The Scarecrow (Master of Malice Book 1) (2 page)

And even though he had played his part, Lerric had yet to learn the full story behind his unwelcome guest’s liberation.

Despite his curiosity, Lerric had been reluctant to make this visit. His own men had retrieved Reen from captivity, brought him south laboriously by boat and by land after plucking him, half-dead and raving, from the sucking arms of the sea. The operation had gone off without a hitch, yet something about their eyes and manner had alerted Lerric to the possibility not all was as it should be. His men had been unwilling—or unable—to speak of what disturbed them, and it had not escaped the king’s notice that none of them had come near him since. Two of them seemed to prefer the uncomfortable duties of the watchtower, while the third had not been seen at all. Remembering their furtive looks and uneasy shifting as they reported Reen’s arrival, Lerric experienced a shudder of unexplained fear.

Placing the shuttered lamp on the floor, he advanced into the cell. The scarecrow watched him approach, peering myopically, beckoning Lerric closer within range of his failing eyesight. Almost mesmerized, Lerric obeyed.

The unimaginable tortures Reen had suffered during his exile, agonies which had warped and twisted his body and rendered his skin painfully sensitive to daylight, had turned the once-arrogant little man into a human mole. Reclusive, given to fits of ranting interspersed with hours of religious chanting, he was a figure of nightmare. Lerric wondered what his daughter’s reaction would be when she finally saw the man she professed to still love. The man for whom Lerric had agreed to pawn his kingdom—and maybe, he thought with an icy shiver, his very life.

Sofira had assured her father she and Reen had long since forgiven each other their mutual betrayal at Reen’s sham of a trial. Reen understood she had only been trying to protect her position and her children. He knew she was only posturing when she had insisted upon his execution; she would never have let it be carried out. She would have rescinded the order had she retained her crown. And
she
knew, she avowed—although her father heard the hidden note of outrage quivering just below the surface—that Reen’s impeachment of her that was the cause of her losing her husband, her children, and the crown that was rightfully hers, had been forced from him under severe duress by their powerful and scheming archenemy. The enemy who was still riding high on the triumph of that success, and who still held the High King in the palm of her hand.

“Sit, sit,” grumbled the scarecrow, waving a bony claw toward the only chair in the room. Lerric sat, his aging bones aching in the moldy damp, feeling far less a king and more the supplicant under the fervid light in the other’s dark-gray eyes. Casting a look at the leather-sprung truckle bed as the wasted man sat once more, Lerric summoned the courage to speak.

“Are you sure this is what you want? Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in the palace, or even a private house? I have plenty. I could vacate one for you. No one need know you were there—”

“
Fool
!”

The cane’s heel struck the stone floor with such a violent crack it made Lerric jump. The word was spat with force and Lerric fell silent. The wizened claws gripping the cane turned white with the preternatural strength of their grip, and the lined, hawk-like face thrust close. The all but useless eyes, their whites now yellow and veined, snapped with anger and a thin line of spittle hung from the cracked lips.

“Have I not told you I must hide?” the dreadful voice wheezed. “Have I not told you the reason why I may never walk in daylight? Did I not tell you why I must languish like this, hidden deep in the rock of the earth? If I do not they will find me, Lerric; they will root me out like hounds on a scent and tear me to pieces. They are merciless. They are godless. They are vengeful heretics. I have told you all this, and yet you offer me your comforts? Pah!”

Lerric leaned away from the spray of spittle that accompanied this rant. There was an unholy light in the feral eyes, a sly twist to the mouth. He was surely unhinged. What had he done, thought Lerric, what had he unleashed by giving way to his daughter’s tearful pleading? Oh, but it was too late now—far too late.

“No,” the wheezing scarecrow went on, leaning back, the demonic glint fading, “I must stay well hidden. And I no longer need what you would call ‘comforts,’ not after three years of incarceration in a living hell.
She
saw to that. But the tables are turning. I have learned why I was seemingly abandoned by my God and left to rot. I am the stronger for it, believe me. I have learned secrets they’ve never even dreamed of. Secrets they wouldn’t want me to learn. Oh, yes.”

