their Guard-Captain, Sieur Custos Pedester nodded at Valentia who smiled back at him. Having disguised the dead servants in the Great Hall as assassins the Guardsmen had then positioned their bodies around the chamber and placed bloodied weapons in lifeless hands to give the impression that the hapless retainers had been killed in a furious struggle with the murdered guests.
Valentia resumed his childhood story. ‘Just off the aviary in the tower, there is a room for the birdkeeper. I found a chest there. That night, I went to the library, took Capax’s first four diaries, and hid them in my chambers. I took a padlock from one of my chests, returned to the library, took six more diaries, and carried them up to the birdkeeper’s chamber. It took half a dozen trips to move all of them.
‘The big tomes were so heavy, I could only manage one at a time, but I carried them all the way myself. I wanted no one to know where I had hidden them. Not even a servant. I put the padlock on the chest and went back to the library one last time, where I used books about the same size as Capax’s journals to fill the shelf that I had cleared. Then I lit a lantern and threw it against the bottom of the bookcase. I waited until the fire was blazing and then I ran back to my chambers, got into bed and pretended to be asleep.
‘No one ever suspected a thing. I still have Capax’s journals. But they are no longer hidden in the birdkeeper’s chest.’

‘Principalis?’
Valentia turned and all thoughts of the alluring woman fled his mind at the ghastly sight of Mancus’s deformed face.
‘I too must take my leave of you, Principalis. I shall send word when the balance of our contract has been executed.’
‘You have my thanks, Deathlord,’ says Valentia. ‘I hope to hear from you soon.’
With a curt nod Mancus walked over to the door and left the antechamber.
Valentia beckoned the Guard-Captain of the Earlsguard. Sieur Custos Pedester strode across the room and snapped his heels together.
‘My Liege,’ he says.
‘I do believe it is time’ says Valentia, ‘for the new Earl of Tellus Isle to meet his confederates and ascend to his exalted position. You have an hour, Guard-Captain. I shall retire to my chambers and make ready for my investiture. You know what to do?’
‘Yes, my Liege,’ says Custos. ‘I will have the seven Regalia Lucidus cleaned of blood and brought to you there.’
‘Good man,’ says the Earl. ‘And fetch me the Insula Libris. The librarian, Tutela Scriptura, has it in his keeping. He shall doubtless try to stop your men from taking it. I am fond of the old man and would not wish to see him harmed. Overpower him, but ensure that he is not killed.’
‘Very good, my Liege.’
‘And, Custos,’ Valentia says, ‘pay a visit to the Grand Council Chamber. Foedus Verargent is sequestered there. Let them know that my father is dead and I shall be assuming his position, both as Earl and as Chair of the Truesilver League.’
‘Yes, my Liege.’
With his still-sulking lover Lascivia at his side and his siblings behind Valentia strode towards the door. A troop of eight Guardsmen formed up before him under the Guard-Captain’s second, Sergeant Agilis Petiolus with another squad behind. Then the door to the antechamber was swung open and the procession swept out into the corridors of the palace.
The Glade

Siorai walked around to the rear of the croft with Castus beside her and the others behind. With no branches overhead to obstruct sunlight the area was bright. Boot-high grass covered the ground. Two wooden posts had been hammered into the earth and a rope stretched between them to which the party’s horses were tethered. Several had fertilized the ground behind them with droppings. Tempest and Prudence had not been tied and they stood apart from the other horses. Beside the picket line was a neglected garden bordered by rocks where withered herbs and vegetables strove against brambles and weeds for survival. Beyond the garden a break in the treeline marked the start of a narrow path that curved westwards into the forest.
In the shade of the cottage a man’s body lay near the wall and a dark patch of blood stained the grass around his head. His throat had been cut. A boy knelt beside the corpse. Although he faced Siorai his head was bowed and he did not register her arrival. Castus nodded towards the dead man.
‘My valet, Satelles Comitas, and his son, Linum. Gods, the lad is only eleven.’
‘I know,’ Siorai says. ‘This is an evil day.’ She turned to face the others, ‘Can the rest of you wait here? I need to examine the ground around the body for any clues about what happened here and why this man was killed.’ She touched Castus’s arm. ‘Can you come with me, since you knew the victim, to help with his son?’
Castus followed her over to the corpse. Young Linum looked up as their shadows fell across him. His face was crumpled in grief and his eyes were red from weeping.
‘Lord Castus,’ Linum’s voice was raw, ‘why’d they kill me Pa? He never hurt nobody.’
Castus glanced at Siorai who nodded and then he walked around the body to lay his hands on Linum’s shoulders. He pulled the lad to his feet and embraced him.
‘I’m an orphan, now,’ Linum sobbed. ‘The lungrot took me Ma, back when I was just a wee baby. Pa, Pa... Pa...’
‘Satelles was a good man,’ Castus says. ‘He did not deserve this. It grieves me and I feel responsible for your loss, Linum.’
‘It weren’t your fault, me Lord.’
Castus felt a great tide of anguished sorrow surge up inside of him. His chest was tight and his eyes burned and he felt dizzy as misery threatened to unman him. Stricken anew by the terrible realisation that he had lost everyone dear to him Castus struggled against the heartache that threatened to overwhelm him.
He felt helpless but just when it seemed that he must break down and weep like a child cold fury flared in his mind. Castus’s eyes hardened and his jaw clenched and his mouth set in a grim line.
Mourning his loss would avail him nothing. Worse should he succumb to the desire to lament his loved ones then the release that granted him would diminish his hatred of their killers.
Castus fed his rage with thoughts of retribution and swore a silent oath: ‘I won’t shed a single tear for my family until I’ve exacted righteous vengeance upon all those responsible for their murder. Only when the very last conspirator lies dead at my feet shall I mourn my kin.’
Castus saw that Siorai was hunkered down examining the ground around Satelles’s body. He tapped Linum’s arm and the lad followed him as he stepped back to give her room to work.
Siorai turned to regard the cottage and then still in a crouch she moved closer to the wall. Then she rose and went over to the picket line to study the ground there. After a few moments she got up and walked to the head of the trail behind the garden that led into the woods.
A horse whickered and stamped its hooves and some instinct made Castus turn. He saw the Huntlady approaching the scene of the murder. Calma stopped beside him and her eyes were bright with triumph.
