Chapter 05
A Pleasurable Customer
Corporal Bronwyn Darrow waited in a small room inside Aruam Castle. Butterflies in his belly made him squeamish as he thought about attending his first private assembly with the lords. Although versed in meeting protocol, he’d be relieved when the official business ended.
He thought about the events that had occurred since the evening before. By the time he’d returned to the castle and gave a short report to the guard on duty, the sun had parted the horizon. He secured a room on the third floor of the castle for Catriona and posted a guard at her door. Then he went to his shared quarters and fell into bed, exhausted.
Bronwyn slept past the usual wake-up call and into mid-day. When he awoke, he filed a more detailed report on the overnight events then went to the Throne Room where a large crowd had gathered. Worried citizens packed the enormous room, and guards struggled to keep the mass orderly.
Pandemonium had grown amongst the citizens since the castle break-in and the theft of research papers and maps two nights before. The brazen attack on a private dwelling by Lindrum’s henchmen resulting in the death of two guards added to their fears. Rampant rumours maintained Lindrum had used the stolen material to uncover the location of Lilja, the sacred dragon. Already his army had advanced to capture her.
Bronwyn had learnt Lindrum’s history at an early age. The wizard who had once associated with the Lords of Aruam Castle declared war against them decades beforehand. He had attempted to capture Lilja and use her to destroy the town of Maskil.
Lindrum had failed, yet the exhausted lords had unsuccessfully protected Lilja from near death. In desperation, the dragon attacked the wizard and sent him spinning into a portal to an unknown destination. Lilja and her fertile egg also disappeared without a trace.
The prophecy began about thirty years later when an old man stumbled into Maskil, half-blind and half-starved. He claimed to have been lost for years in a labyrinth of caves in the mountains west of the town. While there, he met a creature of mixed races who recited the cryptic message predicting Lindrum’s demise. It gave the old man a scroll and instructed him to take it to the Lords of Aruam Castle. Upon receiving the message, the lords dispatched a company of soldiers to explore the mysterious Caverns of Confusion, but they never found them.
Bronwyn remained unsure if he believed the prophecy. It annoyed him more than anything because many citizens used it to explain strange behaviour and make bizarre requests. If the prophecy turned out to be true, and one day a pair of hauflin siblings and their companions destroyed Lindrum, he’d happily sing its praises. But until then he’d be practical.
While watching the mayhem in the Throne Room, Bronwyn caught a glimpse of Sanderson, the captain of the guard. He thought to get the man’s attention to update him on his overnight activities and ask his advice on Catriona and the monkey, but the turbulent atmosphere in the room made it impossible. Sanderson stood in the middle of the chaos, and the citizens were packed too tightly for Bronwyn to reach him.
Instead the dwarf watched from the sidelines as the citizens, full of fear and doubt, fired one question after another at the lords. The lords’ calmness amid the insanity impressed him. Finally, the shouting, accusations and scuffling in the crowd prompted them to end the day’s session two hours earlier than scheduled.
Bronwyn took advantage of the early closing and asked a guard on duty to take a message to the lords requesting to speak with them in private.
After receiving the message, Lord Val glared at Bronwyn from across the room. The lord’s expression confused him. Instead of answering his request, Lord Val waved him off and followed the others from the Throne Room. A short time later Bronwyn received a summons for him and the surviving guards who had taken part in the overnight confrontation at Catriona’s dwelling to attend a meeting immediately following the evening ration.
Worried about who might be present at the discussion, Bronwyn wondered how to approach the lords with a second request for a private meeting. He’d promised Catriona to divulge the identity of the marmoset only to them. What if they refused to grant him privacy?
The story circulating throughout Maskil had the child of the thief who had raided the castle to be on its way to Wandsworth. Bronwyn believed the report he’d filed to be confidential, so how had the details become public? He assumed the lords had believed this false information to be true.
Bronwyn smoothed the yellow badge on his lapel. It separated him from the lowest rank. It had taken four years as a soldier in the Royal Army and three years as a castle guard to earn it. Now only a month after the promotion, he worried he’d lose the badge for distorting the truth. He hadn’t lied on the report, merely wrote what Catriona had told him. Depending on the interpretation, it might be misunderstood.
While the dwarf waited for the meeting to begin, he studied the large tapestry hanging on the opposite wall. It measured from ceiling to floor and from one corner of the room to the other. He’d never before seen the incredible artwork depicting a magnificent golden dragon upon a turret. He recognised it as part of Aruam Castle. The rays of the setting sun cascaded across the tree tops and spot-lit the dragon as it smiled upon the small town below.
