Arc 2: Chapter 10: Emma's Tale

Arc 2: Chapter 10: Emma's Tale

Once we seemed out of immediate danger, I slipped into the still moving coach. I settled back, took a deep breath, and laid my axe on my lap to keep another surprise from sending it from my hand. Then I fixed Emma Carreon with a hard look.

“I think it’s time for you to tell me exactly what’s going on here,” I said. “And why Nath loaned my services to you.”

Rather than looking admonished or contrite, Emma appraised me with curious eyes. “That power you wielded back there…” excitement sparked in her avian eyes. “That was High Art.”

“No more deflections,” I said, swiping a hand through the air. “Yes, I can wield Art, and you have a fallen angel as a benefactor. We both have secrets.” I ignored her scoff. “I need to know what I’m getting into, and I can promise you this, Lady Emma — If it comes to a choice between murdering commonfolk or leaving you to fend for yourself, I will stay my hand. I am not Nath’s slave, and I am not a knight anymore. I have no chivalry in me for you to take advantage of.”

I let her take that in a moment before continuing. “What is this business about a curse? What’s after you, that has the local villagers so afraid?”

Emma remained quiet a long while, her eyes lowering to study the sheathed sword in her lap. She ran a hand over the metalwork on the scabbard. Perhaps five minutes passed before she squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and began to speak.

“My family was once very powerful. We made many enemies. One of those enemies hounds us still, even from beyond the grave.”

She let that sink in. When I didn’t jump in with more questions, she continued. “House Carreon once ruled a great demesne, far south of this land. We were good as kings in the Westvales. But my ancestors were also…” she bobbed a finger in the air, as though conjuring the right word. “Somewhat draconian. What friends we had were loyal more from fear than love, and we had our share of zealous enemies. One of those enemies found defeat and death to be little more than an inconvenience, it seems.”

She met my eyes then. “I am the last. The last Carreon. All the others have died, either from the rigors of time and the fall of my house, or from the vengeance of this spirit.”

I folded my arms and leaned back, taking a deep breath. “Damn. A revenant. This is the Burnt Rider those people spoke of?”

Emma nodded. “I believe that’s the term, yes, and that is what the locals call him. Does this upset you?”

“It certainly doesn’t please me,” I said. “Revenants are monstrous bastards to deal with,” I laced my fingers together over the weapon on my lap. “There are a thousand varieties of undead, and that’s among the worst I can think of. They don’t stop.”

That seemed to disturb the young woman. “Lady Nath assured me you could be of assistance.”

I shrugged one shoulder. “Revenants can be dealt with — bound, sealed, rendered nearly powerless, or sent back to Draubard. It’s difficult.”

“Can you do it?” Emma asked, narrowing her eyes.

Could I? I was no priest. My powers were meant to smite evil, not put it to rest, and smiting revenants could be counter productive at best. They had a nasty tendency to grow stronger the more you fought them and fed the curse they manifested.

I had a question of my own as well. Why did Nath need me to protect her acolyte from a restless spirit? Surely, she had the power to destroy all but the most potent undead. I doubted Lady Emma had any answers to the rogue Onsolain’s motives, so I kept my peace on that. Aloud I said, “I can protect you from it. As for destroying it… well, I think Nath is probably more interested in me keeping you alive. Tell me more about this spirit. Do you know who they are, or were? How long have they been after you?”

Emma’s eyes went distant. Her hand lingered on the artfully made pommel of her sword, which struck me as a nervous gesture. “He started appearing in this region about five years ago. He’s… killed many people close to me. He’s terrorized the hamlets near the manor, sickened crops, raided traveling caravans… turned my life into a battlefield. It feels like I’m besieged, oftentimes. I am besieged.”

“Has he attacked you directly?” I asked. I spoke less harshly than before.

Emma shook her head. “Not directly.”

I took that in, frowning. Emma didn’t miss my thoughtful look. “What is it?” She asked.

“Not sure,” I admitted. “Could be he’s trying to drive you off your land, rather than kill you. Could be something else entirely. Revenants always have some kind of vendetta keeping them going, but it’s not always about murder. They’re like a living, sapient curse. You keep saying he

. Do you know who he is?”

Emma’s eyes slid from my face, her jaw tightening. “I only know stories my grandmother used to tell me, before she passed. In life, he was a great lord and warrior, the scion of a rival house. Our families waged war for generations, and when we finally won that conflict, we treated our conquered foe… poorly. Now, his hate for my blood has spurred him from death itself. This all happened, oh…” she closed her eyes again. “A century ago, or longer.”

I tried not to wince. A vendetta that old would be grossly potent. Generational curses could be the hardest to deal with. I added that to my growing list of problems. “Has he appeared before?” I asked. “Haunted any of your ancestors?”

