Chapter 8.1

We did not rush back to Songless Castle. None of us was anxious to account for ourselves to our lord, or to explain why his betrothed refused to come to him. The inns along the way were much more comfortable than the carriage, and I had my harp and my lady to occupy me. Jason and Ison had their dice and the beer, and Charles had his prayer book. When the storms rolled through, we stayed longer than we had to in rented rooms.

It was with regret that we rolled up the road along the Gateway River and into the town below the castle. Snowflakes danced in the air, and the puddles in the street were crusted with ice. On the motte above us, the castle towers thrust up into the cloud-filled sky.

"Is that Songless?" Elise asked, peering out the window.

I nodded.

"It’s small, and quiet."

It did seem so, after Rockridge.

"We’ve only got the river to guard," Charles explained.

We turned a corner and trundled past the church. The doors were still tied shut with black cloth, though it was ragged with age. Elise looked at this, then peered up at the bell tower, muffled in swaths of black cloth. "Why is that building in mourning?"

"It’s our Cathedral," Charles said solemnly, though Cathedral was much too big a word for the building. "It’s closed to worship, until the day that the Old Lord makes his amends with the Bishop of Slatten. Though that may be hard, what with him being judged by a higher judge now."

"Did you ever go there?"

He nodded. "I was baptized properly – but it was closed before I could take communion."

"And where’s the Guildhall?"

I pointed to the other side of the street, where snow-draped bushes covered the rotten remains of scorched timbers.

She frowned.

"That was the Bard-killers best work," Charles said, but his voice was sour. "That’s what upset the church."

Chapter 7.5

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We were to meet at the tavern – at least, that was what my guards had told me. As I walked across the muddy courtyard to the roughhewn two-story building, however, I saw no sign of my carriage. Worse, there was no light shining from the upper rooms, as if they were occupied, and no sign of my guards in the common room.

There was, however, the Captain from Rockridge, along with four of his favorite henchmen. They were speaking to the owner as I slipped through the door.

"I can’t imagine that they would have gone far, not with the one man in such bad shape," said the Captain.

"I haven’t seen them," the owner said. "No one’s stopped here tonight, other than the usual."
A scruffy trio beside the fireplace watched over their battered tankards.

"Did you hear anyone come through the town?"

"Oh, aye. Someone came through in the early evening. The dogs bayed like crazy. But I didn’t hear them stop." The man saw me, and his face twisted in anger. "You, moocher! Get out! I don’t need your kind here!"

Not a generous man, I thought darkly, but his actions pleased the Captain.

"Gwenna!" the owner yelled at a woman who polishing tableware. "Show that monk what we do with Christian dogs!"

She set down her work and walked toward me. I could see from the charms hanging around her neck that she was a Warlocker, and from the jewels on her bracelet I knew that she was a successful one. I left quickly.

Not three steps from the door, however, her hand caught my arm. "Walk with me, monk."
I raised my hands in question.

A flicker of light, like a candle flame, burned in her palm. She lifted it, and peered beneath my hood, then smiled. "My sister has good taste."

I tilted my head.

"And I can see you’re honest, too. Tonight you sleep beneath my roof. Tomorrow you and your friends will go on your way."

I blew out my breath in relief.

"And that will give me to lay a spell on you." Her smile deepened into craftiness. "If you should prove false to my sister, then you will find that you will never love another again. You might as well join the church, if you do that."

I nodded, accepting her terms. They were not objectionable to me. Any man who takes a woman away from her sister and then treats her falsely deserves such a fate.

Gwenna smiled again. "My sister has indeed chosen well."

Chapter 7.4

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The tunnel was a twisty path that bore like a hungry worm into the flesh of the mountain. The floor was rough, litter with stones and slabs rock, and sometimes I splashed through pools where death-white fish darted from my feet. They had no eyes. The damp walls were covered with a hard, crusty rock. Sometimes it seemed to flow like water, other times it bulged like mud, and sometimes it was hard and sharp, tearing my skin where I touched it. The ceiling soared out of range of my candle in places, and in other places it dipped so low that I was forced to bend double to pass.

