Conflicts & Loyalties Copyright © Anna Allen 2023 – All rights reserved

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Book Description and Contact Details

Book Details

The Battle for Gritheim: Book 2

Conflict and Loyalties

The search for the key to The Book of The Realms

FOR THREE YEARS, Gritheim has been torn asunder. Pestilences ravage the land, and the harvests have failed again, driving up the cost of bread. Emaciated animals are dying. The king becomes less popular each day, and civil war knocks at the palace gates.

The Master is smug. His immortals recruit nobles and their troops to challenge and depose the king. Soon, he will be able to step forward and take his rightful place. He needs one more thing—the key to The Book of The Realms. The book will show him how to create spells to help him conquer the land and all its inhabitants.

Two young people thwart his plans. Even untold riches and immortality won’t tempt them. Leonné, an untrained Elementalist, has married Roland D’Abernon against her will, but Roland hasn’t consummated the marriage yet and, therefore, hasn’t stolen her powers. Saving her from this atrocity is the knight Fitzsimmons, a great warrior. Rumors suggest his abnormal strength is due to his undeveloped magical powers. The Master must persuade Fitzsimmons to join him or do all he can to destroy him.

This dark fantasy is packed with magic, witchcraft, and swordplay. Become drawn into a world of sorcery in this gripping sequel to Rise of the Immortals.

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List of Contents

Book Description

List of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Prologue

A DISTORTED FACE LAUGHED at him, mocking him. Strange creatures stalked him, trapping him. He fended off giant clawed birds trying to tear his eyes from his face.

He woke up. Sweat poured from him, freezing on his shivering skin. He pulled his skins up over himself and called to his page to bring him hot wine to send him to sleep. He must remain fit and alert, to protect Leonné when the dark forces come to attack them.

Chapter One

THE VELVET GRAY OF DUSK dimmed visibility casting everything into a maelstrom of shadows. Achard Fitzsimmons stared up at the rocky outlet. He could just make out the portcullis, barring the enemy from entering Himinbjörg Palace. The impressive structure resembled a fortress, though its inhabitants would scoff and defy anyone to call it anything but the palace. He grimaced. This was the last place he wanted to visit. Bad memories of its residents haunted him. He rubbed his sore eyes; they seemed glued together. He had slept little the previous night, woken up by frequent intense nightmares.

Leonné rode beside him, cautiously inspecting the trail they were navigating. She sensed Fitzsimmons’ unease. She wore his ring around her neck, a sign of his commitment. They could not make their romance public yet. She was married, although not by choice. And until the marriage was annulled, she couldn’t commit openly to any man. On the journey, he’d brooded, snapping at her when she asked him questions. He was not the man who had professed his love to her only days ago. His cold demeanor reminded her of the uncaring and arrogant man she had met in the inn, the man she had detested at first sight. She thought he had changed, but she was learning that he was secretive, complex, and a difficult man to love.

She sighed. ‘Thank the gods we’re near the gates, Fitz!’

He started, as if woken from a dream. ‘Yes, it has been an arduous journey.’ He stared at the palace looming ever closer. ‘More danger awaits us in there than on the trail.’

A heavy beat of wings sounded in the distance. ‘Look,’ she cried, pulling her hood over her head. ‘Take my reins, Fitz, quick!’ He took hold of them and pulled her horse as near to his as he could.

‘Look sharp!’ he yelled to his men. They spurred their horses up the hill; the group staying as close behind Fitzsimmons as possible.

Barely balancing on her stallion, Leonné grabbed her bow and arrows from their bag and aimed at the creatures that resembled a cross between an eagle and a wyvern. The half-bird-half-dragons began circling their party. Leathered armored wings slapped against the wind. Horned and beaked, the beasts swooped, dragging claws through the riders’ hoods and scraping faces with hooked beaks. Arms flew up in an effort to protect their eyes.

The men tried to still their horses as they released an arched rainfall of arrows at the creatures.

Two of the monsters received fatal wounds from Leonné’s arrows carried on the back of a strong wind, but there were too many of them. Fitzsimmons waved his sword around them, protecting her as much as possible with his large, muscled body. One of the soldiers suffered severe cuts to his face. Screaming, he tumbled off his horse, and was instantly attacked on the ground by leathery clawed wings, trampling feet, and swishing horned tails.

‘Damn you, Orella,’ Leonné cursed. It was time for magic! Stowing her bow and arrows, she flung her arms wide. Magic prickled the tips of her fingers as she cried aloud, ‘Eilsir and Arllan. We are pursuing the path of goodness. Help us. Save us from our enemies.’

Wings continued to batter them with vicious swipes, their panicking steeds shying away from the monsters, neighing and snorting their outright fear. She whispered in her horse’s ear, ‘Stay Hadron. They will not hurt you. It is us they want.’ Hadron’s eyes glazed as if in a trance, he lowered his head and quietened down. The calming spell, carried on a wisp of pure light, spread from Leonné’s hands to the horses closest to her.

Suddenly, the sky above them crackled and split, red and yellow streaks slicing the heavens in two. Thunder rumbled. Wind howled, rising and circling the creatures, turning them upside down and swirling them away from the group. The beasts fought the currents but were twirled and whirled against the rugged mountain terrain, crushing their wings. They hurtled to the ground, smashing into bits on boulders and rocks.

‘Thank you, merciful gods,’ whispered Leonné. ‘We will not let you down.’

Fitzsimmons again thanked Arllan that he had discovered this young woman. She was brave, intelligent, resourceful, and now his. He would kill anyone who tried to take her away from him now that he had won her—despite her early resistance. 

‘We will continue to search for the truth, I promise you,’ affirmed Fitzsimmons looking up at the closing skies.

He handed Leonné back her reins and then urged his stallion onward. ‘Six furlongs more and we will be safe!’ Fitzsimmons’ authority stamped his words. ‘Come men, help our injured and make for the palace.’ His soldiers helped the severely wounded and they resumed their journey.

Before they reached the drawbridge, the colossal iron portcullis was slowly winched up. A sentry on the battlements had recognized Fitzsimmons by his uncommon height and bulk.

As he dismounted, Fitzsimmons beckoned the nearest guard. ‘Two of my men are sorely hurt. They require a physic. Pray you, call one. I will pay him well.’

Leonné dismounted and ran to the cart. After inspecting the men’s injuries, she shook her head. ‘Leave them there, Fitz. You will pain them more if you try to move them. I need water, wine, and clean cloths.’ 

Tears shone in her eyes as she cleaned their wounds. The task done; she held the men’s hands as they grasped hers with their last strength. She could not stem the blood, and as it ebbed away, their fingers loosened and rested motionless on the skins wrapped tightly around them to protect them from the wind and rain.

Fitzsimmons pulled her away, ‘You can do no more.’ He strode on, making her walk into the inner courtyard where a servant met them.

‘Lord Beaumont is expecting you. His men spotted your approach.’

Fitzsimmons frowned. Had Beaumont’s men seen the creatures attacking them and not sent help? The hairs on his back rose. He feared this place. His enemies were still here. He would watch his back and make Leonné guard her unruly tongue.

He bowed. ‘I look forward to meeting my liege again.’  I have much to tell him.  Will he believe me and protect us?  A shiver ran down his back at the thought of Beaumont removing his protection and sending Leonné back to her uncle.

The servant took them to their respective chambers. As expected of a knight of his standing, he had his own chamber, but Leonné would share with Mistress Rhone, her mentor, a widow who accompanied her.

‘I’ll collect you for supper.’ Leaning a little closer he whispered, ‘Take heart. We’ll persuade Beaumont of the virtues of your case, and he has the ear of the king.’ 

She nodded and entered her chamber, grander than her room at Castle Aronte. A fire was lit, and she warmed her numb hands in front of it until a maid arrived and started unpacking her clothes.

The girl smiled. ‘I can bring you a hot posset if you are cold, m’lady.’

‘Thank you. I’d like that. The wind and rain were freezing on the trail. What’s your name?’

‘Edith, m’lady.’

‘A good name. When is supper served, Edith?’

‘Soon, when the bells toll. We sup late when King Arne is in residence.’ She was chatty, friendly, and welcoming. Leonné took to her straight away. Leonné remained polite but reserved. After her bad experiences in Castle Aronte, she planned on giving nothing away. 

 At suppertime, Fitzsimmons appeared and took her arm. In a hushed tone and without looking at her, he said, ‘Only speak when you are spoken to. Already, tongues are twitching. No doubt our enemies will be spreading falsehoods around.’ He guided her through the twisting corridors of the palace built against the rock, following the rough outline of the mountain. Himinbjörg was an impressive feat of engineering and practically impossible to attack. Finally, they wound their way down the steep stairway that led to the Great Hall.

Lord Beaumont’s squire greeted them. Bowing and speaking softly, he warned, ‘M’liege has the ear of friends of m’lady’s uncle, Guiscard D’Abernon. They have twisted the truth, m’lord.’

‘Thank you for the warning. I’ve already met with Lord Gratzeim, his Excellency’s advisor has advised me to seek a private audience with my liege.’

‘I’ll pass your request to him. In the meantime, let me show you to your seats and you can sup. The game is good this time of year, and m’lord’s cook is second to none. Your men, m’lord, I saw only five? Are some following? Will they need quartering?’

‘We were attacked en route, three of my men died after we arrived. Your physics couldn’t help them, but we thank his Excellency for allowing their service.’

‘I’ll tell m’liege. He’ll want to know the identity of your attackers.’

They were led to their seats among the lesser nobles. Beaumont was already sitting on the dais with King Arne. The squire left them and went to whisper something in Lord Beaumont’s ear. He nodded but frowned throughout the meal. 

A feeling of impending doom made Fitzsimmons’ stomach clench and his throat dry with trepidation. The pottage, partridge pie, and sweetmeats were prepared well, but the food sat heavily in his gut. The wine was sweet and strong, but he drank little, scared it would loosen his tongue and make him say something his enemies could twist to their advantage.

Leonné sensed his unease, ate quickly, and said little to her neighbors who studied this new damsel with interest and would have interrogated her about her family and life if she had been more outgoing. She wore a riding habit and cloak she’d made for the journey. She was not ashamed of her garb, although the ladies at the court far outshone her in jewelry and silken garments.

Observing her nervousness, Fitzsimmons turned his head and spoke to her ear, ‘Your beauty outshines theirs any day.’ He was pleased she was nervous. Her unruly tongue would not lead her into trouble.

‘My Lady is tired,’ announced Fitzsimmons, wishing to rescue her from the inquiring and nosy courtiers. ‘We had a difficult journey and need to rest.’ He bowed, and she made her curtsy, and they walked to her bed chamber.

‘You handled them well, with just the right degree of pleasantry and diffidence.’

‘My maid was rather inquisitive, but I allowed her to talk about herself and gave nothing away.’

‘I will call for you at eight the morn. I must try to speak privately with my liege tonight before forked tongues turn him away from us. If his stare is anything to go by, then I fear he already believes their lies.’

‘Surely not? He knew you from when you were young and trusted you enough to make you his favorite knight.’

 ‘Even favored knights can turn against their liege for a fat purse. Why should I be different?’ His face mirrored the cynicism in his voice. He bowed and left her anxiously mulling over his words.

Life had been simple when she lived alone on the mountain with her hound as her only companion. Back then, she hadn’t feared being recaptured by that monster, her cousin, or saying the wrong thing, which could get her burnt at the stake or hung by the neck.

Fitzsimmons returned to his seat, but the matron beside him said archly, ‘Your lady appears to tire easily. Such fragile beauty needs tending carefully.’

‘The Lady Leonné may be beautiful but she is also strong. We were attacked on the way here. And she is not my lady. I guard her under the instruction of Lord Beaumont, my liege.’

Thin eyebrows arched and rose. The quirk in her smile displayed the fact that she didn’t believe him. He ignored her reaction. He hadn’t shown Leonné any preference at the table and had talked equally with the other guests. This woman was a mischief maker. He would warn Leonné to beware of her. Thankfully, some of the younger women seemed to have given her understanding glances.

Beaumont’s squire approached. ‘My liege will speak with you before he retires. His Excellency will grant you an audience tomorrow.’

So, he wishes to get my story straight before the king speaks with me. He must fear I will embarrass him.

He drank little, and after Beaumont had supped and drunk his fill, he followed him to his chamber. 

Fitzsimmons bowed. ‘I trust your wound has healed and pains you little.’

‘I ache, but I didn’t summon you here to complain about my ills. The king is angry. He was told you abducted a woman from the arms of her spouse. What say you, Fitzsimmons, to this accusation?’

‘Her uncle forced her to marry his son. I rescued her.’

‘She is under the age of consent. D’Abernon can choose her husband for her, and she made her vows willingly. Witnesses to the ceremony stated this under oath.’

‘They were joined by a corrupt priest.’

‘Onlookers also. Lords from this palace attended the ceremony.’

‘She spoke the words but lacked the will to make the vows. Her will was not her own.’ Fitzsimmons’ emphasis was impossible to miss.

‘What mean you, man? Was she drugged?’

‘We believe so.’ Fitzsimmons was perplexed. He didn’t know what to tell his liege. How much of the truth would he believe?  He placed his hands behind his back and tried to appear submissive. ‘He meant evil intent by this marriage between Lady Leonné and Lord Roland. Rumor says Lord Guiscard D’Abernon and his wife Orella dabble in black magic and control dark forces.’

Beaumont’s forehead creased as he frowned. ‘Who makes this accusation? You must be careful who you accuse of sorcery.’ He hissed a warning, ‘You’ll send people to the stake if the case is proved.’

‘I make it. Leonné was drugged and kidnapped from your home. Orella put a spell on her. Worse, my liege… Orella and her son Roland are immortals. Whires!’

Beaumont paled and sank down onto the chair. 

‘You’ve heard of these creatures, my Liege?’

‘Yes, but I’ve never seen one.’

‘If you visited Castle Gratlon you’d see the air is foul, and the inhabitants suffer maladies and deformities. D’Abernon wishes to become immortal. His family wants more power and riches, and they’ve indicated that Lady Leonné has skills that can enhance Roland’s power if he marries and controls her.

‘Her uncle is in league with her brother, St. Nadre, who also uses black magic. He sent his sister Arlette St. Nadre to infiltrate our domain, and she tried to seduce and kill me and aided Leonné’s abduction. Speak to Heroux. He will swear on the Holy Book that creatures called Drackarts are controlled by D’Abernon, and, with Orella, he kidnapped her.’ Fitzsimmons paused to allow Beaumont a moment to digest the news before carrying on.

‘I tried to rescue her, but they captured my men and me. Roland tortured us, but me especially.’ He showed Beaumont his scars, clearly not gained in battle. ‘Leonné helped me escape, and I brought her back here. But we must have a traitor in Castle Aronte—for my party was attacked on the way here.’

‘I saw those creatures with mine own eyes,’ admitted Beaumont. Belief in his knight’s tale caused him unwanted problems. He got up and paced his chamber; the cogs of his brain turning. How could they persuade the king? He would laugh them out of court if they told this story to the cynical and fearless monarch. 

‘We will not talk of sorcery. We will say the maiden was drugged and had no control of her will. By the way… what powers has Lady Leonné?’

‘She can stare into a man’s eyes, insert thoughts into his head, and make him obey her orders. She can also move objects.’

‘And yourself, Fitz? What powers have you?’

Fitzsimmons’ blood chilled.  Beaumont must not see me as a threat, or he’ll put me to death.

‘Recently, my senses have become more acute, and when angry, I sometimes become stronger and more muscular.’

‘We’ll try to keep your capabilities secret from the king. Sleep now, you must be exhausted. But when Arne grants us an audience, make sure you follow my lead.’

Chapter Two

FITZSIMMONS STIFFENED, IMPASSIVELY STARING at the doorway, only his darkening eyes reacting to the entrants coming into the hall. An elderly nobleman guided a tall brunette robed in emerald and gold-embroidered silk. Slender, she glided, her head held high, willow like, so delicate she appeared she might break if held too tight. Fitzsimmons knew better. His face paled, his heart pounded as if it would leap into his now-dry throat. 

Don’t acknowledge me, he prayed, but his prayers went unanswered as the woman smiled at him, an assured pout, making promises he didn’t want. He’d dreaded this meeting but could not leave the table for fear of offending Beaumont and the king.

Leonné followed his stare. ‘Who is that elegant lady?’ The woman was the epitome of grace. How Leonné envied her assurance.

He tore his eyes from the conniving temptress. ‘Oh, her,’ he shrugged. ‘She is a fashionable and courtly woman married to the rather elderly, dull, Count Hamrick. Countess Mathilde is of no account. It is the king and his courtesan, Lady Maude, you need to impress. Be humble and modest.’

Leonné’s eyes sparked; her brows furrowed. Why must he constantly remind me about my manners?  She had thought he would stop criticizing her now he had declared his love for her. She swallowed a sharp retort and waited for the couple to reach the king’s table.

King Arne kissed the lady’s hand as she curtsied. Her lashes fluttered flirtatiously at him. The king’s mistress, a beauty herself, glared at Mathilde, giving her a cursory nod.

Leonné watched with interest. Did the courtesan perceive the countess to be a threat? Would the usurper take her place in the king’s bed? Leonné noted the fine lines on the courtesan’s face; she was no longer a young damsel and was starting to lose her youthful looks. Mathilde seemed not to care. His Excellency waved these new guests to the end of his bench, their seating position announcing their importance.

Leonné enjoyed the wide choice of delicacies on the table, but she noted that in his dark mood, Fitzsimmons hardly touched his food and accepted only a little watered mead to drink.

Bedtime couldn’t come fast enough for him. All day he and Beaumont had awaited a summons that hadn’t come. When the king rose to retire, he smiled, relieved. They could go to their bedchambers and relax at last. 

Then, in the corner of his eye, he noticed Mathilde moving toward them.

‘Good gods, what does she want?’ He steeled himself as she reached him. As she curtsied, he bowed and kissed her hand.

Limpid blue eyes dropped modestly as she turned to Leonné who stood up and curtsied to the grand lady.

‘How fare you, Countess?’ he asked in a clipped tone, loosening his hand from her overly tight grip to draw her attention back to him.

‘So formal when we know each other so well! I fare well, but you forget your manners, Fitz. Pray, introduce me to this lovely damsel.’ Her eyes turned steel blue, assessing Leonné, surveying her from her headdress to her slippers, her pinched features announcing how much she found Leonné wanting.

Leonné had changed into her best dress, but it couldn’t compete with the woman’s green and gold silk robe. She wished herself back to Beaumont’s castle. She gritted her teeth and tried to stop scowling. She needed to fit in and impress King Arne and his court. Her marriage being annulled depended on it. Though fitting in when she detested everything about the royal court would indeed test her limits!

‘This is Lady Leonné, daughter of Gerold D’Abernon. Lady Leonné, this is Countess Mathilde and her husband, Count Hamrick.’

Leonné curtsied again.

‘Countess, Lady Leonné and I are tired. Our journey was long and dangerous.’ He took Leonné’s hand and placed it on his arm. ‘We bid you goodnight, Count… Countess.’

Mathilde scowled, disliking the apparent snub. She patted Leonné’s hand. ‘I hope to become a close friend of yours, Lady Leonné. If you need advice, please come to me. It’s so easy to make mistakes at court.’ Though she smiled, her slitted eyes gave away her disdain.

Leonné curtsied again. ‘Thank you, my Lady. I will.’ 

Fitzsimmons led her out of the hall. ‘Avoid her—she is trouble.’

‘She made me feel uncomfortable despite her protestations of friendship.’

‘She has men friends, but few amongst the ladies. Say little to any of them, barring comments about fashion and other fripperies.’

They reached her chamber. ‘I must talk to the king as soon as possible and request his help. Stay in your chamber after we break our fast. I’ll collect you and introduce you to some matrons whom I trust. You can’t spend another day cooped up in your room.’

‘You are familiar with this palace and the folk who live here?’

‘I accompanied my liege years ago when I gained my knighthood. He introduced me to the king as we would follow his Excellency into battle.’ He grimaced. ‘He also wanted me to gain polish by mixing with courtiers as I occasionally had to represent him.’

That strategy had worked. He talked and behaved like a gentleman when it suited him.

Leonné sensed his unease. ‘Do you not like it here?’

‘I hate it. The place is comfortable, but few of the inhabitants can be trusted. They will stab you in the back for a purse.’ He didn’t elaborate, but she guessed he had suffered at the hands of untrustworthy courtiers. That may explain his lack of trust in his fellow men and why he’d spent all of yesterday in the barracks with his soldiers.

FITZSIMMONS SPOKE with Heroux in his bedchamber. He was the only man he could trust, his only true friend.

‘What irks you, my friend,’ asked Heroux, pushing a glass of wine towards him.

‘Uh, nothing. Just memories… Base-born. Bastard. Unworthy.’ The taunts of his brutal guardian and the village children remained in his memory and haunted him always. He was no nearer to knowing the truth about his family than when he was a youth, when his stepmother Judith told him he was not her son.

‘Your family?’ asked Heroux. Fitz was too reserved. ‘Get it off your chest, man. It’s eating you alive.’

‘I know, damn it. It’s just what my stepmother said and wrote.’ He sighed. ‘Was Judith telling the truth? Am I legitimate? Then why was she turned out with me as a baby after my father’s death if I had a legitimate right to my father’s title? Who was my real father?’ He took the wine but paced like a panther around the chamber.

This conundrum was eating at his soul. He had to know. It was a weakness, and if he couldn’t find out, it would be the death of him.

‘After what happened to Leonné’s father, you should understand justice does not come easy in Gritheim,’ said Heroux. ‘The strong ride roughshod over the weak and vulnerable. Judith was a peasant girl who grew rich by marriage. She had no friends to support her. I’m surprised they didn’t kill both of you.’

Heroux knocked back the last of his wine. ‘You have the locket and the miniature and the names Bettencourt and Anquetil. They must be connected to you somehow. You could also trace where Judith came from. She couldn’t have walked far carrying you and her belongings. It’s time to ask around the neighboring villages. Your father’s house must be relatively close to there.’

‘Unless a carter gave her a lift.’

‘Even then, she couldn’t have traveled far. Send someone to ask the maids at the inn, and didn’t you mention a wise woman who tended to Judith when she was ill? Those women know all manner of secrets, you should seek her out. Someone may remember her coming.’

‘You’re right. I must do something. Settle my mind once and for all. I’ll send a bird with a message to my contact at Castle Aronte tomorrow.’ He sighed. ‘And now this business with Leonné has complicated matters. I must protect her and beseech the king to annul her marriage.’

‘That is our immediate task, but you will need allies to persuade the king.’

‘I know. I need to be more powerful and rich enough on my own to gain the confidence of his Excellency. I do need more allies, but D’Abernon is tighter than a flea on a dog with the king. Coming between them will be nigh on impossible.’

‘Beaumont will help you. He can introduce you to other influential nobles. Stay strong, my friend.’

‘To top it all, Mathilde is back and meddling!’

Heroux scowled. ‘That harlot! She’ll be trouble. She’s more courtesan than countess.’

‘She arrived with Hamrick today. By all accounts, she lost the babe. I’d not be surprised if she took some potion to rid herself of it. She’d hate to lose that willowy figure, and the old man is sick. He has only a lovely daughter as his heiress. She could wed her to the highest bidder if he died and keep his lands and jewels for herself.’

‘The king might marry her off against her wishes.’

‘Unlikely. She has him under her thumb. I believe she warmed his bed more than once and is trying to kick out his mistress even as we speak. Rumor indicates the babe was his. She has a taste for young men.’

‘If Mathilde wants you, she may try to destroy Leonné’s reputation with the king if that means he will send Leonné back to her husband and make room for her in your bed.’

‘I made it clear that she knows I want none of her.’

‘It won’t stop her trying. Guard your back. I’ve heard many a tale about her. Her smile is sweet but her curse is sharp, she could hurt Leonné.’

‘I’ve warned Leonné to stay away from her, but the woman is a snake and I can sense she’s already conspiring against Leonné.’ I must keep a close eye on Leonné. Mathilde was trying to anger her and she nearly took the bait. I must ensure she controls that temper of hers.

Chapter Three

HIS BIRD RETURNED a sennight later. Fitzsimmons eagerly tore open the packet attached to the bird’s leg. His source had worked hard.

The note stated:

An old maid who worked for your guardian claims Judith told her she had walked for five days. No carts, driving rain, and minimal food. She arrived with a bad chill, having slept rough with you. She had ‘small coin’ on her person but chose not to buy accommodation even in that terrible weather. Was she hiding and protecting you? 

I’ve found only three grand houses within five days’ walking distance. I’ve attached their names. Only one family fits our description of a man losing a wife, marrying again, and dying shortly after. The name is Sancerre but the estate was owned earlier by a family called Fitzhalen. A cloak of secrecy surrounds the house. There were no rumors or gossip in the village. I’ll visit the area and make more inquiries.

Till then,

Fare you well at court, my lord,

Your ever-faithful servant, Jean Grunhelm.

Fitzsimmons passed the note to Heroux. ‘At last—something to investigate! In the meantime, I will make my own inquiries at court.’

‘Be careful. You may stir up a hornet’s nest. Find a neutral person to ask around for you.’

FITZSIMMONS WAS USHERED into the king’s room. Rod-stiff, anxiety radiated off him. Arne had made them wait, and seven days of idling in the palace had worn his nerves thin. This audience could make or break his plans. He and Beaumont had made up a plausible story, omitting the dark forces and magic. But what had his enemies told his Excellency?

‘Come hither, Fitzsimmons,’ commanded Arne. ‘I know you to be a fine judge of horseflesh. What do you think of him?’ He pointed at a stallion rearing in the courtyard.

Fitzsimmons peered out of the window. ‘He is strong, and has spirit. Where did you find him?’

‘I took him after a battle with the Mentanites. They are renowned for their horse breeding. But he’s fierce and won’t allow anyone to ride him. I’m determined to master him but my livery staff has failed thus far to tame him.’

‘Would you like me to try for you, Sire?’ Fitzsimmons had a way with animals; since his senses had developed, he understood some of them when they spoke to him. 

‘If you can tame him, it will work in your favor, financially and in other ways,’ the king winked. Taller than most men, Arne still didn’t reach the knight’s height. He stretched slightly to place a hand on Fitzsimmons’ shoulder. ‘Now, lad, tell me what this conundrum with the girl is all about. Lady Leonné is her name, I think? I have been told you abducted her from her husband?’

‘It was no abduction, Sire. She was willing.’ He went on to explain everything as agreed with Lord Beaumont. ‘I thought it was fortuitous when my liege commanded me to visit you, so I could explain the circumstances to you in person.’ 

‘A wedding would benefit her family with the amount of land and wealth she brings. I see no reason for annulling it. Many damsels marry their cousins.’

‘She detests him and fears he will treat her harshly. He is brutal, Sire. He did this when I tried to rescue her. He hung me where birds would torture me and eat my eyes and flesh.’

The king surveyed the knight’s chest and face where a few scars from the claws remained. ‘And your back?’ Fitzsimmons removed his shirt, and the king saw the livid wheals.

‘He knew who I was, but he still wanted me dead. There was no ransom demand.’

‘So, he views you as competition for the wench’s hand.’

‘I’m afraid so, but she is still a virgin and threatens to go to a convent rather than live with her cousin. I think she dislikes the thought of being married to any man.’

‘Do you wish this girl to be your bride? She is comely and has some wealth to bring to the marriage bed.’

‘I don’t wish to marry an unwilling bride. I think she would prefer a religious life, Sire. She is also exceedingly independent,’ he admitted ruefully, ‘and is used to managing her affairs. She lived on her own for years after her mother died. She can hunt and is a fine archer. She would breed horses on her farm if allowed, but her uncle won’t permit it. The convent is her only solution.’ 

Leonné’s position was not unusual. Most single women were unable to gain control of their finances until they were twenty-five, and often, the income was managed for them by trustees.

King Arne waved at the door. ‘Bring her in.’

Leonné came in and curtsied demurely. Arne held her chin, making her gaze at him. Fitzsimmons’ stomach churned. Would the king take her to be his next mistress if she caught his roving eye?

‘Pretty… shame the hips are too slim for childbearing.’ He allowed her to step back.

‘Fitzsimmons says you lived on your own. How did you survive?’

‘My mother taught me to forage, grow crops, and fish, and I taught myself to shoot a bow and arrow. I hunted animals for meat. I lived in our mountain hut until the snows were too heavy, and then I worked in an inn for my mother’s friend. He left me some money, and I bought a small farm and employed a manager.’

‘Why did you leave?’

‘I visited my former nursemaid, and she said my father had been betrayed by his brother who stole his inheritance. He told your father, not long before his highness died, all sorts of lies about my father. He said he was a bigamist and I was illegitimate. My uncle wanted me to marry his son to make his claim to my father’s land legitimate.’

‘You have proof of this.’

‘My nurse left me documents and said more were in my advocate’s office.’

‘Bring them to me, and we will discuss your situation again.’

Fitzsimmons cleared his throat, ‘I believe D’Abernon may be interested in gaining more than prestige and wealth. He has made friends outside the country with those who desire power, and I think they threaten your throne.’ He mentioned the names of several rulers and high officials in neighboring lands.

Arne frowned. Fitzsimmons had hit a nerve. ‘I’ve heard rumors, but they didn’t include D’Abernon.’

‘I also think St. Nadre works against your rule. He planted his sister, Arlette in Beaumont’s castle to stir up dissension. Guiscard D’Abernon is like a spider, his web growing and trapping all in his way. Leonné is astute for a young woman and assessed his character rapidly.’

King Arne knocked his fist on the table. ‘Apart from what you’ve told me about his treasonable intent, I have no grounds for annulling the wedding. Bring me proof of his treachery, and I may change my mind.’ He dismissed Leonné with a flick of his hand. She curtsied and left.

‘The maiden is beautiful. I might take her for myself.’

Fitzsimmons fought to keep from scowling—he needed the king on his side. Despite his efforts to stay in control, his pulse raced, and his skin started to alter, pricking as if something was trying to break out.

Do I have a plague, or even worse, am I cursed? Pray, my gods, allow me to master this wayward body of mine. 

Of late, his tempers were becoming uncontrollable, his stiff discipline deserting him. The gods answered his prayers this time and he did not rise to the king’s bait. 

He shrugged and with a straight face—lied. ‘She is likable but too forward for my taste. I prefer my ladies to be more submissive—except in bed.’

The king slapped him on his shoulder and roared. ‘So, you don’t want her for yourself. Your integrity has been called into question by her uncle, but you passed my test.’

Whoreson! He didn’t know who he hated most, his Excellency or D’Abernon. They made a perfect pair, immoral and manipulative, but he must swallow his dislike and pacify him. They were no different from most men of their noble rank but he detested them discussing Leonné as if she were a piece of meat on the butcher’s block.

‘I’ll do what you wish, my Liege,’ he said, bending his knee. For now.

‘Find me proof, and I will judge the case.’ He changed the subject. ‘And no fancying and chasing older married women this time. We don’t want another scandal.’ 

Fitzsimmons bit back a sharp retort and said instead, ‘I’m older and wiser now, my liege. The lady holds no attraction for me. I prefer younger maids, but I’m not ready to wed.’ He wore the scars to prove it. 

 The king dismissed him, and he caught up with Leonné.

‘I’m going to inspect the king’s horse. I’ll find you later.’ He squeezed her hand and let her go.

On the way to the stables, he wondered how he could do more to persuade Arne to help her.

Chapter Four

TWO DAYS LATER, LEONNÉ LIFTED HER CASKET. It seemed light. In alarm, she pulled open the lid. All her documents were gone. She ran and hammered repeatedly on Fitzsimmons’ door. He came to the door half-dressed, his face covered in shaving soap.

‘What the devil is the rush for?’

‘My box has been emptied.’

‘Wait here a moment.’ He half closed the door, reappearing shortly, fully dressed and wiping his face with a cloth.

‘Who had the key?’

‘Only Mistress Rhone and I knew where the key was hidden. It was there where I put it.’

‘Was the box tampered with?’

‘There are no signs of that. Orella must have worked her magic on it.’

‘Or someone knew about the key and used it to steal the documents. We will say there are other papers and set a trap for the villain.’

THAT AFTERNOON the king summoned them to his dais again.

‘Lady Leonné, you accused your uncle of betraying our royal majesty and your father and now claim the documents proving this have gone missing, perhaps stolen. You also state that you were drugged and did not exercise free will at your wedding, but you can’t verify this accusation. You Fitzsimmons, argue D’Abernon is a traitor yet you have provided no evidence. I can either dismiss your claims, or you, Fitzsimmons, must challenge Lord Roland to prove the truth of her assertion.’ The king made a cradle with his fingers. ‘Umm, yes I’ve decided, in a week, you will conduct a duel by jousting. Whoever wins has the right to determine this young woman’s future.’

‘Sire, that gives me no say in the matter!’ exclaimed Leonné.

‘Your views are of no importance,’ he said dismissively. ‘Only proof is material to this case. It shall be as I say.’ He waved them away.

Fitzsimmons threw her a concerned look as they hastened down the corridors. ‘Don’t worry. I can win any duel with your uncle or cousin.’

‘Knowing my uncle, he’s likely to put someone else in his place.’

‘I can beat whoever they set against me.’

Leonné couldn’t help smiling at his arrogance—some things never change. ‘I fear they may use magic to make your opponent more powerful.’

‘You’ll have to use your powers to help me then.’ He had considered asking her to stare into the king’s eyes and tell him to change his mind about the marriage, but it was too big a risk. She could not fully control her powers yet. If she failed, the king would denounce her as a witch and execute her.

Chapter Five

THE GRAND MARSHAL dropped the flag. Two teams of armed men started the tournament, fighting in armed combat to the roar of the crowd. It was a year since the last great tournament, and this was to be an exciting distraction from the boring day-to-day drudgery of life in the palace. 

When the melee finished, they waited expectantly. Two huge knights sat on their mounts, lances in their hands. Fitzsimmons’ horse was excited, scuffing the ground, sensing his master’s impatience. 

‘Just start this, will you!’ snarled Fitzsimmons under his breath. Anxiety filled him, an unusual sensation for him. Who was this anonymous lancer? The man refused to take his helmet off or name himself. He sniffed treachery in the air but the king did not care, so long as the man wore the D’Abernon emblem. 

‘Who do I fight, Sir?’

‘Get ready to meet your maker, Fitzsimmons. I Helgut will be your nemesis.’

‘It will be your turn first,’ retorted Fitzsimmons. This man was unknown to him but he’d do his damnedest to best him.

‘They’ll be scraping you off the ground when I finish with you. Then what will your whore do? If Lord Roland doesn’t want her, perhaps she’ll lift her skirts for me.’

‘You’ll be kissing the earth before me,’ answered Fitzsimmons, restraining himself from battering the man for his vulgarity. He needed to manage the hot sensations running through him. His body was rippling with energy trying to change. He must control himself.

Earlier, Leonné had grasped his hand and warned him, ‘I sense danger. My uncle is planning something. Orella has come and is watching your opponent like a hawk.’

‘I will be careful. Now hush, I must be alone to prepare myself.’ 

She had left him to go and sit in her box, her worried stare fixated on Orella, hoping she could intervene if the sorceress used magic to give D’Abernon’s jouster an unfair advantage. That neither Guiscard nor Roland attended showed their confidence in Orella’s choice of opponent.

Lady Maude waved a piece of silk and the opponents were off. They rode building up speed until their lances clashed. A crack of splintering wood, and then the men pulled apart and pushed forward to the terrace to start again. This happened once more. They were evenly matched, seasoned warriors, blood up and desperate to win. Fitzsimmons noted his opponent’s lance was tipped with steel, not the usual competition lances (like his) made merely of wood. It was a battle lance designed to kill.

Orella rose. She appeared to wave to her jouster, but Leonné recognized the signs the sorceress made with her hands as signals accompanied by chants. Suddenly, it felt as if time stood still. The crowds froze. Only the riders carried on, but Helgut was changing! Orella’s man developed prongs and claws for fingers, his armor splitting. His eyes turned into black-lidded slits. Grey, leathery skin showed where he pushed his helm back. His arms and legs expanded in width but shortened. His scaly back was curled up over the horse, and horns thrust out from his head. Helgut blew fire and smoke from his misshapen mouth. He spurred his steed toward Fitzsimmons, who stayed still as if he were a statue.

‘Gods help us,’ exclaimed Leonné jumping up. She could not let the monster kill Fitzsimmons. She threw her hands high above her head. ‘Eilsir and Arllan, I pray you aid your faithful servant trying to claim justice for me.’

A crack split the sky and thunder and lightning flooded the heavens with deafening claps and brilliant flashes. Rods of rain pelted Helgut, drowning his smoke as he closed in on Fitzsimmons. As the fiend approached him, Fitz moved as if suddenly woken up. He shivered and saw the monster almost upon him. Cheating in battle angered him. Hot blood rushed through his veins. His muscles tingled as they developed and hardened. They burst through his skin. He tripled in size, but there was no blood or torn tissue. As he grew, a thick layer of hair covered his body up to his neck. Thick, muscled arms and legs developed long-pawed claws like fingers and unlike other cats he grew thumbs. Fur disguised his face and fine whiskers sprang from his cheeks. His armor had burst and broken into pieces, and his torn clothes were on the ground.

He yelled. ‘Eilsir and Arllan do not forsake me now. I act in the king’s and Gritheim’s interests for a peaceful kingdom.’ As if in answer, a streak of lightning pierced Helgut’s weapon, making him drop it. He stopped abruptly, nearly toppling off his rearing horse. Cursing, he steadied the animal, turned it around, picked up his weapon, and rode fast again toward his opponent.

Fitzsimmons roared like a lion and rushed forward on all four limbs. 

Leonné was amazed. No one in the crowd seemed to comprehend the differences in the men. They did not move or clap as Orella’s spell held them in its grip. They would not know how the duel was conducted, only the winner when Orella removed her enchantment.

She won’t win without a battle, thought Leonné, summoning up all the powers contained in her slim frame. She had to aid Fitz. She was shocked to the core by his physical change. Would he change back to a human after this contest, or had she fallen in love with a giant cat?

Helgut (in his monstrous form) was more muscular and heavier than him, but Fitzsimmons was lighter and faster than Helgut’s steed. Again, they crashed together; Fitz’s body powering into the horse’s side. Helgut swung his huge arm and knocked Fitz causing him to lose his balance. He tumbled on the ground and curled into a ball, rolling until his body stopped. He forced himself up, but Helgut rode toward him again with his lance aimed at his face. Fitzsimmons managed to knock the lance with almighty strength and twisted it, causing Helgut to topple to the ground beside him. Both of them crawled and staggered to their feet, clumsily grasping their weapons.

Leonné watched Orella blow a kiss through her fingers to her man. Yellow dust showered him, and he rose as if he had all the energy in the world. Fitzsimmons was still unsteady.

Two can play at that game, thought Leonné. She was inexperienced but could move things. She yelled incantations and pointed to Helgut’s hand. As he walked toward Fitzsimmons, he twisted, and the end of his flail coiled around his leg, dragging him to the ground. Orella pointed at Fitzsimmons’ sword, which flew out of his hand. Helgut jumped up, rushed forward, and pierced him through the shoulder. Fitzsimmons yelped and staggered back; his hand pressed to his chest as he tried to staunch the blood. 

‘You fool,’ hissed Helgut with a contemptuous snarl, ‘you’ll never beat me. Lady Orella has decided on the end of this match. You’re a dead man!’

Fitzsimmons’ straightened and standing human-like, he waited for Helgut to raise his weapon and then swung his flail between the man’s legs. 

‘Agh,’ screamed the vile creature that was Helgut, falling to his knees. Fitzsimmons took advantage of his incapacity and flipped him over, taking his dagger and holding it with two claws and his thumb under the beast-man’s chin.

Fitzsimmons never took his eyes off the monstrosity beneath him, but his words were directed to the stands. ‘Give in. Admit Lady Leonné is telling the truth, or he’ll die.’

‘Never,’ yelled Orella, jumping to her feet.

Sabine, Fitzsimmons’ familiar who had been pacing beside Leonné, growled. The colossal-sized, black feline fixed her fire-red eyes on Leonné pleading to be let loose.

‘Damn you, Orella!’ Leonné pointed at Orella. ‘Stop her!’ The cat dived over the balcony into the sorceress’s box and swiped her across the face, knocking her unconscious.

‘Come back, Sabine.’ The mysterious feline leapt over the barrier and slumped beside her, disappointed not to be allowed to go to her master’s side or to finish the witch off.

‘We’ll deal with her permanently, one day. My father’s innocence must be proven first.’

Satisfied, she purred and sat upright, waiting to see how her master fared in his battle.

Fitzsimmons pricked Helgut’s skin. Blood trickled down his chin. 

Defeat reflected in his eyes. ‘Very well, you win. Lady Leonné tells the truth.’

Fitzsimmons dragged him up. ‘Repeat it so all listening may witness you swear on your master’s oath.’

Helgut looked around at the observers, but his heart sank. The crowd was like a frieze, frozen in time. No one moved except Leonné and a black cat. Orella seemed to have disappeared.

As if her man’s words injected her with venom, Orella recovered and rose to her feet. She laughed, swiped at the blood flowing down her cheek, and then flicked her fingers toward them. Fitzsimmons dagger shot out of his hand, and Helgut took the moment to kick him in the stomach. Fitz landed on the floor and suffered the agony of a kick in his kidneys. Doubled up, he could not fend off the brutish dragon claws pressing round his neck. He would die.

Leonné took up her bow. One arrow pinned Orella’s skirts to her seat. The other hit Helgut in the back, not enough to kill him, but it disabled him momentarily. The arrow vanished. He fell but lurched forward, his huge feet thundering across the dusty ground. Fitzsimmons pulled himself up, grabbed his mace, and swung it at Helgut’s head, catching him in his eyes and blinding him. He finished Helgut off with a slice across the throat with his vicious claws.

‘I’m your nemesis,’ he said, holding the man up. ‘I win for Lady Leonné.’ Helgut’s devilish body changed back to a human corpse. Fitzsimmons’ anger dissipated with the kill, and he transformed back into a man.

Leonné turned to the tournament’s master. Cold green eyes sent spears of light to the man’s face. ‘State that there was a fair fight and Fitzsimmons won.’ She rubbed her amulet and cried, ‘Fair gods, pray you make these people forget the inhuman forms the jousters took. Let them remember only the last minute.’

The crowd was waking and rubbing their eyes. Some claimed their drinks were tainted and made them sleepy. They could not remember much of the fight. 

The Marshal proclaimed, ‘Fitzsimmons is the winner. Lady Leonné tells the truth.’ The crowd roared.

A page ran to give Fitzsimmons a cloak to cover his nakedness. Fitzsimmons bowed to King Arne, who stood up applauding.

‘Lady Leonné. The marriage will be annulled. Lord Fitzsimmons now controls your future.’

Leonné curtsied, ‘Thank you, your Excellency. I will obey his instructions.’ She still had to prove her father’s innocence, no mean task as all her papers had vanished.

Preoccupied with the king’s announcement she didn’t notice Orella fleeing from the stalls with curses trailing in her wake.

Chapter Six

WANTING TO FIND out who had stolen the documents, Leonné set a trap. Whoever searched her casket again would see his or her fingers colored the following day with a substance that was difficult to remove. 

While doing needlework in the solar later that day, she put her plan into action. In a not so quiet voice she announced, ‘Some of my papers have disappeared. I’ve looked for them but can’t find them.’ Leonné watched the ladies in the room closely to gauge their reactions. ‘Luckily, I have been sent some new documents this morning that will help prove my case against my uncle.’

A young lady sitting near her smiled. ‘That is most fortuitous for you.’   

Mistress Rhone leaned towards Leonné, putting a finger to her lips. ‘Shush! You don’t know who may be listening beyond these walls. Keep them safe, and keep the news to yourself.’

‘They are safe, locked up in my favor casket.’ She carried on with her embroidery, but other women had lifted their heads when she spoke. Her future was of significant interest to them.

IN THE DARKEST hour, Leonné’s slumber was disturbed. Twirls of light shapes danced around her, enveloping her until she choked awake. A rustle! Someone slipped past her bed to her armoire, where her box was situated. She tried to sit up but heaviness pressed her mind back to sleep.

The next morning, she woke up with eyes glued together and a strong headache. Sick to her stomach, she retched into her pan and looked for Mistress Rhone. An early riser, the woman had left already. Leonné grabbed the glass she had brought back from the hall last evening and touched a little of the remaining liquid to her lips. She grimaced. It tasted queer. Was it drugged?

She dressed, rang the bell for the maid, and asked for Fitzsimmons’ squire to be summoned. He took the glass to his lord.

Fitzsimmons rushed to her room. ‘Your drink was indeed drugged. Did you hear or see anything last night?’

‘I think someone or something passed through my room to the box. I had bad dreams again, probably spurred on by the potion I drank.’

He opened the box. ‘The contents have been disturbed. Your visitor was real. We shall look for the culprit at supper.’

His squire brought her another draught, which, when drunk, cleared her head.

‘I wish I could share your chamber,’ Fitzsimmons said tenderly, stroking her cheek. ‘You may be in danger.’

‘Hopefully we will discover tonight what our enemies’ plans are, if we can find the intruder.’

‘True. I shall walk with you to the solarium.’ He left her at the door to the room, watching the ladies simper at him and chat. ‘I’ll meet with you at supper.’

By the time the light began to fade, they were disappointed. Nobody with bright blue hands had come into sight.

Then his page approached. ‘Mistress Rhone sent a message saying she is ill and will not sup tonight. She fell down some steps and bruised herself badly.’ 

Leonné’s maid was requested to attend Mistress Rhone. ‘M’lady asks whether you need any simples to help with your bruising.’

‘No, thank her for the kind thought. I’m sore and will attend the Great Hall in the morning.’

When she came down the following evening, her arm was in a sling and her hands bandaged.

‘Don’t fuss, my dears. I slipped on the bottom step and landed clumsily on my arms. I’ve been to the physic who bandaged my hands.’ Her face was bruised and scratched.

‘You must let me aid you. I have a witch hazel balm that can bring the bruising out,’ Leonné offered, her eyes full of concern.

Her mentor declined. Fitzsimmons helped her to the bench. He scrutinized Mistress Rhone’s movements as she slowly and painfully lifted her arm. Leonné cut her meat on the trencher, but the older woman only chewed a morsel and gave up. 

With a dipped chin Mistress Rhone asked, ‘May I retire, m’lord?’

Fitzsimmons’ page came behind him and whispered something to him. His face darkened, and his eyes narrowed. 

‘Allow me to escort you.’

‘No need, m’lord.’

‘I insist.’ He took hold of her elbow and escorted her to her room.

Leonné hesitated beside him. ‘Check Mistress Rhone’s bindings. Make sure they are not too tight. I’ll wait outside. Call me when you’re done.’

The woman protested, but Leonné gently led her to a chair and began removing the bandages. Livid blue and mauve bruises colored her right arm. ‘I’ll bathe them and put a balm on.’

‘No need. The bruises are coming out now, and the pain will go soon.’ She covered her body as if shielding herself from something.

Strange, thought Leonné, Something’s up. She went to uncover the woman’s hand. Mistress Rhone tried to snatch it away, but Leonné saw bright blue smudges and streaks covering her fingers.

‘Fitz, come in,’ called Leonné. He arrived in seconds. The older woman pulled back from Leonné and stood, arms tucked around her in an angry, defensive pose.

‘It is you who has betrayed me!’ accused Leonné. ‘You pretended to be my friend but encouraged me to make mistakes and take risks.’ She bit back tears. The woman was the only one who had befriended her. Now, there was no female here she could trust. ‘Why?’

