The Scarecrow (Master of Malice Book 1) (19 page)

“I suppose if he had wounded himself badly, he
would
have been moaning in pain,” mused Tad, “although I still can’t imagine him being able to climb that slope in such a condition.”

“Indeed, Tad. And if you remember, both Durren and Ruvar told us the Baron had become very frail. He already leaned heavily upon a cane. Do you not think it strange the cane was never found? Why should he trouble to take it with him when he jumped? Why not simply cast it on the ground? And there is something else troubling me. When I leaned out over that ledge, it was a straight fall down to the rocks below. Anyone who fell from there would be dashed to pieces. And yet the Baron, who was, to use Ruvar’s own words, ‘in a fragile state,’ managed to make a mighty leap out over the water before plummeting. How could someone in his feeble condition, leaning on a cane and with his wrists slashed, be capable of making a ‘mighty leap’? And why bother, when a simple fall would do the job?

“The other point that does not quite fit with this picture of a man determined to take his life in despair is the question of the moonlight.”

Cal frowned. “The moonlight?”

She nodded. “Do you not remember Ruvar telling us the Baron had become reclusive, never going abroad in the light? He even avoided moonlight. And yet he chose a brightly moonlit night on which to end his life. Why do you suppose that was?”

“Perhaps he’d simply had enough,” speculated Tad. “If you were disturbed enough to take your own life, I would think the phase of the moon would be the last thing you’d notice.”

She fixed him with a stare. “Even when you had spent the last months of your life fervently avoiding it?” He shrugged. “No, gentlemen,” she continued, her expression serious, “I have another theory to fit the known facts. And I do not like the conclusion I am forced to draw from it. I do not like it at all.”

After this unsettling discussion, they made their way through the evening gloom toward the bright glow of a huge fire flickering from the interior of one of the barns. They could have found the place without it, for the delicious smell of baking fish wafted out on the cold night air. They were welcomed with food and fellan, and Sullyan found ample opportunity to question the fishermen gathered there.

She discovered that although the village had been supplying the clerics for years, only a handful of fishermen had ever set foot on the jetty, let alone guested there. They seemed to have some strange ideas as to what was done on that secluded, barren island. Sullyan learned, to her consternation, that none of the fishermen recalled ferrying a young lad from the island back to the village.

“What about boats from other villages? Could anyone else have taken him home?”

A seamed and tattooed sailor, brawny hands and arms covered with scars and pits from hauling nets and gutting fish, answered her. “Nay, lass. There’s no one else’ll go near that place. We wouldn’t go, only we gets paid good gold.”

She shot Cal and Tad a look, and they shrugged. “Does anyone remember taking the boy out there? It would have been four years ago. He was thirteen at the time.”

Another man came closer, removing his pipe from his teeth and trailing a stream of foul-smelling smoke from his lips. “Oh, aye, lass, I remember taking him there. Scrawny little thing, quiet and sulky, and none too pleased to be going, if you ask me. But I was paid good coin to take him and take him I did. I left him on the landing stage and never saw him again.”

“Would you remember where he came from?”

He thought for a while and his face brightened. “D’you know, I think I do? His father brought him, and I’m sure I remember him saying he came from Foxdune way.”

“And where is that?”

The fisherman told her it was inland, about five miles to the southeast. Cal and Tad gathered they would be making a detour on their way home the next day.

Jeriko offered them a room in his house for the night. While Cal and Tad checked the horses, Sullyan communed with General Blaine.

The bluff man was troubled and said nothing about the conclusions she had drawn, but he approved of the extra journey on the morrow. He decided not to inform the King just yet of her findings, preferring to let Sullyan do that in person. He did, however, tell her about the news he had received from Vassa.

She was surprised.
Two dead Roamerlings? And both on Lerric’s lands?
Now where does this fit in?

She felt the general’s reluctance.
Maybe nowhere? It could be an isolated incident, nothing to do with this.

