Well, here's the whole first chapter. Warning! This contains sexual swear words and graphic violence.
CHAPTER ONE
The Earl of Hest shuffled from his gaurderobe, nightrobe hoisted above his hips. Still ranting in his deep, gruff voice, he bent for Wyne’s attention..
The groom of the stool went about his menial task, dabbing at Caedwalla’s proffered rump with a linen wad. Heolster Baleback took a sip from his goblet to hide a frown, his leige lord’s tirade background noise to growing concern
. It was not Wyne’s duty which caused Baleback’s brows to crease, nor the sight of Caedwalla’s uptilted arse; as gentleman of the bedchamber these nightly ablutions were a matter of course. The frown came at the smear of blood punctuating each faecal streak, expertly folded into the moist rag with every swipe Wyne made.
Since the excommunication edict, he mused, running a hand through the remains of his hair.
He bleeds more since the Church took his redemption. The irony! To face death now when there is no assurance of passing Heaven’s gate. Furtive glances his direction from Wyne warned him of a minor conspiracy between the Earl and his groom. As if hiding this would make it any less real.
The fools. Damn them, the bloody fools!
" How long must you continue in this, your Grace?"
Caedwalla paused in his rant, glowering back over his shoulder. Heolster studied the craggy face, worn and weary. The war and illness had robbed Caedwalla’s eyes of their vitality. Where before that glare could set a man to trembling under its scrutiny, now they were tired, the lustre washed away.
"With what? The war? As long as it take, old friend. Until the Henthetites tremble at the merest mention of my name. Until the end of days, if needs be. Damn it, Heol, what would you..."
" Do not play the fool, Caedwalla The Betlic. We have been friends too long for such games." He indicated the blood smeared pad of linen. " I refer to that. You bleed."
Wyne made a feeble effort to hide the rag, muttering as his tunic became smeared in the attempt
.
" I bleed, my soldiers bleed - what of it? Piles, God preserve me Heol. I have piles. Like thegrapes of Delphi, hanging ripe for the plucking." His glower grew more fierce, brown eyes flashing. " You’d bleed too, with grapes such as these and a clumsy oaf wiping your noble arse. It is wine I make on the privey seat, and Wyne here is my vintner. Besides, it is right for a ruler to shat blood. A measure of the cold seat I sit in a draughty hall while the common-folk make petitions of their small cares."He waved Wyne away, grumbling for wine. Another change since the Church’s edict.
He gulps wine as a fish sups water. Oh my friend, how these days try you!
" Piles be damned Caed! It is past time you sought a healer," he raised a finger to his liege.
"
Before it is too late. The girl, perhaps? They say she has performed miracles for the peasants. She may heal what ails you
, in return for the kindness of your protection." He hooked a thumb at the groom as he returned bearing a silver platter and slopping goblet.
" ...and I know the whispers you make with
that wretch when my back is turned - to hold his cur tongue about how your gut boils, how your back knots in agony. You are not a patient man. Believe me, I
know! You would not keep such as he close, who slops your wine with no care, were he not so close lipped on your secrets."
Caedwalla bristled, batting Baleback’s finger aside and jabbing his own thick forefinger into his friends chest.
" You will beware of raising a finger to me, sir! I like it not and you’d be well to remember that. Enough on this, keep your tongue on it. Enough I say!"
Heolster glared back, then lowered his eyes, chastened. Lifelong friend or no, it was not wise to anger the Earl. In their youth he’d learned that lesson the hard way, when they were but pages in the Tyracant king’s household. The white scar which ran from his lip to chin was a constant reminder of Caedwalla’s temper. He fingered it now and studied the other man closely. The earl had shed weight over the last month leaving his face sallow and pale. Whilst still barrel chested and broad as a bear, muscle had grown lax and hung limp from once firm arms. Caedwalla had once boasted of being able to throw a javelin as far and as hard as a scorpion. Now, Heolster noticed with horror, he struggled to raise his cup to his lips.
Tommorow, he promised.
