Chapter 14
Life Force of all Begins
Bronwyn heard footsteps and looked up to see a guard running towards him. He attempted to question the man, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t even salute.
Muffled sounds drifted down the hallway leading to the lobby. Inside, about three dozen guards lingered in the spacious entrance hall, chatting in small groups. The air, still heavy from the heat of the previous day, carried a spicy odour which mixed with the smell of men who had rolled out of bed and those who had patrolled for twelve sizzling hours.
When Bronwyn approached, the guards fell silent and saluted.
“Sergeant, why are we here?” The dark-haired human tucked more of his white shirt into his trousers and pulled at the base of his vest to straighten it.
“I thought you could tell me, Private,” said Bronwyn.
“The lords ordered everyone from their quarters. Most are in the guardhouse and courtyard, but we’re to wait here until further instructions.”
He looked towards the Throne Room entrance. “Are we supposed to go in?”
“You are, sir.” A large-framed human near the door gestured for him to proceed.
Bronwyn stepped past the rest and entered the Throne Room. All officers and several individuals important to the castle, including the archivist who seldom emerged in public, appeared to be inside. The elf who tended the archives and library clutched a note pad and rocked back and forth in his chair in a methodical motion. Bronwyn noticed the misaligned buttons of the elf’s untucked shirt. Strange for a man who supposedly organised every record held at the castle for the past seventy-five years.
At the far corner of the room, Bronwyn spotted Farlan speaking with Sanderson. Farlan’s face appeared flushed and anxious. Sanderson poked a finger at the corporal’s chest. Farlan didn’t flinch. Hoping to save his friend from whatever mess he’d gotten himself into, the dwarf moved through the crowd until he stood next to him.
“Where in Ath-o’Lea were you?” Sanderson said gruffly.
Stunned by the tone of voice and question, Bronwyn had no answer. Like most off-duty guards, he had slept away the night.
“I’ll speak with you later. Here come the lords.” Sanderson strode away and took his position near the thrones.
Bronwyn leant near his friend. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. Sanderson dragged me off the wall—literally, dragged me off the wall—and interrogated me.” Farlan talked out of the side of his mouth in a low voice. “It has to be serious. I’ve never seen the ol’ man so short tempered, so quick to judge.” The natural colour of his face returned. Still, he appeared shaken. “My men, the ones on overnight duty, are in one miserable state. Several fell asleep. Others retched over the wall. They had the same odour as what Isla put in the bucket. After midnight, Junior Corporal Parnell looked at me in a daze and asked, where could he find his mother—his momma? The elf is one of my strongest men. I had to get two guards to escort him to the Infirmary.”
Bronwyn knew Parnell and couldn’t believe what his friend said. It sounded incredible. Whatever the illness, it affected men as well as women. Although he hadn’t felt sick, he’d slept well, too well. He doubted if anything could have wakened him. “It sounds as if everyone suffered from some degree of poysoning. What about you?”
“I felt sleepy, but chewed on pumpkin seeds to stay alert.”
“Did you feel ill?”
“My stomach felt unsettled, but I blamed it on the ride from Moon Meadow and the odour from your quarters.” Farlan looked straight at his friend. “And the worry for Isla. How’s she doing?”
“She’s fine.”
“Where is she?”
“My quarters.”
“Alone?”
“Alaura’s with her.”
Farlan raised an eyebrow. “Alaura spent the night in your quarters?”
“She did.” Bronwyn reined in a grin, but a fragment lingered at the corner of his mouth. His friend knew how he felt about Alaura and might make certain assumptions. The glint in Farlan’s eyes held his gaze. Though he tried to cloak his feelings, Bronwyn felt his blood warm. A bit more of the grin escaped.
Farlan folded his arms as a mischievous grin lit up his face. “Good. She watched over Isla. She should move in and tend to her full time. At the very least, I’d eat well when I came for a ration.”
Bronwyn’s grin spread across his face, but when he found Sanderson staring at him, he promptly removed it. The captain of the guard scowled at his casual expression. The dwarf straightened his shoulders and pasted a solemn look on his face.
Everyone rose as the lords approached the thrones. Lord Mulryan led the way. He looked a little peculiar, but Bronwyn couldn’t identify the reason why.
Farlan leant close to his ear. “Mulryan wasn’t here last night. He left shortly after I started my shift and didn’t return until about an hour ago.”
He took a second look at Mulryan. Where had he spent the night? That’s it! He wore the same clothes he had yesterday.
