2
——— II ———
“Rinda?” Remus whispered, looking fearfully at their surroundings. “Will they kill us?”
“How would I know?” Rinda snapped. Then, regretting her temper, she added, “But even if they are to kill us, they will first send us to the Mongauli capital, where we’ll be tried by the Archduke himself, I should imagine. Have courage, Remus, and don’t slouch so. We are the last of the Parros royal family; we will at least act the part.”
The vaulted ceiling high above them was made of the same cold ocher-yellow stone as the walls. Small windows were set so high in the walls that even in mid-day the interior of the keep was enveloped in gloom—a thin darkness that seemed cold against their skin.
“I smell mold.” Rinda screwed up her face as she walked. They had dismounted and the knights were now bringing them down a long hallway; one pushed her ahead. “Mold and bewitchment. I would rather die than live in a Marches castle.”
Nearby, Guin gave a low growl in agreement.
“We didn’t join no Marches patrol on account of wanting to be here either, lass,” grunted the black-garbed soldier closest to Rinda. “’Tis a three-year trial, and I tell ye: it be enough to scare even the boldest Mongauli youth to the very core—not that most would admit it. Aye, they say a Mongauli goes to the Marches a child, and comes back a man—but there’s more than one keep in the Marches. A lad with coin in his sleeves might buy a fine post at Talpho Keep, only a day’s ride from the city streets of Torus, or somewhere along the Henna Highroad— Fort Eiem, maybe—and spend his days checking merchant loads and lining his pockets with bribes. Unlucky bastards like me get sent out here to Stafolos or to Alvon where you can’t so much as get out of bed without stepping on a faerie, and those blasted Sem can stroll up and attack us whenever the mood strikes ’em.”
“Give your tongue such freedoms and you’re likely to lose it!” The captain appeared suddenly by their side and gave the soldier a loud crack on the shoulder with his lash. The man winced and fell silent, concentrating on matching his steps to those of the man beside him as they continued along the stone corridor.
The corridor was long, so long that Rinda thought it would never end; and it was dark, and chilly, and the sounds of their footsteps and voices echoed ghoulishly. Set in the walls on either side of the hallway were carved forms of gods, their bodies and faces worn so smooth that it seemed they had been there since before time began. Perhaps there were hidden doors in the faceless black stretches of wall between the statues.
Spending a night in this horrid place is going to be as bad as sleeping hidden in the vasya thickets back in the Roodwood, thought Rinda, hugging herself tight with her arms to stop the shivers running through her body.
They turned a corner, went up a stone stairway, and then turned again. It was so silent that Rinda thought the keep deserted—until they turned yet another corner and the hallway suddenly opened up into a large hall, split at regular intervals by many stone columns. There they saw many men and women, servants perhaps, moving about hastily.
The company walked through the midst of the hall, heading toward a dais in a large alcove that was cut into the far wall. Thin pillars stood in a line between this alcove and the main hall, and visible inside were a large table and several chairs. The chairs were not placed across from each other in such a way that they might encourage friends to sit and converse, but rather were set with their backs to the wall, the table between them and the chamber, likening the table to a judges’ bench, and the hall a courtroom. Atop the table were a wine jug, a stone goblet, and a plate, all made of stone. In fact, the table and the chairs, too, were made of stone with thick furs atop the seats for comfort. Sunk deep into the fur of the central chair sat a large man.
“Reporting, your Excellency.” The captain stopped the company before the dais and took off his plumed helm, holding it to the left side of his chest.“I bring three captives, taken from the ashes of the Roodwood.”
“Those children, they are the twins of Parros, yes,” replied the seated man in a slow, measured voice. “But what, captain, is the strange one beside them?”
As she listened to the captain, still standing with his helm to his chest, relate the events leading to the discovery of Guin and the twins, Rinda’s attention focused on the man he was addressing.
