The Scarecrow (Master of Malice Book 1) (52 page)

“She had forgiven you, my friend.”

Taran dropped his hands and nodded slightly, his face even paler than before. “So it would seem. And that’s what I felt just now, as I was waking. I thought I was just trying to comfort myself. But if it’s true, she didn’t start the fire, did she?”

Sullyan shook her head. She was proud of his control and inner strength, and he was beginning to think again.

The Adept just stared at her. Sullyan reached out to him, to lend him a measure of strength, but he pushed her metaforce away. “I’m all right, Brynne. I just need to understand ….”

She stood, her decision made. “Taran, could you bear to accompany me to the mansion? I need to see the place for myself.”

He gave a pale smile. “I could bear it, but I don’t think I’m up to riding just now. I did a very stupid thing last night, tried to force my horse through a gap too small for him. I scraped my leg and it’s still very painful and … oh, dear gods, I never checked on Bucyrus! He was injured too, and I never checked he was all right—”

“Easy, Taran. Rendan brought both you and Bucyrus back from the mansion. He will have been cared for in the stables. I will check on him myself, if it will ease you. But I have to tell you, it was not last night that you fought the fire. I am afraid you have been asleep for twenty-four hours.”

This news seemed to shock the Adept profoundly. “Twenty-four hours? But … oh, gods, Brynne, the King, the General! I should have reported yesterday evening—!”

She shook her head. “Calm yourself. They contacted me when they could not raise you, which is why I am here. I will tell you all the news once we have finished our business at the site of the fire. I have other duties to attend this morning. And you need not concern yourself with riding. Drum shall carry us both. I will leave you to get dressed and meet you in the courtyard. Can you manage to walk that far?”

Taran nodded, and she smiled as she left the room.

S
ullyan had Drum waiting by the castle doors when Taran limped down the outer steps. He was stiff and sore, and not just from the lacerations to his leg. His exertions on the night of the fire hadn’t been helped by a day spent languishing in bed. He wrapped his fleece-lined jacket about his body against the icy morning chill and accepted Sullyan’s assistance to boost him onto Drum’s broad back. She vaulted up in front of him.

“You need not worry for your mount,” she told him over her shoulder as she nudged the huge stud out of the courtyard. “He has been well tended. He has a few nasty scrapes, but they will heal with time. I have given him a little help and ensured he will not scar. The hair will grow back as it should and he will be well. You both had a lucky escape, by all accounts.”

She’d had the details from one of the men who had ridden behind Taran that night. She heard him give a sigh of relief that his reckless behavior hadn’t resulted in more serious consequences.

He managed a humorless chuckle. “So Denny told me. He gave me a thorough dressing down all the way from the gate to the estate. I can’t begin to imagine what he’ll say about it the next time I see him. He wasn’t impressed, to say the least.”

Sullyan swallowed the lump in her throat. She had forgotten he didn’t know about Denny’s death, and the last thing she wanted was to give him more pain. Yet she hadn’t been swift enough to suppress the grief that suffused her spirit, and she could tell Taran sensed it.

Damn him!
Why couldn’t he have missed her lapse, as he missed so many nuances? But she was being unfair. He was growing in control and strength, and she shouldn’t condemn him just because she flinched from a painful subject.

“What is it?” he demanded, clutching her shoulder. “What’s happened?”

She had to tell him, no matter how much he would be hurt. He was Denny’s friend too; he had a right to know.

“Taran, Owyn Denny is dead. He was killed in Loxton Forest yesterday, along with all of his company, as he rode in pursuit of the brigands who attacked Sir Regus.”

There was a brief silence. “Dead?” he whispered, unable to believe it. “Denny—all of them—dead?”

She felt his distress through the grip of his fingers. “I am afraid so.”

“Even Ardoch?”

She sucked in a breath. “No, no, not Ardoch. His band took a different route to Owyn’s. They were close enough to hear the ambush, but not near enough to help them. By the time they reached the site, all the brigands were gone. Ardoch brought the dead back into the city.”

