Well of the Damned

Chapter 8





Rain beat relentlessly on Adro Fiendsbane’s cloaked head and shoulders as he rode beside the queen’s carriage on their return to Chatworyth Palace. Their visit to the orphanage had been eye-opening and disturbing.

From inside the kitchen had come the sounds of feet stomping on the wooden floor. When they’d opened the door, a rotund woman of perhaps forty and a teenage girl had paused their stomping and looked up in shock, their faces flushed. On the floor were dozens of roaches in various states of squash, white goo oozing from their bodies, and many more as yet unsquashed that went about their business with tiny clicks of their feet on the floor.

Queen Feanna had managed to keep her head, even when the bugs started climbing onto her boots and up her skirt, but her poor handmaiden had started screeching and couldn’t be calmed. The queen had cut the visit short, and even now, she sat with her arm around Eriska’s shoulders, offering comfort to the distraught girl as they rode through the wet streets of Tern.

Adro had never been a squeamish man, but the sight of all those roaches had started a fit of shudders he still hadn’t gotten over.

Astride his warhorse, he tried to calm himself by watching for danger, overeager citizens and drunks — problems he could better manage with the skills he had.

Everyone knew the king and queen required an army and a personal guard. Every day, warrant knights from across the country came to offer their services, but women battlers still outnumbered men by a ratio of about six to one. In fact, so many women from the Viragon Sisterhood had volunteered, the guild itself had collapsed. The former Sisterhood’s senior battlers and officers vied for the chance to lead the effort to build the king’s army. They could fight for that position if they wanted. Adro had something else in mind.

As an advocate of orphaned children, Queen Feanna spent almost as much time outside the palace as inside, looking for homeless children to minister, even in the pouring rain. Although no attempts had been made on the queen’s life or well-being, Feanna needed a strong, skilled battler to protect her from anyone with ill intentions. A few Viragon Sisters accompanied her beyond the palace gates, usually different women every day, but in Adro’s mind, that wasn’t enough. The queen needed a dedicated champion whose sole responsibility was her safety. He wanted to be that champion, but so did Tennara, a senior battler from the Sisterhood.

He’d proven himself once before. The warrant tag hanging from his neck he owed to Gavin Kinshield, a man he was proud to call friend. Though he was no longer a warrant knight, he wore the tag as a reminder of the disreputable man he’d been and the honorable man he’d become. Anyone who claimed people never truly changed hadn’t met Adro Fiendsbane. He’d once been a malefactor, but he wasn’t that man anymore and would never be again. In his heart, he was already the queen’s champion. He just needed a chance to prove it.

They crossed the newly repaired stone and wood bridge over the swollen River Athra. At their approach, the two battlers standing guard at the palace gate snapped to attention. They saluted the queen with open palms against chests as her carriage passed. Water dripped from their noses and chins. Adro imagined they were miserable, but someone had to guard the gate, and he had a queen to protect.

The carriage circled the palace and stopped at the awning-covered back door. He dismounted, and the footman helped Queen Feanna and her handmaiden alight. Tennara continued on to the stable with the horses and carriage. Inside, Feanna, Eriska and Adro were met by servants with towels and dry slippers. Adro accepted a towel to dry his face and head, but he refused the offer of silken slippers. Instead, he took his boots off and wrung the water out as best he could. He’d rather annoy the servants by leaving wet footprints to wipe up than become the victim of endless teasing for walking around the palace with dainty, women’s footwear.

He escorted Feanna upstairs to the rooms she shared with her husband and took a stance to wait outside the door while she changed into dry clothing.

“You needn’t wait for me, Adro. I don’t require protection here at home, with all the guards around the building.”

He bowed deeply. “If you need me, My Queen, I’ll be in the king’s court.”

The day after Gavin’s coronation, he made the mistake of calling her Feanna as he’d done before she became the queen. After all, the king didn’t seem to mind being addressed by his friends as simply Gavin in informal settings. She’d rebuked him and instructed him not to be so familiar. She was right, of course, but the reprimand had still stung. Had he not behaved like a complete cad three months earlier while escorting her from Saliria to Tern, she might have been more accepting of his friendship as well as his protection.

Adro didn’t blame her for being wary of him. She’d seen the brand on his forearm, and Gavin had undoubtedly told her how he’d earned it. He did whatever she asked without complaint, hoping to eventually earn back her trust.

