Wrath Of The Medusa (Book 2) (43 page)

“One last question,” Kimbolt asked.  “And then I’m done.”

“Make it quick.”

“
Malchus.  What happened to him? How did he die? Did you…”

“My mother killed him, and then herself.”   With that the sorceress turned on her heel and marched towards the palace.

The horses’ breath frosted in the pale light of morning.  They stamped and snorted as their riders argued around the r
emains of the campfire.  “Your Majesty,” Sergeant Jolander was insistent.  “This is madness.”

Quintala stood at the big cavalryman’s side, the contrast between them heightened by his encumbrance of winter clothing while she was lightly garbed with little more than a cloak against the cold.  For all their differences of race, gender and appearance, they had fou
nd a fierce common cause.  The Seneschal shook her silver hair and leant her weight to the soldier’s plea.  “Sergeant Jolander is right, your Majesty.  This is an absurd risk.”

“Everything is
a risk, Seneschal,” Niarmit replied.  “Which is more absurd, for three of us to try to sneak unnoticed along the forest line, or for a troop of twenty cavalry to blunder through the snow?”

“But, your M
ajesty, if anything should go wrong, if you should be spotted…” the ice on the fringes of Jolander’s moustache was shaken free by the vigour of his distress.

“If we are spotted then three or three and twenty will make no difference.  Neith
er would be enough to fight, our objective must be to minimise the risk of being seen, not to try and armour ourselves against the consequences.”

“
You are my Queen, your Majesty.”  Jolander gestured at his small troop with a broad sweep of his hand.  “This is the last remnant of the army of Morsalve, we are here to serve you, not abandon you.”

“You are here, as ever Sergeant, to obey my orders and my orders are that you ride back to Rugan’s palace.”

It was only the icy cold which stopped tears of frustration from coursing across Jolander’s frost bitten cheeks.  Quintala’s hand upon his arm bid him refrain from further pleading.  When the Seneschal spoke it was in a softer tone which had Niarmit immediately on guard against some more subtle entreaty. “Your Majesty,” Quintala began.  “If you are indeed determined on this course, then make your party just one stronger. Four is a round number.  Take me with you.”

The sergeant whimpered at the betrayal, but Niarmit simply shook her head.  Before she could open her mouth to explain her reasons, Quintala plac
ed a finger on her lips to stifle the unspoken rebuttal. “Your Majesty, we stand here at the tip of the Palacintas.” She waved to the South-West with a broad sweep of her hand where the peaks of the Palacinta mountains had gradually worn down to lowly hills.  “To the North is the unwelcoming forest of Silverwood and your path takes you North East through conquered Morsalve in that narrow strip of land between Marvenna’s realm and Maelgrum’s conquest. It is a perilous and uncertain path.”

“It is a path that Lady Isobel’s heralds have trod quite safely and singly these past few weeks.  There is no reason to think it any more perilous now.”

“Aye your Majesty, but think who you take with you.” She shot a glance to one side where Kaylan stood impatient to be off.  “If Marvenna should have gleaned some inkling of your companion’s ….  involvement….”

“How could she?”  Niarmit spoke firmly to
dissuade any further allusion however thinly veiled to Kychelle’s murder. “There is nothing for her to know.”

“All the same, your Majesty,” Quintala drove on.  “If I rode with you then I could argue
the cause with any of my mother’s people.  I can move softly, I would not to add in any measure to your risk of discovery, but I could add protection against the ill will of either orcs or elves.”

Niarmit tried to mask the compassion
in her eyes, she knew it would humiliate Quintala to be pitied.  But the half-elf was as much an outsider to her mother’s people as Kaylan the thief was.  “I need you at Laviserve, Quintala,” she said.  “Hepdida and Kimbolt are alone in your brother’s house.”

“You do not trust my brother?”

“Do you?”

“I
try not to trust anybody your Majesty, saving yourself of course.” 

“Is that why you have spent the midnight watch scouting for signs of pursuit?”

“I need less sleep, your Majesty.  I like to use the time to see what or who is out there.”

“And what have you found?”

Quintala looked away and bit her lip.  “No-one your Majesty.”

“So, you have only confirmed what we already
knew.  We have not been shadowed by any party still less with one of ill intent.  Quintala, this is the course of action I am determined on.”

The S
eneschal pursed her lips and bowed her head.  Jolander clasped his hands atop his head in despair. “And what of your other companion, your Majesty, the Bishop’s man?”  Quintala shot back.

“
Fenwell? What of him?”

The thin manservant, bulked out with winter furs, stood apart from the rest tending to his horse’s tack.

“You and Kaylan both have reasons to doubt him. That is why you set me to spy on him.”

“
And you uncovered nothing, Quintala.  He is our guide, he’s trod this path before.”

“
Let me follow him still.  There may be secrets hidden deep within him, I am not certain he can be trusted?”

