The Scarecrow (Master of Malice Book 1) (42 page)

Lerric’s sour look told of his displeasure at being reminded of the high status of Elias’s senior officers. He decided against pursuing the matter and turned back to Robin, who hadn’t been invited to sit, nor had he taken the proffered goblet.

“Major, won’t you join us at table? And please, don’t refuse this wine. It really is an excellent vintage. I’m sure neither your general nor your sovereign would deny you the chance to sample it.”

Lerric didn’t miss the glance Robin cast the General before receiving his nod of permission. The aging king narrowed his eyes once more as Robin accepted the goblet with gracious thanks and seated himself at the long table, farther down than General Blaine. It seemed to bother Lerric for some reason, but he cast the moment aside and turned to his overlord.

“So, Elias, to what do I owe this unexpected visit? There’s nothing amiss that I’m aware of. Bordenn is in reasonable shape apart from this damnably vicious winter, and we sent our levy to the capital in good time this year. Although whether we we’ll be able to afford so much next year is a worry. We’re likely to lose livestock if this freeze goes on much longer, and if the fields are too frozen to plant the early spring crops we’ll go sadly short—”

“You know full well the levy I set upon Bordenn is nothing if not reasonable, considering your support for the rebels who killed my father!”

Lerric went pale at Elias’s sharp tone.

“And in the light of your daughter’s betrayal of her husband and rightful lord, I think both you and your people were let off leniently. I’d be well within my rights to raze your entire province for what your family did to me.”

“But you won’t, will you, Elias?”

The new voice came from behind the High King. None of them had heard her enter and Elias froze, his face set, his eyes suddenly haunted.

“You won’t because you know the people are innocent, yet they’d be the ones to suffer the most. And if you truly wanted to avenge yourself upon my father, you would have carried out the punishment already. As you have punished me, and do so still, by depriving me of my children.”

The temperature in the dining hall plummeted, despite the huge log fire. The room was silent save for the crackle of flames, and all eyes save the King’s were fixed upon the stern Princess as she made her way around the table to face her erstwhile husband. She stood before him, refusing any homage, challenging him to refute her statements.

Elias had gone white and Lerric was clearly terrified his embittered daughter had gone too far. Elias’s tolerance was legendary, but so was his anger when roused. Every man had his breaking point and Sofira had already wounded him deeply. Wounds from which he still hadn’t recovered, wounds which would probably never heal.

He made no reply, but stood, bowing his head to her in a show of respect such as she hadn’t afforded him. Robin wanted to applaud the High King’s restraint. His Artesan senses showed him a clear picture of the struggle for composure raging beneath Elias’s outward calm. Yet he could also see an undercurrent of tension in Sofira, and remembered Wil’s earlier words. He resolved to concentrate on Sofira tonight. Elias knew his business and could be relied upon to conduct himself. He wouldn’t risk a demeaning quarrel in front of Lerric. But Sofira was obviously set on goading the King and Robin wondered why. Was she simply vindictive, or was there a more sinister agenda behind her deliberately cruel words? It was his task to find out.

“My Lady,” said Elias, his voice admirably controlled, “I greet you. I wasn’t sure whether we’d have the pleasure of your company tonight. Your father seemed confused as to your whereabouts. But I’m glad you’ve come, for my visit concerns our children.”

The King’s soft words and reference to Seline and Eadan sidetracked Sofira’s venom. Sofira, galvanized by his mention of her children, dropped her arrogant pose and, just for an instant, gave Robin a glimpse of the raw wounds she bore in her heart.

“Are they well, Elias? Has anything befallen them?”

Her hands were clasped at her breast and her face was ashen. She appeared vulnerable and Robin knew this was no ploy. This was the genuine fear of a woman separated from the children she loved.

Elias saw it too and he didn’t torment her.

“They are both well, Madam. It isn’t their health I’ve come to discuss.”

Lerric gave a small start, hastily covered. Robin saw it, Sofira did not. “What then?” she demanded, the shield slipping back into place. Now she knew they were well, she could afford to shut away her softer emotions.

Elias held himself in check at her continued lack of respect. She had always been able to hurt him and her refusal to even pay lip service to politeness angered him. Not surprising, thought Robin, for he was the aggrieved party here, not her. He was the one betrayed—cuckolded in his power if not in his bed. It was her own actions that had separated her from her children.

