Sometime later, Aaralyn and Raghnall re-emerged from the thorny mass of brambles. They walked arm in arm, with exaggerated swagger, as if her mother’s formal garden were restored about them. They laughed at a joke Eldridge once told Aaralyn about three ravens and a cockerel, and leisurely made their way back to the glass house in order that Aaralyn might show Raghnall around other sections of the castle.
From the shadows unseen, within the undergrowth, two glassy, dark eyes followed them. When they had gone, the watcher emerged from his hide. He was a gaunt man, bloodied and bruised; for he had attempted to scale Aaralyn’s thorny fortress to no avail. Hunched in pain, he limped to a window he had left ajar and pivoting upon aching ribs hauled himself in. He landed hard on the black floor bringing a deep blue curtain down with him. He winced in pain, the blood which trickled from his forehead sprayed from his lips as he wheezed. Staggering to his feet he shook his foot free of the curtain and leaning upon the wall, limped along the tall arched corridor.
This wretched thing was Faolan, Malaegar’s most trusted aide. For many years he had been the eyes, ears and hand of his Lord about the castle and he had prospered. From a distance he looked like any other member of the house staff of Ravensholme. Upon closer inspection however, his clothes were a little finer, he was a little more vain. A fine waistcoat of deepest green peaked through tears in his black, silk lined jacket. His white linen shirt torn and stained in his blood, his curtailed trousers muddied, his fine shoes scuffed. Upon his right index finger he wore a thick gold ring. He leaned against a door frame to catch his breath. His dark hair was streaked grey, greasy and typically flat to his forehead, though today ruffled wild. His sallow face streaked in blood looked this way and that, checking for onlookers. His eyes flashed with anger as he began to limp again.
By facilitating his Lord’s fancies Faolan gained favour and gold as an informer, enforcer and spy. Occasionally, when action was required, he saw extended service often by choice rather than directive. Today he had shown initiative in attempting to follow Aaralyn and the stranger beyond the bushes. He regretted it.
Faolan limped through the door, crossing a round hallway, he avoided the bright light which welled from a glazed iron dome above. Into the next corridor he burst, groaning as he crossed the threshold. Ahead of him, a cluster of servant-boys who had been diligently dusting scattered like startled crows upon seeing the loathsome Faolan. Rather than turn to his right to retire to his cellar chamber deep within the heart of the castle he took the stairs ahead of him, spiralling to the right. Though he was injured, he had developments to report and though he had a way to go before he reached his Lord’s chamber, he did not wish these scars to go without reward.
“Come.” Faolan eased open Malaegar’s bedchamber doors. Malaegar was bathing in a copper tub with water warmed from the kitchens and carried urn by urn to his chamber. The purple curtains were half drawn. He casually looked up to his visitor in the half light.
“You look as I feel, friend.” He threw a wet rag at Faolan, landing it upon his shoulder, miming patronisingly for him to wipe his face “Though, while my pains are due to over indulgence, yours, I suspect were less enjoyable?” Still breathing heavily, Faolan began to wipe his bloodied face.
“I always enjoy my duties in your service m’ Lord”. Malaegar laughed.
“Your loyalty is utterly mercenary. You, Faolan are diligent only in the service of yourself and the pursuit of gold.” He gestured ed casually, without looking to a bound leather purse upon the table. Faolan, suddenly anesthetised, made for the gold with haste. Malaegar grinned as though Faolan had performed a trick for him. “So, where did your duties take you, to return so mangled?” Malaegar lathered his face as Faolan rested his weight against the table.
“I have spent my morning observing the stranger as requested, m’ Lord. Your sister has been showing him the delights of her garden.” He smirked. Malaegar did not rise to Faolan’s innuendo.
“This I already know,” he replied sharply. “I do not pay you to inform me of what was discussed under my very nose over dinner. I hope you have more to report than common knowledge?” Faolan smiled thinly.