Tommorow I will bring the girl to see him. Or maybe the painted man from the city . The old fool can’t shy away from a healer if I set one before him.
The Earl grunted as he sat on the huge bed, wincing as he shifted his weight for comfort. His eyes dared comment.
" Sit, Baleback and be thankful I am not a resentful ruler. I doubt His Majesty’s man would be so glib about the royal arse - why would I permit my chamber man to be so?" He nodded to a high backed chair by the bed.
Settling, Heolster grinned to ease the air between them.
" Because Henri’s man is naught but a sycophant and no friend. Sir Douglas Fairestowes, I recall. He’d baulk at the sight of his King’s shitty hole but clean it by mouth, for the sniff of new titles."
The Earl laughed, his anger ebbing.
" Aye, you have the right of it there. And we are still friends, even after all these years, are we not?"
" Your Grace...I already have titles and no taste for shit. I do what I do for love. I am your friend, your servant, your council. Be certain on it."
Caedwalla’s smile dropped. Brows still chestnut beneath a greying widows peak, drew tight.
" Then council me true. Your appraisal on our tidings." He glanced to where the message from Lord Renweard lay atop his bedside table. Baleback cleared his throat.
" Camden has the first legion with him and has layered the pass from ford to plain with earthworks. Any push the Henthetites make will result in horrendous losses for them. All he has to do is sit tight behind his pallisade and wait for autumn. Then, the Brusfeld and Faeramari levies must withdraw for the harvest - harried back to their homes by our allies beyond the escarpment. The Churchmen will have to relinquish the pass to escort them back safe. In a month, all that will remain before Renweard’s host, is a sea of grass.
You were wise to support a standing army - they can retain the field while our foe returns to reap."
The earl nodded. " I Surmised as much myself. Yet the Silvershields require coin, where the church’s levies repay obligations. Obligations are free, trained warriors are not. How stands the treasury?"
" It will cover the costs, though barely. The officers of the treasury have new taxes prepared for the city, though if truth be told the Church’s trade embargo has hurt our coffers sorely. I hear Marlin and Muad have suffered a blight. We can negotiate new concessions with these if we are swift enough. Wealth from grain trade with the southrons will generate revenue for the spring campeign." He scratched at his scar, thoughtful. " I would advise you stand down the Silvershields when Indelfin withdraws to winter, though. They can billet in the city and turn their coin over to the merchants. That way, it finds its way back into the treasury faster."
" Agreed." Caedwalla yawned. Once a man for whom sleep was a distraction from carousing, ill health had curbed his youthful excesses. " I must to bed, old friend. We will talk on the morrow, when I am rested."
Baleback stood and bowed.
" Until the morning then. I have a discourse on the early Anamide I want to look over tonight, it is most fascinating. I will-"
" God, man, no! You cherish your mouldy old books, I my sleep. Let us both endulge in our chosen repast, and not bore the other with the details. Go!"
He pulled the thick covers over himself and shooed Baleback away. Picking up the candlestick from the dressing table, Heolster stepped over the snoring Wyne beside the foot of the bed and left the earl’s chambers.
Sleep well, master and dog both. Tommorow...yes, I will bring the girl. You’ll thank me for it one day.
The broad staircase beyond the threshold was cold, a draught blowing from below whipping his cloak as he swung it about his slim shoulders.
Maybe It should be Heolster Baleback who seeks the painted man’s attention, he thought, wincing as his old calf wound burned with the descent. A relic of Wanecross and youth, when a rearing mount had thrown him onto a soldiers pike at the height of the battle. Limping, he was thankful his quarters were so close to the Earl’s.
Closing the chamber’s thick oaken door, he shed cloak and gloves. The rooms were dark, candles placed on tables by servents now mere flickering stubs. A fire had been lit to warm the draughty tower rooms but at this hour the hearth was naught but crimson embers. By their dim light, he could just make out the sleepng form of Dare, stretched across his bed. Baleback smiled. His daughter was an infrequent visitor and the sight of her warmed him more than the dying fire ever could. Tonight he would forego his books, to hear news from Swanecroft and home over a goblet or two of Delphininan red.