‘Did you think I wished to be a soldier’s widow for life, living on a meager pension? Beaumont gave you clothes to make new robes, but I still wore old garments. I was a lady in waiting, but Beaumont’s mother died, and I am aging and overlooked.’

Leonné wanted to slap her, but she understood the bitter woman. She was still elegant, slim, and lovely, but her beauty was waning like a rose losing its first blush and its petals fading as time passed.

‘I didn’t want to betray you, but a voice in my head enticed me with immortal life, and I couldn’t resist. He gradually won me over. Look at Orella’s youthful appearance. I want to be like her.’

‘Who offered you this?’ barked Fitzsimmons.

‘He originally called himself Todzig but he changed his name and is now known by many simply as The Master. His inner circle, the people he trusts, call him by the name Dominai.’

Leonné was fuming. ‘Back at Castle Aronte, did you make the maid drug the dog?’

‘Yes.’

‘Explain your powers, woman,’ ordered Fitzsimmons. She scowled. ‘If you don’t, I’ll have the king trial you as a witch.’

Her eyes blanked with terror at the thought of the stake. Defiance deserted her. ‘I’ll tell all,’ she cried, tears running down her cheeks. ‘I just don’t want to become old and die.’

‘What powers do you have? How strong are they?’

‘Not as strong as Orella, but she is my second cousin. I can cast spells and make potions to alter folk’s minds.’

‘Are you a Whire?’

‘No, I haven’t gone through that test yet.’

Thank the gods, thought Fitzsimmons. ‘Have you been working for D’Abernon all this time?’

‘Yes.’

‘You were the one who informed the D’Abernons’ when we left Castle Aronte.’ He shook his head at Leonné. ‘That explains the attack on the track.’

I wonder how many nobles are on their side, he mused. The warrior in him surfaced, his clinical mind made up.  We have the king’s support, but what good is that against black magic? We need to attack instead of defending. Orella, D’Abernon, and Roland must be destroyed forever.

Chapter Seven

SUNKEN BROWN, COBALT-FLECKED EYES gleamed in a cadaverous, pockmarked, grey-lined face. Jorg Sancerre’s shirt hung loose on his pigeon chest and skinny arms. His hands were wrinkled and blue-veined, ending in thin, almost translucent claw-like nails. The man resembled a walking skeleton; even the fine linen and lace could not hide. When he stood up, Grunhelm noticed the man was below medium height. He wondered whether illness had stunted Sancerre’s growth and made him old before his age.

Grunhelm bowed deeply, but Sancerre didn’t offer his hand. Instead, he stood scrutinizing the trader as if wary of his reason for visiting.

At last, Sancerre broke the silence. ‘My steward, Thibrut, said you have quality goods. Show them to me.’ He pointed at the desk.

Grunhelm was surprised. Sancerre’s young-sounding voice belied his appearance, although intelligence shone in his eyes. Grunhelm obeyed, aware of the man’s scrutiny. What makes this man so suspicious of a common trader?

 The cloths, silks, and velvets glittered in the candlelight.  

‘Cherries, scarlets, and diaphanous blues, m’lord, brought to you from the far eastern provinces of Gazerre and Thoturt. I also have soft leathers for boots and ladies’ sandals in my cart back at the inn. Perhaps your lady may wish to try these cloths against her fine skin?’

A gray shadow passed over Sancerre’s pinched face. ‘I have no lady, and my mother is dead.’ He paused. ‘But the position may change in the future. I’ll take one of each color. Send the leathers to me tomorrow. I need boots, jackets, and linen for my shirts.’

‘There are no ladies desiring cloths to enhance their elegant appearance?’ Grunhelm persisted. I was sure I saw a woman watching me through a window when I arrived. From her dress, I assumed her to be his wife. Odd.

‘None… of any consequence.’  

He wrote his order, gave it to Grunhelm, and sat back in his chair. ‘Thibrut will deal with the payment.’ He nodded dismissively to the door; the audience was over. He rang a bell, and the page waiting outside led Grunhelm to Thibrut’s bureau.

Thibrut took the note, read it, and instantly demanded the prices. Bargaining took place, when finally satisfied Thibrut handed over the coins.  

‘When you bring the other merchandise tomorrow, I will pay you for them. Come at eleven o’ the clock. My lord may wish to inspect them, but he is a late riser.’

FITZSIMMONS GRABBED the pigeon’s leg and unfurled the note. He gasped when he read its contents.

‘Is it good news?’ asked Heroux. ‘You seem cock-a-hoop.’

‘It’s from Grunhelm, it is indeed exciting news! After trading at several houses and questioning every servant that would talk with him, he thinks my father’s name was Hugo Fitzhalen. My father and grandfather had a falling out over whom Hugo should marry after my mother died. Fitzhalen senior wanted Hugo to wed a wealthy merchant’s daughter but my father was already in love and chose my mother’s maid, Judith, instead. When Hugo refused to marry the merchant’s daughter he became the black sheep of the family, although they remained at the estate.’

‘That’s a lot to take in.’

‘I knew part of it, I just needed confirmation. But wait, there is more… when Judith found out that my grandfather planned to murder me and my father, she took the few coins she had and ran away. She told everyone she was heading for a convent, instead—to remain hidden—she worked at an inn. Judith then conspired to let Gilbert Sancerre (my uncle) believe I had died a month after she left and that she had died shortly after.’

‘What about the names Bettencourt and Anquetil, did he discover anything regarding them?’

‘Not Anquetil yet, however, he believes my mother’s family name is Bettencourt, which would explain why Judith had a heart-shaped pendant with the name on.’

‘Did your grandfather alter his will?’

‘No. He didn’t think he needed to as he thought I was dead. The will left the domain to the eldest child. There was no mention of the sex of the child as he wanted his daughter to inherit.’

‘So, you can go to court to demand your birthright?’

‘It appears so, but my cousin, Jorg Sancerre, is wealthy and could hold the legal process up for years.’

‘The king might intervene. He has supreme authority over the courts.’

‘Yes, I may have to appeal to him. He’s pleased with me at the moment for I tamed his rebellious horse. It just needed gentle handing.’

FITZSIMMONS WAS BOUYANT for once. He now had confirmation that he was of noble birth, not a jumped-up stable boy, and he would marry Leonné in the future. They would keep their love secret until he proved his birthright and gained his position and wealth.

He explained his contentment to Leonné, ‘My Lady. I know my name and have a family, though they appear to be scoundrels!’

‘What is it?’

‘Fitzhalen. My family lives in Harmzein. But I will have to fight for my rights in court or plead my case to the king, but before I do that, we have to deal with your uncle. Orella was prepared to kill me to take you back to her son; her depths of devilry have no limits.’

‘We need to find out why they want me so badly. It’s not for my wealth. How would taking me as his wife aid Roland in increasing his powers?’

‘Also, what competencies can you develop as you mature?’

‘And you. You changed into a beastlike creature when you fought Orella’s man? Can you stop yourself from changing into that feline? Can you stay in control of it?’ Leonné loved Fitz but was having difficulty coming to terms with marrying a man who could turn into a fierce cat. Was she safe with him?

Fitzsimmons held her hand. ‘I change character and features when angered, but I’d never hurt you.’ He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

‘Can you control your anger?’

He hesitated, his face clouding over. ‘I honestly don’t know. My changes occur when I feel endangered. I’m angry sometimes but I can control my body and don’t always evolve into the cat. I think it’s defensive. But if I change without warning some people might think I endanger them and try to kill me. It’s a two-edged sword. And you have been called a witch. What a pair we are!’

She seemed perplexed, her brows furrowed. ‘I wonder if I am a witch. My nursemaid said I wasn’t, but I’m not sure.’

‘Can you control your powers?’

‘Yes, If I look at a person, I can choose to control their mind or hurt them whether I’m angry or not. I practice my skills every day but always when I’m alone. I can move objects easily now but don’t know my other dormant and unexplored competencies.’

He contemplated her answer for a moment before replying. ‘I can understand animals’ speech and talk to them. The so-called vicious brute the king wanted taming was unsure of his new owner and feared being ill-treated by him. I reassured him, and he is a gentle soul now.’

‘We both need to find someone who will help us understand and control our abilities. Heroux’s father is a scholar of famed intelligence; do you think he might aid us?’

‘He is open-minded and has friends who are different from the rest of us. They are less worldly and more engaged with the elements. They may aid us. I’ll send a message by bird requesting his help.’

‘The king claims he doesn’t believe in the dark forces, but he still allows a mage to rest in the palace. Mayhap, she may aid us.’

Chapter Eight

IT WAS THE FEAST OF ELGRIT, God of Harvests. That morn, maidens dressed in pure white wore necklaces of herbs and danced in the courtyard. King Arne would marry them off to his latest favorites. This god’s blessing would bring fertility and many children to their marriages. The young ladies were giddy with excitement, casting coy glances at the crowds of onlookers.

The steward had organized a banquet, and minstrels were called. Sacrifices were made in Elgrit’s honor. Boars had been hunted and roasted over spits in the enormous hearths. 

The harvests wouldn’t fail this year, and the plague that ravaged so many villages might disappear if the folk pleased the gods.

Fitzsimmons and Leonné entered the Great Hall without Mistress Rhone, who had been sent home in disgrace. Beaumont would ask the noble ladies to suggest another mentor for Leonné. He had summoned Leonné’s servant and friend, Ame, to chaperone her.

Eyes bored into Leonné’s back. Her senses heightened, and she trembled. Something, or someone in the room meant her ill will, the threat was as real to her as the touch of Fitz’s arm on hers. She glanced behind her. It was Mathilde! Lips pouted, and jaw tensed as limpid blue eyes changed and shone like slate daggers. Leonné smiled, refusing to show any anxiety. Fitzsimmons’ hand tightened under her elbow as he sensed her unease, and he turned around to check the room. 

He relaxed. ‘There is nothing to fear from that lady.’

‘She was your mistress?’

‘My lover, when I was a naïve young man.’

‘She wants you still.’

‘No, she tries to exercise power over any man she takes to bed. Her ego feeds off power. It infuriates her that she cannot control me. I want none of her.’

‘You are a challenge then. That is more attractive to someone like her,’ replied Leonné, wise beyond her years.

‘Then I must keep out of her way and give no reason to make her jealous.’ 

Leaving Leonné he went to mingle with the guests. A former soldier quizzed him about Leonné. ‘What is this maiden to you, huh?’

Fitzsimmons frowned, annoyed at having to explain his relations with Leonné. He feared someone finding out about their secret engagement and telling the king. Arne would not take kindly to being lied to. He shivered, thinking of the brutal form the king’s retribution could take.

‘Only a girl—I was charged with ensuring her safe journey here.’

‘She’s a cool beauty. Perhaps passion can replace that coolness in a man’s bed,’ remarked another.

‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘Methinks he protests too much,’ teased the man’s friend.

Fitzsimmons flushed but recovered. ‘She’s comely and a pleasant companion when she’s good-humored but feisty and has a bad temper when roused. I would not take her to wife. She always wants the last word. I don’t want a nagging spouse. I prefer the battlefield.’ 

He bowed and returned to Leonné.  Is my love for Leonné so evident? I’ll have to talk to her less often in public.

Leonné conversed politely with her neighbors while noticing Mathilde had gathered several young men flattered by her attention.

Mathilde’s eyes swept across the room, and came to rest on Fitzsimmons. Hound-like, she licked her lips and nodded to herself as if making up her mind. Leonné’s blood heated as jealousy consumed her for the first time. Mathilde wanted Fitz. Leonné’s heart pounded. He was hers, and not this vixen’s who would discard him when bored.

This woman is a mischief-maker!

One of the courtiers came over and said, ‘It’s time to dance Fitzsimmons. I’ll take Lady Leonné onto the floor, and you can take Countess Mathilde.’ Fitzsimmons would have declined, but a refusal would be deemed an insult to Mathilde. He could not afford to open a festering wound.

Grimacing, he moved to Mathilde and bowed. ‘It seems I owe you a dance, Countess.’

She smiled triumphantly, ignoring the frost tainting his words. He gritted his teeth and grasped her delicate gloved fingers. Her body swerved against him as she left the table, a deliberate movement enough to set his senses alight. She was taunting him, the bitch.

He stood opposite her. Thank the gods they met only to twist past each other until the part he dreaded. Then he must take her in his arms and lift her up, holding her tight, her firm breasts rubbing against his chest. His pulse raced. He was only a red-blooded man, and he remembered passionate nights while she taught him, a naïve young knight, how to pleasure her. Yet now, her touch and intimacy revolted him. He wanted none of her.

In dulcet tones, she asked him, ‘Remember our nights together, Achard? We were well-matched. We’d make perfect bedfellows again.’

‘My memory is poor, my Lady, and I wish to forget the past.’

‘I’m sure I can tempt you,’ she said, fingers running over his chest.

He lowered her down to the floor and joined the line. ‘Never.’

When they met again, she murmured, ‘Your little blonde will never satisfy you as I can. She is cold and detached and has no experience or skills.’

‘I know not what you talk about. Please desist.’

‘We’ll see,’ she said, mocking him.

The dance finished. He took her back.

He cursed the naivety of his youth. Just calling him by his first name transported Fitzsimmons back to their time together and his wide-eyed innocence.

Lonely and lacking friends, this world-wise countess had offered him affection. Of lowly status, he had yet to fit in with the snobbish, hard nobles. Mathilde had recognized his vulnerability and massaged his ego, making him feel worthy and respected.

‘I picked you out from the other knights, Achard, she had purred, draping herself over him, opening his shirt, and caressing his broad chest. ‘You are young and strong, just what a woman needs. My husband neglects and beats me.’ She showed him her bruises. His blood heated, wanting to kill the man who hurt his beloved. Each night, she pleasured him, giving him what every young man wants. Deeply in love, he believed her protestations of love, but gradually, she began to summon him to her chamber less often, making feeble excuses. And then she had begun to belittle him. 

‘You tire easily these days, my love.’

‘I was wounded yesterday in training, and I’ve been training every day for battle this last sennight.’

‘I need a lover who can pleasure me whenever I desire, not complain he is tired like an old man.’

One day, she hurled insults over her shoulder when he dressed to leave her. ‘I’ve heard Blinheim is an excellent lover. The ladies say he has the energy of a stallion and the sophisticated manners of a nobleman, not those of a stable lad.’

Achard, angered, said, ‘Perhaps you should bed him, my Lady, if he will service you better.’

‘I think our liaison is over, Fitzsimmons,’ she said, turning to her mirror. She started doing her hair, ignoring him. Dismissed, he left, cursing her. He hoped she would call him back, but during the following days, she turned her shoulder to him, a devastating insult.

He received a message from her poor husband demanding an audience with him. The older man accused him of violating his wife. He demanded satisfaction in a duel. Fitzsimmons fought him but only for first blood. He swore to the husband his wife had seduced him, and the man took her home. He died shortly after. Fitzsimmons was shamed. The king needed this fine warrior in battle and sent him in disgrace to Castle Aronte until the scandal was forgotten. He swore never to trust or fall in love with a woman again and had been relieved when he heard that she had married again.

 Mathilde had never called him Achard again—until this evening.

While reminiscing, he jealously watched a young man praise Leonné. ‘You are like a delicate flower, my Lady. You dance like an angel.’

She curtsied demurely to show her thanks. Fitzsimmons scowled. She seemed to enjoy this fellow’s company. He considered himself a soldier with rough manners compared with these noblemen skilled in flattery. He couldn’t show his jealousy (though it burned like a furnace within him) and waited miserably for her to return to his table. He was pleased to leave the banquet that night.

The following day, Mathilde made her move. She caught Leonné in the solar.

‘Oh, the traitor’s daughter,’ remarked Mathilde as she entered the room. A few older ladies sniggered. One or two of the younger ones bowed their heads cringing at the insult.

Leonné flushed but recovered. ‘I hope to prove my father innocent of the charges made against him when the king grants me an audience.’

‘I wish you success in gaining the king’s favor, my Lady, or your position in court may be tenuous. You would be wise to give up your desire to clear your father’s name. Your uncle and aunt provided a secure and safe home for you. You should return to your husband.’

‘I will not return to Castle Gratlon.’

Mathilde hissed at her. ‘If you think Fitzsimmons will wed you, you are more of a fool than I thought. He will make you his mistress but nothing else. He will only marry for wealth and prestige. You have land and monies but are the daughter of a traitor. Your blood and reputation are tainted.’

Leonné curtsied. Gritting her teeth, she swallowed a rude retort. ‘This subject is for the ears of the king, not for gossip, Countess. I bid you good day.’ 

Before she could reach the door, Mathilde added, ‘He has already returned to my bed. He wanted an experienced woman who would raise his passion, not a cold-blooded witch.’

Leonné’s face paled. The rumors have followed me. She walked out of the room, pretending to be indifferent to Mathilde’s words. She returned to her bedchamber and fell onto her bed, tears running down her cheeks.

Why does that hateful woman try to demean me all the time? Can she sense Fitz and I are in love? We’ve tried to remain courteous but detached in public. Is she jealous of me? 

She sat in her chamber until suppertime, making herself a robe. Her eyes were no longer red, and her pulse had steadied. She jumped at a knock on the door. A small page bowed when she cautiously opened the door.

‘M’lady, m’lord Fitzsimmons bids you to accompany him to sup.’

So, he can’t be bothered to escort me and sends this whippersnapper to do his bidding. 

She nodded and gave the boy her arm. They strolled to the hall where Fitzsimmons was deep in conversation with Mathilde. She drew a breath and held her head high. He turned to her when she reached his table. The countess grasped his arm, but Fitzsimmons released himself and made way for Leonné.

Chapter Nine

SANCERRE CALLED THIBRUT to the study.

‘Did you have the merchant followed?’

‘Yes m’lord. My men found out that he is paid by a man called Fitzsimmons. His antecedents are unclear, but he lived with his stepmother and guardian in an inn until he left and became a stable lad in Lord Beaumont’s household. Over the years, he rose to become the favored knight. Recently, he accompanied a young woman to Himinbjörg, but her former life is shrouded in mystery. We will find out more soon. I have associates there who will dig out information about their visit.’

‘This stepmother… what is her name?’

‘Judith, but she died.’

‘The name is wrong; did you get a description of her?’

‘Yes, she was slim, dark-haired and pale-skinned, unlike the boy. She told the innkeeper her parents threw her out when she fell pregnant.’

Sancerre’s face paled.  Can this be the wife who supposedly died in the convent? Did the infant survive also? ‘Do you have a description of this boy?’

‘He was small, skinny even, but quite strong. He had sallow skin, sharp features, and cobalt eyes. He could also read and write.’

He shivered. ‘Cobalt eyes… like my uncle’s in his portrait.’ Fear permeated every vein. He trembled. Is this man my nemesis?  Is the family curse following us again? Isn’t it enough that I am struck down with one malady after another?

He recovered. His body might be weak, but his nerves were made of steel. He would win this battle of wills with this jumped-up stable boy.

‘Send a note to the convent. My father was led to believe that Hugo’s second wife Anane, and his child Guillaume—from his first marriage, had fled to a convent and died shortly after arriving. Find out if Anane did arrive and later die there, or is this Judith really Anane?’

Chapter Ten

GUISCARD AND ORELLA D’ABERNON ARRIVED at the palace after being summoned by the king. Orella knew time was running out and that the king had been turned against them. There was much work to be done. Her spies kept her well informed and she knew she would find an ally in Mathilde. 

Leading Mathilde to a quiet corner she said, ‘We both want the same thing. You want Leonné out of the way, and I want her for my son.’

‘Yes I do. I know Fitzsimmons will return to me if she is out of reach.’

‘I need him defenseless, love-struck, and unfocused. I want Leonné to think he’s betrayed her. It will be easier to persuade her to return to our family. This is what we will do…’

***

Orella met Fitzsimmons’ squire in the corridor later that morning. Uneasy, he shifted back from her. Louiseu knew of her reputation, but she trapped him against the wall. She stared into his eyes. Painful sparks speared his eyeballs as his eyes dimmed and clouded over.

‘Young Louiseu, give your master this potion in his ale.’ He turned his head, but she forced it back with an iron grip. She repeated her command. His eyes cleared as he absorbed her message.

‘Yes m’lady.’ He bowed his head. 

He went to the buttery to fetch some ale and then returned swiftly to Fitzsimmons’ chamber.

‘Ah, you anticipated my request. I’ve been ringing you. Well done, boy.’

‘The best ale, Master.’ Louiseu put a tankard on the table.

Fitzsimmons drank thirstily and dismissed him.

Louiseu went to Orella. ‘He drank the ale, m’lady.’

‘In one hour, tell him Lord Gratzeim waits for him in the scribe’s chamber. He has need of him.’ Orella had arranged for Gratzeim, the king’s advisor, to be called away from the palace so his room would be empty. As yet this wouldn’t be common knowledge.

‘Yes m’lady.’

Orella moved on to stage two of her plan.

In the meantime, Mathilde asked her maid to slip into Leonné's room and steal a little of the scent that Leonné wore every day. She put a little on her own unscented neck and arms. Smiling, she headed off for her rendezvous.

Orella’s eyes glistened with spite as she went to speak to another noble lady who she had observed the night before. The woman was obviously jealous of Leonné’s beauty and had resented Fitzsimmons’ rejection when she had flirted with him. ‘You think the wench is too forward and has Lord Fitzsimmons under her thumb?’

‘I do, my Lady Orella. All the unattached and many of the married men flirt with her. She is a disgrace.’ 

‘We must reduce her influence over Fitzsimmons. She’s a witch and dabbles in back magic. She’s bewitched him. Tell Lady Leonné that you’ve found out he is unfaithful to her and is meeting Mathilde in the scribe’s room.’

‘Indeed, my Lady.’ She curtsied and scurried away to find Leonné. She found her sewing in the bower.

‘My Lady, I do not wish to distress you, but I overheard a conversation between Lord Fitzsimmons and Countess Hamrick. They appear to have resumed their alliance and are meeting in the scribe’s room while he is away, so they can have privacy.’ Never was there a better performer as she softened her expression and reached out to touch Leonné's hand.

‘Are you sure?’ What reason would she have to lie to me?  What can she gain from telling me?

‘I’m certain, my Lady. I saw them canoodling yesterday as well.’ 

‘Why do you tell me this?’

‘Last time he was here, he flirted and harassed another maid. He broke her heart. She went home to her village to avoid his attention. She carries his babe.’

Leonné’s first instinct was to be suspicious and reject the woman’s accusations, but then she remembered Mathilde’s sensuous beauty and her confident approaches to him. Could he resist her, or had she rekindled the flame of desire between them? And had he seduced a poor girl and left her pregnant? Her gut churned, and bile rose to her throat. She hated spying on him but had to find out the truth.

She rushed to the scribe’s room and saw the door was partly open. She peered in.

Earlier, Fitz had reached the scribe’s room with blurred vision and a few stumbles. The place was drenched in darkness, with just the dim light from a candle illuminating it. Enough to make out a shape and nothing else. He felt woozy, dizzy, and sleepy. He staggered to the settle and rested against it. His eyes closed. He fought to open them. A woman came behind him and said, ‘Sit, my sweetheart. Let’s rest together.’

‘Leonné?’ He sat down heavily, tired and unable to keep his eyes open. 

‘Yes, Achard.’ Soft feminine hands undid his shirt and stroked him.

For a second the use of his first name aroused a warning, but then he smelt Leonné’s delicious scent and sighing, gave in to his longings. He pulled her into his arms and whispered into her hair, ‘I’ve wanted to do this for months,’ while stroking her breast through her fine robe.

‘We need not wait any longer then, my love.’ She sat on his lap and kissed him. She was all he hoped for, gentle but passionate, and he kissed her back thoroughly, pulling her closer to him.

He heard the door creak. He opened his eyes, fearing they’d been discovered by some nosy gossiping servant. He pushed Leonné gently off his lap and got up. ‘We must be circumspect, my love. We cannot be caught.’ He took up the candle and moved. He blinked when he saw it was Mathilde who stood there.

‘What the…’ but his words were slurred and he swayed drunkenly. She reached up wrapping her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately, stopping him from talking.

Leonné had seen Mathilde sitting on Fitz’s lap, his arms around her, kissing her. She had watched as he stood up and then kissed Mathilde again. She backed off, but Mathilde knew she was there and turned her head.

‘Go, little girl, he wants a real woman.’ 

Like a splash of cold water, her words shocked Fitzsimmons from his stupor. He pushed Mathilde away and yelled, ‘It is not as it seems, Leonné. Come back.’

Leonné ran to her room, where she threw herself on the bed, thumping her bolster, wishing it was Fitzsimmons’ head.

The lying, cheating, miserable wretch, and a sot to boot. When drunk, he can’t keep his hands off other women. I’ll not believe another word he says about that woman. She’s welcome to him.

Mathilde’s crowing laughter penetrated his dizzy head. ‘Your little wench thinks you’re mine now, Achard. You’ve lost her for good,’ she cried triumphantly.

His hand shot out and grabbed her neck. His eyes darkened and rage boiled within. He squeezed a little and for a moment thought of ending her life. It took great control but slowly he released her and stood back. ‘You’ve gone too far this time, Mathilde. To Malum with you! I’ll deal with you later.’

He ran and knocked on Leonné’s door. Is she alone? ‘Leonné, please come out. I need to speak with you urgently.’

There was no answer. He rattled the locked door.

‘I’ll kick the door down if you don’t come out,’ he threatened.

Leonné believed him and was scared he might turn into the cat if she didn’t go out. Someone might see him. She could not risk that. She unhurriedly unlocked the door.

‘Well, my lord, why cause this disruption?’

‘I think you saw Mathilde and I in a compromising position and misinterpreted the situation.’

‘I think a simpleton would be able to read the situation without misinterpreting it.’ 

‘I have just spoken with my squire, Louiseu. Orella ordered him to give me drugged ale and to tell me that Gratzeim waited for me in his room. When I got there, Mathilde was there instead.’

‘You looked like you enjoyed kissing her,’ she retorted scornfully.

‘The room was barely lit, and she was in the shadows. I thought it was you. When I sat down, hardly awake, she came and kissed me. I thought I was responding to you—I swear it.’

‘A big strong man like you, being forced to kiss someone against your will?’ She laughed. ‘You didn’t even try to resist her!’

‘It was dark and I was drugged, half asleep. She even wore your personal scent. I pushed her away when she laughed at you and I realized it was her.’

‘She can keep you. I cannot trust you. You can’t control yourself when you drink to excess.’ A tear rolled down her cheek, and angrily, she wiped it away, ashamed of letting her emotions show. ‘What about the girl you seduced and gave a babe to?’

‘I know not what you talk about. What girl?’

‘The one who had to go home in shame to avoid your advances!’

‘You’re mad. I know nothing about any girl who was sent home.’

Leonné went back to the scene that was really causing her distress. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you wanted Mathilde? I’ll release you from your marriage promise. I’ll ask the king to find another man to protect me from my husband until I prove my father’s innocence and I am safe from his tentacles.’

She gave him the ring that he had given her as a token of his love and fidelity.

‘I don’t want to be released. I’ll prove my innocence.’

‘It’s too late. I don’t trust you. Now I wish to be alone.’

He would have argued, but the new maiden who had come to share her room after Mistress Rhone left arrived and hovered in the doorway. Frustrated at their lack of privacy, Fitzsimmons bowed and strode away—angrier than he’d been his entire life.

He stormed down the corridors to Mathilde’s room and hammered on the door. Her husband opened it and glared at him. Fitzsimmons was in no mood for unjust accusations and barged passed the count.

‘Your wife is an evil vixen.’ He grabbed Hamrick by his collar and told him what had happened.

‘Be a man and satisfy or control your spouse. I was her lover once, but I want none of her now.’ He shook the timid man, who pulled away trembling. ‘Tell her to stop tormenting Lady Leonné or my wrath will be answered.’

When Fitzsimmons let him go, Hamrick straightened his clothes. In an endeavor to reclaim some dignity, he decided to share his recently learned news. ‘If I had known how insatiable my wife’s appetites were, I would never have married her. That being said, you must beware, young Fitzsimmons. She has influential friends in Lady Orella and Lord Roland who have promised to help her gain what she wants.’

‘Which is what?’ demanded Fitzsimmons.

‘You… and immortality.’

‘Then manage her, or I will hurt her.’ Fitzsimmons knew if he spoke with her, he would kill Mathilde. He imagined his hands around her neck again, throttling her. He fought to control his rage. His muscles were bulging, and his skin was pricking. He needed to go.

The count put his head in his hands, ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t, my boy. I can’t.’

‘Then I will seek the king’s blessing for what I must do.’

Hamrick’s age caused him to blanch and he rested a hand on the back of a chair. ‘Give me a day. I will send her back to my estates where she can do you no harm. She will put up a fight, but blessedly although I may not be able to control my wife, I do still control my money and those in my employ. Do not fear; she will be on a coach going home at first light.’

Satisfied, Fitzsimmons returned to his rooms, but unable to settle he went to the courtyard, where he spent an hour ferociously punching a leather ball. His anger remained, so he jumped onto his horse and rode to the nearest river. He dived in and swam for an hour until his skin didn’t prick anymore and his muscles slimmed.

Damn it, I must control myself and find out what I am. I will talk to the king’s mage today. I must also send Louiseu back to Castle Aronte. I can’t take the risk that Orella might bewitch him again.

I have also to win Leonné’s trust back. I must think of a plan.

Chapter Eleven

LEONNÉ AVOIDED HIM FOR two days, pretending to be sick and eating in her bedchamber. On the third day, his page delivered a note to her demanding she meet him in a bureau allocated to Lord Beaumont for his affairs. Louiseu had been sent back to Castle Aronte under guard until a wise woman could ensure he was no longer bewitched by Orella.

Nervously, she knocked.

‘Enter.’ Fitzsimmons ran his eyes over her as she walked across the room and smiled. ‘I trust you are improved. You recovered quickly from your malady.’

She gulped. He saw through her pretense. ‘Much better, thank you.’

‘Please sit, Lady Leonné.’ 

So formal. It’s like talking to an attorney or a cleric.

He appraised her for a time and then straightened in his chair. ‘We need to discuss your future.’ From his rigid expression, she would never guess how hard this was for him. He longed to take her into his arms and kiss her frown away.

My future, not our future, she thought. Perhaps he will free me from my promise to him? Her heart sank, but it was the right thing for him to do. He would not be faithful in a loveless marriage. 

Leonné stared at him, her green eyes turning statue-like to marble.

She is so hard and detached. She hates me. He knew that Leonné was not generally given to bursts of anger, but her ire was cold, and her hatred unforgiving, driving deep to the heart. It would last forever if he couldn’t prove his innocence.

‘My feelings have not changed. I love you and wish to marry you, but I’ll not hold you to your promise if you don’t want me. I will try to prove my innocence regarding the unfortunate incident, but in the meantime, we must still work together to destroy your family’s power and release you from their threat to your liberty.’

‘I cannot trust you, so please release me from my promise. I agree we should work together to defeat my family.’

‘Orella encouraged Mathilde to trap me. She’s succeeded in driving us apart.’

Leonné said nothing. Nor did she remove her icy stare from him. 

The girl drives me mad with her silence. ‘I have a plan. We will ask the king to restore your castles, jewelry, and monies. He may not agree unless we can find further proof of D’Abernon’s infamy. He may think annulling the marriage is sufficient. You’ll lose your father’s estates. That is why he thinks I should offer to marry you, to give you security.’

‘I have my farm and horses. I can go there after we destroy my uncle’s powers.’ 

‘That is for the future.’ I’ll not argue with her if her mind is made up. ‘We’ll ask for an audience with the king tomorrow.’ He took her wrist and kissed it. She snatched it back. ‘Whatever you may think now, I’ll protect and love you until I die… I promise.’ In his heart, he knew there would never be anyone else for him besides this fiery woman.

‘I’ll meet you for supper, my lord.’ She curtsied and left.

He sighed. She is a hard nut to crack, but I’ll win her over. I’ll never accept defeat. We are meant to be together; I feel it in my blood. And come what may, I will keep my word.

FITZSIMMONS AND LEONNÉ attended an audience with the king the following day. 

‘Sire, I fought for Lady Leonné’s honor, and you kindly said you would annul the marriage between her and Lord Roland. Will you restore her birthright, castles, monies, and the jewels D’Abernon received when her father died?’

‘You told me D’Abernon works against my interests, but not with whom. Nor have you given me proof of his treachery. You are unable to prove her father’s innocence. I need more than accusations from a chit of a girl to force him to renounce his claim to the estate. Bring me evidence, and I will do what you ask.’

Fitzsimmons bowed. ‘I will do so, Sire.’

‘What will we do with the maiden? Send her to a convent or wed her to someone else? She needs a man to guard her interests. She’s still a minor.’

‘She has a farm, horses, and an income.’

‘On her own, she would lose them to any fellow who choses to take them. You must act on her behalf. Marry her, unless you find a man who will take her.’

‘She does not want to wed me, Sire.’

‘I’m not surprised. You’ve been mounting Countess Mathilde again, so I hear.’ A steely glint in his eye gave away how much that information irritated him. ‘No wonder the wench mistrusts you. You should keep your paramours secret.’

Fitzsimmons watched as Arne drummed his fingers on his chair a sure sign that he was displeased. He reassured him quickly. ‘That is gossip only, your Excellency.’ He bowed his head slightly and placed a hand on his chest. ‘On my honor, I did not bed the countess. It was she who tried to seduce me, and I rejected her. I spoke with Count Hamrick and he’s sending her home to keep her out of mischief.’

Arne regarded Leonné, who had yet to speak. She pretended indifference to Fitzsimmons’ protestations, but her eyes narrowed and gleamed when she listened to him. She clearly cared for the man. A push may be required. This warrior and the stony-faced, strong-willed girl might suit. He needs a challenge to tie him to the marital bed. The thought of interfering in the knight’s affairs caused him amusement. Plus taking him out of Mathilde’s reach would benefit him. He wanted her back in the palace. For that to happen, Fitzsimmons needed to be taken care of.

‘Nevertheless, you must marry her, and if we do settle her uncle’s estate on her, it will be part of her dowry.’

‘Sire, I don’t want to marry this man. I want to live independently on my farm. I need no man.’

‘Poppycock! You know not what you want. You’re a young maiden who has no experience of life. You will wed on the festival of Moonglade.’

‘That is only a month away, Sire,’ gasped Leonné. Forest green eyes shone like stone piercing his eyes, taking his rational thought away. In her anger, Leonné decided to change his mind. Fitzsimmons moved quickly, pulling her close to stare at him instead of the king.

Not now, my Lady, he thought. Leonné blinked. She understood him, although he had not spoken a word out loud.

He held her wrist so tight she winced. When she would have spoken, he tightened his grip more, and she fell silent.

‘We will do as you command, Sire, and I will welcome the extra portion of dowry when we prove her father’s innocence.’ He bowed them out.

Outside the room, she snapped at him. ‘I could have changed his mind, and now we are stuck with a marriage neither of us desires.’

He glanced around to see if anyone was listening. They were safe. ‘If he’d realized you were trying to bewitch him, he would have ordered you to be burnt at the stake. The man at the inn guessed you’d mesmerized him. You must ensure people forget you’ve bewitched them. As for the marriage, we will find another way to rid ourselves of this problem.’ Impatiently, he added, ‘It’s more important that we can read each other’s thoughts and communicate. Is this the first time you’ve read my mind?’

‘Yes.’ 

‘And I yours’ He hesitated and nodded slowly, ‘This confirms my belief that our lives are linked irrevocably. The gods sent us to work together against the immortals. You can fight it, but I believe it will only be a matter of time before you must accept it.’

‘Instead of discussing our relations, perhaps we should focus on fighting Orella. She’ll not give up. Even if my marriage is annulled, she will try to force me back to the castle and Roland…’

‘…Will violate you if you don’t go to his bed voluntarily.’

‘Yes,’ she replied, embarrassed.

‘I will do everything in my power to avoid that happening.’ Great gods, she is mine. I’ll be the one who’ll take her maidenhead. His blood boiled at the thought of someone else taking her. His fingers pricked, and his claws began to grow. Oh gods, give me strength to fight these changes.

Leonné heard his thoughts. ‘I don’t belong to you. I’ll keep my maidenhead for the man I love and marry.’

He was struggling, but his claws receded, and his pulse slowed. ‘I must cool off in the river. When we next meet, we should try to communicate by thought. Perhaps we can gain more privacy.’

‘I agree.’

‘The king will annul your marriage in a ceremony tomorrow, and I shall think of a plan to fight Orella. Good day, my Lady.’ He bowed and left. He would swim to steady his spirit, and then he would go and find the mage.

Fitz infuriated Leonné, but he had managed to control the changes in his body. She also felt violated that he could read her thoughts. She would have to think of a plan to rid herself of the threat from her family and become independent of him. She would not marry a man she couldn’t trust and who moved from bed to bed.

Chapter Twelve

AFTER A SWIM, Fitzsimmons found the mage. She led a largely solitary life using a few chambers in a tower where she slept, ate her meals, and gave audiences to the occasional visitor. Her wisdom encouraged the king to embrace her skills. Rumor said he sought her advice when preparing for battle. Her door opened of its own accord before Fitzsimmons could knock. 

‘Come in, young Achard.’ 

He entered, sweeping a deep bow as befitted her status and wisdom. She appeared youthful and beautiful, dressed in blue velvet robes, yet the long white curling hair falling below her waist and her filmy green eyes indicated her actual age.

‘Sit down.’ She pointed to a wooden chair that would suffer his weight. ‘You want information about your family and how to defeat Orella and her son. You need also to understand why your body changes, what it means for you, and the powers you will develop.’

How does she know all this?

‘Palaces have ears, and I have friends, Achard. You mean the king no harm, so I will help you. Give me your hand.’

She explored his giant hand, tracing his fine, long fingers. His hand glowed with heat and energy transferring to her small hand.

‘You have a chequered past and future. You will survive dangers, but you and Leonné will only succeed if you follow the path of truth and goodness.’

‘Will Leonné listen to the truth and know I’ve done her no wrong and marry me?’

‘That will depend on your success in fighting Orella. Her allies are powerful and will come to her aid to try and defeat you.’ She handed him a glass of ale. 

‘We’ll start with your family, shall we? What have you found out?’

He told her what the merchant Grunhelm had told him.

 ‘Fitzhalen… umm, yes, that is a very noble name with much history. Yet they say the family is cursed. Rumor states your father cursed the whole family but in particular he stated any children born to the Sancerre family would sicken and die if they denied his true heirs their estate. The Sancerre family has suffered terrible deaths and crippling maladies, which intensified when the son-in-law Gilbert Sancerre took over the family estate. Their only child Jorg has suffered his entire life.’

‘So you think it is true, Hugo Fitzhalen was my father?’

‘It is likely. He was a warrior and adventurer, not unlike you. He was honorable and more interested in serving his king than in making money. His father held him in great contempt.’

‘Did he die naturally?’

‘Some say it was a riding accident.’ She raised her brows. ‘Too convenient an accident for his father who wanted him gone—don’t you think? The captain of his brigade claimed Hugo had been drinking heavily and when on patrol, he was thrown from his horse. He lay sick for five days before dying. Some whispered that his saddle had been purposely damaged. He’d argued with his father for weeks preceding the accident so many made their own assumptions.’

Fitzsimmons subconsciously rubbed at the stubble on his chin. ‘What of this curse?’

‘Talebearers say Hugo cursed his father and brother-in-law before he died. He blamed them for his fall. Was it a result of his curse that his sister Jennine died after the birth of her second stillborn child not long after? What do you deduce from that?’

‘It’s not enough to prove a curse. Many children die that way, and many women unfortunately die from childbirth complications.’

‘Wait, Achard, don’t be too hasty.  Up until the time of your father’s death, Jorg was a healthy child. Since then, he has caught every malady going and has been at the point of death several times. It is as if his energy is being drained from him.’ 

‘How old is he?’

‘Four years older than you. He was born healthy, but his health started to decline after his fourth birthday.’ She let the implications of Fitz’s birth and Jorg’s illness sink in and then continued.

‘Your uncle Gilbert Sancerre drowned while swimming in the lake. He was known as an excellent swimmer, so no one could explain why he drowned. He might have had an apoplexy. Jennie, your aunt, still recovering from the stillbirth, slipped into a melancholy state after her husband died. She also grieved for her son who had suddenly turned from a rotund happy child to a whimpering sickly one. In the end, it was all too much. She ended up starving herself to death. And your grandfather, well, he toppled from the tower!’

‘I agree; too many sad events happened to this family to be explained by chance. But are you linking Jorg’s suffering with my birth?’

‘It may be a coincidence, but who knows.’

‘I don’t believe in coincidences.’ Fitzsimmons pondered for a moment. ‘Has Jorg come to the same conclusion as you? If he believes I’m alive, might he think killing me would reverse his decline? As I grow stronger, am I sapping his strength?’

Her answer was a shrug. ‘Your sickly cousin managed to find a woman who would tolerate his appearance and disabilities, but he cannot beget offspring, a shocking situation for such a wealthy and proud household. His wife has not been seen out of the house for many months. He’s told other nobles her health is failing and her time is near. The village folk believe he’s already rid himself of her and is searching for a healthier fertile spouse. I believe she lives still, but is imprisoned and treated badly.’

She leaned forward. ‘To answer your question, I do not know for sure why his strength is sapped. But if he believes it is you that stops him from being a whole man… well, what might he do?’

‘Have you ever met him?’

She relaxed back in her chair. ‘No, but I have my little spies who are my eyes and ears.’ Fondly, she stroked her crystal ball. ‘His intellect is as sharp as his body is weak. He concentrates on his affairs to keep busy. He believes himself a failure as his wife hasn’t given him a child. Mayhap, this is why the rumors abound that he is looking for a new wife. He exercises daily to improve his resilience but can’t walk far. He sources new physics to find cures for his disabilities, but they cannot explain his weaknesses. He is impatient and bad-tempered. With the exception of his steward, his servants fear him and are not permitted to speak about his family and situation outside the house.’

‘Is he likely to survive long?’

‘Who can tell? As medics cannot slow the progress of his decline, he is now resorting to other types of advice; people who claim to have contact with the gods and have magical powers. That’s all I can tell you about your family. But now, let us get to interesting matters and discuss your changes.’

She held a crystal and pointed it at Fitzsimmons. It turned blue and then green. ‘It shows you have a true heart.’ She rubbed it, and sparks flew from it, hitting him in the chest. A sharp pain sliced his chest, and he sat back.

‘Agh! What are you doing, woman?’ he growled as the pain receded.

‘Testing your powers.’ She put the crystal down. ‘You need to develop mental strength. There are those who will try to bend you to their will. You must learn to construct a barrier to their thoughts.’ 

Fitzsimmons agreed. When Orella stared at him during the joust, he’d instantly lost all control. It had taken all his mental strength to resist her and turn away. She was much stronger mentally than him. He saw the same traits in Leonné.

‘I will show you exercises to train your mind. But for now, we shall discuss your physical changes and traits.’

‘There’s no point being strong if I can’t master my bodily changes. If I’m angered, my body sometimes alters at its own will.’

‘As you mature, you will master and use those urges to your advantage.’

He sighed, relieved. He was a man who needed control in all aspects of his life.

‘Your father and mother were well-matched; he with his strength and she with her magical skills. She was a sorceress’s daughter, and he was a wizard’s great-grandson. Your grandfather refused to accept his ancestry and forbade anyone to talk about his great-grandfather or Eleanor’s mother. The powers skipped two generations, and your grandfather and father were human.’

‘Skipped into me? Is that what makes me change into a cat?’

‘Your great-grandfather cast many spells to make himself stronger. One of the spells went wrong, and he developed extreme sensory powers that pleased him, but his physique changed. Despite trying, he could not reverse the change. Your grandfather was ashamed, and some blame him for your great-grandfather’s untimely death.’

‘More tragedy! Does nothing good happen in my family?’

‘The family was happy and healthy before your grandfather became head of the household. You could restore equilibrium to your family tree if you regain your birthright.’

‘I will, but first, I must destroy Orella and Roland’s power. They are the most immediate danger to us.’

‘Beware; your cousin Jorg may suspect you exist. The informants tell me he sent spies here to source information about you. He is ruthless when he wants something and has much to lose. He messaged Orella this week. Perhaps he wants her to grant him immortality as his health is so poor. If he does gain immortality, your chances of regaining your birthright evaporate.’

‘Are these changes to my body irreversible?’

‘Yes, but you will change even more, and only to your advantage. You must learn to control your temper.’

‘Will the cat take over my body permanently?’

‘Not if you learn to control your urges and temper. What other changes have you experienced?’

‘My senses have heightened. I can talk to and understand some animals. Most importantly, I can read Lady Leonné’s thoughts, and she mine. We can communicate without speaking.’

‘Soon, both of you will be able to read the minds of others. Leonné can move inanimate things and mesmerize people but may develop other powers as she grows.’

‘Is she a witch?’

‘Her mother was a mage, as was her mother before her, but she hated her abilities and forsook the old ways instead of developing her competencies and using them against D’Abernon when he defamed her husband. Her father was human. Both were decent, caring people and loyal to the king.’

‘How can she prove her father was innocent now her letters have been stolen?’

‘I will give you some names you can visit or write to who will confirm the information in the letters, but you could ask Mistress Rhone as well. She may tell you what happened to them.’

‘I tried.’

‘Perhaps Leonné can mesmerize her and ask her?’

‘We will try that when we return home to Castle Aronte.’

‘Now, young Achard, I am tired. I wish you well, and I’ll tell the king your intentions are honorable to him and the wench. He may go more leniently on you if he knows that.’

Dismissed, he bowed and left. He was despondent; he would never be totally human. He dreaded telling Leonné the mage’s information on the morrow.

Chapter Thirteen

FITZSIMMONS SPIED LEONNÉ, breaking her fast. He suspected she had come down early to avoid him. No chance, he thought. He sat down beside her.

‘Good morning, my Lady. You are bright and early.’

‘Not as early as you, my Lord. You took your horse out at dawn this morning.’ They set to eating quietly, but he planned to test their telepathic qualities. He helped himself to some oatmeal and honey and while he ate he sent his thoughts to her.

Couldn’t you sleep well?

Not well.

Did you have nightmares?

No, I wasn’t tired. This lazy life doesn’t suit me.

Nor me. I would rather be fighting or training. Will you come hunting with me tomorrow?

I hate hunting with dogs. I prefer to use my bow. My hound only collects the animals for me. He doesn’t tear them to shreds.

Since I’ve understood their cries of pain, I prefer a quick kill, but if I didn’t join the hunt, my fellow officers and the king would think me weak or unsociable, so I’ll go. I need to talk with you in private. I spoke to the mage, and she gave me information about our families. Will you meet with me tomorrow in the bower at noon? Ame can chaperone you. She should be here soon.

I will. How wonderful to meet her again. The ladies in this palace are welcoming, but their elegance and etiquette are quite daunting. Next to them, I am a country bumpkin. She frowned. And the rumors about your alliance with Countess Mathilde are traveling around the palace. Some of the ladies send me pitiful glances. Despite our best attempts they think we are romantically involved, and you’ve rejected me for her.

To some, your lack of airs and graces is refreshing. You’re as elegant as the other ladies in your new clothes. Your beauty is natural and shines through. And you need not worry about Mathilde. She belongs in the past and means nothing to me. Her husband has sent her home. Also, I have observed how some at court smile and nod towards you, not everyone here is your enemy; you are winning them over with your beauty and modesty.

