C l scheel, p.12
C L Scheel, page 12
Miri looked skeptical. “The Master Healer will not approve."
"Probably not. Will he coming around to see me again?"
"Oh, yes. He said he'd be by after mid day."
"And, Master Nathan? Did you find him?"
The maid looked down and began wringing her hands again. “That's just it. He can't be found."
"What do you mean, Miri. Where is he?"
"Something isn't right. I can't put my finger on it, but there's something wrong."
Suzanne sat on the edge of the bed, easing her bandaged leg into a more comfortable position. “What's the matter?"
Miri looked at her anxiously. “He's gone missing. They can't find him. They've looked everywhere."
"Maybe he went along with the prince and his men."
"Oh, no, my lady, that can't be possible."
"Why not?"
"Because the night you returned, His Highness had Master Nathan locked up!"
* * * *
"I'M DISAPPOINTED, BOY. You didn't do as you were told."
"I-I-I tried, master, but it was dark and the sleigh turned over."
"Poor excuses and shows the extent of your ingratitude. You forget too easily ... what I have done for you and your thankless family."
"No, master, I cannot forget—"
"Silence!"
"My master, I know the boy tried in every way possible to fulfill your wishes, but there were certain circumstances that prevented him, that almost killed him. He is a good lad and..."
"...about as stupid as you, old man, and the rest of your useless order.” A disgusted sound echoed through the chamber. “Don't fail this time. Make sure your plan succeeds. I want her gone."
"We have gone over it carefully, exactly as you instructed. It cannot fail."
"See that it doesn't or I'll send the boy back to that stinking cesspool from where he came."
"Yes, holy one."
"And don't call me that, you groveling idiot! Now, leave. Both of you!"
* * * *
UNDER STRONG OBJECTION, Suzanne insisted Miri help her get dressed.
"You'll do harm to yourself, my lady,” she protested.
"I promise I'll be careful. If you could find me some kind of stick to help me walk, I'll be fine."
The young maid assisted her into one of the lovely gowns that had belonged to Princess Kiamma, all the while muttering dire predictions under her breath.
Once Suzanne was dressed, Miri left the room, but returned shortly and handed her a gnarled, wooden walking stick.
"This'll do, my lady. It belonged to my grandpapa and helped him until the day he died."
Comforting thought, Suzanne mused, as she took the stick and hobbled ungracefully out the door. Negotiating the long, sweeping stairs was somewhat awkward, but she reached the main level of the keep and limped purposefully toward the corridor leading to the Library, hoping she would find Master Jonovar there. Astonished guards tried to divert her, but Suzanne was determined.
Through the cold, dark keep Suzanne continued her search, pestering tense-looking warriors and nervous scribes hurrying to their various duties. Finally, one young man escorted her to a large chamber door and knocked politely. Another scribe, an apprentice, answered the door and allowed Suzanne to enter.
It was a large, airy room, lined with bookshelves and a hearth at one end. A cheerful fire burned in the grate. In the center was a handsome black wood table with numerous papers and books scattered on its surface. Both Master Jonovar and Master Eika stood bending over the table, studying what looked like a map.
Master Eika saw her first and straightened. “Ah, Lady Suzanne. What a pleasant surprise. You are up and about, walking."
She smiled at the kindly scribe. “Yes, I am. A little clumsy, but I'm managing."
Master Jonovar looked disapproving. “You've had a nasty ordeal, my lady. I hope you're not being unwise."
"I am being careful, Master Jonovar,” she said coolly. “I only came here to ask you a few of questions."
Jonovar spread his hands. “Very well. We are at your disposal, Lady Wordsayer."
Suzanne could see he was trying to be solicitous. She reminded herself that he had apologized to her after the reading of the Sacred Text.
"What has happened to Master Nathan?"
Master Eika cast an uneasy glance at Jonovar. “He is missing, my lady. We are uncertain where he is.” He gestured to the map on the table. “As you can see, we are attempting our own investigation while His Highness is away."
"It is a map, the layout of Ironhold,” Jonovar said.