His boots squeaked and dripped through the halls as he made his way back outside to the barracks. Of the four wings, two were being used — one by the males on staff, and one by the females. Barely a quarter of the beds in the male ward were taken, and nearly all the beds in the female. Soon the women battlers would begin to fill a second ward unless Gavin recruited more men or assigned a captain who would. If the new militia head appointed a former Viragon Sister as captain, she’d be more likely to fill the ranks of the king’s guard with women battlers, which Adro didn’t think was a wise choice. He’d seen Sisters fight and marveled at their prowess, but women were supposed to be protected, not do the protecting. It just wasn’t right.

He opened the chest situated at the foot of his bed, withdrew a dry pair of trousers, and rolled them into a towel. He took his only spare boots as well. Once he was back inside the palace, he sat on a bench and did his best to wring the rest of the water from his boots and set them against the wall to dry. He ducked into a closet to change out of his wet trousers and into the dry, shook his head hard to fling the water out of his hair, and combed through it with his fingers. Considering the weather, this was about as presentable as he could manage.

He tucked his wet clothes into a corner, pulled on his spare boots, and walked through the grand halls of the palace. He didn’t think he would ever tire of the beauty of the building. Even the simple things — the carved mouldings, the buttery wood paneling, the dark, marble floors — were marvels to behold, especially for a man like himself, who’d grown up poor and spent his adult years on the back of a horse. The palace smelled beautiful, too, with cedar wood candles in the wall sconces.

He rounded a corner and nearly plowed into a pair of women. They looked up at him with mouths agape, as surprised as he was. He started to apologize, but realized something was wrong. Their identical faces were too wrinkled and their builds too frail for them to be battlers. They were dressed in flowing robes, one rust and yellow, the other green — not the blue uniform of palace workers — yet they were wandering around the palace unaccompanied by a guard or supreme councilor.

“Who are you?” he asked. “You shouldn’t be here without—”

One of the women waved her hand and whispered something unintelligible. Then, they vanished.

Adro drew his sword and spun around. “Hey. Hey!” He ran up and down both corridors. “Guard!”

One of the former Sisters, Taria, ran to his aid, sword drawn. “What’s wrong?”

“Two women. They were right here, and then they vanished.”

“I saw no one.” She grinned crookedly as she resheathed her weapon. “You haven’t been drinking that swill Pryan makes, have you?”

“No, damn it. They were here. I swear I saw them.” He had to alert the king, yet he couldn’t help but worry Feanna was vulnerable. As her would-be champion, it was his job to protect her, but Taria hadn’t seen the women and wouldn’t be able to accurately describe them or their surprising disappearance to Gavin.

“Maybe you need more sleep.” Taria clapped his shoulder.

“Taria, listen. What if I didn’t imagine it? What if two mages with ill intent have breached the palace? If I did imagine it, I’ll welcome all the teasing you can heap upon me, but until we get it sorted out, we must ensure the king and queen’s safety.”

“All right, Adro. Calm yourself. What do you want to do?”

“I’ll alert King Gavin. You go to Queen Feanna’s room and stay with her. We need to organize a search for those two women. If they’re in the palace, we have to find them.”

She nodded and took off at a jog in the direction Adro had come from, and he continued on towards what was undoubtedly the ball room in centuries past, though Gavin was currently using it to hear petitioners.

Requests for funds had begun pouring in almost the very minute Gavin had taken his vows as king. People who’d managed to get by on what they had were suddenly destitute, even the lordovers, whose families had been collecting taxes in the name of the king and pocketing the money for more than two hundred years. Everyone wanted something, especially the battlers of the former Viragon Sisterhood. Every day, he made time for people to beg for aid, and in most cases, he gave it to them. Today seemed to be no different. Dozens lined up, waiting for a chance to speak to the king. If they didn’t get their turn that day, they would return the next day, and the next, until the king heard their request.

Adro went to the wide oak table near the back of the room where the king sat, talking to a middle-aged couple. Books and scrolls and bottles of ink and quills lay scattered across the table’s smooth top. On Gavin’s right sat the king’s adviser, Edan Dawnpiper, who as a lordover’s son, guided Gavin well through his new life. On his left was his champion, Daia Saberheart, ever present and watchful. Though she sat in a velvet-covered, high-backed chair, her right hand lay on the hilt of her sword as though it had been lashed there. Had there been imminent danger from the two mysterious, disappearing women, Adro would have interrupted the king’s business with the two petitioners, but Taria’s words had eaten away at his confidence.

