Cassandra

XV. Deadly Rumor

Rain splattered against the windows. Swollen gray rivulets trickling down the glass, making the world outside shadowy and blurred. The icy snow and powdery dirt of the garden were slowly melting together into sludge, a dead expanse of creeping ashy slime, out of which the trees thrust like withered hands. I had never thought the garden so dreary.
It was too quiet. This room had always been still, left quiet an untended, only opened on high days of celebration. But it had never been lonely, only very solemn. Now it was icy cold, as if nobody would ever enter it again.
The seamlessly smooth floor spread out in all directions, unencumbered by tables or other crowding furniture, completely featureless from one end to the other. Long heavy red velvet draperies were hung by the windows, shadows lurking within the thick folds, all the gold tassel trimmings faded and covered in dust. Overhead loomed three vast gold chandeliers, cold and unlit. A wide ornate fireplace stood at one end of the long room, but it was also long dead, the hearth cleaned and bare. Watery sunlight was the only illumination that filtered through the towering windows along one side of the room.
Professor Anders was busy in his study, and Lord and Lady Briarwood were both down in the Undercroft, wrapped up in their mysterious project under the castle. Which left me free to wander about as I pleased, and I had found myself drawn to this room, in a mood to dwell on the past for a moment. Alone in the silence of the empty hall, I was free to meditate.
I had always loved this room. It was so rarely opened, and when it was, that meant there was going to be a party. When this room had been used, I always got to stay up hours past my proper bedtime, and eat as many sweets as I could manage to keep down. Both very trivial reasons to love this room, but like a every small sinner I couldn't have imagined any better, for at that time staying up late and eating what wasn't good for me were both the keenest joys in life...I could hardly even remember the dancing now. Both the music and the people were blurred, of less importance to my small mind than the food, and how much I could get of it.
The dimness of the memories stirred a faint feeling of regret, even while I smiled indulgently at what I could recall. I would have liked to remember more, if I could. But it was all so far away, and long ago, the half formed recollections of a very small child. I remembered my brother Julius, both the tallest and the oldest of the seven of us, taking me for a romp on his broad shoulders; and a half remembered vision of Father inviting me to dance, rose to the surface. The memories made me smile, but I would have liked to have more of them.
A distantly tolling bell broke my train of thought, recalling me back to the present, and as I listened to it I felt my emotions shift from regret to a strange sense of dread. The bell sounded familiar. I had heard it before. With a quick step I strode from the hall, leaving it to the silence, and I hastened toward the western side of the castle.
Pushing through the castle's narrow back passages, I reached a door and stepping through it, found myself at the bottom of a circular tower of winding steps. I was at the bottom of the West Tower. Hastily climbing upwards, after a full circuit I found myself on another landing, where another door in the tower opened onto the second floor. But the door was shut, and I continued climbing, meeting no more landings as I continued upwards. This slope was much longer, and my chest was just beginning to burn as I reached the top, where the stairs ended in a tiny round room with one door. I found the door unlocked, and I quietly slipped out.
The wide top of the tower was deserted, hedged in by a stone balustrade through which the rainwater trickled, falling down eighty feet or more to the stone roof of the rest of the castle. I felt my stomach flip uncomfortably, looking at the gaping depth beneath me, feeling both exposed and unbalanced on the rain washed stone. Lingering close to the center of the tower, I turned to look back south, toward the distant smudge of Whitestone in the rain.
Very little could be seen, but in the open air I could hear the urgently ringing bell much more clearly, and the sound made my heart drop. It was the fire bell, sounded when flames broke out in the city. The last time I had heard that bell, it had been tolling over a raging inferno, lighting up the descending shadows from underneath, as the city slowly crumbled into ash.
I could see almost nothing of the city below through the rain, many of the buildings still fire blackened, or repaired into poor but livable shelters. Over them I could vaguely guess the shapes of the grand houses, where the New Nobles lived in luxury over the people. Dim, hardly more than a distant smudge, I thought I could guess at a faint column of smoke on the south western side of the city, but it was so faint I could hardly be sure. It was one fire, no more, that was nothing to feel alarmed about. Count Tyleeri burned down houses every day, this couldn't be anything new.
Shivering I retreated back downstairs, chilled to the bone and soaked by the cold rain. I could still make out the distant clamor of the bell, sending out its urgent warning. It was one fire, and in the heavy rain there was little danger of its causing much damage. I pushed the thought of it from my mind, and returned to the main floor of the castle.
But the disturbance was not yet over. As the shadows deepened, several hurried figures, blurred by the rain, baring faint sputtering torches, stumbled through the castle gate, hastening toward the castle. They all entered together, speaking loudly over one another in their confusion, looking blankly around the main entrance hall for someone to direct them. I had never seen any of them before: seven men in dark leathers or simple armors, their faces blended together and nondescript in their varying degrees of grooming and color. I guessed that they were no more than guards, or at the very least hired thugs, of no rank or leadership of any kind.
