In The Shadow Of The Beast (5 page)

CHAPTER 3

Inferno...

The hand maidens were gathered quietly in a
neat semi circle in front of the crackling hearth fire, ministering
diligently to their needlework. The only sound was the low
crackling of the fire as it hungrily consumed the wood pile that
fed it, and the conspicuous giggling of two hand maidens who were
trying hard not to make too obvious the subject of their
conversation.

Veronique had decided to call an early end
to the celebrations in the throne room. The departure of her son
and husband had rendered the whole thing pointless, and besides
that, Veronique had more pressing concerns to trouble her.

Try as she might she was unable to focus
entirely on her embroidery, a past time in which she usually found
great solace. The crude yet familiar face of that well dressed
dignitary kept floating to the surface of her mind. She would push
it back down, and it would return soon after, insistent and
unremitting. Finally, she could stand it no longer, and searching
for a suitable target upon which to vent at least a measure of her
frustrations she spoke out suddenly, snapping at the two maidens
who continued to giggle quietly in a most irritating fashion,
‘ladies, what is so amusing that it must keep the rest of us from
concentrating on the task at hand?’

The two girls looked up guiltily, the closer
of the two, a pretty girl named Tumi, with too much stock in her
own appeal to the hearts of the men of the realm, was the first to
answer Veronique, ‘forgive us my lady, we were merely wondering
which of the young ladies lord Sigourd might have taken a fancy
to.’

The other girl was quick to chime in with
her own appraisal of the situation, ‘I think that the Lady Magritte
would make a fine pairing with our young lord. Or perhaps the lady
Survela. She has a very pretty smile.’

‘
Yes, she does at that,’
offered Tumi, ‘but I fear she’s not low born enough for our
lord.’

Veronique flashed a warning glance at Tumi,
who looked away, suddenly finding herself intently interested in
the half finished embroidery in her lap.

But the girl was right of course, mused
Veronique. Sigourd had taken far too much interest in a mere
serving girl, and there was no doubt that amongst the young ladies
of noble birth who were privy to this information, which of course
was all of them, there would be no small amount of resentment
flowering from this difficult situation.

‘
I’m sure we will know my
son’s decision in due course,’ offered Veronique, her tone leaving
little doubt in the minds of her sewing circle that the subject was
no longer open for discussion.

Veronique was about to invite the ladies to
finish their needlework and retire for the evening when she was
saved the trouble by the sudden arrival of someone barging noisily
into her chambers. Mortaron flung open the doors to the chamber
without warning, striding into the room heedless of what decorum
expected of him.

Waiting in the shadowed doorway behind The
Baron was a giant of a man, clad in black armor and draped in the
pelts of wolves that hung from him in a most gruesome fashion. His
face, partly obscured by the jittery shadows cast by the firelight,
was brutal, appearing for all the world like it was carved from
stone. Even the eyes betrayed little sign of any humanity, instead
presenting the man with the aspect of some apex predator, a cold
dead stare that spoke only of the horrors they had witnessed. The
stone man’s name was Huron, and he was The Baron’s personal
enforcer.

Coming to stand before his sister, the girls
of the sewing circle dared not look up to meet the cold stare of
The Baron, their faces turned resolutely toward the floor of the
chamber in fear.

‘
Leave us’ said Veronique
to the assembled women, who quickly gathered up their things and
fled from the hearth-side, filing out timidly past the towering
Huron, who reached in to close the door behind the last of the
girls, leaving Veronique and Mortaron alone in the room.

‘
Your message said it was
urgent,’ stated The Baron flatly.

Slowly, Veronique laid aside the needle and
patchwork in her hands, turned to face her brother.

‘
How is it I know how to
knock when entering the private chambers of another, and you so
clearly do not? Were our parents so selective with our education in
the art of manners?’

Mortaron snorted derisively, ‘If you’ve
something to say then I’m here to listen, otherwise do not tax me
of my time. I’ve more pressing concerns that picking out fancy
colors for needlework.’