Lord Layne Nevell, a healer, sat next to Lord Mulryan. The ashen-haired human, the youngest lord, supervised the Infirmary serving the inhabitants of the castle, the castle guard and the army. He also trained others in the craft and visited the healing stations within Maskil.
Bronwyn watched Lord Nevell pleat a small piece of cloth on his lap. With the folding completed, he flicked it straight and began again. He looked pale, more pale than usual. Bronwyn thought he might have succumbed to the overnight sickness. The cloth slipped from Nevell’s hands. He grasped the edge of his robe and played with the hem. His eyes darted about the room, settling on the dwarf. A peculiar expression clouded his features. Bronwyn felt as if he had solicited his help, bade him to step forward. Then, as if to safeguard his request, Nevell looked away and watched Lord Val sit next to him.
Lord Val moved sluggishly. His sombre expression revealed little about the announcement to come. He placed a comforting hand on his stomach and drew a deep breath.
Bronwyn’s mind drifted to the women in his quarters. Had they recovered completely from their illness? A sudden urgency sparked in his gut and a chill ran down the back of his neck. The desire to race away and confirm their safety felt overwhelming, but duty grounded him.
Next, the hauflin, Lord Peadar Tasgall, slid onto his throne. Tasgall’s eyes explored the room. The lord folded his hands on his lap and continued to search, not settling on any particular object or person.
The next throne sat empty. Where was Lady Dasia? Had she fallen ill from the heat? The elf never missed a session in the Throne Room. Bronwyn had seen her only yesterday from atop the castle wall. She walked with a citizen towards the Maskil Market. They laughed together. But he hadn’t spoken to her since their meeting in the guardhouse, when she gave him the belt buckle. His hand went to the decorative object. He wore it proudly, hoping to find the person to whom it belonged. Later, he’d seek out Glynn Dasia to find the reason behind her absence.
Lord Dirck Landis took his seat last. The human measured almost as tall as Sanderson. A ponytail pulled his dark hair from his sallow face, revealing the square edges of his jaw. Bronwyn didn’t speak to him unless necessary. The lord, who governed over both the justice system and dungeon, spoke down to the dwarf, making him feel unworthy of his rank. The tone of his voice, not his words, implied his dislike. Bronwyn had mentioned it to Sanderson, but he said not to worry—Lord Landis talks like that to everyone.
Lord Val held up his hand for silence.
Bronwyn straightened and noticed Farlan had done the same. Both had met at a similar meeting many years ago, when an attack by a small force of Lindrum’s henchmen had penetrated the castle walls. The efficiency of the lords and how quickly they settled the matter had impressed Bronwyn. Watching Lord Val now, he didn’t see the same urgency or confidence marking his features as on that day.
Lord Val cleared his throat. “It’ll take all our strength to see the day through and main
tain the confidence of the noble citizens of Maskil.” He gazed around the room, making eye contact with several individuals. “It’s my duty to inform you of the horrible events that occurred within these walls last evening. Whilst we slept, a ruthless murderer entered our castle, our home.”
He paused. With a small cloth he wiped sweat from his brow. A pallid almost white hue had replaced his usual healthy light green skin colour. “It’s with a grievous heart I inform you our beloved Lady Dasia has been taken from us.”
Bronwyn gasped. Who had taken her? Did he mean murdered? Impossible! Lady Dasia, a noble wizard, ranked superior in her craft. Who could have done it? Who would dare?
Lord Val raised his hand to quiet the rumblings in the audience. “It’s unbelievable but true; Lady Dasia was murdered as she slept. The facts are made worse by the escape of her killer.” He stared into the crowd. He appeared lost in thought. He winced, shook his head then continued. “To add to our misery is the news dozens of individuals, including many children, became afflicted with a strange illness through the night. Sadly, the weak succumbed to the malady.”
Bronwyn swallowed hard. It had to be the same sickness infecting Isla. If not for Alaura, it might be his child’s death he mourned. But Isla had recovered. He cleared his throat and looked around the Throne Room. Everyone whispered to the person nearest them. He glanced at Farlan. What had he witnessed while on duty on the castle wall over night? They locked eyes but dared not share their thoughts in a room filled with others who waited to pounce on a shred of evidence.
“Silence.” Lord Val folded his trembling hands on his lap. “We have questioned many individuals, but many more will be sought to fill in the missing information. A public inquest will take place this afternoon. I promise, the culprit will be found and justice will be swift.
