“See, thinking like the lord already,” Renn said, clapping Cam on the shoulder. “Come on inside, both of you. I won’t promise you the kind of dinner you get at the palace, but the cook’s been working up a welcome home meal and I don’t want it to get cold!”
Two servants appeared in order to carry the travelers’ saddlebags upstairs and take their cloaks. Cam and Rhistiart followed Renn into the great room. After the long ride, Cam’s limp was pronounced and his injured leg
ached. Renn seemed not to notice the limp. The room was much as Cam remembered it, a long, cold hall with a huge fireplace at one end. It was too warm to have the fire lit, though come winter, a bonfire would scarcely heat Brunnfen’s cold stone. A layer of candle smoke hung near the ceiling from the tallow candles. The unmistakable smell of roasting goose filled the air, along with the scent of leeks, onions, and fresh bread. Cam’s stomach growled, and even Rhistiart looked hungry.
Three places were set on the long, empty table. A pitcher of ale and tankards sat next to pewter dishes that were dented and dinged from hard use. Cam looked at the bare walls and frowned.
“I remember there being tapestries,” he murmured.
Renn sighed. “There were. Alvior had them burned after Father’s death, Crone take his soul. Not that I was necessarily fond of the pictures on the tapestries, but they did help keep down the chill. Quite a few things disappeared like that—either destroyed when Alvior was in one of his moods or, more likely, sold off to raise money for his pet rebels.”
They sat down at the table and a plump woman in her middle years brought out a roast goose on a platter. Cam could tell the woman was trying to get a good look at him without staring.
“I hope this is to your liking, Lord Cam,” she said with an awkward curtsey. “Master Renn told us you’re used to the fancy food they serve at the palace.”
Cam eyed the goose and the baking dishes full of vegetables that two serving girls placed on the table. He met the woman’s gaze. “Believe me when I tell you that after three weeks on the road, no meal has ever smelled or looked as good.”
The plump woman blushed. “Thank you, m’lord. I’m sure you don’t remember me, but I was a kitchen girl when you and m’lady Carina were just little. You used to nip dried fruit from the pocket of my apron and I pretended not to notice.”
Cam laughed. “I do remember!”
The woman chuckled. “Now that you’re home, I’ll bake up some fresh cakes for you by evening.”
There was silence as the three men ate. Even Rhistiart paid more attention to his plate than to conversation. When they were finished, the servants brought out a warm plum pudding and a pitcher of mulled wine, then left them alone once more.
Cam leaned back and sipped at his drink. “So what made you suspect that Alvior had thrown in with the Divisionists?” he asked, watching Renn.
Renn was quiet for a few moments, with a sad expression. “Looking back, I should have guessed sooner. I didn’t even realize at first that Alvior had murdered Father. Made it look like an accident, but later, I could see that he’d arranged it.” He knocked back the rest of the wine as if it were brandy, a gesture that told Cam quite a bit about how hard the years had been for his younger brother.
“You have to understand, after you and Carina… left, there was no one to take my part against Father—or Alvior.” He turned his face in profile so that Cam could see the scar that sliced through his right eyebrow down onto his cheek. “Alvior gave me that one night when I got in his way. Must have been about twelve years old. Cracked me over the head with a pewter goblet for something that annoyed him. Father never said anything.”
Cam felt old anger rise, but said nothing. Rhistiart looked down, silent as the brothers talked.
“I learned fast to stay out of Alvior’s way. Spent as much time as I could out in the fields. Although I’ve got to say, all that has come in handy since Alvior ran away. At least I knew how the manor really operated. I even slept in the barn when I could, just to be out of his reach. But I was around enough to notice that something strange was going on after Father died.
“Alvior started getting visitors from across the sea. And he started bringing strangers to Brunnfen who weren’t from around these parts. The men who came in boats looked highborn. Some of the other strangers, those who came on horseback, were ruffians. They never seemed to do anything but talk, so it wasn’t as if he was entertaining them with wenching and dice.”
