The Scarecrow (Master of Malice Book 1) (20 page)

“My love?” she faltered, sensing his struggle. “Are you in pain?”

With a huge effort, he controlled himself. He must be patient. He must be strong. Lay the foundations, gather the strength and the power. He wouldn’t fail this time. This time he would have his full measure of revenge and
she
would see he was her master. She would taste the bitter despair of his hatred and feel the hopeless yearning, acknowledging in the depths of her pagan soul the futility of struggle as she bowed before the fullness of his power over her.

But all in good time. Damping his rage, he turned to Sofira.

“Sofira, my dear, I have some very good news for you. Your clever daughter has fulfilled your expectations and my servant has made the first contact. We are on our way, my love. We have taken the first steps toward the restoration of your crown and your birthright. Soon you shall return to your place, and we will skulk in the shadows no more. There, my brave Queen. What do you say to that?”

“Oh, Hezra!” Sofira clasped both his hands in hers and brought them to her bosom. He could feel the heave of her breasts and smell the sweetness of her perfume. She gazed adoringly into his eyes. “I knew she wouldn’t let us down, she is such a clever girl! Do you have news of her, of Eadan?”

“I have no news, my love, other than what I have told you. My servant was instructed to deliver the letter only. But now that the Princess is alerted to our plans and the presence of my man, we’ll be able to communicate with her more readily. And maybe, once we are wed, we’ll be able to bring your children here, to be with us. Would you like that, Sofira?”

The Princess frowned. “Well, of course I would. But we’ll be going to Port Loxton, surely? I can’t be High Queen from here.”

Reen took hold of his temper. The sooner he was done with this farce the better. Until then he had to humor this woman, who could be so strong when surrounded by the power of the King, yet so weak and simple in her dependent trust.

“Yes, my love,” he said, trying for a patient tone. “Once our plans have come to fruition, of course you will rule from the capital. But we don’t know how long that might take, and I thought you might wish to have your children with you before then. I know how much you miss them.”

Tears came to Sofira’s eyes. “You are so solicitous, my love. Always thinking of my needs. What have I done to deserve such care?”

Nothing except be the vehicle for
my
needs!
Reen thought viciously. Aloud he said, “Ah, my Queen, I live only to serve you, as you know. And if you return in some measure the love I feel for you, then I am repaid before ever we succeed.”

“You know I do.” Sofira moved closer and kissed his lips. The Baron permitted the liberty, although her kiss left him cold. He had never been overly tempted by women, although there had been times when he had taken what pleasure they offered. Later, he thought, once they were wed … But his tastes ran more to the exotic, and as Reen ran his hands over Sofira’s lean body, thoughts of young Serrin came to mind.

He compared the Princess’s angular form with Serrin’s gentler flesh. The young cleric had been just sixteen when they first began their physical relationship. Before then, the Baron hadn’t realized what the boy had been offering him. Reen had been too wrapped up in his own deep despair and vengeful hatred to have any room in his tortured soul for the feelings of others. But Serrin, drawn to this tormented man, had recognized the banked fires within him and gave him companionship without complications. Eventually, seeing the signs in the boy’s eyes and his soft, questing touches, Reen began to consider the possibilities inherent in their friendship.

Cautiously at first, and then with increasing confidence, Reen and Serrin explored the ways they could satisfy each other’s needs. Giver and taker, master and slave, they had existed together with no friction and each had found release.

The small smile Reen permitted himself in the darkness held something of genuine regret. Poor, simple Serrin. So stunted, so deformed in his soul. He had given his master far more than he’d intended, far more than he had even known he
could
give. Without knowing how, he had kept the Baron alive during the wrenching agonies of his horrific accident, had even helped Reen recover from the dreadful fire and the worst of his disfiguring wounds. And in the end, still without knowing what he did, he made it possible for Reen to achieve what his twisted heart most desired.