He sat in the largest of the chairs in the long line behind the table—almost a throne, so big it was. The chairs to either side were in pairs, each successive pair with shorter backs than the previous pair. It seemed that they were there for the keep-lord’s family, or trusted retainers, perhaps, to sit for formal audiences; but at present all were empty, save for the skins that hung on each, waiting expectantly for their occupants’ return.
Watching him as he sat with his elbows resting on the stone table, with the chairs as his only companions, Rinda could tell that the man on the dais was quite tall. But it was quite impossible to say how old he was or even what his face looked like because he, too, wore black armor, black boots, black gloves, a long black cape, and a great black helm. Only the silver crest adorning his breastplate set him apart from the soldiers that had captured them.
More startling still was that, while the soldiers’ mouths and chins were visible below their faceplates, the man in the chair wore under his helmet another mask made of black cloth, so that not one inch of his skin touched the outside air. Rinda judged from the tone and depth of his voice that he was a man in the middle of his years, but her eyes could tell her nothing more about him.
“… and so, my lord, I have brought this creature before you for your study and disposal, as you see fit.”
While Rinda had been engaged in guessing the nature of the man behind the table, the captain wrapped up his report, and bowing deeply, took a few steps backwards. The dark figure was surely the lord of this place, and now the captain appeared to be waiting for further orders, but no words were forthcoming from the keep-lord’s mouth.
One of the black gloves slid across the tabletop and picked up the stone goblet. Expecting him to take off the mask, Rinda’s eyes went wide; but he seemed to reconsider, and setting the goblet down again, he rapped the gloved hand against the table.
“Never have I seen such a creature! Third Captain, this leopard-man wears the armor of the Stafolos Keep patrol. Why?”
“My lord, I believe he took it from one of the men in the fifth squad.”
“I see.” Ablack-gloved hand irritably rapped the stone surface again. “Take the armor off him, and then that mask. Then we shall see if he is truly a leopard-headed god, or a fool with a leopard mask stuck on him. Rip it off, if you must.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Rinda panicked for a moment, fearing that Guin would forget they were totally surrounded and go wild as he had in the forest; but the leopard-man held himself back. All he did was give a low, guttural growl as the men approached him; he was quiet as they cautiously went about removing his cloak and armor.
Soon, Guin looked much as he had when the twins first met him in the Roodwood, wearing only a leather loincloth and a broad leather baldric that ran diagonally across his chest. With both hands tied behind his back, he stood proudly before the lord of Stafolos Keep.
The execution of the keep-lord’s second order, however, did not go as smoothly. Mask or not, the leopard head was so tightly fixed to his shoulders that, try as they might, the men could not pull it off. When one of the soldiers, with a look of determination in his eye, pulled out a short sword, Rinda put a fist to her mouth and screamed.
“No—hold.” The keep-lord raised a hand to stop the soldier. “I have seen enough. He is a true leopard-man. Do not harm him. I will decide what to do later. I have never heard of a creature such as this that was no evil spirit, but flesh and blood… Interesting. I will examine him further, below, not here. As for these children—these are the Pearls of Parros?” The face, half-covered by the great black helm, moved slightly as his gaze turned to the twins. Rinda’s body shivered slightly, and she felt Remus grip her arm to comfort her.
“I am the Count Vanon, given this keep at Stafolos by the orders of His Grace, the Archduke Vlad of Mongaul.”
He had only barely finished his introduction when Rinda shouted in terror. “Vanon! The Black Count of Mongaul?” She began flailing against the soldiers, who roughly pushed her closer to the table.
The black-garbed man laughed. His laughter was eerie and hollow, like a wind howling in the depths of his armor. “Has the name of the Black Count of Mongaul, and word of the plague he carries, spread all the way to Parros in the Middle
Country, then?” he said slowly, and laughed again.
