The Scarecrow (Master of Malice Book 1) (50 page)

The lamp’s dim glow barely reached his eyes as he pushed the door open. Nothing stirred, no sound could be heard. Yet Othal knew where his master was, and he walked forward until he stood facing the specter that had summoned him. He held out the parchment the Queen’s maid had given him.

The grim figure raised its head, the dreadfully slumped and ruined features accentuating the dread menace of its eyes. Othal shuddered. This show of fear and revulsion elicited an evil smile, and the scarecrow rose to his feet, leaning heavily on his gnarled cane.

“So, my friend,” he drawled as he took the proffered parchment, his voice echoing unpleasantly off the stone walls, “you’ve performed your first task well. I have another for you now, one of vital importance, and if you do this well, you will please me. I might even reward you. But first, I need your strength. I have deeds to perform that require more energy than I possess. You are young and strong. You have the vitality I lack and you will lend it to me. Come here.”

Othal tried to resist. The tendons and cords in his neck stood out as he strained to make his body obey him. The tremor of his muscles grew more pronounced as he struggled and sweat sprang out all over his face. His fists clenched repeatedly, drawing the amused gaze of the scarecrow, who eyed his minion meaningfully.

Finally, Othal succeeded in moving one foot an inch away from the figure before him. Reen raised his brows in astonishment, passing breath in a shocked gasp. “Ah, such strength! Would that I’d known your qualities earlier, my brawny friend. I could have used you well. But no matter. You are already mine and I will have what I require.”

The scarecrow’s consciousness entered Othal’s mind, penetrating easily, subsuming the man’s will. Briefly, feeling the stirrings of lust swell in him at the man’s terror, Reen considered taking his pleasure as well as the vibrant life force. But he needed to concentrate on the business at hand and leave the slaking of such desires until he had leisure to savor them. He was nearing the culmination of his preliminary plans and speed was of the essence. One slip would see it all go to waste. If it did, at best he’d have to try again, contending with heightened caution. At worst, he’d be discovered too soon. And that would never do.

The act he intended to perform tonight was one he hadn’t attempted before, although his stolen knowledge told him it was possible. All he required was the strength to reach so far, and he didn’t intend to fail for lack of it. He forced the intense physical desire away and fixed his ruby eyes on the horrified features before him. Holding the man immobile with his gaze, the Baron raised the dreadful cane, the desiccated flesh of his claw-like hand merging horribly with the slimy gray wood. Its tip pulsated menacingly in the gloom. The swordsman gibbered in fear, but Reen’s iron will grasped the cords of his throat, and the best he could do was whimper pathetically.

Reen grinned. Gone were the days when he needed to gag his victims. Now he held their souls with the power of his eyes and drank avidly of the terror that flowed like a river of life toward him. The silent, tearing scream as the cane came to rest over the swordsman’s heart sounded only in the abyssal depths of the scarecrow’s mutilated mind.

+ + + + +

T
he castle in Loxton was still shrouded in darkness when the kitchens began preparing the morning meals. Bread was baked and trays made up for those who chose to break their fast in their rooms. The lesser nobles who had apartments at the castle usually ate together in the dining hall, where a selection of meats, bread, and fruits was laid out fresh each morning, and a large copper kept boiling over the breakfast hearth for tea and fellan. But the senior ministers, lords, and the King’s household all had their meals taken to them at the same hour each day, unless there were orders to the contrary.

This made it easier for the vagrant to carry out the next part of his master’s plan.

He waited just behind the door to the east wing, which he had already unlocked. The torches burned low in their sconces and the lamps were dim. They would not be tended until the breakfasts were delivered.

First to receive his food was always the King himself, but as he was absent the nursery was the destination of the soft-footed servant who passed the vagrant’s hiding place. He carried a laden tray on which balanced two meals: one for the Princess and one for Bessie, her nursemaid. The Princess ate lightly at breakfast, preferring fruit, a little bread spread with honey, and milk. Bessie, on the other hand, liked to build up her strength for the day ahead and preferred cooked meats, eggs, freshly-toasted bread dripping with honey, pastries, and a huge pot of tea. The serving man who carried the nursery tray was one of the strongest in the kitchens.

