Briardark, page 5
That observation spurred the physician to walk over to the dire wolf. His eyes roved across the battered carcass. ‘They did quite a lot of damage to you. More than might be expected.’ He prodded the body with the toe of his boot.
At once the wolf rolled over and stood up on its decayed paws. The head, partly smashed, leered forwards, its fangs clacking against each other when it snapped its jaws. The eerie glow of its eyes blazed back into spectral vibrancy. The beast glowered at Verderghast, its wasted body tensed for violence.
The physician merely stared back at the undead animal, unperturbed by its menacing pose. Boldly, he stepped forward and, ignoring the bared fangs, reached down to inspect the broken skull. ‘Nothing too tragic,’ he said. ‘A bit of attention will set you right again.’ Verderghast patted the beast’s head, scratching a maggot out from its mangy pelt.
‘You performed admirably.’ He looked aside at Marden’s body, then stared after the track Cicely had taken. ‘Now to see how the girl suits her role.’ A grim smile set itself across his face. ‘The only question is how long it will take. Yes, that’s still the uncertain factor.’
Verderghast stirred from his reverie and gestured to the revived wolf. ‘Away to your lair,’ he commanded. He watched it lope off through the underbrush opposite where Cicely had gone. ‘Rest well, my friend,’ he called after the undead.
‘There may be more work for you before I am finished here.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Samuel rolled his spoon through the bowl of porridge. In the hour he’d been sitting at the table he’d taken only a few mouthfuls of his dinner. It was cold and gelid now, tugging at his spoon, resisting his vacant motions as though to say to him what Emelda couldn’t. Enough.
His wife was seated across the table. She’d finished eating some time ago, but she’d made no move from her chair even to clean away the soiled plates. Emelda didn’t say anything – she simply sat there. Waiting.
Grief was a selfish thing. The thought stabbed at Samuel. He knew his wife was hurting every bit as much as he was. Marden’s loss was devastating to both of them. The father’s sorrow didn’t surpass that of the mother. One glance at Emelda was enough to show him that. But for the past hour he hadn’t seen Emelda. His eyes were fixed on the wall, but even that he didn’t see. His gaze was piercing that wall, roving through Felstein’s streets and across its fields to the solemn shrine of Nagash and the grim yard that surrounded it. He saw all the old stone markers, weathered by the elements, and he saw the new plinth that rose up from that morbid ground. He watched as the black casket was lowered into the yawning pit while Pater Kosminski recited prayers to the Lord of the Dead that Marden’s spirit would find rest and his bones enjoy peace in the grave.
Samuel’s pain replayed the scene again and again. He shivered despite the fire blazing in the hearth, for it had been cold there in the Garden of Nagash and memory recalled that chill in all its intensity. He could smell the musty, cloying scent of the cemetery, a distillation of broken hopes and buried dreams.
He knew Emelda wanted to talk, to share the pain with him instead of letting it push them apart. Samuel knew this, but he couldn’t let go. He couldn’t let her into the darkness he was feeling. His mind stirred from his mournful reflections long enough for a ray of clarity to sizzle through him like one of Sigmar’s thunderbolts. His grief was selfish, but in a way far different than he’d realised. Shame was what had raised these barriers between himself and what family he had left.
The hunter’s eyes didn’t move, but instead of the wall and the scenes beyond it, he now focused on Emelda. He had to tell her, just in case she didn’t already know. Of course she didn’t know, otherwise she’d have wasted no more time on him, trying to ease his pain.
‘It’s my fault,’ Samuel said, his tone as dead as anything buried in the Garden of Nagash. He let the confession linger, expecting to see hate in Emelda’s visage. When the anticipated reaction didn’t happen, he tried to make himself understood. ‘Marden’s dead because of me. He went into Briardark to prove himself to me. It’s my fault.’
Emelda’s eyes were moist with emotion. She reached across the table towards him, but her hand stopped before touching his. ‘You can’t blame yourself. Marden’ – her voice cracked when she spoke his name – ‘chose to go to hunt the wolf. You didn’t make him do anything.’