Suzanne limped over to the table. “You mean, he might be lost?"
"Not necessarily. You see, my lady, the night you returned to san'Sorafel, Master Nathan was imprisoned. He was accused of ... how shall I say it? Pushing you from the sleigh."
"Well, he did.” Suzanne said sharply.
There was a stunned silence as both scribes looked at one another.
"I can't believe that,” Master Eika said.
"He did push me, Master Eika. If it hadn't been for Prince Akken'ar, I might not be alive today."
"This is infamous. How could Nathan do such a thing?” Master Jonovar asked.
"That's what I was about to ask you,” she said.
"My lady, I am not your enemy. I find this whole business just as disturbing as you.” Jonovar gestured to the map. “We believe Nathan was released from his imprisonment by some unknown accomplice and has gone into hiding. Master Eika and I were trying to deduce where he might have gone."
"Maybe he's left the city,” she offered.
"Doubtful,” Jonovar said. “With the Red Eclipse only a day away, Nathan would not be so foolish as to leave the city. No, he is here."
"Why would someone take the trouble of getting Nathan out of prison, if he could not leave the city?"
Neither scribe had an answer which made Suzanne all the more suspicious. There was something neither one of the Master Scribes was telling her.
"We will be conducting a thorough search of the keep, Lady Suzanne,” Jonovar said. “Every corner in the city will be investigated, too. Rest assured, we will find him and if he has committed this heinous act against you, I promise he will answer for it."
Suzanne felt only moderately reassured. She did not quite trust Master Jonovar. Nathan was, after all, his faithful underling.
"We will send word to you the moment we find him. Would that suffice?” Master Eika said courteously.
Suzanne knew when she was being dismissed, politely, and turned to go. There was little she could do here. Master Jonovar and Master Eika were not going to include her in their plans to find Nathan, nor permit her to ask questions about the last Eclipse.
She limped back to her room with as much dignity as she could muster. Her leg was beginning to bother her and she hoped the Master Healer would soon visit her.
A strange stillness settled throughout the interior of the keep. Many of the warriors and guards had left, either to fight the skags with Akken'ar or to defend Ironhold and the city.
Suzanne felt a chill permeate her bones and shivered. Ironhold was a dark, brooding labyrinth of buildings within buildings, as if grown from the inside out. The Library was at the core, and the Sanctuary Hall, constructed entirely of stone, was a secondary structure built to protect the inhabitants. Suzanne could only guess how old it was: five hundred years? Six? How soon after the Cataclysms had it been built?
As she climbed the sweeping staircase to the upper level, she noticed that many of the weapons hung on the walls had been removed. Akken'ar's warriors were preparing for the Eclipse and the madness that followed.
Outside her door, she stopped and leaned against it to catch her breath. Her leg hurt and she was exhausted from her clumsy limping. She entered the room, grateful for the warmth emanating from the fire, when she sensed something, another presence in the room. Suzanne spun around on her right heel and bit back a scream when she saw Nathan huddled near the hearth.
"Please don't cry out! I won't hurt you."
"How did you get in here? What are you doing in here?"
"I can explain everything..."
"Can you? You're supposed to be locked up. Who let you out?"
Nathan slipped behind her and pushed the door shut. “I beg you, my lady, please don't scream."
Suzanne backed away from him warily. “What's going on? Tell me now, Nathan, or I will call out for help. Master Jonovar and Master Eika are organizing a search; they'll find you."
"All right, all right.” He held up his hands. “I'm sorry I frightened you, but you must listen to me."
"Very well. Why did you push me off the sleigh?"
"Because, I was told to.” He looked down. “Please forgive me, my lady, but I had no choice. Believe me, no one was more relieved than I when I learned you would recover from your wounds."
She took a step toward him. “Then why?"
"I can't tell you that, at least not right now.” He looked at her directly, his eyes filling with anguished tears. “There is something very wrong with this place, an evil that has been here before Ironhold was built. Few know of it; even Prince Akken'ar is unaware of what wickedness lives here. But it has gone on too long and no one has tried to stop it."
