Wrath Of The Medusa (Book 2) (18 page)

Standing before
Maelgrum in his great vaulted halls did not grow easier with repetition. Haselrig shivered though the atmosphere was free of the cloying freezing mist which usually heralded the Dark Lord’s displeasure.  Indeed Maelgrum’s empty red eye sockets throbbed red with something akin to pleasure while Rondol and Marwella, again in attendance, seemed more at ease in their proximity to power than Haselrig had ever felt in the long years of exile.  The antiquary glared at the towering sorcerer and the withered crone, begrudging them the ascendancy that had once been his.  However, he looked swiftly down when Rondol met his gaze.  It was not wise to anger those who rode high in Maelgrum’s favour. 

“How goesss your resssearch, Hassselrig?”

“We make progress, Master.  The Bishop here,” Haselrig said, jerking Udecht’s chain. ”Has afforded a useful insight and our studies now pursue a new direction.”

“Udecht ssservesss you well then?”

“Any help I have given your slave has been entirely unintentional,” the Bishop retorted with ruinous timing.

Immediately the air temperature dropped and clouds of vapour condensed at
the undead wizard’s sleeves, while the red glowing of his eyes brightened and hardened into brittle luminous scarlet.

There was a crack as Rondol summoned his w
hip of lightning, but Udecht turned on him with equal insouciance. “Strike all you like, lickspittle. The world holds no more fears for me,” the Bishop taunted.

“Your departure from it will be a long drawn out affair, Eadranspawn,” the sorcerer snarled.  “Filled with more pain and suffering than you can imagine.”

“And then your dead form shall rise and serve our Master in his legion,” Marwella added her own promise.  “I will see to it personally.”

“Whatever you think
my mind and soul, by no further accident will lend assistance to your foul cause.”

“Bishop,” Haselrig’s pleading turned int
o a splutter.  “Do not vex the Master so.”

“Let me take him, M
aster,” Rondol cried flinging his whip behind him for the strike.  “Let me take them both.”

With the slightest inclination of a bony digit Maelgrum stayed the sorcerer’s blow.  He rose from the throne and came down the steps in a cloud
of freezing mist that had the Bishop’s teeth chattering loosely in his head.  The undead wizard bent his skull to peer into Udecht’s eyes.  A stench of death and decay enveloped the antiquary and the Bishop but, while Haselrig found himself standing in a puddle of his own making, Udecht glared back in trembling defiance into the mask of a two thousand year old herald of death.

“How ssstrange it isss, that a man ssshould have no care for hisss own life or sssafety.”

“I should have died in Sturmcairn, all the time I have now is stolen.”

“But think, B
issshop,” Maelgrum said as he caressed Udecht’s cheek with a blackened fingertip.  Beneath the touch, the skin froze and darkened into a deep frost bite which drew an involuntary  whimper from the Bishop’s throat. “Think what you would have missssed in that fate.  No chance to ssseee the daughter you dared not acknowledge until now?”

Haselrig looked sharply across at Udecht, surprise conquering miserable fear at their present circumstance.  The revelation of Maelgr
um’s knowledge had shocked the Bishop just as much, struck motionless, the power to even tremble gone at this blow.

“Come now, B
issshop, did you think sssuch a sssecret could be kept from me.  Perhapsss you have ssssome tiny hope to ssseee her again.  I am told that fathersss like to watch their children grow.”

“You lie,” Udecht spoke at last his voice a strain of pain and anguish.  “You know nothing.”

“A sssmall girl,  ssscarsss on her face here and here,” as he spoke Maelgrum anointed the bishop’s cheeks with the trace of his fingers, drawing matching scars which burned upon the father’s face.  “Dark hair, and one time toy to Grundurg the mossst creative orc I have met in centuriesss.  Her mother wasss a ssservant Sssahira, until Grundurg’sss ssshield ssspike made a ruin of her face.  Tell me did you love the mother more or lessss than the daughter?”

“Where is she?” Udecht hissed, the sinews of his neck grown taut with uncertai
nty. “What have you done to her?”

“Nothing!”

Maelgrum turned away from Udecht and stalked back to his throne, warmth returning to the air and their limbs as the undead lord savoured the Bishop’s distress.  “I have done nothing to your preciousss daughter, nothing yet.  Ssshe thinks ssshe isss sssafe now, they all do.  They forget how far my sssight ssstretchesss and that my reach isss equal to it.  The Lady, the wizard and the necromancer will settle their little sssquabble and all who oppose me will find their isss no haven thisss side of the Eassstern landsss and even there, any illusssion of sssafety will be short lived.”