Embarrassed, for she was not fishing for compliments, she said, ‘I will speak with you the morrow, my Lord. With a swish of her long skirts, she stood and gracefully curtsied. He put his knife and spoon down with a clatter on his trencher. ‘That was tasty, but I need to move also.’ 

She made her way to a group of ladies who would sew in the solar that morning. He went to talk with Heroux.

THE NEXT MORN, she greeted him in the bower, a basket of sewing beside her. Ame sat in the corner, embroidering a handkerchief.

‘Good Morrow, ladies. How industrious you both are.’

‘Good Morrow, my Lord. How was the hunt?’

‘We killed two boar, five braces of pheasants, and ten woodpigeons. We’ll dine well tonight.’

‘The king always provides an exemplary table. His banquets are legendary.’ 

He smiled at Ame. ‘How was your journey? No nasty surprises, I hope.’

‘No, m’lord, I heard about the creatures who tried to harm you.’

‘Who told you?’

She blushed.

‘Your friend, Heroux. No one else was present.’ 

He remembered Heroux saying he preferred a gentle, kind woman to the strong-willed, fierce Leonné. Did the wind blow that way? Heroux would not benefit from a marriage to a servant. He needed to marry a wealthy woman to gain wealth and land or win battles and be rewarded with gifts of castles by the king. 

He continued his conversation with Ame but communicated with Leonné through his mind. He told her what the Mage had said about his family.

Leonné didn’t glance up from her sewing. You’ll be in danger if he thinks his survival depends on weakening and killing you. And if you kill him, will your strength be complete?

He has his spies sniffing around the palace so he knows I exist. I don’t know what will happen if I kill him.

Sadly, you cannot revert to being human again, but it is good news that our powers will increase, and you can control your urges and thus only change when you wish. Why do you turn into a big cat?

My great-grandfather sacrificed a cat when he was trying out the spells. The animal became part of the enchantment. It could have been worse. I might have been a snake! He sighed. It will take time and practice to control my body. The mage will show me exercises to strengthen and train my mind. She will also give me a list of people to whom I will write to ask if they will support your allegation that your father was libeled and was innocent of treason. I will write them tomorrow.

Thank you, but what about Orella and Roland? I’ve felt odd sensations since I’ve been here. Something is following me, but I can’t see it like I saw the mist on the battlements.

Do you wear the amulet?

All the time; even in bed.

Sabine will sleep in your chamber as well as your hound. The wise woman said she was sent to protect me, and I believe her now. She’ll protect you.

As if she had heard him, his cat sprang from his side and settled down with her head on Leonné’s feet, purring like a kitten.

‘She adores you, m’lady,’ remarked Ame.

‘As do I her.’ Leonné smiled at the now sleepy cat. ‘She’s made a good friend with Jakke. Together, they guard us well.’

I’ll make inquiries about your aunt. I’ll also find out more about my cousin. He bowed. ‘I must leave you, ladies. I’ll speak with you tomorrow.’

‘He cares for you deeply, m’lady,’ said Ame when Fitzsimmons had gone. ‘He can’t keep his eyes off you especially when you talk to other men.’

‘I assure you he has a wandering eye regarding the ladies. I caught him in a compromising position with Countess Mathilde. Of course, he denied feelings for her, but I cannot trust him.’

‘Some ladies were gossiping this morning about him and Countess Mathilde. On his first visit to the palace, he had few friends. Apparently she showered him with compliments, saying how handsome and strong he was. He was enthralled by her; he a lonely, vulnerable young knight with rough manners aware of his lowly upbringing, and she a dazzling, noblewoman.’ 

Ame paused, choosing her words carefully. She told Leonné how Mathilde had seduced and then deserted Fitzsimmons. ‘The affair led to him having a duel with her then husband and being forced to leave court in disgrace. Her husband died a week later, some say of a broken heart. After an indecently short amount of time, she married this count who brought her here. She’s a trollop.’

‘What about the girl and the babe?’

‘That’s untrue as well. I heard a rumor Orella poisoned your informant’s mind, saying you were a witch and had bewitched Fitzsimmons. I asked Estienne, um, I mean Lord Heroux.’

Leonné smiled, noticing the slip.

‘He said Lord Fitzsimmons, always a reserved man, shrank back into himself. A sensitive man, he was hurt. He swore he’d never trust a woman again and made only male friends. He concentrated on his career, taking mistresses or lovers to temporarily assuage his needs. He also swore he would never marry except for wealth and land and hoped to defer that for many years.’

She hesitated, wondering if her mistress believed her. ‘You changed him, m’lady. He trusts you. Heroux believes his side of the story. His once youthful love for Mathilde turned to burning hatred a long time ago. He would no more bed her than a demon of Malum. Think on this, Mistress.’

‘I will. Thank you for telling me his history, Ame. Now we must return to the solar before we are missed.’ 

Her mistress was deep and reserved like Lord Fitzsimmons. She did not wear her heart on her sleeve like most maidens, but she was hurting badly. Ame was certain she would find out the truth and forgive her knight, for he deserved better than Countess Mathilde as his lover.

Chapter Fourteen

SANCERRE DRAGGED HIMSELF to the window. His leg pained him excessively today. Thibrut, who hated to see his master suffer, suggested he use his chair. But he wouldn’t be seen as an invalid needing to be pushed about. He glared at his steward.

‘What new information have you gleaned about Fitzsimmons?’

Thibrut looked troubled.

‘Well, hurry up, man. Time waits for no one.’

‘Yes m’lord.’ He relayed all he had discovered.

‘So, my step-aunt lives?’

‘No, she died when Fitzsimmons was ten.’

‘And he was born four years after me.’

‘Indeed, m’lord.’

‘So, my health started to deteriorate after his birth. Is he strong?’

‘Abnormally so. He is built as sturdy as an ox and is a giant, easily recognizable from a great distance.’ Thibrut hesitated, unsure of whether to carry on fearing his lord’s wrath.

‘What’s up with you, man? Tell me.’

‘It is said he is growing stronger.’

Jorg struggled for breath and rested a hand against the fire mantel. In a hiss of sudden understanding he announced, ‘As I grow weaker.’

‘It appears so. It may be a coincidence.’

He turned his gaze back to his servant. ‘I don’t believe in coincidences. It’s that damned family curse!’ He took out a pen and a skin. ‘You know what this means?’

‘I’m not sure of your meaning, m’lord.’

‘He must be disposed of, and then my health may return.’ He scribbled a message in skewed, poorly formed words, his feeble fingers struggling to control the pen. ‘I will write to Orella and ask her to employ assassins to do the job if her spells are inadequate.’

He sealed the skin with the Sancerre stamp and gave it to Thibrut. ‘I’ve spent years building up my business after my grandfather and father-in-law died. I’ll not share the family’s wealth. Fitzsimmons will not become head of this family.’

‘Yes m’lord. I will send it straight away.’ After his steward left him, he contemplated his future, which would be bleak and painful if his cousin wasn’t killed. This was his last hope. He was losing feeling in his gnarly blue fingers. He sat down, his crumbling back aching him. He must spend more time in bed to conserve his energy for important tasks if he were to beat this slow, painful death.

ORELLA WAS PLEASED. She messaged her son through her thoughts. Roland, I’ve forced a wedge between Fitzsimmons and Leonné and sowed seeds of distrust that will grow strong and separate them. Mistress Rhone has been sent away, but she was becoming useless anyway, her desire for youth overcoming her caution and common sense. An accident will befall her before she can give anything else away to Fitzsimmons’ men.

Excellent work, Mother. And now that weakling Sancerre has asked you to help him.

Yes, I’ve agreed, but at a price. He must help me. Soon, he will be caught in my web. I’ll use him before he dies. It’s in our interest to keep him alive for a little while longer. Fitzsimmons must not regain his birthright and marry Leonné. Our careful plans will fail if he does.

And I still need Leonné in my bed, replied her spoilt son.

That is part of the plan. Our spell will only work once the marriage is consummated, and she is yours.

He smiled, satisfied, desperate to paw Leonné’s fine skin again and control her willowy body and mind.

Sancerre is too weak to travel, but you can visit him, Roland. I will instruct you what to say. He has already put arrangements in place to dispose of Fitzsimmons, but I fear his men don’t have the skills to bypass any spells protecting our target.

I’ll pack, Mother, and brief you when I return. He broke the connection between them and left her pondering her next steps. She must cool her anger and not allow her hatred of Leonné to rush her into rash decisions that might damage her future. Leonné would suffer later though, she would ensure it.

Chapter Fifteen

FITZSIMMONS’ LETTER TO THE people the mage recommended bore fruit. Two had fought with Leonné’s father and wrote letters back, stating he had been soldiering abroad when he was supposed to be in Gritheim betraying the king. One admitted he’d overheard D’Abernon plotting with others against his Excellency. Another person had witnessed her mother and father’s wedding, proving she was not illegitimate. All the people who signed the testimonials were grand noblemen, and their opinions would add weight to Leonné’s belief that her father was innocent.

‘We’ll have another audience with the king tomorrow,’ Fitzsimmons informed Leonné.

‘Thank goodness. My father may be proved innocent.’

‘We still need more evidence to show D’Abernon is a traitor. One letter may not be enough to persuade Arne to act against such a powerful lord who has shown loyalty to him in the past.’

‘Thank you for your help. I shall ever be in your debt.’

‘I don’t want your gratitude,’ he snapped, tired of her coldness. Why couldn’t she believe him? He didn’t understand how the minds of young maidens worked. To him, she was acting irrationally.

Leonné curtsied and departed. She asked for an audience with the mage. 

‘Please sit down, Leonné. You need reassurance, and I’ll try to help you.’

She is wise. Can she read my mind as well? ‘Can I get my lands back and become independent. I don’t want to be ruled by a man.’

‘First, the subject of young Achard. Would you feel differently if you believed he was telling the truth about the episode with Mathilde?’

Leonné thought carefully. He was a difficult man to love. His secretiveness and condescending chauvinism irritated her, but he’d acted kindly toward her and treated her with respect recently. But she could not live with a man who was unfaithful and lied to her.

‘So, you could marry him if he’d told the truth about his actions with Mathilde?’ asked the mage again, understanding her thoughts. ‘Even if you didn’t marry him, your minds and futures will always be linked. It’s in the stars. The gods have willed it.’

‘Possibly. But he might be unfaithful again.’

‘You mean—if he has been unfaithful already? Mathilde poisoned his mind against women, and he treated them casually because of that. His engagement with you shows he’s changing. Your influence will make him a kinder, gentler man, although he will remain a warrior like his father. Without you his future is not so assured.’

‘How can I find out if he was truthful about Mathilde?’

‘You can read his mind. His powers remain unsophisticated. Talk about the episode with him and read his emotions and thoughts. Later, you must both learn to build barriers against others like Orella to guard against them reading your minds.’

‘I’ll do that. I hate being at war with him.’

‘That’s because your minds and destinies are linked. You have positive news about your father. You can concentrate on fighting your family.’

‘Why do they need me?’ She stopped, embarrassed to talk about the intimacies of the bedroom.

‘Go on, child, I am not easily shocked.’

‘He wanted me in his bed, but it can’t just be because of that. I was told that a cousin of his said Roland needs me to enhance his capabilities.’

‘They were right, but I do not know why. You must find that out. Sexual supremacy over a witch can raise the powers of a warlock. Perhaps it’s true of immortals too.’

‘A wise woman said my uncle obeys a stronger being. How can we discover who that is and neutralize or destroy them?’

‘Again, I don’t have that knowledge. I will give you the name of a sorcerer who may know more than I.’

‘Thank you. I’m grateful to you.’

‘Remember, you are special and can do much good if you are patient and follow your heart.’ 

Leonné curtsied and left with her heart lighter than before. She would think about the mage’s advice that evening.  

Chapter Sixteen

FITZSIMMONS WAS NERVOUS before today’s audience with the king. His throat was dry and his stomach ached. His Excellency believed he was a lying cuckold and might treat his new evidence about Leonné’s father as untrustworthy.

‘Sire, I have a letter from someone who witnessed Leonné’s parents’ wedding. She’s legitimate, but her uncle wrote a letter saying her father was a bigamist and she’s a bastard with no right to her parents’ fortune. This shows her uncle’s lies and his intention to deprive her of her birthright. Other letters from your two notable friends state her father was fighting for the king (your father) abroad when he was supposed to be plotting against him. Her uncle wrote to your father stating he was a traitor. I intend to prove D’Abernon is treacherous and plots against you.’

He produced some papers. ‘Here are the letters, your Excellency.’

Arne perused the papers and harrumphed. ‘I’ll ask my steward to write to my friends to confirm these are true. We need more evidence of D’Abernon’s treacherous behavior. I shall think of a trap.’

‘Thank you, Sire.’

‘What about the wench? If D’Abernon is untrustworthy, he cannot be her guardian. I offered you the post and told you to marry her by Moonglade. What have you decided?’

‘Her dowry would enhance my wealth, but Leonné will reject my proposal. She still believes I bedded Countess Mathilde. On my honor, Sire, I did not touch her. She only brings trouble, and I’m no longer the naïve youth she seduced years ago.’

‘Count Hamrick has sent her home, which gives credence to your accusations. The man should learn to control his wife. I once found her comely but the wench is more trouble than she’s worth.’

Pacing around the room, the king pondered the situation. ‘I’d like to clip the wings of D’Abernon regardless of his behavior with his ward. If what you suggest is true, he and his friends support my enemies. Taking his ward’s money away would weaken his position. Tell Lady Leonné she will marry you or suffer the consequences. Her wealth and lands are to go to you as her dowry.’

‘I would prefer Lady Leonné to come to me of her own volition, Sire. An angry, resentful wench makes a bad bedfellow, and this wench is stubborn and difficult to manage when she is friendly.’

‘You’ll have to persuade her. You will wed on Moonglade or so help me I will come down on the two of you. Send her in.’

‘Yes, Sire.’ And may the gods help me, thought Fitzsimmons, bowing and walking to the door to summon the waiting Leonné. His anxiety showed.

‘Didn’t he believe you?’ 

‘Yes, come in. He wants a word with you.’

Puzzled at Fitzsimmons’ mood, she stepped into the room and curtsied. ‘You asked for me, Sire?’ Fitzsimmons waited beside her.

‘Yes, Fitzsimmons has proved your uncle is ill-intentioned toward you. Your lands and monies will be restored to you, but they will become your dowry. Fitzsimmons will marry you. The wealth will increase his status and power. I need him as an ally against the nobles who plot against me. Your security will be ensured.’ He waited for a response. None came.

‘What say you, my Lady?’

Leonné was incensed and horrified. ‘I don’t wish to marry anyone at the moment, Sire. I want only to govern my lands.’ She glared at Fitzsimmons.

‘It’s not my desire to wed an unwilling and resentful bride,’ intervened Fitzsimmons. ‘Twill not make for a happy marriage.’

Leonné stared at him skeptically. She would not put it past him to manipulate Arne to get his way and wed her despite all his noble protestations.

Arne stood up. ‘Your lack of understanding of the real world shows you are too naïve to care for your affairs. A young maiden needs a guardian or a husband. Marriage between nobles is made for wealth and land, to improve the family’s status, not to please the romantic wishes of a wench.’

‘I lived on my own for years, Sire.’

‘As you have already said and look where it got you! Chased by bandits. No, my girl, you will wed Fitzsimmons by Moonglade. No more arguments. You are dismissed.’

Leonné curtsied and left.

‘You’ve got a handful there, but you’re a lusty, masterful man. You can change her mind.’

‘I hope so, Sire. I will try my best.’

‘Either way, with her consent or without, she marries you by Moonglade. You’ll marry here in the palace. You are dismissed.’

Fitzsimmons resented the king’s insensitivity. Now, he had to persuade Leonné of his fidelity and willingness to allow her to choose to wed him. 

Leonné paced her chamber, throwing her bolster on the floor in anger. She would plan her escape rather than marry Fitzsimmons. When Ame came in to bring the laundry, she asked her to set up a meeting in the bower with Fitzsimmons.

‘I’ll meet her in half an hour.’

They met in the bower. Leonné was clipping flowers but sensed his presence when he came through the arch. Her senses, like his were developing. 

‘My Lady, how can I help you?’

‘We are at an impasse. I cannot marry a liar. I wish to discuss your liaison with Countess Mathilde.’

‘There was no liaison. She trapped and kissed me, knowing you would see us and believe I instigated the embrace. Unfortunately, you believed her.’

‘I believe what I saw.’

‘I’m also reluctant to marry a woman who does not trust me, but Arne will force us to wed.’

‘Convenient for you,’ she stated acidly.

‘‘Tis the truth; he’s set on the marriage.’

She ignored his words. Devious bastard! ‘Rumor states you had an affair with her.’

‘What you heard is correct. I was lonely, naive, and insecure, but she has meant nothing to me from the day she cast me aside. This is Orella’s doing. I think Orella put a spell on Louiseu. He can’t remember his conversation with you. He’s locked up for his safety, and the mage will talk with him and try to clear his mind.’

She frowned, reluctant to believe him.

‘I have been faithful to you since we became engaged.’

Leonné focused on him, staring at him, her eyes turning to green stone. Her fingers, like tentacles, wriggled in his brain, prizing and trying to enter his thoughts.

Frowning, he rubbed his head.

‘What’s the matter, Fitz?’

‘I’ve odd sensations as if something is eating into my brain. I’m getting a headache.’

‘A guilty conscience more like.’

‘I do not lie to you,’ Fitzsimmons growled, glaring at his itchy hand. By the gods, I’m changing! He watched hair sprouting on his hand. ‘You mustn’t make me angry.’

‘Control yourself,’ she said, but her heart pounded. Would he hurt her?

‘I’ll speak with you later.’ He rushed out and up the stairs to Heroux’s chamber, where thankfully he found his friend alone.

He took one look at Fitzsimmons’ face and stood up. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I was with Leonné.’ He held out his hand.

‘You’re turning again. Can you manage it?’

Fitzsimmons sat down and took deep breaths, and closed his mind. His pumping heart slowed and the hair dissipated until his skin cleared. The headache also disappeared.

‘It seems I can, so long as I am not with the source of my anger. The mage has given me exercises to practice, and they are working. I left Leonné in case I hurt her. You should have seen her face, Heroux, she thinks me a monster! I need to persuade the king I shouldn’t marry her.’

‘You have no choice. The king has spoken and fixed the date. If you go against him you’ll face the consequences. You’ve made progress. Once you couldn’t manage your condition, now you can. What caused you to be angry with her this time?’

‘We were discussing my so-called liaison with Mathilde. Leonné still believes that wench over me.’

‘She might have been testing you. Ame told me that Leonné visited the mage and asked for advice.’

‘I’ll talk with her again at supper.’

‘That’s an excellent idea. We make a foursome at the table tonight. The others are away visiting their friends.’

Leonné sent Ame to Heroux and explained she wanted to read Fitzsimmons’ mind. Heroux was reluctant to comply; he believed he was betraying his friend.

Ame tried to convince him. ‘You’ll be helping him if he is telling the truth.’

‘Very well, but Fitz will kill me if he finds out, and what he will do to you I cannot conceive.’

‘He said he isn’t sure he wants to marry a woman who disbelieves and doesn’t trust him.’

‘I’d feel the same, but he hasn’t any choice—the king has spoken.’

They met at supper.

Heroux sat on Fitzsimmons’ left and Ame on his right beside Leonné. Leonné pretended to be in deep conversation with Ame, woman to woman.

‘Mathilde is a beautiful woman. I wish she’d shown interest in me,’ Heroux whispered. ‘You were lucky she was interested in you. She’s wasted on her husband.’ 

Fitzsimmons blinked. I can’t believe he said that. He understands how much I detest her. I’d rather bed a goat.

‘You can’t deny she’s attractive. If she returns, I might try for her myself if she likes younger men and her spouse is complacent.’

‘You’re a fool if you do. You’re doomed once caught up in her spider’s web; she won’t let go.’ He’s mad. I wouldn’t wish her on my worst enemy.

‘You were quick to embrace her when you returned to Himinbjörg. You didn’t forget her charms.’

‘I did no such thing! She drugged and tricked me into the scribe’s room, threw herself on my lap, and kissed me. I thought she was Leonné. As soon as I saw Leonné in the door I knew I had been tricked and shook the woman off in disgust.’

‘She said you sent her messages inviting her to go there.’

‘You can believe what you want. I thought you were my friend.’

‘I don’t want to step on your toes. A rumor is circulating she may come back soon. Her husband won’t deny her anything, and she hates her quiet home.’

‘You can have a free hand with her. I don’t want her.’ She’s the last thing I want. I wish the king would exile her.

Leonné had read his thoughts, which echoed his words. She also didn’t want him to fall out with his best friend. ‘Heroux, if the woman is as bad as that maybe you should think again.’

‘You’re right. I’ll forget her if she’s as devious as Fitz says. I’m a simple man who likes plain speaking and thinking ladies.’ He smiled at Ame as he spoke, and she blushed.

Leonné turned to Fitzsimmons. ‘Let’s not discuss Mathilde. The king has announced a banquet and ball for tomorrow. While we are here, we may as well enjoy ourselves.’ 

We need to make more acquaintances. Not all the ladies are like Mathilde.

Agreed. We shall attend the ball. I can relax now Mathilde is not here to pounce on me. 

Fitzsimmons stiffened and tried to shield his thoughts. How did she know we were discussing manipulative women? We whispered so quietly. Damn her! She read my thoughts—devious girl. Heroux must have helped her, the bastard.

He directed his thoughts at her once again. You shouldn’t bully my friend.

I didn’t. He was happy to cooperate when he knew why I wanted to read your mind.

Hussy.

Better to find the truth than be forced to marry a man I detested and thought a cuckolding liar.

He smiled and tried to close his mind. She always had to have the last word. That’s a habit I need to check, or my life will be miserable when we’re married.

Heroux realized they were smiling. Leonné was no longer a frostpiece, and Fitzsimmons didn’t snarl or snap at her. Fitzsimmons gave him a hard stare. It would take him a while to forgive Heroux for helping Leonné, no matter how honorable his intentions had been. 

Chapter Seventeen

FITZSIMMONS WAS HAPPIER. Gone were the icy stares from Leonné. Mayhap she believed and forgave him. His pride was hurt, and he still resented her mistrust, but she was only a young maiden, and he considered wenches to be emotional—even if she was usually brave and cool by nature. He would treat her kindly, and now the king had said they must marry, he could be openly friendly toward her.

Bored and restless, he went to the courtyard to practice his swordplay. Without much time for practicing of late he could tell his muscles were softening.

The yard was quiet, and Heroux, who had agreed to spar with him, had not arrived yet. He took up his arms and looking for a partner, introduced himself to a group of battle-worn men. He was met with grim stares and furrowed brows. 

Why? I’ve not met them before. They can have no grievances with me. 

He shrugged, but one beefy, muscled man wearing facial scars smiled and said, ‘You wish to fight, Sir. I’m Heinheim and these men are my friends, Greenhalt, Marrum. Bruhelm, Montform, and Lindhalt.

‘I do, Sir. I’m Fitzsimmons.’ They shook hands and took their positions. The other men stopped their practice to watch. As he circled his opponent, Heinheim moved forward. With muscles straining, he swung his ball and chain at Fitzsimmons’ face, making him jump back. That was not an opening move—it was a death swing!

Fitzsimmons hastened back, and moving constantly, he repositioned himself, his sword and shield at the ready.

Heinheim was already swaying his ball to the left and right, trying to confuse him, but he ducked under his arm, pushed his sword under the man’s armpit, and jumped to the side. The blade had only pierced the leather but stopped Heinheim for a minute as blood trickled down his body.

Fitzsimmons readied himself for another blow. This man meant to harm him severely, and his companions were taking steps to circle behind him, cutting off his means of escape. These must be Sancerre’s men. 

Fitzsimmons spotted Orella watching in the distance.

Is she up to mischief? I can take on these men, but I could lose my life if Orella intervenes. No other warriors were around to ensure it was a fair fight.

He thought fast. Can I reach Leonné? He called to her in his mind. She was the one he trusted other than Heroux when he was in trouble.

He concentrated and focused. Her image filled his consciousness, and he felt her senses respond to him.

Leonné, I’m in the courtyard. I’m trapped, and one warrior is intent on killing me. Orella is watching like a hawk, this will not be a fair fight. Help me, please?

Leonné’s head twinged as if something had poked her. She felt dizzy, but an image formed in her mind. Men circled Fitzsimmons. She received his message and rushed out of her room and through the palace corridors as if demons were at her heels. Outside, she raced up to the battlements where Orella was leaning over a wall watching the fight. It was so tempting to push her over! 

‘Stay out of this, Orella,’ she warned.

‘Your man is a mere mortal. He will die this day, and you will become ours again.’

‘Not a chance.’ I’m nearly as strong as you. She began drawing on her inner strength.

‘Pray gods, help me and your faithful servant Fitzsimmons,’ she cried. A mere mortal indeed! Fitz is one of the strongest knights I’ve ever seen, and his mind is agile.

She sent her thoughts to him. Fitz, change. These men and Orella may see you, but no one else will find out. I’ll make them forget what they saw. She whistled. The hound and cat, that had followed her outside, came bounding up to the battlements. ‘Sabine, your master needs help. Aid her, Jakke.’

The men were moving closer to Fitzsimmons, blocking him as he tried to thrust his sword at Heinheim. Sabine stalked across the battlements with feline agility and leaped down the steps. Her magic icy collar thrust through her skin, shining tips and spears at his opponent. Jakke followed her and gnawed at Heinheim’s ankles, snagging his leggings.

‘Ow! Get him off.’ As he bent down Sabine leaped onto his back. Her icy tips speared him. They penetrated his skin, and he dropped his weapon, trying to pull her off. 

‘Help me, men!’ Greenhalt leaped into action to attack the oversized animals, giving Fitzsimmons space to reach Heinheim with his sword. Leonné pointed her finger at them and froze them for a few minutes allowing the cat and dog to escape back to her side.

Seeing this, Orella pulled out her wand intent on enchanting Fitzsimmons.

‘Fitzsimmons, look at me,’ she yelled. ‘Your whore cannot save you.’ Sparks flew from her, covering the knight and blinding him for a moment.

When his vision returned, he looked at the sorceress. ‘Whore indeed.’

He heard Leonné utter ‘Ignore her,’ but he blazed with anger. His blood heated, and his hands developed claws. His face covered with fur and his eyes gleamed and sparked with anger and he dropped his sword. He was changing again. He now had only his powerful paws, claws and teeth to fight with. He circled Heinheim ready to pounce and blind his enemy and cut his throat.

Heinheim’s friends looked astonished at his transformation but Lindhalt said, ‘It is only a damn cat. We were warned this knight uses the dark forces but Lord Sancerre said Lady Orella will protect us. We’ll gut him and use him for a muff.’ He strode forward.

‘Leave the man, Sabine, and come hither.’ Sabine appeared disappointed. She had enjoyed pinning Heinheim to the ground, but she scooted up the steps.

‘On to Orella instead.’ Sabine jumped to Orella, gathered her in her paws, and sat on her, holding her in place over the wall. ‘Shall I push her over, mistress?’

‘No, just make sure she doesn’t use her wand. Keep her trapped while your master deals with his aggressors.’

She turned to her hound. ‘Jakke, help Fitz.’ The hound snarled and dived at Heinheim snapping at his throat. He would have slit Jakke’s throat with his dagger, but Leonné ran down the steps and stared at his eyes. Light speared his eyeballs, and they clouded as if he were blind. Jakke circled around him and dived at Marrum who was about to strike Fitzsimmons in the back, biting his leg and causing him to drop his weapon to push the dog away.

‘Leave the hound alone. Use the dagger on yourself.’ The man grimaced in pain and closed his eyes. His hand rose and pierced his chest. ‘Deeper,’ she cried. The blade slid deeper, and blood spurted out. Lindhalt left Fitzsimmons and snatched the dagger from Marrum opening his jerkin and staunching the wound with his glove. ‘Fetch a physic’ he yelled over his shoulder.

Bruhelm and Montform now engaged Fitzsimmons. He pushed forward, slicing one man’s stomach, and dragged his claws down his face, drawing lines of blood. He slashed the knee of another. The first held his stomach and tried to staunch the blood. Fitzsimmons leaped at him and knocked him to the ground. The second fell down squealing and grabbing his knee. Fitzsimmons clawed his neck and scratched his eyes until he screamed, begging for mercy.

Orella screamed enchantments, and words floated in the air, but a competing chant entered Leonné’s head, and she sent them back at the sorceress. The streams of words clashed together and burned until they were no more. With a flick of her fingers Leonné conjured up a mask and it slipped over Orella’s face, stopping her from speaking.

‘Fitz, to your chamber,’ ordered Leonné as he disabled the last of the aggressors.

He quickly changed into human form, threw his tattered aketon back on, and picked up his sword. He strode to the steps and escaped to the battlements. He’d not leave Leonné alone with Orella.

Sabine had immobilized Orella, and Leonné stepped to her aunt. She held the amulet over Orella and said, ‘Close your eyes. Sleep and be still till the morrow.’ Fitzsimmons picked the woman up, and carried her to her bedchamber.

‘Your mistress is asleep,’ he told her maid. ‘Keep her that way and out of mischief. Explain to her that her men have gone back to their quarters. I’ll inform the king of the attempt on my life and her part in it. He can make a judgment on her.’ Fearing this enormous, bloodied knight; Orella’s maid nodded and began to undress her mistress. Fitzsimmons left to find Leonné.

Leonné sped to Heinheim’s men who were lying in the courtyard, examining their wounds. In a sweeping glance she locked eyes with them, one after the other. 

‘You will forget how Fitzsimmons appeared today and how he fought. All you’ll remember is he fought hard and beat you with my help.’

‘Yes m’lady,’ each one said. 

‘Now go to the physic and have him tend to your wounds.’

Leonné called Sabine and Jakke to her. ‘To the kitchen.’ The fierce animals proudly swaggered behind her.

‘Fish and duck for you, my beauties. What would we do without you two?’

‘We’re here to protect you,’ said Jakke. ‘But we’re partial to duck and fish.’ She gave them their treats, and they fell asleep afterward. 

Fitzsimmons cleaned himself up and clothed himself. Afterwards, he asked for an audience with the king. ‘Sire, I was set upon by men in the pay of Orella. They tried to kill me, but I disabled them. I think Sancerre was also part of the plot to harm me. Apparently, he took my estate thinking I was dead and fears I will retake it.’

‘The mage explained the issues to me. I’ll talk to Orella and these men and warn them to keep away from you. As for Sancerre, you must bring me proof of your birthright and his ill intentions toward you before I can act. And Fitz, do it promptly for I grow weary of all these petitions.’

‘Thank you, Sire. I’ll do as you ask. I wish to hold my cousin to account for his family’s behavior to me and my kin.’ Bowing himself out, he sought out Leonné.

He found her at the supper table with Ame and Estienne, who she had told of the fight.

‘Thank the gods, Leonné and the animals were there. You owe her a lot,’ said Heroux.

‘Twice she’s saved my life. I couldn’t ask for a better warrior to aid me when I’m in trouble… save yourself of course,’ he said, winking at Heroux.

‘The odds against you were too great while Orella manipulated the fight. ‘Twas a pleasure and I proved I was strong enough to confront her. My powers are developing.’

‘Although I was angry, I didn’t change automatically. I had to will myself to transform, and I was able to change back as soon as the fighting stopped. The mage was right, I can control my body as I want, and I’ll not turn into a cat forever, which is what I most feared.’

Chapter Eighteen

‘DAMN THE MAN!’ Sancerre thumped his desk, making his books and papers jump. Thibrut waited warily as his lord was inclined to hit out at anyone during a tantrum. ‘Couldn’t a group of mercenaries and Orella eliminate him? Is he immortal?’ His steward stayed silent. It was best to allow his lord to swear and curse. He wouldn’t listen to rational arguments when he was in a rage.

‘You said Orella’s magic was countered by a young woman accompanying him. Who is she? Is she a witch?’

‘She’s Orella’s niece and Roland’s wife. What else she is, I don’t know, m’lord. She escaped from Castle Gratlon, and Roland and Orella may want her back to use her powers. I have never seen Orella like this, and just because a girl defies her.’

‘What is Fitzsimmons to this wench?’

‘He rescued her and persuaded the king her father wasn’t a traitor. Her lands, currently in the hands of D’Abernon, will soon be restored to her but as a dowry. King Arne has ordered them to wed.’

‘Will this be a marriage of convenience?’

‘They say so, although some whisper that the knight is enamored of this girl.’

‘She may be the weak chink we seek in his armor.’

‘We don’t understand why Orella wishes to eliminate him. It’s not just to give her son the wife he wants. There is more to it. We think Orella fears him marrying and bedding the chit.’

‘Find out why. Go! You’re dismissed.’

The steward bowed, grateful to be no longer the target of his lord’s wrath. He called his messenger. ‘Take this missive to the Wizard Ratzein. Ask him to discover the necessary information and send it back quickly.’ The man bowed and left on his errand.

GUISCARD D’ABERNON QUAKED. His palace bedchamber shook.

A disembodied voice thundered in his ears. ‘You’ve not got control of the girl yet?’

‘No, Master. Fitzsimmons or his friend constantly guards her. We have tried to kill him, but the girl thwarted the plot—twice now.’ He gulped. What should I tell him? ‘Leonné’s powers are developing. She neutralized Orella’s powers.’

‘You were warned this might happen. You idiot! Remember, you’re still a mortal.’

D’Abernon coughed. Invisible fingers grasped his throat, choking the life out of him. He bent double, trying to prize the hands away, but darkness smothered his mind, and he blacked out. A few moments later he woke up on the floor writhing in agony, his throat swollen.

The voice boomed around the room. ‘You’ve been warned. There’ll not be another warning. Subdue the girl, or you’ll be dead. Tell Orella, if the two of you are not successful in this, I may take her immortality from her.’

D’Abernon struggled up from the floor and sat coughing on a stool. He had only two more stages to pass before he reached immortality. It was so close and yet so far. He understood Orella’s ruthless nature. She would desert or kill him if he became an old, weak, useless, unattractive man. Arne would confiscate his lands, and Leonné and Fitzsimmons’ wedding would take place soon. His master would eliminate him if he failed. He must succeed.

THE KING SUMMONED Fitzsimmons. ‘I’ve heard back from my friends. Lady Leonné’s father is cleared of all charges, and D’Abernon will give her estates, monies, and jewels to her guardian… that is you, to look after.’

‘My Lady will be grateful, Sire.’

‘I’m annulling the marriage today. So, there is no bar to you wedding her yourself.’

‘Thank you. I believe she thinks better of me now.’

‘The mage thinks Orella helped Sancerre, although what a slender, weak woman like her could do, I can’t imagine. She can’t even wield a sword, can she?’

‘No, but you’d be surprised, Sire. Women can be just as dangerous as men and some have minds like flint.’

‘It matters not. I’m sending the D’Abernons’ back home. Guiscard is weaker now he doesn’t control Leonné’s land. He will have less money to pay mercenaries if he is plotting treachery against me.’

‘Indeed, Sire, but I believe they will still try to win her back.’

‘What can they want from her? She is a pretty wench, not to say beautiful, and I have heard she is a fine archer, but that is insufficient reason to kidnap her. Roland should have wooed her when he had the chance.’

‘I hear she is a skillful herbalist. Perhaps they want those skills in their castle,’ mused Fitzsimmons, scratching his chin and creasing his brow, looking confused.

‘We’ll find out in due course. Now, about your kin.’

‘I’ve had no replies yet.’

‘These are the ways you can handle this situation. You need to discuss your claim with Sancerre. You must show me proof you are your father’s son, but if Sancerre refuses to acknowledge your claim, you can go to a court presided over by me or challenge him to a duel.’

Fitzsimmons thought he would receive a fair trial. Jean Grunhelm had said his cousin Jorg could barely walk two furlongs unaided. He’d be despised if he challenged such a weakling to a duel, no matter how he hated the man for taking his birthright.

‘I think the action in court would be preferable given my cousin’s state of health, my Liege.’

‘Agreed. You must meet with Sancerre here if he is fit to travel or at home if he is unable. If we choose the latter, some of my men will accompany you. My chancellor will disabuse him if his attorney tries to manipulate the law.’

‘I’m honored, Sire.’ The chancellor is the highest finance and law official in the land. To lend him means the king thinks highly of me. 

‘I’ve been digging around. Two summers ago, Mathilde tricked another young knight into bedding her and discarded him. His father said he took his own life. She ‘plays men’ like toys. I’ll tell Lady Leonné. You’ve been sorely treated from childhood. It is about time your luck changed.’ 

‘I’m grateful you have given my case so much time and thought. It will help my issues with Lady Leonné.’

‘You love the girl?’

‘She grows on me. At first, I thought she was an insolent brat, but I’ve come to think she might make a suitable wife.’ Fitz grinned. ‘A feisty woman for a fierce warrior.’

‘Excellent. I think the same. You’ll tame the wench when she’s in your bed.’

‘I hope so, Sire.’ 

‘Send the girl to me.’

Fitzsimmons bowed and left. Since his engagement, he’d had little time to think of a life with Leonné, but now he relished the thought of the fiery lady in his bed. He would enjoy her silky body, teaching her the pleasures of the flesh, and how to please a man. 

He sent Leonné to the king.

‘You summoned me, Sire.’

‘I did. You are free. Your marriage is annulled, and Fitzsimmons will take charge of your estates, monies, and jewelry until you and he marry. It becomes your dowry and is handed over to him as your husband.’

Leonné sighed and replied, ‘Thank you for your efforts.’ 

He took her chin in his hands. ‘Don’t be so sad. Mathilde is a conniving manipulator who seduces vulnerable young men and discards them at will. She seduced and discarded a youth a few seasons back and he took his own life.’

Leonné remained impassive.

‘It is clear that she hates aging and saw him as a way to stay young. When he rejected her, she was jealous of your closeness and tried to destroy your trust in him.’

‘Thank you, Sire. I feel happier knowing he didn’t betray me.’  It was good to know the king confirmed her belief in Fitzsimmons’ innocence.

‘Fitzsimmons is now a man of the world, but he’s not a rogue. He was but seventeen when Mathilde got her claws into him. He will make a fine husband, and he respects you. He will treat you well.’ 

‘It will be difficult adjusting to being a wife when I have been independent for so long, but I will try to make the marriage work.’ She curtsied and ran back to her chamber.

Chapter Nineteen

LEONNÉ MET FITZSIMMONS in the bower. ‘From now on, I’d like you to wear my ring. The king will expect it. We must decide where to live and what to do with your estates. I assume you’ll want to visit your horses and keep the manager looking after them? Whatever you want, within reason, I will see to it. Just share your ideas with me.’

She mused, ‘I suppose we’ll have to live in Beaumont’s castle as you still fight for him, although my dowry will make you independent and rich. I love my farm and would like to spend some time with my animals and breed from them.’

He was affronted. ‘I’m not a man who lives off his wife’s wealth. I’ve made my own wealth and income. I thought you understood that.’

‘I do, but we must be realistic. You need to be powerful to contest your birthright, and you will be rich, and we can fight Orella and her allies successfully.’

Tension drained from him. ‘We understand each other and will work well together.’ He unfastened the necklace and took the ring from around her neck to put on her finger. 

She is mine now. I’ll fight anyone to the death who tries to take her from me. 

He kissed the palm of her hand and smiled as she blushed. Finally, he is showing me affection openly. She felt warm inside, comfortable at last with him. ‘We’ve had little time to be alone together. We must rectify that.’

After supper, the king called them to his dais. ‘I’d like to present Lord Fitzsimmons and Lady Leonné, who have become engaged and will wed at Moonglade. Here’s a toast to their happiness and good fortune. May the gods bless them.’

Cheers went up. The palace’s inhabitants had begun to like this reserved young knight and girl. Only Orella and D’Abernon scowled. Orella whispered in her husband’s ear. He glared at the couple, who couldn’t hide their joy at being able to admit their affection for each other. He took his wife, and they left the room. Back in their chamber, Orella grabbed a pitcher and angrily smashed it against a wall.

‘You imbecile, Guiscard! The Master has spoken with me. Your pettifogging has displeased him. He wants action, not an old man who only talks. Roland must bed our niece before he can reach a higher state. Time is running out!’ She speared him with her eyes, and he caught his breath.

His eyes burned. ‘Please, Orella,’ he begged. ‘Not my eyes. I promise you I will act decisively and succeed.’

‘Don’t let me down. You’re growing old, and I have no time for feeble old men in my life.’ 

‘Orella, my darling,’ he stroked her arm. ‘You need to know Dominai spoke with me this morning as well.’

Orella stiffened, she hadn’t known that.

‘He told me to remind you that if you don’t succeed soon, he will take away your immortality.’

Orella screamed in frustration. ‘This is your fault…’

‘There is nothing we can do right now. In the morn, we must leave as Arne has ordered us home. But we will regroup and resolve this. Let’s not quarrel.’

Orella began undoing the laces to her dress, having sent her maid away. In frustration she glared at Guiscard.

He stepped up behind and finished untying her dress for her. He kissed her shoulder. ‘Let’s sleep. We will resolve this, you’ll see.’

She pushed him away and got into bed. ‘I’ve no time for weaklings.’ She turned her back on him, and fell asleep in moments.

He slept fitfully, dreaming of red-hot pokers digging out his eyes.

Chapter Twenty

FITZSIMMONS AND THE LORD CHANCELLOR were about to set out to Sancerre’s home accompanied by a handful of the king’s best fighters. Heroux was staying at the palace to protect Leonné. She protested at being left behind.

‘I’m sorry, but the king insisted the discussion will be unsuitable for young virgins.’

‘Unsuitable, my eye,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve heard worse in the inn.’

‘He doesn’t know that. I’ve kept your background hidden.’

‘Sancerre may attack you in his own domain.’

‘I’ll be careful, my love,’ he reassured her. ‘Do as Heroux tells you. He will guard you even as I would.’

‘He cannot guard me from black magic, but I’ll do as he says.’

He kissed her and the small company rode out of the palace gates.

Ahead of them Fitzsimmons could see Orella and D’Abernon’s party as they headed for home. At least I don’t have to worry about them hurting Leonné while I’m gone. If I didn’t know Arne usually has ulterior motives for everything, I might believe he’s on our side.

As Sancerre’s estate wasn’t too far from the mountainside palace and the weather was fair, they made good time. A servant showed Fitzsimmons and the Lord Chancellor into the hall, while directing the guards to remain outside.

Fitzsimmons’ eyes traveled around the room while Thibrut announced their arrival to his cousin.

He eyed the rich tapestries on the wall. All this should have been mine.

He warmed his hands in front of the roaring fire, as resentment flared up inside him. I ought to have lived here warm and cozy instead of freezing my ass off collecting wood for our measly parlor fire. Judith need not have slaved in the inn and been beaten to death.

‘M’lord invites you to his bureau,’ said Thibrut solemnly. He warned, ‘He is not in fair health today.’

‘We will try to avoid aggravating him,’ replied Fitzsimmons. ‘It’s in our interest to find a solution to our problems that suits us both.’ 

But Sancerre, now I’ve seen what you’ve kept from me, you’ll come off worse than me. I’ll pay you back for sending your thugs to kill me.

Be careful. Don’t get angry, Leonné messaged him. He hadn’t believed the mage when she told them their minds had fused together, but she had been right for he clearly heard Leonné’s warning.

I’ll not betray what I am. The beast is hidden today. 

Leonné was not a clingy maiden, but she was always there to advise him if he had problems.

They followed the steward to the bureau. Sancerre rose and bowed with difficulty but sat down immediately, pain causing him to frown as he reclined in the well-padded chair. He gestured to the seats in front of his table, which were a good deal lower than the one he sat in. He looked down at them, seemingly hoping it made him appear taller and gave him an air of authority.

He stared at Fitzsimmons for a few minutes. Fitzsimmons didn’t squirm or wriggle. He’d used silence to intimidate when he interrogated his enemies before. He half smiled and leaned back.

‘So, you are the former peasant boy claiming my birthright.’

‘Bartender, if you wish to insult me. But I am a knight now, in the pay of Lord Beaumont. Though it matters not; noble birth will show itself however well it is hidden.’

Sancerre leaned further back into his cushions. ‘The king states in his correspondence, that I must listen to your claim. Explain your reasoning.’

‘First, Cousin, if I may call you that, I’d like to introduce the king’s Lord Chancellor. And to keep you advised, the king’s soldiers wait for us at your door.’

‘My title is Lord Sancerre, Fitzsimmons. Address me by my title if you please. And I won’t acknowledge our family connection without proof.’ He addressed the chancellor. ‘I welcome you, Lord Chancellor, and I am gratified to have the attention of such a learned officer of the king.’

The chancellor bowed but remained silent, clearly despising the man’s lack of manners in dealing with such a delicate subject. 

Sancerre turned back to Fitzsimmons. 

‘I repeat. Explain your reasoning for claiming my birthright.’

Fitzsimmons explained he believed Judith had been kicked out of this house and ended up at the inn with him. He gave him the file Judith had left for him.

The chancellor said, ‘I have perused these papers, they appear genuine.’

‘Judith, or Anane—to give her real name, died in the convent my uncle sent her to,’ bluffed Sancerre.

‘She never arrived at any convent in the kingdom. The king has checked,’ said Fitzsimmons.

‘What proof do you have that this Judith is my step-aunt Anane and that she lived in the inn? What proof do you have that you are Hugo and Eleanor Fitzhalen’s son?’

‘A drawing was made of Judith in the inn by a wandering artist in return for ale and food. My colleague showed it to a servant who has since left your employ, and she verified it was in fact Anane who worked at the inn and confirmed she had changed her name to Judith. I have other people who will testify the lady who married my father is the same woman who worked there.’

‘And you. How do I know you are my cousin?’

‘Look, man! Do your eyes betray you as much as your sickly body?’ asked the chancellor contemptuously. ‘He’s the image of the portrait hanging on the landing until you hid it a month ago. One of your servants verified the likeness. He’s since left your employ. You pay too little to expect loyalty.’

Sancerre shifted his stiff body, his bones creaking. His sore point was his failing constitution. His body was weakening at an alarming rate, much quicker than normal. He could barely lift himself out of his chair.

‘Damn you. How dare you insult me?’ 

‘I’m trying to convince you to listen to Fitzsimmons’ claim. The king wants an amicable solution out of court. There is the possibility of a duel. But I am sure you would prefer to settle in a more gentlemanly manner?’

Sancerre’s face paled. He couldn’t stand up for long, and his arms were too weak to hold a sword. He could ride a horse but couldn’t carry a lance. A duel was out of the question. 

The chancellor’s threat worked. Sancerre would discuss terms, but later, he would deal with Fitzsimmons for good. An innkeeper’s ward would not outwit him.

They sat down and discussed more details and evidence of Fitzsimmons’ claim. 

‘So, what do I receive if he gets the title and estate?’ Sancerre masked his hatred in a conciliatory manner. He’d spent years building up his business on the family estate, the thought of losing it furnaced a fire in his gut. ‘I’ve a wife to support.’ He blanched as he said the words, for months he had been ensuring her slow demise. 

‘You will be compensated for the trade you’ve built up,’ said the chancellor. ‘The king’s man of affairs will send a businessman to prepare a testament to the firm’s monies accrued due to your work.’

‘You’ll also be given an income for life for the estate’s maintenance and your enhancement. This will be passed on to your wife and any children you may have if you die before them,’ said Fitzsimmons. ‘I’m not out for revenge.’ 

Your face when you know you have lost the title and the estate will be enough for me, you bastard.

