The Lion's Crown (The Emberlyn Chronicles Book 1), page 2
A knock came at his door, and a servant wearing the royal livery of gray and dark orange entered. “His Royal Majesty will see you now, Sir William,” he said, bowing deeply.
William checked his reflection in the mirror above the washbasin. Even as a knight of Emberlyn, meeting the king was an occasion. William’s home was in County Carlyle, to the north. He was not a part of the king’s court and had never before been granted an audience. Even after being at the castle for a day and a half, the reason for his summons to Granisle remained a mystery.
After deciding that his appearance was satisfactory, William followed the servant through the door and onto the landing beside his room. He was led down the spiraling staircase, through several corridors, into the great hall of the castle and finally beyond to the throne room.
He was told to wait and stood just outside the doors as he heard his name announced. As soon as the introduction was over, he stepped inside and bowed to the king. He remained bent as he waited to be acknowledged.
“You may rise,” said a high and pleasant voice.
As William looked up, King Edward the Ninth stepped off the dais and moved toward a long table set to one side. He sat at the head of the table then gestured for William to take the seat on his right. William sat and looked over the table. At the king’s elbow was a book. Spread out on the table was a map of the kingdom. Gold candlesticks weighted down each corner, and at the king’s gesture, the servant standing behind him crossed to one of the two large fireplaces on the same wall as the doors, returned with a flaming brand and lit the candles.
As the king opened the book beside him, a man with gray hair and pale eyes entered the throne room, bowed and sat across from William.
“Ah, Morien,” the king said. “Meet Sir William Carlyle.”
The older man nodded. “Your servant, Sir William.”
“Your servant, sir,” William said.
“Morien is my royal alchemist and astrologer,” King Edward said.
William’s eyes widened as he studied the man’s face. The pursuit of alchemy, astrology, divination and any other kind of magic was officially outlawed in the Kingdom of Emberlyn save at the king’s command. He knew minor, relatively harmless forms of folk magic were still practiced among the lower classes, but it was widely considered taboo.
“What do you know of the Hobswood Forest?” Morien asked.
“I know of it only broadly,” William said. “My lands are to the north and do not border the wood, and I’ve had no occasion to go there. I’ve heard stories, of course: that is it enchanted, that death awaits any who enter, that strange creatures are said to be seen lurking near its boundary… and that the bog which surrounds it can befuddle even the keenest mind.”
Morien gestured at the map in front of him. “The bog you speak of—the Bleaklands—completely encircles the Hobswood Forest. It runs for over a thousand miles, and some say the distance is significantly greater than that. An accurate measurement of it has never been made.”
William looked down at the map. It showed the eastward-jutting peninsula occupied by the Kingdom of Emberlyn. The Hobswood and the ring of the Bleaklands sat at the center of the peninsula, and the borders of the Kingdom of Emberlyn were marked in red, on the northern and southern sides of the forest. To the west of Emberlyn lay the Kingdom of Gronstave. To the east lay the sea.
Not shown on the map were the mysterious lands to the west and south of Gronstave. Sir William knew that primitive peoples inhabited those lands, and regular trade was conducted between them, Gronstave and Emberlyn, but little was known of their customs. He turned his attention to the top of the map. Not much was known of that area either. Ships had sailed across the North Sea to find uninhabited, ice-covered lands but had not ventured into them. Finally, his eyes rested on the right side of the parchment. That which lay to the east, beyond the Oulfeist Sea, was also a mystery. A small island chain lay perhaps a hundred miles off Emberlyn’s coast, but no ship had journeyed farther than those islands and returned.
“As you see,” Morien said, bringing William’s attention back to the center of the map, “the Hobswood extends deep into not only our lands but into the lands of Gronstave as well. Its existence in the center of the peninsula makes it a natural barrier between our kingdoms, with only short stretches of land between it and the sea to be protected. We are fortunately now at peace with Gronstave, but peace cannot last forever.”
“It is strange,” said King Edward, “that the very thing which made Emberlyn defensible once the Eastern Kingdoms were united is also the thing which causes us such a great deal of vexation.”
“Vexation, Your Majesty?”
The king pressed his finger at the center of the map. “If the Hobswood could be conquered, it would almost double the size of my kingdom. And who can say what resources lay within—what treasures? As Morien said, peace cannot last forever. If we controlled the forest, think of the advantage we would have if Gronstave again turned belligerent.”
William tilted his head down at the map. “Your Majesty, am I correct in remembering that men have tried to conquer the Hobswood in the past?”
“Indeed, Sir William.” He tapped the book at the edge of the table. “This is a chronicle of the Hobswood, which I asked to be assembled. The royal archives were scoured for every mention of the wood, and that knowledge was reproduced here.” He set the volume in front of him and turned a few pages. “The first known expedition into the wood took place in the reign of Edward the Second, thirty-four years after the unification of the Eastern Kingdoms by his father. One hundred men on horseback were sent into the wood. None returned.”
