138
King Noctorno
Interrogation Cell, Crittich Keep, Notting Thicket
WODELL
“Alfie should be here,” Apollo murmured. “I feel he is about to break.”
“Allow Bronagh time to do her work and Alfie time to get stronger. He will venture out,” Tor replied.
Or Tor hoped so.
Eventually.
“He’s getting around well in that chair that Maddie and Cora helped Bronagh design for him that he can wheel himself,” Apollo said.
“He can hardly wheel his way across the city, my friend,” Tor pointed out.
Apollo drummed the leather-covered fingers of his right hand on the table at which he sat.
Tor fought a smile.
Apollo hadn’t even taken off his gloves.
He grew impatient with this G’Seph-Seph-Joseph (as Cora would say, whatever) cretin.
As did Tor.
They should be away to Sky Bay. They needed to join the others, not dither about denying aught to a prisoner with no leverage trying to convince them he had leverage.
The door opened and two Keep guards dragged Joseph to the seat opposite Apollo and forced him in it.
Then they left the room.
Tor fought a flinch at the sight of his arms ending at his wrists.
Tor had fought wars, lost battles, but thankfully won the wars, and he’d seen men with Joseph’s injuries, as with Alfie’s.
The true warriors, in his estimation, were the kind like Alfie.
It was clear Alfie had not simply put his injury behind him and moved along. He struggled. There were frequent moments of darkness that he was not able to hide.
But he was robust. Fit. It seemed daily, his upper body physically strengthened, and this was because he worked hard at it.
And he had found a calling. He had shifted the meaning that was always his life to the same meaning, just going about it a different way.
And he carried on.
This…
Joseph.
He had earned his injuries at the hands of his own, who had turned on him for the gods didn’t know what reason, but any brotherhood that would take the hands of a brother was no brotherhood at all.
All of them locked in an undertaking that was wrong from the start.
It turned Tor’s stomach.
“I will warn you,” Apollo said, his eyes jade daggers aimed to the prisoner who had rested his stumps on the table between them, “if you waste our time again, there will no longer be anyone to listen to your blathers. This will be our last visit.”
“I—” Joseph started.
Tor spoke from where he stood with his shoulders against the wall to the side of Apollo.
“Your Golden Thomas is dead.”
Joseph lifted his gaze to Tor and blinked at him repeatedly, all the while his face paled.
“He was found in a clearing in the Lesser Thicket Forest not far from a pile of dead women,” Tor went on. “His head had been crushed.”
“By the true gods,” Joseph whispered.
“Another one of your people,” Apollo took up the narrative, gaining Joseph’s attention when he did, “identified as G’Fenn, or Fennley Trehurst of Wodell, was with him. He’d been decapitated.”
Joseph’s mouth dropped open.
“Do you know what this clearing is used for?” Tor asked.
Joseph wasted most of both the men’s remaining store of patience, which admittedly was not much, in pulling himself together, straightening in his chair, at the same time obviously trying to work out how to twist this to his advantage, when Tor decided to end it.
“We know the Beast has ascended. We can put the dead women together with the fact some ritual was performed to make that happen, and we can deduce from the dead Rising priests in that location that they did not get what they bargained for when he arrived. Though, their bodies there offers irrefutable evidence your lost cause was behind it.”
And the minute Tor spoke the words the Beast, all pretense dropped for Joseph.
“So they did it,” he said.
“Apparently,” Tor replied, pushing from the wall. “Which states, as of now, the level of your guilt rises with the level of atrocities your cause wished to unleash on this land. Not to mention the fact pertinent to this moment. You are useless.”
“I didn’t know!” he cried, lifting a stump toward Apollo as Apollo also shifted as if to rise.
“You haven’t told us any of what you do know,” Apollo reminded him. “However, at this juncture, whatever it is you know…or knew, has no meaning.”
“What I mean to say is, they spoke of it. But I didn’t know they were going forward with it,” Joseph told them.
Apollo settled himself back in his chair and Tor again rested his shoulders against the wall as Apollo spoke.
“You didn’t know they were going forward with what?”
“Working with the Society. Bringing forth the Beast,” Joseph explained.
Apollo glanced at Tor.
Tor lifted his chin.
Apollo looked back to Joseph.
“What Society?” Apollo asked.
“I must have your assurances—” Joseph began.
“You have no assurances. You have nothing,” Apollo stated impatiently. “Outside convincing us you had nothing to do with raising a creature we’ve even heard across a vast ocean about his last reign of terror. And that happened before man had thought to put pen to paper to record history, because pen nor paper had been invented yet. For I can assure you, as King True will be on the battle lines in fighting this thing, when he wins, he will not have a great deal of tolerance for anyone involved in the rising of it. And the last man he had little tolerance for endured a very prolonged, very public death.”
