Ravens, Owls and a nightingale

9. Accusations & Actions

Schean's toes curled inside his shoes when the dewy cold of the night crept up from the stone and through their thin soles. He shuddered but just pulled the short cloak more tightly around himself and stood put. Of course he'd known it would be cold, but he didn't want to let that prevent him from enjoying this to the full...

The minstrel gasped when a big hand suddenly closed around his upper arm and yanked him behind a nearby corner. In a blink he found himself staring into a pair of dark eyes that peered sternly down at him.

"You..." he breathed, at the same time scared and relieved. "What're you doing here at this hour?"

The sun was barely rising in the horizon, and a thick layer of mist was floating on an around River Czhorhass, so that the trees growing on its banks seemed to stick out of a cloud. The first sounds of the awakening castle could be heard from the courtyard below, as servants, yawning and grumbling, shuffled to their various tasks. Schean had woken up early, and on his way back from the privy had decided to go to the walls and breathe in some morning air. Ahead of him awaited yet another day closeted inside the Ranea's room, and he felt thoroughly entitled to a moment for himself.

And then of course even that had to be spoiled by the spooky Lord-Rhodan-lookalike with his sneaky habits.

"I might ask the same of you," said that irritating young man and released the minstrel's arm. "Why are you here? Didn't I tell you to stay with the Ranea?"

"Now look!" Schean's temper flared. "I've spent heaven knows how many days on end just sitting in that room. I haven't left him for more than a few moments at a time, I've fetched his meals from the kitchen, and kept him company. But he doesn't want me to sleep in there, and even I have to take a leak every now and then, too!"

"Take the potty to the balcony, it's quite as warm and private as the privy."

Schean opened his mouth, ready for an indignant protest, then noticed the wry grin on Karos' face.

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" he spluttered.

"Maybe." Then Karos fell serious. "How is he?"

"Better," Schean said reluctantly, keeping his voice low. "He's not nearly as dizzy and disoriented as he was still a few days ago. And I've seen that... that one woman of his mo—"

"Yeah, I know who you mean," Karos interrupted hastily. "You've seen her?"

"Yes, in the kitchen, she's been there to bring the meals up. But I've taken them anyway."

Karos let out a sigh. "That's good. That's really good. And you say he's feeling better now?"

"Definitely," Schean said with conviction. "In much higher spirits, too."

"Okay, now listen." Karos' voice dropped into a whisper. "Today, don't let him out of your sight for a single moment. Go get yourselves breakfast, and then just hole up in there. If necessary, bolt the door too. I'm pretty sure something will happen today, but I can only hope I'm being too careful here. You understand?"

Schean swallowed with difficulty. "You — are you serious?"

"Dead serious," Karos hissed. "Promise me. Promise you won't leave him alone today."

"I promise," Schean breathed, transfixed by the intent gaze that sent chills running down his spine. "I'll stay with him."

"Good. Now get going, and try to look casual."

Bewildered, the young minstrel padded back to his little room and plopped down on the bed. He sat there for a moment, then hastened to pull some more clothes on and scurried downstairs, to the kitchen. He didn't know what was going to happen, but whatever it was, he was more than anxious to stay the hell out of it. And if Karos-Daleot considered Bengor's room to be the place for him, Schean wasn't going to argue about it.

Besides, that room was a much more cheerful place now, even though Schean had a distinctly claustrophobic feeling as he stepped in some time later, carrying a tray loaded with treats. Even though Bengor was once more lounging on his bed, his happy grin made a warm wave wash over the minstrel and ensured that his answering smile was genuinely bright.

"Good morning, Ranea! Are you feeling hungry this morning?"

"Oh, Heliet, I've been waiting for you! Yes, come here, come here on the bed with me..."

Schean watched as the boy grabbed a particularly succulent-looking bun from the tray, and sighed in delight. Truly, Bengor seemed to be getting better. Then he smothered another sigh and involuntarily glanced towards the door, trying his best not to let curiosity get the better of him. And yet he couldn't help wondering what was about to happen outside it, and when — if — they'd get to know what it was all about.

