The Inquisitor Epilogue Ch 07

The Prince's chambers were a flurry of activity. Servants hurried to and fro, stuffing chests and crates and boxes. Sumptuous robes and tunics were haphazardly thrown in with bedclothes and riding gear. Armour plates banged against each other, a jumble of metal and mail.

The Prince shouted orders and commands, sending another servant off to fetch a forgotten item. Each glance though his windows brought the Prince more anxiety. The sun sank lower and lower by the minute. Before long, it would be dark, and they must be well away from here before then. The Prince knew the King's henchmen would only wait so long before they collected him and carried him bodily from his own castle.

"Toad!" he screamed, wild eyes casting about. Toad's ugly head appeared from behind a large, overstuffed chest.

"Get moving!" shouted the Prince. "Get these on the wagons and get them headed east!" said the Prince, gesturing to the crates and chests strewn about.

"Aye, my Lord!" sniveled Toad, hastening the servants and gathering up a trunk in each arm. As he headed out, he turned and asked of the Prince.

"And what of you, my Lord? You must flee from here before nightfall!" His voice was high and cracked. Clearly the strain of the day was taking it's toll on him, his eyes frightened and flitting about.

"I shall be along before the sun is down!" snapped the Prince. "There is but one thing I must collect before we are gone from this wretched land. Now go!" he shouted. "Get those wagons moving, and I shall soon catch up."

Toad hurried out, the Prince calling afterward. "And Toad... Heaven help you if any of my fine things are lost or broken when I do!" With that, Toad was out of sight, followed quickly by weary servants, burdened low with heavy packs and chests.

-- -

From high above, the King watched the sad little procession wind its way through the bustling crowd in the courtyard. His heart was deeply saddened by the loss of his only remaining son. He watched the wagons trundle underneath the portcullis and head out toward the east, the setting sun on their backs. He had ordered his own men not to impede them in any way. Anything he could easily carry, the King allowed his to leave with. Tarquinne was allowed only but a few horses and men, no arms to speak of, other than hunting bows and short swords.

He strained to catch one last glimpse of Tarquinne, but could not pick him out. None in the party cast even a backward glance, instead turning their faces toward the darkening horizon.

The King watched them until they were well out of sight, vainly struggling to make out the small knot of wagons and horses that bore away his son. He felt the soft hand of his new Queen rest upon his arm.

"Perhaps in time..." she said softly. "Perhaps there may be a reconciling between you."

The King turned to her, his eyes full of weary sadness.

"Alas..." said He. "I fear it may be a reckoning."

-- -

After the wagons had gone, Tarquinne stole through the castle, his senses fully alert. To be caught her after his supposed banishment, would certainly mean death for him now. He knew the King would grant no lenience to him. He had cursed his name, and forsook his own father. Questions and doubts plagued his mind, but Tarquinne forced them down.

"The die is cast!" he murmured to himself as he crept down a little-used stairway. He could hear up ahead. Tarquinne ducked into a recessed corner as two servants passed by, carrying between them an ornately carved chest. The passed on, disappearing into the gloom. Tarquinne wondered what they were fetching from such a dank place within this castle, but reminded himself of his own haste. He hurried down the corridor, descending a worn flight of stair to another level, deep below the castle.

It had been many, many years since he had been in this portion of the lower levels. Once, long ago, just after his mother had become Queen, she had brought him here. Somewhere up ahead, he remembered, was an opening. There was a hidden passageway to another tunnel. So dark it was, that Tarquinne tripped over a large spill of rubble. Cursing, he struggled to his feet, hand searching the ragged outline of a rough archway. He remembered his mother had it sealed just after they came down here, so long ago. In the dim light, he could see no tool marks or footprints in the loose dust. This portion of the stonework had recently broken and fallen away. Perhaps it was from a quake of earth, or from the tremendous forces the storm had unleashed on the castle last eve. Whatever their cause, the fallen stones revealed a hidden corridor.