‘
Not more pressing than
this I’m sure,’ said Veronique matter of factly, ‘I saw someone at
court today, during the celebrations.’

‘
And this matters
because...?’

Because this person could unravel our great
secret, brother,’ said Veronique with no small amount of bitter
delight. At this, Mortaron’s eyes widened in surprise, and he shot
forward to snatch Veronique roughly by the arm, dragging her to her
feet. She cried out with the pain of it, but The Baron did not
relax his grip one bit, ‘don’t test me woman, you better than any
other should know how limited my patience is. Tell me who it was
that you saw.’

‘
You’re hurting me!’
protested Veronique as she struggled against her
brother.

‘
You know what is at
stake!’ he exclaimed.

Veronique laughed, but there was no mirth to
the sound, ‘I know better than any what is at stake. I’ve carried
this burden with me almost the whole of my life!’

‘
I see your reputation is
well deserved, Baron,’ said another voice from somewhere behind
them.

Turning quickly, Mortaron squinted into the
shadows of the large chamber, struggling to make out the source of
the sound. The voice itself was as coarse as crushed glass, and
when one of the shadows began to shift, stepping into the
flickering light of the fire, it was plain to see that it was a
face well matched to the voice. A face which belonged to none other
than the well groomed man that had caused Veronique so much concern
to see.

Even in the poor light of the fire, it was
plain to see that the man was possessed of a certain animal quality
that accounted for his harsh appearance. The eyes, deep set in an
angular brow, twinkled with a primal light, and the mouth seemed to
bear something of the dimensions of some carnivore’s snout. When he
spoke, his canines which were unnaturally long by human standards,
flashed wickedly in his mouth. But his appearance was not so
remarkable that he would not pass for human in the minds of those
without the imagination to consider he might be anything
different.

Mortaron could barely keep the disgust from
his voice, ‘You’re one of them. One of those things!’

The intruder smiled a wicked feral smile,
the canines glittering in a mouth full of razor sharp teeth too
finely tapered to be designed for anything but rending flesh.

‘
Polite society might label
me monster, but I think for all your finery you might wear the
title better than I, Baron.’

The intruder inclined his head in the
direction of the Lady Veronique, ‘It has been a long time my lady.
I’m gratified to see that even after all these many years you still
remember me.’

Veronique was too shocked to frame a
response, and instead it was The Baron who spoke, ‘You know this
creature?’ he asked his sister.

Veronique’s eyes were wide with fear, yet
still she remained silent, her mouth locked shut for fear that if
she were to open it all that would come tumbling out would be
screams.

‘
What is it you want?’
demanded Mortaron.

‘
I have come to tell you
that the the race of the wulfen is here to take back what is
rightfully theirs.’

‘
Sigourd,’ exclaimed
Veronique.

‘
Just so,’ nodded the
intruder, ‘these events you set in motion twenty years ago, now
speed toward their conclusion.’

Mortaron stepped toward the man in the
shadows and drew his blade, its keen, murderous edge glinting
coldly. He fixed the other man with a penetrating stare, ‘I do not
hear the words of forest dwelling savages. I take their heads.’

The light of the fire writhed in the eyes of
the intruder as he levelly met The Barons gaze, ‘Of course you do
baron. But a quick stroke with a sharp blade will not keep your
secret...this time.’

‘
We shall see,’ and without
further preamble The Baron rushed at the mysterious man, his sword
carving an arc of flashing death before his charge.

But faster than Veronique could see, the
intruder sidestepped The Barons charge, and leveled his attacker
with a thunderous backhand that sent Mortaron sprawling to the
floor, his sword clattering uselessly out of reach across the
tiles.

Before the attacker could press his
advantage, Veronique had filled her lungs with a deafening scream,
and an instant later the heavy door to the chamber came crashing in
with a sound like a tidal wave splintering the hull of a doomed
ship.