Some time later Schean wasn't the only one who was battling with curiosity mingled with trepidation. Every servant of Deleon Castle was soon aware that two hooded and cloaked forms had been seen to exit the Ghost Tower, after which they had simply crossed the courtyard and entered the main keep. Not only that, but the two men, who were none other than the Wizard and his Ashgan, had actually marched straight to the Lord's quarters and asked for an audience. All mouths were whispering, and much speculation was going on while dough was being kneaded, horses groomed and sheep fed. Even the chatelaine seemed restless, which was quite unheard of. One could practically feel the castle quivering with tension.

Behind the firmly closed door of the Lord's favorite chamber, even the air seemed alive with it. The Lord had been surprised by the unexpected visit, yet sufficiently curious to hear the Wizard out. He had listened without as much as a word, eyebrows quirking every now and then but otherwise expressionless.

Finally the Wizard fell silent, steeled himself and looked Lord Rhodan steadily in the eye. The man stared back at him from his chair.

"Do you really expect me to swallow such a tall tale?" the Lord asked at length, voice echoing with incredulity.

"It is of utmost importance, my Lord, that you believe and do what I ask you to," the Wizard said with emphasis. "I wouldn't have come to talk to you, if I didn't think so."

"But how would you know if such things really were going on?" Lord Rhodan's eyes narrowed a little. "You almost never leave your chamber in the Ghost Tower. How do you claim to have got this information?"

The Wizard groaned inwardly. There it was, the question, just as he had known it would.

"I have my sources, my Lord," he said steadily.

"In other words, your spies!" The Lord banged a fist on the armrest of the chair and jumped up. "Wizard, I demand to know what the hell is going on! What are you getting at? Why would Lord Theren even dream of such an attempt, when he must know in advance that he's doomed to fail? He may be a weakling, but I don't think even he'd get such foolish ideas!"

"It is just possible that you underestimate him, my Lord," the Wizard ground out. "Moreover, Lord Theren has relatives in the East. He has married from the same powerful family as you. Don't you think he might count on their assistance, should he fail in his endeavor?"

"A ludicrous idea," the Lord snorted. "Surely those powerful relatives would think twice before attacking a castle where another daughter of theirs is residing? Did that occur to you?"

"Maybe they would," the Wizard admitted, "or maybe they wouldn't — especially if said daughter is involved in the same plot."

Lord Rhodan threw himself back into the chair and eyed the older man with undisguised contempt. "Now you're really getting into this over your head, Wizard!" he said. "Explain that, please, if you can."

The Wizard used all his eloquence to argue his case, but against the wall of doubt his words seemed frustratingly powerless. The Lord didn't as much as flinch when he brought up the charge of an adulterous relationship with the lord of the neighboring castle, merely grunted something and finally shook his head.

"You spew forth bold words, my friend," he said with a smirk. "But would you still have the guts to repeat those words in her hearing? I might have her brought here to hear what you have to say. What would you say to that?"

"I say that it would be extremely unwise, my Lord." The Wizard pushed his hands into his sleeves and squeezed his wrists in desperation. "That lady-in-waiting is probably in it up to her ears, and having the Lady brought up to hear my charge would give her free hands to act."

"Or perhaps that would be a sign to your spies and minions to go forth with whatever plan you have been carrying out, eh?"

Karos, who had so far been standing mutely by the door, head bowed and hood pulled deep, could practically feel the Lord's dark gaze drill into him. The man had risen once more from his chair and now stepped closer to the cloaked figure, examining it closely.

"Such as this one here. Your Ashgan, isn't it? And I've thought that the Wizard of Deleon is first and foremost a servant of Deleon; that he would do his utmost to ensure the safety of this ancient place... You, young man, would you tell me what trickery this is? What are you and your master up to?"

