Tinderbox, page 27
Gaemyr snorted. “Is that not the task given to me?”
Isbet didn’t reply, but allowed herself a secretive smile.
* * *
Bram moved his horse beside hers. “Let’s be off.”
Isbet nodded. “Are you up to this, Highness?”
“Yes,” Bram said. “This has to end. I must face Wilhelm. I have been complacent too long.”
The last scouts who had returned to the cathedral reported that Wilhelm and his troops had camped a few miles away, between the borders of Rhyvirand and Tamrath. As far as they could tell, it was not the first time the army had stopped, which was why it had taken so long. They had also reported that there weren’t as many troops as expected, a mere quarter of what Wilhelm had during the last battle.
They brought what could be some more good news. There was some dissension among the leadership. They verified that Serval was there and the arguments between him and Wilhelm were often and loud. One thing was clear, Wilhelm didn’t want a battle.
They rode on, and as they came closer Isbet felt a chill begin at the base of her spine.
“What is it?” Bram said.
“There is great evil here.” Isbet swallowed, her throat dry. “The Rot permeates this place – it infects everything.”
“Yes,” Bram said.
Luana, who walked beside them, spat off to the side and said, “Ack! What stinks around here?”
There was Wilhelm’s encampment, spread across a large clearing in the trees. As far as Isbet could tell, there were no guards posted and most of the men and women were milling around or sitting before their tents, minding cook fires. A few of them were even off near the edge of the woods imbibing, though it was only past noon.
“What a disgusting mess of a camp this is.” Luana shook her head. “We could slaughter ’em easy and not break a sweat.”
“I don’t understand,” Bram said. “Does Wilhelm think this group could even take the cathedral?”
“No,” Isbet said. “I sense that neither Wilhelm nor Serval is in control here.”
“The Rot?”
“If I were to venture a guess. Wilhelm may be still fighting it, which would explain why he hesitates to act. Serval wants to fight. The Rot has filled him with its hunger.”
Bram didn’t comment. For a moment, he seemed far away. “Lady Isbet, stay here with Master Luana’s troops.”
Isbet turned towards him, keeping her expression impassive. She thought, He isn’t going to—?
“There’s no need for us both to go and if I am taken captive then you have the dwarves with you to carry out your plan,” Bram said. “Attack at the first sign of trouble. I’ll take care of myself.”
“You had better!” Gaemyr said. “The last thing I want is to deal with a crying woman!”
To her complete astonishment, Bram nodded to Gaemyr and said, “I will, sir.”
He left Isbet gaping.
Gaemyr chuckled. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
* * *
Bram dismounted and led his horse through the center of the camp, heading straight for the big tent. Some of the soldiers looked at him with mild interest. They seemed normal enough, but there were others…. Bram saw the taint of poison in their eyes like in those of the poor messenger who had risked all to tell them of Wilhelm. Their black gazes followed Bram as he walked, and seemed to pierce his very soul. He shuddered, trying in vain not to let it affect him. Only when he whispered a prayer of strength did the soothing influence of the Mother, who watched over all her children, calm him.
“Bram?”
Bram spun at the sound of a familiar voice. His stomach heaved painfully as the man approached. His eyes were all black, like those others with the taint, but he seemed not bothered by it.
“Bram Greyward!” Serval opened his arms wide. “It’s so good to see you again!”
Bram clutched the reins with one hand, his fingertips digging into his palms. His breath caught in his throat, his chest squeezed tight.
“It’s all right.” Serval took his free hand. “We’ve been waiting for you. That is, Wilhelm and me.”
Bram looked down at his hand as though it were an alien thing, grasped by Serval’s. “Come with me.”
Bram dropped the reins as something, more than just Serval, took hold of him, moving his legs like a puppet master. Bram knew what it was, and he struggled against it as if he were in a nightmare and trying to wake up. Serval drew the tent flap aside. “Your Majesty, your son has arrived.”
