Fortress of Mist (18 page)

“There is more,” she said, and explained the morning’s happenings and the rumbles of fear within Magnus at the apparent signs of the supernatural.

The old man mused for several minutes. “Your fear is legitimate, my child. Kings—no matter what they wish to believe—rule only by the consent of the people. History is scarred by the revolutions against fools who believed otherwise. Thomas may indeed lose Magnus.”

“And Thomas grieves,” Katherine told the old man. “He is bewildered by the earl’s declaration of war, and moreover by his fierce anger. Thomas once believed they were friends.”

Katherine explained the savage message delivered late that afternoon by scroll. Unconditional surrender or unconditional death.

“He is in danger. Not directly because of the siege. But because of the events.”

Katherine nodded. “The dogs. The cats. Bats falling dead from the sky. Now that the people within Magnus believe justice must be served against Thomas, he may lose his lordship the same way he gained it.”

“I catch doubt of his innocence even in your voice, child.”

Katherine sighed. “Slight doubts only. How could our enemies be capable of calling bats to hurl themselves down from the sky?”

“It is a question not easily answered,” Hawkwood agreed. “Let me think.”

Katherine knew better than to speak again.

He then sat cross-legged and arranged his mantle over him to fend off the cold night air. He seemed to slip into a trance.

Katherine waited. And knew too well how long that wait might be. She waited as the cold seeped into her. She waited as her tired legs grew to feel soreness even more. She waited in silence broken only by distant muttering of owls and the light skipping of mice across leaves.

Not until the gray fingers of false dawn reached into the valley did Hawkwood stir.

When he finally spoke, it was gentle.

“Close your eyes,” he said to Katherine. “Do you recall if you saw smoke as the creatures howled in Magnus?”

She did as instructed. Eyes closed lightly, at first she saw only the frantic movement of bats against the morning sky. Then, dimly, something snagged in her memory because it did not belong against that sky.

“Yes,” she said with triumph. “Smoke from the bell tower of the church!”

Hawkwood let out held breath. “And you say you felt as if you should shake your head free from a grip you couldn’t explain.”

Katherine nodded. In the cold dawn, slight wisps rose white from her mouth with the rise and fall of her chest. Even in summer, the high moors and valleys could not escape chill.

Did she imagine that a smile appeared in the shadows of his cowl?

“I believe I understand their methods. I would have done the same were I them. As would Merlin himself.” Hawkwood spoke slowly. “And
I believe there is a way that Merlin would have countered those actions. Return to Magnus, but this time, visit Thomas so you can become close to him.”

“Is he to see my face?”

“Not yet. Let’s first wait to see if he can defeat the Earl of York. We’ll both return to Magnus. We have to get inside before the siege begins. Me as the herbalist he already knows, and you as the Katherine he remembers. You do have your mask?”

She held out a small travel bag as an answer.

With practiced movements, she flipped her hair upward and pushed the long tail into a flat bundle against her head and held it there as she wrapped the cloth around her jaws, then her nose and eyes and forehead.

When she finished, only a large black hole for her mouth and two dark narrow slits for her eyes showed any degree of humanity. It was time for Katherine, the scarred freak and friend of Thomas, to return to Magnus.

F
rom the ramparts of the castle, Thomas and Robert watched the faraway blur of banners and horses as the front of the army approached. The mass of men and beasts was plain to see as it wound its way through the valley.

The sounds of that army drifted upward to them. Grunting beasts. The slap of leather against ground as men marched in unison. And the rise of voices below Thomas and Robert as villagers heard of the army’s progress.

“Anywhere else,” Robert said, “and I would advise immediate surrender. But there’s a reason Magnus has survived all through the centuries.”

“I know I can depend on the castle walls and the moat,” Thomas said. “But Magnus will not stand unless the soldiers fight for me and the villagers support the soldiers.”

Robert put a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “But you are well trusted, m’lord. While there are whispers of dissent among the people, as to be expected, the soldiers still are loyal to you.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Robert opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.

Thomas smiled. “Out with it.”

“There has been talk, however, and much speculation.”

“Yes?” Thomas asked.

“Nobody knows why the earl has declared war. They wonder how you might have offended him to drive him to battle.”

Thomas lost his smile. “That is something I wish I knew.”

They watched in silence for long minutes.

When the army reached the narrow bridge of land that connected the island fortress to the land around the lake, one man, on foot, detached himself from the front of the army.

Thomas watched briefly, then spoke more to himself than to Robert as the man, alone, walked slowly toward the castle.

“He holds paper rolled and sealed. I have little faith the message is a greeting of friendship.”

