Ravens, Owls and a nightingale

7. Doubts & Disguises

The next few days were a nightmare for Schean. The bizarre late-night discussion kept going through his head, over and over again, until he felt that he had ripped it to shreds. The worst thing was that he wasn't sure what to believe and whom to doubt. The mysterious Karos? The more he thought about it, the more suspicious he was of the young man's ultimate motives, and the story seemed more incredible every time.

Sure he knew that the Lord didn't ever go the servants' quarters, so in that respect it was possible that he would never have seen the boy. But later... how come he'd never have paid attention to the young man? And yet, Schean himself had several times seen the cloaked and hooded Wizard's apprentice — Ashgan, as he was called — but never caught a glimpse of his face. Perhaps no one else had, either. Everything associated with the Wizard was a source of profound trepidation to the people of the castle, so they certainly wouldn't even wish to get too nosy. Maybe that applied to Lord Rhodan as well.

But whatever the truth, Schean had been watching the boy like a hawk, and tried to follow his dark visitor's advice to a letter. And it had not escaped him that a few times, when he'd been to get the Ranea's meal from the kitchen, he had encountered one of the Lady's oldest, most trusted servants, a sour-faced woman who had looked at him even more sourly when he'd gaily announced that he would be taking the meal upstairs. She had refrained from making a fuss, however, but her presence had thoroughly shaken Schean anyway. Why should she be doing such chores, if not under instructions from her mistress? And why should Lady Berissa give such instructions in the first place?

The Lady, however, had not been to see the boy, and Schean didn't know whether he ought to be relieved or alarmed by it. He simultaneously dreaded and hoped that she would show up, hoping to gain some information and terrified at actually seeing something that would prove the disturbing allegations true. He just couldn't conceive it. Even though the Lady was undoubtedly cold and haughty, and made no secret of the fact that there was no love lost between her and Lord Rhodan, still Schean had trouble imagining that any mother could actually hurt her own children.

And yet, there was the inescapable fact that she had dispatched her two daughters in the care of her silly sister and her ice block of a husband, in a castle several days' journey away, and left them there for two whole years. Equally inescapable was that she hadn't been to see Bengor for weeks now, even though the boy had been bed-ridden and feeling miserable. The Lord had spent long times with his son, and every time the minstrel could almost touch the pain and anguish that oozed from the big man. Nothing like that radiated from his wife, when Schean occasionally caught a glimpse of her; just the usual disdainful indifference.

So he continued to stay close to Bengor, to talk to the boy and to play soft melodic tunes on his lute for hours on end. And to pray. Schean prayed to the gods of his own people, he even pleaded with the Revnashi gods that watched over the big dark people, and tried to bargain for the boy's life. Nobody answered him, and he wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved at that.

But at least he hadn't seen a trace of Karos since their encounter, and for that he definitely was relieved. The young man had given him a good fright, and the less he saw of Karos the better, Schean decided. Not that he'd have seen much of Ashgan before, but now that he knew who was underneath that cloak and hood, he was even less eager to meet the man again. As far as Schean was concerned, Karos could stay damn well away from both him and his young friend!

Someone else in the castle was, however, far more anxious about the situation. In the middle of the usual hectic whirl that reigned inside the huge kitchen, a tall woman was battling hard to keep her composure. Oh, she was overseeing the proceedings with a sharp eye as usual, issuing commands and instructions to the servants, keeping things under control, encouraging someone and reprimanding another one as necessary, but her thoughts kept wandering. Where on earth was Karos?

Merania, the chatelaine of Deleon, frowned in concern as she watched the sweating men who were turning the spit over the fire, and the army of maids busy with various steps in preparing the food. Everything looked normal, and yet she was acutely aware of something missing. It was not missing from the kitchen; all servants, even the most recently arrived young girls, knew their tasks and were doing their best to do what was expected of them. The tables were groaning under the weight of foodstuffs loaded on top of them, foodstuffs that were being turned into a variety of dishes under her very eyes.