“Indeed, m’ Lord, I do. Having spied them from a window in the western former formal gardens, I followed them through the undergrowth.” Faolan limped away from the table towards Malaegar, holding his aching ribs. He began to circle the bath. “Though I could not hear what was said, m’Lord, I think you will be pleased with my intelligence.” He paused for a moment. “At the western edge of the garden, there is a mass of brambles, beyond which lies a long abandoned structure. The lady Aaralyn led the stranger through the brambles into that ruin. I attempted to follow, but was bloodied for my efforts.” Faolan looked down over his shredded garb. Malaegar sat up in the tub spilling soapy water onto the floor.
“How long were they in this ruin for?”
“I would guess an hour, m’Lord? Likely longer.” Replied Faolan “I know not of what they spoke or how they passed the time.” Another thin smile cracked across his face. “I can only tell you that when I saw them next, they were arm in arm; jolly and bright.”
“I see.” Malaegar rose from the tub, unashamed, he strode for his blue morning robe, his wet hair flat against his back. Faolan watched him circle the room seemingly deep in thought. Faolan dabbed his forehead with the cloth.
“Do you know m’lord, I think this might leave a scar?” He mused with a frown.
Suddenly Malaegar lunged at him, he grabbed one of last night’s empty wine bottles by the neck and smashed it upon the cabinet. He pushed Faolan to the wall, his right forearm across Faolan’s neck, hand on his collar. Malaegar smiled coolly.
“Now dear Faolan. Though you are my senior in age, I am yours in life.” His smile faded. “It seems to me that you have forgotten this simple fact.” He brought the ragged green glass of the bottle up close to Faolan’s face. “If you ever talk to me or about my beloved sister in that manner again, I will give you a scar far more substantial than that of any thorn bush!” He toyed with the shattered bottle in front of Faolan’s face, as though choosing where he might make a cut.
“I do but report what I have witnessed m’Lord” gasped Faolan.
“But you take pleasure in it! You take pleasure in the displeasure it might cause me . This I do not like.” Malaegar stroked Faolan’s fringe to one side with the bottle, like a jade claw. “And now…” Faolan winced. “I am all covered in your blood. I shall have to bathe once more.” Malaegar pushed away from Faolan, heaving upon his neck. He tossed the bottle with disdain, it shattered in the corner of the room. “Leave me.” Faolan grasped his collar, bent double, gasping for breath. He hobbled towards the door. “Close my doors as you leave”.
Faolan closed the doors behind him. He limped for a way down the corridor, still clutching his neck. He coughed loudly, uncomfortably, though with a flash in the eye, his coughing morphed into a wheezing chuckle. Though Malaegar’s violent reaction had been unexpected, it was a sign that Faolan had achieved his goal. His master was intrigued and jealous of the stranger. Malaegar would certainly be calling upon his services once more, and soon.
***
Raghnall pressed lightly at the ivory keys before him. A low resonant tone emanated from the base of the organ, displacing air around his feet, ruffling his trouser legs. Lady Aaralyn’s tour had culminated in the music and recital chamber, dominated by the great pipe organ at which Raghnall sat. His gaze was drawn over the dark wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl and upwards to the carved forms of many howling wolves from whose jaws erupted an array of brass organ pipes.
Aralyn sat peacefully staring out through the wide arched windows to the west, as the setting sun spread across the misty horizon and gilded stars upon the dome of the deep blue ceiling twinkled red in the last of the light. Raghnall took a seat next to her, having crossed the room seemingly unnoticed. Close by was a selection of smaller instruments such as the harpsichord, a violin, a cello, a trumpet and a flute. Raghnall reached for the violin, cusping it beneath his chin, he played a meandering melody, rising and falling lazily. Roused from her trance Aaralyn turned and smiled at his playing, then she frowned, tilting her head to one side looking over his shoulder. Raghnall ceased playing as Aaralyn gestured for him to pause. He craned his neck to see a servant girl had entered the room.
The girl wore a simple black dress; her hair was neatly plaited and balanced upon her right hand a silver plate, upon which was a folded note. The girl crossed the floor silently, passing Raghnall and presenting the note to Aaralyn with a curtsey. Instantly, Raghnall knew its author for the note was scrawled in familiar red ink. Aaralyn read the note, folded it and returned it to the plate.