Huron stood amongst the wreckage of the
doorway, a mighty war axe gripped firmly between his mailed fists,
its twin blade heads ready to deal uncompromising death.

The towering enforcer stalked into the
chamber, his eyes searching diligently for any sign of threat. But
there was nothing he could see to give him cause to swing his
axe.

‘
My lord?’ he asked,
momentary confusion at the scene before him giving Huron
pause.

Mortaron struggled quickly to his feet, cast
about for the man that had struck him down, but of the mysterious
intruder there was no sign. All that remained as indicator of his
presence was a set of open doors that led to a balcony overlooking
the courtyard below, where drapes billowed gently in the cool night
air.

The intruder had been so quick, moving with
a speed and grace that one would be hard pressed to find amongst
the races of mortal men. Veronique had only known its like once
before, many years previously.

She shuddered to think that the mistakes of
her past had brought this danger before her in the present, and now
Sigourd was threatened. All because she had been too afraid to do
what she knew to be right.

Mortaron re-sheathed his sword and
straightened his robe. His face was flushed red with a simmering
rage that lent him the aspect of some furious demon in the dim
light of Veronique’s chamber.

‘
Seal the castle, we have
an intruder,’ he ordered of the towering Huron, who nodded in
compliance. Mortaron turned to Veronique, was about to speak again
when a tremendous and deafening roar, as of a volcanic detonation,
erupted from somewhere in the courtyard outside. The very castle
itself shook on its foundations, a great rumbling rolling through
the building, the chandeliers in the chamber swaying to a degree
beyond their design, the candles guttering and winking like the
eyes of frightened animals as dust cascaded down from the roof
above.

Veronique was cast to the floor, screaming
once more in terror at this latest surprise horror. It was all
Mortaron and Huron could do to retain their balance, yet still they
covered their heads in case the foundations of the ancient castle
were inclined to give up their timeless defiance of gravity’s
might.

As the rumbling rolled inexorably onwards
and the foundations continued to shake in the wake of the titanic
eruption, Huron threw himself toward Veronique to use his body as
cover for hers. Offering himself up as a shield for her safety, she
sheltered there beneath him for long moments until finally the
roaring and rumbling and quaking subsided.

When all appeared to be quiet once more,
Huron gently helped Veronique to her feet. He did it with a
gentleness that belied his monstrous appearance.

‘
Thank you, lord.’
Veronique offered quietly, the shock of the last few moments still
lingering about her. Huron nodded, but did not meet the eyes of the
lady, instead keeping his gaze directed carefully toward the
floor.

When at last he did look up, his eyes met
with the scrutinizing stare of The Baron, who looked upon him with
no small measure of distaste. Like a well heeled dog that fears his
master’s displeasure, Huron looked quickly away before turning
smartly and stalking from the chamber to carry out his orders.

The Baron did not look to his sister’s
safety before marching from the chamber himself, his face still
flushed red, but his expression betraying some other emotion that
Veronique could not interpret.

Still shaking with fright, she made her way
cautiously to the open doors of the balcony where those drapes
billowed more fervently than before, and a wave of unrelenting heat
could be felt through the opening.

As Veronique stepped through the doorway
onto the balcony proper the sight that greeted her snatched her
breath away. From across the courtyard below, the east section of
the castle was a blazing ruin. Flames many dozens of feet high
scaled the walls of the buildings there, and entire sections of
that part of the structure had been blown wide to the night. The
ferocious heat of the blaze was such that with the direction of the
wind it carried far enough that Veronique could feel it stinging
her cheeks. The fire was spreading to other parts of the building
that had not been demolished by whatever had caused the apocalyptic
explosion.

Scattered throughout the courtyard were the
smoking remains of several structures that had been caught in the
blast wave. Amongst the ruins and the wreckage she could see the
twisted and fused corpses of the unfortunate inhabitants of those
structures. Scattered here and there amongst the destruction like
miserable withered petals.