Nobody dared even dream of slacking. The chatelaine was a just woman, but she was also hard-working and expected the same from everyone else. No one caught stealing or idling could expect to have a long career in the service of Deleon Castle, and that wasn't a good thing to happen. In return of their efforts the servants of Deleon could look forward to regular and sufficient meals, decent clothing, and a warm enough place to sleep. More often than not the meals would even include meat, and they were washed down with weak beer that quenched the thirst and was way superior in taste to many a 'feast beer'. Those were powerful lures, and Deleon certainly didn't need to ask for servants. Hopefuls kept flocking there in search of employment, and anyone with a position was more likely to jealously guard it than to throw it away.

The chatelaine went to inspect a row of buns, rolled into shape by a nervous girl of about fourteen. The young maid's eyes flickered back and forth between the woman's broad face and the table, and when the chatelaine nodded she hastened to drop a deep curtsey.

"Good girl. Yes, those are now ready for the oven."

Two older maids took over and Merania turned away, wiping her hands on her long apron, then bowed to look into a bin that another female servant had been kneading. The woman raised her strong arms from the bin for inspection; they were covered up to the elbows with blood and flour. The chatelaine took some of the stiff, rough mixture and rolled it into a ball between her fingers, then dropped that back into the bin.

"Some more flour into that, it's still too soft. Then you can add the onions."

"Yes, Lischell."

The servant just about dove back into the bin, arm muscles tensing as she continued to work the dough into a more acceptable consistency, and nodded to a little boy who obediently picked up a ladle and shoved it into a bowl of flour beside him.

Dinner preparations were well underway, and all would be ready in time — as usual. After that it would be the servants' dinnertime, and after that... it was time to visit Rhamirr. Yes, the woman decided, mouth tightening, she'd do exactly that. Maybe he would have some news of Karos? And if the Wizard couldn't tell her anything, then no one could. But right now she had to keep her mind on everyday business.

The chatelaine, or 'Lischell' as she was commonly called, was a stately sight. There was nothing demure or shy about her, as befit a woman of her standing. She was tall, head rising well above those of the other females around, higher even than quite a few men's, and voluptuous in her dress that was handsome enough to show her status yet simple enough not to look too grandiose on a servant. Broad skirts, a broad belt from which numerous keys were hanging in a large ring, ample black-brown hair in two vastly thick braids curled into buns on both sides of the broad, pleasantly calm face. Broad shoulders, broad hands. There was nothing small or delicate about her, either. She looked like she owned the castle, and that air wasn't too far off the mark. Without the Lord and his soldiers Deleon might be taken over, without all the servants things wouldn't run. But without a good chatelaine, no castle could expect to survive for very long, let alone prosper; and there was no doubt that Merania was a very good chatelaine.

So she just stayed in the kitchen, actually dabbling very little but making her presence known, and watched as the clockwork around her turned and ticked with well-rehearsed accuracy. Dinner was taken to the Lord and his captains. The Lady's dinner was fetched by her horse-faced lady-in-waiting. Loads of food were carried to the soldiers in the big hall, where it promptly vanished down their throats. The mild-mannered blond minstrel hovered for a moment at the door, and the chatelaine herself handed him the boy's meal with a fond smile — the minstrel was such a sweet young man, she thought in passing. Then it was time for the servants to take their share, and the chatelaine sat down as well to eat.

When the buzz at last began to calm down, she took one more look around and grabbed a basket.

"Finish your work here, I'll come to see the place later," she said to the remaining servants. "I'll take this to the Ghost Tower."

No protests were heard, not that she would've been expecting any. Going even close to the Ghost Tower was a dreaded task, and the fact amused Merania almost as much as it frustrated her. Really, as if the people really thought that the Wizard might amuse himself by hurtling around random curses just to see if they'd hit someone... Shaking her head the chatelaine crossed the courtyard and pushed open the door leading to the much-feared tower.

"Merania!" The Wizard straightened himself from the table, where he'd been carefully weighing and mixing a variety of sweet-smelling powders, and smiled to the woman. "So kind of you to bring it all the way up here."