‘The faithless killer died before he could report back to his masters.’
‘Me Pa’s murderer’s dead?’ Linum asks. ‘But, how?’
‘He encountered something even more poisonous than himself,’ says Calma. ‘His corpse lies hidden in the woods, and his horse is on its way back to us. You are avenged for your father’s murder, though those who directed the traitor’s hand still live and breathe. For now.’
The boy bowed his head, ‘Thank you, Mistress. I’m forever in your debt.’
The Huntlady gave a curt nod, ‘Think nothing of it. And it might ease your suffering to know that the base cur died in great pain.’ She rubbed at the bridge of her nose and then called out to her Apprentice. ‘Siorai, what have you discerned?’
Siorai came back over to stand beside the dead man’s head.
‘Mistress, the murderous Guardsman was standing here. There is a small hole in the wall, and he was eavesdropping on our conversation within. The victim came upon him unawares, whereupon the spy slew him with a single slash to the throat. He then untethered his horse and led it onto the path, over there.’ She pointed towards the gap in the trees. ‘I have yet to examine the tracks, but I would hazard that he followed the trail deeper into the woods, until he was far enough from the cottage to double back onto the main road without being noticed.’
‘Very good,’ Calma says. ‘Come; let us see whether your deductions are correct.’
The two women went onto the path and the others trailed behind; all save Linum who remained with his father’s body. The foliage above was very thick and the way was murky. The boles of trees pressed close on either side and the party was forced to walk in single file with Siorai in the lead and her Mistress just behind followed by Castus and the others.
Despite the gloom Siorai made out the hoofprints left by the killer’s horse with ease; besides which there was no point along the track as it turned steadily westwards where he might have led his mount off into the forest. She saw light ahead marking the end of the tunnel through the trees and the trail led into a small clearing.
Edged with small stones that had been painted white and set in the earth a path ran to the other side of the circular glade.
Flowers grew in wild profusion all around and the Huntlady breathed deep savouring the delightful scents they exuded as she moved towards the end of the trail. A grave lay at the centre of a square patch of grass with a tall rectangular oaken marker at its head. Spirals and whorls had been carved into its surface and script had been deeply incised in the wood:
Flos Redolere
1403 ~ 1460
No bloom so fair
as her gold hair
The site was bordered by bevelled lengths of oak and the ground atop the grave was planted with flowers.
Curled as if asleep in the grass a body lay to the side. Although the corpse was badly decomposed and had been preyed upon by scavengers Calma saw that it was a man. He was dressed like she was in plain forester’s garb of leather and wool and a shock of white hair was still attached to his rotted skull.
The mystery of the croft’s inexplicable abandonment was solved: the grave belonged to the crofter’s wife who had died three years ago and he had suffered a heart attack or stroke while visiting her resting place. That their love had been something special was apparent to Calma; a simple fact attested to by the effort and care that the trapper had put into the construction and maintenance of the gravesite.
The Huntlady was touched by bittersweet sorrow. She felt saddened by the dead forester’s obvious devotion and the insurmountable grief that he must have endured at the loss of his life’s love; yet her feelings of regret were tempered by happy awe at the beauteous serenity of the secret glade and the fact that such abiding adoration could exist in a troubled world.
Siorai and Castus appeared at her side and Calma was roused from her introspection. She had barely been aware of the others gathered in respectful silence around the grave. Her Apprentice pointed to the left.
‘The killer left the path there. He cut across the clearing and continued through the trees, until he came to the road, where he mounted his horse and galloped off to the west.’
‘Well done,’ Calma looked at the forester’s corpse. ‘We should bury him beside her, along with Castus’s valet.’
‘Yes,’ Castus says. ‘That would be fitting. This is a beautiful place. Satelles’s shade would rest peacefully here. I shall have the servants start work on that immediately.’
‘Ask the Guardsmen to help them,’ says the Huntlady. ‘There are no enemies close, but we cannot afford to waste any more time. You and your friends must decide. Either remain here on the island, or come with me to the nearest Waygate at Vivecole, the School of Life, in Reaumverd. From there, we can go on to my School. Whatever you choose, there shall be hazards involved.’
‘We should vote on it now,’ says Castus. ‘I, for one, am with you, Mistress. Our enemies are too many and too strong for us to face them now. Not with any hope of success. We might win some small victories, but no more than that. And that is not good enough for me. I shall not be content until Valentia, his co-conspirators, and all those who had a hand in the murder of my family are dead. What say you all?’
The other young men moved closer with serious expressions on their faces.
‘I am with you, cousin,’ Vivus says. ‘Always.’
‘As am I,’ says Sieur Silex Tersus. ‘When I was nine, with no one to turn to and nowhere to go, your family took me in and treated me like a son. I loved them as my own. My sword, and the arm that wields it, are yours, as ever, Castus.’
‘Mine too, my Liege,’ says Sieur Omnis Ducere. ‘Now, I shall go and speak to my men, and the servants. Have them bury poor Satelles and this forester. Should I ask them whether they wish to accompany you on your travels, my Lord?’
‘Yes,’ Castus says. ‘Thank you for thinking of that. And, Omnis, let them know that those who do agree to come with us shall be well rewarded for their efforts, but do not force the issue. Let each man make his own choice. Loyalty has its limits, and I would not demand that any man place himself in the path of the dangers that we shall face in our flight.’
The Captain snapped his heels together and then he marched off along the path that led back to the cottage.
‘Castus, my sister, Morum, was married to your brother, Perspicax,’ says Beatus. ‘My parents and my older sister, Pretiosus, were also at Earlshome, and my little sister was one of Gensor’s bridesmaids. Pupilla was only sixteen.
‘I have as much cause to hate the murderous swine who killed them all as you do, cousin. My heart burns in my chest to avenge them, right now, this very instant, but my head speaks differently.
‘Having seen Huntlady Taiscealai in action, I have faith in her abilities, and I believe that if anyone can see us clear of Tellus Isle to work on a feasible plan of revenge, it is she. With that in mind, I shall accompany you, cousin.’
‘You speak of blood,’ says Liun. ‘Cousin Castus, my brother, Estalon, was your sister’s husband. My parents were also at Earlshome. And what of our little niece, Douxjoel? She was two years old. A baby.