The emaciated form leant forward, crooking one long-nailed finger under Lerric’s nose. “I am the stronger now. Do you hear me? I have unlocked the powers granted me by God; granted me through suffering in order to do his will. I have the power to defeat them—to defeat
her
—and no one can stop me. With your support we can finally drive them out, rid our lands of their blasphemous ways, their unnatural powers, and restore your daughter—my Queen—to her rightful place. With me to guard and guide her, we will be invincible. No one will touch us, no one will harm us. You will see your daughter reign supreme and all Albia will revere her!

“Once she and I are wed—ah! Then, Lerric, then you will see!”

Lerric hid his face in his hands to blot out the terrible sight of this gaunt figure, scrawny arms raised high, the thin and threadbare robe falling back from limbs devoid of muscle, skin devoid of life, bone devoid of blood. Horror stole over Lerric as he listened to the creature he had agreed to champion, and to whom his beloved daughter had pledged her body. For surely it was no longer human, this skeletal, ranting fanatic; and for one redeeming moment Lerric was sorely tempted to slide his dagger from its sheath and plunge it into the breast of the treacherous creature that had once called itself Baron Hezra Reen.

And maybe it would have saved Albia, Lerric, and many, many others much misery, anguish, and horror.

+ + + + +

“D
aughter, forgive me, but I must ask you again; are you sure, are you
completely
sure this is what you want? You haven’t seen him yet, you haven’t spoken with him. I have to tell you, he is not the man you remember, no matter what his letters suggested.”

Lerric was sitting with Sofira on the bed in her luxuriously appointed chamber, autumn sunlight streaming through the window. Its warmth helped alleviate the horror he still felt after his earlier meeting with the creature Sofira had begged him to save. The king held fast to his daughter’s hands, mainly to disguise the tremble of his own, but also to convey his intense unease. He looked earnestly into her hard gray eyes and willed her to hear his concern. Despite his fear, he was loath to reveal precisely what had taken roost in that fetid cell far beneath the palace floors.

Sofira stared back at him, hearing his care for her, seeing his distress. But it seemed she could not understand his concern, for her brittle eyes glazed with tears. “Don’t you want me to have back what was taken from me, Father?” Her colorless face was animated with hurt. “You know how unhappy I’ve been since I was forced to return here. You know how I ache for my children.”

Lerric nodded. “I know it’s been hard for you. At least at the castle Elias allowed you access to them—”

“Access?” Sofira snarled. “What use is
access
to me? Never allowed to be alone with them, never to take them out of my prison, never to walk in the park with them? He doled out time with them as if giving tidbits to a dog, and kept me kenneled like one, too. And I a Queen! How could you condone that?”

Lerric thought better of reminding his daughter she had ceased to be a queen when Elias dissolved their marriage. And in light of what she had done—misled by Reen or not, she couldn’t pretend ignorance of the risks she had run—Lerric considered her fortunate not to have suffered the death penalty. Not that he could tell her that, either.

He spoke soothingly. “I didn’t say I condoned it, daughter, and you know I never wanted to see you separated from Eadan and Seline. It’s just that … Sofira, are you absolutely convinced Hezra is sane?”

Sofira froze. She stared at her father, a biting retort on her lips. But then she realized he was only trying to protect her, clumsy though he was. She relaxed her spine and smiled.

“Oh, Father, of course I’m sure. Do you think I wouldn’t know if something had affected his mind? It’s a clever ruse, a ploy he’s devised to make them relax their vigilance. Didn’t you read his letters? Didn’t you feel the sincerity in his words, his deep desire to restore all I’ve lost? And don’t forget, my restoration will also benefit you. You’ll be more than recompensed for your trouble and the support you continue to give us. We’ll not forget you or Bordenn when I am once again Albia’s High Queen.”

Lerric doubted that. He had seen the light of fanaticism in the scarecrow’s eyes, the driving desire to control, the fervid lust for revenge at any cost. Reen might be willing to accept the title of consort for now, but Lerric would not bet much on him being happy with a supporting role for long, not once the reins of power were in his hands. Sofira was clearly already under his spell. He had cunningly charmed her from within his prison, writing her words of contrition, loyalty, and love. In her beleaguered state of angry, lonely sorrow, brought on by the conditions Elias had imposed on her, she had been easy prey.