Serval released him and moved away. It took Bram’s eyes a few moments to adjust to the dimness of the tent. There, sitting at the long table, was Wilhelm and before him, on its rough-hewn surface, sat the Box. His fingers curled around it protectively. Bram didn’t know what he expected the box to look like. Certainly, larger than it was. He’d imagined something more ornate, made of gold and encrusted with jewels. But no, it was a plain metal box, dull gray, with no markings to make it look different from any other. Bram held the sharp breath that he’d almost released. No, he couldn’t let Wilhelm know his attention was on the Box. Then again, it was not only Wilhelm. The thing that had taken hold of him sniffed at the back of his mind like a starving mongrel after food. He fought to keep it at bay, to distract it somehow.
Bram took a cautious step forward. “Wilhelm?”
Wilhelm lifted his head and Bram met his gaze. Wilhelm’s eyes were normal and yet his expression said he was, much like Bram, engaged in his own private battle. “Bram.”
Upon hearing his name, Bram took another hesitant step. “Sir, are you all right? Do you know what’s happening?”
Wilhelm nodded. “I’m sorry. This is not—” he grunted in pain, his eyes squeezed shut, “—what I wanted—”
“What do you mean?” Bram went to his side, touched him on the shoulder.
Wilhelm started at the action. “Don’t touch me!” He shoved back from the table, tipping the chair over. “No, no – you shouldn’t be here.”
The Box was within his grasp. The mongrel was getting closer, intent on its hunger. All he needed to do was reach out….
“You’re in pain. I can see. Please tell me what I can do to help.” Bram knew Wilhelm didn’t deserve his help but there was something in the way Wilhelm looked, like a lost soul hoping to fill a void. Perhaps Wilhelm suffered that true pain, looking for something to make his life meaningful by surrounding himself with a false sense of family. Now perhaps he realized it was all a lie.
“Nothing,” Serval said. Bram had almost forgotten he was there. “All he has to do is give himself over.”
Wilhelm was fighting the Rot, but to what end? “Wilhelm, you must continue to fight. I don’t want more innocents hurt. I give you my word, I’ll help you.”
Wilhelm didn’t look at him. “I want you back home.”
Home was not Rhyvirand. This was Bram’s home, and he would do anything to protect it. “And I’ll go if you swear not to attack Bishop’s Lane.”
Wilhelm released the Box for the first time. He planted his hands on either side of his head and shook it, as though attempting to rid himself of something in his skull. “I – not Bishop’s Lane or the cathedral. I knew where you were.”
Bram realized they must have gotten information from the messenger.
“This isn’t so bad,” Serval said. “I fought too at first. I felt so alone and betrayed. All that sorrow coming from Wilhelm and others in the Riven Isles. I didn’t want to give in to that.” Serval moved carefully around the table, letting his fingertips slide across the surface. “Then I realized how good it could feel, allowing that power to flow over me. It was so very intimate. The being behind it told me of its wants and needs. It doesn’t want to destroy, Bram. It wants what we all do, life, nourishment, and freedom. Doesn’t a being such as this deserve the same?”
He stood before Bram and he could see the darkness moving about in Serval’s eyes, like worms crawling within the blank sockets.
“I know I behaved badly.” Serval slid his arms around Bram’s waist and a shudder of revulsion raced over Bram’s skin. “And for that I’m sorry.” Serval drew him close. “But if you give yourself to me now….” Bram drew in a breath and Serval’s mouth brushed his ear. His gorge rose, searing his throat. “I promise you it will be the sweetest agony imaginable.”
Bram choked and bile filled his mouth, forcing him to swallow. He had to awaken from this nightmare. Everything around him was going dim. “Mother, give me your protection.”
Fire engulfed him. It blazed around him, lighting up the tent, and Bram forced it into his hands. He placed them on Serval’s chest and shoved. “Get away from me!”
Serval fell and laughed as he did. He didn’t seem concerned that Bram had rejected him once again. “Bram, you need to trust me.”