Renn grinned ruefully. “One night, I decided to find out what was going on. They caught me eavesdropping. I guess Alvior could have made me ‘disappear’ but maybe he was afraid of getting caught after Father’s death. So he threw me in the dungeon and locked me down there.” He shrugged. “Once in a while he also remembered to feed me.”
“And when Rhistiart helped me escape from the Divisionists, I told Donelan what I’d overheard: that Alvior was backing the traitors,” Cam finished. “So Donelan’s men came to Brunnfen, and they let you go.”
Renn nodded. “If you think I’m skinny now, you should have seen me when they let me out of the dungeon. Pale as a
vayash moru
and skin and bones. I was scared to death that the king’s men would assume I was on Alvior’s side, but they heard me out and left me be.”
“Any idea where Alvior went?”
Renn shook his head. “I asked the servants if they’d
seen anything. One of the men said that Alvior headed down to the beach beneath the cliffs and that a boat with big sails left the inlet that day. There’s nothing but islands off the coast until the other side of the sea, and I doubt he sailed toward Margolan or Eastmark, so I assumed he went across the sea.”
Cam yawned and stretched. “Tonight, I want nothing so much as a soft bed. But tomorrow, will you show me Alvior’s rooms?”
Renn nodded. “I thought you’d ask. Yes, I can show you. And I’ll take you down to the caves by the beach. We can’t make it down and back tonight before dark, but I think Alvior’s ‘friends’ had plans to return and I think Alvior was making ready for them.”
“Now that’s a cheery thought,” Cam said, finishing off the last of his mulled wine. Beside him, Rhistiart looked as if he would fall asleep at any moment. “Let’s get some sleep. Then I’d like to have a look around in the morning.”
The next morning was clear and bright. Brunnfen was far enough north that although the sun was shining, even on a late summer day, there was a chill in the air. After a cold breakfast, Cam, Renn, and Rhistiart began the climb down the steep cliffs to the shallow beach along the sea. The spray from the waves was cold, and at low tide, the water was still a distance from the base of the cliffs. They reached the bottom without mishap, although Cam’s bad leg was already starting to ache.
“Did you and Carina explore down here?” Renn asked as they picked their way through the rocks.
“Many times. Like you, we were happy to stay out of
Alvior’s way, and father minded Carina less when we were out of sight,” Cam replied.
Renn jerked his head toward the cave openings that dotted the cliffside. “Come take a look over here.”
Cam and Rhistiart followed Renn into the caves. Sconces were set into the rock, with torches awaiting a fire. Renn took down one of the torches, struck a spark to light it, and motioned for Cam and Rhistiart to follow him. The caves were cold and damp, and the passageway fit Renn and Rhistiart better than Cam, who had to turn sideways to make it through the narrow spots. The passage opened up into a large room. Renn’s torch barely illuminated the space, but Cam could see that it was filled with boxes and supplies.
“I’ve been down here a number of times when I could steal away from the work,” Renn said, making a slow tour of the room with his torch so that the others could see. “The boxes are full of armor and weapons. There are rooms like this in several of the other caves. That’s just what I’ve found; I haven’t gone a lot deeper because I haven’t had that much time to explore.”
The magnitude of Alvior’s betrayal stunned Cam. “He was going to provision an army,” Cam said quietly. “Against Donelan. Against his own king. The Divisionists were just a diversion. Alvior was playing them for fools while he assembled the real invasion, with help from… somewhere.”
Cam turned to Renn. “Are Alvior’s rooms as he left them?”
Renn nodded. “The king’s men only seemed interested in Alvior himself. Far as I could tell, they didn’t take any of his things.” He paused. “Just so you know—Alvior moved into Father’s rooms right after Father died.”
Cam’s eyes widened. “Father’s rooms? Did you look in the secret room behind the wardrobe?”
Renn frowned. “What secret room?”
“There was a secret chamber that opened from a door in the back of the wardrobe in Father’s room. Carina and I found it when we were little. I don’t think Father ever used it. It was full of dusty old trunks and papers, and Carina and I pretended we were adventurers, discovering lost treasure.” He smiled sadly at the memory. “We never talked about it because Father probably would have thrashed us. So I don’t know if Alvior ever found it. But if he was brewing up a revolution… it would have been just the thing.”