“The Master is all seeing,” Rondol intoned.

“The Master is all knowing,” Marwella added.

“The Master is all powerful,” Haselrig automatically completed the mantra of Maelgrum’s
servants.

“At thisss time,” the undead lord co
ntinued to address the hapless Bishop.   “The child isss of no importance and little interessst to me.  But those factsss may change if, on my return I find your progresss in thisss tasssk disssapoints me.  Grundurg in his torturesss may have been a mossst creative orc, but ssshould your daughter fall within my grasssp she will find my imagination and my ability to realissse it reachesss an entirely different plane.”  Maelgrum’s lipless mouth opened in a hollow laugh which found halting echoes once he had turned to look at Rondol and Marwella.

“Your return, M
aster?”  Haselrig queried.  “You spoke of your return.  Are you leaving?”

“I ssseee your witsss, have not entirely des
sserted you, Hassselrig.”

“Unlike your piss,” Rondol snarled a retort, but Maelgrum waved him silent.

“It ssseemsss there are sssome countiesss of thisss conquered domain that have not yet realisssed how the order of life, and of death hasss changed.  I sssent them orcs, a cssertain Mayor Hiral sssent me back headsss.  It will be sssalutary to show all of Morsssalve what the anger of Maelgrum bringsss.  The Dragon’sss day of ssservice isss almossst upon usss. I think hisss presssence will ssstrengthen the lesssson to be given.”

“Scum that dare to rise will soon fall into the muck in which they belong,” Rondol cried a hallelujah to his master.

“The foolssss think that the boy prince of Nordsssalve will come to their aid if they only prove their courage in ssstanding againssst me.”

“But
what if Nordsalve does fight with them?” Haselrig was drawn for a moment into the strategic considerations which had once been part of his daily discourse with Maelgrum.

“Then, Hassselrig, I will dessstroy them all.  My power hasss grown great while you have frittered your hoursss in
ssstudying forgotten diariess.  Marwella will lead the Legionsss and I will lead the orcsss and outlandersss.  Together we will sssweep all before usss.”  He gave an airy flick of his hand towards the sorcerer on his right.  “Rondol will have order of my affairsss here.  In three weeksss I will return.  You had better have newsss for me by then Hassselrig, or your hide and the Bissshop’sss daughter will sssuffer greatly for it.”  

It was him, but he was dead.  Hepdida’s heart pounded at the misshapen reflection in the silver shield and chief Grundurg grinned back at her. Then when she thought her chest would burst, the guard shifted his stance, adjusted the shield and the reflection slipped from view and it was a woman’s voice calling from behind them.  “Lady Niarmit,” the voice called, familiar and homely if a little anxious.  Still, Hepdida turned slowly to face the new arrival, and only after she had seen Thom and Kaylan do the same with no trace of alarm. 

It was not the squat orc of her nightmares, but the round faced
Deaconess, red with hurrying.  But she slowed when she realised that the small mounted group had stopped to wait for her.

“What is it mistress
Rhodra?” Niarmit asked from the grey mare her half-brother had unknowingly bequeathed her. 

The breathless D
eaconess threw her own question as she drew level with Niarmit’s knee.  “Where are you going at this hour, Lady Niarmit, not leaving us?”

“Given the week long stalemate
in the council’s proceedings we thought to take a ride in the woods around the palace,” Niarmit replied.

“In my brother’s home it is said the wall have ears,” Quintala added.  “We had hopes that the trees might prove deaf.”

“The Lady Giseanne would speak with you,” Rhodra parted with her message in a rush.

“All of us?” 
Thom asked.

Rhodra shook her head and swallowed back the lingering exertion of her dash to the stables.  “No,
she said just the Lady Niarmit and the Seneschal if they would come.”

The half-elf dipped her chin in acknowledgement of the distinction.  “I have always had time for the Lady Giseanne.”

“Who else is invited to this meeting?” Niarmit asked, not shifting from her saddle.  “Are other messengers entreating the Lords of Oostsalve or Bishop Sorenson to attend?”

“Will my brother be there?” the half-elf added.