Then I turned right, and walked into the largest room I had ever seen, a hall for the gods. I stood on a cliff high above the floor, gazing down. There was a hole in the high ceiling, and the moonlight lit what my candle could not. To one side of me fell a stone waterfall, cascading down a hundred feet or more, but with only a trickle of moisture on its surface. To the other side of me a dragon seemed to sit on a stone pedestal, his tail wrapped around his massive legs, his wings folded over his great body. Before me stood a tree, as tall as the tree of life, and I could even make out a rodent gnawing on its roots and the cock roosting in its branches. Further on, in the dimness that was hidden like the future to mortals, I could see more shapes.

Then the moonlight disappeared, and I had only the candle to light the path just before me.
I could see a switchback trail leading down the cliff, and I followed it. I walked past meditation holes and empty fire pits – but saw no skeletons. Whoever had come here had left again – so there had to be a way out.

At the bottom of the cliff I saw a burning fire, though I had not noticed the light before I saw it. An old man, wrapped in a monk’s robe, crouched beside it. His cloudy eyes stared into the vast emptiness of the room, but at the sound of my footsteps he turned to me. I stopped, unsure of how a dumb man could talk to a blind man.

Then he smiled, showing a single, crooked tooth, and pulled a bit of bread and a flask from his bag. I took them, and ate gratefully – the walk had been long and I was tired.
But what would I give him in return? Elise wore my jewels and my clothes – I had nothing more than a monk would have.

Then I saw that he had only a stick of firewood. There was a large pile several feet away, but it was untouched. Of course it was, because he was blind and did not know it was there.
I gathered up as much wood as I could carry, and brought it back. I did this several more time, until he had a stack by his knee that would keep him for days.

He put his hand upon the stack, and smiled his toothless thanks. Then he signed a blessing on me, pointed off to his right, and signed again, "Walk out through the teeth, and do not fear."
I returned his blessing, heretical as it was for me to do so, and walked the way he showed me. I saw the teeth – a double row of spires reaching up from the floor and down from the ceiling, and stepped carefully between them.

Beyond the teeth my candle flame bent furiously away from a tunnel. It was short, and soon I stepped out behind a large rock and into the cool, damp night. The road lay ahead, and just below me waited the town of Krast.

Chapter 7.3.4

Christians are a strange people, often inviting personal assault so that they can demonstrate their faith by not fighting back, yet killing if they think their god has been insulted. It is a strange logic to think that their god would demand violent justice when they may not, but people are rarely logical. Why should we expect more of the gods?

So it was that I, standing beside a devoted follower of the faith and wearing his trappings as a disguise, felt myself to be in grave danger. On the other hand, Silent Monks are sworn to do good by all.

And the way back led me into the hands of Sharp.

We stopped before an old, cracked screen, its brittle frame propped up by a heavy trunk. The monk handed me his candle, then stooped and shoved the trunk away. He pulled back the screen, exposing a crevice in the wall. Taking back his candle, he motioned for me to enter.
Nervously, I stepped in – and my heart slammed in my chest when I heard the screen move back. I turned as a loud scrape announced that the trunk was back in place. Through the cracks in the screen I could see his candlelight, and how it faded as he walked away.

I was trapped, quite alone, and no one knew I was there. For so many years I had prayed for such obscurity and loneliness, yet now I wanted to give it back. I had met a wonderful woman, and I did not want to die without her ever knowing what had become of me. Yet it seemed I had no choice, for I was trapped in a tunnel of rock, in silence, and when my flickering candle burned down, I would not even see death come.

Flickering candle. Candles do not flicker when there is no draft. The flame bent away from the depths of the tunnel; fresh air came from below. This wasn’t a trap, but an escape. I thanked the strange monk for his generosity, and took the path before me.

