Hal - The Duellist #1

Chapter Forty-Three: Broken Glass

Once they had passed beneath the walls, the sentry swung the gate shut behind them. She was in. After all this time, Hal was now closer to Meracad than she had been since the summer. She scanned the courtyard, but saw only groups of soldiers criss-crossing her path: servants, pages and stable hands rushing through the damp, icy air from workshops and outhouses to the keep and barracks. Once she had left the noisy bustle of the street, stillness seemed to fall within the fortress walls. The keep towered above her, an intimidating mass of stone punctured by thin slivers of windows.

The guard grabbed her arm and pulled her along roughly, leaving no more time for further investigations. She found herself half-dragged beneath the northern walls of the fortress, which were shady, dank and smelt of mould. Eventually he rapped several times on an iron door: the only obvious entrance to the rear of the keep.

High above, a man-at-arms stopped in his tracks, observing them blankly. Then he turned away, spat over the rampart wall and continued his patrol. They waited a few more painful seconds before bolts were pulled back and hinges creaked open.

A sweating giant of a man stood in the doorway ‒ lank, greasy hair flattened down over a huge swollen head. He appeared to expand out of what had once evidently been elegant and expensive clothing, but was now worn almost to shreds and pasted with stains.

"What?" he spoke through a mouthful of bread, and she found it difficult not to turn away in disgust.

"I'll leave her with you. Says she's looking for work, although what you'll do with her the Emperor himself knows. If you don't want her, throw her back out on the street again, but don't let her out of your sight. Looks like the light-fingered sort to me." With that the guard was off, and she was left hovering alone outside the kitchen door, waiting for this mutant of a man to decide her fate.

"Looking for work, eh?" he repeated. He chewed thoughtfully on the bread, swallowing it to Hal's relief, only to reach in his pocket for another slice and give it a vicious bite. "Can you cook?" A few soggy crumbs fell out of his mouth as he spoke.

"Yes, Sir, my mother taught me," she began, but he interrupted her.

"Why do you want to work here?" he asked, his dull, blood-stained eyes taking on a suspicious cast.

Franc had prepared her for this question. "Well, Sir, I just arrived from my village yesterday evening, Sir. I didn't know where to work but this seemed the biggest place, Sir, and..." she hoped her servile tone would convince him, but he snorted.

"This is Bruno Nérac's fortress, girl. You heard of Lord Nérac?"

"Can't say I have, Sir."

He looked at her in disbelief. Maybe she had pushed the false innocence too far, but he shook his head and said, "well if you haven't heard of him, it's time you found out." He opened the door and pulled her inside.

It took her eyes some time to adjust to the dim light. She stumbled into a long, narrow chamber, penetrated by just one tiny window. To her right a fire raged in an open pit. The smoke darkened the room and the air was barely breathable. She discerned the shapes of an old woman and a boy sat at the hearth, taking turns to stir a vast cauldron which was releasing acrid fumes. An enormous trestle ran the length of the place, heaped with meat, vegetables, fruit and bottles of wine. A couple of girls were busy plucking chickens, while two more washed and peeled vegetables. None of them seemed interested in her arrival, merely raising their heads to observe her before resuming their work.

"This, girl, is where you'll work, where you'll sleep, and where you'll live. You won't leave the room without my orders," the giant kitchen master hissed into her ear.