A figurehead appeared in each corner of the tapestry. Bronwyn easily identified them as human, elf, dwarf and hauflin. He wondered if they illustrated the original Lords of Maskil and Aruam Castle. Although he’d learnt the names of the lords during his educational years, he’d never seen images of them.
After Lilja disappeared, the lords decided to increase their number from four to six for security reasons. The diversity remained with the four races being represented. Two additional worthy individuals, regardless of race, filled the extra positions.
Peering closer at the tapestry, Bronwyn pondered over the significance of the green orb located in the centre of the lower border. Three unfamiliar symbols, perhaps creating a word, were scrolled through its midsection. A faint yellow glow surrounded the orb and butterfly wings sprouted from either side. His history studies didn’t contain information on such an orb.
The door opened and Bronwyn jumped to his feet. A tall, broad-shouldered human wearing a dark blue uniform with four yellow badges on each lapel walked in. Sanderson held the highest rank amongst Aruam Castle guards. Only the lords possessed higher authority.
Bronwyn stood at attention and saluted. Over the years his body had become straight and lean from training. He fantasised of one day trading his light blue uniform for the dark one standing in front of him.
“At ease, Corporal.” Sanderson unceremoniously waved and sat at the table.
Bronwyn resumed his position on the bench and the door opened again. The royal scribe, Wilhelm, entered accompanied by Blomidon, the royal sage. They took seats at the far left of the table, across from where the lords would sit.
Wilhelm, a human of small stature, dressed in black and—unlike other scribes—wore a short sword. “Have you had word of the child?” he asked the captain of the guard.
Sanderson looked up from his papers and raised his black bushy eyebrows. “None.” He returned his attention to his work.
“Is it possible the sorceress is hiding the child? Maybe hiding Ruckle?”
“As possible as it is for one to be thrown in the dungeon for irritating the captain of the guard.” Sanderson did not look up.
Wilhelm fell silent.
The three guards who had accompanied Bronwyn to Catriona’s dwelling the night before entered the room. They appeared in good health with their wounds dressed and uniforms cleaned. An empty chair—Bronwyn’s—remained between Sanderson and the privates.
He had no sooner settled in the chair when the narrow door beside the tapestry opened. Everyone stood as the six lords entered and took their seats. Lord Val motioned for them to sit. Bronwyn found himself directly across from him.
“Good evening, everyone.” Lord Val, an elf, spoke in a smooth voice, his enunciation succinct and precise with ev
ery consonant pronounced. A single braid secured his long, green-streaked blond hair. His forest-green robe contrasted sharply against his pale green skin. “We know why we’re here, so I’ll get right to business.”
Bronwyn sat up, keeping his focus on Lord Val. Occasionally Wilhelm’s pen caught his attention. It unnerved him to know the scribe was recording his words for future reference.
“First, the man reported to be with Keiron Ruckle the night of the theft was apprehended late last evening. Guards recovered his body north of Edgewood. They found him with his feet melted to a stone. It appears he died several hours beforehand. There was no sign of Ruckle or the stolen material.” He took a deep breath. “Corporal Darrow.”
Bronwyn shivered when the lord spoke his name. “Yes, My Lord.”
“I have read the report you filed when you returned to the castle this morning. It was...”—Lord Val hesitated, staring at him—“brief. Would you care to elaborate?”
The nervous corporal clasped his hands in front of him on the table. “I returned to the castle in the wee hours of the day and made a quick report. Later, after resting, I filed a more detailed account of events.”
“I didn’t receive the second report.” Lord Val glanced at Wilhelm. “Do you have it there?”
“No, My Lord. No one brought it to my attention. Perhaps the corporal will provide a verbal report now.”
Bronwyn felt everyone’s attention upon him. He wished he had thought to bring the report then he’d be able to read it without the fear of making mistakes. “The second report contains a description of the henchman who fled the Wheatcroft dwelling. I also added details of our movements before the confrontation and about Miss Catriona Wheatcroft. The human female stated her age to be thirty-three years. The sorceress has practised magic for about sixteen years. She has five—no, six apprentices under her charge.” He took a deep breath and tried to remember more.
“Is there anything further?” asked Lord Val.
“Not at this time.”
Lord Val glanced at the paper in front of him. “Although this has yet to be confirmed, it appears Miss Wheatcroft’s father, Emerson, was our chief cartographer fifteen years ago. His only daughter caused the loss of his son. He worked for a year afterward then relocated his family to Wandsworth. Obviously, Catriona didn’t accompany them.”