Elias could say none of this. He was the villain in her eyes for sending her away. She would never feel any different and he mustn’t let himself be stung by her venom. With a visible effort, he ignored her challenging tone.

“Madam, we’ve been long hours on the frozen road this morning and we’re tired. We shouldn’t dishonor your father by ignoring this sumptuous meal. I suggest we leave our discussions until we’ve done justice to his kitchens and can relax in less formal surroundings. Allow me to pour you some of this excellent wine.”

Sofira’s eyes hardened, but she could hardly refuse in front of the General and Robin. She could see Elias was determined not to be goaded and Robin also sensed her intrigue at his motives. If he truly had proposals concerning their children, she wouldn’t prejudice her position by antagonizing him. He had come a long way in foul weather to speak with her and that indicated an important decision. She needed to hear what it was. She smiled at Elias.

Robin was astounded at how a simple smile, not even a particularly warm one, could transform so stern a face. Sofira’s bleached skin and hard gray eyes weren’t given to softness, and the scraped-back style in which she wore her blonde hair did nothing to smooth the angles of her face. But her smile brought animation to her features and he caught a brief glimpse of the woman Elias had married: stern, quick-witted, and stiff-backed, yes, but still an attractive woman.

As if she’d sensed his surprise, Sofira turned the smile first on Robin and then on the General. She allowed Elias to pull out her chair and sank gracefully into it, arranging the folds of her expensive court gown. She accepted the goblet he poured for her and raised it to them.

“Very well, gentlemen, we will put aside our differences and our business and concentrate upon enjoying a rare occasion to indulge ourselves. This winter has been a difficult time for our province and luxuries are hard to come by. My father and I have done our best and we hope you approve of our humble attempts. Let us drink to tolerance and reason, if not to friendship.”

Elias clearly didn’t like her reference to hardship, echoing as it did her father’s. He was also unsure as to her toast, but could think of no way to counter it. He took his place at the head of the table and raised his glass. They all drank, and Lerric signaled to the servants. As the food was served and the conversation turned to more mundane matters, Robin determined to enjoy the meal if nothing else.

+ + + + +

A
rdoch and his somber band arrived at the Forest Gate just before dusk. The laden clouds fulfilled their earlier promise and flakes of white swirled around the burdened riders. The rising wind had teeth of ice. The old Torlander, huddled deep inside his fur-lined cloak, was heartily glad to see the welcoming glow of lamps as he approached the gates to the city.

“Nearly home, Denny lad,” he murmured, but of course there was no response from the deadweight on his saddlebow.

The gate guards, expecting their return, had already observed their approach and registered their sorry state. The gates were hauled open before the company reached them and the four guards stood to attention, eyes hard and vengeful, saluting in silence as their fallen comrades were borne past them into the city. Ardoch took his band through the darkening streets, making no attempt to hide from the populace, most of whom were on their way home after the day’s business. His dour mien and the obvious burdens he and his men carried soon attracted the attention of Loxton’s inhabitants. They swarmed around the horses, exclaiming in dismay, pointing at the bodies and gasping in shock.

The news flashed ahead of them, faster than their sober pace, and crowds flocked every street they rode through. Neremiah’s murder the day before was now common knowledge, as were the terrible fire at Jinny’s estate and the purpose of the dawn patrols. In a bustling, cosmopolitan city like Loxton rumor worked its spell swiftly. Ardoch heard all sorts of theories bandied about.

The churchman had offended the King and the murder had been carried out by King’s Guard attempting to recover gold from the Arch Patrio. Neremiah’s murderer was someone with a grudge against the Matria Church, against Elias, against the city, and Loxton Forest was thronging with brigands and cutthroats. Trade was to be cut, the port blockaded, and the city’s inhabitants were to be penned inside the walls until the murderer should be found. Elias had lost his reason, fleeing the city in fear of his life, taking his senior ministers with him. The King had gone to kill Lerric, suspecting him of being behind both murder and fire. Ardoch heard the rumors and saw the beginnings of panic in people’s faces.

