The Inquisitor Epilogue Ch 03

During the morning, the King sent her to find certain of his kinsmen throughout the castle, and bring them quietly to him. Time and again, she made her way up from her chambers to seek them out. She had to use much care now. The castle was awake and buzzing with activity.

People were all about now. Courtesans, stable-hands, armourers and bakers moved about with purpose. There was a strange air of uncertainty that drifted throughout the entire castle, indeed the entire realm. It was as if every subject and citizen had opened their eyes with the morning sun, all with the same thought in their head. "Something is different."

Different indeed, though none but the King and his kinsman, the wily Syr'Va'ahl, and the princess knew the full extent. But all through the castle and its camps without, rumors and speculations abounded. The citizenry shared a sense of anticipation, though they could name no reason for it.

The princess went about the castle, attempting to appear as though she were not on a mission. She stopped by the kitchens, nibbled a sweetcake, sampled some fresh strawberries, plucked a flower or two, generally looking nonchalant. Along the way, she would come across the outlander she'd been sent to fetch, and after quietly explaining herself, they would steal away. At last she lost track of how many time she climbed up and down the great spiraling staircase. She knew it had been quite a few, as her legs ached from so many steps.

One by one she brought the kinsmen to the King. Many of them tried to pepper her with questions, while still more remained in stony silence until they were brought before him. Their questions she diverted with light words, and hurried along to their destination.

Most of the men's eyes grew wide as they passed through the former Inquisitor's chambers. Many of them thought the machines and contraptions to be devices of torture, but some of them discerned their purpose right away. Sly smiles crossed their lips as they passed the tuning forks, but to their credit, said nothing.

As she brought them into the presence of the King, each of them shouted and laughed and embraced their lost kinsman. To each of them, the King appointed a task. This one he dispatched to assay the store of grain. Another he sent to survey the land, another to assess the livestock. To all four points of the winds, he dispatched a trusted champion to see to the defenses along the borderlands.

And so it was at last, as the noon-bell grew near, she brought the last of her appointed charges before the King. This last towered above her, a great hulk of a man. He had to duck his head to enter her chambers. His eyes grew wide as he beheld his cousin, the King.

"Ah, at last! Sereth!" exclaimed the King, nearly leaping from his chair to embrace the newcomer. "Too many summers have passed between us. My heart is joyed to see you again."

Sereth, brother to the outlander chief Tymrill, could not contain his happiness. His gentle face beamed with a big, toothy grin.

"I scarce can believe my own eyes, cousin!" said Sereth at last. "For so long, all of us have thought you dead for sure. No one could have held out, imprisoned this long!"

"Were it not for the dark spell placed upon me, I would have long since withered away." said the King sadly. "In truth, I can see the seasons past on all of you. Those who were but boys before, are now men of honor..." The King's voice choked.

"Too long." said the King, regaining his voice.

"Too long, indeed." answered Sereth.

The pair gave another hearty embrace, laughing at how one had changed so much, while the other appeared the same as when he'd last seen the High Moon. They sat and shared stories of days of old and tales of things unseen by the King during his long imprisonment.

The King recounted the tale of his demise and his masquerade as the Inquisitor. Sereth stood amazed as he listened about the magick the King had wrought, creating the man-thing of sand. The King formally introduced the princess, whom he again referred to as his new Queen. Sereth shyly took her hand and laid a soft kiss across her knuckles.

At last, the King turned to the business at hand.

"Cousin..." the King began. "I have a matter of grave impor..."

His voice broke off abruptly as a slight movement in the doorway caught his eye. His mouth fell open and he leapt to his feet. Sereth quickly turned, his hand upon the hilt of his sword. He too fell agape as they stared at the horrific form which clung to the doorframe.

There, slumped weakly against the frame, stood the battered form of Tymrill. His hair hid most of his face, bloody and clumped, hooding his eyes. His shirt was torn and ragged, his chest a spider's web of bloody cuts. His arm hung useless at his side, tiny droplets of blood hung from his fingertips, a pitter-patter on the stone floor. His other hand hung to a cleft in the sill, knuckles white against the graying stone. He staggered forward, his mouth trying to speak, but making no sound.

Sereth and the King rushed forward, catching him as he crumpled. Sereth trembled with rage to see his brother thus. They cradled his huge frame, his blood staining his brother's tunic.

Even broken as he was, the chieftain wrestled himself first to his knees, and then shakily to his feet with a terribly weary groan. Sereth and the King supported his weight, half-carrying him to the princess's bed. Great tears escaped the princess as she watched them attempt to help him. Tymrill crashed down into the bed like a huge forest tree felled by an axe.

"Cousin!" cried the King. "Tymrill! What calamity has befallen you?" His voice was fraught with concern.

"...d d... dark.... Dark magick!" gasped Tymrill.

"So much blood..." said Sereth softly, his eyes tracing back along the path Tymrill had came. A steady trail of drops and spatters led back into the gloom.

The King pressed him for answers, but Tymrill was very weak. His arm lay away from his body at a unnatural angle. To the King, it appeared to have been crushed by some sort of heavy mace or bludgeon. He grit his teeth and seethed.

"Sereth!" the King commanded, snapping at his kinsman, rending him from the daze which had overtaken him. "Go at once, and fetch Syr'Va'ahl! Hurry, man! There is no time to be lost!"

Sereth looked from the King to his brother, and back again. He seemed torn in two.

"Go now!" screamed the King. "Before all hope is lost. Hurry. I shall attend to Tymrill with what skill I have, but these wounds are more than I can heal. You must bring Syr'Va'ahl! Perhaps together we may still save him."