They made their way out of the cave with a renewed sense of urgency and climbed back up the cliffs before the tide came in. Cam led the way back into Brunnfen, up the stairs to the largest room in the manor house. Cam hesitated for a moment with his hand on the door knob. Although he knew his father was dead, a long-ingrained caution urged him to run. Cam drew a deep breath and pushed the door open.
The room was shadowy, even in daylight. Renn and Rhistiart lit candles, but they made a small improvement in the gloom. Brunnfen’s windows were narrow slits, excellent for defense but poor for offering either light or view.
Cam looked around the room. The furnishings were the same as when his father had lived: a massive, four-poster bed hung with heavy bed curtains, an equally large desk and paintings of ships at sea. Wrought-iron candle stands and a large iron candelabrum would have made it possible to light the room well enough for reading or writing. The desk looked as if it had been rifled through, with papers strewn about.
“I did go through the desk after the king’s men left,”
Renn said. “The papers were ordinary. Just accounts and such.”
Cam nodded, chewing his lip as he thought. He headed for a door in the back that led to the valet’s room and the large standing chest where Asmarr stored his finest court outfits. Letting memory guide him, Cam dropped to all fours, crawling to the back of the cabinet and feeling for a catch along the floor. A quiet
snick
answered his touch and Cam smiled. “Got it.”
A panel swung open. The opening was large enough for a man’s shoulders, but Cam had to shimmy to get his bulk through. “I guess I was a bit smaller the last time I did this,” he grunted. Renn passed a lit candle to him, and then he and Rhistiart crawled through without a problem. Cam lifted the candle high and caught his breath.
A work desk had been assembled in the room and on it lay mortars and pestles, a scrying ball, and a number of bulging velvet pouches. The room smelled of herbs and candle wax. Along the walls were shelves filled with vials and jars, some of which held organs, severed fingers, and small animals suspended in a clear liquid. Yellowed bones were stacked along the wall; more lay on the desk.
“Alvior wasn’t just planning an invasion,” Cam said quietly. “He was working with a mage. A blood mage by the look of it.” Another thought chilled him. “And if those bones mean what I think they do, maybe even a dark summoner.” He looked toward the others as horror registered on their faces. “We may have ruined their plans to use Brunnfen, but they’re out there, somewhere. And they’ll come back.”
A
idane fastened the ornate gold necklace and smoothed it on her chest. The necklace glittered against the red and orange silk of her form-fitting dress, nestling against her full breasts in a neckline designed to show off her assets. The client tonight was paying gold and promised a home secure from the intrusion of the Crone priests. Aidane’s fingers trembled as she added gold cuffs to her wrists and a small, silver dagger hidden in the folds of her dress. Nargi priests were well known for their hatred of magic, and every client Aidane accepted was one more chance that the priests might catch up with her.
The client was paying gold for an evening with a ghost whore. Aidane did not want to be late.
She snatched her cloak from the peg and wrapped it around herself, concealing her dress. An ample hood hid her face. Her small apartment was comfortable by Nargi standards, with luxuries many could not afford. She did not have to share the room, and in truth, a roommate wasn’t an option. Too great a chance for discovery, should the roommate report on the activities of her
serroquette
friend. Aidane’s magic enabled her to eat well on a regular basis, to purchase the clothing and jewelry expected for a prosperous whore, and to pay a tight-lipped healer to fix her up when clients turned surly. She’d even been able to put a bit of gold away in a secret stash for hard times. It was as good as she could hope for, since long life wasn’t likely to be an option.
Aidane locked the door behind her and made her way down the narrow stairs to the street. The rooming house smelled of burning meat and overcooked cabbage. The others who shared the building generally ignored Aidane, and she ignored them as well. Better that way. Aidane had clients enough to keep her fed, and more company from the ghosts who begged to be allowed to use her body than she needed. Solitude was the one luxury she couldn’t purchase.