Page 12

“We have a problem.”

Baron Gloomenthrall looked up from his seat by the fire in his personal chambers, attempting futilely to hide his startlement behind a deep foreboding frown.

“Alia? Don’t tell me the latest bunch of mead was left on the heat too long. You know we have orders-”

“The mead is fine.”

Alia moved boldly through the shadowy space to sit across from him on an ancient but thankfully comfortable velvet settee.

“What is it now then? Not another one of your sisters back with a wagon load of brats, is it?”

There was no real rancour in her father’s tone. And truth be told, his Lordship had a tendency to let his grandchildren crawl all over him and tug on his beard to their hearts content. For all his bluster, her father, in his own gruff manner, loved all his kin.

“I received a report from Deacon this evening. Do you know a Yaullen Geddes? He was one of the hunt suitors. Climbed into a bottle the moment he dismounted. Dark hair. Freckles. Wants money to build a small theatre in West Sunreach.”

“Bah, you know those lads all look the same to me.”

“He wasn’t a big drinker until yesterday eve following the hunt. In his cups, he had quite the story to tell. His mother it seems is a Soutner, or she was before she cleverly arranged herself a marriage at a young age and moved across the Realm. Although she keeps up a correspondence with her old nanny. Regal Soutner is back.”

“The Gods pity that poor family.”

“It appears the Deities above have forsaken the Soutner family. Regal is Baron Soutner, as of about two months ago… hardly three weeks after returning to these shores.”

“That was quick work on his part.”

“It probably didn’t feel like it to Regal after ten years of exile. You know his father died last year. Regal’s nephew, who took on the title, bid him to come home. It seems the new young Baron couldn’t believe the rumours that his Uncle was in any way responsible for any or all of his brothers’ deaths.”

“And was in turn murdered for his lack of imagination.”

“Him and his three younger brothers, a sister, and a visiting cousin… bad seafood I believe was to blame.”

“Cruddy hell. Now Regal’s Baron Soutner. Does Perri know?”

“Not yet… there’s more.”

“Of course there is, he’s a blight that man. Weather. Crops. Animals. Everything he touches shrivels and decays soon after.”

“He arrived back on these shores with an heir in tow.”

Suddenly her father looked old and… hopeful.

“He’s alive then?”

“I think so, yes. The description and age match.”

“You could ride with a small band, two days there, snatch him, two days back.”

“Regal’s not at the family seat. According to Yaullen, the cousin, Regal made it known that he needs a wife, and has gone looking for a suitable one at the Golden Palace.”

“So he doesn’t know Perri is alive… or perhaps just doesn’t care.”

“It would be nice if it remained that way, if we could wait for him to choose a bride, return to Soutner lands, settle in, and after a brief time period I could arrange a quick violent death for the man.”

“But…? Regal has the luck of the devil, I’m sensing a problem with that plan.”

“It appears his heir did not inherit his father’s luck. The nanny writes that Levi is considered more than a little clumsy… narrowly avoiding several serious accidents since their return to these shores.”

“He’d kill his own son and heir?”

“The nanny hints that Levi is somehow… defective. That the newly titled Baron Soutner makes no secret of the fact he finds his heir… wanting. Or that he intends to seek a bride to shore up his legacy.”

Her father’s knuckles cracked as he clenched his large hands into fists.

“Defective how?”

“Yaullen doesn’t know, or the nanny declined to provide details. But I saw him fall that day, the height… and his screams were those of a child in pain. If only the old Baron hadn’t moved so quickly to exile Regal when the scope of his betrayal began to reveal itself.”

“Lucky he did, or old Ganks would have been lying in his own grave ten years the sooner. You’ll send spies… to Pallene?”

“You think Perri will be content to sit back and wait for news of her long lost son? A child who remains in the clutches of the husband who once tried to kill her? Especially when she learns that Regal may be plotting to dispose of Levi now that he has the title, the land, and the coffers, but not the perfect heir to mould into his likeness.”

“You’ll have to go personally then. See to it. We have connections at Pallene, good ones for trade and for information, but not for invitations to the Golden Palace functions that Baron Soutner would receive. How do you propose to get close to him?”

“Several options spring to mind. I turn up as a sword for hire, win a few festival tournaments. That should get me eventually to the right venues but not past the velvet ropes. Or I cut my hair, bind my breasts and pretend to be some long lost Lordling on the bridal hunt also.”

