Well of the Damned (7 page)

Rain
beat relentlessly on Adro Fiendsbane’s cloaked head and
shoulders as he rode beside the queen’s carriage on their
return to Chatworyth Palace. Their visit to the orphanage had been
eye-opening and disturbing.

From
inside the kitchen had come the sounds of feet stomping on the wooden
floor. When they’d opened the door, a rotund woman of perhaps
forty and a teenage girl had paused their stomping and looked up in
shock, their faces flushed. On the floor were dozens of roaches in
various states of squash, white goo oozing from their bodies, and
many more as yet unsquashed that went about their business with tiny
clicks of their feet on the floor.

Queen
Feanna had managed to keep her head, even when the bugs started
climbing onto her boots and up her skirt, but her poor handmaiden had
started screeching and couldn’t be calmed. The queen had cut
the visit short, and even now, she sat with her arm around Eriska’s
shoulders, offering comfort to the distraught girl as they rode
through the wet streets of Tern.

Adro
had never been a squeamish man, but the sight of all those roaches
had started a fit of shudders he still hadn’t gotten over.

Astride
his warhorse, he tried to calm himself by watching for danger,
overeager citizens and drunks — problems he could better manage
with the skills he had.

Everyone
knew the king and queen required an army and a personal guard. Every
day, warrant knights from across the country came to offer their
services, but women battlers still outnumbered men by a ratio of
about six to one. In fact, so many women from the Viragon Sisterhood
had volunteered, the guild itself had collapsed. The former
Sisterhood’s senior battlers and officers vied for the chance
to lead the effort to build the king’s army. They could fight
for that position if they wanted. Adro had something else in mind.

As
an advocate of orphaned children, Queen Feanna spent almost as much
time outside the palace as inside, looking for homeless children to
minister, even in the pouring rain. Although no attempts had been
made on the queen’s life or well-being, Feanna needed a strong,
skilled battler to protect her from anyone with ill intentions. A few
Viragon Sisters accompanied her beyond the palace gates, usually
different women every day, but in Adro’s mind, that wasn’t
enough. The queen needed a dedicated champion whose sole
responsibility was her safety. He wanted to be that champion, but so
did Tennara, a senior battler from the Sisterhood.

He’d
proven himself once before. The warrant tag hanging from his neck he
owed to Gavin Kinshield, a man he was proud to call friend. Though he
was no longer a warrant knight, he wore the tag as a reminder of the
disreputable man he’d been and the honorable man he’d
become. Anyone who claimed people never truly changed hadn’t
met Adro Fiendsbane. He’d once been a malefactor, but he wasn’t
that man anymore and would never be again. In his heart, he was
already the queen’s champion. He just needed a chance to prove
it.

They
crossed the newly repaired stone and wood bridge over the swollen
River Athra. At their approach, the two battlers standing guard at
the palace gate snapped to attention. They saluted the queen with
open palms against chests as her carriage passed. Water dripped from
their noses and chins. Adro imagined they were miserable, but someone
had to guard the gate, and he had a queen to protect.

The
carriage circled the palace and stopped at the awning-covered back
door. He dismounted, and the footman helped Queen Feanna and her
handmaiden alight. Tennara continued on to the stable with the horses
and carriage. Inside, Feanna, Eriska and Adro were met by servants
with towels and dry slippers. Adro accepted a towel to dry his face
and head, but he refused the offer of silken slippers. Instead, he
took his boots off and wrung the water out as best he could. He’d
rather annoy the servants by leaving wet footprints to wipe up than
become the victim of endless teasing for walking around the palace
with dainty, women’s footwear.

He
escorted Feanna upstairs to the rooms she shared with her husband and
took a stance to wait outside the door while she changed into dry
clothing.

“You
needn’t wait for me, Adro. I don’t require protection
here at home, with all the guards around the building.”

He bowed deeply. “If you
need me, My Queen, I’ll be in the king’s court.”

