Son of Corse (The Raven Chronicles Book 2) (6 page)

Chapter Seven

B
ohrs smiled as he looked at the Keep looming in the distance.  The Baron had already sent runners towards his army, offering him the chance to dine that evening in the Hall.  It was the neutral tone of the invitation that made him smile.  Baron Keriat clung to the old ways and customs, even in the face of an invading army.  He wouldn’t know it was Bohrs that he feted until it was too late.

              The time he had spent here, learning the ways of war and honor, hadn’t been all bad.  Granted, Bohrs had already been inclined to follow his father and the rest of the Corrupted long before he set foot here.  He had needed the training, and the connections that came with it, however.  It was also here that he’d met Lu’Thare.  Met him, and began to help shape his future.

              Lu’Thare wasn’t built to be a warrior.  Anyone with any sense knew that the moment he walked into the practice ring. Baron Keriat, however, wasn’t about to support an orphan about that couldn’t earn his keep.  Threats in the area were small, mainly disputes between landowners or miners.  The army he housed wasn’t large, or particularly fierce.  As long as you could hold a sword and knew which end got pointed at your foe, you were cared for.  The intense training was left for the sons of noble blood who came and went every year.

              He’d watched Lu’Thare for months before approaching him.  The elf was so gifted in sorcery you could almost see the magic dance between his fingertips. Bohrs had envied the talent at first.  Having everything you wanted at the snap of your fingers appealed to him a great deal as a youth.  That was before he realized what his own strength was capable of giving him.

             
I wonder if he remembers it
, Bohrs mused.  That first time Lu’Thare had used his power, and how Bohrs had cleaned up after him.  Bohrs did, and it was a lesson he reminded himself of frequently.  Lu’Thare had lashed out at three of his tormentors on the squad, turned them into small piles of ash and bone.  At the time, Bohrs swept up and disposed of the remains, and never forgot how easily his new friend could kill.

              He rode through the main gate of the Keep, his eyes taking in everything.  Old men, children, and women moved about in their daily tasks.  Not many old enough to defend a shed, let alone a keep this size.  Arwenna’s little war a few years back would make it easy for him today.  He halted his horse near the stables, signaling those behind him to dismount.  The armored men obeyed in silence.  Bohrs had given them strict orders.  They would have their fun, but only after he’d reintroduced himself.  Judging from the number of women he’d seen, his men would have plenty to amuse themselves with.  Glancing up towards the tower windows where the Baron’s family resided, he wondered if Amalar was still here.  If she was, he’d be bound to pay her a visit. 

She’d had the most beautiful face when they were both younger.  He’d thought himself in love, and even told her so.  Her once-beautiful laughter had become mocking when he declared his admiration for her.  Later that night, he went to her room and taught her a few lessons.  Her screams and pleas for mercy only fueled his desire more.  The spell Lu’Thare had given him kept the Keep deaf to her cries.  When he’d had his fill of her, he left the Keep behind him.  The last he’d heard, the Baron had declared she was to enter into the Sisterhood of some God and spend her life as a midwife to those in his care. 

              Bohrs kept the smile on his face as he walked towards the Hall, five warriors following him.  They kept their visors down. The Baron shouldn’t know what Bohrs had at his command too early.

              The stone of the hallway wasn’t as clean or perfect as he remembered it.  The two men standing guard wore livery that was wrinkled, as if it spent more time packed away than worn.  Perhaps the Baron wasn’t getting as many visitors as he used to.  This part of the world was isolated, now more so after the war.  Bohrs seriously doubted the Duke even knew the Baron still lived.  Even better for the plan.  The Duke wouldn’t even know there was an army bearing down on Almair until it was too late. 

              The two guards reached out, opening the large double door to admit Bohrs and his entourage.  Entering, he removed his steel gauntlets as he strode across the stone floor.

              Baron Keriat sat in the great chair at the far end.  His hair and beard had grayed considerably in the years since Bohrs had last seen him.  The once muscular frame now seemed frail.  To his right, the Baroness sat.  Her shoulders, rounded with age, no longer held her regally erect.  There was still fire in her eyes, though.  He’d extinguish that before he left this place.