He had to admit, they were there for but a moment before disappearing. They hadn’t left a single trace of their presence — no whiff of perfume nor water droplets on the floor, and they hadn’t even been wearing rain cloaks. How could they have gotten here without getting wet? Unless they truly were a figment of his imagination.

When the petitioners bowed and left, Adro cleared his throat and stepped up behind the king, bent and whispered into his ear. “My liege, I must speak with you a moment about two unexpected visitors I found wandering alone in the palace.”

Gavin turned in his chair, alarm plain on his scarred face. “What visitors? What did they want?”

Adro noticed the next petitioner had stepped up to the table and was watching and listening with interest. “We should talk more privately.”

“Your pardon, everyone. I’ll be with you in a minute,” Gavin said to the waiting petitioners. He stood, as did Daia and Edan, and followed Adro to the room’s rear door through which he’d just entered. When they were out of the crowd’s earshot, they turned to him with expectant interest.

Adro told the king what he’d witnessed. “I started to ask who they were and why they were in the palace without an escort, but then they disappeared. Vanished. It was as though they’d never been there.” He expected Gavin and Daia to laugh it off or tease him as Taria had, but instead they cast a wary glance at each other.

Gavin’s brow dipped. “Describe them.”

“Well, their faces looked identical — twins, I guess — and they had black hair with streaks of white. They were middle-aged, wrinkled but not withered. Blue eyes — more brilliant blue than mine are. They wore flowing robes and no rain cloaks, yet they didn’t drip water on the floor.”

“Did they say anything?” Gavin asked.

“No,” Adro said, relieved the king believed him. “I called for a guard, and Taria came running. She must’ve been close by, but she hadn’t seen them. I sent her to guard Queen Feanna while I came to tell you what I saw.”

“Do they sound familiar?” Edan asked Gavin.

Gavin shook his head. He’d only known one pair of twins in his life, and they were brothers.

“By your leave, I’d like to organize a search of the palace,” Adro said, eager to demonstrate his worthiness.

“No need. Daia, I’ll just borrow you for a moment.”

Adro didn’t truly understand what he meant by that, but it was rumored Daia had been chosen as the king’s champion partly because she had some kind of mystical power that enabled Gavin to use his own magic more effectively. Everyone watched the king’s eyes flutter back and forth as though he were dreaming with his eyelids open. It was a disturbing sight, and Adro was glad he hadn’t stumbled upon Gavin alone doing that. He’d have thought the man was having a seizure. Edan and Daia appeared to be unconcerned by his strange eye movements and tense expression and simply waited.

At last, Gavin blinked and shook his head. “I didn’t see anyone out o’the ordinary. Guess they aren’t in the palace anymore, or even on the island.”

“It’s worrisome that two strangers could have simply walked in without being noticed,” Daia said. “I’ll ask Jophet to have a few battlers patrol the palace anyway.”

Gavin nodded his agreement. “I’ll look into putting up some kind o’magical barrier or spell at the bridge to detect them if they try to come here again.” He gripped Adro’s shoulder. “Thanks for bringing this to me. Because there’s no immediate danger, let’s get back to the task at hand and talk later about a plan to keep those women from entering without an invitation.”

The king and his two friends returned to the table and took their seats. Adro was sure Gavin’s magic would have revealed the women’s presence if they were still in the palace, but he couldn’t help feeling anxious. He made his way down the line of dripping wet people, checking each of them for weapons, vials of poison, or magic gems hidden in sleeves or pockets. A battler could never be too cautious when it came to the lives of his king and queen.

“I been waitin’ three days,” one woman said to him. “Am I goin’ to get my chance today?”

“That’s not for me to say,” he replied. “If you don’t, then come earlier tomorrow.”

“Been standin’ in the pourin’ rain, waitin’ for the doors to open since the roosters crowed,” she said with a disgusted look. “If they was crowin’. Even the roosters are too savvy to stand about in this weather, but here we are. Could you take me to the front o’the line?”

Adro held up one hand. He wasn’t about to suffer the wrath of those who were closer to their turn. “Wait your turn like everyone else.”