The Wizard looked desperately at the Lord who was practically prowling around Karos, and closed his eyes when he saw the younger man's hands rise and grab the edges of the hood. Karos pulled the cloth back and let it fall on his shoulders, raised his chin and, for the very first time, looked straight at his father's face.

Lord Rhodan blinked, then exhaled slowly. He couldn't turn his eyes away. The face he saw looked oddly familiar; it looked like the face he would have seen, some twenty years ago, when he'd looked into the still surface of water, moments before he'd plunge his hands into it to wash. Especially the eyes — those eyes. But there was something else, too, something that made his insides stir in an odd way. That mouth...

"Who are you?" he demanded hoarsely.

"My name is Karos-Daleot, my Lord," the young man said in a low, clear voice. "People call me Ashgan, but that's not altogether right, because I have no intention of becoming the Wizard myself. But I do not deny that I am the person dwelling in the Wizard's chamber in the Ghost Tower."

"Who are you?"

Karos bit his lip before answering. "My mother is your chatelaine Merania, my Lord."

Both the Wizard and Karos had the dubious pleasure of seeing the Lord of Deleon, for once, struck speechless. The man opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before any sound came out, and when he finally managed to speak again, his voice was even hoarser than before.

"And how old are you, Karos-Daleot?"

"My twentieth birthday was in late winter, my Lord."

Rhodan-Omeasch swallowed a couple of times, then spun around and stalked back to his chair, visibly shaken. He sat heavily down and leveled a black gaze at the two men facing him.

"So this is your spy, Wizard, isn't it? This is with whom you're plotting against me? I only wonder why you chose exactly today to come and reveal yourselves to me — unless that's because you are so sure of your victory by now that it doesn't matter even if I know about it."

"No, that's not at all true!" Karos shouted and stepped forward. "My Lord, we are on your side, not against you. I admit to spying around, but it is for the good of Deleon that I have been doing that, not to overthrow you!"

"No? Aren't you your mother's son?" the Lord sneered. "You both must be very bitter because she isn't the Lady —"

"You leave my mother out of this!" Karos growled. "You of all people should know what a good woman she is, a chatelaine who has always served you faithfully and kept your soldiers and servants satisfied and fed and well looked after! She has no part in this, and you should know her well enough not to even imagine such things!"

Lord Rhodan actually seemed contrite for the fraction of a second, then squared his shoulders again. "All right, let's not talk about your mother. But do you really claim that the whole purpose of this fantastic fabrication is merely to keep Deleon safe?"

He nearly spat out the last words, and Karos quickly counted to six. He didn't get any further than that.

"My Lord, I've been watching the western road and making inquiries in the villages, these past few days. Everyone agrees that there's been an extraordinary number of traveling mercenary bands afoot, all of them seemingly headed for Moydherr. If that alone isn't suspicious enough, there's more." He had to pause for breath and saw that the Lord frowned impatiently. "Please hear me out, my Lord! You know that your wife has no love for her children, either. Your son, Bengor — his constant illness is her doing as well. She doesn't want you to have an heir."

"Enough!" Lord Rhodan sprang on his feet and stepped towards the young man. "You two are full of fantastic accusations today, but can you prove any of this?"

Karos stood stock still, straight as an arrow, not batting an eye. "I believe I can, my Lord. But for that I would need to get into her room."

He met the Lord's gaze without fear. The silence stretched on as he felt his father measuring him, picking up a clue here, a hint there. He knew that even like this, without any weapons, he looked intimidating enough to most people, and possibly even to the Lord who cut an equally muscular figure but was in fact slightly shorter than Karos, albeit broader and sturdier due to years and training.

"Supposing that I chose to believe you... even supposing that you were right... I can't help asking why. Why are you doing this? What is in it for you?"

Karos' eyes narrowed a little but didn't turn away.

"That Castle Deleon is kept safe, my Lord," he said.

The Lord continued to just look at him, his face not revealing anything. Karos didn't give up. He knew that he had to win this match or too much would be lost.