“Your plans need work. Your height alone makes you stand out. And whilst he might not want Levi, Regal won’t want us to have him. He’s vicious, ruthless, and without a moral bone in his body.”

“I’m very aware.”

Alia announced drily.

“Yes, I know you have a personal stake in this also. But anger and a thirst for vengeance could well prove your downfall. I suggest you let cooler heads prevail, speak to Perri, get her thoughts.”

“You think Perri’s not driven by anger? By vengeance?”

“I should imagine she’s spent ten years imagining a multitude of brutal ways to wipe Regal from this earth. But she also took a healer’s oath during that time. She can divorce herself from a situation, look at it clinically. Explain the situation… I think her reaction will surprise you.”

Alia rose to her feet. She would speak to her sister in the morning. Let her get a good night’s rest before springing this news upon Perri. Part joyful, Levi, her long lost son was alive. Part heinous, her insanely vicious murderous husband was back, and it appeared he no longer had a use for his heir.

Planning Regal Soutner’s removal from this mortal plane was proving a lot more nuanced than Alia was used to. This would be no quick trip into the wild woods, requiring nothing but a sharp blade and a shallow grave.

The major problem being the location, the Golden Palace. A place where Alia would be incredibly out of her depth. Despite her father’s negativity, she was leaning towards disguising herself as a sword for hire. Though getting access to the parties and places Regal Soutner would be invited to might prove difficult if she was considered nothing but hired help.

Pity she couldn’t just arrange for Regal’s kidnapping, have him dumped in the nearby woods and go Beast of Gloomenthrall wild upon him until he was nothing but a carcass for the scavengers. The idea at least put a smile on her lips, as she strode towards the Lair battlements. Ducking through the secret entrance portal, Alia’s instincts fired suddenly, a large dark shadow detaching itself from a nearby patch of heavy gloom.

Cruddy hell, how did the man keep on finding her? He was like a flea she couldn’t dislodge.

* * *

“Problem?”

Talac ignored the not quite smile on Alia’s lips as she emerged into the light cast down by the brasseries that lit the battlement walkways, instead, focusing on the steely calculation that gleamed in her eyes.

“How did you find this door?”

“It wasn’t hard. A steady stream of children and your relatives use it to come and go as they please between here and the Keep.”

He noted the two large iron bars resting against the wall on either side of the door, waiting to be slotted into the gaps in the masonry to reinforce the door if necessary. It was a weak spot in the Lair security but they had done their best to mitigate it.

“All well at the Keep?”

That query earned him a suspicious side glare as Alia started across the cobblestones, heading towards the main building.

“Just a brief meeting with my father, we’re readying a shipment of mead.”

There was truth in her words, except Talac sensed there was more to their meeting than that. Understandably there was no reason Alia should trust him with her secrets… yet. Not that he had the time to spare to work his way into her confidences. They were due back at Pallene for the start of the Golden Palace festivities honouring the end of summer in two weeks’ time. And who knew how long the journey to get there would take, given Brandth’s condition.

“It’s late, does the Beast ever get to rest?”

“I was just heading to my chambers now.”

“That’s what you said when you bid me farewell following this evening’s meal.”

“Are you implying I lied?”

There was amusement tinging her husky tones that soothed him. No sign of wariness in her demeanour. A sense of rightness settling into Talac’s bones as he noted their strides were in sync, their hands almost touching they were so close. It would take little more than an inch or two for their fingers to entwine. Talac found himself mesmerised by the possibility. What if they did touch? Would it be nothing more than a fleeting brush of heat? Or would their digits tangle and lock together?

A staccato drumbeat broke the evening silence. Quick, rapid, then it doubled in speed, almost frantic, reverberating across the formally still night air.

A female voice rang out from the battlements.

“Incoming.”

The drum beat grew louder still, combining with the rhythmic slam of wooden shutters being locked into place at the Lair, and at the Keep. Voices in the dark issued instructions. People fleeing for the shelter of the buildings. Whilst a stream of others raced outside, armed, their expressions intent and determined.

Talac’s sword was in his hand in readiness, following Alia’s lead, her attention fixed upon the darkened skies. He was aware of the brasseries on the battlements being fed, their flames leaping high whilst the portcullis groaned as three men rushed to raise it.

“With me.”

