Wrath Of The Medusa (Book 2) (21 page)

The Bishop snored heavily in the corner, slumped in the angle between the end of a bookshelf and a cold stone wall.  Haselrig jerked round at the grating nasal sound, suddenly aware of the stiffness in his legs, the crick in his neck and the cold numbness of his fingertips as his body reminded him how little he had stirred these last long hours.  Udecht drew another rattling adenoidal breath.  Haselrig stretched his arms and twisted his head from side to side flexing tense sinews. He dragged his fingers down his face, leant back in his chair and gave a long slow exhale as the Bishop snorted again.

Th
e book’s very title mocked him, that one word ‘fate’ and there it was.   All the answers he had been seeking laid out in one place, brought to him by a daisy chain of fate.  The sorcerer’s visit; his own attempt to rile Rondol; the Bishop’s curiosity piqued by the talk of a blue gate; the cover to the book and there within its leaves so many answers.

Even the encryption was not too hard to unpick.  This was Chirard’s early work before he began to base his cyphers on the dead languages of the Monar Empire. 
The encoded messages tumbled out at Haselrig’s gentlest teasing, but it was hard to say who was fisherman who was fish as each new morsel of information drew the antiquary deeper into his study of the book’s opening pages, until the Bishop had slumped into slumber and the lanterns burned low.

At last
Haselrig felt he had drained the book of information about the Helm.  The later passages were now of Chirard’s line to accession, the different obstacles along his way, relatives with a greater claim, who would need to be eliminated.  The route Chirard would take to the throne was well documented in the history books and it was no wonder that he would plan his course.

T
hose earlier pages, however, had stunned the antiquary. Against all the evidence and experience of other kings, Chirard had found someone who could tell him of the Helm, of what it was, of how it worked.   At first Haselrig had wondered if perhaps the mad king had been transcribing information from some older now lost writing.  But the more he read, the more the rhythm of the words sounded like notes made after the event from some lecture, an oral account whose key points Chirard had hastened to record as soon as possible.

However, it was not the fact that Chirard had found someone who could speak of
the Helm which had stunned Haselrig, it was what that unknown magi had said.  He shook his head at the new found comprehension of what the Helm was and reached inside his tunic to pull out the black medallion on its thick lanyard.

He ran his finger and thumb over its obsidian surface.  He had
rarely had to use it, being so often in Maelgrum’s company that a remote meeting of minds had not been necessary.  But still he had the same token that all the Master’s servants bore and he recalled the few occasions when the medallion had warmed to its true function, something more than a badge of office.  It had been a far from pleasant experience, letting the Master into his mind, to feel Maelgrum flicking through his thoughts and memories as the Dark Lord gathered information and communicated his orders.  He imagined it would be far worse to be the one initiating the contact, to tug at Maelgrum’s attention and feel the malevolent presence flood into his own mind.  Haselrig shivered at the prospect.  The Master would be affronted at the impertinence, it would have to be a matter of much consequence to justify the intrusion on Maelgrum’s distant conscience.

Haselrig touched the token to his lips. If there was ever to be a time this was surely it. 

Udecht abruptly rattled into disorientated wakefulness. “Where? What?” he stammered looking first about his semi-recumbent form and then at the antiquary leaning back in his chair.  “Why are we still here? What hour is it? Are you done Haselrig?”

The antiquary drew a long breath.  “By my reckoning your reverence, the first fingers of dawn will be stretching across the citadel above us. 
My work here is done and within but one of the three weeks that the Master promised us.”

“What have you to tell him?”
  The bishop spoke in some alarm, rubbing the sleep from one eye absently.

“Much that will interest him, some that may even please him.  But it is not a discussion I would enter into when I am as fatigued as now.”

“Please him?” Udecht frowned.  “Must you tell him all that you have discovered?”

“Your reverence, w
hile I would confess I fear my Master, I am still his servant and a good and faithful servant keeps nothing back.  In the meantime I have need of some rest so let’s to bed good Bishop.”

The silver guards uncrossed their heavy pikes to allow Niarmit and Quintala into Giseanne’s private suite of rooms, a portion of Rugan’s palace which had become an impromptu seat of Government for the Kingdom of the Salved.  The internal furnishings had not changed much.  The Regent of the Salved sat in the same easy chair which had sufficed for the Lady Giseanne.  She rose as her guests entered.  “I am pleased you could come, Lady Niarmit, Seneschal.”