“Have no fear. For no other reason have I wrapped my body tight than that no air or human gaze might reach it. Even so, Archduke Vlad thought me unsuitable for his palace halls, and so he made me lord of my own keep, out here on the northern edge of the Marches. Perhaps His Grace thought I would be less lonely out here, this close to my freakish brethren across the waters of the Kes.” Though she could not see through the mask, Rinda could swear she heard a cruel smile in the count’s voice. “Tell me, my dear, would you like to see the face of the Black Count? It could make a good tale someday! Your leopard-man companion may be freakish to the sight, but he has more claim to the title of’human’ than I, I’m afraid. It is all I can do to keep…” The count lowered his hand, his laugh a hollow wind behind the black helm.
“Do not worry,” he said after a moment.“My disease rides on the air, so I take great pains to stay covered at all times. This is how I prevent the plague from spreading to the soldiers that share my keep. And now, my twins—”
The count rose from his chair. His movements seemed terribly slow and pained, but when he stood fully, with one hand on the table for support, he was remarkably tall. “Relegated as I have been to a life of obscurity here in this keep on the Marches, I was quite surprised when I received word— both by fire beacon and by swift horse from Talos Keep—that the twins of Parros had fled into my domain, and that I was to capture them at all costs. For the beacons had told of the fall of Parros at the hand of my lord, the archduke, only four days ago! I ask you, how could one come all the way from the crystal city in the very middle of the Middle Country to the lands of Stafolos Keep in a mere two days? Surely it is a feat beyond the skill of any mortal folk—unless they wielded the ancient dark magic, no? And still another report came along the fires: the Crystal Palace had fallen, yet the rumored treasure of Parros was nowhere to be found. I heard as much from my own swift messengers as well, so I know it to be true. Consider this: Parros is an old country, with a history several times longer than that of Cheironia, and dozens of times that of Gohra. Let us assume its rulers had wisdom to match their longevity. No matter how unready they were for the onrush of the Mongauli armies, Parros was not so weak that it would fall into rubble in the matter of a day and a night.” The count paused. “Twins of Parros, I shall send you to the Mongauli capital of Torus as per my orders. Yet it is my good fortune that I have captured you alive, for now I shall have both my reward, and the secrets of your crystal city!”
“There are no secrets in Parros!” Rinda yelled, her face turning pale.
“I say there are.”
“There are none!”
“Then how do you explain two children traveling all the way from the crystal city to the Roodwood in the span of one day? Did you fly through the air?”
“You said yourself just now that with dark magic such a feat is possible.”
“Then show me your magic!”
“Never!” Rinda’s features grew haughty with queenly defiance.
“You are bold, little girl,” said the Black Count, with his eerie laugh. “But there is much you do not know. Things there are in this world that are hard to withstand… and there are men in this world, little girl, that will do anything to get what they want.”
“Torture,” Rinda scowled. She had grown calmer, or at least she was making a great effort to appear so. “Do to us what you will, then. Fire or water, it matters not. We are the last surviving members of the royal house of Parros… all the better that we perish along with the pride of Parros! I would sooner bite off my own tongue than prolong my life in shame. I will die fulfilled, knowing that the knowledge and the glory that was Parros dies with me!”
“You are a born queen, little girl,” said the Black Count.
Rinda shook her long platinum blonde hair aside and defiantly thrust out her little chin. “Until the moment I die upon the torturer’s rack I will be a princess of Parros, true inheritor of the holy bloodline, daughter of the noble and great Aldross the Third—Rinda Farseer. And Remus is the Crown Prince, the last of his line, and the one true ruler of Parros since the day a Mongauli spear took our lord father. Look upon yourself as you stand before us and know shame!“ Rinda concluded in a harsh tone; then, turning to her flustered brother for support, almost irritably pushed him forward.
“Th-That’s right!” Remus said, managing to give his voice some dignity. The soft curve of his faintly trembling chin made him look much the child next to his royal sister.