I disagree. If Reen has indeed escaped his prison, who would he most likely turn to? And where was Sofira taken when she was banished from Elias’s castle? Who do we know who hates all alien races with a vengeance? Mathias, I hope you will warn Jerrim to be doubly on his guard. I will conclude my journey as swiftly as I may and return to the Manor. I hope I shall find and speak with this young lad, but I very much fear I have discovered the source of the blood found in the Baron’s rooms.

But why would he kill the boy, the only one who befriended him?
asked Blaine.

Sullyan had no ready answer, but she intended to find out.

I
t had been the hardest thing Seline had ever done to wait for Bessie to quit fussing over her and retire for her afternoon nap. The young girl spent the time concocting wilder and wilder theories as to what her mother’s letter contained. What was she planning? What would she require her daughter to do? How could Seline help her mother regain her crown? Despite her young age, Seline was under no illusions about what her mother really wanted. Sofira was a Princess of royal stock, and no one could take that from her. But to be a Queen—and High Queen of all Albia at that—was the ultimate achievement. Sofira would never accept her mother no longer merited the crown.

Finally, after a lifetime of impatient waiting, Bessie went to bed. Seline waited a little longer before cracking the door open and crossing the nursery. She peered into Bessie’s chamber, seeing the plump woman asleep on her bed. Satisfied, Seline returned to her room. Pushing her hand inside her muff, she extracted the folded parchment. Trying to calm her racing heart, Seline curled into her pillows and unfolded the letter.

My dearest daughter, you have been very clever in discovering the hidden message in my last note to you. I knew you would and I am very proud of you. Now I can speak to you without your father knowing, and I can tell you things he mustn’t know. But we must still be very careful, my bright and clever angel. You must burn every single letter you receive in this way. Do you understand? You must never keep even one, no matter how much you might wish to. I shall continue to write to you in the normal way, but it will only be of trivial things, things any mother might say to her daughter. But you are not just any daughter, are you, my love? And I am no ordinary mother.

So, Seline, to the point of all this subterfuge. The man who passed you this letter is a servant of ours. He has come to the capital to carry out our will, and to do this he may need your help. You need not fear him. I know he looks dreadful, but he is a faithful servant and will do you no harm. From time to time, we will pass him instructions and he will carry them out. You may hear of certain things happening that you will not like. I urge you not to think of them and to remember that in order for me to regain my crown, certain obstructions must be removed. I think you know what I mean. But do not fear, my brave Seline, we intend no harm to your father. Once he sees how wrong he has been, he will understand what I have done and we will all be together again, as we were before.

But for now, my dearest child, just be very careful. Look after your brother, but do not tell him of our plans. He is too young to understand. All you need to know is that I will be returning for you both very soon and we will all be happy once more.

Our servant may well contact you again and you may receive other letters or instructions. If you do, try to do as we ask as soon as you can. For now, my dearest daughter, farewell. And remember, burn this letter immediately!

Seline’s heart was in her throat. She found herself wondering who the “we” referred to. Clearly her mother had found someone willing to help her, and Seline was bright enough to doubt it was her grandfather, King Lerric.

Despite her mother’s urgent order and despite understanding the reason for it, Seline read the letter through twice more, searching for clues as to who the other person was. She knew Sofira wasn’t referring to the unwashed servant.

Dismissing the puzzle, Seline read the letter one last time. She worried over her mother’s reference to Eadan. She clearly didn’t know he had gone to the Manor, which meant her father hadn’t told her. Seline frowned, angry. He really should have told her! But that could be remedied. Seline could mention it openly in her next letter. She smiled and continued reading. She wanted to memorize every phrase. Once she was sure she had it right, she took the parchment to the fire and cast it into the flames. She watched it crisp and burn, a triumphant smile on her face.