Without a word, Sereth turned and ran from the room. His mighty stride boomed though the outer chambers and echoed from the spiral stair far without. He took stairs three at time, climbing, up, up, up. The King murmured ancient words over his wrecked kinsman. From without, the sounds of heavy footsteps faded away, leaving the stillness to be broken only the princess's quiet sobs and Tymrill's ragged breathing.

-- -

The servant laid the breakfast of cheeses and fruits on an ornate table. He bowed low to the Prince, backing from the room, eyes averted. The Prince paid him absolutely no heed, rising naked from his bed, popping a ripe grape into his mouth.

On his face was a satisfied smile. But on his brow, he wore a troubled air. Something nagged at him, a thought he could not quite grasp; a feeling he had misplaced or forgotten something. A feeling that something was missing.

He finished his morning repast, leisurely drawing on soft clothes and a sumptuous purple tunic. From the corridors without, and from below in the courtyard, snatches of conversation drifted in. Though he could not make them out, the entire castle seemed excited and upended.

Frowning, he buckled on his sword, hanging from it's jeweled belt. Pausing at a large looking-glass, he plucked at the ruff of his sleeves and smoothed his hair. Satisfied at his reflection, he left his chambers in search of the cause of the morning's uproar.

Moving through the corridors of the castle proved difficult. Every turn brought another hallway busy with people. He made his way through, often rudely bumping shoulders with people who passed. Throughout the castle, people seemed to be either in a hurry, or just milling about. Exasperated, the Prince reversed course, seeking a clearer path. Turning a corner, he nearly crashed headlong into a servant. He sent him crashing to he side with a rough forearm blow.

"Out of my way, dolt!" he hissed, his annoyance boiling over.

"Oh!" cried the servant. "Forgive me, my Lord." He cowered as the Prince pushed past. If the Prince had bothered to turn back, he would have seen the servant staring holes through his back and thinking evil thoughts.

Clearly, something was afoot, and the Prince was angered that he knew nothing about it. Did his mother's plan to rid them of the infernal outlanders meet with resistance? Was he not in charge of the castle defense? Why was he not informed? These thoughts troubled him. He quickened his steps, heading toward the gilded tower.

He reached the tower and bounded up the stairs into the main receiving hall. In stark contrast to the bustle in rest of the castle, here it was deserted. Quiet reigned throughout.

Strange, thought the prince. There should be guards posted her, and he most often encountered at least one of the ladies in waiting on his way to the Queen's rooms. Now he could find no one within the tower. He looked about the lower rooms and found no one. He mounted the stairs, taking them slowly at first, and then quicker as he climbed.

The higher he went, the closer to the Queen's rooms, the more his apprehension grew. Where were the guards, the servants, the beautiful ladies who surrounded his mother? All were gone; he could find not a soul.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he halted outside the chamber door. His breath wheezed and his chest ached. He furrowed his brow, wondering at his own feeling of exhaustion. He was a man of sport, and a tried warrior, surely a few steps should not shake him so. But as he fought to regain his breath, he felt his hands tremor. As he pulled great gulps of air, he detected a strange scent. An odor of sweet decay.

His anxiety could hold back no more, and he burst through the doorway into the Queen's chambers. He could scarce believe his eyes. He turned round and round, taking it all in. The rooms were in complete disarray. The first thing that caught his eye was the great bed on which his mother had often lounged. The covers and blankets and silks were gone. The soft pillows were strewn about and torn open. The plump mattress was rent to pieces and flattened, feathers strewn about the floor.

There were panes missing from the windows, shards of colored glass littering the sill. Her beautifully carved wardrobe lay in wrecked heap to one side, pieces of it scattered about the floor as if it had toppled over, sending shards flying. The drawers on all of her tables and chest hung open, their contents rummaged through.

The Prince felt his disbelief turning to anger. Something terrible had happened in this room. His mother, the Queen, would never allow such an outrage, such a violation of her private spaces. Her closets hung open, some of her beautiful gowns laying in a heap.

He drew closer to the shambles of the wardrobe, picking up a shattered panel. He eyed it and let it fall back into the pile. Was that blood? He thought, picking up another shard. Blood it was, his eyes confirmed.

In a flash he drew his sword, knowing that it would not avail him. Whatever had happened here, it was already over. Looking about, feeling foolish, he sheathed his sword and began searching the room. He looked through everything, the tattered bed, the broken wardrobe, the empty drawers, searching for any sign as to what had happened in his mother's room.

After searching for some time, he came across a clue that left no doubt. Brushing away some scattered feathers from the mattress, he spotted a tiny white object, blackened on one end. Retrieving it, an icy chill ran along his spine as his mind comprehended it. In his palm lay a tooth. Pearly and white, but blackened and charred along it's stalks. His stomach turned over and he fought to keep from retching. In his heart he knew, all that remained of his beloved mother was this burned tooth.

Rage turned his vision red, and he gnashed his teeth and tore at his own lustrous hair.

"By all the Gods of the Night-realm..." He hissed. "I vow upon this spot, I shall find who has done this to you, my mother, and tear them to pieces!" His fist clenched tight around the tooth in his palm, and it felt smooth and warm against his skin.

He paced back and forth, muttering oaths as he went. His mind raced in twenty directions at once. He slowly forced calm upon himself. Slowing his breathing, slowing his heartbeat, forcing the anger down deep inside of him. It was only then his eye caught the glint of silver amidst the ruins of the once-proud wardrobe.