              Amalar sat on her father’s left.  While no longer youthful, her face still retained the beauty he’d once seen.  She kept her eyes towards the floor, refusing to look at those entering the room.  Smiling, he decided he’d be somewhat pleasant with her later. Any woman who’d learned her proper place should be rewarded in some way.  Perhaps he’d bring her with him, as an example to set in front of his sister. 

              The Baron rose from his seat as Bohrs approached; a look of puzzlement crossed Keriat’s face.  “Greetings and well met, young warrior.  May I ask your name?  There is something familiar about your face, but I
cannot place it.”  The voice boomed with the same forcefulness Bohrs remembered.

              Bohrs played with the idea of toying with the Baron. “You should know me, Your Excellency.  I spent many years here under your tutelage before my father called me home.”  He strode towards the dais.  “I believe it was right after your daughter decided I wasn’t noble enough to warrant her affections.”  He smiled coldly as Amalar flinched. 

              “You lie.  Bohrs was killed at the Vale of Sorrows.  And rightly so, as he had long ago shed any of the honor I taught him.”  Steel strengthened Keriat’s voice.

              Bohrs continued his slow march towards the trio.  “There is always a way, Your Excellency.  If you are willing to pay the price.  There was another one here, a young elf, and he paid it without hesitation.  How does it feel, knowing you helped train the man that would be the Herald of Corse?” 

              The color drained from Keriat’s face as Bohrs spoke.  “Lu’Thare?  But, he died in the raid years ago!” He gazed at the floor, shocked by the words.

              “You place so much trust in the idea that death is permanent.  He never died.  His father, his true father, saved him.”  Bohrs stopped inches from the chair, reaching out with one hand and placing it on the arm rest.  “Perhaps you would like to fight a war you can win?” He knew what the answer would be, but Corse had instructed him to ask anyway.

              The older man raised his head and met Bohrs’ gaze with defiance.  “I’d rather die than aid such a creature.”

              Bohrs’ hand flew to his waist, drawing his dagger with a fluid motion.  Black lines undulated along the blade, pulsing with an unnatural light.  “Allow me to show you how trasitionary death can be.”  Plunging the cursed weapon into the man’s chest, Bohrs smiled again. 

              A scream to his left made his head turn.  The Baroness stood, her arms pinned by one of the men Bohrs had brought with him.  With a curt nod, he gave them permission to take the woman away.  Screams from the courtyard filtered up through the windows.  The visors were being raised, and his Corrupted Army began their killing spree.

              Bohrs retrieved the dagger from the Baron’s lifeless body.  His hand reached out and found the hair of Amalar.  “Heal him,” he ordered as he threw her towards the corpse.  “Heal him so that he can hear the whispering voice of his own doom.” A satisfied smile crept across his face.

              The woman, tears streaming down her cheeks, did as she was told.  He knew she would.  Just like he’d make Arwenna obey him after she came for that brat of hers. 

              The memory of the last time he had Arwenna in his possession filled him with desire.  He’d almost broken her at last, made her into the compliant little pet he’d dreamed of for years.  The desire within him became infused with anger, an anger that needed a target.  A low growl rolled out from his throat as he reached out for Amalar.  Her screams still sounded sweet to his ears.

Chapter Eight

M
ialee returned to the table as Lu’Zaire left, a questioning look on her face.  Without hesitation, Arwenna whispered, “Follow him, Mialee.  Don’t let him out of your sight.” She watched Mialee melt into the throng, disappearing as quickly as she’d appeared.

              Turning her eyes back to the table, Arwenna caught Y’Dürkie’s gaze.  “That was interestink, to say the least.  I would not expect to find a wood elf here, let alone one that vould know so much of Senyan.”  She took a long drink of her tankard.

              “I agree, Sister. No matter how the information came to us, though, I’m grateful for it.”  Arwenna rubbed absently at a spot in the palm of her hand.  Realizing she was doing so, she stopped.  Her voice dropped to a whisper, “Baron Keriat was who Bohrs was in fosterage with when I was first taken in by his parents.”

              “I was apprenticed to a blacksmith in a Noble’s household,” Hugh said. “While orphans were given different quarters than those in fosterage, they all had the same training.  It’s likely Senyan and Bohrs would’ve known of each other.”