Instead of heading for the walls, Talac found himself running deeper into the Lair, pounding over the wide cobblestones, past the bathhouse, stables, practise arena, blacksmiths and distillery. They were twenty feet from the tannery when the double doors of the dye factory burst open and two horses pulling a cart raced out.

Alia halted, as surprisingly did everyone else in the vicinity. It was an unusual cart, there was one driver, and affixed to the rear was a massive steel drum, four figures standing precariously next to it. Two were continuously bobbing up and down, pushing and pulling at what looked like metal bars, whilst the other two figures held long metal contraptions, reminding Talac of the showerheads he’d seen in the bathhouse. Each spraying a fine mist.

“Hold your breath.”

He barely had time to do so as the cart raced by, the mist settling on his hair, skin and clothes. Cruddy hell. Three seconds later Talac was bent over, gagging, trying not to lose his dinner. The smell! It was indescribably foul. The hand that settled on his back, giving him a reassuring pat of support was a surprise but so very welcome. Despite his discomfort he could feel the heat of Alia’s touch through his tunic, his skin prickling in awareness.

“You get used to it. Just take slow deep breaths, after a while your nose will numb, you won’t even smell it.”

She was correct. Straightening, Talac noted that everyone that had lined the cobblestones to receive a dousing were once more on the move. Several headed for the now open portcullis, more to the stables, with its doors gaping wide open and more to the battlements. The cart circling now, the figures holding the metal wands dousing the nearest buildings, concentrating especially upon the stables.

The warning drumbeat stopped for a moment, then started up, a different beat, frantic, then slow, frantic, then slow.

“I see them!”

The words came from the battlements directly above the portcullis.

“Come on.”

Alia was off again. This time headed for the stables, joining a large group of others, all facing outwards, swords and crossbows at the ready.

“Don’t block the doors.”

Talac suddenly aware of hoofbeats, the crack of a whip and a driving master yelling encouragement to his team. The sounds growing closer, until he could feel the vibration of the horses’ hooves hitting the ground in his bones. Everyone around him tensing, ready, weapons drawn, pointed high towards the cloud scudded night sky.

“What’s coming?”

He had to know what to expect.

“Gryfalcons.”

It was Poulth who answered, Alia’s lieutenant, standing on the other side of Talac, looking tall, rangy, her face a focused determined mask. Gryfalcons? All this fuss over birds? They nested along the coastal cliffsides, feasting on fish. Merchant ships complained of being dive bombed occasionally by the creatures.

Stories existed, telling of them drifting inland and being brought down easily by villagers with crossbows, that the meat of them barely fed a family of four. Of course, there was also old wives tales circulating that gryfalcons hunted in packs, stealing away livestock and small children.

Then there was no more time to think. A team of four horses pulling a large wagon raced through the portcullis at a breakneck speed. The horses frothing at the mouth, vicious long cuts carved into the flank of one of the lead animals, dripping blood. The driver injured also, blood pouring from a head wound, a figure dead or injured splayed across the bench seat beside him.

The wagon contained large wooden barrels lashed tightly together. Four men standing amongst them in various states of injury, all sporting wicked bloody slashes about their heads and upper bodies. One of the barrels was broken, its contents leaving a thick viscous trail in its wake.

The wagon clattered by over the cobblestones, the sound of hooves almost deafening before the vehicle abruptly disappeared into the stables. The doors promptly slamming shut behind them, a sharp sweet scent assailing Talac’s nose momentarily, like he’d been doused in a bath of sugar water. Lightning fast the smaller wagon spraying the foul smelling mist raced past again, giving the line defending the stable another dousing. Talac’s nose shut down in response. Now he couldn’t smell a Gods damn thing. What the hell… there was no time to think, the line of guards on the battlements were shouting, firing into the night sky.

Something large screeched in defiance and rage, and then Talac saw it, or the dark shadow of it, descending from the sky at a scary speed. No details at first, just the fact that its wing span was enormous. Larger than six men standing lined up with their arms outstretched. And then all he noticed was its claws, huge, sharp needle tips reflecting the glow of the flames leaping from the brasseries as the gryfalcon dive bombed them.

Releasing another screech as it flew too close to a steel spike mounted on top of the bathhouse. As it veered away a wave of crossbolts and arrows followed it. Talac’s eyes glued to the creature as it soared upwards, before Poulth elbowed him sharply.