“I am always at your service, madam,” Niarmit replied, making no comment or sign of recognition to the room’s other occupant. 

Kychelle had not risen from her own seat and gave a harsh cough at being overlooked.

“
Good afternoon grandmama,” Quintala greeted her with a grin.

“
Good afternoon Seneschal,” the elf responded.  She met Niarmit’s gaze and held it for a moment while Niarmit waited, her mouth a line of silence.  “Good afternoon, Lady Niarmit,” Kychelle said at length as though the courtesy had been dragged from her by a team of horses.

Niarmit gave the faintest inclination of her head, “
good afternoon, Lady Kychelle.”

Giseanne gave the broad
smile of a satisfied parent presiding over the resolution of an infant squabble.  “The Lady Kychelle had some reflections she wished to share with you, with you both.”

“Harsh words were spoken in council yesterday,” Quintala said
fixing her grandmother with a frown.  “They are the hardest to take back.”

The elf waved her interjection aside.  “We are adults here, Seneschal.  All old enough
to set aside the heat of a past argument in the interests of a common cause.”

“Common cause?” Niarmit arched an eyebrow.

“I have given some thought to the strategic considerations we discussed yesterday,” the elf seemed to be choking on her own words.

“The Lady Kychelle has
reconsidered her previous position,” Giseanne added.

“Re
considered?”

“I have decided to set aside
, for the duration of our current emergency, the interdict which the Lord Andril put in place of old.”

“You will allow…”

“Emissaries may pass through the Silverwood, under close  escort,” Kychelle said, her hands massaging the head of her staff with knuckle whitening force.

“And,” Giseanne gave the gentlest of prompts.

“I have sent word to the Steward to that effect and also commanded that a force of elven warriors be sent here to serve against the enemy.”

“How many?” Niarmit gasped.

“Three thousand,” Kychelle spoke quickly as if speed would ease the pain the words caused her. “It is but a fraction of our strength, the Silverwood has always husbanded their force more carefully than Feyril ever did.”   She looked up at Niarmit, scanning the Queen’s face for greed or triumph.  “Do not think too far in ahead of yourself, Lady Niarmit.  Whether they stay, still less whether any more come depends on how far success attends this,” she worked her lips a moment before enunciating with evident distaste, “this experiment.”

“
We are most thankful, Lady Kychelle,” Giseanne gushed a gratitude which softened the sharp edges of Kychelle’s resentment.

The elf shrugged, “there was no other sensible course.”

“When will these elven troops arrive?” Quintala demanded.

Kychelle rose to her feet leaning on her staff.  “
You seem unconvinced granddaughter by my words?  Well your ingratitude has always been my curse.  The message has been sent, the soldiers will be here within the week to banish your doubt with the evidence of your own eyes.  In the meantime, you have no greater assurance than an old elf’s word of honour.  If that is insufficient for you, then you are no blood of mine.”

Niarmit bowed low.  “I
look forward to further co-operation, to the benefit of all the Salved, Lady Kychelle.”

“You may thank the Lady Giseanne,” Kychelle met Niarmit’s eyes with a hooded gaze.  “She is most persuasive.”

“What does my brother say to this?” Quintala asked.

“My husband has been appraised of these arrangements,” Giseanne assured her.  “
They meet with his approval, as I hope they meet with yours and the Lady Niarmit’s.”

“Entirely,” Niarmit exclaimed.  “I confess myself surprised and delighted.”

Kychelle gave her a weak smile.  “The Lady Giseanne thought you might believe it better from my own lips.  If you are content, then our business here is done.  With your indulgence, Lady Regent I might visit my great-grandson.”

“Assuredly,” Giseanne replied.
“You may find your grandson there also. He is quite taken with fatherhood.”

Kychelle stopped at the threshold.  “Lady Niarmit, I would ask one favour of you.”

“Anything.”

“The Lady Gis
eanne bid me tell you this now. She thought it meet you and my grand-daughter should know.  But please, keep this intelligence to yourself.  I would be the one to share it with the other council members in the morning session.”

“Of course, it is the least courtesy that I, that is we,” she elbowed the frowning
Quintala. “Can extend to you, Lady Kychelle.”