Fitzsimmons rose. ‘I thank you for giving me your time, Lord Sancerre. My notary will write the necessary documents. I look forward to meeting you to sign them. I’m sorry you are ill, and I hope your health improves.’

He bowed, and the chancellor stood to leave as well. Thibrut asked a footman to show them out. As they crossed the courtyard, Fitzsimmons glanced up and noticed a face at the window scowling at him.

‘I don’t believe a word he says. He’ll not sign the contract,’ cursed Fitzsimmons.

‘I would watch your back. Though I believe he will sign it. The king will ensure it, but when you sign it, you’ll be signing your death warrant,’ said the chancellor looking at him as they reached the horses. ‘I’ll be pleased to get back to Himinbjörg. Sancerre gave me the creeps. He was a walking grey-haired skeleton fading before our eyes. If he had been well, not decaying and emaciated, he would have resembled a smaller version of you. He has a smaller physique and a lighter hair color, but his features are as defined as yours and his eyes which were once dark brown are now turning as blue as yours. It’s a strange situation. He was the image of his father when he was a boy, but now, he has changed and resembles you and your late father.’

That caused Fitzsimmons to pause in his fury. Perhaps the curse is true, and my life is linked with his—all the more reason for him to kill me! 

They rode the track, leading them to the palace road. Fitzsimmons looked behind him. His neck prickled. They were being followed. 

The mage’s voice suddenly filled his head. Be careful, Achard, ride fast, trouble awaits. 

‘Fitzsimmons, look up,’ yelled a soldier. A rumbling and stamping heralded the coming of a creature to the edge of the gorge they traversed. A horned head peered over the edge, and seeing the men, it roared and swung its tail toward them across the track, nearly sweeping them over.

It tried to slide down the track, but the pathway was too narrow for its clumsy talons, so it blocked them instead. From its cavernous nostrils, smoke poured out, blanketing them, and making them cough. The nostrils sniffed again, and flames appeared. The riders edged the horses backward out of the flames’ reach. The dragon stamped the ground with force. The thunderous echo made the men clasp their hands over their ears and the horses reared up.

New creatures crept up behind them. These were lighter animals than the beast before them and comprised a dog’s head and a horse’s back. They were slighter than the dragon and slid past it while it stepped back and watched the fight it couldn’t reach.

Half of the creatures came toward the men, their fanged teeth slobbering as they aimed for the sides of the horses, chewing and pulling flesh out of the poor animals that reared and tried to throw their riders off. The others kicked out at the writhing animals with their hooved feet. Fitzsimmons chopped two dog-like heads off, and the soldiers followed his lead. Two of the men were knocked off their animals and trodden on. The creatures focused on him now his men were otherwise occupied, saving their lives. Fitzsimmons fought fiercely, disgusted with the agony wrought on their horses. A creature bit his leg. Pain seared through him as blood poured out. The others slobbered, attracted by the smell. He felt sick, weak, and angry.

His blood boiled, his shirt tattered as his muscles expanded, and hair covered his skin. His claws and fangs grew as he became feline, leaving his human characteristics behind. He couldn’t control his anger as a furious need to protect the other riders took over. 

The creatures drove toward him. He yelled, ‘Save yourselves, men! They want me.’ 

He dived off his horse, landing skillfully on all four paws, and leaped between one of the creature’s feet, sliding and racing down the mountain and hiding behind a rock. He was correct. The beasts left his men and tried to track him, but to no avail. He might have a cat’s body but he had a man’s brain. He ran to a stream and dived in. He’d read small cats hated water, but big cats loved frolicking in deep water.

He allowed the current to drag him until he reached a pool and pulled himself out. He lay, allowing the sun to dry his fur, and his claws began to retract. He had to reach the palace before he regained his human skin, but he needed clothes as his were torn, and he was nearly naked bar his fur. 

He sent a message. Leonné. I’m hurt. Bring clothes and a horse to me, please. I’ll be behind the Heltum waterfall. 

He ran swiftly, climbed behind the waterfall, and waited.

FITZSIMMONS’ MEN couldn’t believe their eyes when he leaped off his horse and raced away. The dragon had growled and flown off, and the other creatures had chased after him until they were out of sight. They had tried to follow him but eventually gave up, and leading the dead soldiers’ horses, they rode quickly to the palace.

Leonné and Heroux were waiting for them at the gate. Leonné had already saddled her horse and had her bow and quiver in her hand.

What happened to the powerful knight? The chancellor wondered. And how did they know we were in danger? What is Fitzsimmons?

Heroux was shocked by their appearance. ‘Where is Fitz?’

The chancellor explained what happened. ‘We don’t know where he is now.’

Heroux cursed. ‘Blast this witchcraft and those that weald it!’

‘I must find him.’ Leonné grabbed the reins and slipped her bow and quiver over her back. One foot in the stirrup and she swung up over the saddle. Without a second glance at the others, she rode off. Heroux hurried to get his horse from his squire who had just finished tightening the saddle. In a moment, he was racing after her.

‘Follow the girl,’ the chancellor said to two soldiers. ‘She must be mad to go after the knight.’

‘She’s in love, m’lord,’ said a soldier scrambling onto his horse.

Leonné raced down the narrow track followed by Heroux. The waterfall wasn’t too far away, but Orella’s creatures could still be near. There was no doubt that Orella was behind this attack. Her command of dark creatures was getting stronger.

‘Well, you won’t win, Orella,’ she promised herself as she bent over her horses head and lightly tapped her knees against him, urging him to go faster.

Change back, Fitz, she messaged. I’ve clothes here for you. She reached the waterfall, and Fitzsimmons’ face appeared from between the vines. His face was clear of cat hair. She passed the clothes to him, and he struggled into them, grimacing when they touched his leg wound.

He ran to Leonné’s horse, swung up with one stride and then offered her his hand. She took it and he helped swing her up onto the saddle in front of him. ‘We move, now! If the creatures find us, I will jump off. You must leave me then. I can escape and return to the palace via the water holes.’

‘Thank the gods you’re safe,’ said Heroux, casting his eyes all around fearing an appearance from the creatures described by the chancellor.

They rode back up the mountain, meeting the soldiers that the chancellor had sent after them. Five furlongs from the gates the creatures appeared again, swooping down to block their path. Leonné wrinkled her brow and sighed, waving her bow around her head, incanting chants and shouting, ‘Go away!’ The ground rumbled and shook, and pebbles and rocks tumbled down the mountain, taking the creatures with them. Fitzsimmons fought to steady Leonné’s rearing horse.

With the coast clear they galloped the last distance and rode through the palace gates, followed by Heroux and the soldiers.

‘You owe me an explanation,’ said the chancellor who had been watching from the battlements. ‘Tomorrow at nine o’clock in my bureau. Get your wound dressed.’

‘Certainly, my lord,’ said Fitzsimmons, not relishing the audience with this perceptive man. 

He kissed Leonné’s hand, ‘My savior… yet again.’

‘Nonsense. This is Orella’s work and she came close to wounding you mortally. Let me tend to your leg.’ She led him, limping and bleeding, to her room, where she kept her ointments and herbs.

‘It is time you started wearing your gauntlet again, Fitz.’

‘What if people see me using it? If they tell the king…’

‘Needs must and I have a feeling you are going to need it in the days ahead.’

Chapter Twenty-One

‘SO, WHAT ARE YOU, a changeling?’ asked the chancellor. ‘Don’t try to bamboozle me, young man. You were a man one minute, and then a cat the next.’

‘I don’t know what you would call me, but I’m human unless I’m angry, and then I change.’

‘Does Arne know?’

‘Not yet.’

‘How did you become like this, were you born this way?’

Fitzsimmons explained all that he had learned.

‘And if you can’t control this, how will you operate on the battlefield?’

‘In battle, I remain cool. Nothing ever angers me enough to feel the need to change.’

‘Still, it is a risk, an important knight running wild on the battlefield as a cat!’ The sour twist of his mouth portrayed his abhorrence of the situation.

‘I’ve controlled it for years, although sometimes I felt strange sensations and urges when I was fighting, but I never lost control.’

‘I must tell the king what happened, but I believe you. Have you anything else to tell me? The girl, for example, what is she? I heard a rumor she helped you when Sancerre’s men attacked you.’

‘She is the niece of D’Abernon.’ He told the chancellor her story, and then added, ‘Leonné is an Elementalist. Her powers are increasing, but she only uses them for the good of others. When I fought a duel, Orella enchanted the lancer and turned him into a fierce animal while the audience was frozen and unaware. Leonné unfroze me with a spell and ordered Sabine to immobilize Orella while I fought my enemy.’

The chancellor’s brows rose skeptically, but he didn’t interrupt. If he hadn’t seen these monsters with his own eyes, he would have the knight thrown in the dungeons for witchcraft. Sometimes magic was needed to combat magic. Would this young man be the king’s savior or his downfall?

‘I will speak to the mage,’ said the chancellor. ‘She supports the king and works for the forces of good. I’ll have to tell the king some of what we’ve discussed, but I can verify your version of what happened and try to persuade him you’re not a danger to him or the stability of the kingdom.’

‘Thank you, my Lord. I’ll pursue my claim for my birthright and try to find out how to neutralize Orella’s powers, but I may have to eliminate Leonné’s family.’

‘Good luck, young man.’ The chancellor dismissed Fitzsimmons, and he returned to Leonné, grateful that the learned man believed and supported him. He had feared ending up on the gallows or burning at the stake as a sorcerer.

Chapter Twenty-Two

FITZSIMMONS LIMPED INTO the dining hall and made his way over to Leonné who was eating her dinner. ‘The king has asked a wise man in the mountains to help me. I go tomorrow to visit him.’

‘I want to come.’ She was adamant.

‘Very well, but you must do as I say. No arguments.’

‘Yes, if your judgment is rational.’

Fitzsimmons gave up. If he left her behind, she would only follow him. He ate some broth and then went to pack.

Leonné hurried to her chamber and pulled out a massive book of old carved and embroidered leather lent to her by the mage. As she touched it, the letters and carvings grew brighter; it recognized her powers. She asked Ame to pack and sat down to read the tome.

All afternoon and late into the evening, she practiced the spells she read in the book. She also had to understand the wisdom behind the enchantments and the qualities of the herbs that would enhance the power of the spells if used with them.

She needed to develop her skills quickly, and Orella must be vanquished. Fitzsimmons had heard rumors that D’Abernon was making alliances with others who wanted to conquer Gritheim and kill the king. Her life and happiness were of less import now. The security and peace of Gritheim were at stake.

They left at dawn the next morn with some fresh and energetic king’s men to gain the most daylight hours for their ride. Fitzsimmons’ five loyal soldiers grumbled at being left behind, but Fitz wanted them to train and strengthen their muscles. None of them had a command of sorcery and he was loath to risk their lives. They only settled when he assured them that he knew a day approached when he would need them.

Sorcerer Vidmar lived a hermit’s existence in a cave near the plateau. Normally it would take a sennight to reach but they followed a path the king’s mage had given them—one that most feared to tread.

The first hundred furlongs were easy riding. Then, they moved through a narrow tunnel in the mountain that widened to become a cavern with narrow sides but a deep gap in the middle. They inched around the gap, but a disgusting stench followed them.

‘Surely this path will end soon,’ said Leonné, coughing, covering her face with a scarf to fend off the vile smell.

‘This isn’t natural,’ said Fitzsimmons. ‘Ware the things that made that smell.’

The stench grew stronger, and they saw the roof of the tunnel was covered with the waste of an animal or bird. A clap announced a creature hitting the side of the cavern. Black shadows led the way to the party, dark leather wings heralding their arrival as hooked, clawed paws landed on the rider’s hair and backs.

‘Great gods, it’s the bats of Malum,’ yelled Fitzsimmons. ‘Cover your heads and ride as if Malum himself is after you.’ He tugged a bat off his visored helm. The bat dragged pieces of leather behind it as it shrank back. Red eyes with black rims stared at him and sent arrows to his eyes, trying to blind him. He thanked the gods he was wearing his soldier’s garb. Fitzsimmons rubbed his gemmed magic-infused gauntlet and directed a stream of light at the bats that flew around his men’s heads, forcing them away. Leonné clicked her fingers sending a ball of fire into the mass of stinking black vermin that shrieked wildly, flew to the end of the cavern, and waited outside.

‘We can’t go back. I can see more blocking the light at the end of the tunnel,’ said Fitzsimmons.

‘I’ll try to use the elements to make a fire-shield around us,’ said Leonné. ‘Stay together when we reach the end of the cavern.’ She pulled out a vial from her satchel. She chanted and sprinkled powder around herself and the party. The wand set it alight with a yellow, orange, and then a red fireball. The group was unharmed, the heat stinging their eyes but not touching their clothes or horses. They moved swiftly through the exit of the cavern. The ball followed them, the flames swarming in ribbons around the group, part red and glowing white with the heat. The bats swarmed at them like vicious beasts, claws stretched out to dive at their faces, but the fire pushed them back, and the party rode out of their way up the mountain track, sliding and scrambling on the loose stones that littered their path.

Leonné shivered and trembled. Using her magic powers had exhausted her. They rode for another hundred furlongs, but they could not rest or relax. Everyone was on edge, even their animals were hard to placate.

Fitzsimmons said at last, ‘We must rest our horses. They are tired out.’ They found a shallow cave in the mountainside and hid in there, their tents providing shelter. Fires at the entrance warmed them.

Leonné unfolded a piece of softened leather and took out a crystal. She placed it in her palm and closed her eyes to receive messages from it. ‘We’re safe here for tonight. The crystal shows no danger.’

The soldiers took turns to watch the entrance. Those who could find sleep were restless and often moaned through the night.

With first light, they made a simple breakfast of dried barley, oats, and berries washed down with ale. In near silence they mounted their horses again.

The journey was tricky. The wind tried to steal her cloak, and raindrops like cold rods scraped her face. She buried her head in the hood and pushed on behind Fitzsimmons, his large form and enormous horse making a windbreak against the elements. She began to doubt they would ever reach Vidmar.

We’re not wanted here. The elements are showing us that something is driving them to attack us. Orella? It must be her. How did she know we would be riding here? Is another traitor betraying us and his Excellency?

She pulled out her wand and waved it around her. ‘Leave us alone. We come in peace,’ she yelled above the noisy rain. A branch fell and caught her on the arm.

‘Ouch!’

Fitzsimmons turned round.

‘What happened?’

‘That cursed branch hit me. Away…’ she snarled at the tree, exasperated. Fitzsimmons waited as she pulled out a leather pouch containing dust of crushed herbs. She threw it around herself, and was instantly cloaked in dark smog, hiding her from curious eyes.

‘Keep your horse still,’ she ordered Fitzsimmons and covered him with the dust.

‘I’ve put a shield around us. Magic cannot enter, and we are invisible. Let me through to the men.’ She passed Fitzsimmons and threw dust over each man, cloaking them securely.

‘We’ll have to discard the shield when we meet Vidmar.’

‘We’ve not much farther, and we are protected from the elements now.’ But what else can Orella throw at us? asked Fitzsimmons speaking directly with Leonné so his men couldn’t hear.

Only the gods know.

They traveled on until they finally reached the cave, and she removed the shields. As they were about to enter, a tree moved in front of them, blocking the entrance.

‘Move, or I’ll dispose of you,’ warned Leonné. The tree jerked forward so fast it almost crushed Fitzsimmons. He picked himself off the ground where he’d tumbled off the horse out of its way.

It lurched toward Leonné, but she levitated off her steed and hovered above the tree. She pulled out her bow and arrows. She sprinkled a different dust on the tip of an arrow and sent it into the tree. 

The tree glowed white, orange, and red as it exploded into a ball of flames. The men threw themselves out of its way, coughing and spluttering, as they breathed the black smoke emitting from its trunk as it roiled across the track.

Cinders were soon all that was left of it, and the men stepped by it, entering the cave on high alert.

‘That was a wonderful trick,’ admired Fitzsimmons. ‘I didn’t know you could fly, Leonné.’ 

‘I practiced a spell from the mage’s book. I’ll show you the book she lent me when we get back.’ 

‘First, we must speak with Vidmar.’

For a split second they shared a glance. Their eyes spoke volumes as they recognized afresh their growing connection. It was a tender moment—that was gone in a heartbeat as they stepped into the unknown.

A light shone at the end of the cave. A curtain partly hid a tunnel. Fitzsimmons peered around it carefully, fearing an ambush, but saw only an aged man clothed in sackcloth sitting on a wooden chair before a dim fire. As he turned to them, they noticed his face was tinged with blue in a pallid skin. In contrast, his eyes burned a strange yellow like those of serpents, vibrant and full of life. Despite his odd appearance he seemed kindly.

‘Vidmar?’

‘Indeed, it is I. You two come in. Leave your men outside. Give them some wine,’ the sorcerer said, passing tankards and a skin of wine. Fitzsimmons sniffed it; it seemed fine, with an aroma of wild berries. Since being drugged he doubted the purity of every drink offered him.

‘Sit down.’ There were only sackcloth cushions, but they sat and waited for him to speak again.

‘What information do you need? I gained little from the king’s letter.’

‘D’Abernon and Orella want me to return to my cousin Roland, although our marriage is annulled, and I married him against my will. Do you know why his powers would have increased if we had consummated the marriage?’

‘Your mother and grandmother had magical powers, and your mother was the eighth daughter of the eighth daughter. If Roland had consummated your marriage, you would have had the chance to become immortal, and your powers would have been transferred to him. For this to happen, you must be a virgin when your husband takes you to his bed.’

‘Does that mean I will gain her powers if we consummate our marriage at Moonglade?’

‘Yes, but neither of you will become immortal automatically. There are stages and tests you must pass to show your worthiness. You must not use your new powers for evil. You must keep safe until your marriage is confirmed by the giving of your bodies to each other. The nearer the date, the more desperate your enemies will be to kill you.’

‘They’ve tried again this evening.’ 

‘I know. I’d have intervened, but Leonné seemed capable of dealing with the threats. You should learn some of her tricks. You doubt your competencies, but you can develop great skills and use them to create peace in Gritheim.’ 

‘How can I do that? Leonné’s powers are much more developed than mine.’

‘I’ll give you some books and you should borrow some from the mage. Be careful; if they get into the wrong hands, the spells may be used against you.’

‘I’ll guard them with my life.’

‘You may have to,’ warned the sorcerer. ‘The evil ones are forming together to use dark forces to bring down the king and anyone who acts against their interest. I fear for my own safety now that I’ve helped you.’

Fitzsimmons remembered the fate of the wise woman.

‘Can we help you, Sir?’

‘When you leave, I will block the entrance. There is a way through the mountain I can follow to get to safety and friends.’ He got up and went to a shelf which held some books. He ‘umm’ed’ a few times and selected three small volumes. He handed them to Fitzsimmons, who nodded his thanks and hurriedly placed them in his satchel.

‘Go now and make a diversion for me. I give you my blessing.’ He threw gold dust over them. As they blinked, he began an incantation that blew them back to the cave entrance.

They came out into the open, but the cave shook, and the air grew thick with grey dust. Rumblings and tremors announced rocks falling, and pebbles rained down around them as they fled with their animals down the mountain. Behind them, the noise quietened, and the dust settled on the rocks blocking the entrance. 

As soon as the rocks fell, Vidmar collected his most precious books, bundled them into a bag and scuttled down a meandering tunnel. Lifting the trapdoor, which from the outside was a mirage of a rock, he climbed out and strode up the mountain. In the hut, where he spent days and nights consulting with the stars, he filled a cauldron and began to weave his summoning spell. He didn’t have long to wait outside the rickety shack before an eagle came into sight.

The bird descended like a stone dropping and swooped in to pick him up. The giant eagle cawed as it leapt into the air again. Soon, the wizard would be with his friends and hopefully safe.

Chapter Twenty-Three

THE ORC-LIKE CREATURE thundered through his vast underground palace to the mirror in his chamber. He summoned D’Abernon, who trembled when he answered.

‘Yes, Master, how can I serve you?’

‘Where is Orella?’

Orella materialized next to her husband. ‘Here, Master.’

‘I want an explanation.’

‘The girl grows stronger. She now possesses a book of spells the mage gave her and practices them. Sorcerer Vidmar may also have given them help as we tried everything but couldn’t stop them from meeting with him.’

‘That irksome sorcerer will have explained why your son needs to bed the girl. Now the cursed knight will do the same to increase his powers. You fools have put us in a dangerous position.’ 

Orella wrung her hands. ‘I am sorry, Master. I didn’t think she would develop so fast.’

‘You will suffer for this.’ Dominai pointed his green-tingled hairy finger at them. As he summoned his power, his finger turned red. A sharp white light hit Orella on her face and Guiscard on his arm.

They stepped back fearful of what he would do next. 

‘If I want a job done properly, I must organize it myself. I will send my close ally who will take control. You’ll give him any help he asks. He will advise me if I need to go to the palace and eliminate this knight myself.’

‘Yes, Master. Who is he?’

‘He goes by the name of Lord Herron the Great but that is not his real name. He wears my insignia.’

‘When will he come?’

‘In three days’ time. Be prepared for him and summon support and arms to take on Fitzsimmons wherever he lives. Get ready now!’ he snarled.

‘Yes, Master.’ D’Abernon rubbed his arm. Needle-sharp pains heated his skin as if he was burning alive. Dominai was exacting revenge for his failure. He had little time left to gain his trust again. He rushed to find his steward.

‘I need men, arms, and horses by three days’ time. Also, carts. Send messages to my allies today. Ask the apothecary to come to me; my arm is burning.’ 

His wife entered his bureau. ‘The apothecary cannot help you—you fool. Your pain is Dominai’s work. Look at me. I wear the scar of failure.’

A mark like a brand had taken form on her beautiful, silky, lily-white cheek. ‘I’m deformed, ruined. Unless we succeed this time, we’re doomed. Dominai will remove my immortality and I’ll die like an old hag. And you’ll burn in hell!’ Her sneer indicated that might not be a bad thing.

‘I’ve sent for help from my allies. Sancerre’s men will attack Fitzsimmons after they’ve signed the document giving him his birthright. Leonné will lose her protector and Roland will get her back.’

The castle was in a bustle for two days anticipating the arrival of this important and mysterious guest. D’Abernon wondered why he used two names. What did he have to hide? Had he been imprisoned at some time and needed a pseudonym to avoid the king’s men finding him?

On the third day fifty men, carts, and a trebuchet appeared, a small army. Heading the troop was an enormous man visored and mailed as if prepared for war. Immense biceps like cartwheels and thick, muscled shoulders strained against his jacket and hose. His horse stood more than twenty hands. It seemed more like a dragon with a bump like a thick horn sticking from its head, huge nostrils, and long black plaited hair that fell to its withers. Huge feathers partly covered granite-like hooves. This was a steed readied for war.

The castle folk hurried to the battlements to gaze at the group of warriors and their fierce leader as they moved across the drawbridge. ‘It must be Herron,’ said D’Abernon to Orella. ‘Look at the size of him.’

‘The Master has sent someone capable of confronting Fitzsimmons at last,’ replied Orella. ‘I wish to see the fight between these two. Fitzsimmons may have met his match.’

‘Only if Leonné is separated from him. We must ensure that happens. I’ll go down and meet him.’

The gate opened and Herron rode in. He jumped off his animal and threw his reins to a stable boy. 

‘Feed and groom him. My squire will tell you his requirements and be sharp about it, he is thirsty and hungry.’ The boy moved to the stables speedily fearful of the wrath of this severe giant of a man.

D’Abernon walked across the courtyard and made a full bow. ‘My Lord Herron, I welcome you to my humble abode.’

‘Forget the niceties, man. This castle is not humble and you need me. Tell your marshal to quarter my men and animals and lead me to your bureau. We have much to discuss.’

They stepped to the bureau and a servant brought them ale and pies. Herron sat down carefully. The chair was too small for him and shook as it took his weight. He moved to a heavy bench.

‘Do you join me, D’Abernon,’ he said as he picked up his tankard.

‘I thank you but no, I’ve eaten.’

Herron pushed his visor up. D’Abernon didn’t know what he expected but gasped at the face before him.

‘You scare easily,’ mocked Herron. 

‘Not at all, it is only that Dominai didn’t tell me much about you.’

‘I’m a private man.’

‘The Master mentioned his plans to us, but I don’t believe the knight will become a turncoat and move to our side. We will have to eliminate him. Shall we discuss how?’

‘When I’ve finished eating and drinking,’ said Herron. He took off his gauntlets and picked up half the pie with a clawed hand. ‘You seem fascinated by me,’ he said with his mouthful of venison pie.

‘No, my Lord.’

‘You lie. I’m not entirely human but like The Master, I can change my facial features to appear human. It’s got me out of many a difficult situation.’ As he chewed, he smirked at Guiscard.

D’Abernon, revolted by his features was pleased when they started preparing to exterminate Fitzsimmons.

Chapter Twenty-Four

A FEELING OF FOREBODING overcame Leonné, Fitzsimmons was in trouble again. She should have accompanied him. Lying down on the bed she closed her eyes and brought up the image of Harmzein, the region where Fitz’s ancestral home was. Leaving her body, she astral flew over the land and entered the castle flying straight through the wall. Her spirit began to wander through the corridors. Where should I be? She was instantly transported into a circular room filled with book shelves.

In the library, Fitz paced while the chancellor rubbed his hands in front of the poorly lit fire. They’ve arrived safely. So far so good. She floated through the door and into the grand entrance. Where should I go now?

She wandered through rooms, peering in desks and musty drawers. She stopped in a bed chamber and observed a young woman staring through a window. The woman watched as a group of men rode up to the mansion’s doors. She read the woman’s thoughts.

I wish I could go with those men, she rubbed a bruise on her arm. If I had a babe, he might treat me better but his other wife was barren as well. He blames me and hates and despises me. He’s punishing me. I must get out of this room. It’s like a prison here. Why does he keep me here out of sight of others? He no longer comes to my bed or talks with me. I’m like a pariah. What does he want with me?

Leonné thought, she is richly gowned and jeweled. She must be Sancerre’s wife. So, it is not just his servants that he treats poorly. Poor woman, I must ask the king if there is anything we can do for her.

Her mind took her to another room.

Sancerre was signing a document. ‘What took you so long to get here?’

One of the three men in front of him bowed. ‘M’lord, we came as soon as we got word.’

‘The blasted man is here already.’ A few minutes later the three men bowed and left. She followed them down servant corridors to a small door. Outside they walked quickly to a stable hand who held the reins of their horses. Her bones chilled. Something was amiss. For a moment she flew above them as they rode out of the gates. Sabine was outside and trembling, sniffing toward the track.

What is it, Sabine? she messaged her feline friend. 

Danger Mistress, for my master on the track.

Leonné looked at the path the men had just galloped down. Sabine was not the only one who smelled a rat. Guard him and his group well. Warn him when it is right to do so.

Yes, Mistress. I wait for him. 

Sabine lay her long body down and stretched putting her head on her paws to rest a while until Fitzsimmons needed her.

Leonné’s spirit was sucked back to her body. She got up straight away and began pacing. Waiting for Fitzsimmons to return would test her nerves.

THE LORD CHANCELLOR produced documents pertaining to the assessment and transfer of the estates of Sancerre to Fitzsimmons. He approved of this young man given the hardships he’d suffered and the obstacles he had overcome to reach his status of favored knight. He would be a fierce warrior and leader for the king when Gritheim went to war again—despite his anomalies.

A less haughty Thibrut came into the library. ‘M’lord is ready for you now. I’ll provide refreshments for you in his bureau, gentlemen.’

Sancerre sat in his chair unwilling or unable to rise but he shook hands with the chancellor. He ignored Fitzsimmons’ outstretched arm. Fitz took a seat without being asked.

The chancellor grimaced. Bad manners appalled him. He was the mediator between these two men and only wanted a peaceful resolution. ‘You’ve seen a copy of the documents and agreed in writing that your settlement for the work you put into the business and the estates is fair. I ensured any monies you brought to the family or any business you created on your own were separated and thus you received monies for them.’ He motioned to Fitzsimmons to sign the papers and signed and witnessed the signature.

‘Are you satisfied and prepared to sign now, Sancerre?’

Jorg moved uncomfortably in his chair. Thin transparent skin stretched over his emaciated sharp cheekbones. Glazed brown rheumy eyes were covered with a thin film. He peered at them as if his eyesight was dim and failing.

‘I have no choice, Chancellor. Where do I sign?’

‘Here, my Lord.’

With a trembling hand, he signed his name slowly, gasping as he did so.

Fitzsimmons almost felt sorry for him but he had heard how ruthless and uncaring he could be. Sancerre’s first wife had died suddenly in an accident. Rumors hinted he had wanted rid of her when she couldn’t bring a babe to full term. This new spouse also appeared to be barren. Would she be next down the stairs? He wondered if Sancerre’s wife wished to leave him but still hoped he might not be on this earth for very long. Fitzsimmons had ensured in the agreement that she’d have an income for life after he died.

Jorg stared at him. Fitzsimmons’ blood chilled at the hatred in those sunken eyes. Cobalt blue speckled the dark brown. Good gods, even his eyes are becoming bluer and resembling mine. Fitz read his thoughts. 

You’ve drained my health and now you steal my birthright and those of my future sons. I curse you Fitzsimmons and any issue you may have.

 Fitzsimmons recoiled. I must ask the mage if she can remove this curse. I must ask the mage if she can remove this curse that links us and the new one he just cast at me. Once, he would have laughed curses off but not since he found Sancerre. He believed his father’s curse had worked on this pathetic man making him what he was—a shadow of a real man, a poor excuse for a human being who scathed his wife and servants with his bitterness.

The chancellor signed and witnessed Sancerre’s signature and now broke bad news to the broken man. ‘You and your family have a month to pack and leave this house. You may take your servants if you wish but Lord Fitzsimmons may choose to retain some of them.’

‘They are loyal to me and will accompany me,’ answered Sancerre. The chancellor doubted that. He’d heard a few had already left fearing working in a smaller house for a master with less income and a worse temper.

‘I bid you good day, and hope to hear better news of your health in the future,’ said Fitzsimmons graciously.

Sancerre waved them away and rose up, turning his back on them, he gazed out of the window. He leaned heavily on his stick and motioned to Thibrut to bring him his wheeled chair.

With nothing left to say the party departed and hastened to the track, which led back to the palace. A drizzle of rain made visibility difficult. They had been on the track only half a turn of the hourglass when Sabine began pulling at his boot trying to hold him back. ‘Stop Sabine, I should be at the front.’

The chancellor said, ‘Let one of the soldiers lead. We know not what faces us ahead.’

He was right to be suspicious. They rode slowly. The rain thickened to sleet and grey dank mist enveloped them. They could only see a furlong ahead. One of his men’s horses tripped and fell tossing him into the bushes on the side of the track. He hit his head hard and snapped his collarbone but he was lucid. 

‘He could have died,’ exclaimed the chancellor. ‘And he’s the best rider in our group.’

‘It was no accident or carelessness,’ replied Fitzsimmons. He pulled some stiff thin string from a tree. ‘Someone placed this across the track knowing we wouldn’t see it in the dusk and the rain. It should have been me in his place.’

‘Murder! Sancerre starts early,’ said the chancellor. ‘Put this man on the strongest horse and let the lightest soldier ride with him.’

‘Wait,’ said Fitzsimmons. He stood alone in the bushes his hands on his forehead thinking profoundly. 

Sancerre, you bastard, what are you thinking? 

No response. He tried again. 

Sancerre you failed. 

This time he saw an image of Sancerre with another man, and heard them talking. His senses were sharpening.

‘You fool, Britland, you injured another man. Orella has just told me Fitzsimmons lives! You should have waited for him to pass and pulled the string away instead of leaving it there.’

‘My lord he was leading the group. I wasn’t to know another would take his place.’

His answer was to receive a lash of the whip and then another and another until the man fell bleeding at Sancerre’s feet. ‘Take the fool and leave him outside on the track. He no longer works for me,’ he said to Thibrut.

‘M’lord, he needs his wounds tending or they may go septic.’

‘Do as you’re told. He deserves his fate.’ Dismissed, Thibrut called some footmen who did as Sancerre had ordered.

Fitzsimmons walked back to his party. He told them what Britland had done and his fate.

‘We must ride on.’

The chancellor did not ask him how he knew. He guessed Fitzsimmons could read minds and magic up images to find out information. This young man would be an excellent advisor to the king if he survived future attempts on his life and he could persuade Arne to accept the witchcraft that ran in his blood.

Chapter Twenty-Five

WE’LL STOP AT AN INN, Leonné. Riding in the dark when Orella’s men are ready to pounce is too dangerous.

I witnessed the horse tripping over. Thank goodness your man survived. Take care in the inn. Orella’s feelers are everywhere.

I will my love. Take care of yourself… Orella needs you desperately now.

I’ll try to read her mind. She is strong and created a barrier but this spell I’ve learned may break it. 

Try Guiscard or Roland first. They are weaker than her.

Goodbye, Fitz, keep safe.

The wounded soldier was in agony on the rough, rutted mountain track but they headed on until they found the inn. The two-story wooden building had seen better days but was warm and dry.

The chancellor went in accompanied by two soldiers. The bar was full of bedraggled, ragged men sitting on barrels with ales in their meaty hands. Straw was spread on the floor, dogs gnawing bones at the men’s feet. A pungent smell of dried spilled ale hit their senses.

‘Ale, victuals, and a bed for the night for seven men. One is injured so make the bed up and find some bread, meat, and cheese.’

‘Certainly, m’lord,’ said the landlord scurrying away when he noticed the insignia on the nobleman’s cloak.

‘We’ll take one room for four men and another for three.’ There’s safety in numbers, thought the chancellor.

‘I have pottage and rye bread already, m’lord. Will your party taste some?’

‘Yes, that’ll do for a start. In the parlor?’

‘Yes, m’lord.’ The landlord’s nose almost reached the floor so low did he bow. He opened a door to a warm parlor with a brightly lit fire.

They helped the soldier off his horse and onto a bench. ‘We need bandages and cloths to make a sling for his arm.’

‘I can spoon my own soup,’ said the soldier and proceeded to help himself with his good hand.

Fitzsimmons sat down; relieved they had left the track. ‘Two men stay awake tonight in case of trouble. This place is too open and easily attacked.’

Sabine sniffed the spoonful of pottage first and licked at it, her senses being more sensitive than that of humans. ‘Tis safe,’ she purred to Fitzsimmons, ‘no drugs or poison.’ 

‘Good girl, here’s your plate of meat.’ She sniffed it first and then tucked in. Purring she groomed herself and soon fell asleep before the hearth, one ear always up listening for trouble.

After supper, he whistled to her and she ran upstairs with him to the bedchamber he shared with the Lord Chancellor and a soldier. She sniffed around the room. Satisfied it was safe she slumbered in front of the grate. The soldier stayed in his chair on sentry duty whilst the other two slept. 

Fitzsimmons’ leg still troubled him. It felt hot and swollen around the wound. And the skin was turning an odd color. He needed more of the salve Leonné had prepared for him.

The next morning, he woke up sweating but he would be able to ride.

‘I need my own bed and Lady Leonné’s medicines,’ he confessed. 

The landlady fussed and cleaned his wound with wine and garlic. It stung like hell and she put a poultice on it and bandaged it.

‘We’ll leave within the hour,’ said Fitzsimmons. He noticed that the woman kept looking at the door. ‘Are you expecting someone?’ 

‘No, m’lord,’ she said hurrying to pick up her herbs and lotions.

‘Margot, are you gossiping again?’ her spouse demanded from the bar.

‘No, my love. I was bandaging m’lord’s leg.’ She scooted out of the room but still glanced at the door on her way.

Sabine sniffed at the door and howled, ‘I smell visitors, trouble!’

‘Look outside,’ Fitzsimmons told a soldier. ‘The landlady thought something was out there or she is waiting for someone to arrive.’

The soldier went outside but hurried back. ‘A troop of soldiers is riding up the track, m’lord.’

‘How many?’

‘At least thirty and all of them heavily armed.’

‘Is there an exit through the bar?’

‘I’ll find out.’

He returned. ‘Yes, but another group of soldiers are coming down the mountain by that track.’

‘So, we’re caught like rats in a trap if we don’t move fast,’ said the chancellor.

‘We can escape through a window, Sir,’ said another of his men.

‘It’s me they want. Leave me and save yourselves,’ said Fitzsimmons.

‘No fear,’ said the chancellor. ‘You can try to climb through the window.’ 

Before he could attempt to, a trumpet sounded.

They looked out of the window. An enormous man was sitting on a strange-looking steed outside the inn’s door. He was dressed for war, and followed by warriors carrying swords and shields.

‘Fitzsimmons, we know you are in there. Come out alone and save the lives of your men.’

‘Who wants me? In whose name do you demand my presence?’

‘I am Lord Herron the Great.

‘From where do you hail?’

‘The west, a region next to Gurthand, called Brintdalt.’

‘So, neither you nor your liege are citizens of Gritheim. What do you want of me?’

‘Your surrender and your promise to return the girl to her family.’

Good gods, Orella’s tentacles reach this far. Who is this liege? Is he The Master they worship?

He tried to think of a plan of escape. The king’s men were armed but they couldn’t take on either of the two groups hemming them in. Their only chance was to make a diversion and some of the party could escape, but the men were stubborn, they would not leave him. They didn’t follow him because of his reputation and bravery; they followed him on the king’s orders and for fear of retribution.

‘I’ll never turn Lady Leonné over to that brute Roland. She will wed me.’

‘You will die then.’

‘So be it.’

‘You care not for your men’s lives.’

‘They can surrender. I’ll not blame them. It’s me you’re after.’

A roar came from the man. He slid off his mount and thundered across the track to the doorway. The ground shuddered beneath his weight, the horses reared in fear, and the soldiers held on to their reins like grim death.

He hammered on the door commanding, ‘Open up if you don’t wish to die.’

‘May Malum take you’ was the reply.

The giant didn’t bother to ask for the battering ram. He took one step back and kicked the door. It shivered and cracked splintering across the ground. He swung his chain and the ball at the cracks and the door creaked and split. One more kick from his iron-covered boots sealed its fate as it caved in. He tore the parts asunder and strode in.

The innkeeper and his wife hid in the corner behind a dresser, eyes widened, shaking and trembling. 

‘Where are they?’ Herron asked.

‘The tall one is round the corner but the rest are in the parlor,’ the innkeeper answered in a quivering voice.

‘Give me the keys to the rooms and the doors,’ he demanded, ‘and then prepare food for my men. We will dine well once we have taken a prisoner or two.’ He laughed as if he’d told a joke; the sound filled the inn owners with dread.

He called his men, ‘To the parlor, and take as many alive as you can.’ 

Fitzsimmons yelled out, ‘Escape while you can. I’ll look after myself.’ The chancellor recognized they could do little for him whilst the enemy was outside the parlor. His party had barricaded the door with a dresser, a table, and chair. They heard the other soldiers battering the far door. They must fight their way out.

The chancellor whispered, ‘Try to hold out as long as we can. Give Fitzsimmons time to flee. He may be able to change and jump out of the window in his animal form.’

Fitzsimmons recognized the strength and power of his opponent. He might defeat him in a fair fight but with limited mobility and his pain, he was in a poor position to take on the giant. With the pain in his leg almost blinding him, he didn’t think he could even summon enough strength to use his gauntlet. Who knows what magical skills this giant may have if Orella was helping him.

Escape was his only chance. He climbed painfully onto a settle in front of the window. His leg burned and felt like lead. He lifted it onto the sill with one hand while holding on for grim death with the other. He stifled a scream as the wound tore and bled. It was better than being caught by that brute who would subject him to a painful death.

Cautiously, he peered out. One soldier guarded the window. An easy target! He covered one of the horn window panes with his coat and cracked it, the coat muffling the noise. He tore off ragged pieces and leaned out grabbing the soldier, pulling his helm tight, and snapping the man’s neck. The soldier fell like a stone to the floor. Fitzsimmons opened the window, then tugged first one leg and then the other over the sill and jumped, landing on the man’s lower body. The impact made him retch, but he pulled himself up, moved quickly to the outhouse, and hid behind it.

Herron meanwhile had stomped around the corner. He saw the smashed horn. ‘Fitzsimmons has escaped this way. Come round the side and trace him.’

Fitzsimmons’ only means of escape was up or down the sheer face of the mountain. He bound his leg and searched for an easy way to escape

I’m no goat, he thought, but I’m a sure-footed cat. He took a deep breath and thought a prayer. God Eilsir, enemies want me dead and they will harm the king. I may save my men and myself if I escape. I can then destroy the king’s enemies. Pray, help me change form.

For an instant, he thought his prayer would be ignored but then he itched and his hair, claws and thumbs grew. He undressed quickly and placed his clothes in his haversack. He’d need them later if his plan worked. His wound was now hidden under hair and fur but it bled copiously. He would be weak soon and a trail would be easy to follow.

He found a gap between two soldiers. He had claws and thumbs but wielding a heavy sword was difficult unless he changed form. He’d put daggers in his haversack for later. He heard a snuffle. Sabine had somehow managed to escape. 

‘Thank the gods. Come here. Good girl, evening up the numbers.’ He nudged his shoulder against hers. ‘On to the soldiers.’ They jumped together pinning the men on their backs and swiping their eyes with their paws, blinding them. Sabine’s sharp icicles pushed out, slashing the soldiers’ throats. Wasting no time, they ran off leaving the men to bleed to death.

‘Good work. But I must change back into human form later if I’m to fight them adequately. I can’t leave my party to that monster and his men.’

‘Follow me,’ answered Sabine, her sharp eyes finding the easiest route for her master to climb away. 

Chapter Twenty-Six

THE CHANCELLOR AND HIS MEN were pushed to the back of the room as the ram split the door and Herron’s soldiers moved forward, heaving the furniture blocking the door out of the way. Men behind them were rushing down the corridor to their exit. They made one last stand thrusting swords into the oncoming foe but it was to no avail. There were too many and the fighters were huge and strong like their leader, stamping forward and twisting the swords out of their hands like the flimsy wooden swords of children.

‘Surrender!’ yelled one soldier motioning another to collect their swords.

‘Do so,’ said the chancellor wisely. Better to live another day and try to escape than die, he thought. Herron’s soldiers noosed their necks, manacled their hands, and led them outside.

Herron had heard a faint noise around the corner. He looked out of the window and saw his dead men.

‘Fitzsimmons has escaped. Come men, up the mountain with you and capture him.’ He glimpsed a flash of black tail bounding through the sparse trees.

‘That mangy cat is with him. Follow it. A gold sovereign for the man who brings me back its tail. Loose the hunting dogs.’

The men rode to the trees but then had to dismount.

‘There it is, a black flash diving behind that rock and another golden feline beside it,’ cried one, eager to win the coin.

Fitzsimmons looked back. The soldiers didn’t stand a chance. They stumbled and staggered up the steep rocky mountainside trying to grip the small moss-covered pebbles, clambering up a rod and then slipping down again. He and Sabine raced from one ledge to another, sliding and balancing until they reached the plateau and lying down on their fronts, fully stretched for a few minutes. The soldiers were only halfway up the mountain. Herron was goading them on threatening a whipping to any man who gave up.

Why doesn’t he know I can change form? He wondered. Surely Orella’s told him.

I blocked her from his mind. It was the mage helping him again. Leonné’s powers were not strong enough to help you this time. Her mind is still immature by my standards.

Thank you, my Lady.

Be careful. His reach is long and he is ruthless and not human. Orella is a pussy cat compared with him.

I will be.

He spoke too soon. His leg had started to bleed again despite him binding it very tight. His head swam.

‘Master, are you able to move?’ Sabine whined, worried. ‘We must leave.’

‘Yes, but not as fast as you. And those hounds will pick up our scent.’

She looked over the rocky face and saw the men making progress up the track, riding, instead of climbing the mountain face.

‘I’ll make a diversion.’

‘Don’t leave me. That’s an order.’

For once his cat ignored him and tail in the air she ran across the canyon in full view of the soldiers.

Damn that cat, she’s getting as bad as Leonné. 

The soldiers who were close by changed course and headed after Sabine who waited and then shot away. The hounds were set loose.

Sabine knew she had to find somewhere safe to hide while she waited for Fitzsimmons. Her sharp eyes searched for a stream and she wet her feet, shivered, and then plunged in allowing the water to take her as it wended its way down to a sharp fall. She plunged over and over, summersaulting until her feet hit the ground, shaking her bones.

She gulped some water accidentally and coughed and spluttered. I’m safe. Wet and cold but they’ve lost me, she messaged.

I’ll meet you at the bottom of the other side by the cave we found last year.

I’ll find you there. 

Chapter Twenty-Seven

HERRON SCRUTINIZED HIS PRISONERS. The Lord Chancellor would bring a high ransom from the king. The others were mere soldiers but they had fought well and if they joined his army, they would make good mercenaries.

‘Where will Fitzsimmons hide?’ he asked them. The chancellor answered on behalf of them. It was he who behooved to take responsibility and seniority at moments like this. Being a churchman as well as lawyer they were less likely to hurt him for fear of retribution by the king and his men.

‘We do not know, my Lord. He is a private man and takes few people into his confidence.’

‘You lie, you fool. Do you know who you are speaking with?’ He snarled but he sounded more like an iron trap snapping down on its victim.

‘Lord Herron, I believe, but I know not the region you hail from or your liege.’

‘You think your religious position protects you from my wrath. You think wrong. My Master and his servants follow the old religion and respect not your ways.’ He stepped forward and grabbed the chancellor and swung him around and over his head and slammed him into a tree.

‘Agh,’ cried his victim, sliding to the ground, his face bloodied and bruised. Only his helm protected his brains from spilling against the tree and he lost consciousness. 

‘Bring water and wake him up,’ ordered Herron to a soldier. The man moved fast to do as commanded, and Herron turned to face the other captures.

‘Who can answer my question?’ He spoke quietly but the men’s pupils darkened with fear as they anticipated further punishments if they could not help him.

‘We don’t know. He only discussed his plans with the chancellor. We thought we were going back to the palace,’ ventured one soldier bolder than the rest.

Herron tugged his whip from his mount’s saddle.

‘Wrong answer. You’ll pay for your friends’ silence.’ He whirled the whip in the air and threw it around the man’s waist. He attached it to his horse and slapped the horse on the rump making it run. The animal moved quickly dragging the poor fellow for a few minutes and then he whistled it back. The man’s clothes were torn and ragged, his mail digging into his flesh. Herron pulled the man’s bloody and scabbed face up by his chin. ‘Next time you die!’ he warned.

‘Untie him, give him water, and bathe his wounds. I want him to live and fight for us.’ His soldiers picked the man up and carried him to the parlor to let the landlady tend his wounds.

‘What about the rest, m’lord?’ asked Heinreid, his second in command.

‘I believe they know nothing. Feed them and let them sleep. My men might have caught the cats. Where the other one came from, I cannot imagine. They must have separated from Fitzsimmons and be meeting somewhere further away.’

‘We saw no sign of a man, the only prints were of two great cats, m’lord,’ explained Heinreid.

‘He must be hiding close by then. Carry on searching.’

Herron went back to the inn and took the chancellor’s room. He scratched his head. He couldn’t think clearly. His brain was blanketed in fog. His eyes were opaque, a film covering the pupils.

He lay down and fell asleep.

BACK IN THE PALACE Leonné smiled, satisfied. She had thwarted Orella’s plan yet again. The mage had warned her of Herron’s attack on Fitzsimmons’ men and she had sent him to sleep giving her love a chance to escape. Herron was dangerous. She’d have to find out what he was and what skills he possessed. She needed to speak to that wise lady about the captured men and see what they could do for them.