But he said nothing and his men said nothing. They rode with heads bowed in silence, honoring their dead, looking neither left nor right. They moved through the swelling, murmuring crowd, untouched by the accusations and speculations, and the crowd—like the rumors—grew and moved with them. People were drawn irresistibly in the wake of the sad procession, right up to the castle gates.

The castle guards heard them coming. The crowd’s anxious muttering rolled before the procession like the outriding wind of a storm. One guard sprinted for the castle, calling Captain Valustin, and the Captain alerted Colonel Vassa. Together they raced for the gates, unable to believe the spectacle before them.

Ardoch and his men, dour and snow-covered, sat their mounts outside the gates. The guards hadn’t opened the gates in case the crowd surged through. For the moment, the mob only wanted answers and reassurance. If they didn’t get it soon, the mood would turn ugly and Vassa would have a situation on his hands.

Through the gates, the Colonel looked into Ardoch’s haunted eyes. He took a breath, casting his gaze over the riders, taking account of each horse with its sorry burden. He focused once more on the Torlander. “All of them?”

Ardoch nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Valustin took a shuddering breath and Vassa cursed.

“We need to get you inside. Captain, get these people back.”

Valustin slipped out of the postern gate, drawing the guards with him. Together they encouraged the swarming people to move back, just far enough to open the gates. The crowd fell silent, save for a few rowdier ones to the rear who couldn’t see what was happening. Taciturn and somber, Ardoch led his band into the relative calm of the castle park.

Once the gates clanged shut and the cavalcade moved off, the clamor rose once more. Angry shouts and demands for explanations filled the air and the gates themselves were rattled. Ardoch roused from his lethargy long enough to glance at them.

“They followed us from the outskirts,” he told Vassa. “They’re frightened and they feel insecure. Someone will have to speak to them or there’ll be a riot.”

Vassa pursed his lips. “They’ll have to wait. I have more important things on my mind.”

But Ardoch was right. As they neared the castle and saw the courtyard filled with servants, ministers, and courtiers, all avid for the truth of the massacre, Vassa realized this event could be the spark to ignite the tinder of rumor. A city like Loxton was always one step from unrest, and the atmosphere of apprehension created by Neremiah’s murder, the King’s absence, and now the fire, was ripe for the flame of panic. He would fail in his duty to his King if he did nothing to calm the overanxious inhabitants.

He roared for assistance and swordsmen came forward to relieve their living comrades of the burden of the dead. The fallen would be laid respectfully in the castle mortuary until their pyres could be built. The men of Ardoch’s command were led away to be fed, warmed, and comforted. Vassa himself led the old Torlander into the castle and up to Levant’s chambers, where he was required to give the details of the day’s terrible events.

+ + + + +

T
he wastrel, unnoticed by most, lingered among the crowd by the gates. He had received fresh instructions. Satisfied so far as to how his plans had progressed, Reen had decided to push his luck. He intended to make use of the link forged with Princess Seline, but left it up to his minion as to how this could be achieved.

The vagabond had heard the clamoring crowds accompanying Ardoch’s band and joined the throng. At least the brigands had upheld their part of the bargain. Perhaps they had even gleaned sufficient spoils from their staged robbery to make up for what he had promised them in final payment. They would get no more gold from the Baron.

He scrutinized the despondent cavalcade as it bore its sorry burdens to the castle, mildly surprised at the thoroughness of the brigands’ ambush. He hadn’t expected them to succeed in killing the entire patrol. Their specific instructions had concerned Denny only. They were almost worth the extra gold they wouldn’t receive. But enough of that. He must turn his thoughts away and concentrate on his next task. Somehow he had to contact the young Princess again, and the mob clamoring at the gates gave him an idea.

The crowd’s mood was turning ugly. They had obeyed the Guards’ commands to let the dead through out of respect, but once the gates clanged shut they realized answers wouldn’t be forthcoming. Urged on by a few who were bolder than the rest, the mob bayed for attention. The vagrant quietly encouraged the troublemakers. A few choice remarks about the disinterest of their leaders and the contempt of the nobility for the common populace soon found fertile ground. An undercurrent of viciousness, present in any large gathering of people, crept to the fore. Within a very short time, the initially curious and nervous crowd had become a slavering beast threatening to tear down the gates.