Joseph’s face twisted. “Then what is the point of saying anything? For if the Beast is indeed risen, we are all going to die.”
“I don’t intend to die,” Tor said.
“I don’t either,” Apollo added.
“We have a friend who commands dragons and those dragons are here, on Triton,” Tor informed him.
“And I command the wolves. Not to mention, our wives are witches.” Apollo flung a hand Tor’s way. “The wives of all the rulers of this continent are witches. And the King of the Mer, which are the people, it’s my understanding, who defeated the creature the last time, has allied with all nations.”
Joseph seemed shocked at all this information, most specifically the last.
“I don’t know the ins and outs of the lore of this Beast, but I’d guess back then, this evil unknown, how to stop it most especially, the odds were stacked in his favor,” Tor reflected. “Now, they most decidedly are not.”
“And since we all intend to survive, though we know it will not be pretty,” Apollo continued, “my reckoning is that we’ll all be in very foul moods in regards to anyone involved in this villainy when it’s over.”
“It wasn’t me,” Joseph said in a small voice.
“Convince us,” Tor demanded.
“It wasn’t me!” Joseph cried.
“Convince us!” Apollo barked.
“The Society of the Beast has been trying to draw him to the surface for centuries,” Joseph spat.
Finally.
Tor and Apollo settled in.
“Go on,” Apollo invited.
“May I have some fresh water?” Joseph requested snidely.
“You may,” Apollo agreed. “When you tell us something we give a shite about.”
Joseph glared at him and then he sat back, crossing his arms on his chest.
“It is in the tomes. Of Go’Doan,” he stated. “The Society of the Beast. I’ve read them myself and I thought it was ridiculous. Wicked men going about the wicked business of rape and murder and convincing themselves it had some higher power, some purpose, by telling themselves this was at the calling of the Beast. That in sacrificing virgins every fortnight, or whatever the schedule, the Beast would be roused, and he would ascend.”
Neither Tor nor Apollo spoke a word, though the thickness of the air in that cold, cramped room spoke to their moods at hearing what they were hearing.
“It was G’Thom’s idea,” Joseph carried on. “To discover if they continued to do this, and if they did, seek them out and infiltrate their organization for the purpose of taking control of the Beast when it rose and using it to complete the work of The Rising should we need that assistance. He sent G’Jell on this mission, which, in my opinion, something I shared at the time, was a faulty decision. Jell cares for no one but Jell. And regardless, he only likes cock up his arse, so how is he going to rape anybody?”
“So G’Thom, who was the leader of your faction, sent another priest to join this Society,” Apollo stated.
“Yes.”
“However, you said you didn’t know they did it, but here, you’re stating you knew they sent a priest to do this,” Apollo observed.
“I do not keep track of Jell. I did not wish to keep track of Jell. Thom deciding to assess the situation and sending Jell to do it is one thing. Jell actually doing it is another. Indeed, I didn’t even know they had discovered there still was a Society. But truly, think on this. It’s ludicrous. Bringing forth the Beast? If that insane idea could come to fruition, then thinking you could control it? I actually thought it a good errand for Jell in the end. Useless but it kept him out of the way.”
Apollo looked up to Tor.
Tor dipped his chin.
Apollo then looked to Joseph. “It clearly wasn’t as ludicrous as you thought, for they succeeded.”
Joseph shrugged.
Tor felt himself sneer.
Gods, this man.
“Do you know where this Jell is?” Apollo queried.
“The last time I saw him was when the procession was travelling from Fire City to Notting Thicket for True and Farah’s wedding. Then again, Fenn took my hands about that time and then pressed me into service for The Rising in exchange that I would continue to be seen to by priests with advanced healing knowledge. Thus, I really wasn’t paying much attention to anything but no longer having hands.”
“So it is Fenn who maimed you,” Apollo murmured.
“Yes,” Joseph hissed. “And thus, I do not feel very badly to know his head was struck from his body by the Beast.”
“And you were then ‘pressed into service,’ as you say,” Apollo went on.
“Would you carry on for a cause who treated you thus?” he asked, uncrossing his arms and lifting his stubs for them to see.
“No, I wouldn’t be in that place at all,” Apollo shared. “But if I found I’d gone astray, after that happened, I would find the nearest constabulary and share about my mistake and help them put a stop to plans that would end in a good number of people suffering greatly.”