She planted a message in Fitzsimmons’ mind but he didn’t answer. Her pulse raced and her imagination ran riot. He might be sick or dead!

She took a hair Sabine had shed and thought a spell over it.

Sabine, where is your master? The cat answered her. He is ill, his leg bleeds badly. I ran away from the soldiers to divert them from him and we were meant to meet at a place we found last year but he’s not here.

He must have fallen sick or have been caught. I will find him. She took a lock of hair out of her locket and repeated the spell. A vision caught in her mind. He was lying down behind a massive rock and shivering feverishly. 

I will send Heroux to help you, my love, she messaged.

Sabine, I think he is lying behind this rock. Can you find him? She’d posted an image of him and the rock in Sabine’s mind.

Yes, Mistress. He’s not far away. I’ll go to him and guard him.

Try and get him to drink something and keep him warm until Heroux arrives.

Sabine ran off. Her beloved master was in trouble.

HERRON WOKE UP with a clear head. Somebody entered his mind. It was Orella.

I’ve been trying to reach you, my Lord. Something was blocking me. I think Leonné put a spell on you. She’s dangerous and will thwart our efforts if we don’t neutralize her powers soon.

So be it. I’ll give orders to kidnap her and bring her to me.

What happened to Fitzsimmons? Leonné blocked me from entering his mind.

We attacked his party in the inn but he escaped with two cats, one black and one golden. We can’t find him.

My Lord, you’ve been duped. I was trying to inform you he can change into a big golden cat. The other cat would be his familiar, Sabine.

Herron was enraged. I had him and could have trapped him. I’ll send the men after him again and bring the black feline back and have her for my supper. She is as large as a stag. He jumped up. You’ve done well this time Orella. Keep me informed. I will explain to Dominai that you tried to inform me but this girl is too strong. He must help us neutralize her powers or all his plans will go awry.

Thank you, my Lord. But… she touched her face. My skin. Can you rid me of this scar? It’s being remarked on by the palace folk. They are calling me a witch and I fear for my safety.

That is the mark and punishment of The Master. It’s up to him to remove it. I’ll plead your case if you provide more information that leads to the capture of Fitzsimmons.

I’ll try to find out something immediately, my Lord.

‘Heinreid,’ he yelled.

His man ran in. ‘Yes, m’lord.’

‘Fitzsimmons was the golden cat. He can change form. Send more dogs to track him and bring him back.’ 

Heinreid smiled. ‘That will be easier. We lost the black one at the stream but he can’t have got far with that bleeding leg. We found streams of blood over pebbles and rocks. We should be able to track him.’ He saluted and left.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

FITZSIMMONS SPLUTTERED AS A WET, slobbery kiss woke him up. ‘Ugh!’

‘We must get ready to move, Master. Lord Heroux comes to take you home. But I hear dogs not far away. We must be prepared to fight if he doesn’t get here soon enough.’

‘I’m weak, I can’t fight. I have bled too much.’

‘Heroux brings soldiers to aid you.’ 

He sat up and inspected the bandage. He was still bleeding. He couldn’t tighten it while still in feline form. A horn blared.

‘They’re near. Run, Sabine! If they catch me, you can help me escape. If you’re caught, I have less chance.’

‘I’ll only leave if you’re captured,’ said the stubborn animal.

The hounds could be seen now.

‘We must run and hide someplace else,’ said Sabine. She head-butted him, and he pulled himself onto his fours. They ran, the hounds chasing their scent. As agile cats they scaled the mountain faster than the dogs and gained some ground, but they saw a few soldiers above them.

‘Separate, Sabine. Now!’

Fitzsimmons coughed, panted, and spurted to his left using his last energy, just as a net dropped and covered him, catching his claws. He tumbled to the ground. Trying to retract his claws, he pawed his way to the top but was hit on the head and fell back as the net closed and trapped him.

Sabine ran to the right. Although the hounds chased her, she turned and saw Fitzsimmons had been captured. She followed his order and climbed up a tree and leaped to a branch of another tree and another and scooted down the trunk of yet another tree. The hounds had stopped at the first tree, looking up and waiting for their orders from their handlers. By the time they arrived, Sabine had fled and raced back to Himinbjörg as fast as she could, meeting Heroux on the way.

Heroux couldn’t understand animals, but he guessed what had occurred.

‘Has Fitz been captured?’

Sabine hissed and howled. Heroux guessed that meant yes. ‘Come on, let’s get back to Leonné. She will know best what to do.’

Back at the palace, Leonné already knew what had happened when Heroux found her.

‘I read his mind. He’s in great pain and delirious, but I know he has been dragged back to the inn. He’s unconscious, but his wounds have been treated, so he should survive. It would seem they want him alive for some reason. I tried to read Herron’s mind to gauge his plans. I only picked up one thought before he sensed my presence and blocked me.’

‘What was that?’

‘He thought Dominai was mistaken in wanting Fitz on his side.’

‘Do you know who this Dominai is?’

‘I believe it is the one they call The Master.’

‘Will Herron let him live? Mayhap, this Dominai did try to kill him before.’

She speculated. ‘Although, the D’Abernons’ and Sancerre wish him dead, Fitz is known as the king’s fiercest knight. Maybe the reason he still breathes is because their master thinks he can tame him and use his warrior skills to fight for him. There are rumblings there will be an insurrection soon to overthrow Arne. Some nobles think he taxes too much, and they want a greater share of their yield and to send fewer men to war.’

Heroux bristled. ‘I think he is a fair king, and some nobles are lazy and greedy. It is not his fault famine and disease have run riot through Gritheim. I’m on his side. All said and done, he treated Fitzsimmons fairly.’

‘And yet, unrest spreads through the land. He also tried to marry me off, thinking it would provide more security for himself with Fitzsimmons on his side. I think he needs to buy loyalty in these uneasy, unsettling days when men will change sides for a purse.’

HERRON BOWED in front of the mirror, ‘Yes, Master. I received your message in time and didn’t eliminate him. He changed into a cat, but we caught him. His leg is badly wounded, but he will ride soon. Shall we kill him?’

‘No. He is resourceful and a strong warrior and leader. I plan to persuade him to work for me. He will be a useful addition to our cause.’

‘Shall I interrogate him?’

Dominai read his henchman’s mind. ‘Yes, but do not torture him. I want him to act voluntarily. Find out if he loves the girl or if he is marrying her out of loyalty to Arne. Does he fear losing his estates and her dowry if the king falls? Will he support the party he thinks will win a civil war if Arne is challenged for his throne and land?’

‘But if he can change his loyalty this way, can he be trusted to be loyal to you, Master?’

‘You incredulous fool. Mere men are slaves to the coin. Do you think Orella, Guiscard, and Roland would have supported me if I hadn’t promised them riches, power, and immortality for the D’Abernon dynasty? They changed sides when they believed I offered them more than Arne could. As do all weak men!’

‘I will do as you ask, Master.’ The mirror clouded and he vanished.

Herron scratched his chin. For the first time, he doubted Dominai’s decision. Fitzsimmons would be a formidable asset, too formidable, he admitted. Could the knight challenge him for the position of second in command? No! He would not allow this whippersnapper to usurp his role. He’d find the truth before Fitzsimmons ingratiated himself into Dominai’s good graces.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

FITZSIMMONS WOKE UP. Pain streaked through his leg as if it were being torn apart. He tried to touch the wound, but his hands were manacled to the wall above him, and he could only look at his swollen but cleanly bandaged limb. Someone wanted to keep him alive. Why? Sancerre needed him dead, and Orella had aided him. He remembered Herron’s words mocking him, expecting him to refuse to aid his Master. Would they offer him the chance to work for them in some capacity? It would be the lesser evil if his choice was that or death.

Usually, he would reject such an offer, but agreeing might bring him closer to their master and the possibility of eliminating him. He might live! Leonné and Heroux would send help. Sabine would guide them to the inn, but he needed to gain time for them to bring a battalion of men. 

The guard left him alone for hours. The moon shone through the window. At last, the door rattled, and through slitted eyes, he saw him come in. The man brought water and slices of bread. He shook Fitzsimmons, who pretended to be asleep, his mouth watering at the thought of food. The man kicked him in the side, threw the water over him, and then unlocked his manacles.

‘Get up and eat. Lord Herron wants you fit to talk with him tomorrow.’

Fitzsimmons opened a lazy eye and tugged himself up. He rubbed his sore wrists and rounded his shoulders a few times trying to bring life back into his numb muscles. Finally, he took and ate the bread. The fellow filled a tankard. 

‘Drink and then sleep while you can; in the morning, you’ll be interrogated.’ When he went, Fitzsimmons looked around his prison, an attic room with one barred window. His hands were now free, but his leg pained him so much he knew he wouldn’t be able to go far on it. He must rest and restore his strength.

Early the following morning, a guard woke him up and thrust food into his hand. 

‘Hurry up. We waste no time here. Lord Herron wants to talk with you now.’ He ate quickly, trying to size up if he was strong enough to take the guard on. Getting to his feet proved nigh on impossible, and with it came the realization there would be no escape for him today. The guard grunted, then grabbed Fitzsimmons’ arm and tugged him up. He lent him his shoulder and helped him to limp to the parlor. 

He pushed him onto a chair and manacled his hands behind his back. Fitzsimmons sat alone for a few minutes, but then a stomping noise announced Herron. The warlord slammed the door so hard that the bang resonated through the building. This will not be an easy interview, thought Fitzsimmons, bracing himself for the worst. 

‘Well, ‘cat-man’ how is your leg this morning?’ Herron pressed his hand down hard on the bandaged limb. Fitzsimmons gritted his teeth and swallowed the cry of pain. He refused to answer his torturer.

Herron removed his hand with a snort. ‘You have questions to answer. I look forward to crushing you, but first, tell me… I’m curious, what is your interest in the wench, Leonné?’

‘I believe the reason is common knowledge.’

‘So it’s true, you’ll marry her for power and riches.’

‘Yes, I’ve won back my birthright, much to Sancerre’s displeasure. With my estates and those of Leonné, I will become quite powerful.’ He rearranged his shoulders, leaning back slightly while lifting his chin. His self-assured arrogance leaked from him, and by Herron’s face, Fitz knew he was getting under the man’s skin.

Herron leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee. ‘Orella believes you act more out of love for the girl than loyalty to Arne.’

‘I have affection for the chit. She would make a fine wife if tamed, and I’ll admit I want her dowry, but I don’t love her.’

Herron scrutinized him. He wore the face of an honest man. Orella would need to read his mind to see if he spoke the truth.

‘So, if you were offered a new master with more riches to earn, you might change your loyalty?’

Fitzsimmons shifted slightly in his chair. I wasn’t dreaming then, Dominai does want me. ‘Anything is possible when the only alternative is death. It also depends on how sure your master is that he’ll win. There are rumors of an insurrection. If Arne dies, I might lose any power or riches I’d have gained by marrying Leonné. I have little choice, and I do wish to live.’

‘So, your blood runs yellow. You’re not the chivalrous and loyal knight you pretend to be.’

‘I’m a survivor,’ shrugged Fitzsimmons. His bile rose in his throat, and his claws itched below his skin. He took deep breaths and controlled himself, making them recede. In other circumstances, he’d have choked the life out of a man who inferred he was cowardly and treacherous, but this man held all the cards in this game of words. His only hope of survival was to play along.

‘I’ll report back to The Master. In the meantime, you can enjoy our hospitality.’

I’ve suffered worse. He had been taken prisoner and tortured when he first became a knight.

Herron told a guard, ‘Leave him locked up in here. I want his wound to heal. No need for the manacles, you can remove them.’

Left on his own, the day dragged into a never-ending night. He couldn’t stop shivering, stabbing pains like knives kept him awake. At least the feverfew had stopped the fever from worsening. He lifted his painful leg and winced; he couldn’t escape in his condition. Even a kitchen maid could tackle him to the ground while his fever still held. He would be patient. If they didn’t kill him, he would find a way out. 

I must agree to work for their master and discover what’s being planned. 

He slept fitfully, the pain rousing him  often. During his waking moments he tossed and turned as images of an unfaithful Leonné filled his mind. By morning, his fever had broken, the salve having worked. Not one had come to take his life yet; perhaps Herron had believed him, although he seemed too easy to persuade.

Herron entered his room. ‘Break your fast, and then we move.’ A servant followed him in and placed a tray with some bread and cheese on the table.

‘Where to?’ Fitzsimmons planned to pass a message to Leonné and Heroux with anything he could learn.

‘You will find out when we arrive there. Move!’

Fitzsimmons pulled himself up and stuffed a piece of bread and cheese into his mouth. The guard helped him stumble down the stairs and pushed him onto a horse, tying his hands and feet to the saddle. ‘You’ll not be escaping us,’ he said, satisfied with his work.

‘Why should I? I’m one of you now,’ said Fitzsimmons, carrying on his ruse. The saddle rubbed his wound raw through his rough leggings. 

Pray, gods, this agony will soon be over.

They followed a track to the west. Are we going to Herron’s estate in Brintdalt?

They traveled through mountains and across plains for six days until they came to a fortified castle on top of a mountain plateau.

‘This is Herron’s territory,’ explained a guard. Fitzsimmons surveyed the land. It was as cold and barren as the man himself, a wasteland of thin grass and sparse trees. The battalions passed through one hamlet, the common bare of livestock. The inhabitants outside their homes ran inside when the soldiers rode through, scattering scrawny chickens. No children played in the street. Grey and bleak, it was a place to pass through or avoid. Even Herron’s men seemed pleased when they made their way to the castle gates.

SIX DAYS EARLIER JUST BEFORE DAWN, Sabine led Heroux and his men to the inn. They had little chance of rescuing Fitzsimmons with two battalions of soldiers camped outside; how would they carry him out under the noses of the enemy?

‘Arne may provide us with more troops,’ said one soldier.

‘He’s too canny to take on this number without knowing who this lord from the west is,’ said Heroux. ‘No, we are on our own.’

‘They’re preparing to move,’ said another who’d climbed a tree to spy on them.

‘We must follow them but from a distance,’ said Heroux. ‘Sabine will track them to their destination and come back and take us there. She moves faster across this mountainous terrain than us.’

Sabine howled as if in agreement.

‘Be careful, Sabine. You’re too valuable to be harmed or lost to the enemy.’ She swished her tail and rubbed her body against his leg, recognizing his caring nature.

When the men moved the next day, Heroux attached a crystal to Sabine’s collar.

‘Through the powers of this crystal, Leonné can track and message you. Take care, sweet girl.’

Sabine licked him and set off behind the men purring; she loved to feel useful. Sleeping and ratting in castles and palaces bored her stiff, and she enjoyed running by Fitzsimmons’ side sniffing out trouble on the battlefield. She recognized a similar spirit in Leonné, who hated being confined in rooms and adored walking in the mountains.

Heroux’s party rode back to Himinbjörg. Leonné paced the room, waiting for further news of Fitzsimmons.

Heroux went straight to her. ‘He’s alive but a prisoner of a leader called Herron. Nigh on a hundred soldiers camped there, so we returned. They’re moving him. Sabine is following them to their destination.’

‘Why didn’t they kill him?’ Leonné puzzled for the hundredth time that day.

‘They may interrogate and torture him first. Herron will probably take him to meet their master. I’ve put the crystal on Sabine so you can message her.’

‘I’ll do that at nightfall. She’ll be exhausted if she’s tracked them through daylight.’

‘Yes, no prowling for her tonight.’

SIX DAYS WITH LITTLE to eat and constant running had left Sabine exhausted. She crawled on her belly and got as close to the track as she could without being seen. With luck, or divine intervention, a cart stopped right in front of her. Sabine took her moment and slipped under it. The cart stopped at the portcullis gate so the castle guards could check it. Sabine took the moment to sneak off. She spotted Fitzsimmons going up some steps, and with her heart beating fast, followed him. She guessed what would happen to her if she were caught—a sorcerer’s cat, as superstitious folk named her. Torture and a slow death.

She managed to hide while a soldier led Fitzsimmons into an office, a bureau they called it. These human terms sometimes confused her. What’s wrong with plain speaking cat talk? Once she found the room, she sneaked into the room next door and through the window. On soft paws, she ran across to the ledge of the bureau. The considerable drop below unnerved her. 

It be a job for those rotten crows or the eagle. That cheeky one, Seeker, had pecked her and pulled her tail when she tried to investigate him, her natural curiosity getting her into trouble again.

As Sabine listened to the conversation she was shocked. She hissed and her fur spiked up. My Master, a turncoat! How can he do such a thing? Mistress Leonné will never forgive him. I must warn her and Heroux.

Fitzsimmons sensed Sabine’s presence and called to her in his mind. Don’t fear. I’m pretending, but don’t tell Leonné or Heroux. I may have to kidnap Leonné, and I want her to think it’s for real to fool Herron and Orella. Return and tell them what you heard.

Pleased to leave her scary perch, Sabine jumped into the room and down the stairs, missing the guards by a hairsbreadth. Later that night, she scaled the courtyard walls with stealth and agility and set off for Himinbjörg. 

She arrived six days later, exhausted, but rushed to Heroux and Leonné, who were breaking their fast.

Leonné knelt on the floor, cuddled the tired animal, and gave her some fish. 

Grateful that the Elementalist could understand her Sabine whispered, ‘I found him, and he’s safe and recovering his health but can’t walk far. His leg is bandaged.’ She hesitated and failed to look Leonné in the eyes. ‘My Master is going to help our enemy,’ she murmured sadly.

‘What?’ Leonné jumped up. ‘He’s helping them?’

‘He fears for his life and believes he’ll lose his status and riches if King Arne loses the throne.

Leonné told Heroux the gist of their conversation.

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Heroux. ‘Fitzsimmons a traitor? Never!’

‘Neither do I,’ said Leonné, ‘But we must assume he’s telling the truth rather than following our instincts. We’ll tell Arne and protect him.’ 

Chapter Thirty

FITZSIMMONS SAT IN A CHAIR reading, his leg elevated. Surprisingly Herron’s second in command, Heinreid, was well-read and had lent him some books. Herron came in.

‘We move in two days. I spoke to the physic; you should be able to ride with little discomfort and no damage to your leg.’

‘Thank goodness. I’m bored despite Heinreid kindly lending me some books.’

‘Reading is for maidens and widows, not for warriors like us,’ remarked Herron contemptuously. ‘I read enough for business but not for pleasure.’

That’s typical of an inhumane beast like you, thought Fitzsimmons. ‘Where are we heading?’

‘Vaxis, to visit the D’Abernons’. We rest there until our plans are formed, and we can act. You’ll bring the girl back to them.’

‘I thought The Master wanted to talk with me.’

‘He does, but only after you have proven your loyalty.’

Two days passed quickly; now he knew he would soon leave this place. Heinreid helped him onto his horse and made him ride close to him. The journey challenged his bad leg, but soon he would be able to walk unimpeded.

On arriving at Castle Gratlon, he was taken to sup in the Great Hall with Orella and her family. Orella eyed him suspiciously, her pale blue eyes screwing up with dislike.

‘The innkeeper’s son.’

Fitzsimmons ignored her insult but replied, ‘Aye, that I once was, my Lady,’ looking down at her gloved hand, ‘I hope you keep well.’

Orella flinched. Her stump still pained her, a bitter reminder of his present to her. She’d not forgotten and would take her revenge against him and Leonné at an appropriate time.

‘And Lady Leonné, how fares she?’

‘When I left her, she fared well.’

She noted he passed over that subject as if indifferent to her welfare. How interesting. Is he bored with her? Unlike her aging husband, who she had tired of, Fitzsimmons was a handsome, virile man. He’d make an incredible lover once she’d tamed him. I must find his true intentions. I think I’d rather enjoy toying with him before I kill him.

Fitzsimmons had trained his brain during his detention. He blocked her attempts to read him. It was difficult for lengthy periods, and instead, he thought about purchasing new boots; the ones he’d been lent were uncomfortable, although his clothes fitted him. He let her in but frustrated Orella, thinking about paltry and trivial items. 

Where is the mind of the warrior? Has he gone soft?

‘We’ll discuss your role tomorrow morn in my bureau after we break our fast,’ said Guiscard. ‘You’re free to explore the castle but may not leave the grounds.’

‘You are gracious, D’Abernon, but why would I want to escape when The Master is likely to offer me more than Arne?’

‘Remember that… should you think of changing your mind,’ warned Orella. With that, she allowed him to finish his supper. After bread and water in captivity, his mouth watered at the thick pottage, pigeon pie, and sweetmeats. D’Abernon fed his visiting dignitaries well.

The next morn, he met Guiscard and Orella in the bureau. Roland hunted as usual, his lazy nature coming to the fore.

‘Sit opposite my wife, Fitzsimmons.’

Fitzsimmons steeled himself for an unpleasant interview. Things wriggled in his head; Orella was creeping in. He decided to take control of the discussion.

‘You wonder why I’m prepared to forgo marrying the wench.’

D’Abernon frowned but nodded.

Fitzsimmons breathed deeply, concentrated on Leonné, and pushed Orella’s tentacles back, placing a shield in their place. The mage had told him to focus on a person or object that gave pleasure to him and wanted to keep in his life.

Orella slapped her hand on the desk, imagining it was his face. ‘You’re preventing me from accessing your mind. Why?’

‘Not at all. I’m merely thinking about what I will tell you; the topic is Lady Leonné.’ He hesitated and said, ‘I thought a wealthy wife would be an asset to me in the future. Her willfulness and independence irritate me. The final straw came when she believed Mathilde’s version of events in the scribe’s room over mine. I expect my spouse to trust and obey me, but she constantly challenges my opinions and decisions. I may win a more biddable and richer woman if I earn more riches.’

‘Umm, if Arne is deposed and my son wishes to wed her again, you’ll not oppose the marriage.’

‘I’ll miss the wealth she brings but not the mouthy wench herself. I’ll not stop you.’

‘I’m surprised. My friend saw you in a passionate embrace with her in the gardens.’

‘She’s beautiful. Why should I not take advantage of her attraction to me? I’m a red-blooded male after all.’

‘‘Tis true, Orella,’ said D’Abernon. ‘Let’s talk no more about this tiresome girl.’ 

‘Could I have become immortal… if I’d married her?’

‘You could have chosen immortality, but one can’t do it without the other.’

‘As I’ve relinquished my desire to wed the wench, is becoming immortal now impossible for me?’

‘There is more than one way to be immortal,’ said D’Abernon. ‘The Master can help you reach that state if you prove your loyalty to him.’

‘I’d like that.’

‘But the penalty for disloyalty is worse than death. The afterlife can be darker, even more than you can believe,’ hissed Orella.

‘Then I had better show I’m loyal to him. Tell me what I must do. I am willing and more than ready.’

‘The Master needs to approve my plan before we can act. I’ll tell him tonight, and if he agrees, we will discuss it in the morn,’ said D’Abernon. ‘Go to your chamber and rest your leg. You’ll need to be able to ride fast soon.’

Dominai listened to Guiscard’s scheme. It seemed foolproof if Fitzsimmons cooperated. Orella and Herron mistrusted the young man, but Orella had sworn revenge against him after she lost her hand and Herron wasn’t the brightest being in his employ.

He messaged back, Implement your ideas. Be it on your head if you fail this time. 

He’d removed the scar from Orella’s face, and D’Abernon no longer suffered his burning pains. The fear of them returning was enough to ensure their obedience.

Later, Dominai regarded Leonné through a mirror. She was pretty, slim, and intelligent, and she’d make an excellent mate for any being, even him, but he needed her more for his other objectives. He’d wage war soon and gain a kingdom. The spoils of that land were worth more than the sexual needs his many concubines sated.

Chapter Thirty-One

ARNE’S CABINET, the wisest and strongest men in the land, sat before him. He had been a popular monarch once, but adversity was eroding his popularity. His kingdom was being torn asunder. A rumbling preceded the landslides that arrived before the great Idian Mountain tore itself apart. Deep ravines carved themselves into the granite as the parts separated, enabling swirling rivers to whirl and whoosh down to the bottom. Homes were swept away, and the people’s meager possessions were broken and rendered useless. The city, towns, and villages had already suffered three years of visits by pestilence, killing hundreds of people.

In the city streets, people were rioting. The harvest had failed again, and rye and bread were rocketing in price. Animals deprived of pasture were emaciated and dying. His militia had calmed a riot the previous day, but bloodshed was a blot on his peaceful reign.

He had been warned of people stirring up unrest. Fitzsimmons had mentioned a radical priest called Geraint de Clere, who had left his monastery to preach to the commoners. He had caused trouble for Lady Leonné, calling her a witch. Now de Clere cried in the streets, ‘The peasants should take back their liege lords’ lands and claim them as their own.’

He had sent his officers to find de Clere and bring him to the palace but he would not execute him; he didn’t want to make him a martyr. No, a lengthy stretch in a damp, dark, cold cell might change his mind and persuade him to work for the crown instead of creating trouble.

Now Fitzsimmons had vanished. Estienne Heroux said the knight had been kidnapped but couldn’t explain why. A rumor spread around the palace. The gossips said that he hadn’t been kidnapped but had changed sides. Nobody knew who he worked for, but he would be a dangerous asset to any ally who plotted against Arne.

He called Heroux to the cabinet meeting. ‘I want you to search for Fitzsimmons and find out what you can about his actions. You’ve heard the rumor I take it?’

Heroux nodded. ‘Aye, your Excellency, but I don’t believe a word.’

‘Report the truth back to me, no matter how much it hurts you to hear ill of your friend. The crown is more important than one man.’

‘Assuredly, your Excellency, but what about Lady Leonné? I promised to guard her.’

‘You can do that when you are here, and I will ensure other guards care for her when you are elsewhere.’

Heroux agreed and departed. He was troubled and perplexed. Fitzsimmons must be playing a deep game, but why had he left him, Heroux, in the dark? Indeed, he could have messaged Leonné and told her what he was about.

Leonné tackled Heroux before supper. ‘What did Arne say?’

‘I’m to find Fitzsimmons, ask him his intentions, and report back to him. Someone else will guard you when I’m away.’

‘Do you believe the rumor?’

‘Not at all, but Orella or whoever it is they serve may have twisted his mind through black magic. We must be careful. He may raise an insurrection, and many people will follow a warrior like him if they think his side will win.’

‘His Excellency has many things on his mind, he will not be pleased to have Fitz added to his list of problems.’

‘He cares for his people, but he is the iron fist within the velvet glove. He’ll not worry about executing Fitz if he thinks he’s a traitor.’

‘Heroux, we must find out what Orella and my uncle are up to.’

‘Why don’t you ask our friends the crows to fly to Gratlon and listen to their conversations?’

‘I’ll do that, and I’ll send Sabine too if we need a creature to check its inside.’

Leonné leaned out of her window and called the birds to her chamber. Seeker rested on one leg, head cocked, listening carefully. 

‘Will you go to Castle Gratlon and discover what my dreadful family plans? See if you can find out if they’re involved in this planned insurrection, and who their allies are.’

He moved his head from side to side, hopping from one foot to the other. ‘A spying job again,’ he shrieked. ‘Yes, Lady Leonné. I’ll be going now and find out what I can.’ Three hops and he flew out of the window. 

Erwin, his eagle friend on the windowsill, sighed. ‘He be too enthusiastic. His mother said he’d fly into trouble if he didn’t slow down. I’ll keep him out of mischief.’

‘Thank you, Erwin. I’d hate to lose him or you.’

‘No chance of that. We’re faster and craftier than Lady Orella. She thinks we’re just stupid birds who sit on windowsills looking for scraps.’

‘Take care,’ she said. He bowed his noble head and flew off the ledge to catch up with his little friend.

From the palace, Seeker flew rapidly across country to the windowsill of the bureau where D’Abernon and his family were talking. Exhausted, he sat listening to their conversation.

Guiscard stood with his back to the fire. ‘Now we’ve got him on our side, we shall use his strength and wit to achieve our goals, but we’ll keep a close watch on him. Orella fears he is double-crossing both Arne and The Master, and her instincts are usually correct.’

Seeker tucked his wings in and cocked his head to one side. It must be Fitzsimmons they are discussing. 

‘He’ll return to the palace pretending he escaped Herron’s home, and then he’ll carry out his mission.’

‘Roland, you will accompany him until he’s near the palace,’ said Orella.

‘Yes, Mother. I was not involved in the plan to kill him, nor was I there when Mathilde tried to make Leonné believe he cuckolded her husband. I shall play the rich young nobleman enjoying life in the palace and ignorant of the politics there.’

‘You’ll play that part well,’ said D’Abernon, ignoring his wife’s glare. He had warned his wife she spoiled their son too much, and now he was nothing but a wastrel, gambling, drinking, womanizing, and refusing to take up arms for Arne. He gave the family a bad name. How he had become immortal before himself irritated him to death. 

Come on, explain the plan, thought the crow, but they broke off the meeting.

Seeker found Fitzsimmons, but the knight didn’t speak with the family while he was there, so he flew back to the palace.

Chapter Thirty-Two

FITZSIMMONS RODE WITH ROLAND, his blood boiling under his skin. He detested the snake of a man and kept his distance on the journey.

Roland treated him indifferently, bar watching him for signs of escape, but he was disappointed.

Fitzsimmons knew he had to cooperate with Roland in order to survive. Once at the palace he could safely think through his options.

They reached the bottom of the mountain, and Roland left with the warning. ‘Remain true to my family and The Master or reap the consequences.’ He would turn up at the palace in a few days.

As Fitzsimmons rode through the gates, a crowd appeared, pushing and shoving to see this so-called traitor. They yelled out, ‘Traitor, execute the traitor,’ until the soldiers pushed them back. Fitzsimmons expected this reaction, dismounted, called for his page and sent him to Arne to ask for an audience the following morning. Instead, he was told Arne would talk with him after supper. Fitzsimmons grimaced. An urgent audience with an angered king meant trouble.

 His few friends and his loyal men greeted him warmly and patted him on the back.

‘It's good to have you back. It was too peaceful without you,’ said one. The man became solemn. ‘There are rumors about you. You need to watch your back.’

Leonné ran to the courtyard, but she didn’t speak with Fitzsimmons. He approached her and rested his hands on her shoulders.

‘You appear tired. How did you fare in my absence?’

‘Better than you, it seems,’ she said, looking at his limp.

‘Oh, ‘tis nought, ‘twill be improved soon. It turned septic, but Herron’s men put it right with a salve and a stay locked up ensured I rested it.’ He walked her to her chamber. Still anxious; she would speak with Heroux the following day, and they would ask the mage for advice.

THE MAGE read the message Wizard Ratzein had sent her. She trembled. It chilled her blood. The note meant to deceive her but she saw traces of evil swirling around the ink. She blew over it to disperse the lies and immediately a vision overcame her. Flashing images of killings and plunder sped through her mind. She must warn Arne at first light.

The handle of her chamber door squeaked. As she rushed to the door it creaked ajar. She threw her weight against it trying to shut it. A violent gust of wind pushed at it making it shake. With all her strength she shoved it forward and pulled the heavy bolt across. A shiver slid through her freezing body. She wrapped herself in her covers, invited her cat to sleep next to her to keep her warm, and fell asleep muttering protective chants.

Late in the night, she woke with a start. A fierce gale rattled the shutters before forcing them open with a crash. She jumped out of bed to bolt them, but they tore out of her hand and slammed back, nearly taking off her head. 

She climbed back into her bed, shivering because heavy rain was driving through the open window and wetting her bedclothes; she would catch a chill before the night was out. 

Giving up on sleep, she climbed out, dried herself with a cloth, and put on her warmest clothes. It was summer, but her room had been freezing all night and droplets froze into sharp icicles falling from the ceiling. Mist drifted in through the rain and curled around her neck, smothering and choking her.

A ping of light flashed in the center of the room. Orella appeared.

‘You’ve helped the wench and Fitzsimmons too often. Your time is nigh.’ Grabbing the mist-like rope at her neck, the mage tried to free herself and reach the door. She grasped it and unbolted it but couldn’t open it wide enough to escape. Orella pinned her with a deathly stare. Her mental energy was spent now fighting the rope. She couldn’t push Orella’s tentacles from her mind. 

‘Give up. Let the rope do the work. Die!’ hissed Orella.

She collapsed onto her knees gasping. With one last breath, ‘I curse you and your family, Orella. A pox on you all! You’ll suffer in Malum, I promise you. Eilsir and Arllan will ensure that.’

Orella laughed. ‘You old fool. You could never compete with me, even when we were young women. You chose to hide and help Arne but look where it got you: dead, but I’m immortal and will live a grander, happier life than you could imagine.’

The mage fell to the floor dead.

Orella spelled some words, clicked her fingers, and vanished from the palace.

HEROUX AND LEONNÉ KNOCKED on the mage’s door. There was no answer. They knocked again.

‘I’m sure she said she’d be here this morning,’ said Leonné.

Heroux put his ear against the door. ‘When did she tell you that?’

‘Three days ago. She was helping Arne.’ Jakke was at Leonné’s heels and sniffed at the door, scratching it. ‘Someone is in there, Mistress. I can smell her.’ He sniffed again. ‘It stinks.’ 

Heroux moved back from the door, grimacing. ‘Something’s putrid in there.’ He pushed the door... it opened to reveal a lifeless, cold body on the floor, surrounded by papers and books that were ripped apart.

Heroux had seen ripe corpses on the battlefield, but he was still disturbed by what he saw. ‘She’s been here a few days.’

‘Send for the physic. We must know how she died,’ said Leonné.

He inspected her body. ‘From the marks on her neck, she appears to have been strangled.’ He regarded her neck and scrutinized the room. ‘The thing used to strangle her has disappeared.’

‘We must inform Arne. He’ll want to investigate her murder. She was a gracious, humble, and kind lady.’

‘I believe this is Orella’s work. It has her markings,’ said Heroux. ‘The missing rope indicated that someone manipulated dark forces to enter and commit murder. The windows have smashed to bits against the wall, but the height is too great for anyone to climb. Something supernatural caused the elements to attack her windows to let something in.’

Heroux was allowed an audience immediately, given his news.

‘She was strangled, your Excellency, but with what I couldn’t find. The room has weathered a fierce storm, even her furniture is in bits.’

‘So, you think dark forces entered her chamber?’

‘After all that has happened recently, it’s the only explanation.’

‘She told me four days ago that she thought enemies of the state were trying to undermine me. She communicated with Wizard Ratzein, who lives in the west near the borders of Gurthand.’

 ‘The enemies must be either The Master or his neighbors,’ speculated Heroux.

‘I’ve sent messages via the birds to Ratzein, but if he doesn’t reply, I’ll want you and some trustworthy soldiers to find him and speak to him yourself, that is, if he still lives by then.’

‘I’ll go there if you need me to.’

‘‘Twould have been a job for Fitzsimmons, but I don’t trust him now.’

‘Fitz is trustworthy, but I don’t know his game. I’ll never believe he’s turned traitor and joined the enemy. He’s loyal to you and the crown, and wants to marry Leonné too much.’

‘Now he’s turned up here, we shall see. I’m speaking with him this evening.’

Chapter Thirty-Three

FITZSIMMONS BOWED AND STOOD in front of Arne. To onlookers, he appeared confident, but inside, his pulse raced, and his stomach churned. Would Arne believe him or have him hung, drawn, and quartered, the death that befitted a traitor? 

Arne scrutinized the knight trying to peer beneath his blank expression. ‘Explain yourself, Fitzsimmons. Where have you been, and what have you been up to in your absence?’

‘Your Excellency knows I was returning from Lord Sancerre’s home when we were forced to stay in an inn as one soldier was hurt, we think, by one of Sancerre’s men. Our inn was surrounded, and a man calling himself Lord Herron told me to surrender. I refused and escaped, but your soldiers were captured. Some joined Herron’s army but the rest were slaughtered. My injured leg festered; I could not ride or run fast and was captured later.’

‘The Lord Chancellor was ransomed after a few days and is back now. Two of his escorts joined Herron’s army, and three were allowed to return here with him. My chancellor said your sensory and telepathic powers are developing. How did you get caught, and how did you escape?’

‘What you have heard is true. I can send telepathic messages to Lady Leonné, and I can understand the words of animals and communicate with Sabine, my cat, and Jakke who is Leonné’s dog. My skills are undeveloped as yet. You asked me how I escaped. I turned into a big cat and bounded down a steep ravine. Later, my enemies caught me in a net.’ Fitzsimmons took a breath to keep his pulse steady. 

‘They took me to Lord Herron’s castle and kept me there. His liege lord, someone they call The Master, told Herron to kill me at first, but later changed his mind. They took me to D’Abernon’s castle instead and tried to persuade me to give up my marriage pledge to Leonné and join their forces if there was a civil war. 

‘I agreed, hoping to be allowed to return here and escape the death that threatened me if I didn’t comply with their wishes. Roland accompanied me most of the way and will arrive in a few days to ensure I do as I promised. He’ll be here soon and will want to know I’ve given up the hand of Lady Leonné. He’ll try to take her back home, against her will if necessary.’

‘What did Herron and D’Abernon say about a civil war?’

‘Only that groups and allies are forming under the leadership of Lord Dominai, Lord Herron’s liege lord from the region next to our western border. I know nothing of their plans or any times of an invasion.’

‘Your story matches the accounts of my chancellor. I have bad news. My mage was murdered a few days ago and I have only just found out. Honestly, it is lucky for you that you only returned at eventide yesterday.’ Arne’s face was a mix of pain and frustration. A little relief maybe, that this knight wasn’t involved. ‘I want you and Heroux to visit Wizard Ratzein. The mage told me he may know something about the men who plot against me and their plans. He hasn’t answered my messages and may be in danger.’

‘I’ll do that, Excellency, but who will guard Leonné?’

‘I will tell my best men to guard her, you have my word.’

‘Thank you, Excellency. When should Heroux and I leave?’

‘If I don’t receive a message from Wizard Ratzein tomorrow, leave the following day.’ Fitzsimmons left; grateful he’d survived the audience.

He’d talk with Heroux first and later make his peace with Leonné. Before he could meet Heroux, his young page dropped to one knee and gave him a letter. He read it and cursed.

‘Damn it. More trouble, just when I thought I’d sorted out my inheritance.’ 

He pondered his situation. The Master’s offer of riches if I serve him seems even more appealing now I may only have my income and castles from soldiering. He’d always pitied warriors who were injured and unable to fight and so rendered penniless at the mercy and generosity of the king. He’d always sworn that would never be him. Cross with himself he put these traitorous thoughts out of his head.

Heroux appeared. He seemed cold and distant, but asked, ‘Can I help?’

‘No, sadly. I can’t believe it. My advocate states the transfer of my land has not been completed yet. There is another who contests my claim and says he is the real beneficiary of my father’s estate.’

‘Who could that be?’

‘I haven’t a clue. I know it will be complex and expensive to sort out, and I haven’t time for this now.’

‘Can we have a word in private?’ Heroux asked, breaking into Fitzsimmons’ puzzled thoughts.

‘Certainly.’

They went to Fitzsimmons’ chamber where Heroux paced the room. I hear you’ve convinced Arne you’re still on his side?’

‘Yes, thank the gods, he believed me. The Lord Chancellor must have persuaded him I’m not a traitor. We may leave the day after tomorrow to speak to this wizard who was in contact with the mage.’

‘She was murdered.’

‘Do you have any idea who did it?’

Heroux told him how he and Leonné had found her and the room.

Fitz cursed. ‘Black magic then!’

‘Orella’s work no doubt. She must have thought the mage suspected someone was trying to depose Arne and intended to warn him.

‘More reason to speak to Ratzein and find out what he told her.’

When Heroux left, Fitzsimmons summoned Leonné to the bower.

Leonné had been more comfortable with the ladies in the palace since she’d been introduced as Lady Leonné Deverne and was regarded as a woman of status who was to be married to a favorite knight of Lord Beaumont and Arne. However, the rumor about Fitzsimmons’ betrayal had damaged both Fitzsimmons and her reputation. More than one impudent lady in the solar had asked her which side Fitzsimmons supported, and another turned her shoulder to her, remarking to her friends she didn’t support the lovers of traitors.

Leonné had ignored the snubs and retreated to her chamber, sick of the incessant gossip-mongering among the nobles’ wives. She had been practicing spells out of the book the mage had lent her when Fitzsimmons’ new squire knocked on the door. Ame accompanied her to the bower. She was grateful for her company. She was a loyal friend and servant and kept an ear out for any gossip in the kitchen that might affect her and Fitzsimmons’ future.

‘My love, I’ve had good and bad news. Arne believes me, so I’m not considered a traitor.’

‘That is good news for you,’ replied Leonné.

‘And for you, we can be married after all.’ The nerve at the corner of his right eye twitched repeatedly.

‘And the bad news,’ said Leonné adroitly sidestepping the subject of marriage.

‘My advocate tells me another person is claiming my father’s estates.’

‘Who? What relationship is he to you?’

‘That I don’t know, but the estate will not pass to me soon.’

‘It matters not, if you continue to fight for Lord Beaumont and we live in Castle Aronte.’

‘My thoughts exactly. I can’t wait to wed you.’ He kissed her palm.

‘Heroux and I have been asked to visit Wizard Ratzein to ask him about enemies who are plotting against Arne. We leave the day after tomorrow.’

‘I should go with you. I can protect you.’

‘Arne won’t allow it. I think he holds you to guarantee I don’t switch allegiance.’

‘You should persuade him to let me come. I’ve saved your neck several times.’

‘I don’t deny it. I would have you along, but he will not give us permission.’

‘He believes you have unusual qualities. Why not me?’

‘Because you’re a woman.’

‘Nincompoop! I shall ask him myself.’ Frustrated, she snatched her hand away and left. She asked for an audience with Arne but his aide de camp said he was too busy to deal with the frivolous demands of young maidens.

How often have I been patronized by men who didn’t understand my intelligence and talents? Fitz and Heroux may be walking into a trap. I must help them. I’ll think about it tonight.

The rest of the day was uncomfortable for Fitzsimmons. It seemed many of the lords and ladies had made their mind up about him and decided to cold-shoulder him. He was grateful for his true friends and loyal soldiers. 

That night when the moon was at its height, a pain exploded in his head. He groaned and sat up clutching his temple. After a few moments the pain eased.

Young knight, it is time to declare yourself. When will you bring the girl to D’Abernon?

Who is this?

Games are for children!

Pain exploded in his temples, and Fitzsimmons crumpled into a ball. Slowly, it faded.

You’re the master that Herron and the others serve.

I am.

I wish to serve you, what shall I call you?

Names! What is a name? I was called Dominai many years ago, but now I am simply The Master. Now, answer my question. When will you prove yourself and bring the girl to Castle Gratlon?

Master, I have to go and find Wizard Ratzein. Arne wants to know what was in the message Ratzein sent his mage. He suspects he knows about an insurrection some nobles are planning. If I don’t go, he’ll suspect I’m working against him.

Very well. We will deal with the girl when you come back. But if you cross me, you will suffer.

Fitzsimmons head began to burn. He contained a scream. No one must hear him. They’d think he was going mad. He dipped his head into a bowl of water. It still burned making him want to cry but gradually the heat receded. He pulled his head out and lay recovering on the bed.

I must pacify the Master until I can think of a better plan. I can’t stand this torture.

Suddenly, the books that Sorcerer Vidmar had given him sprang to mind. He quickly rustled through his traveling trunk until he found them. He ran his fingers over the soft leather cover of the first book. Please have the answers I need.

Chapter Thirty-Four

NO MESSAGE ARRIVED FROM Ratzein so Fitzsimmons, Heroux, and a small group of trusted soldiers set off. Yet again, Fitz forbade his loyal five to come with him. Sabine followed reluctantly. 

Fitzsimmons twisted in his saddle. ‘Why are you trailing behind Sabine? You are usually at the front?’ The cat said nothing. He tried to read her thoughts but the cursed infernal feline blocked him. She’d barely acknowledged him since he’d returned and stayed apart from him, never rubbing her silken head against him. Snubbed by a damned cat!

Sabine was in two minds. She couldn’t believe her master was a traitor, but he was behaving strangely. She was bound to him and her role was to protect him. The sorcerer who had bred her had told her that. Her life was intertwined with his just as Leonné’s was, but she couldn’t let him hand over Leonné to that evil man Roland or depose and kill Arne. Lady Leonné’s mistrust of Fitz radiated off her.

She sniffed the air. A familiar scent was far behind their party in the hills. Someone or something was following them. She would keep an ear to the ground to locate them when they came near, but she would not tell anyone yet.

The journey became arduous with slow progress. The seasons changed from summer to autumn to winter in a few days. They trudged slowly through mud knee-deep and gusts of wind howled like banshees. Sheet rain turned to arrows of ice and sliced through scarves and skin uncovered by their helms.

‘One more day and then we’ll reach our destination,’ said Fitzsimmons trying to encourage the men. His face reddened with exhaustion but sweat froze on his face. His eyes burnt from the harsh wind drying tears in his eyes.

‘Thank the gods for that,’ replied Heroux. ‘Our men can’t take much more of this.’

The rain turned to snow seeping through their aubergeons and leggings. Their horses’ legs were tied with rags to prevent them from suffering frostbite and their hair resembled icy snakes pinned to their shivering bodies. They couldn’t ride them safely as their weight helped sink the animals up to their withers. They walked in front, leading the horses that carried their weapons and belongings.

Fitzsimmons sent a man ahead to find the way but he struggled back through the snow and said, ‘My lord we’re lost. I can’t make out any pathways.’

A horse slipped and stumbled. As it recovered its footing, he commented, ‘Our horses move so slowly they hardly cover any distance each day.’

‘If we don’t keep moving, we’ll have to camp and we could freeze to death,’ said Fitzsimmons. He was worried. They had little food left. The blizzard stopped them from hunting animals and they were soaking wet with little possibility of making a fire and warming themselves.

He began to wonder if the gods were telling him to go back. It should still be summer in this region. They’d not packed their winter garments and equipment. Their tents gave little shelter against the vicious elements.

As they moved near a copse, a snarling and growling sound curdled their blood. They stood back-to-back as a pack of wolves circled them. Fear grasped Fitzsimmons as the hungry animals moved closer.

A heavy flapping of wings heralded two eagles flying high above them.

They dropped onto the backs of the wolves, clawing their hair and scratching their eyes. The wolves howled, shook them off, and ran away. 

The eagles flew up in the sky, turned round, and flew off for several furlongs and waited by a tree circling above it.

Sabine ran to the tree, stared at them, and howled to Fitzsimmons. ‘They want us to follow them. They know the way.’

‘It’s a sign from the gods,’ said Fitzsimmons. ‘Come men, let’s move fast and get there. We can’t make camp in this snow so we’ll walk through the night.’

They pushed on against the wind which tried to blow them back, the eagles stopping frequently to let them catch up. They saw the snowfall dissipate at the top of the hill and the rain turned into a mist. Sun was breaking through. The eagles circled them once more as if to ensure they understood the way and then flew off. 

Sabine was eager to move down the hill. Her legs and paws were covered with cloth making walking heavy going. She shivered as the snow bit into her stomach. She hated the cold. Howling to Fitzsimmons, ‘Get a move on,’ she started running. The mud was only ankle deep now, the sun drying the ground, so they rode their horses. The animals were more surefooted and comfortable; the icicles melted and fell off their bodies.

Sabine scouted the way ahead and returned. ‘Down this hill and up another is a small house. There is a green aura coming from it. It must be Ratzein’s home.’

‘Good girl, Sabine,’ said Fitzsimmons. She just tossed her head and ran by Heroux’s side ignoring him. They reached the bottom of the hill and then she stopped and sniffed the air recognizing that familiar scent again.

