In The Shadow Of The Beast (8 page)

‘
What was that?’ asked The
Regent.

Suddenly, another memory flashed through
Sigourd’s mind’s eye. Cal, his blade dancing before him.

‘
Cal was there too, he
engaged one of them. Is he....’

The Regent shook his head, a great sorrow
darkening his aspect, ‘Cal is dead, son. We found him lying near
you with his throat torn out.’

Sigourd settled on his bed, allowed his head
to fall back upon the pillow as the heavy pressure of those words
settled upon him like the weight of all the heavens combined.

‘
What happened down there,
Sigourd?’ asked Veronique again, urgency in her tone.

Sigourd didn’t take his eyes from the
ceiling of the old chamber as he spoke, ‘Cal and I went looking for
Isolde. We tracked her into the catacombs and when we caught up to
her she was being hauled off by men whose identity I could not
guess at. I made to set her free but something came out of the
darkness....so quick, it moved like an animal. It hand the fangs
and talons of something from a bad dream. It had shape of a man but
was more beast in aspect.’

Across the room, the house maid knocked over
a pitcher of water which clattered across the table where it had
rested, spilling its contents over the floor.

She cursed quietly to herself, clearly
embarrassed by this slip she turned and curtsied low by way of
apology for the noisy interruption. Quickly she worked to clear up
the spillage.

Frowning, The Regent turned back to his son,
‘come Sigourd, what’s all this talk of monsters that walk as men.
The intruders must have had a dog or tame wolf shadowing them.
There is no other explanation.’

‘
Can a dog speak? Can a dog
threaten in the language of men?,’ exclaimed Sigourd.

At this The Regent fell silent, and a look
of the utmost concern crossed the face of Veronique. She hoped to
all the gods that Sigourd or her husband had not seen the
expression her face wore, so telling it must surely have been. She
worked to compose herself, was about to speak again when the figure
standing in the shadows of to the side of Sigourd began to
stir.

Stepping into the half light of the chamber
The Baron Mortaron spoke at last.

‘
The boy has been through
much. He cannot be certain of anything he saw, and neither can we.’
The old baron moved to the foot of Sigourd’s bed, studying the
young lord with his piercing, cold eyes, ‘but it seems to me
obvious that the root of all this is the Morays. They have cast the
first stone, they seek to provoke us into attack by destroying our
weapons stores and invading our lands to snatch and murder our
subjects.’

‘
Why should the Morays wish
to abduct a serving girl?’ asked The Regent.

‘
Who can fathom the minds
of our most hated foe?’ said Mortaron.

‘
This was not the Morays,’
stated Sigourd flatly, ‘this was like nothing I’ve ever seen or
heard of before.

‘
As I have already pointed
out lord,’ said Mortaron, addressing The Regent, ‘the boy has
suffered much. He is confused.’

‘
The boy knows exactly what
he saw!’ protested Sigourd angrily. The Baron turned to cast that
withering stare over his nephew.

‘
Father, we must find
Isolde. Her life is in great danger.’

‘
You must rest Sigourd,’
said The Regent, ‘be assured we will not allow this transgression
to go unanswered. But I will not move hastily.’

‘
The longer we wait, the
further away they will get with her,’ argued Sigourd, his voice
cracking with desperation.

‘
I understand your concern
son, but these are treacherous times. We must tread carefully.’
said The Regent.

‘
Damn you father, if you
will do nothing then I shall take up arms and find her
myself!’

In an instant, The Regents stoic demeanor
was flensed away as his temper flared white hot, ‘I have more
pressing concerns than the disappearance of some serving wench at
the hands of a fantastical man-beast! Your place is here, leading
your father’s armies in the defense of their realm. You will rest,
and then you will report to your post as is your duty!’

‘
And what of Cal?’ replied
Sigourd coldly, ‘will you so casually disregard the murder of a man
that has served our family for two generations?’