William glanced up at Morien. The old man had his eyes closed and seemed to be meditating.
“In the year two hundred and seven,” the king said, “an expedition of forty-two men ventured into the Hobswood. Their intent was to march in for one day, spend a single night in the wood then march out and report back what they had found there. They did not return.”
King Edward turned a few more pages. “The final expedition on record occurred in the reign of Albert the Third, my grandfather. In the year six hundred and eighty, he sent just twenty men into the Hobswood. This time, one man—a single man—did return. But he returned mad. He could tell nothing of what he had seen; he could not explain what had happened to his comrades. He remained mad for the rest of his life, never once again uttering a coherent statement.”
Sir William waited for the king to continue, but he sat leafing through his book. Morien was still meditating—or perhaps he was now asleep—and William turned his attention back to the map as he waited.
“The rest of this book,” the king finally said, “is filled with stories of the Hobswood that have been compiled from various sources. The wood is named for the hobs which are said to come out from it at night and cause mischief in the villages bordering the Bleaklands. Fairy stories, really. And yet….”
Morien finally opened his eyes. “And yet, Your Majesty, there is more truth in fairy stories than we often think.”
The king grunted. “I do not deny that the countless stories about this wood intrigue me.” He again stabbed his finger at the center of the map. “There are deep mysteries at the heart of this. Even the existence of the bog completely surrounding the forest cannot be accounted for by any natural processes, or so learned men have told me. Conquering it and unveiling those mysteries would be a great triumph for Emberlyn. But before it can be conquered, a safe way in must be found. It must be explored. That, Sir William, shall be your task.”
William opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. The king had not asked him a direct question and had not given him permission to speak freely. He’d already taken a few liberties as it was.
“Morien pored over the list of my knights. Through divination, he settled upon your name. I put my faith in his selection and summoned you here. I see now that you are a strong man—an intelligent man. You are a good choice to lead my expedition.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“One other member of your expedition has already been chosen, and Morien is still endeavoring to determine who else shall accompany you. In the meantime, the pleasures of Granisle Castle are yours to enjoy. Anything you desire, my servants will provide.” The king stood. “You are excused.”
Sir William stood, bowed and backed toward the entrance to the throne room. He turned as he stepped through, and the servant who’d fetched him was waiting as he came out.
“My name is Quentin, Sir William. I am at your service.”
William looked uncertainly around the great hall. He was sure Quentin would tell him where he could and couldn’t go, so he began walking, the other man following behind. “Are the gardens this way?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir William.”
Quentin took the lead and guided William to the south end of the castle. The gardens were laid out in a triangular shape, with the castle forming one side and walls which ran along the shores of the rivers forming the other two. Where those walls joined was where the rivers met, and a tower with a barred gate below it cut off the very tip of the triangle. William knew there was a boathouse beyond it where a pleasure barge was always kept in case the king decided he wanted to go for a cruise. It was also an escape route if the castle ever came under siege.
Rings of hedges, with openings on each end, dominated the grounds. Between each hedge were long, low flowerbeds. In the middle of the rings was an open lawn, and as William neared it, he saw that a circle of fruit trees surrounded the lawn. At the very center was a raised stone platform with a curved bench running all the way around, leaving a single gap at the approach.
He climbed the three steps onto the platform and sat on the bench, closing his eyes. Quentin had lagged behind, and the last William had seen of him, he had turned back toward the castle. He was no doubt within shouting distance if he was needed, but William was enjoying the solitude for the moment.
An image of the map filled his mind. He’d never seen the Hobswood in person, but he’d heard about the black, leafless trees which grew along its border. Only one man had returned from previous kings’ expeditions, and he had returned insane. William couldn’t refuse Edward’s request—to do so would be treason, punishable by death—and he began wondering if there was any way he could get out of this. Footsteps on the paving stones aroused him from his reverie.
Coming up the path from the end of the garden farthest away from the castle was a young woman with long black hair. He stood and bowed as she approached, but she laughed at the gesture.
“A nobleman does not bow to a king’s concubine.”
William straightened. He knew about the king’s ladies. Every king, all the way back to Edward the First, had as his royal right taken the pleasures of the loveliest unmarried women in the kingdom. Whether they be peasant or noble-born did not matter. If the king chose a man’s daughter for his court, he could not be denied.
“Still,” she continued, “I am flattered.” She rounded the platform and walked up the steps. She sat and patted the space beside her. “Sit, good sir. You are allowed to talk with me.”
William sat and smiled. “His Majesty won’t be jealous?”
“Of talking?” She laughed. “I wouldn’t worry. I’m not his favorite at any rate.”
“I fail to see how that could be possible,” William said. He regretted it as soon as he’d said it, but there was no denying she was among the most beautiful women he’d ever met. The king had a keen eye.
“You flatter me again. What is your name?”
“Sir William Carlyle.”
“Carlyle… your family’s lands are in the north, yes?”