Carried by main force among the seven of them, buffeted between his two by no means gentle escorts, was a stooped old man. He was dressed in simple robes, which were torn and bloodied, and the thinning fringe of hair at the back of his neck was distinctive. It was Sir Kerrion's adviser, the crouched old man that had stood with him in the hall before the Briarwood's council, and with whom Kerrion had been conversing fiercely when he left the castle. Sir Kerrion was nowhere to be seen now, the elderly man stood alone without his companion, looking confused and shocked, doing nothing to either help or hinder the men that led him.
Behind the company, carried between two men, was a flimsy stretcher. It was like something used to carry wounded men on, but it was covered by a piece of cloth, and the carelessness of its bearers led be to believe that the form upon it was not alive. If it had been a living man under that sheet, they never would have carried the stretcher so heedlessly.
"Where the fuck is everybody?!" One of the men exclaimed impatiently, looking around for any signs of life. He appeared to be the leader at the moment, not because he had any official rank that placed him above his fellows, but because he had stepped into the position of leadership, and the others were allowing him to take control. Quietly I left the retired window seat where I had been watching all this, and stepped into the hall. As soon as I appeared, the man's face brightened, recognizing a member of the castle at last, and he instantly stepped forward.
"We're looking for Professor Anders, or the Lord and Lady. It's important" He said, with a little half bow. Of course I understood what the bow meant: a formality for someone who's rank is unclear, the mere civility of a greeting, with no real respect of rank behind it. Teachers had drilled me endlessly on such things, another form of training for which I no longer had any use.
"The professor is upstairs," I said, without returning the bow. "I'll call him."
With swift steps I mounted the main staircase, casting a glance over my shoulder at the knot of men milling about below me. They were casting nervous but curious glances at the grand spaces around them, aimlessly waiting for someone important to tell them what to do. In one corner the stooped old man was sitting hunched over, running nervous fingers over his thin lips with their day old stubble. Then I turned a corner and couldn't see them anymore.
At Anders door I paused for a moment, reluctant to disturb him, and incur his wrath. But he would be angry no matter what I did. With a shoulder I pushed into his study, clearing my throat to get his attention, and carefully taking two measured paces into the room. Anders was sitting at his desk, writing busily, and stiffened as soon as I entered.
"What is it now?" He growled sourly, speaking over his shoulder without turning.
"There's several people downstairs in the entrance hall asking for you." I said, speaking with carefully guarded neutrality.
"It can wait."
"They said its important," I added, "they have a body with them."
The Professor exploded in a snarl of annoyance, thrusting aside the papers before him, and pushing back his chair. As soon as he rose, I shrank away from the door, moving into the shadow of one of the two sets of ornate armor that stood on either side of the door, careful not to stand in the Professor's direct path of movement. There was danger in his present mood, but as long as I didn't stand to close to him, I could be reasonably sure he wouldn't go out of his way to reach me. Hardly giving me a second thought, Anders left his study, and I quietly followed, still careful to keep a safe distance between us. I wanted to see what this was about, but I knew better than to linger within arms reach.
"Yes, what is it?" Anders called out bitingly as he quickly descended the stairs. "I'm sure it must be something important, if it calls me away from my pressing business, so speak out with it!"
"There's been an attack." The leading man said, speaking with a shade of painful reverence in his voice that made me smile bitterly. "We brought the body for you to examine. It has all the signs my lord."
Hearing Anders called My Lord, was laughably ludicrous, but I didn't feel amused for long. The men had set down the stretcher they carried, and were now removing the sheet that covered it. Underneath was a lifeless form, that I could just barely identify as the limp body of Sir Kerrion himself, only recognizable because of his armor, and the proportions of the body.
His armor was bloodied, the cloak torn off, and his shirt underneath was soaked with blood. As I drew nearer, I could see that much of the blood was from the neck, where two blades (probably small and thin) had been thrust down past the collarbones into the chest, and another long slash scored through the armor across his lower neck and chest. The leather breast piece of Sir Kerrion's armor was scored by a number of round holes, blackened at the edges, almost as if someone had thrust a red hot poker through the leather into Kerrion's body. But these were not the most startling wounds. A large portion of the top of Sir Kerrion's head was gone, carved out in a wide ugly groove, the skull shattered with the flesh exposed. It was a ghastly wound, and even though the others were severe, it was clearly this blow to the head that had killed him.
"How did this happen?" Professor Anders managed to ask at last, after a long shocked silence, in which he was as staggered by the ruin before him as I was.