He stroked her brown hair where it fanned across his sheets and noticed the dark shape besides her on the bed. Dare knew his habits and always brought some pastry from the kitchens when she visited. He scooped it up, mouth watering as he felt honey dripping over his fingers, and lit a fresh tallow candle from the embers of the fire. He took a bite from the sweet and licked his fingers.
In the flickering light, he scowled. Not a pastry after all, a cold cut of steak, rare and bloody. Why would Dare... Then a sob escaped him.
Screaming for the gaurds, he flung the pubic margined gobbet of flesh from him, rushing to the bedside - where Dare lay, blood soaking her gown from the hole in her pelvis He cried again, voice harsh with grief.
" You cry in vain, lord Baleback. These walls are sealed." Heolster swung to the voice. A man leant against the gaurderobe door, his head swathed in coarse sacking leaving but the eyes and mouth free. In his hands, stained by Dare’s blood, was a dagger.
" Oh mercy Above, no." Heolster slumped to the cold floor.
A braver man would fight, he thought, staring at the hessian masked figure as it slunk to stand above him. Yet he found all his meager strength had left him ,gone with the discovery of Dare’s death. Blood was congealed on his lips and he wiped at it, scrubbing her taste away.
" Gaurds!" he called again, the sound damp with mucus, " Where are the gaurds?"
The man smirked a toothy grin through his sackcloth mask.
" Gaurds, gaurds...fucking gaurds!" He yelled. Taking a trophy shield from its wall hook he set about himself, smashing it against furniture and floor. The clamour of his manic thrashing drowned Baleback’s feeble cries.
" I had mentioned, my lord," he said throwing the bent and twisted heater into a corner, " that the room is sealed. A minor working of the music - a chorister’s cantrip the hedgesingers name it." He raised his hands and face to Heaven. " God himself could not hear your call, Baleback. Do you believe she screamed any less when I sliced away her womanhood? And to think, her victim to butchery while you sat and supped in the very room above the deed." He laughed and turned cold grey eyes on Heolster. " Oh yes, she screamed. When I cut her with prick and steel both."
" Why...why do this thing? What was she to you?"
The man looked perplexed. " Why? I had not thought to ask that question." He stroked his chin, mouth screwed up as he pondered. " Well, she was here when I came, so I entered her and came again. I fear I was remiss, good sir. You see, I came twice and she but the once."
Heolster found his strength. Quicksilver he threw himself at the grinning man, fist flailing.
One solid blow...just one and maybe-
The murderer was quicker.
He caught the flung fist, twisted and forced Baleback to his knees. " Ahh. The craven finds his mettle. Strange, do you not think, that he quivers at hs daughter slain, yet rises to the tale of her fucking. Do you rue that it is I who drips from her severed cunt and not yourself? Tell me - you supped from that silky cup, there, by the fire. Could you taste me still?"
" You will swing for this, whoever you are you filth. I swear by all the Holies!"
A mouth by his ear. " Oh, I think not, my Lord Baleback." The pressure on his arm released.
" What is it you want of me? You would not linger here if Dare were your quarry. I am your target. Name it, and be done."
" Astute. Caedwalla the Betlic is wise to bend his ear to your council. No, the girl was just a convenient warning and a weight lifted from my balls." He bent, his face a hand’s width from Baleback’s. His breath smelt of blood and honey. " The book. I want the book."
The grimoir. I knew Bacerdun would make good his threats. But an assassin...
" I have many books," he cast a glance about the room, to the wall niches crammed full of tombs, " take whichever you want and leave."
The assassin hissed, lips drawing back from his teeth, exposing liver spotted gums.
" Fucking fool!" He spat. Rising he clenched Baleback’s face in a steel grip and dragged him to standing, across the chamber to the bed. With his free hand he swept up Dare’s soiled skirts. " See what I can do! See? Tell me where the book is."