‘Honour demands that we avenge them. That shall not be achieved by fleeing with this woman. Our place is here. Nothing that she has says or done has convinced me otherwise. What was it that you suggested, Calma? Run away and study? For fourteen years? While our foes sneer at our cowardice and laugh at our weakness? Well, I am no craven. I shall not run.
‘Our enemies are here. The only way to kill them is to stay. That is what I shall do. Until they all lie dead, or I do.’
‘Liun, please,’ says Castus, ‘do not allow your grief and rage to cloud your reason. We are surrounded by enemies. Hunted. You think I want to run away? We have no choice. To stay is to die.
‘As for Huntlady Taiscealai, were it not for her, we would not be alive now. The scum who murdered my Gensor would have killed us too, had Calma not warned us of the danger and delayed them. Have you forgotten that already?
‘We should be on our knees, thanking her for the gift of life. All of us. Without her skills, we would not even have made it this far. You are eight years older than me, Liun. You should be wiser. What can you hope to achieve by remaining here, alone?’
‘He will not be alone,’ says Passer Vantare. ‘For I shall be staying with him.’
‘Passer, you fool,’ Silex says. ‘This is not a game of Knights and Brigands. You barely know one end of a sword from the other. You did not even lose anyone. None of your loved ones was at Earlshome. You have no cause for revenge. You are only sixteen. Still a virgin. Do you really want to die so young, boy?’
With a snarl, Passer reached for his sword. Silex grinned at him. Castus stepped between the pair.
‘Enough!’ he roared. ‘Enough of this idiocy. I shall not have us fight among ourselves, and do our enemies’ dirty work for them. We may as well fall on our swords, here and now, and be done with it. That would save everyone a lot of trouble, and none of us would have to make any decisions. You are all men, and your choices are your own. Discussion is one thing, but I shall allow no bloodshed here.’
‘Please don’t hurt me,’ Silex says.
An amused snort of laughter burst from Beatus and a few of the others grinned. Castus relaxed.
‘There is sense in Passer’s staying here,’ he says. ‘As you pointed out, Silex, none of his family was at Earlshome. He is my friend, but his kin are wine merchants, not Noblemen. The killers might not even be looking for him. And, if they are, I doubt that they would keep hunting him if the rest of us leave Tellus Isle.
‘Passer, you could go into hiding for a while, until things have quietened down. No one here would think any less of you for that. The same goes for you three, Merus, Virtus, Sedulus. Even you, Silex, if you wanted. We are not related. You are my friends, and I am sorry that you have become embroiled in this mess because of that. But, none of you are Nobleborn.
‘There are only four of us that our enemies must dispose of, because we are bound by ties of blood to seek revenge. Am I not right in this, Calma?’
‘Probably,’ says the Huntlady. ‘I did not realise that some of you lost no family members in the massacre. I simply knew you as Castus’s friends, and assumed you were Noblemen, whose families were at Earlshome for the Wedding Feast. None of you poses any real threat to the usurper, Valentia, because you cannot make any claim to his title. I doubt he would go to any great lengths to pursue you individually.
‘It might even be useful, were a few of you to remain. You could report to Castus about what is happening here in his absence. I leave the decision to each of you, however. Should you wish to accompany us, regardless of bloodlines and nobility, then you are free to do so.’
Sieur Ducere returned to the clearing followed by the four servants and six Guardsmen that remained after the loss of Satelles Comitas and Modus Modicus. The young men broke off their discussion and waited for the Captain to rejoin them.
‘The two youngest Guardsmen, Vis and Magna, are going home,’ Sieur Ducere says. ‘My Sergeant, Probitas, and the other three, are with us. Diligens, Pertinax, and the girl, Vera. I can vouch for them all. Good soldiers, every one.
‘The servants are staying too. Even young Linum. I tried to persuade him otherwise, but he says that his, ‘father trained him to take his place upon his retirement, which regrettably occurred much earlier than expected’. Those were his very words to me. Oh, and the traitor, Modus’s mare trotted back into the clearing while I was gathering my men for the burial detail. Gave the lads a start, she did. I had her tethered with the other mounts.
‘My soldiers are in awe of you, Huntlady. They say that you are a Sorceress. To be honest, given your capabilities, I am inclined to think the same myself. I thank the gods that I do not have you for an enemy. Anyway, I will get this lot started on these graves now, and oversee the work, to ensure that they do a good job.’
‘Thank you, Captain,’ says the Huntlady. ‘We shall return to the cottage.’
She strode along the path and the others followed in her wake. In the main clearing they went around to the front of the croft but did not venture into the dim interior.
‘What about you, Virtus?’ asks Castus. ‘What are your plans?’
‘I will stay here. Your foes are mine, Castus, but there is wisdom in the Huntlady’s words. One of us should act as a spy. My father is only an innkeeper, so I doubt that your adversaries will concern themselves overmuch with me. I can return to Aesfortis and be your eyes and ears. Guardsmen and servants from Earlshome frequent the Rusty Buckle. Ale loosens tongues, and much can be learned over a few tankards.’
‘Good thinking, my friend,’ Castus says. ‘But these assassins seem to be well informed. If you return, they may know that you were part of my Nabbing Gang, and seek you out, to question or kill you.’
‘My father has many friends in the city,’ Virtus says. ‘I can hide out for a while, and only show myself when I feel it is safe to do so. I foresee just one problem, Castus. How will I get word to you? And where?’
‘Yes,’ says the Huntlady, ‘I was thinking of the same thing myself. Letters can be intercepted and read. I fear we must take a circuitous route to reach Vivecole. Perhaps some three hundred miles, and much of that over rough terrain. When we get there, I shall have a speculum brought to you, Virtus, with instructions in its use, and I shall give Castus its twin. That way, you two may communicate privately without any chance of another learning what is says.’
‘A Mindeye?’ says Virtus. ‘Are those not hideously expensive magical Artefacts?’
‘Yes, they are, but do not concern yourself with that.’
‘Very well, Mistress. Thank you.’
‘What about you, Sedulus?’ Castus asks. ‘Shall you be coming with us?’
‘I also wish to stay. I am sorry, but Homilia and I got married just last Vernalis. You were at our wedding, Castus. And you know that we are expecting our firstborn. The baby is due in a few weeks. I love my wife. I cannot just run off and leave her. She would think me dead. Nor could I risk involving myself in any plots of revenge.