The elf rubbed his forehead as if trying to soothe a sharp pain. “Her apprentices are being questioned along with anyone with whom she has had personal contact.” He turned his attention to Bronwyn. “Corporal, has she given any indication of Ruckle’s whereabouts?”
Before Bronwyn could answer, a knock came at the door.
Lord Val grumbled. “Blomidon, see who it is. If not urgent, send them away.”
The sage went to the door, opened it a crack and spoke with the person on the other side. Then she turned to address the lords. “Two guards bring an acquaintance of Miss Wheatcroft. She is making a Right of Visitation and claims to be the nearest to next-of-kin. With your permission, I shall grant her entry.”
“I wish to meet this nearest to next-of-kin,” said Lord Val.
Blomidon opened the door, and the guards escorted a woman into the room.
The elven lord scrutinised her. “State your name.”
“Alaura of Niamh, My Lord.”
“What is your relationship with Miss Catriona Wheatcroft?”
“I have known Catriona for five years, first as her apprentice and then as a friend.”
“You do understand your friend has family in Wandsworth. They’d be the first granted Right of Visitation?”
“I do, but Catriona…how can I explain? Catriona and her family aren’t exactly close. Their relationship is strained by emotional stress.”
“Is that so?” He leered at her.
“Yes, My Lord.” Alaura stood straight, feet slightly apart, hands clasped behind her back and her chin out. “I would like to make a Right of Visitation as is stated in the Laws of the Land so my own eyes can see my friend is well.”
“How do we know you speak the truth, Miss…?”
“Alaura.”
Lord Val gave a slight nod. “Alaura; and that you are naught but a stranger to Miss Wheatcroft?”
Bronwyn had watched the woman enter the room. Although the castle guards towered over her, it did not weaken her appearance. Instead, her demeanour created a stronger image. He recognised her as an apprentice who occasionally accompanied Catriona to his parents’ shop, the Forest Bakery and Herbs. She listened quietly to the instructions of her teacher as they chose the herbs needed to work their recipes.
Occasionally she came alone. During those visits, Bronwyn watched her speak discreetly with his mum, inquiring about certain herbs and their properties. Once he asked his mum about her, and she simply said, A pleasurable customer who knows what she needs.
Alaura had often worn a shapeless knee-length dress with a black leather belt. Her dark blonde hair hung loose, obscuring half her face. Still, her brown eyes caught his attention on many occasions as he went to and from his parents’ dwelling above the shop. They flickered brightly even when the sun didn’t shine.
Today as she entered the Private Audience Room of the lords, she wore tan trousers, a white shirt and knee-high brown boots. The fitted clothing revealed her subtle curves and firm bosom. Her hair surprised him more. Pulled back in a single braid, it revealed delicate features kissed by the sun. His gaze moved to her lips, slender and still, before rising to her slightly tucked nose. His eyes followed her cheek bone to her ears which appeared not as rounded as other human ears. When he found her eyes, shimmering in the evening sun shining through the window, he found them focussed on Lord Val.
Alaura of Niamh. Bronwyn rolled the name over in his head. While he hadn’t personally spoken with her, he thought it to be her name. Was she the Alaura the marmoset had asked for?
Bronwyn recalled she often made trips outside Maskil, but he had never worked the gates when she passed through. From his guard position on the wall, he watched her come and go. When the guards inspected the small cart she pulled, she never fussed and seemed more than willing to reveal the items inside. Walking away from the gate, she headed towards Linden Woods and Moon Meadow. He wondered which of the two places she visited, or did she continue on The Trail to the foothills?
One day he’d follow the smaller than average human and see where she went.
Alaura looked directly at him and pointed a finger. “Ask your own guard.”
The comment took Bronwyn by surprise. Immersed in his own thoughts of Alaura of Niamh, he failed to follow the conversation. Unsure of why she singled him out, he swung around to look at Lord Val who watched him and waited for an answer.
“Well, Corporal, do you know this woman?” asked the lord.
“Yes…well…she visits my parents’ shop. She’s pleasurable…I mean…a regular customer.” He felt his face flush and swallowed hard.
“Was she in the company of Miss Wheatcroft?” Lord Val seemed to be losing his patience.
“Yes, My Lord…many times.” He cursed himself for letting his thoughts get away from him. In an attempt to regain his composure, he focussed on the lord.