Fitzsimmons also sensed a familiar person or being close to him. ‘Who is it, Sabine? Who’s following us? I sensed someone following us for the last day.’

‘It’s Lady Leonné,’ said Sabine. ‘She needs to be part of our group now. Danger awaits us and she shouldn’t be on her own.’

‘Damn the wench. She shouldn’t be here at all. She’ll catch her death in this cold and the wolves could have attacked her.’

‘She wanted to help,’ said Sabine, ‘and the wolves are her friends. They know she only means good by her actions, unlike others.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

She ignored his question and said, ‘Let’s find her. If we wait behind that copse, she’ll catch us up. She moves fast in this weather.’

‘How?’

‘Watch.’

He sent his men on, only keeping Heroux with him. They hid behind a tree. A while later he saw a dog and a giant wolf with a slim figure riding its back. The person’s cloak was covered with snow but they bounded on.

Fitzsimmons let it pass but then rode up to it, and uncovering the person’s head said, ‘What the devil are you doing here?’

The wolf stopped and snarled at Fitzsimmons.

‘Roli, leave him alone. He’s harmless… if somewhat annoying.’

‘Damn you, Leonné. You could have got lost and died in this weather.’

‘If I hadn’t sent the eagles your party would have died last night.’

‘You sent them?’

‘Of course. They’ve trailed you since you set off and reported back to me.’

‘And this wolf? How did you meet him?’

‘Jakke met him and he offered to help me. He’s faster than your horses; it was hard to persuade him not to overtake you! The other wolves are starving or wouldn’t have tried to eat you. This weather is abnormal, magicked by Orella, and the animals suffer like us.’ 

‘You’d better come with me but if you don’t follow orders, I’ll throttle you!’

She laughed, riling him further. ‘Roli wouldn’t let you. He’ll leave me at Ratzein’s door but he’ll come back when I need him.’

The path was easier now the mud was shallow and the elements weren’t fighting them. Ratzein’s home was not a cave but a well-built small stone hut. 

Leonné strode forward. ‘I’ll go first.’ She spelled a shield around herself before Fitzsimmons could protest. She knocked on the door and called, ‘Hello.’

It swung open on its own inviting her in. They were clearly expected.

‘Wait,’ she said to the others. ‘Your enemies may have set a trap for you.’ She said to her hound, ‘Jakke, you accompany Fitz when he follows me and guard him well.’

As she walked in she waved her arm and another shield protected them. Fitzsimmons went to follow her but Heroux said, ‘She’s right. She’ll assess the situation and tell us to follow when it is safe.’ The door swung closed before Fitzsimmons could stop her.

Leonné walked through a hall, an unusual feature for a small basic hut. She realized Ratzein wasn’t poor. The hut seemed small outside but grew as she passed by the chambers to the size of a large house.

The windows were made of expensive glass, not cheap bone. Thick embroidered blinds covered them in addition to the wooden shutters expected in a hut of this type. Embroidered covers and cushions decorated the settles, and the chairs were studded with semi-precious stones. 

The house gave her the shivers. She was being watched. Little stones studded the walls, with eyes circling red pupils. The eyes turned and followed her progress as she knocked on the parlor door and entered the room. 

She messaged Fitzsimmons. The house is full of walled eyes that follow me as I walk. Beware when you come in. This is not the house of a poor wizard. Whoever owns this enjoys great wealth.

The parlor was hot, expensive coals warming the fire in the hearth. Even in the palace coals were only used in Arne’s apartments. They were sourced far away from the mountains and dragged furlongs to the richest people’s houses. 

Vidmar had lived the life of a hermit in a cave eschewing wealth. 

How has Ratzein earned his wealth? 

Her back tingled. Turning round she saw a face engraved on the door. Its eyes narrow and its grimace unwelcoming.

In one of the grand chairs sat a large portly man garbed in a long rich velvet robe. His white hair was plaited in two and left his face uncovered. Intelligence shone from deeply set cobalt eyes that stood out from sallow skin. His white hair distracted from an otherwise young face and body and he sat upright in his chair.

Is he immortal? Has he sold his soul to dark forces?

‘Sit down Lady Leonné. I’ve been waiting for you.’

‘Thank you, but how did you know I was coming? You are Wizard Ratzein I take it?’

‘Indeed. I was informed by my sources in the palace that you followed the knight.’

‘Only to protect his party from witchcraft and sorcery.’

‘Come, my child. It was more than that. You want to know if anyone is plotting against Arne. Your future rests in his hands… does it not? You may be forced to remarry your cousin Roland if Arne is deposed.’

‘I have the king’s interest at heart. I’m his loyal subject. The mage told Arne you may know who is plotting against him. Do you, Sir?’ She regarded the expensive tapestries on the wall. ‘If you tell me Wizard Ratzein, my party will depart and leave you to your comfortable life.’

‘Why should I want you to leave?’ Ratzein’s gleeful sneer made her shiver. ‘A pretty thing like you would fit in with the treasures in this house.’

‘I’m promised to Fitzsimmons, Sir, and Arne will not free me.’

‘And yet you mistrust Fitzsimmons. He is an immature fool. He’s betrayed you with Countess Mathilde and now with The Master. You’re a fool to trust him. You deserve better. You need a mature man to care for you.’ He licked his lips, making her cringe at his open display of lust. Her heart raced. Would he let her leave or would she become the pawn of this devious perverted wizard?

He laughed at the horror on her face and said, ‘Never fear my child. I joke with you. You’re too young and naïve for my taste. I prefer more mature women to satisfy me.’ 

‘Can you help us, sir? The king needs to know who is loyal and who the traitors are.’

‘Which king? The one who is on the throne currently? Or the one who will be soon, who will bring riches and power to those who follow him?’ 

‘I mean King Arne. Who wishes to become the next king?’ Her hands trembled under her cape, for it was obvious whose side this wizard was on.

‘The Master will be the next king. He already rules over the land next to this. He’s amassing an army comprised of nobles who reject the present king’s policies toward the states surrounding Gritheim. They want to conquer those lands but Arne talks continually of peace.’

‘Arne doesn’t make war if he can achieve more by peaceful means.’

‘Peace is for cowards,’ roared Ratzein jumping up and thumping his hand on the table making her jump.

‘Which nobles support The Master,’ asked Leonné.

‘Your uncle, his family, St. Nadre and…’ he listed a string of names, few of whom she knew. Fitzsimmons would know them. She wondered why he was giving her the information so readily. He read her mind.

‘It’s safe to tell you these details because you’ll not return to the palace. You will be taken to Roland to marry him.’

‘I won’t.’

‘You little fool. The Master knew you would follow Fitzsimmons if he came to speak with me, and he was in danger. The traitorous knight holds your heart in his hands. You may wield a bow and arrow like a man but you’re still a weak female when it counts.’

She knew he was telling lies about Fitzsimmons and Mathilde but was Fitzsimmons playing a deep game and betraying Arne after all? 

She decided to play him at his own game and make out her mental abilities were not as strong and dangerous as those of men. ‘Roland frightened me. He was so lusty but cold.’

‘Immortals are like that but when you reach that immortal state you will appreciate his finer qualities.’

‘How do I reach that state?’

‘Roland has a grimoire he stole from the Daughters’ shelves in the Lodge. The spells answer his desire to gain full powers and turn you into a Whire but he must take your maidenhead and use the complete book of spells to achieve his ends.’ 

‘Perhaps if I thought he would be a better husband, not a cuckold, I might consider marrying him.’

‘You underrate yourself. Put yourself in his bed and he will be a changed man. Your beauty, intelligence, and abilities will seduce him forever from his coquettes.’

The thought of bedding Roland repulsed her but she nearly had the information to defeat him.

‘What is this spell book?’

‘It is called The Book of The Realms. Over many centuries the Daughters gathered spells from regions and countries to gain wisdom and collected them in this tome. Roland needs the key to this grimoire to proceed.

Does Fitzsimmons need to speak with this man? Will Ratzein let me leave or will he make me stay here until he can return me to Roland?

‘I need to leave and speak with Fitzsimmons. He may still wish to speak with you. I’ll ask him.’

‘No, my dear. You’re to stay here for the present. He raised his hand and a red shaft of light came from nowhere and surrounded her. It solidified and she pushed against it but it resembled a hard red cage. She stared at Ratzein and tried to reach his mind but his psyche was too mature and strong. She was stuck here.

‘Call Fitzsimmons here,’ he said.

‘No.’

‘Then we’ll wait for him to come find you.’ She stayed stubbornly silent. No matter what Fitzsimmons was, she wouldn’t betray him. He might still be loyal to Arne. Ratzein waved again and she crumpled and fell asleep on the floor.

Chapter Thirty-Five

FITZSIMMONS WAITED AN HOUR after Leonné entered Ratzein’s house. With each passing minute he had grown more worried that she hadn’t contacted him. Sabine had been circling the house the whole time and her worry heightened his own. He still cared for his fiancée, no matter what he had to do to convince D’Abernon he was on his side. He tried to message her without success. Something was wrong. He guessed she had walked into a trap. This was the immortals’ work again.

He had to enter the house but by a different means as he didn’t want to walk into the same trap as Leonné. He wasn’t going to break it in and fall into Ratzein’s trap. Roland or Herron might still want someone to murder him and disobey The Master’s instructions.

‘Stay with the horses, Heroux. I trust no one more than you.’

‘I should be with you.’

Fitz put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘Please?’

Annoyed but unable to resist Fitz’s request, he took one of his own trusted men and led the horses away.

‘Jakke and Sabine, you should also remain with Heroux. It’s clear now that this Sorcerer Ratzein is working for the immortals. I need you to be our back up if anything goes wrong.’

They seemed to have a conversation between themselves, and then Jakke nodded and went to sit beside Heroux.

Fitzsimmons motioned to the rest of the men to go round the side to see if they could enter via a window. He would take the back. He inched his way around and found a back door, again unusual in this type of hut but he believed that nothing was normal in this place. The door was not locked but a barrier stopped him from opening it. 

Curse Ratzein, putting spells on everything. 

The soldiers came around the edge of the building and signaled that they couldn’t enter through the windows. He would have to smash this barrier and let his party through. He steeled his mind as the mage had told him, and imagined a battering ram knocking the door, time and time again. His head ached and his mental energy drained but he was determined to succeed and carried on until it splintered and caved in. 

‘Come, men,’ he said and they clambered over the broken wood and entered the hall. The eyes on the walls glittered and twisted as he found the parlor and peered around the open door. 

Leonné was trapped in a cage presumably asleep. Ratzein sat patiently waiting in his chair.

‘You’re here at last,’ he said, stating the obvious. ‘No need to have battered down my door, you could have just knocked. Your little girl has asked the pertinent questions. These are the names of the men who follow Dominai. You will aid them in your quest to win Gritheim for him.’ He repeated the names he’d told Leonné.

‘All you need to do now is take her to Roland as you promised.’

The soldiers turned to him in disbelief. ‘Explain what he means, Fitzsimmons,’ demanded the most senior. 

Ratzein smiled as Fitzsimmons explained, ‘In return for my life, I relinquished my oath to marry Leonné and promised to serve The Master. I’m to return her to Roland so she can marry him again and attain her immortal status.’ 

‘Loyalty is so easily bought when one’s neck is at stake,’ said Ratzein smugly.

‘You yellow-livered whoreson,’ snarled the soldier venomously.

Fitzsimmons shrugged. ‘We never know what we are capable of until our lives are on the line. Imagine how Herron would have enjoyed taking his time killing me. I had no choice.’

‘That girl has saved your life several times but you’ll throw her to the wolves.’

Fitzsimmons felt his anger stir. Heat began to flow through his muscles. ‘She’ll have an easy life with Roland and enjoy him in her bed when he puts her under his spell.’

‘She’ll shrivel and die with no liberty or independent mind.’

‘Watch your tongue! Her body will thrive and Roland will gain the skills he needs. He’ll help The Master topple Arne and we’ll all benefit. You need to be more interested in your own fate! If you wish to live you need to swear allegiance to me and the Master.’

One of the soldiers said, ‘Living under the cruel rule of Herron and his master? You’re out of your mind if you think we’ll submit to that!’

‘Then you’ll all die,’ said Ratzein turning to him. He pointed and a red light flashed from his finger. Fitzsimmons moved in front of him stopping the light from reaching the man. The light dug into his shield but he forced it back. The soldiers did not have the mental strength or skills to stop it from killing them. He had to act to save them. 

Fitz pointed at the shocked man, ‘Go to sleep!’ The man slowly crumpled into a pile on the floor. Fitz pointed to the rest. ‘All of you!’ He wouldn’t have to harm them if he carried Leonné away from here and kept his word to the Master.

‘You are too soft. The Master will not be pleased.’

‘These men are of no consequence to you, wizard.’

‘Other men will follow you. You are destined for great things.’

‘What about the girl?’ asked Fitzsimmons impatiently.

‘You are to fulfill your promise and take her to Roland.’

‘I’ll do that if you wake her up and let her out of her cage.’

Ratzein incanted a spell and the cage vanished. Leonné woke up and stood up unsteadily. 

‘Fitz,’ she said and then frowned. She stared at Ratzein. ‘You are so alike,’ she murmured. The saturnine sallow face, the chiseled features, and those cobalt eyes showed the likeness between the two men.

Fitzsimmons scrutinized Ratzein. She was right. Except for the ages, they could be father and son. 

Are we related? He wondered. The likeness was astounding.

‘I read your mind, my boy. I’m your uncle on your mother’s side. Like your father, I was considered the family’s black sheep.’

With good reason, probably, thought Fitzsimmons.

‘I dabbled in magic and your grandfather expelled me from the family. You probably wish to know how your great grandfather was cursed.’

‘I do.’

‘He had a poor cat that was covered in vicious burrs and as he groomed her, he pulled a lump of fur. Some skin was attached and fell into your great grandfather’s cauldron as he cast a spell. The spell incorporated some of the cat’s features but not all, which is why you are predominantly human.’ He noted Fitzsimmons looked fearful.

‘You need not worry, Nephew. You will never become fully feline. Your human characteristics are dominant.’

‘Thank you for putting my mind at rest. The mage said I can control my urge to turn into a cat but I still had my doubts.’

 ‘He’s your uncle,’ Leonné exclaimed. ‘He’s joined The Master’s side, Fitz.’

‘So has your fiancé, dear girl,’ laughed Ratzein.

‘Is that true?’ 

Fitzsimmons had the decency to look embarrassed. ‘I had to save my life. I could join The Master’s men or die a horrible death at the end of Herron’s sword, Leonné. It was not much of a choice. I chose to live.’

Leonné bit her lip to stop herself from crying. Her heroic fiancé was a coward and turncoat.

‘And is what your uncle says true? You’ll turn me over to Roland?’

‘That is the bargain I made,’ he admitted.

She flew at him, bashing his chest with her fists. ‘You filthy treacherous swine!’

He grabbed her hands and held her at bay. ‘Aye, but a live filthy, treacherous swine,’ he said mocking her.

She yanked herself out of his grasp and with all her might slapped him on the face, leaving a bright red welt. 

‘I won’t go with you.’

Fitzsimmons took her by the shoulders holding her still. She couldn’t move an inch but glared at him with hate flashing in her eyes. 

‘You will do as you’re told, wench, if you want to live in luxury instead of a cage in a castle.’ 

Leonné gulped. She had heard of a noblewoman kept in a cage in a faraway land for five years because her brother had raised an army against its king. She believed Fitzsimmons was ruthless enough to do what he said if he had turned traitor. Success and personal survival were more important to him than her liberty. She turned to magic to help herself out of this fix.

Her eyes turned to hard green marbles but Fitzsimmons read her mind. He grabbed her chin and turned her head away from him. He took his scarf and bound it around her head covering her eyes while she wriggled like a snake trying to resist him.

‘Damn you, girl, stay still. Accept you can’t escape me.’

Concentrating on taming her meant he neglected the men. His spell ended and they woke up. All of them leapt to their feet, sword in hand.

‘You’ll not take her back. Roland’s worse than a monster.’ The main soldier moved and thrust his sword at Fitzsimmons but he jumped out of the way.

‘Run Leonné,’ the man shouted. The others joined in the fight and Fitzsimmons swore as Leonné ran out of the room. He didn’t want to kill these men but they stood in his way. He had to capture Leonné. He had reckoned without the help of Ratzein who threw some dust over the soldiers. They coughed and he conjured a net that he threw over them. As they fought to get out, Fitzsimmons charged after Leonné. He raced through the house and heard Leonné whistle for Roli. He came bounding over but Fitzsimmons caught up with her first and wrapped his arm around her neck.

‘I’ll snap her neck if you don’t return to the copse,’ he threatened the wolf. Roli growled but walked backward slowly assessing him.

‘To the copse, I said. Move!’

The wolf turned and ran a short distance away but then sat staring at him.

Seeing the wolf retreat, Heroux came out from the trees. ‘What the devil?’

Fitz lowered his mouth into Leonné’s hair and spoke close to her ear. ‘I’ll hunt Roli down and kill him if you go to him. You understand?’

Leonné nodded. She couldn’t cause harm to her new friend. Fitzsimmons firmly took her arm and started pulling her back into the house.

‘Fitz?’ Heroux raced towards them, Sabine at his heels—hissing.

Fitzsimmons watched his friend for a moment and then summoned his growing magic to rebuild the door.

Ratzein’s laughter filled the building as he sent his magic to seal the entrance.

‘Sorry Heroux, my friend,’ Fitz whispered behind the closed door. Heroux hammered at the door, but there was no way he would be able to break through the magic shield.

Fitz dragged Leonné back to the main room.

Ratzein said, ‘You’ll eat supper and then take her to Castle Gratlon in the morning.’

‘As you say, but I have a question for you. Someone else is making a claim to my late father’s estate. Have you any idea who it may be?’

‘I’m sorry to disappoint you but your father had another child. Your father was married to another woman, before your mother. The marriage was unhappy and she left him and went back home, however, she was with child. So you see, you have an elder brother. The woman died shortly after giving birth which freed your father to marry your mother. Your mother, his second wife was devoted to him but died a month after you were born.

When your uncle, Gilbert Sancerre, conspired with your grandfather so he would inherit, your stepmother brought you to the inn. But the news also reached the household of your father’s first wife. The boy, your brother, was given to a maid who was instructed to hide him in a poorhouse. She lived there until she died of the pestilence. Your brother was apprenticed at seven to a farmer and only found out about his family when he was given a letter from the maid to be opened when he reached his majority.

‘The two women never met again. You two boys were taken into hiding for your safety and neither woman knew of the other. Your grandfather wanted to kill you both to give the family fortune and businesses to his son-in-law, who he thought was industrious and malleable.’

Fitzsimmons looked puzzled. ‘So that is why Sancerre thought it was my stepmother?’

‘They were maids but looked alike. The other girl moved with her mistress to be her maid. Both had served in the household but your stepmother was fortunate later to catch your father’s eye and he married her.’ 

‘But I was told the woman and the child had died in the convent.’

‘That is incorrect. The woman died of the pestilence but before that she gave her secret away to the people running the poorhouse. They knew your grandfather’s reputation and the maid feared him stealing the child away and harming him so they kept his identity and presence secret.’

‘So, I have a brother. Where is he?’

‘That’s for you to discover. He has been hidden for many years but now he’s come of age and earned money soldiering for some years he’s traced his family and wants the estate he’s yearned for all his life.’

‘Are you absolutely certain my brother still lives?’

‘You must find that out. Ask the servants of Sancerre and the nuns in the convent.’

Fitzsimmons was aghast. If the new man was his older brother, he would be entitled to all the estate—unless his father had made arrangements to help Fitzsimmons, which was unlikely. A testament had never been found which meant he would have to rely on making his own fortune. The possibility of working for The Master to attain wealth was now more important for his security.

‘Do you know what my brother’s name is?’

‘Simon.’

‘I will investigate his claim when I’ve proved myself to The Master by taking Leonné to D’Abernon.’

The soldiers caught in the magic net gave him death stares. Leonné sat with her arms folded. If looks could kill, Fitz would be cold in the ground by now.

‘No more questions; we eat now.’ Ratzein rang a bell and a servant hastened in to lay the table and bring dishes. 

‘What about my men?’

‘They are of no concern to you anymore. Herron will enlist or kill them.’ Ratzein pointed to the men and told his servant to feed them as well. 

Fitzsimmons sat Leonné at the table and she ate with gusto despite her anguish and anger at Fitz. The ride had heightened her appetite, and she didn’t know when she would next eat.

Fitz kept glancing at the men and silently hoped they would accept Herron’s offer. He didn’t want their blood on his hands.

Pottage, pheasant pie, and bread were finished off with sweet jellies. Ratzein patted his plump stomach. ‘Eat well. The journey will be harsh. I don’t know what Roland sees in you, wench. You need more skin on your bones to attract a red-blooded man.’

Fitzsimmons stared at his pottage ignoring Ratzein’s insult. His thoughts conflicted and confused him. His soul had surely been split in two.

Leonné colored. She’d never considered herself attractive until Fitzsimmons told her she was beautiful. She hated Ratzein and detested Fitz more than she ever thought possible to hate a person.

When they’d finished eating, Ratzein placed another spell on Leonné. She went passively to her chamber and bed. Fitzsimmons followed and noted the absence of windows. She had no chance of escape. He left her to her ablutions and went back to ask Ratzein to swear the men would be given a chance to live.

‘Life or death will be their choice.’

‘I’ll sleep then.’

‘Your chamber is the fourth one off the hall.’

‘I should take the one next to Leonné to keep guard.’

‘As you wish.’

Fitzsimmons said goodnight and went to his room. He slept uneasily, worrying about his future and that of Leonné. He woke often to check she hadn’t woken and tried to escape.

Chapter Thirty-Six

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Fitzsimmons and Leonné moved on. Leonné sat in front of Fitzsimmons on his huge stallion, his arm tightly around her waist. He had warned her he would blindfold her if she tried to mesmerize him, so she stared ahead all the time. Jakke ran after them, keeping them in sight but staying far enough back to avoid being seen.

There had been no sign of his friend and he could only assume that Heroux and Sabine had returned to the king with the news of his betrayal. His heart felt heavy.

They made swift progress now that the weather was less harsh, but it was a silent, sad journey. Leonné refused to speak with him.

Fitzsimmons was determined to hand her over. Dominai had taken to constantly whispering in his ear, telling him how Leonné would benefit from immortality and enjoy a luxurious life. What could he offer her if he had lost his inheritance and only had his spoils of war as a soldier fighting for Beaumont? It was in her best interests to be taken back to Roland.

On the ride back to Castle Gratlon he thought about his future. An image of Leonné entered his mind. She was laughing and flirting with young noblemen at court, her fan held coquettishly in front of her eyes. She seemed to be enjoying herself. One young man knelt on his knee before her, took her arm, and kissed it. She laughed, pulled it away, but let him take her onto the floor for a dance. She later met him in the bower, and he kissed her passionately. She was engaged, damn it, but still, she was flirting with men as if she were unattached.

The damn whisperer tortured his mind. She wants a man who enjoys living life to the full, a man who enjoys dancing and hunting. A man who wants to live as a noble in a grand house. She doesn’t want the life of a soldier’s wife and hopes you won’t come back.

I don’t believe that, he thought. Leonné was committed totally to me before the episode with Mathilde.

But she didn’t believe your explanation of the incident with Mathilde. She mistrusts you and will turn to the man offering her stability and money rather than a cuckold.

That’s untrue. Leonné is disinterested in wealth. She likes a simple life surrounded by nature.

Leonné has changed since she saw the pleasures of life at court. She now knows what she has missed in her simple life and realizes what Roland can offer. She’s considering going back to him and his materialistic lifestyle.

His stomach churned. His fingers grew claws.

I must contain my jealousy. I cannot lose control. If what the whisperer says is true, I have no reason to serve Arne and should work for Dominai instead. She is unworthy of me.

D’Abernon’s home was only two days from Ratzein’s hideaway, but they needed a rest and so stopped at an inn. 

Fitzsimmons said to Leonné. ‘Stay quiet unless you’re spoken to. You can share a chamber with me. Don’t worry, I won’t touch you. I don’t need a flirt and hypocrite to be my wife.’

Her mouth dropped open, but before she could ask him why he insulted her, he pushed her through the doorway into the inn and called out for the innkeeper.

A portly, rosy cheeked man rushed in. Recognizing a man of importance he bowed his head several times. ‘How may I serve you?’

‘One double bedchamber. We need food as well.’ 

The innkeeper nodded. ‘Do you wish to eat first or to lay your baggage down and wash?’

‘Food, I think. We are thirsty. It’s warm outside. At least the gods were with us and our mountainous journey was storm free.’

The innkeeper pointed to the parlor. ‘In there, m’lord,’ he said, eyeing up the Beaumont colors that Fitzsimmons still wore. A maid laid platters of bread, meats, cheese, and bowls of pottage, which he and Leonné consumed with relish. Ale and wine accompanied the staple foods.

‘I want some food packed to take with us on our journey. We leave just after dawn.’

Afterward, the innkeeper led them to their chamber. Once inside, Leonné rushed to the small round window and searched the yard outside. Her heart dropped when she couldn’t see her faithful hound.

‘Take the bed. I’ll sleep in the chair,’ said Fitzsimmons. He took her hand and manacled it to the headboard. ‘You can sleep in your clothes to protect your modesty. At dawn we push on. We’ll be at Castle Gratlon by dusk tomorrow. There’s water next to you. If you need some, call me, and I’ll give you some.’

Leonné turned her back on him and tried to sleep. Left alone with her thoughts she reached out to her loyal friend. Jakke are you here?

Yes, Mistress, in the barn. Do not worry I will not abandon you.

It was difficult manacled, but exhaustion overtook her, and she slept until he shook her gently awake.

He removed the manacles and handed her a jug of water. ‘Get up and wash. I’ll turn my back.’ She washed quickly and followed him to his horse.

They mounted and rode until they were hungry and broke their fast on the side of the track. She remembered another time when they had stopped, and she had stolen his horse and rode away. He had caught her easily and would do so again. There was no naïve Heroux here this time to kid into helping her escape. She would wait until she reached the castle and find a way then.

Every now and then she chanced a glance behind them. She could never see him but Jakke always confirmed he was still there. Knowing he was close by gave her comfort.

They arrived at the castle as the light was failing. The portcullis opened, and Leonné was unsurprised to find Roland waiting in the courtyard. He lifted her down. His eyes glistened as he put one arm tightly around her slim waist. She shivered as his bony, papery fingers slid under her cloak and up her bare arm.

He said loudly, ‘Ah, my beautiful bride, trembling in anticipation of our wedding night. I will not disappoint you, my honey.’

He turned to Fitzsimmons, ‘You did well, knight. You’ve passed the first test to show your loyalty to The Master. We’ll talk more at supper. First, my Lady would like to refresh herself.’ He called a maid. ‘Take my Lady to her chamber. I’ll come for her later to take her to supper.’

Leonné felt like telling him to go to Malum, but she knew passive obedience would give her a better chance of escaping.

Fitzsimmons’ blood heated as he saw Roland touch Leonné and her flinch. He was conflicted. He’d relinquished any rights over her or her body, but still, he hated that reptilian creature pawing her. He’d steeled his face, but Leonné noticed his pupils dilated and his fists clenched. The bastard had given her to this monster, but he still lusted after her, whatever he had said about her being a hypocrite or flirt. Has someone poisoned his mind about me? 

She raised her brows and sent a message to him. I have never betrayed you by flirting or in any other way. I hope your rewards are worth the stain on your conscience, knight.

Fitzsimmons watched her leave. A black cloud enveloped him, and his heart sank. Her words shouldn’t make him feel like this. He told himself she meant nothing to him. Roland smiled triumphantly and winked at him. The whoreson! Fitzsimmons dragged himself up to his chamber to wash but didn’t feel at ease.

After making a swift toilette, Roland turned up to escort Leonné to supper. They ate in the small private dining room away from the inquisitive eyes and ears in the Great Hall. Guiscard and Orella awaited them, the latter suspiciously sending waves across the table to her, trying to wriggle into Leonné’s mind. She allowed her mind to think words that would satisfy Orella’s hope that she would come to terms with marrying her son… again.

‘I hope you do not fear living here this time, my dear,’ said D’Abernon. ‘We only want your life to be happy and comfortable. Immortality is nothing to be scared about. Dying is the thing to fear. Immortality brings you peace of mind. You cannot be killed by humans. Only magic can hurt or destroy you.’

‘I’ve thought about it, Uncle. I admit I still fear the change, but you need to explain the process further to me. At the palace, I realized the political situation was more complicated than I’d understood, and Arne was weaker than I was led to believe. I was reluctant to return here but thought about my future during this last journey. I’m confused and fearful. I think I will be more secure with my family.’ She cast her eyes down.

‘I’m pleased to hear it, my dear. I thought you were intelligent and would come round to our way of thinking. Didn’t I tell you that, Orella?’

Orella nodded thoughtfully.

‘I’ll make her the happiest bride, Mother and Father,’ said Roland. ‘Look, Leonné.’ He took her to the window. ‘We both love riding. I bought you a new mount. She’s there.’ A beautiful horse with a silver mane trotted in the courtyard, a Malamount, a rare breed from the nomads of the Raidnet desert.

‘I’m honored, Roland. She’s superb.’

‘Just like you, honey,’ he said, kissing her hand.

Fitzsimmons gulped, confused. His head spun as he tried to control the jealousy which raged through his soul and heated his skin dangerously. Was Leonné playacting, or was she really impressed by the horse? Wealth and jewelry meant little to her, but had Roland found a gift that reached her heart, a beloved horse, and won her over to his side?

Fitzsimmons tried to read her mind, but she blocked him. Damned girl, awkward as usual.

He waved over a servant to refill his goblet. ‘What does The Master want from me to prove my loyalty, if bringing this girl here is not enough?’

D’Abernon pulled his gaze from his son back to the table. ‘He wants you to form and lead an army against Arne. In the east of this kingdom, young nobles want to fight but aren’t used to battle. Their fathers support Arne, but these young fellows want a new age, leadership, and change to prove themselves and gain riches. They say Arne is lazy and no longer wants to conquer and gain more lands. He’s a monarch for old men.’

Fitzsimmons had heard rumors of restless young pups with too much time on their hands. Gambling, horse racing, hunting, and drinking didn’t stimulate them enough. 

Fools, he thought, despising them. He recognized the need to expel their energy. He enjoyed battle but killing only when it was essential. He had become a warrior out of necessity, not wanting to remain a stable lad forever. He liked the discipline in the military. He could not sit around wasting his time gambling or drinking like Roland. Even if he had married Leonné, he wouldn’t have spent his time managing his lands. He had too much mental and physical energy. He would have asked Arne for a role that would have stretched his brain.

Leonné came back to the table. ‘Please, may I go to bed? The journey has exhausted me.’

‘You’ve barely eaten enough to keep a cat alive. I’ll send a maid with a posset to help you sleep.’

‘Thank you, Uncle, but I don’t require anything to help me sleep. I just need my bed.’

‘I’ll take you up,’ said Roland. She gulped. What will he do when he takes me to my chamber?

She remembered how he’d mesmerized the poor maid into following him into a room.

Roland put her hand under his elbow and guided her to her room. She rubbed her eyes. ‘I’m exhausted. Roland. Can we talk in the morning?’

He kissed her hand. ‘‘Till the morrow—and soon our wedding night.’ She entered her room safe for the night.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

‘WHEN DO I START?’ Fitzsimmons asked Guiscard the next morning.

‘First, you will meet The Master, and he’ll instruct you how to find my contact and bring back the necessary information.’ 

Fitzsimmons realized he would finally meet this being and find the answers he wanted. If he pleased him, he would become more powerful, and with power came riches. No longer would he have to obey a lord like Beaumont; he’d be independent and have as many whores or concubines as he wanted to satisfy his needs. He could choose any woman to take to wife, not be tied to a mouthy wench like Leonné or rely on the income from her estates. No wife would dare nag or interrogate him about his whereabouts or who he was with, as Leonné had dared to question him over the business with Mathilde.

FITZSIMMONS PREPARED for his journey for the next few days, discovering as much as possible about The Master and his plans. Unease slipped into his mind, a sense he couldn’t understand. A frostpiece again, Leonné would not converse with him. Roland kept her by his side, seemingly still jealous, although Fitzsimmons didn’t understand why. He’d relinquished any rights over her. 

A young maid named Greta, served Leonné. Before she broke her fast on the second day, Greta shut the chamber door and bolted it.

Leonné jumped up and demanded, ‘What’s wrong, girl?’ 

‘There’s a message for you, Mistress.’ She opened the shutters and a crow flew onto the sill while an eagle circled overhead. 

‘I’m so pleased to see the two of you! What message do you have for me?’ Seeker hopped into the room and sat on the dresser. 

‘Jakke told us where you are. We’ll tell Heroux as soon as we return to the palace, and he’ll rescue you.’

‘My family will marry me off in a private ceremony this time. A second public ceremony would raise suspicions among the guests.’

‘I’ve got an idea,’ interrupted Greta, a maid much bolder and livelier than Ame. ‘They won’t believe you if you say you’ve fallen sick, but if D’Abernon suffers a mysterious malady for a sennight, they won’t marry you off without his presence. I have herbs that will do the trick. Ame is my cousin, Mistress. Can you take me with you, please, when you leave? I hate it here. Lady Orella be cruel to us servants.’

‘That’s an excellent idea, Greta. That will give Heroux some time to reach us. I’ll try to take you with me, and when I get to the king, I’ll try to persuade him to depose my uncle, exile my family, and put a kinder master in his place.’

‘Thank you kindly, Mistress. I’ll prepare the potion for tomorrow’s supper.’

‘What of the traitor, Fitzsimmons,’ croaked Seeker, ‘He should be executed as well.’

Leonné hesitated. ‘We don’t yet know what his intentions are. I can’t explain his behavior, but I never would have believed he’d be a turncoat. I’ll keep an eye on him, and when you return, I’ll give you a more definite answer.’

‘Better to be rid of him,’ snapped the crow. ‘Another potion would do the trick.’

‘Don’t be hasty,’ said Erwin poking his head through the window.

‘Can’t stand turncoats,’ said Seeker. ‘But have it your way. I’ll report back.’

Erwin said, ‘Sabine will come and sneak into the castle. She’s pining for you and her master but ashamed of his behavior.’

‘Tell her to take care.’ The birds swished their tails goodbye and flew off.

Leonné sighed. ‘Thank you, Greta.’ 

Alone again, she knelt and prayed. 

‘Dear Eilsir and Arllan, I’m your faithful servant. Please take me away from this hateful place. Tell me what I can do to serve you.’

The shutters rattled, a breeze entered and a shape appeared on the wall. Under it, writing flowed across and back again until it filled the whole space.

‘Have faith, you will be saved.’

‘By whom?’

‘Your friends will come for you, but there will be a trial you must take part in to ensure you still follow the path Eilsir and Arllan have laid out for you.’

‘Will this be a witch’s trial? Who thinks I’m a witch?’ Leonné trembled, remembering Fitzsimmons rescuing her from being tied to a stake. ‘Who will save me this time if I’m threatened with the stake?’

‘You need not fret, child. You are not a witch, simply a person endowed with particular gifts. All those wishing to become closer to the gods and to develop their powers undergo trials to ensure we admit the right people to our circle.’

‘Which circle, please? Who are the members, if I may be permitted to ask?’ Who is this person writing on the wall? Do they possess the power to aid me or to kill me?

‘The Daughters have always had a circle that advises but also defends and fights for them. I am part of this. You have archery and magic skills, competencies they admire and can use. You will become one of us.’

‘I’d be honored, but would I leave this world?’

‘No, you will stay here to warn the Daughters of problems and solve them before it becomes necessary for them to interfere in terrestrial issues. The Daughters serve our two gods, and we serve them. The world rests in equilibrium until beings like the immortals disrupt its natural balance.’

The shadow moved back toward the window. ‘You’ll remain a mortal unless you want immortality. Then you must earn it.’

‘I’ll reserve judgment on that. I wish to stay mortal for the time being.’

‘You’ll be given signals when and how to move. Good luck, child.’ The words and shadow faded and left her alone. 

The writer had written nothing about Fitzsimmons. She was angry and hurt. When he’d handed her over to Roland, she felt as if she had been stabbed in the heart, so torn apart was she by his betrayal.

She’d wait, listen, try to find a means of escape, and hope Heroux could help her.

Little did she know but Sabine was nearby. The crafty feline had discovered a merchant’s cart at an inn on its way to the castle. She slid under the covers and snuggled amongst the goods. The carter drove through the gates and she sneaked out while the merchant spoke with the soldiers. Then she slid under a covered table and waited until nightfall. Later, she would explore the rooms and find Leonné.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

HEROUX AND AME PLANNED Leonné’s rescue. Seeker had informed them of her location. Estienne immediately requested an audience with Arne asking for the escort of soldiers they would need to rescue her. Arne had been horrified when he heard of Ratzein and Fitzsimmons’ treachery.

 Heroux knew how the king felt. The betrayal he felt would stay with him for the rest of his life. ‘We don’t know if a spell has been put on him by Herron or who they serve, Sire. He is behaving out of character. If I hadn’t seen him attack Leonné with my own eyes, I would never have believed it.’

‘Bad blood always comes out at the end,’ replied Arne cynically. ‘His father was wayward.’

‘Fitzhalen was an adventurer, Sire, but he was loyal and fought for the previous king in many battles. Perhaps, we shouldn’t make our mind up about Fitz yet.’ But Heroux’s shoulders slumped and his words carried no weight.

‘He’s so strong, he makes a dangerous enemy. We need to crush him if we can.’

Heroux hesitated. Should he tell his Excellency about the challenge to his friend’s inheritance? It might work for or against Fitz.

‘Sire, Fitzsimmons has another burden on his shoulders. He’s been told another person, yet unknown is the true heir to his father’s estates.’

Arne scratched his chin. ‘More bad luck for him. It follows him like a stink, but it might make him more interested in gaining riches by betraying me if he thinks this Master may depose me.’ He scowled. ‘My mind is made up. Fitzsimmons shall be treated as a traitor, hunted, and brought back to me, preferably alive, so I can deal him his punishment myself, but I doubt he’ll allow himself to be taken alive. That type will fight to the death.’

‘Yes, Sire, but we must reach Leonné before her family forces her to marry Roland again. We believe an immortal’s powers will strengthen and increase if he takes a virgin on her wedding night.’

‘Even involuntarily?’

‘If she undertakes the ceremony under a spell, it may not make a difference. She may need to defy Roland openly to show her unwillingness. If she defies him, he will hurt her; if she doesn’t, she could be tied to him forever, immortal or not. Either way, she’s cooked.’

‘As soon as you gain more information, you must leave to rescue her. Pray the gods go with you.’

‘Thank you, Sire.’

He met Ame and told her his orders. ‘Ame, you can’t defend yourself if we meet our enemies. You’d best stay here out of trouble.’

She scowled. ‘I be fast, I can use a dagger, and I can make poisons to use against the enemy. I speak like the other servants and can mix with them more easily than you to find out how to rescue my mistress.’

He thought a while. ‘You’re right and ride well, although you’ve had little experience. I’ll take you, but you must obey my orders. And let’s just hope no one recognizes you.’

‘Oh, thank you, Sir.’ She could have kissed him. ‘I’ll be going to find my herbs and make some potions for the journey.’ 

Heroux smiled at her enthusiasm. Ame would make such a cheerful companion. Now, she didn’t fear being cut or whipped by Orella, few things scared her, and she was intelligent and resourceful like her mistress. He would teach her how to handle herself if attacked. If he’d left her behind, this feisty wench might secretly follow them like her mistress did Fitzsimmons.

SABINE WAITED until the inhabitants of the castle ate their supper. Only the servants bustled in the kitchen and the Great Hall. A large hound sniffed and howled when he smelt her at the door, and she slunk away fearing he might follow her. The hound’s handler cried, ‘Quiet, Hugel’ and slapped him on the behind. The dog lay down, putting his head on his paws, but he sniffed the air occasionally. He smelt a feline in the corridor and would look for it as soon as he could.

Frustrated by the hound, Sabine curled under a staircase in a dark corner, her coloring disguising her. She waited until supper finished, but Leonné did not join those who streamed out. 

There must be another private dining hall. She found the kitchen again and hid behind a barrel. Servants scurried up another stairway, so she waited until they returned with empty platters and then raced up the stairs. 

A dining room was at the top, and some men still drank. There was no sign of Leonné. She hissed in frustration, and then she heard a voice she recognized.

Roland said, ‘I’ll go up and find out if Leonné needs that posset; she may have changed her mind.’ 

Peeking around the door, Sabine saw Fitzsimmons frown. Does he still have feelings for Leonné? 

‘Wizard Ratzein spelled her into a deep sleep. She may still be tired after that and the journey. I’d leave her alone if I were you,’ said Fitzsimmons.

‘But I’m not you,’ replied Roland. ‘I go after what I want, and nothing stops me.’

Fitzsimmons shrugged. ‘On your head be it. I’d not want to annoy that wench.’

Roland ignored him, rose, and strode, annoyed, to a doorway and up a stairway.

Sabine followed him but crouched in the shadows against the walls. He knocked on a door at the end of the corridor. She twitched her ears, her superior hearing enabling her to hear the conversation when a sleepy Greta opened her mistress’s door. Greta slept on a truckle bed. Orella believed her to be loyal to the D’Abernon family and wanted someone to watch Leonné and warn the family if she tried to escape.

‘Is your mistress awake, or is she struggling to sleep? I can bring a posset if it would help her.’

‘She sleeps well without any aid, m’lord, but I will tell her you came to help her when she wakes,’ said Greta, curtsying. Roland’s roving eye took in the indent of her deep, shapely bosoms under her light wrap. He lifted her chin until she stared into his eyes. Streams of light pierced her eyeballs, making her dizzy, so she lost balance and held on to him.

‘Come with me,’ he ordered. 

She was saved by Leonné calling out, ‘Who is that at the door, Greta.’ Her voice interrupted Roland, and Greta’s mind cleared. 

She pulled away and answered, ‘Lord Roland, Mistress.’

‘Tell him I need no sleeping aid, but thank you.’ 

Greta said, ‘Thank you, m’lord, but I must attend my mistress.’

Roland smirked, and whispered for her ears only, ‘Come later.’ In a loud voice so Leonné could hear he announced, ‘Very well, tell your mistress I will see her in the morn.’ He stalked off. He wanted Leonné to come to his bed willingly; in the meantime, the servant girl would be an interesting distraction.

Greta rushed back to Leonné. ‘He tried to make me go with him.’ Leonné got out of bed and put her hand over Greta’s eyes. Confusion and anger radiated from the young girl.

‘I feel I should follow him, but I hate him,’ said Greta. Leonné’s eyes turned hard, and green light entered the girl’s eyes. ‘Forget everything he said and lock the door now. Bolt it.’ 

Greta shook her head. ‘I can’t.’

‘You will, Greta. Now! Forget Roland; he is weaker than me. Do as I say. Lock the door.’

Greta trembled, but as if she were sleepwalking, she walked to the door and bolted it. She stopped, but her hands moved toward the door and groped at the bolt.

‘Do you want to enter his bed, Greta?’

‘No, he is cruel.’

‘Look at me.’ Shafts of green light shot at her at her again, hitting her forehead this time. ‘Do you want to go with him or stay here with me? It is your choice. I’m removing his spell and returning your right to choose where you spend the night. Do you stay or follow him?’

Greta stepped back from the door and shut it. ‘I want to stay here, Mistress, but will Lady Orella let me sleep here again after Lord Roland tells her what happened.’ 

‘I think he will be too ashamed to admit my powers are greater than his, but it might make him want to bring our wedding date sooner.’ 

‘I have my potions ready, Lady Leonné. As soon as we have the wedding date, we will act.’

Sabine checked the corridor. As it was empty, she ran to the door and scratched it. Leonné stopped talking. ‘Listen!’ She rushed to the door and opened it.

Sabine rubbed her head against her leg, and Leonné shut the door as quietly as she could.

‘My sweet girl, you came to help me.’ She cuddled the cat and rubbed her ears.

Sabine purred. ‘I missed you, Mistress,’ giving her hand a big lick.

‘We must escape.’ She told Sabine what had occurred since she’d left the fortress, wrote a message, and placed it in the barrel on Sabine’s collar. It was invisible to the naked eye, but the receiver could read it if they applied lemon juice to the words.

Greta’s mouth was open wide. ‘You understand her, m’lady?’

Leonné grinned. ‘I do. Now I need your help, which are the best windows my rescuers should use?’

Greta thought for a moment. ‘It be best if I take you outside through the kitchens, m’lady. Tell them to meet us in the kitchen yard.’

‘There are some tunnels we can use, but my uncle’s men might have blocked them since our last escape,’ said Leonné recalling her last imprisonment here.

‘I can check, m’lady,’ said Greta. ‘We can tell the birds, if they return.’

‘I’ll tell them,’ said Sabine. ‘I must go now.’

‘Not without some food.’

‘I noticed a nice, juicy piece of meat hanging in the kitchen. I can swipe it and take it away.’

‘That’ll be too dangerous, Sabine. I will ask Greta to fetch you something.’

Greta checked the hallway was empty and then crept down the corridor to the kitchen. A bowl of fatty meat scraps was prepared for the hounds. The animals were usually given bones to gnaw and wouldn’t miss a few.

When she got back to the room, she put the bowl on the floor. ‘They’re greasy, but they’ll sustain her.’

Sabine licked her lips. She was ravenous and salivated at the thought of this delicious meal. She ate, washed her face and paws, and took off, scaling the wall, leaping down, and bounding down the track towards Himinbjörg, hoping to get well away before dawn.

Leonné worried about Sabine. Many poor women who were believed to be witches were forced onto ducking stools or burnt at the stake, but black cats were also tortured and killed because they were thought to be the witches’ familiars. Sabine was distinctive by her size. It would not be easy to catch her, but Fitzsimmons was caught when he was in cat form. She hated the thought of her beautiful feline friend being hurt and knelt and prayed to the gods for a safe journey for Sabine.

She needn’t have worried. Sabine was clever and hid behind trees if carts or horses moved by. She arrived at the fortress, paw sore, blistered, and tired but safe. Immediately, she made for Heroux, who called Ame to balm her paws and give her some fish.

‘Meow,’ she purred, putting her head down. Ame found a barrel on her collar, which, when opened, contained a note. Leonné had taught Ame how to read more proficiently, but she still struggled and gave the message to Heroux, who brought her up to date with Leonné’s position.

‘The maid will drug D’Abernon. We move tonight, despite the dark. Are you prepared to join me if the journey is more dangerous in these conditions?’

‘Oh yes, Sir.’

‘Pack the rest of your things. Bring stout boots and cloaks. We go over the mountain and will camp and may get very wet.’ She rushed out; she had an idea for the escape and had no time to lose in gathering what she needed.

‘What a brave wench.’ The journey in the dark would be hazardous. He called his men and collected his favorite hawk, which sat on his shoulder. Ame joined them, and they rode off to D’Abernon’s castle.  

Chapter Thirty-Nine

FITZSIMMONS SAT IMPATIENTLY IN his bed chamber, waiting for a message from Dominai. Black marks spread across his eyes, blurring his vision. He lay down, holding his head as drums banged through his ears. His head ached as if it would split in two.

Someone whispered in his ear, a guttural sound like a ploughshare dragging along cobbles. You will ready yourself to leave at dawn. Take a group of soldiers and head toward Gurthand on the border near Brintdalt. Herron will give you details of the names you need to recruit for my army.