Emma nodded. “My parents and grandparents. He killed my grandfather in personal combat about thirty years ago. He forced my parents’s carriage off a cliff a few years after I was born. My grandmother died of grief and illness when I was twelve. She was my last blood relative. Now he has appeared to haunt me personally.” She shrugged, as though unconcerned. The tenseness in her seated posture said otherwise.

That uncertainty prodded something in me. I’d told her I had no chivalry for her to take advantage of — a lie. I’d never truly let go of that troublesome sense of honor, of that want to be a good knight. That sail had been ripped away in the wind long ago — all the blood on my hands, and I thought I could claim to be honorable?

Yet I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for this imperious young woman, who had lost her entire family to an enemy who’d decided to hate her long before her birth. It didn’t make me like her more, but it did make me feel a touch guilty for my curtness.

I sighed and said, “my name is Alken. Whatever else may happen, I will protect you from this creature. Count on that.”

Emma looked up at me, surprised. I’d already drawn my eyes away from her, though, leaning back in my seat to digest what I’d learned.

A young noble lady, the last of her line, haunted by a deadly curse. A murderous spirit called up from the darkness of the Lands of the Dead to torment her family. That same noble’s supernatural godmother charging a sorcerous warrior with a quest to protect the girl and slay the evil, or banish it.

It had all the makings of a fairy tale, only… all the details were twisted, like some parody of the sort of quest I’d have once undertaken as a Knight of the Alder Table. Was that why Nath wanted me involved? To fit her fell sense of aesthetics? Or did she have some other motive I couldn’t guess at?

Either way, if I failed, relations between the Onsolain and their renegade sister would sour. That would lead to far more trouble than a case of one orphaned aristocrat being haunted by a vengeful spirit. The world still hadn’t recovered from the last war between immortal powers.

I didn’t want to be responsible for another one.

***

Hours later, under an overcast late morning, the coach reached Emma’s manor. Forest had given way to rolling prairie set between high, rocky hills. The sky widened, and I could smell the sea born on a northerly wind. We’d reached the coastal plains of Venturmoor.

The western reaches of Urn had been settled first by mankind, when the God-Queen led her armies across the mountains separating my homeland from the greater continent. Humans have lived in the west longer, cultivated and built, and waged many a war. I saw signs of that scarred agedness more as we advanced. Elderly villages speckled the countryside, many of them watched over by castles in varying states of disrepair. Churches and graveyards, the latter not always sharing space with the former, grew like a cancer across the fields and hills, as though the settlements themselves were an afterthought and places of death and worship had laid the greater claim.

Even in daytime, I could perceive the faint images of restless shades beyond the carriage’s window. They lurked like playful children in light woods or tall grass, or clung jealously to weather-worn grave markers, watching sullenly from any patch of shadow they could find.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Emma, either not seeing the dead or not caring, seemed lost in thought as we traveled. Occasionally she’d glance at me, some question reaching her lips and dying there before it could be spoken. I didn’t press her. We’d have time to talk soon enough. I sensed the confrontation in the woods had shaken her, more than she let on.

Her manor wasn’t nearly as ostentatious as I’d expected, from her regal manners and the rarity of her magic carriage. Set on a hill overlooking an old, overgrown stretch of field, placed well away from the few hamlets scattered across the nearer country, the structure looked old and tired. A knight’s manor, of the kind a landed man-at-arms would dwell in when not serving their lord. Three stories, with a pair of stone towers, one higher than the other, I could see untended ivy creeping up the walls and rust on the iron gates. Several windows had wooden shutters rather than glass, and the gardens needed care.

Rather than looking relieved to be home, Emma stared at the melancholy building with dull, resigned eyes. We stopped on the path in front of the door, and I noted a figure waiting for us atop the front steps. A tall, dark-haired woman in her early thirties, with hands nervously clasped in front of her. She lifted those hands as we climbed down from the coach, as though in prayer. She stepped down to the grass as Emma ran her eyes across the house dispassionately.

“Welcome home, my lady. I am glad to see you returned safe.” The woman curtsied low. She had a narrow face, with a long nose and tired blue eyes, her dark brown hair secure in a braid wrapped about her neck — a northwesterner fashion. Her eyes flicked to me, briefly, but she otherwise kept them downcast.

“Ser Red, this is Vanya, my maidservant.” Emma gestured to the woman. Despite the fact I’d revealed my name, she seemed to have taken to her own choice of epithet. “Vanya, this man is going to be my guest for some days.”

Vanya’s eyes widened. “He is a knight, my lady?” Her eyes went to the hint of black chainmail beneath my cloak.

Emma shrugged. I, not forgetting my manners and having no reason to treat the maid poorly, inclined my head. “Alken,” I introduced myself.