Kychelle nodded slowly to herself.  “You have very pretty manners, Lady Niarmit.”

And then the elf was gone and Niarmit was turning and bowing in gratitude to Giseanne. “Truly my Lady you are an inspiring and inspired Regent.”

“How did you do it?” Quintala asked.

Giseanne shrugged.  “I simply pointed out that I could not admit to our councils someone who provided no material support.”

“You made her buy her place at the council table with three thousand soldiers and unfettered passag
e through the Silverwood,” the Seneschal exclaimed.

“I also suggested that such a person could not be a guest in our palace, nor attend on our child.”

“Oh joy! My Lady Regent. You struck right where it hurts the old witch.”

“Quintala, take no pleasure in Kychelle’s discomfort.” Niarmit was quick to admonish.  “She has been brought to our way of thinking
.  Whatever the means of that conversion, let us make sure she does not regret it.  Give her the dignity of making her own announcements on the matter.”

The Seneschal drew a finger across her mouth.  “My lips are sealed, ma’am, though I think I may have to ride in the woods this evening to save this joyful news leaking from my very pores.”
 

As Quintala made for
the door, Giseanne called the Queen back.  “Lady Niarmit, I would have a word on another matter, just with you.”

“I am in your debt Lady, however I may serve.”

Quintala turned in the entrance a hand on each of the double doors and gave them both a low bow and a twinkling smile.  “I will leave you ladies to your affairs and hope for a similarly enchanting encounter when next we three should gather.”

The doors were barely drawn closed behind her before Giseanne began.  “How is the Lady Hepdida?”

Niarmit frowned.  “She is well, my Lady.”

“Are you sure?”

“What has she said? I hope she has not been a nuisance to you.”

“
How could she be? Come, sit with me a moment.”

Niarmit
took a seat opposite Giseanne, less sure of her ground than she had been in the discussion with Kychelle.  “Why should my cousin not be well?”

“I heard her testimony at the council, Lady Niarmit.  I have seen her scars and seen how much it hurt her to speak of them, though I gather that was far from half the full story.”

“I see she is looked after as best I can,” Niarmit bridled.

“I’m sure you do.” Giseanne reached out a hand
, it felt heavy on Niarmit’s arm.

“She sleeps
often in my room, I am there when the nightmares wake her.”

“
Do you know all that the orc did?”

“She’s never said.
I’ve never asked.”

“Do you think you should have?”

Niarmit frowned.  “Lady Giseanne, I am new to many things these last few weeks.  I find myself a Queen. I find I was not the only child I always thought, but the brothers I barely knew are both dead. I find I have a cousin to whom I must be mother and father, a task I have no training or experience for and this child has in her a streak of rebellion I am sure I never had when I was her age.  You say in the midst of her petulant fury I should ask just what it was that Grundurg did inbetween half-flaying her?”

Giseanne squeezed Niarmit’s arm
gently. 

“Do you care about Hepdida?”

Niarmit made to answer but found she could not speak past the lump in her throat.  Instead she gave a short nod.

“You are not the only one to discover new relatives about whom you care, as well as old ones that you fear for,” Giseanne said.

Niarmit looked up at that, seeing in Giseanne the high cheeks and dark eyes of that other father, Gregor, whom she had met and lost in the Domain of the Helm.

“You have much of your mother about you,” Giseanne said.  “But I see in you my brother Gregor too, and I see Udecht in Hepdida’s smile.  Udecht was such a happy child, un
bound by ambition or martial duty.  You both have my father’s brow too, he could be fierce when crossed as well.”

Giseanne looked out of the room’s western window.  Hundreds of leagues a
way lay the fallen city of Morwencairn where Giseanne and her brothers had spent their childhoods in the court of King Bulveld.  “I tended my father when he was ill,” she said.  “He was a proud man and the sickness was a vile affliction.  Piece by piece it stole his mind as well as his body, yet left him enough moments of awareness to comprehend what it was doing to him.  There were times he even prayed for death, or railed against everyone even those who loved him most.  I learnt more than I wished then of caring for those we love when they are in distress.”  She drew a breath and gripped Niarmit’s arm again.  “When your cousin is angry do not expect her to know why.  If she rages against you, do not think yourself the object of her fury, merely the most convenient conductor for it.”