Almost—almost—Reen wished it hadn’t been necessary … but no. It was folly to feel thus. He now had the means of taking the only thing that could assuage the burning rage consuming his soul; the only thing that could give meaning to those long years of incarceration and humiliation. Serrin had made it all possible. Unwittingly—and unwillingly, at the end—he had surrendered that which his master needed and Reen took it without restraint, without compassion, and without a moment’s thought.

Shaking the memory of the agony, the ecstasy, and the blood from his mind, the Baron realized his thoughts had engendered responses in his body that had been noticed by Sofira. Still smiling that cruel smile, he decided not to disabuse her of her misconceptions. Time enough for revelations later. For now, he allowed the memory of the young boy’s gentle flesh to override Sofira’s clumsy caresses.

+ + + + +

M
idnight came and went. Reen sat alone in the darkness of his room, gnawing at the fury in his heart. Why were they taking so long? Surely it was a simple matter to overpower some alley-dweller and bring him back here? There were many such on the streets of Daret, Bordenn’s tiny capital, as the Baron knew well. He had been the one to order the last cleansing of the slum districts some years ago, before he’d followed Sofira to Port Loxton. At the rate these half-wits bred, surely there should be more than enough to choose from by now!

Finally, Reen heard his servants returning. The anticipation of renewal, stirring and exciting him as it did, caused him to snap with more than his usual scathing anger when they finally arrived.

“Where the hell have you been? I could have died waiting for you two! And you know what that would mean for you, don’t you?”

They did. He had taken great pains to explain it to them after he’d first bound them to him. They were well aware that his goodwill and his unnatural life were the only things standing between them and a horrific death. They glanced fearfully at each other.

“Forgive us, my Lord,” the younger one said, trembling. “But since the death of the town crier, the streets are patrolled even more strictly by his Majesty’s guards. We had to work hard not to be seen.”

“Lerric’s guards!” scoffed Reen. “Imbeciles, the lot of them. And they know you, for pity’s sake. Why should they suspect or detain you?”

He dismissed their tardiness as his eyes lit upon the captive they held. Gagged and bound securely, he was no more than fifty and he was in one piece. Weakened through lack of good food, maybe, but still serviceable. Reen had feared they would bring him some ancient grandfather with the palsy, or worse still, the wasting sickness. But this individual was still hale, still strong for life, and would fulfill his enforced role adequately.

Reen smiled at his two servants. “It seems you’ve redeemed yourselves once again. Your continued success ensures your continued life. Now put him against the wall and be off with you. Once I’m replenished, I have another, more difficult task for you. I suggest you get some rest and prepare yourselves. This next task is vital to my plans and I will brook no failure. Do you understand?”

They did, only too well. They bowed their heads and dragged their captive to the rings sunk into the wall. Once he was securely fastened, they scuttled from the room. Reen watched them go in amusement. He could afford the energy to be amused now he had a source of life force before him. Dropping even his scarecrow guise, which he kept up for the benefit of his two minions, who would likely have escaped even his control had they been able to see the reality of his terrible form, he advanced, grinning, on his captive.

The man took one look at the ruined flesh draping the ghastly skull before him and screamed. Even through the gag, the strength of his terror could be heard. Reen halted his advance to listen. He was fairly certain no one would hear the screams, gag or no gag, but he was disposed to be cautious, at least for a while yet. Once his marriage day was over, however ….

Hearing nothing, he moved forward again. His deformed hand reached out to rip away the vagrant’s tattered clothing, his fire-damaged flesh stretched impossibly tight over the crippled bones. Had the light been sufficient, the captive would have seen the leprous mottling of what skin was left.

Lifting his other hand, grinning and salivating in anticipation, Reen clasped his dreadful cane in both clawed hands and brought it closer to the man’s chest. Fused to his body in the molten pool of fire, it had taken days for Serrin to separate it from the Baron’s ruined flesh. Once it had come away, it had retained an essence of him within, burned unnaturally into the transformed wood even as the power had burned into Reen. Now it was a tool, a vehicle for the absorption of the life force that was the only thing keeping Reen’s vengeful, fire-ravaged corpse alive.