A moment passed before anyone answered, but in that half second of silence, I caught several fleeting glances cast in the direction of the old man in the corner. He was now sitting in the deepest shadows of the foyer, and shrank back further as the others glanced at him, as if shy of the light. Finally the unofficial leader of the men turned back to Anders, saying submissively, "Master Vouk was the only survivor to witness the attack, the guards that were in the room are dead."
"I see," the Professor said briskly, "bring him here, so I can have a look at him."
Roughly the old man was jerked to his feet and dragged forward, grunting in protest, trying in vain stay in the deeper shadows of the room. As he was pulled forward, the light revealed not only the blood on his clothes, but a vicious scar on his forehead. He had been branded like a common animal, the mark burned into his skin, disfiguring his face.
My stomach dropped, for I knew that mark. It was the rayed star of Pelor that my family had adopted into their crest. I had seen it thousands of times, shining dully on shields in the dining hall, embossed into Julius's armor, carved into the hair comb my mother wore on high days, fashioned into clasps for my brother's cloaks, part of the crest that was pushed into wax seals by my father's signet ring. It was a symbol of my family, carved into my memory since my earliest childhood. And here it was, burned into a man's forehead.
"How did you get this? Who gave you this?" Anders demanded angrily, as well he should, for that symbol represented my family, and delivered a very meaningful threat.
"He can't speak." The leader said, striding up as he spoke and seizing Master Vouk's jaw, forcing his mouth open. "They ripped his tongue out."
Gazing into the vacuous hole, I could see that the words were literal. The tongue was actually gone, leaving empty space. Not cut out, there was no stump of muscle left behind, his tongue was simply gone. Master Vouk's breath rattled unhappily as Anders peered into his mouth, trying in vain to draw his chin out of his captor's firm grip, strangled grunts of distress garbling in the back of his throat as his Adam's Apple bobbed up and down. The Professor's face changed as he examined the inside of Vouk's mouth, and he drew away with a look of contempt for Vouk, as if he were a lower animal, mingled with uncomfortable sympathy at another man's plight.
"I've seen enough. Let him go." Anders commanded, and the guard obediently released Vouk's chin, allowing him to close his mouth. "Bring that body and come into the dining room. This is a matter for the lord and lady."
Carelessly Anders thrust Vouk before him, leading the men into the dining room, and roughly depositing Vouk in a chair. At another command from Anders, Sir Kerrion's body was hoisted onto the table, and stretched upon it. This done, Anders disappeared, heading toward the cellar, and the Undercroft where Silas and Delilah spent most of their time. The soldiers left in the hall listlessly glanced into the various doors that lined the hall, loitering under the vaulted ceiling. The scarred and deformed Master Vouk tried to rise from his chair, but the unofficial leader still had a firm grip on his arm, and all he got was a sullen shove for the endeavor. At last Anders returned with Lord and Lady Briarwood, walking with his hands behind his back, as he followed in Silas's long strides, while Delilah melted into the room so quietly you almost didn't notice her behind her much taller husband. A chill washed over the room as soon as they entered, and everyone stood a little taller, except for Vouk who seemed to shrink still farther.
"Now, what is this all about?" Silas demanded as he entered, the deep timbre of his voice, along with his masculine figure, giving him a kingly power over the room.
"An attack my lord." The guard said, indicating the body of Sir Kerrion, stretched upon the table in its ruin. "Master Vouk witnessed the event, but they removed his tongue."
"So I've been told." Silas said, looking the wretched man up and down. Swiftly his eyes passed over the rayed star burned into Vouk's forehead, but unlike Anders he had no noticeable reaction, and his eyes continued to rove.
Delilah suddenly mounted the table, walking down the length of the long wooden board, and kneeling over Sir Kerrion's body. She examined the body, much more carefully than Anders had done, taking special interest in the strange bloody holes across the dead man's torso. Then she cast a long look at Master Vouk, who if it was possible, looked more frightened of her than he had been of Silas.
"Bring me paper." Delilah suddenly demanded sharply, her eyes leaving Vouk, and locking on Anders. Eagerly he hastened to obey, returning after a few moments with blank parchment, ink, and quills. Unrolling the parchment in front of Vouk, Delilah thrust a quill pen into his hand.
"Now, I am going to ask you some questions, and I've given you these so that you can answer." She said, leaning back, her eyes becoming meditative. After a moment she straightened and asked slowly "Did you know the people that attacked you?"
Trembling, but submissive, Vouk slowly leaned forward and began to painstakingly write: I'd never seen any of them in Whitestone before.
    "How many of them were there?"
Six.
    "What did they look like?"
    Here the pen in Vouk's hand hesitated for a moment, and at last he wrote, You told us to look for gnomic folk, a stone giant kin like Vedmire, and halfelven. But these people were all human.
    "They were in disguise?"
At first. They looked like peasants. But after the fight, they dropped the disguise. I saw gnomes, Stone giant kin, and halfelven then. They fit your description.