A sharp prick like a dagger entered his head. In agony, he tried to find it and pull it out, but nothing was there. He gasped and swore, ‘Master, I’m loyal and will follow your instructions.’

I have no doubt. But this is another ‘gentle’ foretaste of what you will suffer if you are disloyal or fail your task. The pain sharpened, and Fitzsimmons blacked out. He woke to find his head didn’t ache, and his eyes were clear. But an overwhelming need to heed the warning and succeed in his task consumed his thoughts. 

He readied his horse and organized a few of D’Abernon’s men that he would take with him.

Herron arrived at Castle Gratlon before he left, and handed him a parcel of documents. He still felt uncomfortable allowing Fitzsimmons to work for The Master. As the knight prepared to leave, he pulled one of Guiscard’s men to the side. He gave him a small purse of coin. ‘I need to know every tiny detail.’ The man bowed his head and pocketed the bribe. ‘If Fitzsimmons steps out of line tell me, and I will stamp on him as if he were a bug.’ But only after I have humiliated and tortured him to pay him back for his double-dealing, he thought.

Fitzsimmons’ instructions were clear. He had to meet Dominai’s contact, Lord Richton, who would give him instructions for his task. He was uneasy. He’d never heard of this man, and he ached to return to solve the problem of this new heir Ratzein had mentioned. Lately, his need for wealth and power surged through his blood. Resentment and anger flowed through his veins. Consumed with his need to succeed, he didn’t recognize the swell in his hatred or how his personality was being manipulated. 

Then there was the issue of Leonné. He couldn’t help worrying about the annoying girl. He didn’t want her for his wife anymore, but he’d little trust in Roland’s desire to stay faithful to her. Worse still, when her power was melded with Roland’s, he would become a vital tool for The Master. Fitzsimmons felt slightly uncomfortable with that much power in the hands of an unethical being like Roland and, ultimately, Dominai. Would Leonné be wholly under the control of Roland? If so, Fitz was sure she would wither and die. A free spirit, she could not tolerate being cabined, confined, and controlled by an authoritarian being like Roland. He squashed thoughts of her. Why do I care?

He rode with the small troop to Castle Richtron. He missed Sabine and wondered why she had not tried to find him. The ride was hazardous. Red and yellow streaks painted and carved the sky. Then the heavens opened, and rod-like rain pierced their hauberks and muddied the track, slowing the horses down. Lightning lit the sky and struck a man’s helm and horse. He held his helm and yelped, but the animal toppled over and its head collided with a tree trunk.

‘The gods are against us,’ muttered one man. ‘We should turn back.’

‘We carry on. It’s a short ride. This will pass.’

‘Never seen lightning or rain like it,’ complained another.

‘You should fight in the Western regions. It rains most days in the winter,’ said Fitzsimmons. ‘Stop complaining and walk your steed if you feel unsafe riding.’ The soldier spurred his horse and moved on. The mud was ankle-deep; riding was more manageable than trudging through it. 

They arrived at the castle at dusk and were admitted after Fitzsimmons showed them Herron’s papers. They supped, and then he went to Richton’s bureau. Richton was a stout man whose belly protruded over his belt. His cheeks were red, and he had a double chin. He resembled the jolly dolls made by children to celebrate Winterfest. They would be burnt on a fire, and pieces of pork would be put on slim wooden skewers to be toasted in the fire and eaten during the evening festival. 

Looks were deceptive. His eyes were coal black like mirrors reflecting only what he saw, without light warming them. They bored into Fitzsimmons’ face as if they were antennae searching for answers in his mind. Satisfied, he said, ‘Sit,’ pointing to the only empty chair in the room.

‘Thank you, my Lord, for giving me an audience so soon,’ said Fitzsimmons, determined to ingratiate himself with this forbidding man.

‘The Master wants information quickly. He is best served speedily, for your sake,’ he warned. Fitzsimmons remembered the pain The Master administered and nodded.

‘These are the instructions from our master. Roland has the Book of The Realms but needs the key that unlocks it. It’s not a physical key but a spell passed down through generations.’

‘Dominai mentioned it to me. Do you know if the Daughters still have this spell?’

Richton scowled at his interruption. ‘If I may continue,’ he responded stiffly. ‘One renegade daughter left the Lodge and memorized it, hoping to create a new group serving the gods. She succeeded in gaining disciples and followers, but certain immortals infiltrated her circle, and she disbanded the group. She hid with a few friends and guarded the magic words with her life. You must find her and learn the words. If you can’t persuade her to tell you the spell, you will bring her to The Master, and she will be encouraged to tell him.’

Fitzsimmons could imagine the ways The Master would encourage the poor woman and hoped he could motivate her to help him before resorting to the brutal methods he would use.

‘How will I find her?’

‘Here is a map of the area she lived in. Her telepathic powers were damaged and limited in the fight with the immortals. She can only travel like mortals, so she couldn’t have traveled further than this area.’ He pointed to a colored section on a map. ‘The immortals set a barrier around this entire area, so you will find her there somewhere. The enchanted shield is designed to kill any Daughter passing through it, and to prevent any immortal from entering, but you as a mere man and a mortal may enter at will.’

‘It prevents the immortals from passing through?’

‘They couldn’t risk another sect of immortals from finding the spell before them, so they wait for the woman to surrender.’

‘Which powers does she have?’ asked Fitzsimmons, assuming this woman would probably refuse to help The Master or his men. He wanted to know what he would face when he found her.

‘She can read minds; like Lady Leonné, she can mesmerize a man and control his words and actions with her eyes.’

‘If Lady Leonné has these powers, is she related to the Daughters?’

‘She is of the same breed shall we say, which is why it is so important that she marry Roland. Once the marriage is consummated, Roland will be linked by magic to the Daughters. Roland will absorb the skills of the Daughters and become supremely influential.’

‘Doesn’t The Master worry he will become too dominant?’

‘Dominai understands Roland’s limitations; if he betrayed him, he would suffer immensely.’

Fitzsimmons believed him and subconsciously rubbed his temple. ‘What about these other immortals? Do they know I’m going after the spell? Will they try to take it from me, or are they friends of the Whires and The Master?’

‘The Routoupes are not our friends. They are our deadly enemies. They will most certainly intervene if they think you seek the Daughter with the spell.’

‘Why does Dominai think I’ll succeed where these immortals have failed?’

‘You are more talented than you think. Your skills will increase as you mature. You have years to develop. With The Master’s guidance, you will become more influential than Roland can dream of. It is predicted in the stars.’

Fitzsimmons thought, That’s all I need. A hostile daughter and her followers and now a band of immortals ready to confront and stop me from fulfilling my task. But if I can develop my competencies, achieving my goals and gaining riches may be more straightforward. I may not need my inheritance.

‘You’ll leave tomorrow with a band of my soldiers to help you. They will reinforce the ones you already have. I’ve picked them for their loyalty.’ Herron had warned Richton that he didn’t trust turncoats like Fitzsimmons, who had too readily changed allegiance. He’d order his officer to keep a watchful eye on him during the journey.

‘My Lord, you said I can improve my skills. Who should I ask for help to train me, or are there any journals I can read to learn the necessary spells?’

‘When you have proved yourself, I’ll show you some journals. The mage Hildegard can train you, but she lives in the Eastern region.’ Satisfied, Fitzsimmons bowed himself out and went to the marshal, who organized fresh supplies and horses.

The steward asked the cook to find him food. Fitzsimmons then retired to his allocated bedchamber. He was lucky. The other men had to sleep on pallets in a room next to the Great Hall. In earlier days, when he was a menial squire, he had to sleep in stables when he’d accompanied his knight to castles.

The next morn, before dawn, he inspected the men and horses. He had spare horses laden with food, tents, bedding, and arms. His own horse’s panniers were filled with extra clothes and weapons. He was satisfied. The men were a grim bunch and scarred from battles, but they looked fit and answered his questions competently. 

With a wave of his arm above his head they set off, the rain still teeming down and the trail still muddy. Their way was impeded by thick mist, making footholds difficult to see and the track more hazardous as they climbed a mountain. They traveled many furlongs that day, Fitzsimmons impatient to reach his destination. 

Their clothes were drenched, the rain penetrating their gambesons through to their undershirts. They stopped to break their fast mid-morning, and he set some of the men to hunt food, but the animals had gone to ground, deterred by the rain, and their visibility was limited for hunting. They made do with the staple foods given to them by the castle cook that morning.

We’d better find game to make a stew and warm us up this evening, thought Fitzsimmons, shivering, wanting to maintain the morale of the men.

They carried on, but darkness and mist made visibility impossible, and eventually they had to stop.

A whoosh and wind whisked around the tents they fought to erect. One tent pulled out of its pegs and flew in a soldier’s face, knocking him to the ground. He held on for grim death to avoid losing the wayward tent and fought a tug of war until Fitzsimmons grabbed an edge, sat on it, and pegged another part to the earth. Four men had to erect each tent. They were grateful for the shelter, although everything inside was soaked. They made a fire, cooked a freshly caught rabbit in a stew with a few herbs and grasses, and ate the meager portions hungrily.

They spread leather waterproof sheets on the ground, changed into fresh clothes, and covered themselves with woolen blankets. Fitzsimmons wished he had Sabine to sleep beside him and warm him through. The men slept tightly beside each other, using body heat to stay warm. 

Fitzsimmons slept fitfully, wary that any of these men could be his enemy, given how Richton had assessed and threatened him. He knew he didn’t trust him. A wrong step and Richton’s men might murder him.

They woke to find the rain had stopped, thank the gods. Fitzsimmons stepped outside the tent and spotted a movement in the bushes. He picked up his bow and took aim, sending arrows to hit a pair of long-eared hares. That will be our supper, he thought. Some of his men also hunted and were victorious, killing a boar. We won’t starve on this journey. Thank you, gods. This blessing encouraged him that the gods had not forsaken him after all.

‘We must move now. Put the animals on the spare horse and get going,’ he ordered.

The soldiers rode faster up the mountain, happier now the rain had stopped and anticipating full stomachs that evening.

Chapter Forty

DAWN’S FLICKER OF LIGHT tried to break through the torrential downpour that drenched the valley and smothered it in gloom. Suffocating black smog enveloped women who picked their meager crops despite the cursed weather. Since the immortals had come, their crops had become sparser as the valley was deprived of light and the land became increasingly barren. Few cattle were left; there was so little grass for them to eat. Soon, they would be put to death, and only goats and sheep would provide milk for the tired and poorly fed women. The immortals were winning. Magic trapped these women here, making daily life harder and less worthwhile. 

Hilde stood watching her friends and followers. Only eight were left of the group that had broken away from the Daughters. She sighed. She had led them to this plan, promising a more democratic group to aid the gods, but she regretted her path. These women who suffered alongside her could have betrayed her to the immortals and given the spell to them, but they remained loyal. 

She was anxious today. Something triggered a sensation in her brain. An image of a very tall, broad man riding with others scared her. A voice told her that the immortal Dominai had sent him. She had never met the Master but had heard reports of him, only bad. She had met his henchman, Herron, and seen the evil in him. He enjoyed hurting people.

Would this fellow take her back to the Daughters, or did he want the spell for his new master? She would go back and beg the Daughters’ forgiveness if they would accept her again. Alternatively, she would give herself up and die if only they’d save her followers. She would not, however, give up the spell. The havoc The Master could wreak through a willing conduit was unthinkable. Gritheim was already divided, Arne’s followers dwindling as the plague strengthened and the harvests failed.

She would meet Dominai’s men and try to negotiate a way out of this blasted place without giving the spell away. 

Taking a moment, she straightened up and arched her back—and froze. At the top of a hill, a small group of men watched her women deep in the valley.

They rode to the bottom and stopped, waiting for a woman dressed in grey to greet them. The large man dismounted and bowed courteously to her. She curtsied and shook his hand, and invited him inside.

Hilde raced down the track and breathlessly entered the house. The men were in the parlor drinking lavender tea by the time she entered.

The big man rose, ‘My name is Fitzsimmons, Ma’am. Your friend has kindly made us some tea. To whom am I speaking?’

‘Hilde, but I think you know that.’ He nodded. She was too easily recognized by her tall, lanky, boyish body, sharp black eyes, and flaming red hair, now streaked with gray. Piercing dark eyes assessed him. She thought he would make a valuable friend but a dangerous enemy. Which would he be?

‘How can I help you, Fitzsimmons?’ she asked, although she probably knew the answer.

‘It is I who can help you. You wish to leave this place, but you can’t. You have something Dominai needs. He can rid you of the cursed spell that keeps you here, and you may make your way to the Daughters or start a new life someplace else.’

‘Your master knows I can’t give the spell to anyone without the Daughters’ permission. Can’t you let my followers go and leave me to my fate?’

‘I’m afraid The Master won’t agree to that. It is all or nothing.’

‘You must go then. There is nothing to discuss.’

Fitzsimmons was furious. The girl who had refused to compromise with the Daughters had not changed. Now a mature woman, she was still stubborn and wayward, even if it meant her followers would starve and perish. He smelt the poisonous substances in the smog that were destroying the crops and polluting the air. Her friend coughed and spluttered, with skin that was too pale for good health. Hilde herself looked emaciated.

‘Can we stay the night here, please? My men are tired and want to clean up and dry their wet clothes. It poured throughout our ride yesterday.’ 

He wanted time to search the house and persuade her to change her mind. 

Her friend said, ‘Hilde, what harm can it do? They can leave in the morning.’

Hilde nodded. ‘Arlia, can you dry their clothes and give them some pottage?’ She looked Fitzsimmons in the eye. ‘We have no bread here. We live on the few herbs and plants we can scavenge, eggs, and milk from our animals. Every year, the situation worsens.’ 

‘How many of you were here before the curse?’ Fitzsimmons asked Arlia.

‘Twenty-five. Now we are eight.’

He grimaced. He couldn’t bear imagining his men slowly dying from the poisonous air and poor victuals. This was a dirty way of winning a battle.

He sensed an aura around Hilde. He started to read her mind, but she glared and blocked him. Arlia was easier to read. She feared him and his soldiers but hoped they might help the women escape. It was she he would manipulate.

Hilde went to supervise her women, leaving him with Arlia.

‘Your leader is brave and determined. I admire those qualities.’

‘Yes, she has always been strong-willed, even as a child. She is also loyal and will give her life to protect the Daughters from any harm.’

‘You mean from the immortals who want the spell.’

‘Yes, both breeds; the ones you represent and the Routoupes who cursed us with this spell that imprisons us here.’

So, she believes I’m an Aramanti. I won’t deny it.

‘The Master believes her magic is weakening. He wants to help her get out of this hellish land.’

‘At what cost? Her integrity! The Daughters won’t accept her, and her followers will reject her.’

‘But they will live. The Master will find a safe and healthy place for them to live and provide work and an income.’

‘Perhaps that’s not enough for them. They’ve sacrificed much for her. Will they have sacrificed so much for nothing?’

‘Surely, that’s for them to decide,’ said Fitzsimmons. He read her mind. She was torn, questioning her leader’s commitment to protecting the spell and saving her own life. He thought she was as weak as him. He had faced the same decision himself in that attic room back at the inn. He had chosen his life against loyalty to Arne. 

‘How can I persuade Hilde to give me the spell and come with us? If I take her to The Master, and she refuses to help him, I cannot guarantee he will treat her kindly.’ 

Images of torture streamed through her mind, making her eyes bolt, and she grimaced.

Fitzsimmons continued the pressure, ‘I need to persuade her to give me the spell and then find a safe place for her. It will be the only way she can keep her life and the rest of you.’

‘Persuasion is impossible. But if she were taken from here and had to make a new life elsewhere, she might be forced to change her mind.’

‘How would you suggest I do that?’

‘There are herbs that would make her passive, and you could enter her mind and put a spell in it telling her to come with you. But first, you must rid us of the curse that keeps us here. The Routoupe immortals constructed this shield with the curse, and we see them every quarter outside our shield inspecting us.’

‘Where do I find these Routoupes?’

‘In the Dirkheim region. The moon will shine in two days, and they will come to ask us for the spell.’

‘I will be ready to rid you of their curse without their consent.’

‘Beware of their leader, Varment. He vies with your master to control Gritheim first and later other lands. I must work now. Save your questions for Hilde.’

‘You will help me if I can rid you of this curse,’ he asked, catching her arm and stopping her from leaving.

‘Certainly. I want to live. Why should I give my life for a god I don’t believe in anymore? A god would have saved us.’ 

She curtsied and bustled out. She’d acquiesced very quickly, perhaps too quickly. Her loyalty to Hilde was in question.

He went to one of the bedchambers and lay on a pallaise, the beds being too small for him.

He tried to contact Richton. At the fourth attempt, when his head nearly ached beyond endurance, he felt a wriggling in his brain. The itching and wriggling stopped.

You need help from me, Fitzsimmons?

I do. I need to know how to rid these women of the curse laid by the Routoupes. If I can help them to escape this evil land, one woman will help me bring Hilde back to The Master, as she is unlikely to come willingly.

They are due to arrive with the next moon. Their leader must be tamed. You must challenge him to a fight.

Will their magic be strong? If he’s immortal, how can I dispose of him?

Yes, his magic is stronger than yours, but you will grow stronger by destroying him. Look on the wall and remember the spell there. Chant it when you see Varment, and your sword will be able to enter his body to burn and destroy the fluids that sustain his life. 

Fitzsimmons’ head cleared. Richton had withdrawn from his mind. He blocked his mind and focused on the words on the wall. Three lines were written there.

He committed them to memory. Might the spell also kill the Whires and The Master? He chastised himself for the thought. He worked for the Master now and must support him. If Richton had read his thoughts, he would have thought him a traitor and asked his men to execute him. I need to be more careful.

He slept poorly that night, thinking worms were eating his mind alive.

The next day, he explored the house, looking for books or other places where the spell might be hidden. He spoke to the other women in this house. They all declared their loyalty to Hilde but admitted they’d like to leave this place and start a new life, some said without their leader. It was tantamount to saying they didn’t want her to advise the Daughters. Did this mean they would betray her and help him take her to The Master? He decided to ask Arlia.

He found her in the laundry room. She was hesitant at first to talk with him.

‘I think you need to discuss your future with me. Five of the followers implied that they wanted to leave this place and start a new life without Hilde. Will they follow me and help me to take her to The Master?’

She bit her lip and turned to the window, staring out. Fitzsimmons let her stew, watching anguish flash across her face. 

‘We only want to live. Hilde uses guilt to make us stay here. The Routoupes immortals have offered us new lives if we help them.’

‘Is the spell in her head, or has she hidden it somewhere?’

‘Both. I think she’s hidden it in a book. I’ve tried finding it without success.’

‘If we could find the book, I might be able to release the rest of you from the spell, even if she wants to stay here. I take no comfort in taking her to The Master and leaving her to his devices. He’ll not spare her if she stands in his way.’

‘I’ll show you where she put it, but she’s moved it since. It may still be in this room if you wish to look for it.’

She went to a small room called the library. It was full of books and unusual objects like multi-colored crystals and vials containing unknown liquids.

‘Hilde is a skilled alchemist, and this is her workshop.’

‘She’s wasted here. She could do much good working for the Master.’

‘She’s forsaken living with people and rejected the Daughters. She fits in nowhere, a sad, lonely soul. Even our women are beginning to dislike her stubbornness.’

‘Would the Daughters not have helped her?’

‘They sent a message to her once, but she would not answer it or tell us what it contained. I think they wanted the spell to prevent it from being used by evil ones and would take her back if she apologized for her behavior. She was too full of pride. Now she may have changed her mind,’

‘We must find the book, release you ladies from the spell, and take the spell to The Master.’ She still seemed uncomfortable. ‘What worries you?’

‘I’ve heard bad things about The Master and his henchman Herron. What will he do with the spell?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. He suspected he would use the spell to win a war against Arne and depose him. He told himself if he didn’t find the spell, The Master would find others to do so, and he would be put to death. It was better if he found the spell first and saved Hilde from The Master’s clutches. He doubted she would be of much use to him if he had the spell book in his clutches. Fitzsimmons thought he could take Hilde to a small village where she could live peacefully in good health. He admitted to himself it would salve his conscience instead of handing her over to The Master.

He concentrated on the area where the book had been hidden. He felt an aura around a stone near the previous hiding place. He took his dagger and dug it into the wall behind the corner of a stone. It was loose. He worked for ten minutes, and it pulled out.

Behind it was a roughly fashioned wooden safe. But he was in danger. He pulled it, and a serpent slid through the loosened stone and tried to bite him. His sixth sense warned him just in time. The whole stone wall seemed to be full of snakes writhing and hissing. He jumped back, but they tried to reach him. They must be climbing from the outside wall as fresh air whistled through the gaps in the wall.

‘I’ll get some herbal powder,’ Arlia cried, running to a shelf. Coming back with a tinder box, she rubbed and started a small flame, which she used to light the powder, and directed the green smoke toward the gap. The snakes writhed back. As the smoke enveloped them, they slid down the wall dead. 

Fitzsimmons took out his sword and poked it in the wall. More snakes writhed and slid out. He choked, revolted by the sight and the evil stench. ‘I’ll look outside to see if any more are alive.’ 

‘Take the tinder box,’ said Arlia, giving it to him.

He raced outside. Two of the disgusting things were still alive. He dispatched them with the sword and held the box and smoking powder near the opening. One more crept out and died.

He returned, took his jacket off, and put his gauntlets on. He wrapped his jacket over them. Protected, he untied the safe and tried to pull a box out of it. It took all his strength. He’d heard magic would protect a spell if someone had ill intentions toward it. He wrestled with his conscience again. It was becoming a nuisance. Ignoring it, he gave one more tug, and it came out. 

He put it on a table and wanted to open it, but it might contain other dangers.

‘Arlia, can you open it safely?’ She nodded but trembled. She sprinkled the box with another powder and chanted a blessing. The lid sprang open. A small notebook lay inside. She picked it up cautiously as if it would harm her and gave it to him.

He could tell it was a magic book. It glowed orange when he touched it but then turned red as if angry. He pocketed it, and it warmed him, almost burning him when he felt it. He feared his coat could burn and took it outside and placed it in the iron box he kept valuables in. 

As he padlocked it, he saw Hilde watching him from across the room. Anger radiated from her. Her eyes glowed, but he shielded his with his arm, rushed over to her half-blind, before she could blind him. He grabbed her and turned her round. Her magic surrounded him, and his throat choked as if a band was strangling him. He grabbed her around her neck and tightened his grip until she lost consciousness, and the band around his neck fell away. He gasped, hungrily gulping in air. He bent down and tied her wrists with some string he grabbed from the table. He lifted her over his shoulder and asked Arlia to show him where her room was.

‘She will wake soon. When she does, check she is alright and then drug her. We need her asleep so I can find these immortals and remove the curse hanging over you ladies.’

Arlia, half-relieved and half-anxious, nodded and prepared the herbs.

‘Once drunk, this will last a week. More can be given afterward, but too much will kill her. Add it to a tankard of water.’ She gave the skin of herbs to him, which he pocketed. 

‘Thank you. I’ll do everything in my power to save her and you ladies.’

‘Thank you. It may work out for the best.’ She still wasn’t sure, but then neither was he. His conscience was still pricking him. He also still had images of Leonné being violated by Roland. He must forget her; she was his past.

He messaged Richton. He was careful to give little away. He mistrusted this man. He might use him to get the necessary information and leave him facing the avenging immortals alone.

I need a spell to force the Routoupes to lift the curse on these women and to leave us alone when we depart. I’m getting closer to finding the book but must make a fast escape.

Richton was quick to respond. Use the spell I gave you earlier. It will neutralize their powers for a week, giving you time to escape, but you must capture Varment first to make him remove the curse. He is strong, ruthless, and will be difficult to exterminate, but you can do it. The second spell should destroy him, but if it doesn’t, he will hunt you and my men until he kills you all. Vengeance is his byword.

Thank you. Fitzsimmons cut off the connection. The men he’d brought with him lounged in the parlor, but they sat up when he appeared. 

‘Move! Saddle our horses and collect our weapons. We go to the shield and assess our enemy. I’ve a spell to destroy Varment and remove the curse.’

‘Wait,’ said Arlia. ‘You need not physically go to see him. Watch him through my mirror, it’s safer.’ 

Her mirror grew cloudy, and then an image appeared of a being riding and leading others. Seeing their features wasn’t easy, but they didn’t look like humans. They were taller and heavier, and their skin appeared red under their helms. Their hair falling in plaits down their shoulders seemed black. The leader turned to face them, and they saw his visage, which appeared more bear-like than human.

They look enormously strong, thought Fitzsimmons. I will need more than the spells to defeat them. I will need my wits about me. 

The leader had a muzzle and black eyes. His face was covered with facial hair, and his neck was short and thick. His body was broad and covered in painted and carved animal hide. His legs were covered in thick woolen leggings. He didn’t wear gauntlets. Instead, his paws were covered with thick, wide leather strips criss-crossed, and his nails were long, crooked, and sharp. Like his hands, his feet were covered with leather to protect him from the stony terrain. He was a terrifying sight.

The women must have lived in fear of these men breaking through the shield. I must help them escape. I cannot leave them to these monsters. 

The immortals used daggers and clubs as weapons, not the finely wrought swords he used—rough, elementary weapons to suit their barbaric owners.

His men looked anxious. He had to raise their morale. 

‘I’ll challenge the leader to a duel. There is no need for other bloodshed.’

‘They be right strong and dangerous, m’lord,’ said an officer, his respect growing for this young knight who planned to risk his life for them. Perhaps he was not the turncoat traitor Richton had described to him.

‘Yes, but I have magic, and I am powerful,’ replied Fitzsimmons. ‘Come, let us go and meet them. Stay in a tight formation, and keep behind me when I take on their leader.’

His party rode to the shield, and he yelled to the immortals. ‘I want to speak with the being called Varment.’

The colossal man moved forward, pressing his nose to the shield. ‘I’m Varment. Who hails me?’

‘Fitzsimmons, formerly a knight fighting for Lord Beaumont, but now I fight for Dominai.’

The name made the man hesitate, but then he asked, ‘What do you want?’

‘I want you to allow these women to leave their prison and find a safe and healthy place they can live the rest of their lives.’

‘They don’t leave until they give us the spell that opens The Book of The Realms.’

‘The woman Hilde is so ill she has long since forgotten the spell. She lies in her bed, suffering from a malady. Look into her room if you can.’

Varment picked up a crystal and stared into it. Hilde was curled up on the bed, seemingly sick.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ he demanded.

‘I’ve no idea. She came down with the malady after we arrived. It could be a fit of melancholy. Women suffer from this, but it is more likely to be the result of the poison all around.’

‘Her friends may know the spell,’ Varment said, clutching at straws. What would he tell his leader?

‘I doubt it.’

‘Hand her over to me, and I will read her mind.’

‘No, I want these women to take them back to The Master. They may not have the spell I need, but their magical skills will help him gain his objectives.’

‘We need them. You must hand them over to me.’

‘No.’

‘Then you will not leave this place. The shield will trap you.’

‘My master may take a stand here and punish you, or perhaps you’d rather face a duel.’ He saw the man’s face drop when he mentioned the words punishment and master in the same sentence.

The gross immortal ran his eyes up and down Fitzsimmons. He was very young and smaller than Varment. He could easily win with a duel aided by his magic.

‘Very well. If I win, you give me Hilde. If you win, I release them from the curse, and they can go.’

‘To the death or first blood?’

‘What do you take me for, human? To the death, of course. There will be little left of you when I’m finished with you.’

Fitzsimmons watched as he approached the shield. ‘Let me out then and prepare to meet your maker.’

‘Come fight me then, human.’ He raised the shield just enough for Fitzsimmons to duck under to stand opposite Varment in a walled paddock.  The shield dropped down again.

Varment stood back, and without waiting for Fitzsimmons to ready himself, he played dirty, swinging his ball and chain so fast it hissed through the air as it landed near Fitzsimmons, who jumped over the ball and leaped out of the way of the chain just in time.

Varment moved fast, swinging the chain to and fro, blocking Fitzsimmons’ way until he backed him almost to a wall. Fitzsimmons had little time to pull out his dagger and sword. He swore. ‘Whoreson.’ 

Angry, his muscles grew, and his shirt tightened and split. Hair sprouted from his face as he turned into a spitting cat and turned and scaled the wall, sitting and hissing on the top. He launched himself onto Varment’s back, grabbing the man around his face and scratching his eyes. His opponent dropped his dagger, ball and chain, and clawed at his face, trying to dislodge the vengeful feline. Fitzsimmons was slighter than him but heavy enough to bear down on his back, forcing him to the ground. He pulled Varment’s hair back, slicing his neck with his vicious claws. He quickly turned back into a man and picked up his sword. He would only briefly disable him without magic, so he chanted Richton’s words and thrust his gleaming sword into the immortal. Slowly, the great being dissolved until his clothes were a pile on the ground.

He pulled on his ragged leggings and undershirt and faced Varment’s men who fell back in amazement and fear.

‘Do you remove the curse,’ Fitzsimmons asked the officer in charge. ‘Or will it be your turn next?’

‘Yes, my Lord.’ He held out a carved skin and incanted a charm. 

‘You’ll leave here immediately if you value your lives. Tell your leader that the woman and her followers belong to my master, and he would be wise to interfere no more with my master’s search for the key to the Book of The Realms.’ They left quickly.

Fitzsimmons turned to Richton’s men and noticed the women had gathered behind them. ‘Arlia, check if the shield has been removed. Walk to me.’

She hesitated. ‘If I try to pass through the shield when it’s in place, I will die.’

‘I’ll go instead.’ 

One of the other followers had arrived and was less scared than her older colleague. She walked incanting charms until she reached where the shield normally stood. She turned back, fear written on her face, but straightened and walked forward. Nothing happened. No flashes, lightning, or screams of pain filled the air.

‘It’s safe,’ she cried.

‘Ask the other women to clear the house of clothes, arms, food, and drink. We move tonight in two hours when it darkens..’ The women raced back to the house with a buzz of excited chatter. 

He always felt undressed in his fur without his sword and scabbard. Warrior blood streamed through him. He was most comfortable when he was planning a battle or leading an attack on his enemy. The life of a landed gentleman wouldn’t suit him.

When the shadows passed across the dial in the yard, it was time to move. Hidden in the dark, they would make slow but safe progress up the valley and across the mountain. Surprisingly, the smog that covered them on their way to this place had dissipated, and it no longer rained. The stars twinkled and shone as if they approved of their journey. 

They moved through the night, stopping only for food and then pressing on. Fitzsimmons wanted to ride as many furlongs as possible before dawn. The light came slipping like silver slivers through the clouds. He breathed a sigh of relief. Their pace was fast, with no mud. The ground was uncannily dry after all that rain. 

They rode all day, only breaking their journey twice. The track became more hazardous. Stones and rocks rolled into their path, making their horses stumble out of the way. They became jittery when they had to slide down the sheer surface of the mountain.

They broke their journey at a deserted farm. It was secluded and would make a safe place to stay for the night. Fitzsimmons found a dilapidated barn and stabled his horse.

His mind was confused. Why did he not mention he had the spell book to Richton? It could save Hilde from being harshly interrogated. He admitted to himself he did not trust Richton or The Master to use the book for the benefit of the good citizens of Gritheim. He wrestled with his conscience again. He wanted to help The Master and gain riches, but how could he work for a being that might plunge Gritheim into civil war and cause more chaos and destruction?

He found the soldiers had made a rudimentary supper of bread, meat and ale. Some rooms in the farmhouse were still habitable so he chose one and fell into his bed exhausted.

Chapter Forty-One

SABINE SLEPT FOR A WHOLE DAY and departed a day later than Heroux and Ame, but she caught them up bounding in front of their horses and pawing at Jakke who yelped, pleased to see her. 

‘Sabine, go to the castle and let Leonné know we are close. We also need to know where she’s sleeping. They may have moved her since you were last there.’ She howled and ran off.

‘That cat is more human than humans I know,’ said Heroux.

Ame pulled her cloak strings tighter. ‘Thank the gods she was sent to Fitzsimmons to help him.’

‘I wish he was as loyal as she is.’

‘We don’t know the circumstances that caused him to work for the other side, my lord.’

‘He’d better have a good excuse.’

Ame shivered. She knew everyone despised Fitzsimmons for being a turncoat but she would hate to see him hung, drawn, and quartered. 

Sabine sneaked into the castle and found Greta in the laundry room. ’Meow,’ she cried.

Greta jumped. ‘You scared me, you noisy animal. Do you want to find m’lady?’ Sabine rubbed herself along Greta’s legs. 

‘Come with me then.’ Sabine followed her, and Greta let her into the chamber.

‘Heroux and Ame are a half day’s ride away. What message can I give them?’

Leonné hugged her. ‘I’m to be married the day after tomorrow. Greta gave D’Abernon a drug, so he’ll be incapacitated soon. There’s something else. Fitz has gone rogue and is working for the enemy. He has captured a woman called Hilde and is taking her to their master. I must stop him. I’m afraid if he has the spell book that opens The Book of The Realms, he’ll give it to their master, and that monster will depose Arne and conquer Gritheim. But Eilsir has told me I have the power to stop anyone, including Fitz. I have the power to confront him; I just need to believe in myself. I’ve been given spells and other magic to accomplish what must be done.’ 

Sabine howled, ‘You must stop him, Mistress. If he becomes too gifted and strong, Dominai will win with his help. He’ll be ruthless and unstoppable. He’s changed. He’s not my master anymore. I’m ashamed of him.’

Leonné put a message in her barrel. ‘Go to Heroux and give him this message.’

The message said: Orella has constructed a spell over me, but I’ve been given another which will release me from it. If you can help me escape, I can stop Fitz.

‘Go sweet girl,’ she said to Sabine and sent her on her way.

She’d found several messages on her wall giving her advice and more spells. She’d tried to levitate but found she could only rise a few feet, not enough to rise over the castle walls. She’d have to practice.

She dreaded the confrontation she must have with Fitz. Nevertheless, she would do as the Daughters wanted, even if it meant him being unmasked as a traitor to Arne. Her loyalty to Gritheim must come before her love for him. She realized she hadn’t stopped loving him, but she despised turncoats and traitors and couldn’t marry a man she didn’t trust. He’d destroyed all her confidence in him.

Sabine rushed off to find Heroux. She met him just before the castle came into view. His party had hidden in a wood. He read the message aloud to Ame.

‘We will try to reach Leonné tonight. Sabine, go to the castle and tell Leonné to open the dairy door at midnight.’

They waited until nightfall, and then Fitz’s best climber, Germane, scaled the walls. Once on the top he whispered down to Heroux, ‘Déjà vu.’ Heroux smiled and slung a rope ladder they had brought with them on the wall to use later.

Greta opened the dairy door and let him in. She’d brought Leonné down, and they went into the courtyard and climbed the ladders which swayed precariously.

Leonné closed her eyes and held her breath, pulling herself until she sat on the wall and then let herself down the next ladder, thankfully reaching the ground safely. Opening her eyes, she ran to the horse waiting for her. Heroux helped Greta over the wall and placed her on his horse in front of him. They galloped into the night, hoping the castle’s inhabitants would not find out Leonné had escaped until the morning.

‘I need to return to the palace quickly to use my spells and herbs if I want to stop Fitz before he reaches their master.’

‘If we don’t stop to sleep, we can be there before dawn,’ said Heroux, ‘but it is more dangerous riding in daylight when we can be seen for the first part of the route.’

‘We must try. Hilde is in danger.’

Ame said, ‘Stop and put these clothes on behind that tree. They may not recognize you.’ They all stopped and changed into clothes suitable for merchants and their servants. 

They reached the palace at six in the morning. Heroux raised his scarf in the colors of Arne, and they were allowed in.

‘Mistress, you must sleep, or you’ll be fit for nothing later on.’ Leonné agreed and went to bed.

SHE WOKE ONCE IMAGINING Hilde being mauled by a huge, ugly creature. It was a nightmare, and she fell asleep again until Ame brought her a drink of honeyed milk at dawn. The first thing she saw was fresh writing on her wall.

She told Ame. ‘The master has told Fitz to bring Hilde to him. He moves in two days. He takes the road to the west via the Moutzint Mountains. We may meet him there on the third day.’  

Leonné started getting dressed. ‘I must get dressed and construct my spells.’

‘Heroux has spoken with Arne. He will give you men if you wish to go with him and rescue Hilde. He’s declared Fitzsimmons a traitor, and there is a reward for his capture, dead or alive.’

Leonné’s face fell. ‘I must stop him handing Hilde over. I hope he has a good reason for his actions and may persuade Arne he hasn’t betrayed him.’

She told Heroux about the message. ‘It could be a trap, but we can’t risk letting the immortals get Hilde. The security of our kingdom depends on us stopping him.’

Heroux paced. ‘I wish you could have asked the mage for more help and to practice the spells, but we must try to stop him. I’ll have the horses and baggage ready to leave tomorrow to travel to our ambush spot.’

Heroux finally settled. Resting a hand against the mantel, he changed the subject. ‘If Ame wants to come, she needs to be able to fight.’

‘I have already sent her to the courtyard to practice archery.’

Leonné came over and smiled reassuringly at him. ‘Estienne, she is a naturally good shot. She has the eye, and work in the castle has built her strength. She can also help anyone who is wounded with her herbal skills if I’m hurt. She will be an asset to us.’

‘You’re right, but I feel she is too feminine and needs protection.’ 

Leonné remembered Fitz had felt the same about her once. Heroux was becoming fond of her maid, but she feared it would end in tears if Heroux ignored her good qualities, preferring wealth, ladylike manners, and status for his wife.

She decided to read the notes she’d made on a skin Greta had given her. Rubbing her amulet for good luck she filled a large tureen of water and took out her wand. Herbs fell onto the water from her skin sack and made a pattern. She chanted quietly words she had read on the wall in her room at her uncle’s castle. Then she waved the wand over them, saying, ‘It is Fitzsimmons you must hunt and find.’ 

She waited, and in the tureen, she saw Fitz heading a group of soldiers and a man driving a cart. She would use magic to stop him taking Hilde to The Master to buy herself a little more time. She emptied the tureen and swished her wand making a circle. The edges hardened and then filled with water and mud. This would slow him down as he would have to move the cart around this pond.

FITZSIMMONS REALIZED THAT when they had been riding in the direction of Arne’s palace the air was clear and the terrain firm and safe. Now they were riding in the direction of The Master’s home, the land was harsher and rougher. 

‘I’m sure this is the route we followed when we rode this godforsaken track,’ said Fitzsimmons to the officer.

‘It’s the same, m’lord, but the terrain has changed.’ The officer’s eyes switched from one side of the mountain to the other. ‘It’s as if obstacles are being put in our way.’

As he said this, the ground hollowed in front of them and filled with dank water, the edges slippery under their poor steeds’ feet. Fitzsimmons’ horse slid, and he pulled it back, soothing it as it reared. He held on for dear life and turned him to a safer position. 

Leonné blew into the tureen. Water bubbled and churned, making Fitzsimmons’ party go round the edge. She had to see in the cart. She drew an eye in the water and waited. An eye prodded out and looked. Then she placed a bird’s claw in the bowl.

‘How deep is it, I wonder,’ said Fitzsimmons. He threw a pebble, but it sank deep below the surface. ‘Deeper than the horse’s withers. We must go round to the other side and waste more time.’

As they rode carefully round the pool, the top began to bubble and froth, and then a spout of water appeared. An eye appeared, watching the men as they moved. It pushed out of the water and spun toward the cart holding Hilde. An arm and claw pushed out and grabbed at the cart, trying to pull it into the water. Two soldiers pulled it back. The cart shook, and a tendril lifted the cover of the cart so the eye could look inside.

Fitzsimmons lifted his gauntlet, and a light shone from the jewel onto the claw. The eye and the arm pulled back, accompanied by a howl of pain. He waved the gauntlet in the air and chanted a spell telling the creature to go to the bottom of the hole. The bubbles receded, and the water became calm once more. He moved fast and drove his group to safety.

‘Move quickly now,’ he commanded. ‘We are nearly round the hole, and I can see the track ahead.’ The carts slithered around the edge, and finally, they reached the track and pushed ahead.

‘Damn,’ Leonné cried. She would not give in and emptied the bowl but put pebbles and rocks in it. Waving her wand over them and speaking incantations, she made their journey more hazardous than before. A small branch that had fallen to the ground developed into a massive tree, blocking his way.

Fitzsimmons dismounted and assessed the situation. ‘Take Hilde out of the cart and tie her to my horse. We must carry the cart over the tree.’ Time passed, and it would be dark before they entered the Western region near where The Master lived.

He thought of Richton, and the man messaged him. ‘I’ve watched your progress. Someone or something is trying to stop you from reaching us. Take the route to D’Abernon’s castle instead, and we will make new plans.’

‘We’ll do that straight away,’ said Fitzsimmons, relieved he could reach the castle by dark if nothing impeded his progress. He rode with Hilde in front of him, still subdued by the drug she’d ingested.

As soon as he changed direction, the terrain became less rocky, and they reached Castle Gratlon just after dusk. D’Abernon hailed Fitzsimmons as they entered the castle. ‘You’ve got her. Richton said you may have found the spell as well. Is it in her head? We can interrogate her tonight if so.’

‘She’s been drugged. We can’t interrogate her for a few days. I don’t have the antidote to what she was given.’ He carefully lifted Hilde down and placed her in the arms of a servant.

‘You can brief me tomorrow after you break your fast. We’ve supped, but I’ll instruct the maids to feed your party, and then you can sleep.’

‘We need to house these followers of Hilde as well. They came voluntarily and are not our prisoners. Treat them gently. The woman over there, Arlia, may give us more information.’

D’Abernon nodded and told his steward to arrange beds and food for the women. Arlia looked grateful but still anxious. She accompanied Hilde to a set of rooms the followers could sleep in and settled her on a pallaise.

‘HE’S GOING IN THE direction of D’Abernon’s Castle,’ said Leonné. ‘I’ve stopped him reaching the immortal for the time being.’

‘I knew you could do it,’ said Heroux.

‘He’s becoming more skillful and his magic more sophisticated, but the writing on the wall said I’ll have more powers than him if I practice. I’ll do so and we’ll set off early tomorrow and confront him.

‘You must rest, m’lady,’ said Ame. She stroked Leonné’s head. It was hot.

‘I admit I have a headache.’

‘You concentrated so hard. Sleep and I’ll wake you when it is time to sup.’

‘Thank you. I’ll do so.’ She sunk down in the bed and fell into a deep sleep, content she had achieved her task but sad she’d had to battle with Fitz.

Her party set off early the next morning to find a place where she could wait for Fitzsimmons. They arrived without trouble after riding for a day and a half and, she left her party and levitated to the top of a hill where she could watch for him.

Chapter Forty-Two

D’ABERNON FACED FITZSIMMONS over the supper table in the private dining room. ‘Lord Richton said Dominai is pleased you captured Hilde but is furious you couldn’t bring her to him.’

‘Somebody used magic to stop me.’

‘We know. It was Lady Leonné, helped by one of the Daughters. She escaped, but Orella read her mind when she was on the track to the palace. She is becoming too strong and is your enemy now. You must find her. If you cannot bring her back to marry Roland, you must dispose of her.’ Roland stared at him; his face frozen. He clearly didn’t like the idea of losing his prize wife.

Fitzsimmons’ heart leaped. He might think Leonné was one of the most irritating females he knew, but killing her was another matter. She acted on behalf of the gods. But he now believed it was the Daughters working for the gods who had created the problems on the way to Ratzein’s and again on the way to Hilde’s home. They wanted to reduce the power of The Master and to keep Arne in his position.

‘Is there no alternative? Can’t you find another man to marry Leonné and meld his powers with hers?’ 

‘The Master has considered that. He has someone in mind, but the man would have to volunteer.’ 

Fitzsimmons was torn in two. He needed to help The Master, but whoever married her would curtail her powers and her independence. She would never volunteer to lose her freedom and later her mortality if it meant that she would be forced to use her skills for The Master’s aims. 

He wanted to save her but didn’t want the stranglehold and responsibility of marriage. Suddenly, he realized that he didn’t want to be indebted or work for The Master anymore. His conscience had been pricking him for days. He’d read Richton’s mind and had been sickened by what Dominai might have in store for Hilde. She might be foolish and stubborn, but she had tried to protect the spell book from the other immortals who wanted to use it for evil purposes. He could help her return the book to the Daughters and persuade them to accept her and her followers back into their fold. The spell would then be safe from the evil ones.

He had been respected and favored by Beaumont. He was just another servant to The Master to be used and discarded when he was of no use. He weighed the alternatives. Did he want the power and magic that came with marriage to Leonné? A surge of recently desired fame washed over him. Once he took her maidenhead, could he become strong enough to confront and defy Dominai and claim his independence from the being? Or did he want to gain riches, estates, and status by fighting with The Master against Arne? The Master might like to expand his kingdom and send him to fight and conquer other kingdoms. His mind was in turmoil.

He decided. He would marry Leonné. She would have to marry him voluntarily, or her powers would not be transferred to him. This is something only he knew and should Roland find this out he would ensure her murder. She’d be a hard nut to crack, but she’d loved and trusted him once. He’d have to get on his knees, apologize to her, and beg her forgiveness. He’d win her over. He wasn’t a proficient strategist for nothing.

‘I’ll marry Leonné if The Master trusts me enough.’

D’Abernon smiled. It was as The Master thought. This knight did still care for Leonné although he wouldn’t admit it. If his son lost the girl, it was his own bad luck. He should have worked harder to woo her and show Dominai that marrying her would help his cause.

‘What happens if she disagrees? Can you kill her or bring her to The Master, whichever he wants? Or do you still love her?’

‘If it is a question of my devotion to The Master and his cause or my affection for a silly girl, The Master will win every time.’ The nerve in the corner of his eye twitched as he strove to control his emotions.

‘Then we’ll set a trap for her so you can capture her.’

‘Agreed. What about Hilde?’

‘Herron will collect her and bring her to The Master. He’ll persuade her to hand over the spell.’

Fitzsimmons was torn again, but he must continue to agree until he could arrange for Hilde to be rescued. It would buy her some time before being handed to The Master and tortured for her secret. 

‘When do I leave?’

‘In two days. You’ll have rested enough and packaged food and clean clothes.’

Fitzsimmons went to bed thinking of a plan to help rescue Hilde from the clutches of The Master. To be successful he would have to master his mental shield so Dominai could no longer control him. 

HE LEFT two days later accompanied by D’Abernon’s most experienced soldiers. Fitzsimmons wondered what Leonné had prepared to stop him reaching his destination this time. Hilde was sitting in front of him on his horse still in a dream-like state. He guided his animal with one strong arm while the other held her tightly around her waist. He remembered another journey when he had held Leonné, a more satisfying soft shapely bundle than the bag of emaciated bones that comprised Hilde.

The terrain roughened again as they moved in the direction of Brindhalt and the weather worsened, but the master had forbidden him to deviate from this path, the moment he strayed D’Abernon’s men would be on him. As the day progressed, they passed through a wooded area, a place much suited to ambushes. They followed a narrow track and pushed through the wood and came to a copse. As Fitzsimmons passed under a tree, he saw a movement on the hill above him. A slim figure waved a wand. A tree creaked and shook. It swayed and a branch toppled onto the path stopping his horse which reared up, nearly throwing him and his precious cargo.