Rhodra spoke softly.  “Only I was sent and only to speak with you, my Lady.”

Niarmit was already dismounting.  “This ride can wait,” she said as Quintala
also slid gracefully from the saddle. “Kaylan, have the horses stabled.”

“Why?” Hepdida’s shrill question brought a glare from Niarmit.

“I thought you didn’t enjoy riding,”
her cousin said, watching the Princess through narrowed eyes.

“I’m hardly going to get any better
at it, if every time I am going to practice I get called back to sit and wait for the next moment when I and my story are to be paraded before a crowd of sourpusses who clearly think I made the whole thing up.”   Frustrated indignation bubbled over as she jabbed at the lines on her cheeks.  “Those bastard brothers of Abroath’s grinned at these like they thought I did this myself.”

“Or like they wished they’d made the
marks themselves,” Quintala murmured so quietly that Hepdida thought she had mis-heard.

“You are tired,” Niarmit said with quick kindn
ess.  “I’m sorry. I had not thought what a trial this questioning must have been.  You must rest.”

Hepdida stood up in her stirrups to shout her cousin down, but the cob moved a step or two, stealing her balance and her words.  She felt Kaylan’s hand on her arm, squeezing slightly to steady and to silence her.  “A ride would do the Princess as much good as a rest, my Lady,” the thief observed, one eyebrow raised.  “Rugan’s Palace is no place for the young.
Thom and I will make sure your cousin comes to no harm in the Prince’s forests.”

They were silent for a moment, Niarmit conte
mplating the thief’s offer and her cousin’s scowl.  Hepdida glared back, hiding pain with anger and feeling only more pain at the sad puzzlement in Niarmit’s eyes.

It was Rhodra who broke the spell.  “The Lady Gis
eanne was most anxious to speak with you my Lady and it has already taken me longer than I thought to track you down.”

“Go then, Kaylan,” Niarmit said but it was He
pdida she was looking at with her plain spoken dismissal.  Hepdida swung away hauling on reins, thighs and heels convulsing in a frenzy to get the obdurate cob moving. Tears of an un-thought sorrow stung her eyes and she would not look back even as Quintala wished her well.

“Enjoy a quie
t afternoon in the forests, my Princess.  You have earned it,” the half-elf said softly.  There were no words from Niarmit.

Kaylan took the cob’s reins to lead her out of the courtyard onto the forest path. 
Thom followed behind and the silence lasted until the walls of Rugan’s palace were hidden by the massed trunks of the towering trees, planted in tribute to the Prince’s kin on his mother’s side.

“How do you do it, Kaylan?” Hepdida said at last as the anger faded leaving only a pit of self-disgust.

“Do what, my Princess?”

“Live with such perfection
.  Knowing she is always right. She has all the answers, never doubting.  I am just a child to her.  Nothing I do is right.”

Kaylan stopped his mare a
nd turned to look at the surly Princess.  He frowned as he gave her words some serious thought and she was grateful that when he spoke it was not to tell her that she was indeed just a child.  “The Lady Niarmit has known her share of doubt my Princess.  I expect waves of it still assail her now, but she dare not show it. She only rarely lets her torments break free.”

“She
is so cold at times that I am scared even to touch her.”

“
My father was such a one,” Thom said on her other side.  “not cold, but driven always aware that he had never won the battle of life, just not lost it yet.   I think our Queen follows a similar trail on this uncertain path to victory.  She climbs every hill in the hope that each new summit will give her a clear view of the route by which Maelgrum may be overthrown and instead each new summit reveals just another higher hill.”

Hepdida twisted her fingers in the slow moving cob’s mane. “I
always feel small and weak beside her.” 

“There is a strength in you too Princess,
you have survived your own trials and Lady Niarmit knows it,” Kaylan patted her arm, a familiarity he would never have contemplated with the Queen.

“I should sleep in my own room
, Kaylan.  My nightmares keep her awake.”

“What do yo
u dream of, my Princess?” the thief asked gently.

She shrugged and lied.  “I can never remember, I just wake sweating.”

Her companions were silent, if they had guessed at her dissembling they chose not to point it out. 

“
Tell me, Kaylan,” Thom said as the horses walked slowly between the trees.  “What do you make of our two Lords of Oostsalve?”

“
I can scarce credit they shared a mother, still less a father with our noble Prior.”

Hepdida was glad of the talk
and glad not to be its focus.