‘You are my friend, Castus, you know that is true, and the loss you have suffered grieves me greatly, but I cannot risk my own loved ones to avenge yours. I hope you can understand that, and forgive me.’
‘Sedulus, there is nothing to forgive,’ Castus says. ‘I would be no true friend, if I expected you to abandon your wife and child. Were our positions reversed, I would choose exactly as you have. Return to Homilia’s side, where you belong, my friend, and give her my love. I am sorry that I shall miss the birth of your child, but I hope it is the first of many strong sons and beautiful daughters. And what of you, Merus? Shall you come, or would you stay?’
‘I cannot go. My father needs me, Castus. His work as a scribe has destroyed his eyesight, and he is almost blind, now. With my mother gone, there is no one else to take over the trade and care for him.
‘I am deeply sorry for your terrible loss, but this is not what I expected when I agreed to join your Nabbing Gang. It was just supposed to be a bit of fun. All I can do is wish you well on your travels, and hope that you find what you seek. I pray you are not too disappointed in me.’
‘I did not realise that you father was poorly,’ Castus says. ‘You should have come to see me about that. I would have had the family physic tend to him. Too late now. Certus Medicus was at the Wedding Feast. Go in peace, Merus. Your father needs you more than I do.’
‘I am coming with you,’ says Liun.
‘I thought you wanted to stay, cousin?’ says Castus.
‘I changed my mind. I am allowed to do that. I may be proud, but I am not stupid. I had hoped that others might have decided to join me in remaining here to hunt down our enemies like the dogs they are. I suppose that shall have to wait.
‘And this island is not my home, so I would have trouble persuading the folk here to join me in waging war against our enemies. Besides, if you are travelling to Reaumverd, you shall need someone who knows the land and her people.’
‘Very well, my friend,’ says Castus. ‘I am glad you are coming with us. And I promise, in time your thirst for vengeance shall be satisfied. Fully. That applies to everyone here. Now, what of you, Passer?’
‘I will go home. Like you and Silex says, I am only a merchant’s son, who does not know how to use a sword. What use would I be, really? Besides, my mother would go mad with worry, were I to just up and disappear.’
‘Passer, you are welcome to come with us, if you want to,’ Castus says. ‘Our journey shall be dangerous and we shall be gone a long time, but I would not have you think that you are not wanted. And, as for Silex, he claims that everyone is useless with a blade, save himself. Is that not true, duellist?’
‘Aye,’ Silex laughed. ‘It is true. Absolutely. I am the only one among you who can tell pommel from point. Call yourselves swordsmen? Woodsmen, more like. Hacking away with your swords as if they were axes. Do any of you even know what quillons are? Or how to use them against an opponent?’
‘Is that not what that long sharp bit called a blade is for?’ asks Beatus.
The young men laughed. The Huntlady held up a hand.
‘It is decided, then,’ she says. ‘Six of you are coming with me. Castus, Vivus, Beatus, Liun, Silex and Sieur Ducere. The other four shall remain here, with two Guardsmen as an escort, and Virtus as our spy.
‘Those of you who are staying, I would suggest that you avoid the road back to Aesfortis, and make your way home across country. Try not to be seen, until you reach the Capital, where you should be able to hide among the populace without any great difficulty.
‘Should we linger here any longer, I fear that our enemies shall soon be upon us, so we must prepare to leave. I shall try to delay the assassins once more.’
Calma went into the croft and sat at the table and then shut her eyes. Siorai returned to the front of the cottage and ventured inside. Rather than see the contents of the croft wasted she began to select items that would be of use on the journey to Vivecole.
The others walked around to the rear of the cottage where they sorted through the gear in their saddlebags. Those who were going swapped items with those who would remain on Tellus Isle.
The Mystic

Valentia Ferrumanus paced the length of his bedchamber with his hands clasped behind his back and his brow creased in a frown. He had sent the others away and dismissed the servants to have some time alone to think. He moved over to the northwards-facing window. Earlshome commanded spectacular views from its position at the summit of Aesfortis Tor. Valentia gazed down upon Argentum Bay beyond the high perimeter wall that surrounded the palace grounds. The waters glimmered silver in the bright sunlight. Made tiny by distance sailboats and skiffs and high-masted ships plied the vast expanse. The circular bay was bounded by soaring limestone cliffs and opened out into Lake Solala to the north. The shore of Duramuros was an indistinct green line on the horizon some seventy miles away. To the northwest and northeast the vista was dominated by massifs. Their pointed snow-capped peaks were purple and majestic.
Valentia lowered his eyes to look down onto Earlscourt: the great open square that was enclosed on three sides by the wings of Earlshome.
A vast multitude waited there four floors below. Old and young and rich and poor the populace of Tellus Isle had been massing since dawn and the plaza was almost filled with people. His people. Tellians. They had come for the wedding of Earl Suavis Ferrumanus’s youngest son and knew nothing of the massacre.
Valentia was sure that they must be impatient and confused by now. Two hours had passed since the doors to the Great Hall had been sealed for Suavis to address his fellow Noblemen. While enshrined in tradition the Earl’s Speech was usually a brief affair. A dull formality dispensed with as quickly as possible so that the true festivities might get underway.
Clear spaces in the teeming throng marked entertainers who had been hired to amuse the folk while they waited in Earlscourt. Valentia almost pitied the host of jugglers and tumblers and dancers and minstrels and bards and fire breathers and acrobats and puppeteers and mummers and clowns and fools. Despite their best efforts their diversions no longer captivated the masses who seemed restless and discontented. Valentia knew that it would only be a matter of time and not very much time at that before the mood of the crowd turned ugly. Then the performers would become the initial focus of their dissatisfaction.
While an unruly bloodthirsty mob was the last thing that Valentia wanted to be forced to contend with on his first day as Earl he was content to let the people wait just a little longer. Impassioned hearts could be swayed much more readily than those lulled into complacency.
None of the people below knew about what he had planned for them and for all of Tellus Isle; no one did. Not even his family or his confederates. They would appreciate neither his reasoning nor his motives. That lack of comprehension would arouse their suspicions which would in turn make them afraid. Fear inspired murderous reactions. Like all men they would dread what they did not understand and react with violence towards any perceived threat.