"I thought I'd save you the trouble," the chatelaine said and placed her basket on the bench. The Wizard came closer and peered inside, smacking his mouth in delight.

"Ahh, so you've been making these buns again... but I'm afraid there's far too much food for me. Well, you won't need to bring anything tomorrow."

"I see..." Merania sat down on the bench, the basket between herself and the man. "Rhamirr, where is Karos?"

"I wish I could tell you exactly," the Wizard said, "but the sad truth is that I cannot."

"That boy..." The chatelaine sighed. "At least can you tell me if he's in Deleon or not?"

"He's not here, unless he's just arrived." The Wizard paused to fully appreciate the succulent pastry in his hand. "Don't worry, he can look after himself! He's not a boy any more, Merania."

"I know, I know, he's a young man, and he takes after his father, and whatnot... but I can't help it. You should stop him from being too reckless!"

"What can I do?" The Wizard asked rhetorically. "What I say has only so much effect. And really, what can you expect? He's your and Rhodan's son... meekness and obedience hardly go into the recipe of such spawn."

The man's eyes glittered with amusement and Merania made a face, unable to stop her lips from twitching.

"Well, where's he gone then?" she asked. The Wizard's face sobered.

"He said he'd go looking around," he said. "And don't blame me, it was his idea and I couldn't talk him out of it! He's gone to snoop in the surroundings, that's all I know. Most probably in the direction of Moydherr."

"Do you seriously think that Moydherr would be planning something?" Merania asked incredulously.

"Everything's possible," the Wizard huffed and stroked his beard. "There's something very strange going on, and I'd truly like to know what exactly. Well, anyway, Karos thought that we wouldn't find all the answers here in Deleon, and that's why he's gone now."

"But it's five days already!" Merania insisted. "Didn't he say anything about how long he's going to be — snooping?"

The man shook his head. "Sorry, no. In truth, I'm getting worried too. I only wish I had any idea what to do. There isn't really anyone I can send looking for him, either."

He grimaced a little and added: "Of course I told him not to get foolhardy, to look after himself, and of course he promised to do that."

Merania's fingers picked nervously on the fringed edge of her apron. "Your father is a man of his word, Karos-Daleot," she murmured. "And you'd better be, too, or I'll give you a spanking you'll never forget... never mind how much of a man you are."

The Wizard smothered his own worry-mingled smile with a sizeable chunk of cheese.

Karos hadn't forgotten his promises. He had been careful, trying to not trust too much on sheer luck, and he'd covered quite a lot of ground over the past five days. He had also managed to see and hear and overhear many pieces of information that, when put together, had made him feel he had to get going home as soon as possible. At the moment, however, he found the actual implementation of that straightforward plan extremely difficult.

He was currently almost two leagues from the castle, on the strip of land surrounding the well-trodden north-south road, lying on his stomach on moist turf. He carefully raised his head from behind the tuft of grass where he'd crawled, and peered over the uneven terrain.

Exactly as he'd thought — they were soldiers, and what was worse, no soldiers he'd ever seen. They had obviously passed by the riverside route that would've taken them to Deleon, and before they'd decided to make an early night and camp by the roadside, they had been marching south. In other words, towards Moydherr. Karos ground out a string of curses under his breath. The landscape undulated gently but there was no forest, no proper bushes even, to offer any protection. There was no way he'd get over that stretch of fields unnoticed if he stood up, and crawling along ditches was too slow and unreliable. He needed to get through now. But how?

He crawled backwards, away from his vantage point, and rolled on his back, daring to breathe properly for a while. He bit his lip. What the hell was he going to do? He had to get back to the castle and he had to get there fast, he'd already spent too many days wandering about and sniffing the air. Yet, even if he could just walk through, he'd still have to run to reach Deleon by nightfall. A horse would be highly useful, but trying to steal one from the battle-hardened bunch ahead was no option. How would he even get close enough in the first place?

Karos only had the little bundle of provisions he was carrying. He had nothing to disguise himself with. He closed his eyes in the crisp air and thought.