“Look lively, there’ll be more coming.”

Two more dark winged nightmares sailed over the battlements. Flaming arrows turning the night sky into day briefly. Talac staring in awe at the creatures, their feathers starting off brown at the crowns of their heads, turning darker lower on their backs and bellies. Their beaks long, the tips hooked, better for tearing into things Talac surmised. One of the birds attempted to land on the battlements but a stream of guards with pikes, backed up by flaming crossbolts sent the creature awkwardly flying off.

They were so large, the gryfalcons couldn’t land, not with all the spiked flag poles and steel tipped pikes mounted on the building rooftops. They’d either take damage or wouldn’t have room to take flight again. Though that didn’t seem to deter their first attacker, the largest bird, as it dive bombed down, aiming for the group guarding the stables. Its wings frantically beating to keep it hovering aloft several feet off the ground. Talac’s hair blown back as he ducked, swinging his sword swiftly at a scrabbling clawed foot, looking to cause any damage it could.

His sword smacked against the bird’s claw, but the skin was so dense and tough, it bounced off, his blade proving all but useless against the immense creature. Ducking lower again, to avoid a swipe of those needle tipped claws, Talac kept swinging, noting the crossbow bolts hitting the creature’s feathered underbelly were falling back away, the feathers too thick to breach. Cruddy hell.

“The eyes!”

Someone yelled, he thought it was Alia, still by his side, her sword coming up to block a scrabbling claw as it dipped slightly lower in Talac’s direction. Dirt and dust flying everywhere as the creature’s wings continued to flap at a frantic pace, creating a miniature wind storm.

Their ranks of defence thinned momentarily as those with bows and crossbolts raced off to get a better angle at the bird’s head. Thankfully the leaping flames from the brasserie reflected off the wide dark eyes of the gryfalcons, making them prominent targets.

A defiant screech ripping through the night, the hovering bird suddenly flinching away and upwards, flying off. Talac straightened, already looking around for the other two birds. But there was no sign of them. His attention returning to the largest gryfalcon circling high overhead, its wingspan blocking the light of the moon occasionally. Around him everyone was breathing heavily, likewise watching the sky. Waiting.

The bird squawked, the sound piercing, as two dark shadows sailed upwards to flank it, all three circling now, around and around, as if scouting for something particular and failing to find it. Finally, after what felt like an hour but was probably only minutes, the creatures turned and headed westwards.

“Report.”

Poulth demanded loudly.

“I’ve got this.”

She murmured in an aside to Alia, the lieutenant striding off, shouting out directions as she went. Directing some to the infirmary, others to check on those on the battlements and others still to clean up the mess the skirmish had left behind.

Absently cleaning his sword on his trouser leg before sheathing it, Talac released a deep breath. A few puzzle pieces had just slotted into place. The sheer size of the keymoats, the Lair’s horses and now the gryfalcons. It was somehow connected to whatever was in those barrels. Requiring a Beast to rule over it all. Turning, he gazed intently at Alia.

“Time for some answers. Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Beast?”

He expected any number of responses. Compliance. Defiance. Misdirection. What he wasn’t expecting was for Alia to gift him a sassy smile, blue eyes sparkling.

“And deny you the satisfaction of discovering the answers for yourself? I wouldn’t be that cruel. And now I truly am headed to my chambers. Goodnight.”

Talac watched her stride away, coming to several conclusions in that moment. That he liked that Alia Gloomenthrall was no push over and more importantly, he discovered himself to be a newly converted advocate of women wearing trousers. The view as she departed, long limbs topped by a nicely rounded ass that swayed with her quick stride stirred his libido.

Whoa, here was a woman who could make him lose all sense and self-control if he wasn’t careful… the idea startling to a man who had put King and the Realm first since the cradle. One who’d always been nothing but bemused and a little contemptuous of men who became entangled in the web of an unsuitable woman. But now, faced with Alia’s rough earthy charms, Talac found himself… intrigued.

Damn, he must be tired. Admittedly it had been a long day; the tour of the Lair, his challenge with Alia, and now a face-off with three deadly creatures of a size that was gobsmacking. He needed rest, that was all, to recharge and to remind himself of who he was, what he valued; King and the Realm. Lecturing himself sternly that his fascination was with the Beast, the myth, the legend… not the woman behind it all.