One of the guards escorted an older man past the line of waiting citizens towards Adro. The man wore long silvery robes that, while finely stitched, were dingy from age. A white beard hung to his breastbone, and he wore a satchel with a long strap that hung over his shoulder. Every plodding step taken with the help of a cane prompted a raspy, wheezing breath. With a handkerchief, he dabbled at the few raindrops that had found their way to his face and neck.

“His Excellence, Latif Risley, the Lordover Keyes, is here to see King Gavin,” the guard said.

“Looks like everyone else don’t include nobles,” the woman in line grumbled.

Adro ignored the comment, though he understood her frustration. He nodded at the guard, signaling he would take it from here. “My Lord, please come with me.” He took the aged lordover by the elbow and led him to King Gavin’s table, where he stopped, waiting politely for the king to acknowledge him. When the citizen standing before the table bowed and backed away, Gavin motioned Adro forward.

“Your Majesty, may I present His Lordship, Latif Risley, the Lordover Keyes.” Adro bowed and helped the lordover approach.

The lordover’s bloodshot eyes, yellowed with age, drooped sadly as he shuffled up to the table. He greeted the king with a deep bow and a flurry of pretty words. With shaking hands, he dug into his satchel and pulled out a thick book. It landed with a thud on the table in front of Gavin.

“It’s a long journey from Keyes,” Gavin said. “How were the roads?”

“Passable, my liege. We had no trouble getting here. Creeks and rivers are overflowing, but the rain hasn’t washed out any of the roads or bridges between here and Keyes. We did stop once to remove a fallen tree, but it was a nuisance more than a danger.”

“Good. Have you found suitable accommodations in Tern?”

“Ah, yes, my liege,” Risley said in a warbling voice. “Thank you. I’m sure you’ll find everything in order.”

“Have you and the Lordovers Keyes before you collected taxes on behalf of the crown?”

“Yes, my liege, as the law permits.”

“If that money was used to repair roads and bridges, to clear fallen trees, dispose of waste, bury the dead, maintain public wells, and care for orphans, then everything’s in order.”

“It was, my liege. It’s all there in the ledger.”

“Good,” Gavin said. He pushed the tome towards Edan, who began to flip through the pages. “How many guards do you have in your garrison?”

“Twenty-two, my liege, though my captain is aging and has plans to retire and take up residence with his nephew’s family. His eyesight isn’t as sharp as it used to be, nor his sword hand as steady.”

“How old is he?”

Risley stuttered. “Ah, well, he is sixty-eight, my liege. An erstwhile man, yes, but still able to train the young ones. He’s given me and my family fifty-two years of service. I couldn’t simply put him out before he could make his arrangements.”

Adro cringed inside. A man that old would be unable to defend his lord against a younger battler with ill intentions. There should be an age limit on guardian positions, making room for men like Adro who were more capable and more ambitious.

“Give him leave to retire and promote your strongest fighter,” Gavin said. “Honor his loyal service with a pension o’half his wage. I’ll cover the cost.”

Adro’s admiration for his friend and king soared. A pension. What a fine and honorable thing to do.

The old lordover’s eyes widened, and a smile appeared in the beard. “Thank you, my liege. He will be overjoyed. Thank you.”

“If you’ve no other plans,” he said, “join my wife and me for supper tonight.”

“Oh. Uh, the Lordover Tern has graciously invited me to dine with his family. I’ll cancel of course, my liege.”

“No, don’t cancel if you’ve other plans. Another time.”

“Please make yourself comfortable in His Majesty’s receiving room,” Edan said, “and enjoy some refreshment before you go back out into the rain.”

Risley bowed deeply and shuffled away.

Edan shot Gavin a disapproving glance. “A pension, Gavin?”

Gavin grinned like a boy getting away with mischief. “If I hadn’t claimed the throne, I might’ve found myself in the old soldier’s position one day, outliving my usefulness and begging one o’my nephews for a pallet and piece o’bread. We got to honor our most loyal soldiers, not kick them in the arse as we shove them out the door.”

Adro’s heart swelled with pride in the king as he turned to the waiting crowd, but Gavin called him back.

“I nearly forgot. Tell my wife there’s a couple orphan boys in the dining hall waiting to talk to her.”

Adro nodded. “Right away.”