Some time later, a solitary figure could faintly be seen trundling through thin fog, at some distance from the camp. The soldiers, weary from marching, were settling down. Some were playing dice on the bumpy ground, others slept or polished half-heartedly their weapons. The man placed to guard the camp was leaning on his spear and yawning mightily. Suddenly he noticed the intruder and perked up instantly.

"Hey, you there! Stop right where you are!"

Another man stepped to his companion from the cluster of tents and frowned. "What the hell... is he deaf or what?"

The figure had hardly stopped, advancing with oddly fumbling steps towards the road.

"Stop, man, or I'll skewer you!" the first soldier yelled and raised his crossbow. "You've got no business here!"

This time the man actually stopped and cocked his head. Both soldiers frowned and walked slowly closer.

There was something strange about the young man who just stood and stared at them, something not quite right. Dark hair hung in filthy curls over a broad forehead, and his angular face was equally soiled. His shirt and trousers had probably looked far more presentable not very long ago, but they too were dirty and ragged. One sleeve of the shirt was almost completely torn off. When the men came closer, the dark young man greeted them with a sunny smile.

"Food?" he said hopefully.

"Half-wit." The second soldier snorted in contempt. "Should've guessed... who else would be running around here like that? Soldiers and fools... Trot off, you. Understand? On your way! You've got no business to be here."

"Food," the young man repeated.

"You look well-fed enough," the first guard said. "Listen, idiot. Go away. Shoo."

"Ooh — nice horses!" The odd visitor brightened up and pointed at something behind the men. Both glanced over their shoulders and almost grimaced as they noticed the captain of their mercenary band standing beside a tent and staring at them.

"What're you two doing there? Bring that spy here!"

"Cap'n, he's a half-wit," the first guard said. "He's no harm."

"Let me be the judge of that," the captain growled. "Bring him here."

The soldiers didn't look at each other as they grabbed the sunnily smiling intruder by both arms and dragged him, none too gently, to the middle of the camp. A few other men gathered around to watch and listen, mildly pleased for the diversion. They howled with laughter as the captain, irritated by the incoherent answers to his questions, let the metal-plated back of a heavy gauntlet smash against the idiot's cheek so hard that the young man staggered and fell down.

Karos took his time to get up from the muddy ground, hanging his head and shaking it in an effort to look properly dazed. He'd managed to escape some of the impact but not all, and he had to struggle not to let his temper boil over as he tasted blood. He pushed himself on hands and knees and panted, keeping an eye on the captain's high boots underneath uneven bangs. When the man's leg moved, he quick wrapped his arms around himself and rolled into a ball, whimpering in a frantic effort not to grab the captain's foot and smash his kneecap in. The men burst into laughter once more.

"Too bad he's not pretty," someone snickered.

"We're not that desperate," the captain grunted in disgust and turned his back, fed up with the fruitless interview. "There'll be enough wenches in the castle... just throw that thing out of here."

The two soldiers hauled the blabbering idiot well out of the camp and pushed him on his way, watching his unsteady progress across the open land.

"Looks like he's going somewhere, though," the guard snorted. "Oddly well fed for a half-wit..."

"Well, he looked strong," the other one pointed out. "Might be quite a good worker, that. Harmless, and does what he's told. What else can one ask for?"

The first soldier nodded and shuffled to resume his lonely spot, slightly outside the camp.

Karos made sure that he was far enough and well out of sight from the camp before stopping and looking around. His muddy clothes were now wet, and the cold of spring seeped through them all the way to his skin. He cautiously wiped his mouth with the back of a hand; his lip was split and teeth scraped nastily against the rough bruise in the inside of the cheek, but at least both had stopped bleeding. Trying to wash them would only make them bleed again, and besides, he had already lost enough time. There was no more to be wasted.

But at least he was now on the right side of the fields, much closer to his destination than the mere distance suggested... Karos broke into a steady, slow run, keeping a steady pace that looked deceptively leisurely. In no time at all his lungs were burning and muscles in his long legs groaned in protest, but he steeled himself and ignored them. Steady now, not too fast, just run, home. To Deleon.