Taran remained silent as they rode, only the tremble of his body telling of his distress. Denny had once been the Baron’s unwitting tool, used to great effect in Reen’s efforts to destroy Sullyan’s life, and he had caused great pain to Taran as well. But he’d also been one of Taran’s staunchest friends since the Adept accepted the position of Court Artesan, and Taran would sorely miss his cheerful manner, irreverent humor, and openhearted ways. As would Sullyan.

Drum’s hooves crunched through the ice-crusted snow as Sullyan told Taran what she had heard from Robin the evening before. The telling soothed her and, even if he wasn’t fully concentrating on her words, the gentle lilt of her voice helped keep Taran anchored in reality, preventing him from sinking once again into debilitating grief. They watched the townspeople as they rode, going about what business they could on such a bitter day, and they wondered how life could go on so blithely, so callously, in the face of such tragedy and loss. Eventually, the somber faces and muted chatter of the townsfolk registered with the Adept and he commented on it to Sullyan.

“Yes,” she said, “they are still uneasy. Who can blame them after all that has happened? The funeral pyre we must attend later today will do nothing to lighten their mood.”

Her reminder of what they had lost weighed heavily on Taran and he fell silent once more as they continued to the estate.

Rendan Levant, once he had seen the unconscious Taran to the infirmary, had sent men back to the estate with orders to cordon off the mansion until it had cooled enough to be dealt with and the bodies removed. So when Taran and Sullyan finally rode up to the stark remains of the once-handsome building, they found it bleak and desolate, devoid of life.

Taran stayed atop Drum while Sullyan dismounted, eyes misting with pity for the devastation. She glanced briefly up at him and he pointed mutely to where he’d found the remains of his love. Giving him a smile intended to warm his aching heart, Sullyan moved toward the blackened ruin.

The area had been securely roped off, the servants gone to find what comfort they could with friends or family. The horses had been rounded up by Matty, and now had temporary stabling in the village. The site was silent and deserted, except for the remains of the dead.

The ground around the mansion was frozen once more, but Sullyan could see where many feet had trampled the snow and where the water, so valiantly but so futilely thrown into the blaze, had puddled and frozen in the ruts. Charred timbers and blackened stone still steamed faintly in the gray morning, idle wisps of smoke telling where some ember still clung to feeble life. The scene made Sullyan shiver.

She eyed what was left of the walls as she began her search. Her nose wrinkled in distaste, as if at some noisome smell, and she halted briefly amid the fallen floorboards and burnt furnishings.

“This whole place reeks of evil.”

Taran, still on Drum, was too far to hear her clearly. “What did you say?” But she ignored him and moved forward again.

She started close to the kitchens, the likeliest place for a fire to start. The whole area had been completely devastated and both floors had burned out, the upper collapsing onto the lower. It was there she found the housekeeper. The bones were still visible among the charred metal and wood, although no scraps of clothing adhered to them. Sullyan stood in silent homage over the remains of Alice, mourning the life of the young woman who had been so badly treated by the Baron and then rescued by the compassion of the King, only to end up perishing in the Baron’s former home. She resolved to give Alice the same honor due Jinella once the bodies were finally recovered.

Still feeling unease, Sullyan picked her careful way toward the point Taran had indicated. Footing was perilous; the burned and blackened rubble was unstable and often turned underfoot. Ice had formed in the cooler parts of the building, slicking over puddles that hadn’t evaporated in the inferno. She had to catch her balance once or twice, to cautionary calls from Taran. Finally, she saw what she’d been searching for—a gleam of bone within the black.

Tears came to her eyes at the memory of the Baroness and she stood in silence, staring down at the pathetic remains. Wisps of blonde hair still clung to the skull, scraps of green silk lay bordered by char, and the glint of gold shone from the bones of the neck.

Something was not right.

“Taran,” she called over her shoulder, “what time would you say the fire started?”