“Officers, you’re to remain here and await further orders from Lord Mulryan. The rest of you, secure your areas of the castle. If anything unusual is found, bring it to me. Lord Landis and I will be in the study.” Lord Val rose and left the room. The rest of the lords, except Mulryan, followed.
With the room secured, Lord Mulryan gathered the guards around him. Bronwyn scanned the many faces he had come to know over the years: Sanderson, Captains Tibbins and Greenill, Sergeants Glawson and Latchford, ten corporals, including Farlan, and many of the forty-five junior corporals.
Bronwyn watched Lord Mulryan as he waited for the guards to gather and be silent.
The lord, with his feet squarely planted on the stone floor, tapped his thumb on the hilt of his sword. He didn’t look directly into the faces of his men, but instead at their boots and their swords.
Bronwyn caught the scent of cinnamon. He glanced at Mulryan a few feet away. Did this smell come from his overnight excursion? Breakfast had yet to be served to anyone in the castle. Had it been provided for him where he spent the night? Over the years Bronwyn had witnessed Mulryan leave on many occasions and return in the morning. The outings hadn’t seemed suspicious until today.
“Men.” Lord Mulryan surveyed the group. “We have failed the lords, Aruam Castle and the people of Maskil. Under our watch a murderer broke through our defences and claimed the life of one of our most respected leaders.” He continued in a low, deep voice. “If we had the power to undo the deed, we would in haste. But malicious magic sealed Lady Glynn Dasia’s fate. It drained every drop of spirit from her nwyfre.”
Nwyfre? Bronwyn had heard of it before but couldn’t recall the details. He had once asked Alaura. She said it to be the life force of all beings. Many thought of it as a person’s aura where their spirit dwelt. Those who knew magic held it in higher regard. Alaura had noticed his lack of interest when she mentioned magic at the time and ended the explanation. Now, Bronwyn wished he’d asked her to continue.
Lord Mulryan pushed his black hair from his eyes. “Today will be one unlike any other. Though we grieve, we must take charge and rout out the murderer who dared cross our lines. Each one of you will play a part in bringing this criminal to justice.” He looked at Sanderson. “Immediately after this meeting, I’ll meet privately with you and Captains Tibbins and Greenill. But for now”—he spoke to the rest—“it’s important we make our presence felt.
“Corporals, those of you who patrolled on night shift, get your men in off the wall. They’re in a wretched state, suffering from the intense heat which hung over the castle all night. Give them and yourselves eight hours’ leave. Encourage them to eat and sleep.
“Corporals on day duty; recruit from those scheduled for training and double the number of guards on the wall and at the town gates. If you run short of men, meet with Captain Greenill, and he’ll assign soldiers to make up the shortfall. I want every inch of wall scoured for clues. The murderer entered the grounds by some means. Find it!
“Sergeants; the three of you divide up the town and get every available guard and a hundred soldiers on the streets. Once word gets out of Lady Dasia’s murder, there’s no telling what may happen. Instruct them to keep their ears and eyes open for suspicious behaviour.” Lord Mulryan looked over his men, making eye contact with several guards.
When his eyes met Bronwyn’s, he wore a vulnerable expression unusual for the dwarf lord. Did Mulryan look to him for strength? But how could a sergeant bolster a lord? Bronwyn stood straighter, shoulders back, forced a determined expression and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. The corner of Mulryan’s mouth curved slightly. Dwarfs, a noble race, stood ready to face whatever forces challenged them; perhaps Mulryan had forgotten this.
“At 13:00 hours, we’ll regroup at the guardhouse,” said Mulryan. “The inquest is scheduled for 15:00 hours. If you have anything to report, I’ll be in my office or the study. Are there any questions?” No one spoke. “Let’s get to work then.”
Bronwyn glanced at Farlan. “We’ll talk later.”
Farlan nodded and headed to the outer wall to relieve the men under his command.
Bronwyn joined Sergeants Glawson and Latchford to plan their duties for the day. He struggled to accept the unbelievable news that intruders had murdered Lady Dasia. If she could be killed within the protective fortifications of the castle then everyone within the walls lay equally vulnerable: the lords, the guards and their families. He thought about Isla and Alaura alone and defenceless in his quarters. But the night had passed safely for them. He had stood guard to protect them if trouble had arisen. He wondered; if Glenn Dasia had united and a mate shared her bed, would she be alive today? Her mate would have functioned as her personal guardian as Bronwyn had for Isla and Alaura. Perhaps the law forbidding lords to unite contributed to her demise.