“
Nor am I, but I think Kaylan and I can manage. It is two nights at most before we reach the river Derrach and Lady Isobel’s loyal garrison. This journey is one his Mistress has most earnestly entreated for; I do not see that Fenwell would find any advantage in compromising it.  But perhaps on the journey we will find a moment to probe Kaylan’s suspicions with more rigour.”

“All the same, your Majesty
, I wish you would...”

“I need you at Lavise
rve, Quintala.”  Niarmit seized the disconsolate half-elf’s hand and squeezed it.  “Who knows how long I will be gone, a month, maybe two.  That is a long time to have no voice at Rugan’s court.  Be my eyes and ears there, Quintala.  Speak with my voice, with my authority.”

The half-elf looked up and met her gaze at last.  “I will try to do your w
ishes justice, your Majesty.”

“That’s all I want.”

“My Lady!” Kaylan had waited long enough.  He rattled his horse’s bridle in an uncharacteristically public show of impatience.  “The Sun is up, we must be on our way.  I would hope to spend no more than two nights in the Pale of the Silverwood.”

“I’m coming, Kaylan,” Niarmit assured him.

Kimbolt and Elise paused side by side in the doorway, both stunned by the strange trio assembled in Hepdida’s sick room.  The curate Merlow sat stiff backed with discomfort unwilling to relinquish his role as the Princess’s attendant, but uneasy in the company of two women engaged in girlish talk.
  Maia was sitting on the bed, the close confidante of the invalid.  Hepdida was sitting cross-legged atop the bedclothes a vanity mirror held in one hand while the other pulled up the central streak of disease whitened hair, twisting it left and right to check its extent.

“There are treatments I have got,” Maia was saying.  “From my friends in Oostport.  Salves and ointments which will turn the hue of any hair.” She leaned in conspiratori
ally.  “There is a girl I know, her husband thinks she is a true born redhead, fiery like your Lady Niarmit.  In truth her natural colour is as plain as a field mouse.” 

“I could have red hair?” Hepdida squealed.  “I don’t have to look like a badger all my life.”

Maia smiled and stretched out a hand to pat the girl’s knee.  “You can be any colour or mix of colours you like.  Think of this lighter streak as an opportunity not a curse.”

“What is this?” Elise demanded.  “Who gave you leave to be here, Lady Maia?”

The Oostslave courtier flung a hand against her chest in injured pride.  “Mistress Elise, I am only visiting a poor sick girl who has been starved of any real companionship in her illness.  The good father here told me it would be fine.”

“I could see no harm in it,” the curate hastily muttered.  “The Lady Hepdida has been wide awake this past hour and seemed unmoved by m
y discourse on the life of the Prophet.  I think she is still younger than her years, more like to find amusement in childish past times.”  He glared pointedly at the mirror which the girl was holding.

“Come now father,” Maia chided.  “What woman would not want to see what injury an illness had wrought on her appearance, and now the girl has got some colour back she can see how little lasting harm has been done to her looks.” She stretched out her hand to lift and tilt Hepdida’s chin. “Why even those marks of distinction that the orc gave you have faded somewhat, while the thinning of your frame is no barrier to beauty quite the opposite in fact.  I am sure my Lord Tybert would think you even more handsome now than he did before.”

“You may leave,” Elise announced.  “Now,” she added by way of emphasis when the other woman was slow to rise.

Maia wrinkled her nose as
she met the herbalist’s fierce stare.  “Mistress Elise, you too might learn some tricks.  The older ladies that I know back in Oostsalve have found ways to hide the whitening of their hair.  No need to lose all colour, in fact you have much more choice now.” She touched a hand to her own cheek, lips pursed in a frown of puzzlement.  “Of course, I am not sure that there is anything we could do about… there are creams I know which smooth the skin, but…”

“I like myself exactly as I am, Lady Maia,” the herbalist said with a level voice.  “If I did not, how could I expect anyone else to?”

“How indeed!” Maia cried.

“Please leave us, Lady Maia, father Merlow.” Kimbolt weighed in.  “There are matters we would discuss with the Princess.”

“Of course.” The curate gathered himself for a grateful departure.  Maia moved more reluctantly, giving an affectionate glance back at Hepdida on the bed.

“Keep the mirror my dear, I will call again tomorrow with all my salves.  You can decide how
red you want your hair to be, or perhaps a golden yellow.  No need to follow the Lady Niarmit in everything!”

As the door closed behind the departing pair, Hepdida scowled up at the herbalist and the captain.  “I was enjoying her company.”

“The Lady Maia is not a fit companion for you, she talks nothing but vain idleness.”  Elise prowled the room as she delivered her verdict, staring into corners and at the fine wood panelling.

“I like vain idleness.” Hepdida pouted.  “There was a time when that was all I had to worry about, girls chattering about how to make themselves pretty.  How to make a man look twice.”  She glanced up at Kimbolt.  “I remember…”

“Yes, child.  How is your memory?” Elise returned from her inspection of the walls to sit at the foot of the bed. 