The
day after Gavin’s coronation, he made the mistake of calling
her Feanna as he’d done before she became the queen. After all,
the king didn’t seem to mind being addressed by his friends as
simply Gavin in informal settings. She’d rebuked him and
instructed him not to be so familiar. She was right, of course, but
the reprimand had still stung. Had he not behaved like a complete cad
three months earlier while escorting her from Saliria to Tern, she
might have been more accepting of his friendship as well as his
protection.

Adro
didn’t blame her for being wary of him. She’d seen the
brand on his forearm, and Gavin had undoubtedly told her how he’d
earned it. He did whatever she asked without complaint, hoping to
eventually earn back her trust.

His
boots squeaked and dripped through the halls as he made his way back
outside to the barracks. Of the four wings, two were being used —
one by the males on staff, and one by the females. Barely a quarter
of the beds in the male ward were taken, and nearly all the beds in
the female. Soon the women battlers would begin to fill a second ward
unless Gavin recruited more men or assigned a captain who would. If
the new militia head appointed a former Viragon Sister as captain,
she’d be more likely to fill the ranks of the king’s
guard with women battlers, which Adro didn’t think was a wise
choice. He’d seen Sisters fight and marveled at their prowess,
but women were supposed to be protected, not do the protecting. It
just wasn’t right.

He
opened the chest situated at the foot of his bed, withdrew a dry pair
of trousers, and rolled them into a towel. He took his only spare
boots as well. Once he was back inside the palace, he sat on a bench
and did his best to wring the rest of the water from his boots and
set them against the wall to dry. He ducked into a closet to change
out of his wet trousers and into the dry, shook his head hard to
fling the water out of his hair, and combed through it with his
fingers. Considering the weather, this was about as presentable as he
could manage.

He
tucked his wet clothes into a corner, pulled on his spare boots, and
walked through the grand halls of the palace. He didn’t think
he would ever tire of the beauty of the building. Even the simple
things — the carved mouldings, the buttery wood paneling, the
dark, marble floors — were marvels to behold, especially for a
man like himself, who’d grown up poor and spent his adult years
on the back of a horse. The palace smelled beautiful, too, with cedar
wood candles in the wall sconces.

He
rounded a corner and nearly plowed into a pair of women. They looked
up at him with mouths agape, as surprised as he was. He started to
apologize, but realized something was wrong. Their identical faces
were too wrinkled and their builds too frail for them to be battlers.
They were dressed in flowing robes, one rust and yellow, the other
green — not the blue uniform of palace workers — yet they
were wandering around the palace unaccompanied by a guard or supreme
councilor.

“Who
are you?” he asked. “You shouldn’t be here
without—”

One
of the women waved her hand and whispered something unintelligible.
Then, they vanished.

Adro
drew his sword and spun around. “Hey. Hey!” He ran up and
down both corridors. “Guard!”

One
of the former Sisters, Taria, ran to his aid, sword drawn. “What’s
wrong?”

“Two
women. They were right here, and then they vanished.”

“I
saw no one.” She grinned crookedly as she resheathed her
weapon. “You haven’t been drinking that swill Pryan
makes, have you?”

“No,
damn it. They were here. I swear I saw them.” He had to alert
the king, yet he couldn’t help but worry Feanna was vulnerable.
As her would-be champion, it was his job to protect her, but Taria
hadn’t seen the women and wouldn’t be able to accurately
describe them or their surprising disappearance to Gavin.

“Maybe
you need more sleep.” Taria clapped his shoulder.

“Taria,
listen. What if I didn’t imagine it? What if two mages with ill
intent have breached the palace? If I did imagine it, I’ll
welcome all the teasing you can heap upon me, but until we get it
sorted out, we must ensure the king and queen’s safety.”

“All
right, Adro. Calm yourself. What do you want to do?”

“I’ll
alert King Gavin. You go to Queen Feanna’s room and stay with
her. We need to organize a search for those two women. If they’re
in the palace, we have to find them.”

She nodded and took off at a jog
in the direction Adro had come from, and he continued on towards what
was undoubtedly the ball room in centuries past, though Gavin was
currently using it to hear petitioners.