+ + + + +

T
he Baron sent the younger of his two servants to find Sofira. He had some good news to tell her which he hoped would improve her mood. The strictures he had placed upon their time together and on the arrangements for their coming marriage were beginning to tell on Lerric’s daughter, and although she professed to understand the reasons for them, Reen knew she was far from happy. All this concern over her state of mind and the uncertainty of what she might do without his controlling hand upon her drained his energy.

Reen still suffered tremors of rage whenever he remembered the near disaster concerning her proclamation. On top of that, his servants had to work harder now to find suitable sources for their master’s renewal. It seemed the Roamerlings had discovered the loss of two of their race, and the itinerant outlanders had drifted away from Lerric’s province. The Baron suspected the disappearance of the Artesan among them must have seriously inconvenienced the troupe the man had led. And although his death had given Reen the knowledge and power to move his servants through the substrate if he chose, he wasn’t willing to expend the energy required on a regular basis.

So he had sent them out that evening with orders to find some tramp or beggar—preferably one that was whole and in reasonable condition—and bring him to Reen’s chamber. The strength received, although not as sustaining as that from a young, fit body, should nevertheless prove sufficient to enable the Baron to conduct his final experiment. And for that, he needed access to the substrate.

A footfall behind his door brought Reen out of his sadistic and pleasurable reverie. He dampened the fires of his desire and forced himself to relax his hold on the cane he gripped so tightly. It wouldn’t do to permit Sofira to see so deeply into him just yet. He would save that revelation for later.

“Come, my love,” he called. She had finally learned never to walk in on him, never to disturb him without alerting him to her presence.

The door swung open and she stood in the doorway, trying to see him in the dark. His eyes, so useless in daylight, were able to discern the aura of her presence and he saw her almost as plainly as if they hadn’t been damaged beyond repair by the terrible but fortuitous accident that had so transformed his life. He smiled wider to see her so hesitant. Finally, she was learning who was master here.

“Hezra?” She turned her head anxiously.

“I’m here, my love.” He moved forward so she could see him. The low glow of the embers warming his room cast deeper shadows into the corners of the chamber, and his black robes absorbed what light there was.

“Oh!” she gasped, half in relief, half in uncertainty. Despite his own decision not to reveal his true nature too soon, Reen was sure enough of his hold over her to let slip his disguise now and then. The glimpses she had caught of the gaunt scarecrow, intangible and dismissed as tricks of the poor light, nevertheless unsettled her. She was no longer so confident in his presence, and he was content she should feel so.

“You called for me?” Her voice was soft and hesitant. He moved closer and took her hand in his. The aspect of the claw was replaced by a younger version and she clasped it warmly. He allowed a smile to permeate his voice.

“I did, my love. Come, sit by the fire. You’re cold.”

He knew that the gooseflesh prickling her skin, that made her so acutely aware of every touch of fabric upon her body and every movement of his against her, didn’t have its origins in the temperature of the air. Reen used his senses to play upon her as if she were some instrument made for his hand alone. Indeed, he reminded himself, he had been molding her long before he’d experienced the heady and dreadful power he now enjoyed.

Back then, when she had first become betrothed to Elias, he had decided he wouldn’t be left behind in this small, insignificant southern province. At first he had thought only to be her close and trusted advisor. Then, when Sofira prepared to leave Bordenn to become High Queen, Reen had so successfully persuaded her she couldn’t do without him that he thought some lucrative minister’s post wasn’t out of the question. But once at court, once he realized the possibilities inherent in his unique situation, he saw how low he had aimed. The office of Arch Patrio seemed a worthier and more fitting vehicle for his talents and far-reaching plans.

He had been well on the way to achieving that goal. How far could he have gone had he not been stymied, first by that imbecile outlander Rykan—whose uncontrollable lusts had overcome his better senses—and then by his archenemy? He couldn’t even bring himself to form her name within his mind. A hot flare of intense anger flooded him, his entire body flaming with a burning desire to wreak revenge. He trembled in every bone with the depth of his desires and felt his control begin to slip. He forced himself to turn away from Sofira lest she see the ruby glow of hatred deep within his damaged eyes.