The fire in The Regents eyes died back,
something like sadness moving mournfully behind them. After a
moment he spoke again, and this time his voice was quiet thunder,
‘No crime that has occurred here today shall go unpunished. But you
will remain within the city until I deem otherwise.’

With that, The Lord of Corrinth Vardis
turned and stormed from the chamber without another word.

No one spoke for long moments in the
uncomfortable silence that followed the departure of The Regent,
until Veronique leaned forward to kiss Sigourd tenderly upon the
brow.

‘
Do not be angry with your
father Sigourd, he has much to contend with of late. But we will
search for your friend as soon as it is possible to do
so.’

Sigourd, his face set like thunder, did not
respond. His sat staring silently ahead, his eyes burning with a
fierce defiance that Veronique knew only too well.

‘
Rest Sigourd,’ she said,
‘I fear there are trying times ahead for us all, and we shall need
all our strength to see them through.’

Veronique stood and made her way from the
chamber, her face a mask of great sorrow, for she knew that for all
Sigourd’s reluctant dedication to duty, his affections for the
serving girl were strong enough to overrule it all.

She passed by The Baron, not deigning to
look upon him as she did so.

The Baron, his head bowed only low enough to
satisfy protocol did not raise his eyes until the Lady Veronique
was out of the chamber. Finally he looked up to cast a dark look at
Sigourd, their eyes meeting briefly.

Sigourd and his uncle had never been close,
far from it in fact. There had always been a vast gulf between the
two as long as the young heir could remember, and Sigourd felt sure
that The Baron, who was not a man given to close acquaintances at
the best of time, had made special effort to keep his nephew at
arm’s length. It had bothered Sigourd greatly as a boy, but as he’d
gotten older he’d concerned himself with it less and less.

This time however, when Sigourd looked into
the eyes of The Baron, there was something more there than the
casual distaste he’d always know. There was malice.

Their eyes had met for only the briefest of
moments before Mortaron himself turned and stalked from Sigourd’s
bedchamber, but the enmity in that glare was undeniable.

The Baron closed the chamber door loudly
behind him, leaving Sigourd alone with the house maid, who fussed
about Sigourd, setting out a tray of foodstuffs consisting of broth
and bread for him.

Sigourd knew that his mother was correct.
Trying times lay ahead for both Sigourd and Corrinth Vardis. He
knew without doubt that Isolde was alive somewhere, felt that
knowledge burning in his soul, and promised himself that he would
stop at nothing to find her. Not fear, nor duty or the commands of
his father.

Veronique walked along the darkened corridor
leading from her son’s bedchamber. Candles in sconces spaced along
the wall flickered feebly, casting a sombre light that gave
Veronique the uneasy feeling of being caught underground in some
subterranean warren. The same kind of place where poor Cal had met
his end. She could smell faintly the aroma of gunpowder and
charcoal, carried on the light winds from the site of the
explosion.

Things were indeed in motion that would
unsettle the very foundations of her world. The fear that rose up
in Veronique at this thought was like some growling monster
ascending from the depths of her soul, eager to consume her.

Lost in these troubling thoughts she did not
hear the quiet approach of the person who loomed behind her, his
voice coming suddenly out of the murk gave her a jolt that snatched
her back into the gloomy corridor.

‘
The boy will go to look
for the dammed harlot,’ said Mortaron.

Veronique turned suddenly, her pulse racing.
She tried to fight down the churning in her belly, refusing to give
her brother the satisfaction of seeing her in any state of
emotional vulnerability. With a man like Mortaron, showing weakness
would be a grave error.

‘
I know,’ said Veronique,
‘we must stop him.’

‘
Ha, was I ever able stop
you coming and going as you pleased? The best we can hope for is to
keep him under watch, make sure that he doesn’t come into contact
with anyone he shouldn’t.’ said Martaron.

‘
And if he should leave the
castle? He’ll be vulnerable out there, they’ll be able to reach
him!’

‘
They’ve already shown that
they can reach him whenever they please,’ Mortaron scowled, ‘but
recent events have given us an excuse to increase the defenses of
the city and my men are stalking the shadows to root out our
special concern. I will ensure that the secret is kept.’