Valentia suffered under no illusions about those with whom he was allied. His siblings would be content to let him rule only for as long as they felt secure in their own privileged positions. As for his partners in the Truesilver League their ambitions were matched and inspired solely by their avarice.
One of the most powerful was Lascivia’s father the Count Aurumcutis Auduxoculus. He was also among the most cunning and deadly. Valentia knew where his lover’s true loyalties lay: Lascivia would report his every word and deed to her father the Count like a good and dutiful daughter.
Marchionissa Ospres Aveugler and Gubernator Tonsor Plagiarius were also potential adversaries. Her shrewd intellect made her dangerous while he could not be trusted because of his insatiable lust for verargent.
Of the others the mysterious Duke Tacitus Intuerius could not be underestimated. Any man who guarded his tongue and his true intentions as assiduously as he did was either a masterful tactician or an empty-headed moron and Valentia was not enough of a fool to make that assumption about anyone.
On the other hand the Northmen really were idiots and could be largely disregarded as such. Karl Thwart had the wits of a goat and Thane Snike the urges of one. Neither man saw very far beyond the satisfaction of his most immediate desires and Valentia doubted that either cared one whit about the governance of Tellus Isle.
Finally there was Fraternity Obitus to consider. The Brotherhood of Death. An idiot might imagine that monetary gain was their sole motivation but Valentia knew otherwise. Provided that no one else offered a higher commission their loyalty could be bought for the duration of a death contract but their long-term objectives remained enigmatic and unfathomable.
The identity of their Guildleader was a closely guarded secret and Valentia presumed that only a few of the most powerful and high-ranking members of Fraternity Obitus knew who he was. That he had not participated in the wholesale annihilation of Familia Ferrumanus but instead chose to remain at the Guildhouse in Lobia spoke volumes. Ostensibly that secession had been to oversee operations but Valentia inferred more sinister motives. Fraternity Obitus played their own game on Tellus Isle and he had no idea what that might be or what stakes were involved.
He could not ignore the fact that their Guildhouse lay in the Durian city of Lobia where the seat of Familia Auduxoculus was also located. Valentia had stopped believing in coincidence around the same time that he began to question the existence of the Yulefather and the Tooth Pixie: back when he was six years old.
He wrenched his thoughts away from suppositions and concentrated on more pressing concerns. Custos Pedester would soon arrive and that was the moment Valentia anticipated with an equal measure of excitement and trepidation. Everything depended upon the Regalia Lucidus. He would be either exalted or condemned in the eyes of his people by those seven eldritch Artefacts. He had procrastinated enough. Whatever happened he needed to be ready and look every inch the Earl that he was supposed to be.
Valentia moved away from the window and went over to the broad four-poster bed where his valet Decere Gentilis had laid out a set of clothing for him. He stripped off the soiled blood-spattered garments he wore and dropped them at his feet on the carpeted floor. He lifted the buttonless long-sleeved shirt of cream-coloured satin and pulled it on over his head and then donned tight fawn leggings of supple calfskin. He added a fawn satin waistcoat with ivory buttons. It had nut-brown vines and leaves brocaded on the front. He then slipped his feet into brown velvet court shoes with raised heels and ivory buckles. Valentia completed the outfit with a soft brown buckskin coat that boasted a wide collar and cuffs of darker leather. The garment boasted horn buttons and had stiffened pleats that made his shoulders seem broader than they were. He then buckled a swordbelt around his waist and hung a slender rapier with an ornate steel fistguard polished to a bright sheen on his left hip and a heavy poniard with an onyx pommel on his right.
He walked over to the long mirror on the wall behind. Valentia stood erect. He thrust out his chest and pushed his shoulders back and tilted his chin. He regarded his reflection with a critical eye. The subdued tones and elegant simplicity of his apparel combined with the lack of ostentatious jewellery and other adornments to achieve the desired effect. He looked proud and dashing. Imposing but not domineering. Noble without the effete affectation of a Nobleman. A man of the people. One to walk the mountains with. A Liegelord.
There was a rap on the chamber door.
‘Enter,’ says the Earl.
Expecting to see Guard-Captain Pedester he turned with relief evident on his face. The door swung open and a hunched figure shuffled in dressed in ragged robes of midnight black with arms folded across the chest and hands tucked deep into loose sleeves and features obscured beneath a deep cowl. The door swung to of its own accord. The visitor stopped in the centre of the room and spoke in a deep sibilant voice.
‘Very fetching, Sieur. The commons should be most impressed. Impressionable sheep that they are.’
Valentia recovered his composure and his expression became guarded. He cast a scathing glance at the intruder’s tatty apparel.
‘When I require sartorial advice, Cochall Dubh,’ he says, ‘believe me, you would be the last person to whom I might turn. The very last, in a rather long list.’
‘Whatever you say, Sieur,’ says Cochall. ‘You are most versed and wise in these matters, I am sure.’
‘I tire of your thinly veiled insults and mockeries,’ Valentia says. ‘Your unwelcome and unwarranted intrusions. What brings you here, Mystic?’
‘Only that which was promised, Sieur. That which is rightfully mine. Or have you forgotten our compact already? I served you these last few years and put my talents at your disposal, as promised. I spied on your father and revealed all I knew of his scheme to seize the Earldom, as promised. I acted as your emissary and negotiated with Fraternity Obitus on your behalf, as promised. All that you have asks of me, I have done. I kept my promises, and now it is time for you to keep yours. I want what was promised to me. The Clavis Mutare Claustra. I seek the key.’
‘The key. The key,’ says Valentia. ‘Always, ever and anon, with the bloody key. And what do you mean by, ‘rightfully’, yours. As with all the Regalia Lucidus, only those of the family line can use the Lockchanging Key. And you are not one of us, Necromancer...’
‘But, you promised.’
‘Yes, yes. I did. And I mean to keep that promise. But in my own time. I told you that much already. First, I intend to address my people bearing all seven Regalia Lucidus. Not two, or five, or six, but seven. Then, and only then, shall I visit the Cella Arcana.’
‘Sieur, you could give me the key, now,’ Cochall Dubh says, ‘There may be magical wards, mundane traps. Tripwires and pitfalls. Capax the Fox was most wily and sly.’
‘Spellslinger, mind your vile tongue,’ says Valentia. ‘Disparage my august ancestor, and you risk having it torn from your head. Were you half the man he was, you would need to be more than twice the man you are.’