Chapter 7.3.3

Nothing happened. The door closed behind me, and I was wrapped in flickering shadows. At the front of the room, a prayer table stood before an ornate gilded screen, and above it hung a sculpture of their god, in the form of a man nailed to a wooden cross. Briars cut his head and deep slash wounded his side. I knew that the Christians worshiped the painful death of a man, claiming that all goodness and mercy flowed from this act of horror, but I was not prepared for the emotion which flowed from this statue, their god. It was not anger and judgement, which I would have expected, but grace and forgiveness.

Is this, then, why they so freely tortured others? Did they expect that all people would follow their example of their god, and forgive those who hurt them the most? It made a strange sort of sense.

A dozen people sat in the pews, waiting, but for what I did not know. Nor did I know what I would do when the monk took me before them, and I would be expected to sing. Perhaps the guardians of the Christian shine were not the stone gargoyles, but the flesh and blood within. My heart now slammed against my rib cage as I looked at the man on the cross and saw that there were worse ways to die than by Sharp’s sword.

But the monk turned and took me to one of the alcoves on the side of the chapel, where a brace of candles lit the statue of a robed man. The monk bowed to the statue, then signed to me, "Go now while the Bard thinks you are in the service."

"Go where?"

The monk pointed behind the statue. Then, plucking two candles from a basket beside the statue, he lit them from one of the candles in the brace, and led the way to a hidden entrance. Beyond it was a tightly circling staircase leading down. Songless Castle has a tower which is five stories high; I think we traveled twice that distance.

We came out in a rough cut chamber filled with books and old furniture. The room smelled musty and mildewed, and everything was covered with a layer of fine, white dust. We followed a winding path past racks of wine bottles, battered chests, and faded screens. Our feet left marks on the floor, and empty shadows danced along the walls. This was a room rarely visited, a place to leave things, a tomb for forgotten dreams.

What better place to murder a Pagan intruder?

Chapter 7.3.2

Just then a arm slid though mine, and I was guided away from the keep door and toward a smaller door in a castle tower. My savior was a Silent Monk, the taller of the two I had seen singing in the chapel days before. His hands moved as he said, "We must not be late for prayers, brother."

I nodded.

Within the shadow of his hood, I could just barely see his face. It was narrow, with a strong chin and a beak of a nose, and sharp blue eyes set close together. He was half-familiar to me – when had I seen him? During my one visit to Rockridge, years before? In Slatten? A visitor to Songless Castle? Nothing seemed right.

This was not the time to discuss our previous acquaintance, however. Sharp followed us closely as the monk led me to the chapel, his sacred shrine. What would happen when I put my Pagan foot upon that sacred floor? Would their god come out in fury and fire, and consume me where I stood? Would the stone guardians on the lintel come to life and tear me limb from limb? Would their angels and demons rip out my soul and feed my flesh to their dogs? Master Meiltung had told us all these stories, and more, and my heart hammered as I came closer to my doom.

Wary, Sharp stopped at the threshold, while I was led like a sacrifice over it.

Chapter 7.3.1

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My plan was to loiter in Rockridge castle until midnight, when I would slip out the sally port and then make my way down the mountainside to the town of Krast, where the others would be waiting at the tavern. It was a logical place for a badly wounded emissary to spend the night, and the visit of a Silent Monk to a dying man should bring no suspicion. My plans, however, faced a sudden fault in the form of the Bard leaning against the doorsill.

Sharp was wrapped in his traveling cloak, with his lute strapped to his back. His arms were crossed – but at the sight of me his narrow chin jerked upwards. Monk, he mouthed, as he reached for his sword.

Damn it, he should have been in the Great Hall, playing for his supper and smiling for his bed, not preparing himself for a journey. Once again I had no sword to defend myself, for it was locked in my trunk. Along with Skyfire.

Sharp’s eyes narrowed as his hand closed on nothing. But he still had his hands, and the power to pull back my disguise. He moved toward me.