    "And the disguises they used, what did they look like?"
It was too good to be a physical disguise, it must have been some sort of magic. They looked like completely different people.
    "Tell me what they looked like, fool, I don't care if they used magic or not!"
One was middle aged. He looked more like a butcher, very fat, with gray hair, and a scruffy beard. He was the half giant. There was a tall, skinny teenager, with blond hair, and blue eyes. When the disguise dropped he was still a human, with white hair, and he carried a...strange device...it was he that killed Sir Kerrion. There was a slender girl, black hair, green eyes, but under the disguise she was the really the red headed halfelven. One had been turned into a white haired old man with a walking stick, but without the disguise he was the halfelven male with black hair. You said that one of them was a gnome, and even with the disguise he wasn't able to change his hight, so he adopted the appearance of a little boy. The other halfelven woman you described had been disguised as an old woman, with a lazy eye, and her bear companion looked like a donkey.
    "And that's all you can tell me?"
That was all I saw. The fight happened very quickly, I didn't have much time to try and memorize facial features.
    "It will do in a pinch I suppose...and did they question you? Did you overhear anything of use?"
    They asked questions, and the human with white hair made threats. He asked if I knew who he was, and he seemed to be leading the others. But I don't think they had a plan, and they were arguing among themselves about their next step. They mentioned a tavern where they were staying.
    "They questioned you?"
    I didn't tell them anything. Vouk said, writing very fast, as his quill sputtered ink all over the smeared parchment in his haste. They wanted to know if there were secret passages into the castle, and they asked if I knew where to find you, but it's more than my life's worth to betray your trust. I told them nothing.
    "That is a lie. What did you tell them?"
I told them nothing! Vouk insisted, his eyes wide, and his hands shaking.
    "What did you tell them?!" Delilah suddenly thundered, power coiling around her voice. She seized his face, fingernails sinking into his cheeks, and shoved him back in his chair. Speaking right in his ear, Delilah grated out "Tell me, or I'll slowly flay every inch of the skin off your body."
    Trembling with terror, Vouk slowly lifted the quill pen, and wrote. I thought they would kill me unless I had some way to make myself useful, so I told them that you were building something under the castle, and I offered to show them the way to it.
    "Is that what you told them..." Delilah murmured rising to her feet. Vouk blanched in his chair, and before he had time to let out more than a whimper of terror, Delilah pointed at him. A dark power rippled in her voice, making my skin crawl to hear it, and Vouk, or rather Vouk's body, went tense. A shudder passed over his frame, his chest convulsing, then he fell back rigid in his chair. A moment of silence passed, then Delilah pulled her hand back, as if drawing something from Vouk's corpse, and it sagged forward. The head snapped back into place on its shoulders, and the body lifted itself from its stiff position over the chair back, a puppet of the same unholy necromancy that gave the other castle servants life.
"Let this be a lesson to all of you." Delilah said, twitching the fingers of her right hand as if tugging on puppet strings. The form of Vouk stumbled out of its chair, stupidly making its way out into the castle courtyard. "This is my punishment for traitors."
There would be no more men like Vouk. All the men in the dining room were casting furtive horrified glances at each other, shuffling on their feet, and staring at the ground. If any of them had been forced to give information to the Briarwood's enemies, I could see that all of them would gladly have preferred suicide to the alternative of admitting their weakness to Delilah, as Vouk had been forced to do. Delilah smiled, her expression venomously honeyed, and all the guards in the room seemed to shrink.
"Next time I see any of you, I would hope for your own sakes that you are the bearers of good news," she said sweetly. "You have been told what to look for, and Vouk has been kind enough to provide us with a description of the disguises they used. Now go. You know what to do."
Quietly the men bowed and left. None of them spoke, and they pointedly kept their eyes averted from each other. Delilah had made a strong impression.
"That was well done my love." Silas said, holding out a hand with careless chivalry, and helping her off the table as if she were stepping from a carriage. "I think you've made quite a lasting impression."
"Let us hope so." Delilah murmured with a smile. "Now this tavern that Vouk said that they mentioned, we must find it, and soon. These people move more quickly than we thought, there's no knowing how much damage they could cause with even a few hours of delay on our part. We must find them before they make their next move, or I fear that this problem may get out of hand."
"If speed is needed, my children can move more quickly than the men, and their senses are keener." Silas said.
"Send them." Delilah commanded. "We are still weeks away from being ready, there is no time to waste."
"You may consider it done. I know how vital it is that you concentrate completely on this project, put this matter from your mind." Silas said. "I will have to leave you for a time, to attend to this problem, but I won't be gone for long. Only a fool would leave his greatest treasure unguarded in time of danger."
Delilah flushed at his praises, and said nothing. Silas with a last admiring look, strode quickly from the room, unbending purpose in every line of his frame.