“Thank you.” Lord Val considered his words. He appeared ready to speak when Lord Tasgall interrupted.
“One question, if I may, Alaura of Niamh?” said the hauflin lord. “I sense you are more than can be recognised by the untrained eye. Please, share with us your parentage.”
“Yes, My Lord.” Alaura hesitated. “My meeme is human, my das hauflin.”
Several in the room caught their breath at the announcement.
“My Lord, a human and hauflin mix is rare, extraordinary,” said Wilhelm in a hushed voice. “Pregnancies end prematurely, often claiming the mother as well.”
“I’m aware of the fact.” Lord Val eyed Alaura.
Although he tried to fight the urge, Bronwyn couldn’t resist taking a second look at Alaura. Her mix of two breeds explai
ned the subtle differences. Maybe her skin wasn’t well-tanned after all but naturally coloured. It certainly explained her lack of height. She stood shorter than the average human female but much taller than a hauflin.
“Permission granted for visitation.” Lord Val waved her on.
“Thank you, My Lord.” Alaura bowed. She turned on her heels and followed the guards to the door.
Bronwyn watched. Her silent, graceful walk captured his attention. Where did she learn to move like that? Alaura of Niamh glided across the floor effortlessly, as if a breeze carried her. When she reached the door, she glanced back at him, nodded and stepped into the hall.
The dwarf assumed the gesture to be a small thank you for vouching for her. He didn’t mind saying he knew her, though he didn’t know her well. She appeared to be an honest citizen. His mum approved of her and nothing got by Maisie Darrow. Satisfied the space had become empty of her existence, he turned towards the table.
He noticed the silence hanging in the air. The door had closed several seconds beforehand, and everyone had returned their attention to the meeting table. They waited for him to do the same. Glancing at Lord Val, Bronwyn found him watching with one eyebrow sharply raised.
“Now that the air has cleared of feminine distractions, we can proceed.” Lord Val frowned at the dwarf.
The snickers and grunts compelled Bronwyn to sit straighter. Although he cringed with embarrassment inside, he wouldn’t allow those around him see him cower. Stealing a glance at Lord Mulryan, he found the dwarf glaring at him. Bronwyn imagined what he thought: Dwarfs were the pillar of self-control, and your lack of it is shameful. Alaura had distracted him and confused his thoughts. Everyone in the room knew it.
Lady Dasia caught Bronwyn’s attention. She gave him a pleasant smile, one with no indication his behaviour disappointed her. Instead she appeared pleased. His embarrassment faded as he tried to understand the message she sent. Before he looked away, she winked at him. A smile played at the corner of his mouth, and he struggled to keep it from spreading across his face.
“Corporal Darrow, during the events of the previous evening, was there mention of Keiron Ruckle or his whereabouts?” asked Lord Val.
“There was no sign of him at Miss Wheatcroft’s dwelling and no mention of his whereabouts.” Bronwyn focussed on the business. He’d think more on Lady Dasia and Alaura of Niamh later.
“Wilhelm, have you found record of the child in the archives?” Lord Val turned to the scribe.
“Yes, My Lord. Isla of Maura was born at Maskil five years ago. Her mother is recorded as dying after having given birth to her first child.” Wilhelm consulted a paper in front of him and added, “It appears Ruckle has cared for the child alone since his wife’s death. I could find no further union agreements.”
Lord Val returned his attention to Bronwyn. “You stated in your report Miss Wheatcroft came into possession of the child but sent her to Wandsworth. Did she say who gave her the child and to whom she then gave the child for delivery?”
Bronwyn had waited for this moment. Now he wished it hadn’t arrived. “Yes, My Lord, Keiron Ruckle gave the child to Miss Wheatcroft.” He paused, giving great consideration in the placement of his next words. “At this time, I humbly request a private audience.”
Lord Val stared at the dwarf in disbelief. “This is a private audience.”
“My request is for a private session with the lords only. I made a promise.” His words lost their strength under the watchful eye of the eldest lord, an illusionist who had the authority to reduce Bronwyn’s duties to cleaning the bailey.
Lord Val glared at him. “Corporal, to whom did you make this promise?”
“Miss Wheatcroft.”
“Were you bonded by your word?”
“No, I didn’t sign a covenant. But I honour my promises equally.” Bronwyn wished he’d gone straight to the lords this morning instead of sleeping. He could have avoided this awkward moment.
“I release you from your promise, Corporal. Answer the question. Did Miss Wheatcroft say whom she gave the child to for delivery to Wandsworth?”