‘Apologies, Sieur. I meant no offence.’
‘You are an offence. To the eyes of gods and men, your very existence offends. How and why your mother did not throttle you with the cord upon birth, I shudder to guess. Anyway, only one of the blood can use the key. You know this already, so why bother me now?’
‘Sieur,’ Cochall Dubh says, ‘there is a way. Should you but relinquish the key to me, and say these words...’
‘Relinquish the key?’ says Valentia. ‘Are you deluded, man? Surrender one of Familia Ferrumanus’s most priceless heirlooms? You must be out of your mind. Either that, or you believe, for some obscure reason, that I am.’
The sinister Mystic straightened until he loomed tall. His hands dropped to his sides and his long bony fingers hooked into claws. Before Valentia could so much as blink Cochall Dubh darted forwards as swift as a serpent’s strike to stand toe-to-toe with him. A dry musty odour wafted out from Cochall’s hood and Valentia wrinkled his nose but he did not flinch or step back.
‘You swore,’ Cochall hissed. ‘Yes, I bore witness, and heard you swear, on your bones. I listened, and ate the words. Thus, I sealed your vow with a curse. Should I now name you Vowcracker? Bondbreaker? Faithless, forsaken and foul?’
Valentia shoved the dark-robed Mystic. Cochall stumbled backwards and fell onto the bed. He seemed to shrink and fold in upon himself as if there were nothing but air under his voluminous robes. Valentia’s face darkened with anger. He whipped out his rapier and stalked across the room.
‘You dare...’
Cochall spoke and froze Valentia in his tracks: the voice that rang out was his own.
‘‘I do swear, on my blood Ferrumanus. I, Valentia, first of that name. On my blood and my bones, I do swear. There is one known as Cochall Dubh, Darkhood, Weaver of the Arcane. He and no other, save I, shall be granted admittance to the Cella Arcana, the way opened before him with the Clavis Mutare Claustra, therein to examine all relics and Artefacts, writings and signs. On the day that I become the Earl of the Realm called Tellus Isle by men; on that day shall this promise be fulfilled. I do swear an eightfold oath to this on my honour, my name, my title, my skills, my eyes, my blood, my heart and my bones.’’
Valentia gaped wide-eyed. Cochall rose from the bed and seemed to float across the carpet towards him. Valentia clamped his jaws shut and then he raised his blade and aimed the point at the Mystic’s black heart.
‘So I swore,’ says Valentia. ‘And that oath has not yet been broken. Obsession blinds, Cochall Dubh, and you fail to see what lies before your very eyes. You bound yourself as much as I, with the words you had me say. ‘On the day that I become the Earl’. While I have claimed the title and expect to ascend to the rank of Earl anon, that has, in fact, yet to happen. Not only that, but this day is far from over. Until both those events come to pass, the vow you forced from my lips remains intact.’
The black figure stopped and uttered a saurian hiss.
‘Did you truly think me so great, gullible and gormless a fool?’ asks Valentia. ‘But, of course you did. Well, Weaver of the Arcane, here is another little something for you to ponder. ‘He and no other, save I, shall be granted admittance’. Did you honestly believe that I would let you go in there alone? No, Cochall. Not a chance. When you enter the Cella Arcana, I shall be with you. Every step of the way. Now, begone with you. Get out of my sight, before I decide to run you through, drag your worthless carcass down to the vault, and leave it there to rot.’
Valentia’s vision went black as if he had risen too fast and suffered a moment’s light-headedness. When his eyes cleared he saw that he stood before the mirror with his rapier in its sheath. He turned to find that the chamber was empty.
There was a knock at the door. Valentia shuddered and his hand dropped to his swordhilt. The knock was repeated.
‘Come in,’ he says.
The door flew open and Guard-Captain Custos Pedester bustled in with a broad grin on his homely face. Laden with the Regalia Lucidus: sword, cloak, chalice, rod, ring, horn and key, he halted and regarded Valentia with a concerned frown.
‘My Liege,’ Custos says. ‘Is aught amiss? You look like someone just died.’
Valentia forced a laugh, ‘Alas, Sieur Pedester, someone did. Have you not heard? My entire family. Familia Ferrumanus was decimated. A great and terrible tragedy. Oh, woe is me. Woe is me.’
The Guard-Captain smiled uncertainly as he laid the Artefacts he bore on the bed and then he bowed and backed out of the room.
‘One of my men is bringing the Book of the Isle. It is very heavy, my Liege. And the Truesilver League awaits your pleasure. I shall be in the passage, should you have need of me.’
Already intent upon the verargent treasures before him Valentia waved a dismissive hand and Custos closed the door. Valentia gazed at the heirlooms and a bright triumphant smile lit up his face.
The Beast

In the abandoned forester’s croft Huntlady Taiscealai sent her psyche probing northwards to the Scandere Peaks some twelve miles distant. She searched the rugged mountain range until she found what she sought. The beast was asleep in a cave and that made it easier for her to take control of its mind than would otherwise have been the case. Calma roused the animal and directed it out of its lair. It broke into a mile-eating run to the southeast.


In the bridal carriage Serpere Sinuosus stripped to the skin and donned assassin’s garb of silk: hooded shirt and breeches and gloves all in black. Then he pulled on a pair of soft leather moccasins. He folded his Bard’s costume and wrapped the garish garments around his lute and then he stuffed them into a sack. The Deathmaster stowed the bundle under one of the seats and stepped down out of the coach. He lifted a swordbelt from the floor of the compartment and buckled it on and then he took a moment to adjust the pair of scabbarded shortswords on his hips.
Mounted on the palomino that had been tethered behind the carriage his comrade Snatcher Rapere Abducere trotted into sight around a bend in the road to the west. Rapere led a squad of eight riders all of whom led two other horses behind their mounts. As the party came into camp their fellow assassins gathered around them shouting and cheering.
Serpere counted their horses. Sixteen had been recaptured but the team of four would have to be hitched back onto the carriage. They were not battle-trained chargers but heavy cobs bred for docility strength and endurance. Regardless Serpere was pleased. Only six of his men would have to ride in the coach.


The creature hurtled down out of the foothills and skirted Gentiana Wood. Although the detour would add a little distance to her journey Calma did not want to be hindered by trees.