He had already passed the east wing door and didn’t see the ragged figure slip into the dimly-lit hallway. The first he knew was the soft touch on his arm and the quiet whisper in his ear. It was so gently done the man looked into those ruby-tinted eyes and was mesmerized before he knew it. The touch on his arm burned, but he didn’t feel it. He didn’t see the dirty, nimble fingers crumble brown powder onto one of the platters he bore, and he was held enthralled until the figure disappeared and those terrible eyes ceased to grip his soul.

The servant stopped in his tracks. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Had someone spoken to him? Hadn’t he felt a touch on his arm? But that couldn’t be. He was alone in the hallway and there was no sound. He wrinkled his nose, wanting to sneeze. But it wasn’t done to sneeze when carrying food. Palace servants risked dismissal from indoor service should it happen. So he controlled the urge and moved on. If he delivered a cold tray he would be ordered to return for a fresh one. And he still had Lord Levant and Colonel Vassa to serve.

He reached the nursery and tapped on the door. Hearing Bessie’s usual sleepy call, he entered and deposited his tray on the table in the center of the main nursery room. Then he walked back to the kitchens, still puzzling over the strange feeling in the hallway, rubbing absently at an irritated spot on his right arm. He hoped he hadn’t picked up lice from someone at the market. He had no time to worry about it now; the cook had Lord Levant’s meal ready and he took it up, making the same journey as he had countless times during the course of his service.

This time, he didn’t even register the lapse. The soft voice and light touch didn’t impinge upon his mind, so subtly was he attuned. The vagrant could hardly feel his master working through him, and the servant had no suspicions and no defenses against the violation. The Baron was growing in confidence and strength, the wastrel thought as he crumbled yet more powder onto the hot food. He smiled as he released the servant and watched him continue on his way, completely oblivious.

A faint sound alerted the vagrant and he sprinted for the door to his refuge as someone emerged into the hallway from farther down. His heart racing in terror, he pushed the door shut as soundlessly as he could and rested his back against it, panting.

+ + + + +

R
obin was also up early that morning and left his chamber before the servants arrived with the summons for breakfast. He had slept well enough, reasoning Lerric wouldn’t dare allow anything to happen to them under his roof. Nevertheless, Robin and the General had shared watches during the night while Elias slept, and there were two of their own guards outside the door to their rooms. Robin nodded at them as he passed, descended the staircase, and strode on toward the east tower door.

He passed the dining hall and heard the murmur of voices. It seemed Lerric and his daughter were both early risers, and they were talking together over their meal. Robin didn’t stop to eavesdrop. He had more important things on his mind, and besides, one of Lerric’s serving men stood near the door and had seen him. He nodded to the man and continued on.

The barracks was noisy, and the smell of warm food greeted his nostrils. There seemed to be some sort of argument going on, but all sound ceased as he entered through the door. The swordsmen stood to attention, saluting smartly, all except two sorry figures lying slumped and green-faced in their beds. Robin stared around the men, noting their grim expressions and stiff backs.

“Stand easy, men. I haven’t come to reprimand you.”

There was an almost audible sigh of relief, although no one actually made a sound. They relaxed their rigid stance and Dexter came forward as Robin moved toward the sick men.

“How is the King, Major?”

Robin heard the unspoken query behind the innocent question. “He’s willing to reserve judgment, Dex, as is the General. How are Col and Pen?”

“Not good, sir.” The Captain looked worried as he accompanied Robin. “They’ve been throwing up all night and they’re very weak. They can’t seem to keep any liquid in their bodies, not even their own water, and they’re becoming very dehydrated.”

“Are they lucid? Can they remember what happened?”

“We haven’t been able to get any sense out of either of them, but they’ve both had terrible nightmares judging by the noises they were making.”

“Nightmares? What kind of alcohol sickness brings nightmares?”

“None that I know of, sir.” Dexter’s expression was grim. “No one’s ever seen anything quite like this before.”

Robin looked down at the two stricken men. Both were green and pallid, both sweating unpleasantly, both had buckets by their beds to cope with the vomiting. The smell around them was none too savory and Robin could see the damp cloths that had been used to cool their skin during the night. He looked up at his captain as he sat on Col’s bed.

“None of you’ve had a restful night, have you?”

Dexter shrugged. “We took it in turns to watch over them. But they weren’t peaceful, it’s true.”