Veronique looked at her brother, studying
his face as realization dawned on her.

‘
That is all you care about
isn’t it? Keeping your precious secret!’

Mortaron raised his eyebrows archly, and in
an almost quizzical tone inquired, ‘Why, what else is there?’

Before Veronique could frame a response The
Baron had turned and was already moving off down the corridor,
leaving his sister alone with her fears.

The old house maid set out the bowl of broth
on a tray before Sigourd, arranging the utensils for him neatly by
the bowl. Her hands were worn from her years in dutiful service,
but the fingers retained a nimble grace that belied their wizened
appearance.

Sigourd knew that she had been in the
service of his family since before the time of his birth. If memory
served she had been a senior maid in the household of Sigourd’s
uncle before being transferred to the castle when his parent’s were
wed.

He studied her as she continued to move
about the room making things as comfortable as she might for her
charge. There was something in her manner that betrayed a fear,
hidden deeply within her. She had barely looked up since Sigourd
had spoken of his near fatal encounter in the bowels of the
palace.

Finally she turned to him, her eyes cast at
the floor. ‘Is there anything else before I take my leave,
lord?’

‘
Only that you tell me what
has scared you so, Mathilde.’

The maids face flushed, her thin skin
reddening at the prospect of answering Sigourd’s question.

‘
I don’t know what you mean
my lord.’

‘
I saw how disturbed you
were when I spoke of my attacker. If you know something then I beg
you to tell me of it.’

‘
Lord, I was merely shocked
by the things you described. They sounded frightful to my old
ears.’

Sigourd sat up in his bed, taking hold of
the tray of soup and bread before him he struggled to lift it from
his lap, the old maid moved quickly to assist him, she settled the
try upon the small table beside the bed.

‘
You must eat to restore
your strength, lord,’ she said, eager to divert his
attention.

Sigourd took her hand, looked into her eyes,
‘Tell me what you know Mathilde. The life of someone very precious
to me may well depend upon it.’

She hesitated, her eyes darting again to the
floor, ‘I daren’t speak of it lord, for fear of my life.’

‘
You have my word that none
of what passes between us will ever leave this room. I swear it
upon my own life,’ he said.

‘
Your account reminds me
terribly of something I heard many years ago,’ said the
maid.

She settled herself on the edge of Sigourd’s
bed, took a moment to compose her thoughts before continuing.

‘
When I worked in the
household of The Baron, shortly before your birth, I had a girl
named Beth that worked under me. She’d spoken to me quietly of an
intruder in the castle that had attacked the lady Veronique. She
described him much as you did, a beast that walked as a man but
moved with inhuman quickness.’

The maid’s face tightened as she recalled
the memory, ‘Beth was bloody useless when it came to dinner
service, but she never suffered from an overactive imagination as
far as I could tell.’

Sigourd was quiet for a moment, considering
this information.

‘
Where is Beth, I would
speak to her,’ he asked.

The maid’s expression dropped, sadness
dragging at her features, ‘She died lord. Shortly after the
incident she was taken by a sickness. We never learned what the
malady exactly was, but it took her awful sudden.’

Sigourd was downcast at the realization that
this one clue to Isolde’s whereabouts had disappeared as quickly as
it presented itself.

The old maid could see the despondency in
the face of her charge, and after a momentary hesitation she spoke
again.

‘
There was another who
witnessed the break in that night. A guardsman named Brodus
Klay.’

‘
Where is he, I beg you not
to tell me that he too has passed on!’ said Sigourd, hope returning
to him suddenly. The maid leaned back, fixing Sigourd with a
measuring stare, ‘No, he lives. But I don’t think you’d wish to
find him.’

‘
I wish it more than
anything.’

She paused before continuing, seeming to
measure the honesty of Sigourd’s claim, ‘he’s resides in the
Eastern Fringes. He’s been out there for many years wandering those
dark places.’