The Black Count laughed. “It seems that of the two Pearls of Parros, one comes wrapped in a softer shell! I think the secrets of Parros might be quite easily pried from a shell as soft as this! But, alas, perhaps my disease is to blame, for in my years, I have become a twisted man, and it is in ripping the gleaming prize from the unwilling grasp of the harder shell that I find true joy. I believe I told you there are things in this world—things that not even you can withstand. Did I not?”
The count began moving, walking stiffly as though he had taken an injury to the knee, coming down from the stone dais toward them. “Think of this festering body, wrapped in bandages—this body that disease has made little more than a living mass of rotten flesh—lying atop yours in my bed, smothering you, caressing you, my decaying lips upon your own. How would you feel if I grabbed you by the hand and pulled you close, vile ichor painting every inch of your smooth skin black?”
Rinda couldn’t put her hand to her mouth quick enough to stifle a shrill scream as she stumbled backward.
“I am sure that mere fire, the glowing hot kiss of the iron, or the lash of the whip would not be enough to break a soul like yours, my little princess of the Middle Country. But can your exquisitely pure heart bear the assault of flesh that rots even as it lives, or the dripping, staining filth that suppurates from my wounds? Do you think that, bound to my bed, you could keep yourself from screaming out all of Parros’s deepest secrets?”
The count slowly reached out toward Rinda, stepping closer. But even before he had started to move, Rinda recoiled in abject fear, screwing her eyes shut and covering her face with her hands.
“Stop it! Stop it! Stop!”
The count stood still for a moment, looking at Rinda’s skin, now gone whiter than paper, and he laughed quietly, the evil in his voice palpable.
“Now you see that there are things in this world that even you cannot withstand. It is not well for children to speak so boldly of things they do not comprehend. Regardless, I will soon have the secrets of Parros from your lips, willing or no. That is to say, until I learn what I want to know, I will not send word by the fires that you have been captured. I want to be and I shall be the first to hear the secrets, to know what has befallen the great city’s treasure. But I have spoken too long. This disease I bear, it likes not the touch of light, sound, or air—and so I spend much of my day in a black tower built only for me. No doubt, my own men would find it disagreeable were I to loiter about the grounds. Thus it is only for a short time each day that I come down to the main keep, and today, that time is up. Third Captain?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Lock these three up in the tower—not my tower, but the rooms in the white tower where we keep the other prisoners. Bring them food and water, and set extra guards to ensure they do not escape. I place them entirely in your hands, captain. And that leopard-man, is he not of particular interest to you, as he is to me?”
“It is as you say, my lord.”
“Indeed, I have many questions for him. Who is he, from whence did he come, what lineage or magic gave him such a visage? And, do you not think, captain, that if his muscles are as mighty as they look, and if inside that fearsome head there rests the cunning intellect of the animal he so resembles, this man would be worth his weight, nay, ten times his weight in gold, here within the borders of Mongaul? You have heard of the Archduke Vlad’s plans for raising interest in armed service? Tourneys—to be held several times a year, at different locations all over Mongaul, and with phenomenal rewards to those warriors who prove themselves winners. Take care not to accidentally kill, wound, or even weaken him with starvation, my good captain. A half-beast, half-man warrior—what a crowd that will draw! I have a mind to test the mettle of our captive, and soon.”
The Black Count stopped, then suddenly wavered and fell, catching himself on the table. The soldiers standing in front of the table started, but not one of them moved to help him. No one wanted to come near the accursed man that was their lord. The Black Count caught his breath, then spoke, coughing.
“I return to my tower. Take these three away, and make preparations for later. I say again, do not let them escape, and do not kill them. Tonight, in the lower chamber, we shall see how this leopard-man fights. That is all.”
The captain gave a quick “my lord” and put his hand to his chest in salute. As soon as he had done this, the Black Count swayed again, then collapsed into his chair. It seemed he had also triggered some sort of secret mechanism as he did this, because as soon as he sat, the wall behind him began to pivot and the floor beneath him began to rotate on a hidden axis, all slowly turning until only a bare wall remained where the count and the great stone chair had been.