‘Didn’t I?’ Samuel pushed the cold porridge away and stared up at the ceiling. ‘Didn’t I send him out there? Everything I did sent him into Briardark.’ He coughed as the bitterness tightened in his throat. ‘It flattered my pride to have Marden emulate me, trying to become a beasthunter. But I never did enough to make him ready. I didn’t do enough to teach him his own limitations. To guide him right.’ He lowered his head and clapped his hands to his face to hide the tears. ‘My pride wouldn’t let me show him any other way.’
‘Marden wouldn’t have chosen differently,’ Emelda said. ‘He was our son, and it was because you did raise him right that he wanted to be like you. He wanted to make you proud because he was proud of you. Can’t you see that?’
Samuel knew her words were meant to soothe, but they only magnified his pain. ‘I should have been content to be humble. Satisfied with lesser things. Then our son would still be alive.’
Motion from the side of the table drew Samuel’s notice. Even more than Emelda’s, in his grief he’d become oblivious to Cicely’s presence. Like her mother, she’d remained silent until he was ready to talk about his pain. He could barely look at her now, thinking how he’d nearly lost both of his children. Cicely had told of following Marden’s trail and trying to stop him. She’d been too late – thank Sigmar! If she’d been there when the wolf found her brother…
‘You aren’t to blame,’ Cicely said, her face pale and drawn. ‘Marden did what he felt he had to do. If you want to blame someone, why not Thayer Greimhalt? It is his greed that has put so much pressure on everyone. His grasping for more and more power.’
The suggestion only deepened the guilt in Samuel’s heart. He shook his head. ‘Problems with Thayer were no concern of Marden’s. He was just a boy. He shouldn’t even have thought twice about the man.’
‘How could you keep him from knowing?’ Emelda asked. ‘Thayer has pushed and pushed until no one could ignore what he’s doing. Rukh and Anya are on the cusp of being turned out of their home. Thayer keeps pushing to have you replaced as beasthunter. Then there is that son of his, always coming around–’
Samuel slapped his bronze hand against the table, denting its surface. Anguish gripped him. ‘These weren’t troubles to concern Marden. Blood of the Mortarchs, what’s more important for me to do than to shield my own children from such worries! A father who can’t keep his own family safe is less than nothing. Unfit for even his carcass to pay the bone tithe.’
‘Marden didn’t want to hide behind you,’ Cicely retorted. ‘You misjudge him and cheapen his memory if you think he could ever have been content to sit back and not take a hand. We went into Briardark because it was what needed to be done.’
Samuel’s head shot up, his eyes latching on to his daughter’s, his mind seizing upon the word she’d used. ‘We?’ he repeated. ‘What do you mean we went into the forest? I thought you followed him to stop him!’
For an instant Cicely trembled at the challenge in his tone, but then he saw her resolve stiffen. There was an edge of defiance when she looked back at him. ‘That wasn’t the whole truth. I found him before he tracked down the wolf. Marden was determined to help you by killing the beast, not to prove himself to you but because he felt you needed his help.’ Her show of strength faltered and sorrow settled over her again. She sank back in her chair. ‘I followed him to stop him, but I stayed to help him. I was there when he fought the wolf.’
The confession struck Samuel like a physical blow. He reeled in his seat, stunned by the revelation. Dimly he was aware of Emelda’s horrified gasp. ‘You might have been killed too!’ she was saying as she rushed over and hugged her daughter close to her. He could hear the two women sobbing, their emotions breaking free of all restraint.
He tried to keep control of the turmoil roiling inside him. He tried to reason against the fury that blazed up from the core of his being. Samuel attempted to keep hold of his love for Cicely, but the harder he tried, the more it fled from his mind. All he could see was Marden’s torn body as they’d found it in Briardark. All he could think of was his son lying buried in the dirt, consigned to the keeping of Nagash.
Samuel’s eyes were as cold as the plinth in the Garden of Nagash when he looked at his daughter. ‘You’re telling me that you are responsible,’ he said, each word dripping off his tongue like poison. ‘You’re telling me you could have stopped Marden… and didn’t.’
Emelda was shocked by his speech, but he could see from Cicely’s face that his accusation had struck true. He took no satisfaction from being right. Instead, he felt hollow inside. A compounding of the loss he’d already suffered.