Chapter 7.2

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Torches barely touched the sodden darkness of the courtyard where my carriage waited for us. Sounds of merriment came from the Great Hall, where Lord Guerney and his castle enjoyed their dinner while we were being sent on our way without ours. Only a few soldiers, the castle Steward, and a Silent Monk were there to watch us leave.

Jason and Ison came out first, carrying my trunk between them. They carefully lifted it to the top of the carriage and lashed it down, then went back to get the rest of their things. When those were secured, Ison climbed up to the driver’s seat while Jason went back to help Charles with my limp form. I was wrapped up tight against the cold, with scarf and gloves, and it was obvious that I was in no shape to travel. The Silent Monk signed a blessing at the travesty.

As I was placed into the carriage, the Steward came forward and spoke to Charles, and handed him a folded letter. He tried to look into my face, but I was not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing his Lord’s handiwork. I lay slumped in the seat.

Jason took his seat beside Ison, and Charles climbed in and shut the carriage door. And then the Captain of the guard moved forward with a tall, muscular man. The Captain gestured to the other man, who hefted a broadsword and drove it into the side of my trunk.

My men promptly protested this destruction of my property, but could do nothing else. The Captain responded that if were not smuggling anything from the castle, then no harm had been done.

Then the castle gates opened. My carriage rolled through, and the doors shut soundly behind it. I turned, pulling my bare feet from the ankle deep mud, and walked toward the keep. On my way I signed a blessing on the ashen-faced Steward who still stared after the departed carriage.

Chapter 7.1

The hard bed slammed into my mouth as I was unceremoniously dumped by the soldiers. I twisted my face upwards with a grimace, and saw the Captain smirking with delight. Then he gestured at the soldiers who had my guardsmen pinned against the wall, motioning them to leave.

"What did you do to him?" Charles demanded to know.

"Gave him what he deserved," the Captain gloated.

"Lord Reinard will not be pleased with this."

"Lord Reinard had best think twice before sending a spy into another’s castle. You have half an hour to pack your things, and then you will be escorted out of the holding." He spun on his heal and left with his men.

Charles snatched up his sword and crossed the room to the door, and flung it open. There he found himself face to face with two armed soldiers. He drew his blade from its sheath and said, "Step aside, fools."

I snapped my fingers at him, then waved back at the scattered belongings. Honor and pride were delicate things – but our interests were best served by leaving quickly and safely.
Obviously disappointed, he retreated and closed the door.

I lay back and closed my eyes. I needed a few minutes to calm my stomach and my emotions. I could not afford much more than that, however. In the night, I would certainly have fresh nightmares as old demons crept out and danced in my head, but just then I needed to think clearly.

There was a thump on the shutter. Jason opened them enough to peek out, then opened them wide. A pair of feet dangled outside the window. Elise’s feet.

Jason and Ison reached out and helped her in. The rope she had climbed down still hung from somewhere above, trailing rain into the room.

"The corridor is filled with guards." She untied a bag from her waist, and pulled out bread and cold meat, which she offered to my men.

"We know that," Ison grumbled. "There would have been a small war if Gerard hadn’t called us back."

"Three against twenty is poor odds." Elise took a damp cloth from her apron pocket and started washing down my face. "Oh, my poor, poor Bard."

From the look on Charles face, he had not known how bad the situation was. "We’re being sent away."

"He’s an evil man, Lord Guerney is, sending Gerard off when he’s in such a bad way. He could die."

"What did he do?"

"Cut his tongue out, he did. They showed it off in the dining room, even."

Now my men looked puzzled. "A whole tongue?" Jason asked.

"Aye."

Charles frowned. "I don’t see how."

"You use a good sharp knife," Elise snapped.

"Yes, but..."

"There’s mischief here, isn’t there?" Jason said.

I nodded.

It was Elise’s turn to look confused.

"It’s why he doesn’t talk, ye see," Jason said quietly. "The old lord, the Bard-killer, he took exception to this child’s pretty voice. He took it out ten years ago."

"But the tongue, and the blood..." Her voice trailed off.