              Arwenna wearily sank her head into her hands, trying to fit the new pieces into the puzzle.  Joss’ arm wrapped around her shoulders, and she leaned towards him. 

              “How far from Serenity was this Baron, Arwenna?”  Barek asked.

              She raised her head, looking at no one in particular.  “Quite a distance, as I recall.  Serenity sat at the edge of his holdings.  Although the town itself was so isolated that it depended on the Baron to some degree for protection if it was something the miners and caravan folk couldn’t handle.”  Arwenna cocked her head slightly to one side, her brow furrowed.  “Bohrs wasn’t there any more by the time I was sent to Serenity. He was fully invested with the Paladins of Silas. I was glad of that, as it meant he was less likely to be assigned duties in the same out of the way monastery. I remember Brother Rey telling me once, shortly after I got there, that the Baron kept the region safe enough that they rarely had any Paladins stationed there.”

              Y’Dürkie looked at Arwenna. “”Vhere do ve go, sister?  There seem to be several options now.” 

              A fierce determination took hold of Arwenna.  She looked at each of her companions, finally settling on Joss.  “We go to visit the Baron.  Any information we can gather about Senyan, and Bohrs, is going to help us.  After that, we head to Serenity.  Sera won’t be far.  I want to have a chat with any who are still left at the monastery.”  She looked deep into Joss’ eyes, the grim determination she felt reflected back at her.

              The sound of someone sliding onto the bench across from her gave Arwenna a start.  Mialee calmly tore off a chunk of bread and dipped it into the bowl of stew in front of her as if she’d been there for some time. “He disappeared, Arwenna.  Your elfin friend.  I followed him behind some buildings only to watch him dissipate like a mist in daylight.”  Her tone was light, but her face was hard. 

              Barek spoke before Arwenna could.  “You think he was a ghost?”

              Mialee snorted slightly, “No, not a ghost.  There’s not a ghost alive that can sit this close to two clerics and not be found out.”  She rummaged about under her cloak with one hand. With a deliberate motion, she set her hand down on the center of the table.  Arwenna watched intently as Mialee moved her hand away.  A small blue stone, carved with a bow, rested on the table.

              “I think your cousin has been playing with things again, Arwenna.” Mialee returned her attention to her dinner.

              Joss reached out for the stone.  The sleeve of his tunic moved enough with the motion to reveal the identical symbol on his forearm.  The mark flared slightly when his fingers touched the stone.

              “It’s Lexi’s mark, that’s for certain.”  He turned the stone over in his hand.

              “What’s my cousin up to now, Joss?  I thought she wasn’t supposed to get directly involved any more.”  Arwenna stared at the small stone, but resisted the urge to touch it.

              “My guess is that the elf was real enough, but not here.  He’s probably in bed at his home, sleeping peacefully. The information was reliable, but She had to do something creative to get the information to us. I’m fairly certain Lu’Zaire will wake up feeling better than he has in years, thinking it was all a dream.”  Joss traced the bow etched into the stone with his forefinger. “For him, it was a dream. Technically, it’s not direct interference.  Lexi could easily say it was to ease Lu’Zaire’s conscience over helping us.”  Lifting his tankard, he looked over the rim at Arwenna.  The smile in his eyes told her he didn’t believe the story either, but he’d stick to it.

              Shaking her head, Arwenna refocused her attention on Mialee. “Did you find out anything useful about what the road ahead is like?”

              Mialee spoke, “Not much. The caravan didn’t encounter anything they couldn’t handle.  One person thought they’d seen a group of Delvers in the night, but he couldn’t be certain.  It was on the other side of the pass.”

              Arwenna bit her tongue to keep from asking if a small child was with them.  Mialee would’ve asked, and told her if they’d seen one.  “It would make sense. The area between the pass and Serenity is mining country.  They’re going to have to travel above ground for most of it.  There are hills, and some trees, but the dwarves aren’t going to take kindly to them using their mines as roads.”  Arwenna absently rubbed at the palm of her hand again.

              Barek cleared his throat.  “Don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m getting tired of sitting on this hard bench.  My saddle’s more comfortable.”  Arwenna threw him a grateful look.  He knew her well enough to know it was time to get back on the road.