“Very well Enyd, have a light supper brought to us here.” The girl again curtseyed and departed. “My brother regrets that he can not dine with us this evening. He has been unwell all day.” Aaralyn took off her coat, hanging upon an unoccupied chair. “Still, it means I do not have to change and I’m not in the mood for a large meal.” Raghnall replaced the violin to its stand as Aaralyn reclaimed her seat.
“Thank you my Lady, it has been a wonderful day and an excellent tour.” Aaralyn appeared heartened by this.
“You are a varied and talented musician, Raghnall. Who schooled you so?” Raghnall paused.
“My father, through an acquaintance about court, was a friend of the court composer. T’was he, who in his spare time, kindly tutored me.”
The doors again opened and into the room three servants came. The first made her way about the edge of the room, carrying with her a lit wick upon an iron pole. She made her way around the circular hall, from pillar to pillar, igniting tri-piece candelabras as she went. As the room was illuminated the windows became as mirrors against the dusk, reflecting, from every angle the actions of the other two servants. Quietly and expertly, a table was laid with cutlery, bread, cheese and wine. Aaralyn thanked them as they departed.
Raghnall took his knife and sliced the cheese upon a plate in the centre of the table as Aaralyn poured wine from the jug into their goblets. They began to eat.
“Tell me” enquired Aaralyn “Do you have a family?” She raised her cup to drink and paused to elaborate “I ask as you are not a young man. I find it hard to imagine that you have had a want of opportunity?” Aaralyn grinned, biting into her bread and cheese.
“Alas, I have no family of my own. Though I must confess, I have enjoyed the bachelor’s life” He smiled and gestured with his cup “As you so rightly observe though, I might be getting too old now for such a frivolous life.”
“Indeed!” Aaralyn laughed as Raghnall feigned an expression of utmost offence. “Ofcourse, I have little experience of true family life myself” she continued “my father has always been absent in mind, if not body and my brother…” she sipped her wine “well, you know.” Raghnall tore some bread. “Eldridge is the closest I have had to a true family.” Raghnall raised an eyebrow in exaggerated pity, again Aaralyn laughed. “In all seriousness though, I am surrounded by folk who live neither here nor there. My brother always has one eye on the future, Eldridge and the staff yearn for a past I can scarcely recall. T’is a novelty to have company who lives in the here and now!”
“When is your father’s memorial to be held?”
“Upon the arrival of the Lords from neighbouring provinces; all ancient allies of our family.” Aaralyn waved a hand “After a fashion, my brother is correct, it will be little more than a formality. They are obliged to attend.”
“What of your mother’s family? Are they not neighbours?” Aaralyn’s face deadened.
“They have not visited since my mother died. They held my father accountable for her death, she was so young.” Aaralyn raised both hands in the air. “They mourned loudly at her funeral, departed and never returned.” She sighed. “ There is an irony there.” She nodded. “My mother was young and I was her only remnant in this world, yet my grandparents held firm to their grudge. They scarcely know me.” She pointed back towards the heart of the castle “Whereas my father was old. His heroism in war, his impression upon this place and its people was profound; yet for all the obligation and ceremony we are about to witness, few are truly moved by the death of the man.” She grimaced.
“We are all but dust, and as dust to dust.” Raghnall nodded sagely, staring at the table. “T’is a fallacy to value a person by birth or potential or great deeds for that matter, these are transient things.” Aaralyn pointed in agreement.
“At the quick, these are inconsequential.” She saw again a distant look in Raghnall’s glazed eyes, just as this morning in the garden.
“Just as well that we are enlightened, eh?” she raised her goblet in a toast. With a start, Raghnall lifted his drink and together they toasted “to being enlightened!”
They told stories and joked, and mutually hurtful topics long into the night. Eventually, the table was cleared and with a kiss upon her hand, and a promise to stay a while longer, Raghnall bade Aaralyn good night. Now confident in his direction on his way back to his room.
***
High above them away to the south, Malaegar sat out on his balcony. The night air was crisp, still and dry. He sank into his purple evening gown as he surveyed the inky night, deep in thought.
Then, the line of the horizon was pricked by a yellow speck. Slowly more specks emerged from the gloom forming a line, weaving towards the castle. This river of light marked the meandering progression of a caravan, led by torches. These were the first of the arrivals for his father’s funeral.
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