The woman curtsied. If she noted my lack of title, she didn’t comment on it.

Emma’s snorted. “Oh, you’ll tell her your name right off, will you?” She waved a hand. “Vanya, if you could have a room prepared for our guest? I will help Qoth stable the chimera and be in shortly.”

She started to turn, but something in Vanya’s hesitance made the young aristo pause. She raised an eyebrow at the maid.

“It’s Lord Brenner,” Vanya said, her voice hushed and nervous. Again she wrung her hands. “He’s inside… his son is with him, and Ser Kross.”

The way Emma’s face transformed was telling. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched, and her posture went stiff. “I see,” she said, voice tight. “Then I must not keep his lordship waiting.” She turned to me, and I saw her make an effort to master her nerves. “Well, Ser Red, it seems like I must introduce you to my benefactor. If you would follow me?”

I nodded. “There trouble?”

Emma opened her mouth, and I saw the deflection coming. She paused, and her tartness faded. “It’s nothing that need concern you,” she said. “He isn’t aware of my relationship with Lady Nath. I will introduce you as a mercenary hired to guard me. You will be from…” she thought for a moment. “Kingsmeet. You will be Alken the Red. Does that suit you?”

I shrugged. “It serves.”

I followed the young noblewoman into the manor. Inside, things seemed more put together than the exterior — still old, but clean and comfortable. We passed into a foyer dominated by old hunting trophies, but no House marks I could see. Emma visibly steeled herself, taking a deep breath, then led me into a spacious sitting room.

Inside stood three men. They were all tall, powerfully built, martial, though only one wore armor. They turned to us as we entered.

“Lady Emma!” The oldest of the three, a bearish man with a ruddy brown beard and receding hair, spread his arms out in warm greeting, though the flash in his eyes and unmoderated volume in his voice seemed too aggressive for welcome. “It is good to see you safely returned. We had feared the worst.”

The huge man wore a rich doublet done all in deep browns and reds, the upper sleeves padded with gem-studded nets. Rich garb, for the ruler of a rural fief.

Emma bowed in the knightly fashion, rather than curtsying. I saw the bearish man’s jaw tighten at that. The man in armor — a tall, militant warrior with hair shorn nearly to his scalp and an angular face — raised an amused eyebrow. His armor didn’t consist of a full set, but the rounded breastplate was of exquisite craftsmanship, fashioned of dark steel and inscribed with faint lettering along its contours. He wore a dark gray cloak over the ensemble, making him look like a particularly martial crow.

“There is no need to fear, my lord.” Emma’s expression remained pleasant, with eyes demurely downcast. “As you can see, I am returned safely.”

“Indeed,” the man, who I took to be Lord Brenner, showed his teeth. It wasn’t quite a smile. “And I see you did not return alone. Perhaps introductions are in order?”

Emma glanced at me. “My lords, this is Ser Alken the Red. He is a specialist I hired from Kingsmeet, and—”

“A mercenary?” Brenner’s voice filled the room like a thunderclap, his face darkening with the onset of anger. “You brought a vagabond sellsword into my lands without my leave?”

Emma’s own anger showed its teeth in the sudden sharpness in her tone, like clear glass beginning to crack. “My lord, I am the scion of my own house and allowed the privilege of a guard of my own choosing.”

“Indeed?” Lord Brenner asked crisply. “And the privilege to steal from me? Is that also owed to you, little shrike?”

Emma seemed taken aback. “Steal from you?”

“Surely you don’t believe we didn’t notice the Night Coach missing from my grounds the very same morning you took it?”

The glass of Emma’s calm shattered. Her face went pale with rage and she took a step forward, balling her fists. “That carriage belongs to my family,” she snarled. “My parents brought it from Castle Liutgarde, it is a heirloom of my House!”

Again, Brenner bared his teeth. “You have no House, girl. You are my ward, and all you have — this manor, your servants, your safety and well being — they are due to me. You seem to have forgotten all you owe me.”

Emma drew herself up. “Am I your prisoner then, my lord?”

“Insolent brat!” The nobleman stepped forward, half lifting one hand. With his broad frame and lordly clothing, he seemed to fill the room.

I took a step forward to put myself between the wrathful lord and the stubborn girl. The armored man tracked me with his eyes and went for his sword.

It was the third man in the room — fourth, counting me — who stopped things from turning ugly. He was a younger man, no older than twenty but big as the bearish noble. He had the same burly frame as Brenner, though leaner, and lacked the proud beard. His garb was of similar make to the older lord’s but, like the rest of him, seemed more subdued. He’d been quiet up to that point, lurking in the background with a watchful expression. He stepped forward, placing a hand on the older man’s arm. He gripped tight, and Lord Brenner halted.

