XV – Ravens of the East #4

'This night we shall repair to the castle. Thou shalt abide at my side, even as Narg hath bidden thee. Yet at my signal, thou shalt return and await me here. Trust me. When the hour arriveth, we shall issue forth together to shed the light this matter requireth.'

A fleeting thought led him to imagine them living in a similar hut, in some distant land.

With Narg dead, there would be no one to seek them out.

He startled at the realisation that visualising his king’s death was treason.

He shook his head vigorously to stir things up inside and expel, through his ears, the weight he felt.

Windar beckoned with her hand and Bolet stepped closer to hear the secret. Then she pulled a folded piece of paper from her neckline and handed it to him.

'Lepontia?' asked Bolet, and, upon receiving an affirmative answer, seized his belt and departed.

She drew nigh to Bartón from behind and wrapped her arms about his waist. She pressed him close to her bosom until her breasts were laid against the warrior’s broad back, as if she desired to merge with him.

She kissed his neck gently, so that he might feel the warmth of her breath, and entreated him to turn about.

'While we await the falling of night, come. I crave to take refuge in your arms and surrender to the warmth of your body.'

Gregor halted before Windar’s chamber and was about to rap upon the door when he heard sounds issuing from within.

He pressed his left ear against the carved wood bearing the initials of the grandmother queen and her late husband, surrounded by runes and flowers.

He shut his eyes and, employing every one of his senses, endeavoured to discern what was transpiring within.

He was resolved to enter, yet he pondered the manner thereof: whether to burst in and take her by surprise, or to slip in silently and catch her off her guard.

Then he thought upon the consequences, and accepted each one, no matter what might befall him.

The trail of clues pointed to someone they both knew, and that person was her.

Whether or not his king was involved, whether or not he decided to punish her, he, at least, with a clear conscience, would not suffer himself to be intimidated.

He chose the second option. Slowly, he fumbled with the door until he managed to squeeze through. The dark room was precisely as he had beheld it the night before, save for one detail: the wardrobe door stood ajar.

With his back to the wall, he moved sideways with his blade raised, but found no one, and though he searched, he could not discover where the intruder had escaped. Then he remembered the hooded murderer of Tros and felt trapped. If search parties were deployed, they would surely alert Lerg.

Ere departing, driven more by the instinct that death upon the battlefield had instilled in him than by the years he had lived, he thrust his head within the cupboard and beheld it in disarray.

The feeling of insecurity set his nerves on edge.

Was Windar in peril? he wondered, and Bartón’s absence unsettled him.

'I have never met anyone as despotic as Lerg,' said Cheas, peering through the doorway. 'He tried to execute a servant just because, out of nerves, he got the wrong side when serving him.'

Gregor was weighing up whether to tell him when Arwel appeared, his cheeks flushed and his hair slicked back. There was only one thing it could mean when the commander tied his hair back, sweeping his fringe from his forehead: anger and a thirst for war had taken hold of him.

'Help me with that upstart from the east, or I will commit regicide right this minute.'

As they made their way down to the dining hall, Gregor noted Arwel’s disquiet, perceiving him gazing out of the window overlooking the courtyard for the third time. It was not only the behaviour that ran counter to that of the Raven Kings, but also the absence of Bartón. Arwel felt responsible.

'Fear not, he is armed and he is a great warrior,' Cheas reassured him, having noted it as well. 'Consider it thus: even now he is crossing the bridge at Ubberia, deeming it Old Minister.'

'And if he hath met his end, he shall await us in Valhalla,' added Gregor. 'I do not think it shall be long ere they come seeking us,' he continued, head held high. Between his years and the wars he had lived through, rather than fearing it, he awaited death like an old friend.

The three of them, standing firm in a corner whilst dessert was served, awaited the conclusion of the spectacle.

Arwel bit his lips and stroked Tyr’s pendant to control his urge for justice in the face of Lerg’s behaviour.

Gregor thanked Odín that he did not have to endure a monarch like him, but Cheas, though equally annoyed, studied the prince’s delicate movements.

'Has he ever wielded a sword?' he wondered.

All folk, servants not excepted, were grateful when the insatiable King of Welst at length chose to retire for the night.

Yet even as the three warriors of Narg were about to fall to their repast, the clatter of hooves upon the cobblestones alerted Cheas, and through the north window he beheld them dismount.

'Gwion and Owin have returned.'