"What are you talking about?” she whispered, horrified by Nathan's confession.
"I can't tell you, I can only show you."
"Why would you want to show me?"
"Because you are the Wordsayer. You will know what to say, what to do."
"How can you be so sure of that? Nathan, for your information, I am no more a Wordsayer than you are.” She threw up her hands and turned from him. “I'm just ... just a scribe, like Master Eika. I stumbled through Knife Edge Pass. It was an accident, a chance happening. How do you know there weren't others in the past, before me? Every two hundred and fourteen years ... sunpasses ... a Messenger has been sent—"
"No, my lady, you are the Wordsayer. There can be only one."
"What do you mean?"
"Because, there has been only one Messenger!"
Suzanne stumbled to the edge of the bed and sat down, too overwhelmed to speak.
"Master Eika has not told you the whole truth,” Nathan continued.
"He told me a Messenger has always been chosen and it was Master Jonovar who selected the last Messenger."
"Master Eika avoided telling you to protect a myth, a legend that has no truth in it. Yes, Master Jonovar selected someone, an innocent youth, and sent him to the Pass on an empty mission. Only he never came back—none of them ever have. They're all probably killed by the skags."
"And Master Jonovar knew of this? Does Prince Akken'ar?"
Nathan shook his head. “No. Master Jonovar has always believed in the prophecy. He is innocent of any wrongdoing. And I do not believe the prince actually expected to bring back the Wordsayer. That is why you were such a surprise."
"Then, why was Prince Akken'ar waiting for me at the Pass if he didn't expect anyone?"
"Because he was fulfilling his duty as every prince of Ironhold has done since the Cataclysms."
"There's been only one, true Messenger?” she asked.
Nathan nodded slowly. “Only one."
Chapter Ten
MASTER NATHAN LED Suzanne through the ancient, dim corridor passed the Library, across the inner courtyard and up the stairs to the great hall. The late winter afternoon turned Ironhold grim and shadowy; its empty halls echoing the smallest sound. It was slow going as her leg hurt and with each step she gritted her teeth against the growing pain.
"Hurry, my lady,” Nathan whispered.
"I'm going as fast as I can. I shouldn't be walking, you know ... thanks to you."
Nathan said nothing, but his shame-faced expression told her how sorry he was.
No one saw them; they hid in the shadows each time a scribe or servant hurried by. Once in the massive sanctuary, they were alone. No one ever entered it without permission, Nathan explained. Only the Master Scribes and their apprentices had free access.
They skirted to the right around the great dais, then into a corner at the very back of the hall behind an enormous arched column. Nathan stopped suddenly and searched the stone floor with the toe of his boot. Finding an iron ring bolted into the stone slab, he pulled it up revealing a narrow stairway, curling down into the darkness. He took a candle from the large ornate stand nearby and gestured to the black hole in the floor.
Suzanne eyed the opening, then Nathan. “You go first,” she said. “If I fall, you can catch me."
Nathan took the first few steps, turned and waited for her to follow. By bracing her free hand against the stone wall, she managed to inch down the stairs, one painful step at a time. The stone stairway curved downward on and on, deep into the belly of the sanctuary, with only a pinprick of light to guide them.
At the bottom, Suzanne stopped and bent over, rubbing her throbbing thigh.
"Can you go on?” Nathan asked.
"Barely. I hope I'm not bleeding again.” Catching her breath, she nodded to him.
The tiny glow from the candle revealed only a hint of what lay beneath the great hall. Nathan led her through a labyrinth of passageways and chambers, past rows of shelves crammed with books. She hoped he knew the way back. For an absurd moment, Suzanne wished they had brought along a bag of crumbs so they would find their way out.
Another turn and they entered a room filled with very familiar-looking, and ancient, file cabinets. Then the realization of what she was seeing hit her: this was the lower level of an actual library, much more extensive than Master Eika's cherished chamber above. Sometime after the Cataclysms, the sanctuary had been built above these rooms and corridors. Ironhold was not only a fortress to protect a city, but had been built to protect what was left of an entire library.