Lerric shivered. Why should that word—
prey—
cause his heart to constrict? Why did it conjure images of ragged carrion birds feasting on a corpse?

Sofira’s hands tightened on his. “Father, are you unwell?”

He gave himself a mental shake and the specter of doom withdrew. He half-smiled for his daughter and shook his head. If his words of caution could not sway her, he would have to hope the sight of the man himself would give her pause. She expected Reen to appear unchanged. He was still relatively young, after all—not yet forty years of age—although his current shriveled appearance suggested a man in his eighties. Sofira was bound to be horrified by what she saw.

Reen had thus far refused her earnest pleas to be admitted to his convalescent cell. He was not yet ready, but when he was, when he finally emerged, Lerric would be there to support her once she realized the awful truth.

+ + + + +

M
idnight came and went. The palace lay wrapped in silence. Sofira stood shivering in the dark hallway. She told herself it was just the anticipation of this long-awaited reunion causing these strange sensations within her. Why he had made her wait so long, she had no idea. The questions she had begged her father to convey elicited no response. He would come when he was ready, that was all she was told.

She felt guilty for her impatience and had to remind herself of the dreadful ordeal he had suffered; the long and lonely months surrounded by disapproving clerics, forced to listen to their monotonous chanting and endure their pious rituals. Small wonder he needed space and time to recover. The world must seem a strange and changed place to him now.

But she would compensate him for what he had borne in her name. Although she had paid the dearer price by her reckoning, she had never faced the death penalty. She had never been confronted with her own terror of death in agony; had never suffered the humiliation of having to grovel for mercy at the feet of her direst enemy. And it had been she who had brought him to that pass, she who had inflicted that deepest shame upon him. It was up to her to show him how grateful she was that he had found it in his heart to forgive her and was willing to use his knowledge and cunning to win back all that been so unfairly ripped from her.

She scrutinized the darkened hallway, assuring herself all was as he had specified. It was the dark of the moon; no stray ray of silver would touch his form. The windows were all covered with heavy black drapes so not even a twinkle of starlight could find its way through. The one small lamp her father had brought rested on the floor, its feeble glow the only relief in the intense, velvety dark. And at the first indication of his presence, even that light must be smothered.

Her heart lurched in sympathy for the torments he must have borne. How could they have been so cruel? Her father had told her something of Reen’s words when first he was rescued from his long incarceration. Lerric’s voice had trembled as he described that first meeting, and his daughter had seen how Reen’s piteous condition had affected him. How Sofira had begged and pleaded to be allowed to tend him, but Reen remained adamant. She must curb her impatience until he was recovered enough to meet with her. It had been hard and, in the end, she had to wait a full month. Now, the waiting was over.

She started. She could hear his footfalls on the stair. He was coming to her! She turned triumphant eyes to her father, who stood in silence beside her. Lerric too had heard the sounds and bent to the feeble lamp, turning down the wick. His hand shook and he glanced nervously up at his daughter. But Sofira had turned back to the yawning maw of the stairwell, quivering with anticipation.

The footfalls drew nearer and Sofira held her breath. She had imagined this moment so many times, had tried out the words she would speak to him, felt and lived the emotions they would both experience. But now the moment was here, she felt empty. What could she say to him, this much-wronged man, this betrayed but loyal confidante? How could he trust her after what she had done?

Shivers wracked her, raising gooseflesh on her arms, making her acutely aware of the soft robe she wore and the way it clung to her body. Her senses seemed heightened; her hearing was sharpened and her eyes cut the gloom like a creature of the night. She almost felt him pushing the darkness aside like a curtain as he slowly ascended the stair. Finally, he emerged from the portal before her.

Sofira gave a great gasp and felt the start her father made. She was dimly aware of the waves of fear radiating from Lerric, but she had scant interest in his strange behavior. The focus of her attention was riveted by the shadowy figure in the portal and the brief, impossible impression of two ruby glints in the darkness, as if demonic eyes were staring.