“Of course you would. With hindsight, anyone would know all the best plays,” Joseph muttered irritably.
“What I know is, you took none of them. And when the forces you helped to critically injure a high-ranking Nadirii warrior to bring down The Enchantments were defeated, you still did not seek a local constabulary. You were caught impersonating a Zee who had lost his tribe in order to escape.”
Joseph’s lips thinned and he again crossed his arms on his chest.
“Do you have any idea where this G’Jell might be?” Tor asked.
“None,” Seph answered. “I’m just sorry not to hear the news that his body was found with the others.”
“Do you know anything about who is in this Society or where they might be found?” Tor kept at him.
“No, for as I said, I didn’t even know they were still in existence,” Joseph answered.
“Is there anything further at all at this juncture you wish to share?” Tor pressed.
“What would be the point?” Joseph asked in return. “You won’t even give me fresh water. The water they offer in the cells is fetid, at best.”
“You look hearty enough to me,” Tor muttered.
Joseph began glaring again, at Tor.
“We will share with Sir Alfie what you told us,” Apollo told him, gaining his attention. “And perhaps that will mean nothing in the end. Or perhaps it will mean something. Though I wonder if it’s a waste of words, what I’ll tell you is that, just now, for once in this mess, you did the right thing.”
“I can sleep better on my wafer-thin pallet with my holey blanket in the chill of a Dellish winter knowing this,” Joseph sneered.
“I think with that, we will be done,” Tor decided, pushing from the wall.
Apollo rose.
As they made their way to the door, Joseph’s voice came at them, so they turned.
“It was for faith,” he said dejectedly. “I thought I was serving the gods.”
“When your gods tell you to rape and murder and bend people to your will,” Tor began. “It is time to find new gods.”
And with that, he and his friend walked out.
Sir Alfie Henriksson
The King’s Informal Study, Birchlire Castle, Notting Thicket
WODELL
“I’ll dispatch trackers to find Jell immediately and send word to True,” Alfie said on a sigh.
The sigh was of annoyance.
And relief.
This part was done.
The Rising dismantled.
Now it was just war in Airen.
And the Beast.
Weighty circumstances.
But at least one issue was settled.
“With this concluded,” Tor started, “we should be away to Sky Bay.”
Alfie nodded.
“Go knowing you will be missed,” he said with feeling, for they would. Good men he considered friends. “And it is True who will decide how Wodell will thank you for your efforts. But knowing him, I will advise you, he is generous. So be certain to keep a hold empty on your ship, for he will fill it with wool and pewter for your return journey home.”
“Personally, I was just glad for the adventure. Peace and harmony was getting boring,” Tor muttered.
Alfie did not know if he jested, though he did see Apollo stare at his friend as if he were mad, so for both reasons, he did not attempt to stop his laugh.
Both men stood and said their goodbyes, these consisting of two variations of, “We shall see you at supper.”
They then left.
Alfie did not waste time writing the orders, nor the message for the raven to True.
He then called his corporal to deal with these missives with haste.
After the corporal had left the study, he put his hands to the locks on the wheels of his new chair. He unlocked them, shifted it back, relocked it, reached for his sticks and took them up.
He pulled himself out of the chair and moved to another one, this by the fire.
He eased himself down, set his eyes to the blaze and stared at it.
He had no idea how long he sat there before he heard the knock with the immediate sound of the opening of the latch, thus he didn’t bother even to begin to call out.
He heard the door open, close, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bronagh sit in the chair at an angle to the side of his.
She didn’t say anything for long moments.
She broke their silence, stating, “It is getting late, Alfie.”
He had not told her of his suspicions that The Rising had conspired, and succeeded, in raising the creature that forced Silence to Mars, Farah to True, Elena to Cassius as well as all the other events that occurred.
He did not want her frightened.
So he didn’t speak of it then.
He kept his gaze to the fire and said, “Faith.”
“Faith?” she asked softly, clearly having fallen into his mood.
“The prisoner Tor and Apollo have been interrogating said that he did what he did due to faith.”
“Alfie,” she whispered.
He looked to her. “What god would take my legs? What god would take my queen’s life?”
“I do not know.”
“You were right, Bronagh. Life is more than work. And it is tragedy that I learned that when my life was reduced to,” he indicated his chair, “this.”
“Your life is not that small,” she replied.
“Really? When I leave this place, I will need to purchase a new house, for my home will need to be one story, with widened halls so I can negotiate it in my chair. I might be able to manage stairs, but in all frankness, although the ascent holds no concern for me, the idea of attempting a descent scares the shite out of me. I cannot sit astride a horse. I will not stand at an altar and take a woman to wife. I cannot—”
“We can have a transport created for you, so you can command a horse, but it will be low, so you can get yourself in it and out of it. Or, say, wheel your chair in it and lock it in place.”