“Of when?”

“Of now, of your illness.”

“I don’t like to remember it.”

“That’s as maybe, but this is important.”

“I remember what I did, watching what I did.  Feeling the hate and the madness driving me while I watched it.  I don’t like that memory.”

“Tsh,” Elise wafted her concerns away.  “What about before, before you fell ill. What can you remember then?”

Hepdida frowned with concentration.  “I can’t really remember much.”

“Try, Hepdida,” Kimbolt urged.  “It’s important.”

“Why? I’m getting better now.  I’m just tired, and a bit thin.  Why does it matter how I fell ill?”

“Because….”  Kimbolt frowned as he tried to find the words to explain.

Elise filled the void of his hesitation. “Because you did not fall ill, you were made ill.  You’ve been cursed child, just as I was.  Someone did this to you.”

“Who?”

“We don’t know. That’s why we need you to remember, to remember everything.”

Hepdida screwed up her face as she sifted through her broken memories. “I remember going out riding.”  She said at length.  “I was going to meet someone.”

“Who?”

She shook her head.  “It’s not clear, but I was happy about it.”

“That’s more than you’ve remembered before,” Kimbolt said.

“The rest will come back if we give it time,”   Elise added.  “If we can afford to give it time.”

“Why would anyone want to harm me though?”

Elise counted the possibilities off on her fingers.  “Because of who you are, or what you know, or something you’ve done or something they fear you are going to do.”

Hepdida shook her head in disbelief, then stopped suddenly eyes widening as a flood of memories returned.  ”Kychelle!”

“The Elf lady?”  Elise asked.

The girl n
odded vigorously.  “Kaylan and me, we had ideas how she had been murdered.  Someone in the palace, someone who stole Kaylan’s sword, who got into the nursery.”

“Kaylan’s sword?”  Kimbolt’s ears pricked up at the mention of the thief.  “How is Kaylan’s sword involved in Kychelle’s murder?”

Hepdida looked quickly around.  “Kaylan said I shouldn’t speak of it.”

“Kaylan isn’t here and so far he has not acquitted himself well as your protector. I think you are safely discharged from any promise you gave that thief,” Kimbolt said sourly.

“It wasn’t that.” Hepdida dropped her voice and beckoned the others close.  “He said the walls of the palace had ears, we had to be careful.  He thought someone skilled in climbing might have got into his room and into the nursery to kill the elf Lady.  I can’t remember but maybe I stumbled on something, something that made the murderer want to silence me.”  She banged her head with the heel of her palm.  “I wish I could remember.”

“Whoever it was child, they didn’t curse you just once.”  Elise’s statement drew blank looks from her companions.  “The curse is a vicious one, I know that from painful experience.  A priest cannot cure it, only slow or stall its progress.  But you my dear, you have had some relapses of striking severity.”

“And?” 

“The curse must have been re-applied, and more than once since you first fell ill.   Someone has come close enough to entwine you more deeply in the web of sickness.  A great deal of effort and artifice
has been used to keep you ill.”

“But Hepdida has been sat with day and night, who could have done it.  Not any of those who tended her? Surely not?”

“It is either one of them or someone who found a secret way into this room while your attendants slept.”

“The same person who stole Kaylan’s sword and killed Kychelle with it?” In her excitement at making the link, Hepdida let slip more story than she had intended.  She put a hand to her mouth too late to stop the outflow of words, before hastily adding.  “I am sure he didn’t kill Kychelle.”

Kimbolt’s eyes had widened at the revelation and the thought of finding such grievous fault in the thief did fill him with a certain satisfaction.  But it could not be sustained.  “While I could happily suspect him of a hand in Kychelle’s death,” he told Hepdida.  “I am sure he would do nothing to harm you.  And since the two crimes appear to be intertwined, I must accept his innocence of both.”

“
Fenwell,” Hepdida cried.  “Fenwell, that was who we suspected.”

“Well
Fenwell is gone North with Kaylan and the Queen, so that should give us some peace of mind until his return.”

“If it was in fact
Fenwell,” Elise drily punctured Kimbolt’s peace of mind.  “This curse is a work of sorcery.  I saw the thin fellow. He did not strike me as the wizarding type.  A climber maybe, but a sorcerer? No.”

“
You said the sorcerers have learned new ways to hide their nature.”

She shrugged.  “If so,
Fenwell has the best disguise I’ve seen so far.  I still say it could be anyone.”

“
Then we must still be on our guard, until Hepdida’s memory yields up the last few pieces of this puzzle,” Kimbolt conceded.

“One of us, Captain, you or I, must be
with the Princess at all times, and no sleeping on watch.”  Elise looked at Hepdida squarely.  “The more you remember, girl, the more dangerous you are to whoever did this to you.  So try to remember quickly but quietly.”