He remained very still for a time, listening for any sound or disturbance. Hearing none, he retrieved a small flint from his tunic. Striking it on stone, he lit ablaze a bit of torn fabric, wrapping it round a pointed stone, an improvised torch. Carefully, he picked his way over the rubble and entered the tunnel.

The small tunnel only extended for but a few measures before ending abruptly in a sheer wall. Tarquinne brought out his dagger, probing the mortar and joints between several stones, just below eye level. At last, the tip of his blade found purchase and with a tiny clik, a large block slid forward smoothly. He slid the heavy stone the rest of the way out, letting it fall beside him. Opened before him was a large cavity in the wall. Its sides were smooth and greased. Behind the stone lay the object he sought. With one swift movement, he snatched it out, quickly swaddling it in his clothes. His prize in hand, Tarquinne quickly made his way out of the dungeons, making sure to remain out of sight.

It was not until he had nearly reached his chosen escape, that he came upon a familiar face. He came round a corner and nearly crashed into the woman from his morning's bed.

"Ah, Violet." said He, bowing his head slightly.

Violet was not fooled by his charms. He could see by her expression that she had already heard of his banishment. She stood proud, a maddening smirk upon her face as she moved to one side to let him pass.

That smirk. That was what sent Tarquinne over the edge. In a flash, he grabbed her by her arm and hair, forcing her against the wall.

"How dare you snigger at my downfall! You wretched serving girl!" His face was close to hers, and his words were hot upon her face. His lashed out at her with the back of his gloved hand. The strike made a meaty sound, and a fleck of blood struck his cheek. Tarquinne released her and hastened on his way. At last he emerged from a long-unused tunnel, running under the castle wall. He hurried across the expanse between the castle and nearby brush, sure at any moment to hear shouts of alarms from the towers. No alarm was sounded at his heels, and he soon found his horse, secreted away by the trusted Toad.

He rode east, heading out after the wagons bearing all he could escape the castle with. Cresting a rise, he reigned in his mount, casting a long, glaring look back at the castle.

"One day." He said coldly. "One day, all of you will pay dearly."

Spurring his horse, he galloped into the night, and away from the home of his childhood.

-- -

The King's proclamation was at hand, and he had asked Laurel to go and dress for the occasion. He brought her to a chamber off of the great hall. A great amount of activity had taken place since the King's meeting with Tarquinne. Men of the outlander's camp were all about the castle now. Each seemed to have a different task. As they made their way thought the bustle, Laurel watched a burly outlander commandeer several servants, setting them to clearing the dust and cobwebs in the great hall.

The King brought her into a side chamber, lavishly furnished with long couches. She could see the servants had already been here, as they skein of dust and disrepair seemed lifted from these rooms. He'd had two servants bring up garments befitting a new queen in a lovely carved chest. He told her they had once been the raiment of Queen Chrysanthemum, and had been hidden away. He told her if she was displeased by these, more would soon be made. He left her alone to go through them, allowing her to choose as she saw fit.

After he had gone, Laurel brought out gown after gown, each one more stunning than the last. All were different shades of green, and though they looked ancient, no moth had marred them, and they looked as stunning as the day they were spun.

She selected a gown of deep green. She thought it looked the color of very deep water. A beautiful design was embroidered into the straps and bodice. Woven into the shimmering lace were black pearls, dark and opalescent. It's bodice was heavily boned, forming a slender corset, the skirtings attached below with swooping, brocaded green ribbons. She held the dress up to her, gazing at herself in a large looking glass, swirling about, watching how the dress flared and swished.

It was then that she heard a very soft sound. It sounded like crying. She laid the dress along a couch, smoothing the farbic lovingly. The cloth felt cool and smooth beneath her fingertips. She heard the sound again. It seemed to be coming from behind a large tapestry hung against a wall. Drawing near, she could see the tapestry covered an archway, leading to a darkened room.

Cautiously, she drew aside the curtain, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom inside the new room. There, crumpled in a heap upon the floor, was a young maid, crying softly, her face buried in her hands. Laurel's heart went out to the maid, and she came to her side.