Robin looked down at Col’s fever-damp face and took up the man’s clammy hand. Col moaned and opened his eyes. Robin frowned at the filmy appearance of his pupils. They had developed a milky sheen the likes of which he’d never seen. He murmured the man’s name and Col frowned, as if trying to place his voice. “Major?”

The swordsman’s voice was faint and raw, and Robin glanced up at Dexter, who shrugged again. “Col,” Robin repeated, “do you know where you are? Do you remember what happened? Can you tell us?”

The young swordsman’s eyes darted to and fro as if he couldn’t see. But then the mist cleared as if a veil had been drawn aside, and he took a shuddering breath.

“Look out, sir!” called Dexter. Robin only just moved aside as Col heaved forward and vomited violently into his bucket. “They’ve been doing that all night,” said Dex, his nose wrinkling at the smell. He took one of the dampened cloths and held it to Col’s lips, wiping away the foul-smelling bile which was all the man could bring up.

Once the groaning swordsman was back on his pillows, he seemed more in control of his faculties. He stared at Robin in embarrassment and shame.

“Major, I’m sorry I’ve let you down.”

Robin shook his head, still unwilling to judge. “Can you remember what happened?”

Col glanced at the unresponsive man lying next to him, then back at Robin. “I can’t tell you very much, sir. All I remember is talking to two of Lerric’s men and sharing a tankard of ale. I remember thinking it tasted different, but the room was full of that weird smoke and it got everywhere. Pen didn’t seem to think his ale was strange. I remember feeling a bit lightheaded, and I was going to suggest to Pen we go outside to clear our heads. And that’s all I remember until I woke up in the middle of the night, not knowing where I was.”

Robin heard the note of fear in the man’s voice. He was about to reassure him when Pengar, lying on Col’s right, groaned, heaved himself noisily over the side of the bed, and unfortunately missed the bucket.

There was frantic activity whilst the floor was cleaned and the buckets emptied. The stench was raw and vile, and Robin wondered why. This was something more than alcohol poisoning, that much he knew. He had dealt with drunken men before and never come across such extreme reactions. Especially as, by all accounts, the two men had drunk no more than two tankards of ale apiece. Although there were those empty spirit bottles in the barn.

Once Pen was comfortable, Robin sat again on Col’s bed. The two sick men eyed each other, clearly fearing the direst of consequences from their actions. Robin spent a few moments questioning Pengar, whose memories were similar to Col’s. He recalled nothing of the ale tasting strange, but he’d been troubled by the narcotic smoke that had permeated the tavern’s atmosphere. When Robin asked how it had affected him, he turned white.

“Nightmares,” he whispered, as if he was afraid to remember. Col glanced at him as he said the word.

“Can you remember what they were about?” pressed Robin.

Pengar couldn’t meet Robin’s gaze, his expression guilty and shamed. “Eyes,” was all he said, and his voice was barely audible.

Col gave a great gasp, drawing Robin’s attention. “Yes!” he breathed, his own eyes troubled and fearful. “Eyes, red eyes, staring at us—compelling us. Gods, they were dreadful.” He shuddered again.

Robin glanced at Dexter, who could throw no light on the revelation. Reluctantly, Robin stood, moving away with Dexter, leaving the other men to gather round their sick comrades.

Robin kept his voice low. “I don’t think there’s any doubt these two have been the butt of some malicious prank. They’ve been slipped something to make them appear drunk, probably in the hope Elias would be forced to discipline them in front of Lerric’s men. We’re fortunate more weren’t affected. I’ll be reporting my conclusions to the General and the King, and I doubt any further action will be taken. That’ll be my recommendation, and you may tell Col and Pen. They’re excused from further duties until they’re fit. And remember we’re due to leave this evening. See if you can have them on their feet by then. I would rather they rode out, even sitting double, than carried in litters. We’ll put it about they’ve got the flux. It’s partially true, in any case.”

Dexter nodded, his expression indicating he appreciated the weak joke. Robin smiled. “Don’t look so glum, Dex, you did well yesterday. You noticed they were missing and you found them in good time. You didn’t let me down. I never expected you to watch all of them all the time. They were all given the same instructions and were trusted to carry them out. By your own words, Col and Pengar were doing just that. I can hardly fault them for being slipped a forbidden substance. There’s no shame, Captain, and there’ll be no reprisals. Let’s not give whoever thought this up the satisfaction of seeing us rattled.”