“Yes, half way up the River Stout. And your name?”
“Ivy Grey.”
William searched his memory. There was a noble family named Grey from the southern part of the kingdom, but it was also common enough among the lower classes. Without asking, he couldn’t be sure of her birth. It didn’t matter, at any rate. If she had come from common stock, she would have been trained how to speak and behave like a lady once arriving at the castle.
“What brings you to Granisle, Sir William?” Ivy asked.
He furrowed his brow. He hadn’t been told his mission was to be a secret, and servants had remained in the throne room as the king and Morien discussed it with him. He decided it was safe to tell her. “The king has summoned me to lead an expedition into the Hobswood Forest.”
Ivy’s face fell. “No one returns from the Hobswood.”
“So I have been told.”
Her gaze dropped to his hands. “Aren’t you afraid?”
“I’ve only learned of it just now. I don’t think I’ve had time to feel afraid.”
“I… I feel sorry for you, Sir William.”
“Please don’t. I serve at the pleasure of the king, as we all must. I am honored to be of use to him.”
Ivy’s eyes lingered on his hands. She reached out and took them into hers then kissed each of them. “Take this kiss—and this—when you go. No man should be sent into the Hobswood without a kiss.” She blushed and let go of his hands. “When do you leave?”
“It hasn’t been decided. Most of my companions have not even been chosen, so I imagine I will be here at the castle for several days yet.”
Quentin appeared beside the hedge and cleared his throat, making his presence known. Ivy looked up at him then back at William. “Perhaps we will meet again.” She tried to smile, but William could tell her heart was not in it. He stood as she got up then wandered back toward the hedge opening she’d come through. He watched her until she reached it, and just before stepping out of sight, she turned and looked back at him, her eyes still filled with sorrow.
Even in sadness, William thought, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Chapter Three
That Which Lurks
Owen’s worms were gone. During the night, something—Penny didn’t want to guess what—had fished them out of the bucket and made off with them. Her cart and shovel were still where she’d left them, though, and as it was a bright and sunny day, she went back to work digging peat. When her cart was full, she put her shovel in it and began pushing it back toward the village.
Owen had, thankfully, been happy to stay with George Ashberry and watch him finish making his horseshoes. Owen and George were fond of one another, so Penny was usually comfortable leaving him there. George also kept a big, friendly brown cat, and between George, the donkey and the cat, Owen usually found enough to keep himself occupied.
After she’d returned to her hut, unloaded the peat and spread it out to dry, she went to retrieve Owen. As she made her way to George’s hut, she was stopped by Elizabeth Tupper, James Tupper’s wife. Penny tried to pass with nothing more than a smile, but the woman took up a position beside her.
“That brother of yours,” she began.
“I’m sorry, Bess. I do the best I can.”
“My James might’ve been killed out there on the bog. You’ve no right asking good, normal men to risk their lives.”
Penny bit her lip. She knew Owen wasn’t normal, but to imply that he also wasn’t good….
“At any rate, if he’d gotten into the wood, I don’t suppose we’d have any choice, would we?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Can’t have anyone who’s been in the wood coming back to the village. Bringing things back with them.”
“Owen didn’t get to the wood. I found him before he did.”
“So you say. But he did get there before, didn’t he? As a child? It’s what made him the way he is.”
Penny stopped walking and turned on Elizabeth Tupper. “My brother is good and kind and happy. Whatever else he is… that’s none of your business. I didn’t ask your husband to help look for him, and I certainly won’t expect him to do it again. There are plenty of others who’ll help the next time.”
“You keep thinking that, Penelope Blackmoor. One day your brother will go too far. One day he’ll get back to the wood. And if he does return from it… well, not a one of us will be blamed for what we have to do.”
Penny’s hands tightened into fists, but Elizabeth Tupper turned and walked away before anything else could happen. Penny continued on to George Ashberry’s house and found Owen sitting on the ground, the cat stretched out in front of him. George came out from inside and handed a mug to Owen. Owen drank down its contents then set it on the ground beside him.
“Thank you for watching after him,” Penny said.
“Always my pleasure.”
“Anyone bother him while I was away?”
“No. They wouldn’t with me here, I don’t think.”
“Not even that harpy Elizabeth Tupper?”
George Ashberry laughed. “She was kind once. Before she married James Tupper, at any rate.”
Penny nodded. “So I’ve heard. But she thinks she can tell everyone what to do ever since her husband was made head watchman.”
George pulled a stool away from the side of the hut and offered it to Penny. She shook her head and sat on the ground by Owen. George sat on the stood and sighed. “There’s always been a woman like Bess Tupper and there always will be.”
“Did you… did you tell anyone? That Owen made it to the wood?”
“No.”
“Bess thinks he did. Don’t know how she got that idea.”
“Probably from her husband. We searched the bog all the way up to the edge of the wood after you disappeared. Never spotted a sign of either one of you. James said you had to have gone into the wood, and that we’d have seen you otherwise.”