It occurred to Rinda that perhaps this was another way that Vanon countered the spread of his disease—taking even his own chair with him when he went. She had also noticed that of all the henchmen and followers of the count who were in the keep, there were none who came near him; he had no personal servants. No doubt this was why Stafolos Keep felt so deserted. From fear of their lord’s black plague, soldiers and servants alike kept to their own quarters when duty did not demand their presence in the keep proper.
“One more thing…”
A strangely resonant voice that seemed to come from the very floor they stood upon broke Rinda’s train of thought. She whirled around, looking for the source of the voice, but she noticed that the soldiers around her didn’t seem startled in the least. It was then that she noticed a covered tube, cleverly concealed between two floor tiles. A message-pipe! Certainly it was this from which the voice had come.
“The princess of Parros seems tired. Give her a room in the tower to herself.”
“What?!” You can’t take me from my brother! Rinda wanted to scream, but the message-pipe fell silent, and the soldiers began leading the three away.
“Rinda! They’re going to split us apart!” shouted Remus, struggling against the rough grip of the captain. Guin stopped him with a voice like a howl.
“Be still, it’s no use! Be patient. Our lives have been extended for the time being, be thankful of that, and save your strength.”
“But, but we’ve never been separated, never since we were born!”
“Get used to it,” replied Guin. They were once again pushed along the stone corridor, then up a steep stair toward the white tower. The twins trudged despondently, growing more worried with every step.
The tower, too, was made of stone, and filled with the same chilly, clinging air as the halls below. Their path took them outside briefly, then back inside the tower walls, winding up a long spiral stair so narrow they could only walk two abreast. At last they paused at a broad landing with stone doors on either side. The captain shouted out a command that the room where the boy and the leopard-man would be kept be opened.
A jailer arrived, wearing a turban, moving slowly with his back so bent that Rinda wondered if he had been somehow crippled. He opened the nearest of the stone doors. Guin hunched over and walked into the dim chamber beyond on his own, but Remus turned and reached out pleadingly for Rinda, until the guards forced him into the room and swung the heavy door shut behind him, cutting the two off from each other for the first time in their lives.
The captain gave orders for a rotating watch, and told the jailer to put Rinda in the opposite room.
“Ooh, I don’t suppose that’s such a good idea, no no.” The jailer protested. “Why just the day before, his Excellency the count himself put a young demon in there, to wait until he had time for an execution, you see.”
“What, so it’s still in there?” The captain scowled, flustered. “What of the other cells?”
The jailer smiled, revealing a mouth of yellowed, dirty teeth.
“For a young lady, now, methinks the smallest chamber at the very top of the tower would be nice.”
“The tower top?” The captain seemed to hesitate; then, making up his mind, he motioned for Rinda to continue climbing the stairs.
The captain’s uncertainty and the jailer’s cruel laugh put Rinda on edge. What could be waiting for her up there? But it wouldn’t do to show weakness before these hinterland barbarians. Keeping her chin up and her eyes forward, she headed up the increasingly steep and narrow stairs before the captain had a chance to push her from behind.
The door to the small room at the top of the stairs opened with a creak, revealing only darkness beyond, and releasing a foul smell of mold. Rinda bit her lip, and stepped inside. The door slammed shut, and the sound of the key turning in the lock echoed behind her.
“Strong girl.” She heard a muffled voice say from beyond the door. Rinda shut her eyes, trying to adjust them to the darkness. “But one night in there and she’ll be crying and begging for the count’s mercy, heh!” They laughed scornfully; Rinda thought that they must be letting themselves be overheard on purpose, to scare her. Then she heard their footsteps retreating back down the stone stairs. The girl hugged herself tightly, and slowly opened her eyes.
She drew in a sharp breath. She could feel the blood drain from her face and a shiver run up her spine. Something was squatting there in the gloom, looking up at her with serpentine eyes from an unseen face that hovered just above the floor— fierce, savage eyes, burning with a green incandescence in the darkness.