Heolster stared at the ruin between his daughter’s hips, the pooled blood black in the candlelight.
It is too precious, too powerful for the likes of this one, already schooled in the arts. He shall not have it!
" I have told it true. All the works I own are there, on the shelves."
" Not the answer I sought." The hand moved from jowls to scalp and Baleback’s face was plunged into Dare’s gaping wound. A second, and he was hauled up, gagging on cold blood.
" Tell me!"
" I have told you, damn it. If what you seek is not on those shelves, then it is not in my possession. You have been misinformed."
The masked face shook slowly from side to side. " I think not. As if this were not enough to have you spill your secrets, it seems I must resort to more
personal persuasions. I warn you; you will tell me where it is secreted." With a boot he pushed Heolster onto hs back, stooping and kneelng on his arms. The dagger appeared once more in his hand.
" Last chance, lord Baleback. You are not strong enough to withstand what must follow.
The Chronical Of Dargue, where is it?"
Heolster spat at him, satisfied at the thick wad of phlem which dripped from the cloth mask. The assassin sighed. With his left hand he pinched Heolster’s lips between thumb and forefinger, pulling them away from the face. A slow deliberate arc with his right hand and the keen edged blade sepperated both fleshy mounds with a wash of blood. Baleback screamed, then blacked out.
He awoke naked, bound and propped against the bed. The assassin crouched before him, poking at the remains of Dare’s vagina with that cruel edged dagger. He placed Heolster’s flesh beside it.
" It would seem I have quite the collection of lips now. The book. Tell me, no knowledge is worth this suffering, especially knowledge so heretical."
" You are a churchman?" Baleback wheezed. Blood ran hot into his mouth and down the chin, soaking hs doublet.
" A reasonable assumption. No. The book!"
Is it worth it? It is just a book for all its worth. But oh, it contains so much we had though lost! He flicked watery eyes to where Dare lay.
I have other daughters. If he should...
" The gaurderobe. Beneath the seat in an oilskin. There is a niche..."
" Wise, Baleback. Soon this may all end." He slipped into the privey. The sounds of grating as the stone seat was pulled from the hole.
A howl of frustration.
He returned like an Aelinga of death, wrath written plain in his eyes. " A mstake my lord. Your last." The dagger was raised, the other hand groping and gathering a meaty bundle of genitals from the coset between his legs.
" Pity no! I spoke true. The book is there!" Panic, such a pure emotion in a man when all that made him male was threatened. Heolster felt searing pain, his scrotum sliced, their contents spilled into a calloused palm. Another agony as some cord or other was severed, then that blood sheafed white egg held before his eyes.
" A man is still a man with one ball, Baleback." The testicle was crushed, bulging before it burst, scalding fluids splashing his face. " Tell me. Where?"
The chronical of Dargue. He’d sold most of his estates to raise the funds. At first he had thought Bacerdun ignorant of its true worth. A tomb bound in leather pale as flesh, its words written in a bold hand. Each syllabel
weissal, a harness for the celestial music. Nothing like it had survived God’s wrath and the war with Heaven. Nothing! And yet this impossible work existed, locked in a dusty chest in a merchants shop in the forum. He’d offered a hundred guineas.
Bacerdun had demanded a thousand times a hundred. He had, indeed, known its true worth. A price Baleback had been wlling to pay. Yet unable. He began to weep.
" It is there, it has to be."
Do I weep for the hurt done to me and mine, or its loss? He realised the distinction was blurred and knew not why he wept.
The asassin sighed. " You would be a brave man to deny me this, here amidst my reaping. Yet you are, I have seen, not a brave man. Very well - I can see I must needs look elsewhere." He turned to leave.
" Oh! I almost forgot. One last thing." Turning back, his mouth twisted in hate and anger, he began to slash at Baleback’s face. Oddly, as he hacked, he clenched his tongue between his teeth, a macabre sight behind the flashing blade. Heolster lost count of the brutal swipes at seven.
He lost his life at thirty-four.
I want any and all feedback on this before I start to re-draft. Appreciated
