In The Shadow Of The Beast (11 page)

The Lord of Corrinth Vardis glared at the
nobles, not a single one of them daring to meet his gaze.

‘
Illiath, your men were
supposed to be keeping an eye on the boy. What in all the heavens
happened to that!?’

Red Major Davin Illiath was senior commander
of the castle guard, and it fell to him to oversee the security of
the castle at large. Illiath was a gaunt yet proud man. Dogged in
his relentless pursuit of his duty to The Regent and the family
Fellhammer. He was one of the most dependable soldiers in the
realm, and this uncharacteristic lapse in castle security, both in
terms of Sigourd’s disappearance and the detonation of the
gunpowder stores was something that Illiath was at a loss to
explain. The Red Major raised his head, his eyes fixed
unflinchingly ahead in the face of The Regents tirade.

‘
I have no excuses lord,’
said the old soldier, ‘I will accept whatever punishment you deem
fit.’

Credit to the old dog, he wasn’t afraid to
admit when he’d slipped up, which in his defense was hardly ever.
The Regent relented somewhat, acknowledging that despite his recent
failings Illiath was still the best man to defend this city if such
a time came.

‘
Your punishment can wait
while I think on it. In the meantime I want a coordinated effort
put forth that will result in the return of my errant son. Take
enough resources to get the job done without compromising our
efforts to meet the Morays threat.’

The nobles nodded and murmured their
consent, uncertain as to weather or not their lord had no further
need of them. They dawdled there a moment longer, before The Regent
bellowed at them to go on and carry out his orders. heads bowed,
they obediently filed out of the great war chamber.

Only one noble remained standing in the room
after all the others had left. Mortaron regarded his liege lord
with a weary respect, bowing his head deferentially before
approaching the oval table where The Regent stood studying the
single artifact that remained there in the wake of his fury; a
large map that showed with intricate clarity the lay of the various
great nations and their disputed borders.

‘
You have something to say,
Vincenzo?’ asked The Regent without looking up from the
map.

‘
With respect lord, I would
enquire as to our immediate plans concerning the Morays. You have
readied our forces for war and shuffled deployment masterfully to
counter any aggressive move on their part. But it appears as if you
would have us wait?’

‘
I would,’ stated The
Regent. ‘I will not commit to war until I have proven beyond all
doubt that the Morays are responsible for recent events
here.’

‘
But my lord, who but the
insidious Morays would commit such unholy acts upon a neighbor in a
time of peace?’

‘
That is precisely what I
require further clarification on before condemning our people to
another decade of strife.’

The Regent, still busying himself with the
map spread before him did not happen to see the black shadow of
resentment that fell across Mortaron’s face. For the briefest of
moments it eclipsed his carefully managed veneer of deference, and
then it was gone, the veneer firmly in place once more.

The Baron bowed his head again, ‘of course
my lord’ he said in a most conciliatory tone, and turned to leave
the chamber. Closing the door gently behind him, his face once more
returned to a mask of bitter resentment.

The Regent, free from the scrutiny of his
assembled nobles, placed his hands on the table top and hung his
head, his shoulders suddenly sagging beneath the weight of the
concern that bore down relentlessly upon him. To the members of
council, he must appear to be a man of stone, furious and resolute
in the face of this latest threat. But the reality was that he had
grown weary of the mantle, and only wished that he could see
Sigourd returned safely to his home, the threat to the realm be
damned. It was a brief moment of respite from the pretenses that
were such a part of leadership, and he allowed himself to wallow in
his uncertainty, if only for a moment.

CHAPTER 8

Mother’s woe…

...he dares not look back at the nameless
pursuer, for to do so would mean his end. But his fear is matched
by a burning curiosity, and it is all he can do not to stop and
turn.

He’s lost now, amongst the gnarled and
twisted trunks of the dense forest, running with reckless abandon
for his life.

Eyes in the dark. Dozens of pairs of eyes in
the dark flitting between those gnarled trees on that desolate
plain they seemed to move with him, tracking him through the
ancient forest. Golden orbs slit with a sliver of black that watch
him unblinking from the deep shadows of that forbidden place,
markers of menace that glitter like jewels suspended in the
threatening murk.

They watch him with keen interest as he is
hunted, silent witnesses to a terror stricken flight through that
hateful place.

The nameless pursuer is gaining, so
inhumanly quickly it beggars belief. A monstrous, looming absence
of light that glides over the landscape like the promise of
agonizing death, it is almost upon him, it reaches out a taloned
hand to drive razor claws upon his flesh, so close now that he can
feel the hot stink of it foul breath washing over him...

From somewhere beyond the forest, a cry goes
up, as of wolves howling. First one and then more as others join
the chorus. The cry is ululating, tortuously long. It floats up
into the churning maelstrom of the blood red sky, where a full moon
glows sickly.

The hot fetid breath all about him, the
talons so close, so close...

Sigourd awoke from the nightmare with a
start, his breathing coming hard and fast in shallow gasps. He
looked about himself in panic, but there was no sign of the
creature from his nightmare or those invasive pairs of golden
eyes.

To his relief, instead of being greeted with
the horrors of that sleep time wasteland, Sigourd was met with the
soft singing of the birds in the trees and golden sunlight that
filtered down though the canopy above in lances of brilliant light
so pure it hurt his sleepy eyes to look upon them. Dust motes and
tiny insects floated lazily in that magnificent light, and a sense
of such serenity the likes of which Sigourd had never known soon
descended upon him.

But the nightmares were increasing in both
frequency and intensity. This last one had seemed so real that
Sigourd had truly felt the cold hand of the reaper upon his
shoulder, convinced, even upon waking that his brutal end was at
hand. Every facet of the dreams was enhanced. The colors, the
smells, the fear. Each new nightmare revealed another layer to a
terrible mystery that was steadily unfolding.