"That can't be all." Lord Rhodan's voice was deep and gruff, his tone thoroughly cold. "I cannot believe that you'd show such extraordinary initiative and diligence without any expectations for yourself."

"I expect to be included in those who are safe in this castle, my Lord." Karos couldn't help the slight crack in his voice. He hated having to resort to pleading, but there seemed to be no way out of it. "Please, my Lord. I'm well aware that this all sounds too crazy, but I swear that if this was all just a fabrication, I would've come up with something more credible." He swallowed with difficulty. "Your son is in danger right now. Please detain your wife and have her belongings searched thoroughly."

The man scowled threateningly at Karos who stood his ground, hands balling into fists by his sides.

"Very well," the Lord said at last. "We will go to see Lady Berissa right now, and you two will come with me."

"Yes, my Lord."

The Wizard closed his eyes and whispered silent thanks to all higher powers that might be listening, then nodded solemnly. He knew that everything was now up to whether or not Karos' observations had been right.

The Lord stalked to the door and threw it open, calling for the soldiers who were invariably standing guard in the hallway. The Wizard followed him, shooting a brief glance at the young man walking next to him. Karos' face was grim but determined.

"You — follow me."

The soldiers who emerged within moments looked baffled, and increasingly so as they trailed after their master who headed straight towards the Lady's rooms. At the door he stopped, knocked briefly and then pushed the door open with only a minimum delay. The two soldiers hesitated, but the Lord gave them a dark scowl.

"I told you to follow me!"

The Wizard took one quick look around and then just focused on the woman who stood up from a small stool where she'd been sitting while the lady-in-waiting brushed her long hair. He knew that another look at the surroundings would reduce him into a gaping, gawking idiot, used as he was to the austerity of the Ghost Tower. Beside him, Karos was busy scanning the luxurious room, no doubt trying to get his bearings right; he had, after all, only been able to see into the room through one of the windows.

"Lord Rhodan." Lady Berissa pulled herself to her entire height and looked down her nose at her husband — a remarkable feat, considering that he was some four inches taller than her. "What is this appalling behavior?"

Behind her, the sordid-looking woman in her prim wimple was glaring daggers at the five men, of whom only the two soldiers seemed to feel it. Lord Rhodan ignored her completely.

"I have just been treated to a number of allegations concerning a rather elaborate plot, my Lady," he said evenly. "And as some of these allegations touch upon your august person, I was curious to hear your opinion of them."

"And you couldn't wait, my Lord, until I'd have had time to finish dressing up?" The Lady smirked a little. "Surely you could have sent for me, if you wished to talk to me... instead of barging in here without warning, and even doing that with company."

"These gentlemen were very insistent that we should have a word with you as soon as possible," the Lord replied. "Anyway, now that we have already interrupted you, perhaps it would best to get the matter over and done with, hmm?"

He leveled a challenging look at the Wizard who nodded solemnly and stepped aside to let Karos, hooded once more, go past him. Karos took a deep breath, took one more glance around the room and then walked to a large chest that stood right underneath a colorful tapestry that depicted a deer hunting scene. He felt the lid, then turned and held out his hand.

"The key to this, please."

Lady Berissa's eyes went round.

"What?" she gasped. "What is this insolence?"

"You heard him, my Lady," Lord Rhodan grunted. "Give the key to him."

"I refuse absolutely!" The woman raised her chin defiantly, but that didn't have any effect on her husband who, for the very first time, seemed to be getting truly interested in the course of events.

"Well well. What such secrets does that trunk then contain?" The Lord stepped closer to her. "The key. Now."

"I will show you what's inside," the lady-in-waiting offered, voice dripping contempt. "But I will not let you touch my Lady's things."

"Oh-ho? Since when do servants talk back to their masters?" The Lord took another step and held out his hand. "For the last time — give me the key."