Requests
for funds had begun pouring in almost the very minute Gavin had taken
his vows as king. People who’d managed to get by on what they
had were suddenly destitute, even the lordovers, whose families had
been collecting taxes in the name of the king and pocketing the money
for more than two hundred years. Everyone wanted something,
especially the battlers of the former Viragon Sisterhood. Every day,
he made time for people to beg for aid, and in most cases, he gave it
to them. Today seemed to be no different. Dozens lined up, waiting
for a chance to speak to the king. If they didn’t get their
turn that day, they would return the next day, and the next, until
the king heard their request.

Adro
went to the wide oak table near the back of the room where the king
sat, talking to a middle-aged couple. Books and scrolls and bottles
of ink and quills lay scattered across the table’s smooth top.
On Gavin’s right sat the king’s adviser, Edan Dawnpiper,
who as a lordover’s son, guided Gavin well through his new
life. On his left was his champion, Daia Saberheart, ever present and
watchful. Though she sat in a velvet-covered, high-backed chair, her
right hand lay on the hilt of her sword as though it had been lashed
there. Had there been imminent danger from the two mysterious,
disappearing women, Adro would have interrupted the king’s
business with the two petitioners, but Taria’s words had eaten
away at his confidence.

He
had to admit, they were there for but a moment before disappearing.
They hadn’t left a single trace of their presence — no
whiff of perfume nor water droplets on the floor, and they hadn’t
even been wearing rain cloaks. How could they have gotten here
without getting wet? Unless they truly were a figment of his
imagination.

When
the petitioners bowed and left, Adro cleared his throat and stepped
up behind the king, bent and whispered into his ear. “My liege,
I must speak with you a moment about two unexpected visitors I found
wandering alone in the palace.”

Gavin
turned in his chair, alarm plain on his scarred face. “What
visitors? What did they want?”

Adro
noticed the next petitioner had stepped up to the table and was
watching and listening with interest. “We should talk more
privately.”

“Your
pardon, everyone. I’ll be with you in a minute,” Gavin
said to the waiting petitioners. He stood, as did Daia and Edan, and
followed Adro to the room’s rear door through which he’d
just entered. When they were out of the crowd’s earshot, they
turned to him with expectant interest.

Adro
told the king what he’d witnessed. “I started to ask who
they were and why they were in the palace without an escort, but then
they disappeared. Vanished. It was as though they’d never been
there.” He expected Gavin and Daia to laugh it off or tease him
as Taria had, but instead they cast a wary glance at each other.

Gavin’s
brow dipped. “Describe them.”

“Well,
their faces looked identical — twins, I guess — and they
had black hair with streaks of white. They were middle-aged, wrinkled
but not withered. Blue eyes — more brilliant blue than mine
are. They wore flowing robes and no rain cloaks, yet they didn’t
drip water on the floor.”

“Did
they say anything?” Gavin asked.

“No,”
Adro said, relieved the king believed him. “I called for a
guard, and Taria came running. She must’ve been close by, but
she hadn’t seen them. I sent her to guard Queen Feanna while I
came to tell you what I saw.”

“Do
they sound familiar?” Edan asked Gavin.

Gavin
shook his head. He’d only known one pair of twins in his life,
and they were brothers.

“By
your leave, I’d like to organize a search of the palace,”
Adro said, eager to demonstrate his worthiness.

“No
need. Daia, I’ll just borrow you for a moment.”

Adro
didn’t truly understand what he meant by that, but it was
rumored Daia had been chosen as the king’s champion partly
because she had some kind of mystical power that enabled Gavin to use
his own magic more effectively. Everyone watched the king’s
eyes flutter back and forth as though he were dreaming with his
eyelids open. It was a disturbing sight, and Adro was glad he hadn’t
stumbled upon Gavin alone doing that. He’d have thought the man
was having a seizure. Edan and Daia appeared to be unconcerned by his
strange eye movements and tense expression and simply waited.

At last, Gavin blinked and shook
his head. “I didn’t see anyone out o’the ordinary.
Guess they aren’t in the palace anymore, or even on the
island.”

“It’s
worrisome that two strangers could have simply walked in without
being noticed,” Daia said. “I’ll ask Jophet to have
a few battlers patrol the palace anyway.”