The Adept considered this. “It was in the early hours before dawn when I awoke, and it must have taken us over an hour to reach the estate. The house was well alight by then and must have been for some time. But the servants could tell you better. They only just escaped the blaze in their part of the house.”

“So it would have been well into the night, then. At what hour did Jinella usually retire?”

“An hour before midnight. Why?”

Sullyan crouched down beside the remains, stretching out one hand. “And was she in the habit of wearing her jewelry to bed?”

“No, of course not. What are you saying?”

Taran slid awkwardly down Drum’s shoulder, using the stud’s solid body to steady him. He limped through the wreckage toward Sullyan. She watched him, a strange expression on her face.

“Or one of her best court gowns?”

Taran came to her side, his eyes fixed on the huddle of bones beneath Sullyan’s hand. “What?” he whispered.

She took her eyes from Taran’s face and contemplated the disjointed human remains on the ground. Her eyes were hard and her own face was pale as she laid one hand gently on the curve of bone beneath the few wispy hairs. She’d barely touched the poor thing before she gave a great gasp and snatched back her hand, rubbing her wrist.

Her reaction and revulsion alarmed Taran. “Brynne, what is it? Tell me!”

Sullyan stood, her face a mask of anger. Her mind was a jumble of confusing images, none of which made any sense. The overriding impression was of evil—putrid, rotting evil. She was trembling and she put out her hand to Taran, resting it on his forearm. He stared helplessly into her gaze, fearing what she might say. He was totally unprepared for her revelation.

“This is not the body of Jinella. I do not know who it is, but I can tell you this in all certainty. Whoever was burned to death within this house, it was not the Lady Jinella.”

The End

Alice,
former nursemaid at Port Loxton, now Jinny’s housekeeper.

Anton, Major
. Deceased Artesan at the Manor, Sullyan’s early mentor.

Ardoch, Ghyllan, Master.
Elias’s legendary swordmaster.

Bassan, Captain.
King Lerric’s guard captain at Daret, Bordenn.

Bessie
. One of Prince Eaden’s nurses.

Brynne Sullyan.
A Colonel at the Manor under General Blaine.

Bull, aka Bulldog, aka Hal Bullen
. Colonel Sullyan’s friend and aide.

Cal Tyler.
Taran’s friend, and life mate of Rienne Arlen.

Chaz
. A Kingsman at Port Loxton.

Col
. A Manor swordsman in Robin’s company.

Corina, Lady.
Wife of Sir Regus, on of Elias’s nobles.

Damas, Cleric Patrio
. Ruvar’s predecessor on Selna Island.

Delinna, Madam
. Chatelaine at Port Loxton.

Denny, Owyn.
A Major at Port Loxton.

Dexter.
A Captain at the Manor under Captain Tamsen.

Drum.
Sullyan’s black warhorse.

Durren, Frar
. A member of the Order of the Wheel on Serna Island.

Eaden, Prince.
Son of King Elias and Queen Sofira.

Elias Rovannon.
Albia’s High King.

Elisse Arlen
, daughter of Rienne and Cal.

Endor.
Master healer at Loxton Castle.

Fergus
. A Kingsman at Port Loxton

Galt.
Innkeeper at Foxdune, Serna Province.

Giel,
Captain. Duty captain at small garrison in Serna Province.

Goran.
Chief cook at the Manor.

Greda, Lady
. A noblewoman living in Tolk.

Hal Bullen.
See ‘Bull.’

Hezra Reen.
Exiled Albian Baron.

Jeriko.
Old fisherman in Serna Province.

Jerrim Vassa.
A Colonel at the Manor.

Jinella
,
Lady.
The niece of Baron Reen.

Kandaran
, King. High King Elias’s father, deceased.

Kerris.
Apprentice to Port Loxton’s master stonemason.

Kinsey, Lord.
Chamberlain to High King Elias.

Lahan
. A cleric at Port Loxton’s Minster.