Lady Berissa stared at her husband, lips pressing into a thin line, then nodded minutely and the older woman dug a key from the pouch hanging on her belt. The Lord handed it to Karos who pushed it into the lock and then lifted the lid up.

He didn't need to rummage long until he found what he'd been looking for: a smaller casket made of dark brown, polished wood. It was naturally locked as well, and Karos stood up holding the casket in both hands.

"I suppose there's a key for this one too?" he said softly.

"Give that back this instant!" Lady Berissa shouted. "It contains my private correspondence! You have no business with it!"

Karos pulled out his knife, eased the tip of the blade into a thin crack in the casket and twisted it. The lady-in-waiting tried to dash towards him, shrieking in rage, but Lord Rhodan's well-aimed slap across her face threw her sprawling on the Lady's bed. Lady Berissa, however, paid no attention to the servant; her entire attention was riveted on Karos who had managed to pry the lock open and gingerly opened the casket. He picked up a small pouch and handed it to the Wizard with slightly trembling fingers, whispering quiet thanks to the gods in his mind.

Rhamirr took the pouch and opened it, turned it sideways and shook gently. Some brownish powder rained onto his palm. He smelled it, rubbed it between his fingertips, tasted it cautiously and then spat on the floor. Oh yes, he had been on the right track; his nose and tongue immediately identified at least three of the herbs he'd been suspecting all the while, but the fourth one, the one with that characteristic sting... he hadn't believed that the Lady could get her hands on it. The Wizard blessed his earlier caution. Some of the remedies he had considered would all too easily have combined with that particular plant to make a truly lethal brew.

"What's that?" the Lord asked tensely, and the Wizard pulled the string of the pouch tight, eyebrows crunching together.

"This, my Lord, is what has been wrong with your son," he said in a resonating voice.

"Yes, you would know that, wouldn't you?" the Lady hissed. "Because you just put it in there!"

Karos didn't bother replying; he was looking at the folded sheets that had been under the small pouch. He pulled out one, opened it and let his eyes skim over the lines. This was a man's handwriting, and it looked somewhat labored — so even in the Eastern castles, acquiring a fluent hand with a quill was still lower down on the agenda than learning how to use a sword? But it was still perfectly legible, and... ahh. Karos felt a thrill go through him. So they really had been right?

"I urge you to take action soon, fair lady," he read aloud. "Preparations here are proceeding well, and our forces are strong enough to engage Deleon in battle. Thus there is no need to delay any longer... signed, T. whose heart rests at your graceful feet." He waved the paper in the air. "And this, my Lady, did I put this here as well?"

Lady Berissa was about to answer but was reduced to merely swallowing when the tip of a sword, a little worn and scratched but very carefully sharpened, suddenly hovered not many inches from her throat.

"I was watching him too, my Lady," said the Lord at the other end of the sword. "And no, he did not put it in there. Nor that letter."

She licked her dry lips and glanced involuntarily down, as if regretting her choice of a dress. The heavy, trailing skirt of golden brown, intricately patterned with gold thread, was voluptuous enough, but its generously open neck left very much of her bosom and neck totally bare. And there was that sword, the sword without which Lord Rhodan hardly ever even slept, pointing steadily to the small dip between her collarbones.

"I hate you," she snarled.

"I know that, my Lady." The Lord was breathing hard. "But how can you hate your own son so much?"

"You are forgetting one thing, my Lord. He is also your son."

Rhodan-Omeasch simply stared into his wife's blazing eyes, then slowly shook his head. No, this was beyond his comprehension. He jerked his head, and the two soldiers stepped next to him. "Take them away."

Lady Berissa didn't look at any one of the men while her hands were bound behind her back and she was led out of the room. Her lady-in-waiting followed her, and spat at the Wizard when she stepped past him. The Wizard turned his face away.

For a long time Lord Rhodan just stood in the middle of his wife's large, comfortable room, sword still in hand, chest heaving. Finally he stalked out, Karos and the Wizard following without a word.