"Hush, my child" she said softly, stroking her hand gently along her back. "T'is all right, my dear. Do not cry."

The maid sat up, her dark hair covering her face. She fell against Laurel, who wrapped her arms 'round her, consoling her.

"Oh, my dear lady..." sobbed the girl. "He... he has ruined me!" Her words choked in her gullet, and she fell to tears again, her head buried against the chest of the new Queen. It was only then that she noticed a small smear of blood, where the maid had lain her face against her.

Aghast, Laurel sought it's source.

"My dear," she said urgently. "What has happened... shall I call for a physician?" She brushed the maid's hair back from her face. It was swollen and red. The poor girl had obviously been crying, and now Laurel saw a ragged cut along the girl's cheek. The bleeding had slowed, but it looked nasty.

"He... oh, look what he has done to my face!" wept the girl. "He thought I was mocking him, but I would never... sob... he yelled something about disgrace and struck me... oh, my lady... his gauntlet... it has torn my face!" The girl dissolved into mournful sobs as the Queen drew her back against her bosom, gently rocking her as she soothed her.

"T'is all right my child..." whispered the Queen. Without thinking, she dabbed at the blood with a kerchief she found in her clothes. For the life of her, Laurel could not remember where she'd gotten it, but it mattered not. As she gently cleaned away the blood, strange words leapt up in her throat. She whispered them as they came, but knew them not. Deep, languid tones, tied 'round with gutteral clips, the words sprang up from a place Laurel could not name, from somewhere deep in her forgotten past. As the words found flight, a strange tingle buzzed in Laurel's fingertips. She felt warmth radiating from them into the wound upon the girl's cheek. Laurel looked on in as the wound began to dimish and fade. In only moments, what had once been ragged and angry, was replaced with only a very faint scar.

"There..." said Queen Laurel gently. "All is well... come see... it is not nearly so bad." She stood, holding out her hand to Violet, who warily took it, allowing herself to be led through the curtained archway. Laurel stood her before the looking glass.

"There... you see," she said. Violet looked at her face very closely in the glass. Her fingertips traced the outline of the scar, fat tears welling up in her eyes. She fell on her knees before Queen Laurel.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you, dear lady!" cried Violet, clutching at the hem of Laurel's gown.

"Oh stop that!" said Laurel, helping the girl to her feet. "T'was not nearly as bad as you'd thought, that's all" She gave the girl a reassuring pat on the back.

Violet gazed up at Laurel, her eyes sincere and grateful. "Oh no, my Lady. Your magick turned back my shame. I am forever in your debt!" Violet made to kneel again, but Laurel caught her.

"I know nothing of debt, my child." And then, an idea struck her. "However..." she said.

Violet looked up at the new Queen eagerly.

"I am in need of a lady I can trust... not a servant, mind you." She added. "But perhaps... a lady-in-waiting." As the words escaped her lips, a cold chill ran along her spine. Laurel's mind locked on an image of Belladonna's minions, writhing about in lustful throes. Violet, however, was unfazed, and eagerly awaited Laurel's pronouncement.

"Aye, my Lady... that I can do!" chirped Violet, her happy hands clapping together. Clearly, her station in life had just improved, though Laurel did not grasp its significance.

Without warning, Violet was again on her knees before her. Exasperated, she made to bring Violet back up to her feet. Violet stayed her hand, her eyes locked on Queen Laurel's.

"Upon my honour," intoned Violet, summoning her most gracious oaths. "I vow to serve thee, my Lady, as master and liege. I pledge myself to thee... until...," She searched about for the proper words. "Until the last sun shall set upon my life!"

Laurel rolled her eyes, forcibly pulling Violet up again. "You may serve me as long as it shall please you, my dear." said Laurel at last. "And not a moment more, do you hear?"

"Aye, m'lady." Said Violet, issuing a fine curtsy.

Somewhat amused by her own change of fortune, Laurel smiled warmly. "Come then... I am to dress... and I do not think I shall get this corset fastened by myself." She said, holding up the beautiful green gown for Violet to see.