“Please, father.” The young man spoke softly. He had a calm voice, and a calm face, a quiet hill to his father’s thundercloud.

Lord Brenner glared at his son. Emma stood her ground, her demeanor proud, though I noted her hands shook. The armored knight kept his eyes on me, and I on him. He seemed very calm. No, not calm — amused. I decided I didn’t like that one.

The lord seemed to master himself, though by the way he jerked his arm from his son’s hand I didn’t think it a total submission. He studied Emma a moment, snorted derisively, then turned to me, dismissing the girl.

“I apologize for that unpleasantness,” he said to me, adjusting his sleeves before placing a hand over his chest and tucking the other behind his back. “It has been a stressful past three days. We thought the young Lady Emma lost to us, fallen afoul of some evil. She is like a daughter to me, and I admit to a father’s wrath in the wake of relief.”

A dark expression passed over Emma’s face.

“I am Brenner Hunting,” the nobleman continued, not noticing or not minding the lady’s ire. “Lord of this fief under the grace of his majesty, King Roland Marcher. Lady Emma introduced you as a ser. May I ask what land you hail from?”

I folded my arms. My weapon remained stowed beneath my cloak — had the man attacked the girl, I’d have gone for my knife. “You said it yourself, lord.” I inclined my head, keeping my tone on the border of respectful. “I’m a vagabond.” Then, in a moment of inspiration I added, “Alken of the Fane, they call me.”

Lord Brenner’s bushy eyebrows went up. “Glorysworn, is it? Well, at least the girl didn’t just take some hired thug off the street. I understand it is the habit of your calling not to reveal the name of your House until your errantry is done, so I won’t bother asking.”

How convenient, I noted wryly.

“And how much did Lady Emma tell you of matters here?” Brenner asked, glancing at the girl. “About what exactly she needs protection from?”

“She told me there’s a curse afflicting this land,” I said. “A specter of death besieging your people. She sought a champion to face it, and found me.”

“Yes, well, that is true enough. Well, Ser Alken, have you faced such before?” He looked me up and down. “Are you some great monster hunter?”

“He can wield Art,” Emma blurted. “I saw it myself.” She saw my sidelong glare and turned her nose up.

Brenner’s eyebrows rose further. “A magus, are you? Then you and Ser Kross have aught in common, I think.” He gestured to the man with the short-cropped hair. “He is a Knight-Exorcist of the Priory.” When he noted Emma’s surprised look, he chuckled. “That’s right, young lady, I have not been as lax as you claimed. While you were off finding some gallant — no offense to you, Ser Alken — I was seeking the aid of real professionals! This won’t be the first Thing of Darkness Ser Kross has banished.”

He looked to me then. “Of course, if our Glorysworn friend wants to tag along and try his own skill in aid of this hunt, then that is well. I would hate for his time to have been wasted.” He said the last pointedly.

I could almost hear Emma grinding her teeth. “Of course, my lord.”

Brenner studied me a moment longer, then turned his eyes to Emma. “For now, we have all had a trying past few days. I am certain you will need rest after your… escapades. I would like you to join me at my keep on the morrow. We will discuss this matter more.”

Emma bowed her head, managing to make the gesture look defiant. “As you will, my lord.”

Without a second glance, Brenner looked to his son and the Church knight and nodded. He swept out of the room. Ser Kross watched me with that half-smile on his face the whole time. When he drew near, his shadow passed over me. I went very still until he’d departed.

The lord’s son, whose name I hadn’t caught, paused near Emma. “I’m sorry about that Em,” he said. Again, I noted how quiet and light his voice was, mismatched to his frame. He seemed like a shadow of his father, his presence a whisper echoing the older man’s shout. “We were all worried sick about you. We’d thought the Burnt Rider had finally…” he shrugged his brawny shoulders. “You know.”

Emma’s expression softened somewhat, though it didn’t lose all its sourness. “It’s fine, Hendry. I’m fine.” She waggled her fingers after the departed men, as though casting a spell, and her imperious inflections returned. “Go. Wouldn’t want to keep his lordship waiting.”

The boy, Hendry, nodded to me as he passed, then departed.

“Bastard,” Emma snapped once they’d gone. “Waiting for me in my own parlor, like I’m some errant child to be reprimanded. My parents paid him for this villa, earned his hospitality.”

I kept my peace. Emma seemed to notice me still standing there and made a visible effort to calm herself. She lifted her narrow chin and made an odd gesture, sweeping her hand out to one side. “I shall give you a tour of my court, then.”

I nodded gravely. “As you will, my lady.” My attention, however, wandered after the departed trio. When Ser Kross had passed me, I’d felt a wash of power from him, brief, yet potent. His aura had smelled of incense and rang like a gentle choir in my ears.

A Church paladin. I’d have to be cautious around that one, lest he sense what I am.