Cicely made no reply. She stepped away from the table and headed to the door. Emelda started after her, but Samuel held her back. ‘Let her go,’ he said. Then a knot of anger welled up inside him. ‘She’s done enough already.’
The door slammed shut as Cicely left their house. Emelda pulled free of Samuel’s grip but only got as far as the door before she stopped.
‘She’s hurting just as much as we are,’ she told him.
Samuel walked over and clasped Emelda with his good arm. ‘She’s hurting more than we are,’ he said. ‘Because she knows she could have prevented his death and she didn’t.’
‘Then go after her. Tell her you understand.’ Emelda pulled away and gave him a stern look. ‘You were hard with her. She couldn’t have stopped the wolf, and I don’t think she could’ve stopped Marden either.’ Tears rolled down her cheeks and her tone became imploring. ‘Go to her. Tell her…’
A groan shuddered through Samuel’s chest. ‘I can’t,’ he declared. ‘I can’t because, Sigmar forgive me, I can’t forgive her.’ He felt the tear that slithered down his cheek, a thing as much of bitterness as sorrow.
‘Our son is dead,’ Samuel whispered. ‘And she could have kept it from happening.’
Cicely hurried through the streets of Felstein, heedless of her path, eager only to put distance between herself and the house. She felt the bite of her father’s words with every step she took. If she closed her eyes, she saw him glaring at her.
It was a relief when she saw Lucilla come out of the bakehouse with a basket of bread. She ran to catch up to her friend before she got too far away. ‘Lucilla! Wait!’
Lucilla turned. She was a few years older than Cicely, but the heat of working in her family’s bakehouse made her look older still. There were already a few wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and her flaxen hair always had a brittle look to it. She had a demure disposition, or at least had come to adopt one after Alastair’s cruel rebuff of her affection. After that, she’d tried to be much more private about her thoughts. At least with everyone except Cicely.
‘I’m so very sorry about Marden,’ Lucilla said. ‘I can’t even begin to imagine how horrible you must feel.’ She jostled the basket she was carrying. ‘I was just taking this bread to the tavern. Would you walk with me?’
Cicely smiled and fell into step beside Lucilla. Before they’d gone even a few yards, she was telling her friend her troubles. ‘…and father felt like he was responsible for Marden going into the forest, so I tried to make him feel better by letting him blame me instead.’
Lucilla’s eyes widened with shock. ‘But he can’t really think you’re to blame!’
‘I am to blame,’ Cicely said. ‘If I were in his place, I wouldn’t forgive me either.’ She clenched her hands until she felt her nails bruise her palms. ‘If I’d just forced Marden to leave Briardark, he’d be alive now.’ Shame welled up inside her. She averted her face from those they passed in the street and didn’t reply to the sympathetic words offered to her by neighbours.
‘You can’t let yourself believe that,’ Lucilla insisted. ‘The wolf killed Marden, not you.’
Cicely shook her head and fixed tired eyes on Lucilla. ‘I feel unclean,’ she said. ‘My skin crawls with the stain of what I’ve done.’ She drew back her sleeve and held her arm out to her friend. ‘I can’t believe no one else can see it.’
‘That’s nonsense,’ Lucilla snapped. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just upset. Who wouldn’t be!’ Her eyes glistened with sympathy. ‘You shouldn’t have told them what really happened. You could have let your parents still think you weren’t there when the wolf attacked.’ She shivered at the idea. ‘I’d have fainted at the wolf’s feet if I’d been there. You’re lucky Marden killed it before it could get you.’
Cicely frowned. She dearly wanted to tell Lucilla the entire truth, but Verderghast had insisted on no mention of his involvement and she saw no way to relate the entire story without mentioning him. It was easier to give Marden full credit for destroying the wolf.
‘But the wolf’s carcass was gone when we went back for Marden,’ Cicely muttered. It was a point that deeply troubled her.