Serpere strode along the road and shouldered his way through his men to stand before Rapere. ‘Good work, man. I see that you almost caught them all.’
Rapere grinned, ‘Aye, though that damned stallion got away, along with a few others.’
‘Mendax will be most displeased,’ Serpere smiled. ‘He loved that horse. That’s a nice one you’re riding, by the way.’
‘Aye, he’s a fine beast,’ Rapere patted the palomino’s neck. ‘Strong, fast and spirited. Feed him grain and he’ll run for leagues.’
‘Yes,’ says Serpere. ‘I think I’ll ride him.’
Rapere looked unhappy but he says nothing as he dismounted and passed the reins over. He then untethered a chestnut gelding from the saddle horn.
Serpere swung up into the saddle and loosed the reins of the other horse that was tied behind. He turned his new mount to face his companions.
‘Hitch those four cobs back on the carriage,’ he commanded. ‘Mendax, a Murderer and the four Bloodletters will have to ride in the coach. You can drive it. The rest of you, mount up, and form a double column. And be quick about it. We have a brat to kill.’
With a look of fury on his broad face Mendax marched across to face Serpere who had turned the palomino to stand at the head of the mounted file of riders.
‘There are eight Murderers. Have one of them drive that shagging wagon,’ Mendax says. ‘I refuse to do it.’
‘No, Mendax,’ says Serpere. ‘You will do it, because I says you’ll do it.’
‘You abuse your position. Mancus will hear of this.’
‘Oh, really? Well, when you run to him with your little tales, don’t forget to mention how you allowed the horses to be driven off, delaying us from completing our contract. They were your responsibility, after all. I’m sure the Deathlord will be most sympathetic, and his punishment for your negligence will be much less harsh than mine. He is, after all, renowned for his gentle nature, is he not?’
‘This is an outrage,’ Mendax says. ‘I won’t forget it. I can promise you that.’
‘Oh, do give over,’ says Serpere. ‘Swallow your pride, man, because if I decided to yank out my pintle, stick it in your mouth and unlimber myself, you would be forced to swallow whatever came out and tell me how much you liked the taste. Now, cease your bleating and get that bloody coach moving. I haven’t got all day to sit here bandying words with you.’


Calma charged through flowery fields and up and down gentle slopes without pause. The beast’s heart and lungs laboured under the exertion and the Huntlady felt her host struggle to shake off her control. Primal rage surged through its mind. Rather than try to dispel that anger Calma subverted it by directing the animal’s fury towards an image of her quarry. Fuelled by the urge to rend its prey the beast maintained the murderous pace that the Huntlady demanded.

* * *

Mendax opened his mouth to speak. Serpere put a hand on his crotch and arched an eyebrow. Mendax turned and stormed over to the carriage where he roared at the Bloodletters who were struggling to hitch the draught horses to the complicated tangle of straps that formed the traces. Mendax cuffed one of the junior assassins and he fell to the ground. Serpere watched as the squeamish looter Caro Vilis curled his hands around his head. Mendax began to boot his victim in the ribs.
‘Cut that out,’ Serpere shouted. ‘We haven’t time for your nonsense, Mendax. You can play with little Caro later. He told me he likes you and wants to know if he can call you Pappy?’
Some of the others greeted Serpere’s remarks with guffaws and giggles. He sketched a bow from his saddle. Mendax stopped beating Caro and climbed up onto the driver’s box of the coach where he hunched his shoulders and glowered down at the hapless Bloodletters under his command.
A cry went up from the centre of the mounted column and Serpere turned in his saddle to look. He watched in disbelief as a huge grizzly bear plunged down the grassy slope beside the road to fall upon his men. The Deathmaster turned the palomino and cantered back along the line.
Terrified horses whinny and rear and riders fall from the saddle as the ferocious bear tears into their ranks.
Three assassins die in as many heartbeats. Febris the Slasher has her throat torn open by a ferocious swipe of the beast’s lethal claws and then its other paw lashes out and tall blonde Poena gives a scandalized yell as his right thigh is gashed open. Blood squirts from the severed femoral artery and he tumbles from his mount and then the wild animal slams into the flank of Cucullus the Butcheress’s horse to clamp its jaws on her calf just as the slender redhead draws her sabre and her knife. She shrieks and swings her sword as her stallion topples over but the blade bounces off the bear’s thick skull and then her left leg is ripped off at the knee. Her unbalanced mount hits the ground and traps her other leg under its bulk and then the grizzly’s head darts forwards to savage her and the woman’s appalled cries are cut off.
Venter the Butcher rides in to bury his hatchet in the bear’s side and the monstrous beast roars and rears up to swat him from his mount with a sweep of a massive paw. Blood sprays as Venter hits the ground and rolls to his feet to swing the wicked cleaver he grips in his right hand but the wild hack misses and then the bear rips his face off with its claws and he stumbles back with a shriek. The grizzly disembowels lanky Carduus’s courser and it falls to the ground and screams while its hooves thrash in the air and its entrails slither out of the horrendous wound and then the bear lunges forwards and its vast maw engulfs the dark-haired Snatcher’s head and gore erupts as her skull is pulverized.
The fearsome beast barrels into a bunch of riders and Odium the Killer wails in dismay as her gelding falls and crushes her right leg while young Mendicus the Bloodletter is unhorsed to land badly and clutch at his left collarbone and clumsy Caro swings his sword in an overhand slash but he misses his target and slices his thigh open and then the Bloodletter keels from the saddle to lie in a stunned heap on the road.
Serpere reins in his palomino and sees that some of the assassins have regrouped after the initial bout of chaos wreaked by their brutal adversary and eight have moved back from the fray to dismount and string bows while others ride towards the top of the slope bearing spears with the obvious intention of charging the dreadful creature from behind.
The grizzly rears up on its back legs and swings its huge paws together to crush the chest of Scorbutus the Slasher and Serpere realizes then that the cunning Huntress must be directing the berserk beast and he knows she will be hurt or perhaps killed if it dies while she has control of its mind.
‘Archers. Lancers,’ the Deathmaster hollers. ‘Aim for the heart. Its skull is too thick. The Huntress compels the demented brute. Kill it, and she dies too.’