“Bronagh—”
“And you can stand fine, with your sticks, so if you were to take a wife, you could meet her at the altar upright, if that means so much to you. Though I don’t know why you wouldn’t just meet her in your chair. She would be marrying you, not your legs.”
Marrying you, not your legs.
His chest started to warm.
“I—”
“I have seen injuries less than yours, I have seen injuries worse than yours, a good deal worse,” she continued. “And far too many of them. So do not ask me what war means. What god or king causes man to do what man does to man for the sake of anything. All I know is it happens and forces all manner of men to do different, but no less heroic things. Those being, discover reasons to find ways to live their life to the fullest, no matter what became of their person. And then go about living life to its fullest.”
She stood after saying these words and came to Alfie’s chair.
With no choice but to tip his head back when she arrived, she bent to him the instant he did.
Her face so close, her so close, he could smell her perfume.
Something he had scented often and something, from the beginning, he had adored.
She smelled of green grass and mossy woods and flowers.
Gods dammit.
His cock stirred.
“And now that you are asking these questions, my champion,” she whispered, placing a hand on his chest. “I will stop pussyfooting about and tell it to you true. I want to be part of the new meaning to your life because I think you’re marvelous. And I don’t care one whit about your legs.”
And with that, she pressed her lips to his.
Her there, her scent, her words, her spirit, the time spent in her company, the vision of her burned in his brain, on his heart, Alfie did not fight his hands reaching to her, his fingers sifting into her hair, holding her head to him, or the very ungentlemanly act of touching his tongue to her lips, insisting they open.
On a sweet mew, she gave him this, and if all had not been lost before—when he had to admit it was—it was lost then, he was lost, when he had her taste.
He was lost to anything but deepening the kiss, angling his head to do so, drinking more.
More of Bronagh.
More of her spirit and sweetness.
More of life.
When his body had responded to the point he’d desire to take the kiss somewhere else, he broke his mouth from hers and whispered against her lips, “We must stop.”
“Hmm?” she hummed dazedly, and he felt her weight in her hand at his chest.
He grinned against her mouth and watched as her eyes slowly opened.
That was life too.
“I’ll take dinner with you tonight, honey,” he murmured. “And vol-au-vents filled with stew for lunch tomorrow.”
She snapped into focus and gifted him with relief and excitement filling her eyes before they got wet.
He pressed his mouth to hers and pulled away, saying, “Now we must change for dinner.”
She suddenly shot straight, he lost the feel of her hair, but she gained it as she smoothed it, then smoothed her skirts at her front, and said nonsensically, “Yes, quite.”
“Yes, quite, what?” he asked, unable to remove the teasing thread of his tone.
“Yes, quite, I shall meet you at your chambers to go with you to dinner and…and arrange for us to go on an outing tomorrow.”
“Please allow me,” he murmured.
“Of course.” She touched her throat and her eyes grew somewhat wild.
In turn, he grew concerned he’d been too forward.
“Have you not been kissed, Bronagh?” he asked gently.
“I, yes, well…” She smoothed her hair again. “Well, yes, but not like that.”
He fought his grin.
“You’re very pleased with yourself, Alfie Henriksson,” she snapped when she saw his struggle.
“I am, indeed, very pleased, Bronagh.”
She huffed.
He chuckled.
She stared.
He took her hand.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
She grew adorably awkward again.
“My pleasure,” she mumbled.
“I do not know how to—” he began.
Her hand twisted so she could hold his fingers in hers tightly. “We will find our way.”
Alfie nodded. “Dinner, honey.”
“Oh, right.”
He smiled at her again, squeezed her hand and then let her go.
She hesitated, rubbing her lips together while gazing down at him, then nodded and began to move away.
When he lost sight of her, he looked to the fire.
“Alfie?” she called.
He twisted to look at her around his chair.
She was at the door, her hand on the latch.
“You’ve made me very happy,” she said.
And then she rushed out the door.
Alfie stared at it for some time after it was shut.
He then turned and stared at the fire for more time.
Finally, he took his sticks, hefted himself up and made his way to his chair.
He set the sticks across his lap as he wheeled himself out of the room.
He had only one thought and it was the only thought on his mind since Bronagh’s words were spoken before she left the room.
This thought was that he had it now.
Absolutely.
He had it.
You’ve made me very happy.
A new meaning to life.