Savoring the terrible screams of his victim, Reen sucked the life-giving energies into his wasted body, feeling once again the renewal of desiccated flesh, the flow of real blood, the movement of impossibly twisted muscles.

The shattered chest of his captive gaped in a silent howl.

T
he inland road southeast of the fishing village was heavy with snow. The icy easterner Sullyan had abated with her powers the day before had returned with a vengeance, and she wasn’t inclined to expend any more energy in calming it. So they slogged through the biting blasts with their fur-lined cloaks clasped tightly about them and their hoods drawn up for protection.

Once away from the coast, trees served to shelter the road and cut down the full force of the wind. The snow piled in drifts on one side of the road and the muscular stallions forged a way through the lesser depth on the other side. At least the exercise kept the horses warm.

Their riders, thankful for their Artesan powers, redirected their own body warmth to their extremities, always the first parts to suffer from the cold. Fur-lined leather boots and gloves helped, but the inaction of sitting a horse did nothing for the circulation. They were all relieved to top a rise—exposing them once more to the gale’s icy teeth—and see the scattered smoke of a small village.

Sullyan nudged Drum, sending him down the track that led to the village. Icy wind or not, there were still people abroad, and she halted the huge warhorse as they came abreast of a shepherd driving a cart full of fodder to feed his winter-bound beasts.

“Is this the village of Foxdune?” she called through the gale.

The shepherd glanced up at her. His face was partially obscured by the heavy sheepskin coat he wore, but they could see his eyes, brown and suspicious, taking in their gear, their horses, and their weapons. “Aye. What business is it of yours?”

“King’s business,” Sullyan said shortly. “Is there an inn?”

The shepherd spat on the ground, causing Cal to draw the first three inches of his sword. Seeing the swift movement—and the disapproving expression on the young captain’s face—the shepherd half-raised one arm in defense. His weathered face paled. “Your pardon, I meant no offence. Aye, there’s a tavern, if you can call it that. This end of the village, house with a red door. Stabling for beasts round the back.”

Cal sheathed his blade with a click, staring hard at the shepherd. Sullyan thanked the man courteously and moved on, leaving him sitting his cart in the middle of the road, watching as they rode away.

“Why are folk always so suspicious?” grumbled Cal, drawing his iron-gray alongside Drum. “You’d think we looked like robbers or cutthroats. They could be polite until given better reason.”

Sullyan grinned. “Any stranger abroad in winter, especially in weather such as this, ought to be viewed with suspicion. The common people do not have much. You would be cautious if you were confronted by three well-armed riders. Do not wonder at their mistrust.”

Cal subsided, but she could see he wasn’t impressed. He knew what it was like to have nothing. He had grown up with a troupe of Roamerlings, and they carried only what they could take upon their wagons. But then, she reflected, Roamerlings were notorious thieves, shunned by so-called honest citizens, so Cal should understand better than most the caution strangers often engendered.

They rode into the village and found the inn. It was the only building with a red door, and copious amounts of wood smoke streamed from its chimney. Riding around the building they found the stables and dismounted. No grooms came forward to take their mounts, so they led them inside and saw to their comforts. At least the place was clean, with plentiful fresh straw, grain, and water.

“Not too much corn,” advised Sullyan as they filled the mangers with grain and sweet hay. “We will not stay long. I want to be back at the Manor by nightfall.”

Once the horses were settled, they braved the strengthening gale and crossed the yard to the inn. The door opened at Tad’s touch and they stepped out of the buffeting wind and into the warm calm of the taproom.

The few patrons inside turned their heads in astonishment at the three armed travelers. The innkeeper, a tall, raw-boned man with a scarred face partially covered by a meager red beard, scowled until Sullyan approached him and removed her snow-covered cloak, revealing her rank insignia. The man’s inhospitable expression mellowed.

“Colonel,” he said, having examined her gold rank badge. “What can we do for you? We don’t often get King’s … er, men in Foxdune.”

She grinned at his confusion. She was still the only woman in Elias’s fighting forces, although the populace was becoming more used to seeing the many women who served him as runners.