A hand closed around Bram’s wrist. Wilhelm struggled to rise from the chair, his eyes blacker than a well. “Go—”
Bram didn’t hesitate. He ran, ripping the tent flap aside. The bright light of day caused him to shield his eyes. It had been much darker in that tent than he imagined. The soldiers approached, but there was no anger or malice in their expressions, just that eerie smile of welcome, and they stared at him with their awful eyes.
“Do you see now, Bram, the service we have done?” Serval’s voice was behind him. “Pain, loneliness, sorrow, all it wants is to feel…. To be in the light. To give others pleasure and fulfill their wants. Wilhelm and I, we are its greatest triumphs.”
Bram drew his sword. “By the Triune, keep your distance!” The influence of the Mother and Child was about him, but the Rot was there too, filling each lost soul, and it came to Bram that he could not cause these innocents injury, despite them giving themselves over to the Rot, and who was he to say that they had? Perhaps, like Wilhelm, they no longer had the strength to fight. How could he punish someone for finding solace from pain and sorrow, even if it were from some foul being?
“I knew you would show mercy,” Serval said. “That is why I want you so.”
Serval was on him when Bram noticed a faint tremor in the earth. At first neither Serval nor the soldiers reacted to it, until the rumbling gained voice and momentum, jarring the earth, making it buckle and crack.
“What is this?” Now there was fear in Serval’s voice.
The earth beneath him rose, split open into a yawning hole. His sword dropped from his grasp and fell into the darkness, Bram following.
Chapter Thirty
First, there was darkness.
Then the sensation of traveling along on a thick wave, and Bram clawed with his fingers, realized it was dirt, soft and malleable. He feared at first he would die, this place becoming his unmarked grave. The air was hot and thin, and he struggled to breathe.
The ground trembled again, the motion shaking his body, making his head ache. Then light poured in and blessed air with it. His forward momentum was slowing.
“There he is!” a voice cried out.
“Let’s get ’im up here, then!”
Luana? What had they, how had they—?
Hands grasped at his shirt, pulling him up, and the sunshine had never felt so good on his face.
“Sorry about that, Highness.” Luana grinned at him. “Thought mebbe it would be better if we jus’ got ya out of there.”
Dwarf magic.
“It ain’t as easy as goin’ through water, but we manage.”
“Thank you,” Bram said. “Isbet?”
“Here.” Isbet knelt before him and draped her arms around his shoulders. “You’re safe.”
He kissed her, and the dwarves cheered and hollered.
“We have to leave,” Bram said. “We’re not safe here. We have to get to the sacred ground.”
“I know,” Isbet said.
“Can ya stand? That’s a good boy,” Luana said. “Let’s get back ta that fancy church of yours.”
Bram looked around and saw they were a bit of a distance from the camp. What people he could see in the camp were dashing about in a seeming panic.
“Don’t worry, they’ll be busy for a while,” Luana said.
One of the other dwarves brought him his horse. They rode hard at first, until they felt they were a safe distance from the camp, and then slowed their horses to rest. Bram told Isbet what had occurred.
“The place stank of the Rot,” he said. “Serval was already taken but Wilhelm seemed to be fighting it.” Bram chose his next words carefully. “He had the Box. It sat right there before him and I didn’t take it.”
“Why?” There was no accusation in Isbet’s voice.
“Because….” Bram hesitated. “Isbet, I think I truly know what we are dealing with now.
“Serval kept saying how lonely he was, how Wilhelm was gripped by sorrow and that he didn’t want to feel that.” Bram went on. “I can’t say if Wilhelm’s meddling brought this to life, but I understand now. Wilhelm isn’t a ruthless conqueror. He is just a sad old man, wanting to have something to take away whatever sorrows he must live with. And for a moment, I felt sorry for him.”
“You once said you didn’t know where Wilhelm had come from,” Isbet said.
“When I was being pulled into their thrall, I could see Wilhelm, lost and alone like an orphaned child. The being who was at the very bowels of Underneath was also searching for an escape, and Wilhelm provided a conduit for it.”
“That would explain the lines of magic I saw attached to him,” Isbet said.