K
atherine woke in the gutter to hands reaching roughly within her blanket. Sour breath, heavy garlic, and the odor of unwashed skin pressed down.

Katherine almost screamed in rage, then remembered her role—burned and scarred too horribly to deserve any form of kindness.

Her voice became a low begging moan instead.

“Awake? Bad luck for you!” From the darkness, a broad hand loomed to block out the light of the stars, and the blow that followed shot white flashes through her closed eyes. Her left cheek swelled immediately tight beneath the bandages.

Katherine bit back a yelp of pain and resigned herself to being robbed of what little she owned.

Another voice interrupted the figure above her.

“My good man,” it called cheerfully from just down the street, “you show kindness to assist strangers during this dangerous time of night. Here, now, let me help you get this poor woman from the gutters.”

“Eh?”

The voice from behind its candle moved closer. “And probably not a moment too soon. Why, any common gutter thief might have swooped in like a pest-ridden vulture. And then where would this poor woman be without our help?”

The startled man above Katherine swore under his breath, then fled.

She drew herself upright into a sitting position and hugged her knees. Through the narrow slits of the constricting bandages, it was difficult to see her rescuer as he approached. It was easy, however, to hear his warm chuckle.

“Like a rat scurrying away from a torch. And without a shred of good humor.”

The candle flared and moved downward with the man’s slow, stooping motion. Katherine, still wrapped and hidden in a thin blanket, flinched at his touch.

“Come, my child,” the voice. “I am one of several town guards, under hire to the lord of Magnus himself. I mean you no harm. I will bring you to the church where you will be fed and kept warm.”

“I have no money,” Katherine replied. “Surely that must be obvious at my choice of accommodation.”

Another warm chuckle. “You are a stranger here.”

“No, I—”

“Otherwise, you would know the lord of Magnus provides a generous allowance to the church for the purpose of sheltering those in need who are willing to work in exchange for the shelter.”

His hand found her elbow and guided her to her feet.

She could not see his face behind the candle. But she heard his gasp as he pushed aside the blanket that covered her face.

That familiar sound tore at her heart. It reminded her again of the nightmare of living the life of a freak. Freedom from that life—traveling with the old man and watching the joy in Thomas’s eyes as he drank in the youth and beauty of her uncovered face—had been so precious after years imprisoned beneath the filthy bandages. And for a moment, she could not sponge away bitterness inside.

“Horror?” she mocked his gasp. “You were expecting an angel, perhaps?”

Long silence. Then words she would never forget. “Not horror, my child. Surprised relief. Thomas of Magnus has spoken to many, and often, of his friend Katherine. It will give him great joy to see you.”

Katherine woke again to the touch of hands. These ones, however, were gentle, and plucked at the bandages on her face.

“No!” Her terror was real—not acted, as so much of her life beneath bandages had been.

The servant woman misunderstood the reason for that terror.

“Shh, my child. Thomas has instructed you be bathed and given fresh wraps and new clothing.”

“No!” Katherine clutched the servant woman’s wrists. “My face!”

“Hush, little one. You shall not be mocked in the lord’s home.”

Katherine did not have time to appreciate the irony—after a lifetime of abuse, kindness itself finally threatened the secrecy of her disguise. Should those of the darkness discover she had been among them all these years …

Katherine pushed herself into an upright position. “Please. Lead me to the bath. Leave the fresh wrap nearby. But I beg of you, grant me the solace of privacy. To inflict my face upon others …”

“Of course,” the servant woman said softly.

Katherine let strong, calloused hands guide her from the warmth of the bed. Before she could barely notice the coldness of the floor, the servant woman stooped and fitted on her feet slippers of sheepskin.

As Katherine relaxed and turned to accept help into the offered
robe, she smothered a cry of delighted surprise. The previous night had been too dark for her to see her new sleeping quarters in the castle. What she saw explained why sleep had been so sound.

Her bed was huge, and canopied with veils of netting. Her mattress of straw—what luxury!—hung from the canopy on rope suspenders. The mattress was covered with linen sheets, and blankets of wool and fur. Feather-stuffed pillows too!

Such softness of sleep. Such softness of the robe against her skin. Katherine suddenly became uncomfortably aware of her filth and how she did not belong in a room like this. Her arms and legs were smeared with grease and dirt. The pile of clothes beside her was little more than torn rags. And, in the cool freshness of the room, she suddenly became aware of the stink of the streets upon her body.

She faltered slightly.

The servant woman ignored that.

“Come, m’lady,” the woman said. “Your bath awaits. And you shall greet Thomas of Magnus like a queen.”