Lucilla shivered again. ‘It must have only been stunned. Think of it, if it had recovered while you were there…’
‘Father says it rallied after I left and slunk away to some dark corner of Briardark to lick its wounds.’ Cicely wasn’t cheered by Samuel’s explanation. She was concerned that Verderghast had been attacked when the beast recovered. Only the lack of any signs of struggle at the scene gave her any comfort. Even if the wolf had killed Verderghast with a single bite, there would have been evidence of it dragging away his body. Instead there were only the wolf tracks leading back into the trees. The physician had been careful to erase his own footprints. She worried that Verderghast didn’t know the wolf’s horrid vitality had returned and that it might hunt him when it was recovered. Still, she’d kept true to his wishes and not revealed his presence to anyone.
The bustle of activity drew Cicely from her brooding. She looked up to find that her route had taken her into the town square. A crowd was gathered around the gallowsoak where the witch Natalia Kolb had been executed. A table had been moved to the base of the tree, and on it stood Thayer Greimhalt. The townmaster was arrayed in the opulence he could afford, but even the ermine-trimmed coat with its collar of gryphon feathers couldn’t hide that rich living had set its stamp on the man.
‘It’s hard to imagine, but my mother says Thayer looked like Alastair when he was young,’ Lucilla said, a strange mix of wistfulness and pain in her tone.
Cicely scowled at the elder Greimhalt. Now he was bald and flabby, his sharp features dragged down by heavy jowls and droopy eyes. ‘He’s more like some human spider. Only he uses his voice to spin his webs.’
The anger in Cicely’s words surprised Lucilla. ‘I… have to get the bread to the tavern,’ she said hastily as she scurried across the square.
Cicely returned her attention to the townmaster’s oratory.
‘It is not that I don’t empathise with Herr Helmgaart,’ Thayer was telling the crowd gathered in the square. ‘Indeed, it is because I do sympathise with his loss that I say we must take action ourselves.’ He turned and pointed in the direction of Briardark. ‘The vicious beast that killed Samuel’s boy is still out there. Who can say when it will strike again?’ He waved aside an objection someone in the crowd raised. ‘Yes, I know there are some who think the wolf has crawled off to some hole to die, but are you willing to take that chance? Are any of you?’ His eyes glittered as he looked across the townspeople. Uneasiness flashed on his face when he noticed Cicely at the edge of the square. Perhaps her presence tempered the rhetoric that followed.
‘I am not saying we replace Helmgaart,’ Thayer insisted. From the confused murmurs Cicely heard, she guessed that Thayer’s speech had been trending towards that conclusion until that point. ‘His service to this community has been exemplary until now, and that is a debt Felstein cannot ignore. That is why I say that now, when Samuel has suffered such a loss, it is left to the rest of us to act. An interim beasthunter must be appointed to go out and hunt this murdering wolf before it can strike again. Not a replacement, merely a substitute until Samuel…’
Cicely glared at the pontificating townmaster. Thayer wasn’t going to let the earth over Marden’s grave settle before exploiting the tragedy. She didn’t have to consult Mama Ouspenskaya’s cards to know that once Thayer had his temporary beasthunter appointed, her father would be edged out completely and his stooge would retain the post. It sickened her to think that by attempting to help their father, Marden had forced the very crisis he’d been trying to avert.
She didn’t linger to hear any more of Thayer’s speech but turned and hurried across the square. A familiar figure called to her from the Skintaker’s Swallow as she passed the tavern. A moment later, she heard Alastair jogging up to her.
‘Father’s long-winded,’ he said as he fell into step beside her. ‘I don’t blame you for leaving.’ He still held a stein in his hand and gave it a flourish that sent foam spilling over its brim. ‘I always need some fortifying when he starts on one of his harangues.’
Cicely gave Alastair a dark look. The scene was so much like the one on the night Marden had gone to the forest. Alastair intruding on her business, commanding her attention. Delaying her while her brother went onwards to his doom. If not for Alastair, she might have caught Marden in the fields before he found any sign of the wolf. She would have turned him back then, she was convinced of that. Whatever role she’d played in Marden’s death, it was because Alastair had interfered.
Alastair frowned when he noted the hate in Cicely’s gaze, but he failed to guess its cause. ‘Don’t worry about what my father is saying. It’s a bunch of hot air. No one is going to replace Samuel.’ His expression grew sombre, and a bit of the customary swagger left his posture. ‘I’m sorry about what happened to your brother.’