“I’m sorry. I wish to honour my promise an…and seek a private audience.” Bronwyn’s mouth went dry. He had promised Catriona to tell only the lords of Isla’s whereabouts, but making a second request went against protocol.
“Corporal,” Lord Val started wringing his hands, as if ready to savour a delicious ration or twist someone’s neck, “the information you divulge will not be shared with the public.” He stared angrily at the dwarf to force his will. “Answer the question.”
Bronwyn swallowed hard. Although he wished he didn’t have to answer, he felt impelled to do so. “The child is not on her way to Wandsworth. She is…here.”
The room fell silent.
“The marmoset in Miss Wheatcroft’s care is not a pet. It’s Keiron Ruckle’s child.”
Lord Val slammed his fist on the table.
Dumbfounded, Bronwyn feared a more dangerous outburst followed. The lord appeared out of control. He wondered if these actions occurred regularly behind closed doors. Glancing at Sanderson, Bronwyn guessed they didn’t because he looked startled at the lord’s sudden outburst.
Lord Val clenched his teeth and gave the impression he struggled to gain self-control. After a few calming breaths, he spoke. “We have men scouring the road to Wandsworth looking for this child. Why is our manpower being wasted?”
Bronwyn gulped. He’d written in his initial report Isla had been sent to the city to the south. He couldn’t put the truth in writing if he wanted to protect her. “I had hoped to inform you of the truth before this. It’s why I waited in the Throne Room and requested a private audience with you.”
“The search party had set out earlier in the day.” The corner of the elf’s top lip curled. “The child, this Isla of Maura, what is her importance? Besides being the issue of Keiron Ruckle, why does Lindrum want to capture her?”
Bronwyn felt a little less intimidated as the edge left the lord’s anger. “Miss Wheatcroft believes she has ties to the prophecy,” he replied. “Since Isla has no siblings, I feel this is impossible. I think the sorceress said so only to get protection for the child.”
“Obviously, Lindrum senses an importance.”
“I think Lindrum wants to use the child to control Ruckle.” Bronwyn became more assertive. “Or maybe they want her life as a payback for his misdeeds. There is no other logical explanation.” He doubted the prophecy and couldn’t pretend the child held any significance to it.
“But she is hauflin?” Lord Tasgall leant forward. “A full-blood hauflin?”
“I’m told so, but I haven’t seen her in hauflin form. She drank a potion and will remain a marmoset for several days.”
“I’d like to meet Isla of Maura,” said Lord Tasgall.
“Because she’s hauflin?” Lord Mulryan frowned. “I trust the corporal’s judgement. She’s not part of this prophecy.” The last word rolled off his tongue as if it tasted like burnt fish.
“Because she’s a citizen of Maskil,” said Lord Tasgall. “Every citizen deserves protection, particularly the most vulnerable—our children.”
“Defence of the castle and the town should be our top priority. If it is, the children will be safe.” Lord Mulryan’s deep voice filled the room.
Lord Val ignored the disagreement. “Corporal Darrow, has Miss Wheatcroft said anything to indicate the child possesses magic?”
“We didn’t discuss magic.”
“What is the connection betwixt Miss Wheatcroft and Keiron Ruckle? Why would a respectable sorceress have anything to do with a notorious thief?”
“I don’t know,” said Bronwyn. “She may be a former friend to Keiron’s mate.”
Lord Val rubbed his chin. “Corporal, fetch Miss Wheatcroft and the issue. I wish to interview this woman myself and judge the child.”
“Judge her?” Lord Mulryan’s voice echoed off the walls. “For what? Magic? What if she does possess
magic? Then what? Build our defences around her? The prophecy is a rumour! We can no sooner control it than the weather.”
“Corporal, bring them to me now.”
Bronwyn stood. He obeyed the eldest lord though he felt strong ties to the dwarfen lord who oversaw the castle guards and the army.
“My Lord, may I accompany Corporal Darrow?” Wilhelm set his ink pen on the table and prepared to stand. “Miss Wheatcroft may cause trouble if she feels the child is threatened.”
Lord Val nodded.
“Shall we bring Alaura of Niamh as well?” asked Wilhelm.
“Yes. We may have more questions for her.”
Bronwyn dreaded the thought of Alaura of Niamh being questioned further. It might be revealed he didn’t know her well enough to vouch for her identity.
Could this day get any worse? Since his promotion he had faced one ridiculous request after another. He felt as if an invisible force undermined every task. To add insult to embarrassment, a scribe had been assigned to protect him from two women and a child.