“But I also had the sensation from those soldiers that there were more with so much sorrow.” Bram lowered his gaze. “Isbet, I’m sorry.”
“Whatever for?”
“I can’t kill them. Do you know why?”
“Yes,” Isbet said. “They are not evil men, but whatever grave unhappiness they suffer, the being behind the Rot takes that all away. It is like when you indulge in too much drink or narcotics.”
“How can I punish them?” Bram heard the plea in his own voice. “Tell me what I can do.”
Isbet breathed deeply. “They willingly gave themselves to the Rot. They are no longer mortal and deserving of our mercy.”
Bram squeezed the bridge of his nose. “But when someone is possessed by drink, we know they are not necessarily bad, just in need of help.”
Isbet shook her head. “This is not the same. There is no going back for them. Soon even Wilhelm will succumb if his sorrow is great.”
“He warned me and gave me a chance to escape,” Bram said.
Isbet was silent for a moment. “He was stronger than he believed but he has no faith in himself. The being will eat away at that strength unless Wilhelm uses it to break free.”
Isbet pulled the reins and brought the horse to a stop. She took Bram’s wrist in a painful grasp. “Will you be able to act when the time comes? If not, say so now and I will deal with Wilhelm and Serval.”
Bram considered her words. He carefully weighed them against everything Wilhelm had done. The war, the deaths of his father and uncle, Seth, his home and his father’s dishonor. All so Wilhelm could fulfill some twisted wish to belong and to wipe his sorrow and loneliness away. And it all came about before Wilhelm had released the being, as inadvertent as that was. No, one warning would not make up for that.
“I will do what needs to be done,” Bram said.
* * *
Jaryl met them at the bottom of the cathedral steps. “Our scouts said you were on your way back. What happened?”
“We don’t have much time,” Bram told him. “Wilhelm does not plan on attacking Bishop’s Lane. He’s coming here. He wants me, or so he says.”
“We won’t let him have you.”
“I don’t plan on letting him have me,” Bram said. “After what I saw, I thought perhaps here on sacred ground would be a better place to fight them.”
“And it keeps them away from the city.” Jaryl nodded.
“I’ll need another sword,” Bram said, although he wondered if it would do any good.
“I’ll have one brought,” Jaryl said.
Bram spoke to Aune, asked her to gather her sisters to pray. Aune said they would settle in the garden. Bram had Coline attempt to ascertain where Wilhelm might be, but all she could tell him was a dark cloud hovered over the land and as far as she could see, that was where Wilhelm waited. However, she would call upon all her power to keep them safe and to keep a watchful eye on the city.
An acolyte brought him a sword, like the ones the soldiers used. It would have to do. Bram then gathered their soldiers and told them what to expect.
“You must put aside any sorrows or guilt,” he told them. “I know I am asking a lot of you, and I know it will be difficult, but if you have something that will feed this being, it will try to consume you. Tell me now if there is anything that weighs too heavily on you.”
Three of the soldiers took him aside and told him of their troubles. One had just lost his father to an accident. They had been awfully close, and it was taking all he could do to cope, which was why he chose to work instead. The second, a young woman, had found her husband to be unfaithful, while the third had a wife who was terribly ill, and he hated to be away from her. The soldier with the ill wife Bram sent home. To the other two, he said, “I will assign you to protect the Mother Superior and her sisters. Be certain no harm comes to them.”
Coline reported later that same day that Wilhelm was now on the move and a scant few hours from the cathedral. She also divined that the Chir soldiers would not reach them in time. It was what both Bram and Isbet had expected.
Led by Jaryl, their soldiers would provide the last line of defense against Wilhelm reaching the cathedral. Jaryl looked the part of the Patriarch of Tamrath, resplendent in silver armor. His face was set in hard lines. Bram looked at him with pride and wasn’t surprised when Jaryl turned his way and gave him a brief nod. As for the dwarves, they would be at the ready with their earth magic. Isbet rode beside him, as grim and determined as he.