Sigourd took a deep breath to steady
himself, to absorb some of the stillness around him so that it
might ease his troubled imagination. In the here and now at least,
he appeared to be safe.

The Velvet Forests were a collection of vast
woodland that lay roughly fifteen miles from the south east borders
of Corrinth Vardis. Sigourd had traveled all through the night
across the flatland, unwilling to stop until he had reached an area
that would afford him some cover while he rested. Arriving at the
forest boundary, he’d made his way as deep as he thought was
prudent into the forest proper, until he’d found a spot that
offered the sort of hiding place he was looking for.

He hadn’t seen anyone else at all while on
the road. but he had been careful to avoid dwellings he’d come
across for fear that the inhabitants might point the way he had
come to any search parties sent from the city on behalf of his
father.

He wondered what was happening in the castle
at that very moment. He knew that his parents would be beside
themselves with worry, but that was something he wouldn’t let
dissuade him from the course he’d chosen.

Above him, chirruping in the branches of a
thick oak was the little nightingale, his only companion on a
journey of uncertainty. The knowledge that he was able to share the
road with another, even a traveling companion as unusual as a bird,
filled Sigourd with a measure of small comfort. He gathered up his
belongings, and continued on into the quiet of the old forest.

Veronique sat before the looking glass
combing her long hair, staring into her reflection as it stared
back into her. Her movements were almost trance like as she moved
the spines of the brush slowly down the length of spun gold that
flowed from her head, her mind somewhere else entirely.

She was of course thinking deeply on the
whereabouts of Sigourd.

She should have taken more care to ensure
that he was closely watched. Since the arrival of the stranger at
court, nothing had been right.

Now that Sigourd was gone to look for the
girl, that stranger would be free to intercept him at any point,
naked as he now was against this unexpected threat.

Never mind marauders and wild beasts and the
multitudinous other dangers that were out there beyond the walls,
Sigourd was being stalked by something far greater than the sum of
all those other concerns.

Worst of all, he didn’t even know it.

Veronique cursed her weakness, cursed the
incapacitating fear of exposure that had dogged her all these long
years. Her terror at having her great and secret shame, a shame she
shared with her dear loathsome brother, was a least partly
responsible for the danger that Sigourd now found himself in. Yet
even now she found she did not have the courage to speak up. To
come forward with the information she knew might make all the
difference to weather Sigourd was returned safely home or would
meet a more unfortunate end. She had lived with this lie so long
that to tug upon its withered ends now would see the entire
tapestry of not only her life, but the lives of those she loved
come undone. The secret was so much a part of her identity that
Veronique couldn’t possibly imagine life without its dark presence.
It had come to define her.

‘
I couldn’t have asked for
a more pleasing site upon waking from a troubled sleep,’ said The
Regent from across the room.

He had stirred to wakefulness while
Veronique had been distracted with her dark thoughts, and now sat
upright in the bed they shared, watching his wife affectionately
from across the room.

‘
You’re up early, my love,’
he said.

‘
I couldn’t sleep for worry
about our son. I didn’t want to wake you,’ said
Veronique.

The Regent threw back the covers and swung
his legs out of the bed. Wincing at the cold tiles upon his bare
feet he made his way over to where Veronique sat, leaned in to kiss
her gently upon the cheek.

‘
Sigourd is young and
strong, and well schooled. He’ll be fine out there,’ said The
Regent, ‘besides, I have men scouring the lands for him.We will
pick him up soon enough, and then he’ll have to answer to me for
worrying his mother so.’

Veronique smiled and lowered the brush to
rest her head against her husband.

‘
What news of the Morays?’
she said.

‘
I’ve taken measure to
secure our borders. The nobles are clamoring for war, your brother
of course is loudest amongst them.’

‘
My brother seeks to serve
only his own ends.’

The Regent smiled without mirth, ‘Of that
there has never been any doubt. But I cannot ignore the threat that
the Morays present.’

‘
But can you be sure it is
them?’ asked Veronique, ‘If war was their objective wouldn’t they
bring it into the open, make their intentions plain to
see?’

‘
To do so would be to
breach the terms of the charters, and possibly isolate them from
the other great houses. They would very quickly find themselves
alone, and surrounded on all sides by enemies.’

The Regent sighed deeply, ‘It is far more
likely that they are attempting to goad me into an attack, which
would isolate Corrinth Vardis and bring supporters amongst the
houses to their banner. I will have to bring their deception into
the light on my terms before this war can begin.’

Veronique looked up at her husband, her eyes
brimming with tears, ‘And what of your son? Surely finding him must
come first? ’

‘
Protecting our realm comes
first, Sigourd understands that and so do you.’

‘
You cannot prosecute this
war before Sigourd is returned to us. If conflict starts then the
borders will be sealed, our enemies will be everywhere and the
chances of him returning to us safely will dwindle to
nothing.’

The Regent was quiet a moment, contemplating
the wisdom of his wife’s observation.

‘
The realm must come first,
my love,’ he said finally, reaching down to turn her face toward
his. He met her sorrowful gaze, looking deep into her eyes that she
might draw on the strength he hoped she saw there. For the life of
him The Regent was hard pressed to draw on what meager reserves he
had for himself.

Veronique saw the weariness in the eyes of
her husband, and dared not let him see that she recognized his
fatigue. Now was a time to bolster each other, not to act as a lead
weight of worry around the neck of the man she loved.

She nodded in understanding, ‘Perhaps events
will run their course to our favor. There’s many a slip twixt a cup
and a lip.’

The Regent smiled benignly, stroking gently
the side of Veronique’s face, ‘Ah to be possessed of such optimism.
It can only be the mark of someone blessed with innocence when it
comes to the dark matters of deceit written in men’s hearts.’