"Some sort of mischief. And where’s there’s mischief, there’s danger. The sooner we quit this place, the better." He gathered his things quickly into his bag.

Then Charles, showing a rare intelligence, said, "And we need to take her with us. She’s in danger, too."

"But I can’t go. Not without my Lord’s leave."

"You need to go without his leave or knowledge," Charles insisted. He pointed to my trunk. "Can we hide her in that?"

Chapter 6.8

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My limp, battered form was dragged into the Great Hall where all the castle folk waited to eat. I was the pre-dinner entertainment. Sharp, sitting at the foot of the Lord’s own table, grinned at my wretchedness. The Lady Victoria could not take her gaze from my bare feet, her expression one of recognition and horror. Elise, serving at the edge of the room, set down her tray and looked at if she might cry. Lord Guerney heaved his bulk from his chair and stepped down to stand in front of me.

"So, are we now what we appear to be?" He laughed.

Just like your daughter? I vomited blood at his feet.

"Excellent. Go back to room and pack – I’ll have my answer to Lord Reinard sent there before much longer. You can leave straight away."

And be on the road in the winter darkness, prey for the wolves and the Silver-eyed. Not even my Lord Reinard deserved such a man for a father-in-law.

Chapter 6.7

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"Enough screaming," the old man said. I was aware that the younger man was back in the room. "You’re fainted now."

I was grateful. My throat was sore from this command performance, which had been encouraged by a red hot poker held uncomfortably close to my fingers.

The younger man held up a blackish slab of flesh. "Fresh cut, even. He must have owed you a big winning."

"I caught him with the Miller’s daughter."

But I thought she was..." The younger man shook his head. He held up a bladder. "And he sent some fresh blood, too."

"Good." The old man took the bladder, then forced its sour contents into my mouth. I swallowed a good bit, but the rest splashed out onto my face and clothes. He chuckled. "Excellant. Couldn’t have done a better job myself."

Chapter 6.6

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I struggled as they forced me out of the hall, through the rain-soaked back gardens, and down a stairway cut into the mountainside. In a rough-cut room, dimly lit by smouldering torches and ringed by barred cells, they chained me to a table. Iron rings cut into my ankles and wrists as I strained against them.

"Lively one, aren’t you," muttered the Captain.

Two men rose from a bench at the side of the room. One was grizzled and balding, with sunken cheeks where he had no teeth. The other was young, probably an apprentice. Both wore leather aprons and high boots, and they stank of old blood and offal.

"What’s this?" asked the older man.

The Captain jerked his thumb at me. "His Lordship wants his tongue."

"What does he want to know?"

"Nothing. Just take his tongue and be quick about it."

The old man shook his head. "I don’t like no audience. I’ll send for you when I’m finished."

The Captain stared at him; the old man stared back, arms crossed. Finally the Captain turned and left, taking the other soldiers with him.

"Well, now," the old man said, slapping his hands together. "We’ve got work to do. Jesse, get those irons on the fire."

The stench of smoke, the sizzle of iron on the coals, the clank of tools by my head – it all brought back bad memories. The old man tightened leather straps on my face, and forced my mouth open. Then he paused, and brought the lamp closer.

"What’s this?" he said, poking inside my mouth with a stick.

If he couldn’t see for himself, I certainly couldn’t tell him.

The younger man peered in. "That’s a problem. Should we take what’s left?"

No, by all the gods. No.

"Nothin’ to gain by it." The old man tapped his stick on the table by my ear. "If his Lordship wants to see a tongue, he’ll want to see all of it. Tell you what – run over to the butchery and tell Elias I need a pig’s tongue, and it’ll make us even for last weekend. If’n he stays silent."

Then he leaned over my face. "And you better stay silent, too."

"Who’s he going to tell?" asked the younger man.

The old man shrugged. "If his Lordship finds out about this, it’ll be the pear for all of us."
I felt the blood run out of my face at that, and the young man whitened. He left without further comment.