Sharp claws gut Bottare the Slasher and his innards spool from the hideous gash like gory streamers when he sails from his saddle and a swing of the bear’s other paw cleaves clean through Nefas’s right arm at the elbow and blood pumps from the Murderer’s stump as he flails the limb about and utters a shrill piglet’s squeal and then a flight of arrows arcs through the air. Three thud home in the grizzly’s shaggy chest while one sinks into a forepaw and another slams into a shoulder but a shaft hits its brow to rebound and bury its head in the right bicep of Tenius the Murderer and two more sail past the enraged beast yet none finds its heart.
The cavalry behind the bear goad their horses into a lope and lower their spears and then the grizzly drops to all fours with a roar to turn and rush towards the charging assassins. Horses rear and stumble and their riders fall when the powerful animal smashes into them although several spears pierce its left side as the two forces collide.
Cutis the Killer hits the ground and the redhead lies with his legs splayed and his left hand clamped to his chest where several ribs snapped when the butt of his spear was driven into his right side while blonde Nescius remains ahorse but the Killer’s left shoulder was cut by the point of another rider’s spear and blood pours from her wound.
Palus fell face down on the grass and he heaves himself up onto his knees to face up the slope and then the terrible beast is upon him and its jaws seize the back of the blonde Killer’s neck at the same time as the grizzly’s left paw lands on the chest of the supine Pestis the Killer who lies nearby and his ribcage is ground to smithereens under its immense bulk.
Snatcher Caedere Tacitus lies very still nearby but she cannot escape because her horse landed on her and her right leg is trapped under the animal’s barrel so the Snatcher draws a knife and buries the blade in her stallion’s neck to sever the arteries before her mount can roll on top of her. Blood gushes over Caedere’s hand while the bear snaps Palus’s neck with a twist of its huge head and tosses the corpse aside but Caedere’s dying stallion panics and tries to roll out of the way when the grizzly moves forwards again and she vents a piteous screech of impotence before the weight of the horse bears down on her helpless form and her last sight in life is of the vicious murderous bloody beast as it ploughs through the few riders on the slope left ahorse to lumber off into the hills and then blackness fills the woman’s eyes.

* * *

Huntlady Taiscealai opens her eyes and gasps at the remembered agony of sharp-tipped arrows sinking deep inside her body. One had pierced the bear’s right lung. She tasted blood in her throat although none was there. A wave of exhaustion washed over her.
‘Mistress?’ Siorai says from behind. ‘Are you well?’
She moved around to face Calma across the table. Siorai looked worried.
‘Just drained and pained,’ says the Huntlady. ‘With so many hungry mouths, we shall be grateful for those.’
She flicked her eyes towards the two large pans and four pots that sat on a spread bedsheet on the floor amid heaped utensils and tools and foodstuffs. Siorai walked over and drew the sheet’s corners together and then she twisted her wrist and slung the makeshift sack over her shoulder. She went to the door and turned to address her Mistress, ‘I will take these things around to the mounts.’
‘I shall join you presently,’ Calma says.
Her Apprentice went out and the Huntlady returned to her thoughts. The bear was probably doomed and she felt a moment’s regret about causing its untimely demise. Then elation surged through her. Many of the enemy had been killed without any of her companions being put at risk.
She replayed the details of the ambush in her mind and tallied the dead. Four men and three women as well as three horses. Calma hoped that more assassins had been killed after she fled the bear’s pain-crazed mind.
The horses’ deaths had been as unavoidable as they were regrettable but the bear had been insane with bloodlust and rage. During the battle Calma’s hold over its mind had been tenuous and she had almost lost control several times.
The Huntlady got up and walked outside closing the cottage door behind. She sat on the ground and relaxed and then she drew upon the Earth’s elemental power. Revitalized she rose and went to the rear of the cottage. Castus and the others waited there ready to ride.
‘I bought us some time,’ Calma says, ‘though the assassins have regained their mounts, and they shall soon pass this way. We need to be far from here when they do. At least seven of the enemy are dead, maybe more.’
‘How?’ Beatus asks.
‘They were mauled by a grizzly bear.’
‘You can do that?’ asks Liun. ‘Make wild beasts attack our foes?’
Huntlady Taiscealai nodded, ‘This day, I have controlled a wood pigeon, a stallion, an eagle, a mare, a hound, several mice, and a rat. I witnessed the aftermath of the massacre in Earlshome’s Great Hall through its eyes. Then, a raven, another mouse, and a weasel. It died. After that, the mouse again, Modus’s horse and the adder I used to give him the death he deserved for his treachery. Finally, the bear.’
‘Then why stop? Have more bears kill them. Or wolves. Or mountain lions,’ Liun says.
‘You do not know what you are asking of my Mistress, Liun, says Siorai. ‘Yes, she can control creatures, and direct them to do her bidding. But if an animal dies while under her influence, the Huntlady could fall unconscious for weeks, or be driven mad. She might even be killed.’
‘My Apprentice is right,’ Calma says. ‘The perils are high, and, while I am prepared to take calculated risks, I refuse to consider reckless ones. Our foes shall be wary of another attack now, and prepared for such. I surprised them with the bear. They did not have their bows and spears ready. They do now. While I may have caught them off guard this time, they are not fools.’
‘My apologies, Mistress,’ says Liun. ‘I do not understand these strange powers that you possess, and I spoke without realising the hazards involved in their use.’
‘Think nothing of it. I wish I could slay them all so easily. Now, it is time for us to leave. We need to get moving.’
The companions gathered close to embrace one another and exchange farewells. Hands were clasped and backs slapped and the youngsters Vivus and Passer shed a few tears. Sieur Ducere and his workers emerged from the track that led to the burial ground and joined the group.
‘Satelles is at peace,’ says the Captain. ‘As is the forester we found. I can only wish to be blessed with so lovely a resting place, when my time comes.’
‘Let us hope that is not for a long while yet, Omnis,’ says Castus.
The remark was greeted with smiles and Sieur Ducere laughed. Calma motioned to Siorai and the two women sprang up onto their horses’ backs. The others mounted up. The Huntlady and her Apprentice took the lead and the companions filed after them along the path to the gravesite.
When they reached the peaceful glade the party split into two groups. Calma led her troop of sixteen northwest towards the treeline while the smaller pack of six riders angled to the northeast. They waved at one another and final farewells were shouted across the clearing and then the Huntlady rode into the forest. Castus and the others followed her under the trees and their friends were lost to sight.