"How many know of this place, Nathan?"
"Very few. Master Eika, Master Jonovar, an elderly scribe who is blind now, and myself."
"And His Highness?” she asked tersely.
"Regretfully, no, my lady. He knows nothing of this place."
"A great pity, Master Nathan. He and generations of Mylorian princes before him have not gained from the knowledge hidden in these chambers—the knowledge, perhaps, to defeat the skags."
"It was not my doing,” he answered. “These chambers have been forbidden since the Cataclysms."
"Then why are you showing them to me?"
Nathan stopped and looked back at her, holding the candle high. “It is time someone knew, someone who can end this terrible wrong."
Through another chamber and a dank corridor, the young Master of the Keep finally stopped before a blank stone wall. He searched the wall with his fingertips until he found a certain place, then pressed. The wall swung away, revealing a narrow opening into a space even darker and danker than the chambers they had just passed through. Stepping into the passageway, Nathan reached for a feebly-flickering torch bracketed into the rock wall.
Suzanne eyed the black opening. For the first time, fear overrode any sense of curiosity. Instinct told her she was about to face something far more dangerous than skags. Nathan saw her hesitate and motioned for her to step into the passageway.
"You'll be quite safe, my lady, if you stay close to the wall."
Small comfort, she thought, annoyed, as she crept behind Nathan. The torchlight revealed a short tunnel that opened into a cavern, a high-ceilinged chamber chiseled from the rock. Moisture trickled down the dank crevices, smelling of decay and death. Four larger torches illumined the cavern in amber light and grim shadows.
Suzanne went no farther into the cavern. She stopped behind Nathan, clutching at the stone wall, too horrified to continue.
Thick iron bars had been bolted into the rock forming a large cage, a prison-like cell for one occupant.
"Oh, God,” she whispered.
What lived in the cell stirred, shifting the position of its rust-riddled wheelchair with bony hands crippled into claws. Only strings of hair remained, dangling from a yellowed skull pock-marked from disease and extreme age. Watery blue eyes, set in a wrinkled mass of scabrous flesh, stared at her, fixated and unblinking. It wore clothes—threadbare, faded scraps hinting of random-patterned military camouflage.
Nathan coughed awkwardly. “My lady, this is the blessed Saint Kyrk."
The human-like creature attempted a grin, or grimace—fleshless lips peeled back from black, jagged teeth. “You've done well, boy,” it said in a raw, hoarse voice, as if the words were being torn from its throat. It turned slightly, looking directly at her. “Not quite what you expected, eh?"
Suzanne somehow found her own voice. “You are Saint Kyrk? I thought you died, long ago."
"Regretfully, this is all that remains. A thousand years does not improve one's looks, I daresay."
Its attempt at humor almost made Suzanne gag. This thing, this wreck of ancient, diseased flesh was a man.
"Now, I will state the obvious: you must be the Wordsayer."
He studied her for a moment. “Have we met before?"
"Yes, master, she is the—"
"Shut up, boy!"
"Yes, I am the Wordsayer—at least that is the assumption made by everyone.” Suzanne moved warily along the stone wall so she could fully see the hideous being in the cage. Anger filled her as she realized Nathan's deception. He had deliberately lured her into the lair of this monstrous creature.
It lived amidst fragments from its past—ironically, her own time. A battered roll top desk was pushed against the stone wall to the left. On it, rotten, uneaten food and stacks of papers and books gathered mold and dust. The tiny bones of rats and other vermin littered the floor. Behind it was a filthy cot. The flea-bitten, ragged bedding hadn't been washed in years, perhaps centuries. Un-emptied buckets, reeking of waste had been placed to the far right of the cage. The flies had not found this wretched cesspool beneath the sanctuary, but the smell was overpowering.
"Your next question, no doubt, is why I am in here. What better place to keep a madman than in a subterranean prison ... for you see, my dear Wordsayer, I am quite mad."
Curiosity suppressed a sliver of her fear. “Who put you in here?” she asked.