Another wave and boulders rolled down repeatedly making his party back away into a clearing in the wood. He stopped and jumped off his animal lifting Hilde down with him. He sent a soldier ahead and lifted her over the boulders into the man’s arms. He went to climb over the boulders but a flash above him made him look up. Leonné had levitated to the top of a tree and was sitting above him waving her wand.

A silver net floated down over him entangling him in its mesh. He tried to cut it but his sword and dagger became tangled and it tightened. Bindings slid around his meshed body tying him to a tree. He couldn’t move his arms or legs. His men had rushed to help him but a soft silver dust covered him and hardened making an impenetrable shield. More dust covered the men trapping them bar the soldier holding Hilde.

Heroux and his men ran into the clearing. Heroux pointed his sword at the soldier’s neck. ‘Put the woman down or lose your neck,’ he growled. The soldier put her down gently against a tree. Leonné covered him with another shield. Heroux picked up Hilde and carried her to his horse just beyond the wood.

Leonné drifted down to the ground then ran and mounted her waiting horse.

‘You little fool,’ yelled Fitzsimmons. You won’t be able to protect her from The Master.’

‘I’ll protect her more than you would,’ she retorted. She threw blue dust over him and he slid down the shield’s walls and fell asleep.

‘Move on Heroux. Make speed for the palace.’

Fitzsimmons woke up at midnight. He thumped the shield and swore. It would not budge. He must escape for his sake and Hilde’s. He ran through the spells he had read in the mage’s book. He repeated the words, ‘unlock and be free,’ thrice. The bindings sagged and he could pull them off. Now for the shield.  He whispered secret magic words to the shield and it vanished. He had not let the soldiers hear the incantations the mage had taught him. He had promised to keep them secret and only use them if he were in trouble.

The soldiers were awake and watching him carefully. He repeated the words under his breath and their shields disappeared. Rough army men, they were amazed at this knight’s grasp of magic and hastened to their horses following his order to jump the boulders and ride fast in the direction of the palace without question.

Fitzsimmons was determined to reach a place where he could ambush Leonné’s party and snatch back Hilde before it was too late.

LEONNÉ KNEW Fitz’s skills had developed. She’d failed to read his mind today. Would her trap last long enough to give her time to return safely? She pushed her horse and party on.

‘We must move faster,’ she cried.

‘The horses are nearly blown.’ replied Heroux. ‘We’ll damage them if we go much faster.’

‘I’ll try again to read Fitz’s mind and find out if he’s still trapped.’ She rubbed her crystal, which increased her mental capacity. He was tired, but his barriers resisted her tentacles. 

‘Damn the man. He’s too strong. We must press on.’

They rode, their horses often slipping in the dark. As they grew nearer to the king’s fortified palace, Hilde woke slowly from her dream. Heroux held her tight as she tried to wriggle free.

‘Stay Hilde,’ ordered Leonné. ‘You’re safe now. We won’t allow anyone to hand you over to The Master.’ They stopped for a moment.

‘You fool,’ said the exasperated woman. ‘I’m less afraid for myself than for the book he has in his pocket. It contains the spell that opens The Book of The Realms.’

‘Explain,’ said Heroux.

‘For its safety, as I was becoming weaker, I wrote the spell in a book and hid it, but one of my followers betrayed me to him, and now he has it. Dominai no longer needs me, but he needs the book. I can help him use the spell, but any sorcerer could do it in my place. Even Fitzsimmons could do it with help from Ratzein.’

‘What game is he playing then, if The Master already has the spell?’ asked Leonné. ‘Why does Fitz still need you?’

‘I don’t know. Let me use your crystal. Now I’m away from that awful place where I was trapped; my powers are returning.’ She took the crystal, which spun in her hand and grew deep blue. It recognized the hand of a former Daughter.

She muttered to herself and closed her eyes, her fingers making deep indents into the crystal and into Fitzsimmons’ brain. 

‘I’ve passed his mental barrier. My power is stronger than his mind. He has escaped and is coming after us. I don’t know his intention, but we must get the book back.’

Leonné said, ‘I don’t believe he’ll harm me. I can wait here and distract him so you can take Hilde to the safety of the palace.’

‘He would have handed you over to Roland,’ said Heroux. ‘You’re naïve. He no longer cares for your safety or liberty.’

‘I believe The Master placed a spell on him. He’s not naturally wicked.’

‘Dominai may have tempted him with riches. Fitz is not beyond wanting to be independent and wealthy. Come further with us, and let Hilde read his mind and see if she can discover his intentions.’

‘Very well,’ said Leonné. They set off and took a steeper, rougher route, desperate to make faster headway. Hilde held the crystal tight to herself.

‘He’s shielding his mind again.’ Leonné shrugged. They were close to their destination. If Fitz caught them up, she could soon delay him, giving the others time to reach safety, but how could she get the book? 

They reached the foot of the mountain when they heard animals thudding down the track.

‘It must be Fitz,’ cried Leonné. She rode quickly until trees framed the track on either side. She waited until her party had passed her, found the narrowest part, and turned her horse until it blocked the way ahead. She took out her arrows and dagger and prepared herself for a battle.

‘No, Leonné, it’s too dangerous for you to confront Fitz alone,’ said Heroux.

‘I must, the Daughters have told me I can. Go now and save Hilde. You can come back for me later.’ She constructed a shield around her that Heroux couldn’t penetrate. She created a spell and waved her wand above Heroux’s horse, and it darted forward, petrified, with him clinging to its mane. She whispered to the horse’s back, ‘Don’t stop until you reach the palace and safety.’ The others followed as he tried to control the frightened creature.

Alone, she stood and prayed to the gods. ‘Give me strength to fight evil even in the ones I love. Let my mind be clear and not seduced by sweet talk from the mouths of liars.’ 

She would not wait until Fitz caught her. She levitated onto a tree branch, the shield accompanying her and passing through the trees’ trunks and boughs like a knife through cream cheese. 

Fitzsimmons appeared around the corner of the track. He stopped. His senses tingled. Someone was near waiting for him. He turned his horse around, and his extra sharp eyesight identified the flash of light off a dagger.

He pointed to the flash now shimmering in the dull sky and ordered a soldier, ‘Send an arrow to the right of the light over there.’ The man complied, and the arrow sped but hit something and fell back. 

‘I believe there is a shield covering Lady Leonné who is sheltering there. I must deal with her.’ He slid his hand under his aketon and pulled out a sheaf where he’d scribed a few notes. Not only had Hilde written the spell to open the Book of The Realms, but she’d also written other spells in it, one of which would raise and extend his powers significantly. He dug in a small pouch and pulled out herbs he had picked along the tracks. He crushed them in his fist and then waved his gauntlet over them. Smoke spiraled out of his hand. He spread the ashes over the tip of his sword.

He prayed, ‘May the gods help me in my task and not harm my enemy. Merely give her over to me, so I can carry out the task ahead.’ The sword sparked and lit up. He dismounted and ran toward the tree.

He saw Leonné ready with her bow and arrow. She looked alarmed as he put the sword back in its scabbard, but the magic power from it surged through it and into Fitz’s body. He pulled his bow around and took aim. The arrow he loosed went through her cloak just missing her skin and banged against the shield behind her. She jumped and levitated to another tree, but he ran and caught her up. She gained her balance and shot an arrow at him, but he’d created his own shield.

‘Great gods, help me,’ she pleaded as she levitated again, onto the branch of another a tree. How did his arrow penetrate my shield? It was no use running for her horse as she knew his was faster. What shall I do?

Fitzsimmons chased her and stood under the tree.

‘Come down, Leonné. I need to talk with you.’

‘I don’t talk with traitors. Put the spell book on the ground and walk away. The Daughters need it. Dominai wants it to gain power and wreak destruction on Gritheim. How can you go along with that?’

‘I plan to stop him, if you’ll help me.’

‘Why should I believe you when you’ve already betrayed me?’

‘I didn’t know what I was doing then. I can’t explain my actions,’ Fitzsimmons said, cursing his past behavior. He’d lost her trust and what had he gained? Little! He had to get her down. He thought of another spell he’d read. It might work.

He chanted, ‘Holy Gods, safeguard this woman and give her to me,’ over again. After the third time, a golden net appeared over Leonné’s head and fell, covering and trapping her. She shouted her own chant, and her dagger glimmered as she tried to cut the net, but her spell wasn’t strong enough.

Fitzsimmons beckoned to it, and it dragged her slowly to the ground. She tried to escape, but it was no good. Gold bindings tied her hands and across her body, holding her still until Fitzsimmons spoke more words, and the net vanished, allowing him to lift her up and put her on his horse.

D’Abernon’s men watched, astounded. Who was this God-like knight?

‘Now, my Lady is in our hands; we move to the palace,’ Fitzsimmons ordered.

‘Why there, m’lord,’ asked one curious soldier. ‘The Master wants you to go to his estate.’

‘The Master will be satisfied, but I must carry out his orders first and I need to reach the palace to do that. He will be displeased if I arrive without the Daughter.’

The man nodded, fearing upsetting this powerful man whose magical skills astonished and frightened him.

Leonné still struggled against her bindings. He predicted an uncomfortable ride ahead of them, so he chanted a spell and whispered in her ear. ‘Sleep, my beauty; I’ll explain my purpose later.’ She resisted at first but soon fell into a deep sleep. He held her tightly in front of him as they rode to their destination. A growing sense he was now on the right course rose up inside him. Leonné in his arms warmed his heart and slowly melted away weeks of mental torture.

Leonné slept until they reached the mountain face that held the king’s fortified palace. Fitzsimmons held up a white scarf on his sword to show he came in peace. 

‘Let them sup and rest and then bring them to me at first light,’ said Arne. ‘I would have her side of the story as well as his.’ 

Fitzsimmons was grateful he had not been put in the dungeons. He lifted a sleepy Leonné off his horse and carried her to her bedchamber. He’d removed her bindings when they’d come in sight of the battlements, and he lifted the sleep spell when she was in bed. She would wake up slowly; then he’d explain what they had to do and try to persuade her to marry him.

His brain was less confused. The path was becoming clearer. Marriage was the only answer, he thought. His main preoccupation was how to release himself from his promise to Dominai without that evil being demanding a painful retribution. He’d send a message to the Daughters asking if Hilde and her followers might join them again. He’d deliver her and the book containing the spell to them if they agreed.

Leonné rubbed her eyes and glared at Fitzsimmons sitting beside her. She recognized her bed chamber with some relief.

‘Why did you bring me back?’ What on earth is going on with you? 

‘To save us both. ‘Twould have done neither of us any good if Roland had married you. This way, we both win—if you work with me.’

‘Why should I trust and work with a traitor?’

‘Because my Lady, it’s the only way to keep you safe and your powers secure. If Roland marries you and finds a way of seducing you so that you go willingly to his bed, you’ll be tied to him forever. I’ll explain tomorrow.’ He got up.

‘Wash and dress for supper. Arne has summoned me tomorrow morning to explain my actions. Until then, I’m safe from retribution.’

‘You deserve a traitor’s death.’ Her face said she didn’t mean it.

‘And that is why you stopped me but didn’t kill me when you had the chance?’ he mocked as he left the room.

‘Damn him,’ she swore. He can read my heart, if not my mind. I’m still tied to him emotionally despite trying to rid my heart of him. How can I love a heartless brute who’d delivered me to my enemies? What a weak fool I am. As she washed and dressed with Ame’s help, she was reminded of the Daughter’s message on the wall a few days back. She should have been able to subdue Fitz easily—did that mean his heart wasn’t rotten and he had the blessings of Eilsir and Arllan after all? 

Later, they went to supper separately, and then to their bed chambers without talking again.

The next morn they had an audience with Arne. Arne beckoned Leonné. She curtsied before him.

‘Are you well, girl? They did you no harm?’

‘I am, Sire. Apart from a bad head from when I was drugged, my uncle’s family treated me well.’

‘And this rogue here?’

Leonné decided she’d tell the truth. ‘Ratzein was evil and your enemy, Sire. He demanded Fitzsimmons take me to my uncle’s castle, and he did, but I was rescued by Heroux and my servant Ame. Fitzsimmons followed us and captured me and brought me here. It is here he should answer to you for his actions.’

Fitzsimmons’ eyes narrowed, but he admired her for telling the truth. She had no reason to trust him.

‘And you, Sir, what say you to explain your traitorous actions?’

Fitzsimmons told him the events that had taken place. ‘I know not why I helped the immortal Dominai, but it seemed the right thing to do. His voice was in my head. I fear he put a spell on me. I can’t explain it any other way, except to say I felt like I was someone else.’ He hesitated. ‘I must have private words with you, Sire.’ He looked at Leonné and then at the door. 

Arne said, ‘Lady Leonné, please wait outside for a while.’

Leonné was furious but went to the corridor and listened through the keyhole.

Arne thought his words over. ‘My belief is you may want to take Dominai’s place if you gain these extra powers. What say you to that?’

‘Do you have another mage or wise person who can read my mind and heart and tell if I’m speaking the truth? I’d let him or her test me to prove it is not what you say. They will be able to confirm that my intention is to destroy Dominai, which is the being they call The Master.’

‘I do, but how would you destroy this being they call The Master?’

‘I admit I don’t know yet, but I need to study with the wise person you mentioned. I fear Dominai is much stronger mentally than me. He enters my mind and brings me to the point of pain where I believe he is about to kill me. I’m learning how to block him. I believe I could already do it, but I don’t want him to know I no longer serve him so I let him continue to torment me. I also worry that Lord Herron will seek me out and try to destroy me. Lord Richton also. You need to trial and execute both of them or they may escape and build up their armies to come and depose you, Sire. They are already reaching into neighboring lands and enlisting disaffected young men.’

‘I’ve had doubts about Richton in the past. I’ll issue orders for him and D’Abernon to be brought to the fortress under some pretense and then trial them. There is also Roland to take into consideration, he arrived here yesterday.’

Fitzsimmons thought, the king thinks he’ll be seen as just but some nobles may see him as weak. He should execute them after they arrive. 

He feared he had not convinced Arne of his loyalty.

‘There is also, Ratzein. He’s my uncle. He would throw me to the wolves to suit The Master. He deserves hanging, drawing, and quartering.’

‘I will seek confirmation on all that you say, and then it shall be done. But to change the subject, Lady Leonné didn’t seem fond of you.’

‘She naturally resented being handed over to Roland and she still thinks I’m a traitor. ‘I very much wish she would marry me and give herself willingly. I have a hard task ahead of me.’

‘Let me think on what you have said. Tomorrow, my wise man will read your heart and mind. I will give you my answer in two days.’

Fitzsimmons left and told the waiting Leonné what Arne had said. ‘I hope this wise man is as good as Arne says. He may prove me correct.’

‘Why did I have to leave?’

‘I made a bargain with The Master, which concerns you. Don’t glare at me. I’ll tell you after we break our fast in private and when you’re in a more civil mood.’

She made a slight curtsy, angrily turned on her heel, and stormed off down the corridor.

Fitz went to his bedchamber. Feeling secure, he relaxed and unblocked his mind briefly. Nails writhed through his brain, and then disappeared, leaving his mind blank for some minutes.

‘Ah,’ he cried, rubbing his aching head, trying vainly to replace the block. When his memory and thought processes were restored, he put his block back in place. 

The witch has read my mind. Wait until I see her tomorrow!’

Leonné thought over what she’d read in that very short time when she’d gained access. So, he will persuade me to marry him and increase his powers. To what purpose? She was livid. He’ll have to work hard to convince me to wed an unscrupulous rat like him, even if Arne agrees to the marriage. A doubt wormed its way into her mind. Even if the gods do trust him. 

Chapter Forty-Three

AFTER THEY HAD BROKEN their fast, Leonné met Fitzsimmons in the bower. Ame stood guard in case someone came and eavesdropped. 

‘You entered my mind last evening?’

‘You should have told me the truth. I wasn’t to know if you would hide something important from me.’

‘It’s in my interest to tell you the truth. I want you to choose to marry me. If you found out after you wed me that you’d been fooled, you might reject me.’

‘Reject you coming to my bed, you mean?’

‘If you must be blunt, then yes.’

‘I’m only a blunt mountain girl. You knew that when you asked me to marry you.’

‘You are far from that.’ He took her chin in his hand. ‘You are the most intelligent and irritating wench I’ve met, but you fascinate me. I’ve tried to resist you, but I can’t. I need you in my life, you thorn in my side.’

‘What a charming compliment. Well, I don’t need you.’ She tossed her head away from him.

‘You do if you wish to stay mortal and avoid Dominai finding another husband for you. He’s rejected Roland and chosen me, but who else will he choose if you don’t accept me? Ratzein maybe? Herron?’

Leonné’s face paled. He told the truth. If only he wanted to marry her for love.

‘Together, we can marry and join our powers to destroy The Master and his henchmen like Herron. You need to know that I may only have the income from my soldiering and my castles. Another heir has appeared to challenge my right to my father’s estate.’

‘Your money means nothing to me. I will have my own estate and monies when I come of age. I’ve lived a plain life in the mountains, a life I miss. I want to marry a man with integrity, not a traitor who changes sides if the purse is large enough.’

‘You’ve read my mind. You know the truth.’

‘Only enough to read your recent thoughts. You may be hiding untruths in the deepest recesses of your mind.’

‘Damn it, woman. What can I do to make you trust me?’

‘You can’t. You’ve lost my trust. I need to think about all this.’

‘You haven’t much time,’ he replied and cursed as she walked off.

His head began to itch. He scratched it vigorously, but it ached and stung. It was as if a stake was passing through his brain.

A whisper in his ear warned him. You must wed the girl and seduce her. I wait to hear you’ve succeeded.

He felt something trying to push through his block. It must be The Master. He resisted, but his mental strength was dissipating when confronted with a mind more robust and trained than his.

 Master, I can’t think while I’m in so much pain.

The agony dissipated. I’m loyal, Master. The girl mistrusts me, but I’m breaking her barriers and will persuade her to marry me willingly. She loves me and will weaken. 

The painful throbbing stared again. He held his head, shaking it from side to side, trying to evict the stake from his brain.

You have one chance; if you fail, your brain will be food for Herron. He thinks you are a traitor. Prove him wrong. 

I will. I promise, Master. Take the pain away, I beg you.

Something pulled the stake away, and he fell to the floor, holding his head. Slowly, the pain lessened, and he pulled himself into a sitting position.

I must rid myself of this connection to that fiend. Tomorrow, the wise man, Thomas, will read my mind, and I’ll ask him for spells or to train me to defeat this monster.

FITZSIMMONS SAT STILL. The wise man touched his forehead, and his skin warmed. Piercing slate eyes focused on his. He felt weak and faint as something swept through and cleansed his mind.

The wise man removed his hand. ‘You have been foolish and misled, but at heart, you’re faithful and loyal to his Excellency. A stronger being than you tries to control your mind, but your strength is growing, and if you practice, you may be as strong as him. But you’ll only be free if you confront and destroy him.’

‘What of Lady Leonné?’

‘Her destiny is entwined with yours. You must marry her to gain strength and confront the being they call The Master. There is no other way.’ 

‘Thank you, Sir.’

‘I’ll report back what I’ve found to his Excellency. You may go now.’

‘Sir, I need advice. How can I improve my skills?’

The wise man surveyed him for a second and then placed his hand on his forehead again. This time, his head filled with words and signs he could not comprehend. The mage removed his hand and said, ‘In a few days, you will understand the spells and directions I’ve inserted into your brain. Use them and practice, and you will become as strong as The Master. The spell I’ve planted will also help you to understand the words in the grimoires you have.’ 

He waved a hand, dismissing him. ‘Good day, Fitzsimmons.’ 

Fitzsimmons left to find Leonné and tell her what the wise man had said.

He caught her walking to the solar. ‘I’ve spoken with the wise man. He said Dominai has been controlling my mind, and he’s given me spells and instructions on how to develop my competencies and resist him. I must confront and destroy The Master, or he will control me forever.’

‘I’m pleased you have help.’

‘Our destinies are intertwined. We must marry soon.’

‘Only to give you my powers so you can destroy The Master?’

‘No… I realize I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you, but Dominai put suspicions in my mind just as Orella did to you. I thought you didn’t love me and had betrayed me with other men.’

 Leonné was still unsure. ‘I’ll speak with the wise man myself. He’ll settle my mind or show me that you’re still using me.’

She went to the wise man. ‘Sit down, child. I know why you are here. Give me your hand.’ 

He read her hand. ‘You fear Fitzsimmons will ignore your opinion when he has married you and taken your maidenhead.’

‘He is a decent man but very domineering and thinks his way is always right. I fear I will be of no importance to him once he has my power. I’ll be another lonely wife bringing up children while he fights for Lord Beaumont or does other work for the king.’

‘He must destroy The Master because that being still has control over his mind. I am afraid he may need your power to be able to do that.’

She looked shocked.

‘He didn’t tell you? Once The Master has control of someone, he will not relinquish that hold over them. To die is the only escape, and some unfortunates have taken their lives to be free.’

Leonné gasped. A chill went through her at the thought that Fitz might be driven to suicide!

‘Fitzsimmons is strong and becoming stronger. The Master is frustrated. He hasn’t been able to penetrate Fitzsimmons’ mind whenever he wants. Fitzsimmons has learned to block most from entering his mind. But he can’t maintain the block all the time. His power will grow, so The Master must use him now before he becomes too strong. If he can’t, The Master will destroy him. I could feel that some of his brain is already damaged. Although, with help, the sorcery that runs through his blood will repair it eventually.’

Leonné was quiet.

‘You still feel uncomfortable about his issues with Countess Mathilde. Fear not. He was damaged years ago by that evil woman. He hates her and rejects her advances, which is why she tried to break you two up—pure jealousy. Her looks are fading, and she struggles to attract the young men she craves.’

‘Thank you, Sir. You’ve reassured me.’ She curtsied and left.

***

Fitzsimmons was summoned to the king. ‘Sire, you sent for me.’

‘The wise man has verified your account of the events. I believe you were foolish but will be loyal to me. Lords Richton and D’Abernon are now in the palace. They’re unaware of why I brought them here. Lord Herron has vanished from his home.’

The king paced with his hands behind his back. ‘You must marry Lady Leonné, and we’ll safeguard her here. Afterwards, you are to take a troop of soldiers to find and destroy this Master and round up his followers. You’ll bring them back here for questioning unless they resist, in which case you’ll execute them. You must show them that I will not accept any challenge to my throne.’ 

‘Yes, Sire. However, I still want Lady Leonné to marry me out of choice.’

‘There’s no time for romancing. Wizard Ratzein has been found. He’d been helping Lord Richton, but he escaped my men. His assistant said The Master’s rebel force is growing. Don’t tarry. You must marry the wench immediately, and then a week from today, start your journey to find this conspirator.’

‘I will, Sire.’ He got down on bended knee and kissed his king’s hand. ‘I’ll prove my loyalty, Sire.’ He rose, bowed, and went in search of Leonné.

He told her what Arne had said. ‘He insists we marry before I go.’

‘Then, we will, but I must go with you.’

‘He said you should stay here. He’ll ensure your safety.’

‘Poppycock. If you go, so do I. We are in this together—are we not?’

‘You can argue your case before Arne.’

Leonné shrugged. 

What a charming start to a marriage, thought Fitzsimmons. ‘I’ll talk to the steward about the arrangements.’

‘What about your family?’

‘That must wait until after I’ve finished with The Master.’

Chapter Forty-Four

FITZSIMMONS WOKE UP when Heroux roughly shook his shoulders. 

‘Great gods! Why do you wake me at this unearthly hour?’ He asked Heroux, who looked pale.

‘We don’t need to find The Master. His men are coming for us. The watcher has seen a huge army advancing. It’s approaching from the north.’

‘Damn and blast Malum!’ Fitz jumped out of bed. ‘Thank the gods that Arne left with Beaumont yesterday, at least he’ll be safe. ‘The Master may think Arne is raising an army to challenge him. He’s wasting no time and taking the offensive. Either that or he read more of my mind than I thought and knows I betray him.’ 

He called a youth named Hawk, who had been assigned as his new squire. ‘My armor and weapons, and some bread and meat.’ Hawk rang the bell for water, and hurriedly fetched his master’s clothes.

‘Heroux, go to the watcher and find out how close and how strong this army is. Ask him if we can help the citizens to leave before the army arrives. Is a siege likely? If so, ask him if I may call the able men to the courtyard to organize them and give them their orders.’

‘’As you command,’ said Heroux, leaving him to dress.

When dressed, Fitzsimmons raced to the battlements. He could see a snake of men marching from the bottom of the mountain, like ants forging ahead relentlessly toward their goal, the fortified palace.

‘Heroux, come,’ he yelled. ‘That’s Herron’s standard, and the other one could be The Master’s.’

‘They must want Leonné more than anything.’

‘And afterward, my head on a platter if Herron has any say.’ He grimaced, thinking of the tortures Herron would think up before he allowed him to die.

‘We must move Leonné to somewhere safe and distract that monster away from her.’

‘I have already sent orders that all civilians are to leave. Thank the gods that the palace is almost impregnable and that any attackers would have to get through us first before they can find the secret passageways out of the palace. They should be long gone before an army could find them.’

Heroux was shaking his head. ‘Will Leonné leave?’

‘She’ll have no choice,’ said Fitzsimmons ruthlessly. ‘I’ll see to her myself.’

Heroux moved toward the stairs to ensure his men had rounded up all the women and children. Thank the gods Arne’s cabinet agreed Fitz would lead the defense of the fortress. Without his battle expertise these people would be doomed.

‘We have about four hours to build up our defenses,’ said Fitzsimmons to his men of arms. They will probably see us. I want to send some men with the women to wait and attack the army from their back. That might distract them before they weaken the palace with their trebuchet.’

Fitz raced down the stairs and hammered on Leonné’s door. There was no time for the proprieties. ‘Ask Ame to pack two bags and your weapons. No arguments. Do it now. I’ll explain later.’ He left before she could argue.

‘What’s happening, Ame?’

‘I don’t know m’lady.’

Ame packed, buckled the bags, and opened the door. Fitzsimmons was there.

‘Leonné we must leave. An army is marching toward us.’

‘I can help fight,’ said Leonné, reaching for her sword.

‘I’m moving the women and children.’

‘I’m staying.’

‘You’re not. He threw a powder over her and chanted a spell. She froze as if she were in a dream. She couldn’t even move her eyelids. Fitzsimmons placed a shield over her, picked her up, and raced through the corridors with Ame chasing after him.

Outside the king’s private chambers, the wise man waited. ‘Hurry, we don’t have much time.’ They followed the sage as he scurried to the far wall in the room. He pulled on a handle hidden within the side of the huge fireplace. A door next to the fireplace sprang open.

‘Come with us,’ said Fitz when he realized the old man lingered behind.

‘There is something I must do first. I will follow later. Go, you are wasting precious time.’

Fitz carried Leonné into a secret staircase, which led them down to the courtyard. One of his own men, Germane, waited for them. He opened the manhole to a filthy waterhole that took the sewage out from the castle. Fitzsimmons motioned to him to climb down, and he lowered Leonné gently to him. 

‘Take her to the surface and run to the forest. I’ll meet you at dusk. If I’m delayed, leave with the other women. They must separate and hide in small groups. Throw this powder on the trail. It will disguise your scent and fool the hounds. Hide Lady Leonné and her maid in the cavern behind Reske waterfall. Heroux and I will try to meet you there. Tell the men to guard the women and children well.’ He passed down several bags of food and water. ‘Are Tristan and Robert with you?’

‘They are m’lord. We will guard her with our lives.’

Fitzsimmons nodded his thanks, and then turned to another troop of soldiers, ‘Go down, and when you come out in the middle of the forest, run and hide safely where no one can see you. I want you to attack the army from behind. I’ll drop this scarlet handkerchief when I want you to attack. May the gods go with you.’ They climbed down, and he was left to run to the battlements to view the on-coming army. 

There were thousands of them. This would be a fearsome fight. He secured the battlements with his men at arms, and the archers sat in their corners at the ready. The women who stayed readied oil, sand, and water for boiling. Heavy obstacles were placed in front of the gates to the palace.

At last, he had time to rest, and he drank some ale and then climbed down the waterhole. Starving rats smelt the food in his bag. They squealed as he splashed and disturbed their nests. Some jumped on his head and shoulders and clawed at him, trying to bite him, but he dashed them away and forged his way through the muck, detritus and fallen mold. He was knee deep, his trousers and leggings were wet through. He’d wrapped some more around his neck together with his boots and spare stockings. He couldn’t wear his mail for fear of being dragged under by its weight.

At last, he reached the ladder, dragged himself up, panting, and sat on the edge of the drain hole. He must reach Leonné. He rose and ran through the trees to where he saw her lying against a tree near the waterfall, guarded by Germane. The other women and children had moved on to hiding places.

He clicked his fingers, but Leonné didn’t blink. He wet her lips and smoothed some powder on them. Her eyes flicked opened.

‘You can hear me, but you can’t move a muscle or talk. You’ll stay like that for one day and then regain your feeling and movement.’ He covered her eyes which still sparked and glared at him. He was not sure if her mind could work and enchant him through her magicked state.

‘Listen to me. You may hate me now, but Herron wants you, and by hiding you, I can save you. I may buy time for the others as well by bargaining with him. Before we left, a pigeon arrived from Arne, he has sent birds to all his vassals in villages and towns outside the palace, calling them to fight and save his men in the palace. I want you to stay here and join the rest of my soldiers, I am also going to send Heroux to you. When they battle the rear of Herron’s army you can protect them with shields and use fire and water to engulf the enemy.’

He pulled out a bag and rubbed a little powder over her eyes. ‘Here are some of your herbs, your crystal, and your wand. Blink if you understand and agree to obey my orders.’

A slight blink showed she understood. She would seethe with anger in one day, but his plan was their best hope.

‘If we aren’t seized, I will join your soldiers here to help fight Herron’s men from the rear ranks. A vicious two-pronged attack will help the men in the palace and distract Herron.’ He kissed her hand. ‘May the gods bless you and keep you safe.’ 

He hurried back, ignoring the vermin whose glaring red eyes glowed at him as he went through the tunnel. He met the king’s second in command, Ravenex, on the battlements. 

‘They’re about an hour away,’ said Ravenex. ‘The animals and spare feed have been brought in, and water tubs filled in case they block the tunnels. We have about one month’s food barring the animals, but we can live on milk and cheese for longer if we spare them.’

‘Herron is an impatient man. He may just attack with the full force of his men.’

‘How fares Lady Leonné?’

‘I put a spell on her. She can’t move for a day. Don’t look so worried. My man has orders to set her free with the aid of a spell and powder if she is in danger.’ He looked rueful. ‘I’ll be the one whose life is in danger when we meet again.’

Ravenex said joking, ‘I’m glad I’m not the object of her anger. She’s scared me many times.’

‘I go to my chamber. Wait here until the lookout tells us the army is near.’

Chapter Forty-Five

THE VALLEY SHOOK AND thundered as the army of soldiers marched to the top of the track. The carts and horses stirred the mud into quagmires, making the men heave as they pulled them out and slipped back again up to their necks, covering themselves with cold, freezing mud. At last, they reached the palace portcullis and could rest.

Herron, at the front of the army, raised his standard and called out, ‘Fitzsimmons to the battlements. I would speak with you.’

Fitzsimmons ignored him. The longer he could drag this out, the greater the chance Arne’s vassals could reach them with reinforcements.

Two calls later, Herron responded angrily. ‘If you don’t answer me, you coward, I’ll start attacking, and when I get inside, I’ll spare no one.’

Fitzsimmons moved out of the shadows and leaned over the battlements. ‘I’m here, you swine.’ He stayed at an angle behind a merlon, fearing a sharp-eyed archer might reach him. 

‘You must hand over Hilde and Lady Leonné. If you wish for people to be spared you will surrender immediately.’

‘I’ll parley with you, once I’m sure Hilde and Lady Leonné will be guaranteed an escort to a safe place and their liberty secured. Guaranteed.’

‘You know that won’t happen.’

‘Hilde escaped last night. I know not where she went. There are traitors here who betrayed me and helped her. I plan to find them.’ 

‘When you surrender, we will search and find out if Hilde is here or you’re lying.’

‘Leonné’s marriage has been annulled by Arne. She is free of Roland’s influence.’

‘She will never be free. Why haven’t you married her yet?’

‘I plan to during the Feast of Moonglade, but it seems we have been rudely interrupted. Unless of course, this army...’ He waved a casual hand over Herron’s ranks, ‘…are your wedding gift to us?’

Herron simmered with poorly veiled hatred. I believe you’ll betray The Master once you’re married and gain powers from the girl. ‘You’re a turncoat who has changed sides too often. Who knows what side you’re on right now?’ And my only wedding present will be your head on a platter, an apple stuffed in your mouth!

‘I’ll marry the girl. I’ve promised The Master, and Arne has approved it. So, you can leave now. Your presence means we’ll not be able to prepare for the Feast of Moonglade, and I am most definitely looking forward to consummating my marriage!’

‘You lie. I have spies within these walls who say you will marry but then seek advice from wizards and immortals to increase your powers. I’ve been told you are ready to seek out The Master and destroy him.’ He grinned, getting ready to deliver the final punch. ‘The Master believes me.’

‘If so, he is as much of a fool as you,’ retorted Fitzsimmons without thinking. He fell back as his head ached, as if it had been split like a nut in a cracker. He put his hands over his ears, trying to rid himself of the voice now spearing his eardrums.’

Fool, am I? hissed the voice.

No, Master, messaged Fitzsimmons. I meant a wise being like you would not believe what Herron says. His spies listen to gossip. I must pretend to be loyal to Arne or be executed. You know this. I play my part only. My allegiance is to you.

Fitzsimmons rubbed his head, wondering who Herron’s spies were. He could trust a few people: Beaumont, Arne, Ame, and Heroux, his five remaining men—nobody else. He waited for Dominai’s response. His head cleared.

You have one last chance. Allow Herron in and marry the girl. Swear fealty to me at the ceremony and use your soldiers to depose Arne.

Fitzsimmons pretended to fall to his knees. My head, Master. It still aches, and I feel dizzy. I can’t concentrate. He rested his head on his knees and vomited. He was lucky. He’d always had the ability to make himself vomit at will to gain Judith’s sympathy and make her hide him from his brutal guardian, Jacque, when he was in a drunken mood. He only hoped his acting skills were believable.

The Master’s voice boomed in his ears. You have until Midday tomorrow to make your mind up. After that, your life is forfeit.

I understand, Master. Fitzsimmons crawled forward and pulled himself up the wall, swaying. His men at arms scowled. Where was their fearsome leader? It was not this shadow of the warrior who kowtowed to this invisible Master. 

Herron yelled. ‘I’ll speak with you tomorrow, turncoat.’ He turned to his officers. ‘Men set up camp. Prepare the machines to attack in the morning.’ He wished he could ask his archers to shoot Fitzsimmons, but he dared not disobey The Master. Why did he believe Fitzsimmons? Was the man able to hide his true intentions from immortals?

Fitzsimmons said very quietly to his men. ‘It’s not how it looks. I’ll not hand over Lady Leonné.’ The men thought she was still in the fortress. He had to keep his secret. Anyone could be his enemy. But he had bought some time.

‘Stand guard and wait for my instructions,’ he ordered standing upright in the shadows. The soldiers were confused but obeyed him. Should they follow a knight who throws up at first parley with the enemy? He ran downstairs and across the courtyard and in through the main door. In his bedchamber he threw himself across the bed. After resting his head for a moment, he took out Hilde’s spell book from its hiding place.

In addition to the spells, she had written the names of wizards, and a few other people. He recognized two names from those mentioned by the palace wise man.

He’d sent Heroux to get Hilde out of the palace and to hide her someplace that Fitz didn’t know. This way Dominai wouldn’t be able to read his thoughts and discover her whereabouts. Leonné would be a bonus to his plans, but getting his hand on the key to The Book of The Realms was Dominai’s ultimate mission.  

He made his way down the tunnel. How long will it take for Herron to find the tunnels and block them up? He crept through the forest with stealth and found Heroux with Leonné and the others in the small cave behind the Reske waterfall. They were safe but shivering. They dared not make a fire for fear of being seen by Herron’s men. He gave them some food as they had eaten the meager supplies they had brought with them.

Fitz turned to Heroux. ‘She is safe?’

Heroux gave a short nod, but said nothing.

Satisfied that Hilde was hidden beyond his and Dominai’s reach he reached into his pocket and brought out a piece of skin he’d written names on. The names had come from Hilde’s book.

‘When you return to her, ask her if any of these names will help me gain more power so I can defeat Dominai. Take Sabine with you, tell Hilde to give the answers to her and she can return to the palace and give them to me.’

‘It’s highly dubious that a woman you kidnapped and planned to hand over to the immortals will aid you, Fitz!’

‘Ask her to ask the gods for their guidance.’

‘You’re that sure she will aid you?’

Fitzsimmons nodded. 

 ‘Get Sabine to bring the names to Leonné before coming to me. I want her to contact these names and ask them to join minds with her and me to see if they can help.’

‘Why do you not let me guard the key?’ asked Heroux, still doubting his former friend’s true intentions.

‘Because I can find many places in the palace to hide it, and it’s a bargaining tool against The Master.’

He passed the skin to Heroux. ‘You’ll do as I ask?’ He had to trust his friend but doubt continued to creep though him.

‘I will.’

‘I need to return, there is much to do.’

As he raced silently through the forest, he prayed yet again that the gods were on their side. 

Chapter Forty-Six

HEROUX SAT WITH HILDE. ‘Can’t you make a warming spell for us in this damp cavern instead of remaining angry?’

‘I don’t trust Fitzsimmons. He would betray anyone for a large purse. He was going to turn Leonné over to Roland, and me to The Master. Why is it so easy for people to trust him now?’

‘I think he behaved badly because The Master put a spell on him.’

‘If he is weak, then he shouldn’t be leading us.’

‘He’s one of the strongest men I’ve met, physically and mentally. The Master has more experience of magic. If he and Leonné can use the spells in the grimoire and gain help from an experienced wizard, they may exterminate The Master. You should help them. Gritheim will be a better place if Fitz can destroy him. Why not tell Sabine which wizards they should contact?’

She just shrugged her shoulders and turned to the wall, thinking.

‘Well damn you, then,’ cursed Heroux. ‘You don’t deserve help.’

Greta, who had been asked to take care of the weak Hilde, put a soothing hand on his arm. ‘Now, m’lord, we need to remain calm and think of a plan to help Fitzsimmons defeat this army.’

‘But she has the means to help and refuses. We need all the help we can get. I only have twenty able men with me in the forest, and the rest are old and feeble.’

‘They can use hoes and forks, m’lord.’

‘They’re no good against trained warriors; they will be as lambs to the slaughter.’

‘Then we must think of a way to avoid direct combat.’

‘Alright! Stop your whining. Sabine come here.’ Hilde whispered three names into the cat’s ears. 

Sabine purred and raced into the night on her important mission.

Heroux smiled at the women. ‘Let’s eat this food and try to get some sleep. We’ll need our strength for the morrow.’

THE NEXT MORNING, Leonné started stirring. By midday, she was fully awake but couldn’t remember how she had got there. Germane explained her situation. Her eyes changed to that deadly shade that heralded an outburst. 

‘Save your anger for Fitz, but if you want my opinion… I think he did the right thing. If you had been caught, Herron would have married you himself or handed you over to some other evil being. He would also have killed Fitz. Because you and Hilde are not in Himinbjörg, he has a bargaining point. Plus, the Master and Herron don’t know he is studying magic every moment he can.’ 

‘If Fitz can’t defeat them, we are all doomed,’ she said, her anger dissipating.

‘Then we must help him. We can attack the back of his army and distract Herron. It may give Fitz more time, until Arne and his army arrive.’

‘I can send wind and fire around them. Or drown them.’

‘You can move rocks also, m’lady,’ said Ame. We can send missiles from hiding places in the mountain as well. There are people from the palace who know secret routes through the mountain. From high vantage points they could rain down terror on Herron’s army.’

Germane smiled at Ame then turned back to Leonné, ‘You are as good as twenty men, but I must keep you safe. We’ll find a place that will give you a good view but keep you out of their vision.’ He looked at Sabine who had been patiently waiting for Leonné to wake. ‘I think she wants to talk to you.’

Sabine rubbed her head into Leonné’s arm. ‘I do. Hilde has given us two names of wizards who support Arne and will help you to develop your powers. You must try to contact them and meld your mind with theirs. We need their help. They can message you spells you can practice, or if you and Fitzsimmons can reach them, you may be able to work with them for a short while.’

Sabine told her the names and then left to find Fitzsimmons.

‘You must eat, drink and rest and then try to message them,’ said Ame when Leonné explained what Sabine had told her.

‘I do need to rest a while. I have a headache, and the spell made me thirsty as if I were drugged.’ She drank some goat milk and ate bread and cheese.

Heroux came behind the waterfall and entered the cavern. ‘It is good to see you awake. You got the message?’

‘I did.’

‘I’ve just come to remind you that we have little food. We must trap animals every night and pick herbs and grasses to cook them with.’

‘I can help you do that.’

‘Only if it’s safe. You’re our bargaining chip, remember. Now rest a little.’

Chapter Forty-Seven

FITZSIMMONS SLEPT FOR FOUR HOURS and then checked the palace for weak points throughout the rest of the night. He placed a man at the end of the water hole with a bell to warn of invaders. After breaking his fast, he practiced spells in his bedchamber. They were becoming easier. He could lift items up and place them elsewhere. His jeweled gauntlet allowed him to set fire to things and people. One of the spells gave him the ability to enter the brain of a guard, the first time he had entered a mind other than Leonné’s.

He made the guard leave a room and come in again, but the guard remembered nothing. Fitzsimmons smiled, comforted his powers were growing, but he could not control the guard for long. He needed to practice. If he could levitate like Leonné, he could easily outfight most soldiers. His own soldiers feared the enemy. They were half as tall again as most of his men and double their width. Muscle and fitness would not win this battle; he needed mental strength and magic—lots of it!

At noon, he stood on the battlements. His ears began ringing. The Master was entering his head. He’d read a spell in one of Vidmar’s spell books designed to protect his mind from rogues trying to take it over.

He whispered the words. ‘Dear gods, Eilsir and Arllan, protect my mind from impurities and help me serve you and not betray you.’

His head still ached as if it would explode, but he repeated the words thrice more until the pain left. It worked! Perhaps he could keep his mind clear for enough time to eradicate this evil being from this planet.

HERRON CAME OUT from his tent. His cannons and trebuchet were positioned directly in front of Himinbjörg gates. The trebuchet was decorated with carved dragon heads, and its great basket towered over the soldiers on its platform like a god waiting to pounce and destroy its enemy with one great push. Herron pointed to it and said, ‘We are ready to ruin your gates, Fitzsimmons. What is your answer?’

Fitzsimmons said to his officers, ‘If they break through the portcullis and the gates, move the men from the bailey into the courtyard. Barricade the doors, but if they are smashed move into the Great Hall. Carry on moving back until we can no more.’

To Herron he said the same as before. ‘Lady Leonné will wed me, and The Master must trust me. Hilde tricked us and escaped. You must scour the mountains for her.’

‘The master can feel her. She is close but he can’t feel the spirit of Lady Leonné in this castle.’

‘She’s here. I’ll show you.’ He called, ‘Lady Leonné come hither.’ Herron saw a tallish, slim blonde girl come forward and curtsy. ‘Tell him you’ll marry me during Moonglade.’

‘I will marry him.’

‘Do you do it willingly?’

‘Yes, tell The Master I’m pleased with the man he has picked for my spouse.’

Herron seemed somewhat satisfied if a little skeptical. ‘I’ll speak with The Master.’ He turned to his men. ‘Watch them. Don’t let any escape.’ He entered his tent saying, ‘I must commune with The Master.’ 

‘A short breathing space,’ muttered Fitzsimmons. ‘You did well, boy.’ 

The young man dressed in women’s clothing smiled. ‘I acted and sang before coming to work for the king. I always played the womanly roles due to being smaller than most men and slim and pale.’

‘You played your part very well. You may leave and remove your wig, but we may summon you later so stay close by and be prepared.’

How long would it take for The Master to see through his ruse? He worked on his spells that afternoon, but at dusk, Herron appeared again.

‘How can I help you, Herron?’ asked Fitzsimmons.

‘Show me the girl again.’

Worried, Fitzsimmons called the boy.

‘Come closer, wench,’ said Herron.

‘It is dangerous near the battlement for a young girl with flowing skirts. The wind sweeps viciously across the mountain,’ said Fitzsimmons.

‘Move closer,’ said Herron with menace in his voice.

The boy moved to the battlements and looked over. Herron smiled. ‘Bring her down so I can inspect her thoroughly.’

‘Not a chance until we are married and you promise our liberty.’

‘Then it’s too late for her, or should I say him,’ snarled Herron, signaling to his archers. A row of arrows sped to the battlements and pierced the boy through his heart and neck. He tumbled to the ground below. Herron kicked the corpse onto its back and scrutinized his face. 

‘I was right. You have betrayed The Master.’

‘You whoreson,’ yelled Fitzsimmons. ‘He was a mere boy, only acting under orders. I want his body back to give him a decent burial.’

Herron kicked the body again as if despising the dead boy.

‘Drackarts are scrutinizing the rooms now. They will find Hilde and Leonné if they are in there.’

Fitzsimmons gulped. He was in trouble. He needed to give Leonné time to message the wizards.

‘Do so if you don’t believe me.’ He stared arrogantly at Herron, who hesitated. 

‘I’ll be back later.’

Fitzsimmons sent Sabine back to Leonné. He could not message her easily while her protective shield worked. The spell needed to be powerful to hide her presence from the Master. Sabine slid out of a window, ran on the ledge, and jumped to a balcony. With feline grace, she jumped to a tree and leaped to another until she could reach the walls and ran down them to the earth outside the palace.

She said to Leonné, ‘Herron thinks you’re not in the palace. The Drackarts are inspecting every room. He also thinks Hilde is still near but not in the palace. Fitzsimmons believes the shield he put around you is stopping Dominai from penetrating your mind. He’s asking that you contact the wizards for help as soon as you feel strong enough to do so.’

Leonné nodded thoughtfully. ‘The vassals’ men are already on the march. They should be here in one day. I can feel them in the next valley.’ 

‘Fitz says there’ll be a massacre if they don’t come in time, or else a lengthy siege. Herron’s archers shot a young man posing as you. He’ll show no mercy.’

‘I’ve messaged one of the wizards already and asked him for help, but we cannot meld our minds due to the shield. The other one, Raybnyz, I have yet to contact. Something is stopping me.’

‘He may have been captured.’

‘I don’t think so,’ replied Leonné. ‘It’s something else. He may be suspicious of me.’

‘Wizard Draynot is messaging me some spells, but he said placing shields around us may be the best tactic to buy time.’

Leonné reassured Sabine none of Herron’s men were near, but she left sniffing and looking around her as she slipped through the dark forest, jumping when a night owl screeched and hissed at her fearing she might be found by Herron’s men.

Leonné decided to try contacting Raybnyz again. She rubbed her crystal and repeated his name several times. She swore impatiently when she couldn’t reach him. Eventually, exhausted she closed her eyes and slept.

Something poked her awake in the middle of the night. She sat up with a start. A light appeared, and she saw a finger writing on the cave wall.

Your shield means we cannot mind meld, wrote the finger. 

She got up and touched the words. ‘I cannot remove it,’ she whispered. ‘Dominai is searching for me. Who are you?’

The writing disappeared and the finger wrote again. Raybnyz. I can help you. He cannot kill me. I was one of the Aramanti immortals under Dominai’s control, but I broke free of him. I must maintain a barrier against him continually for he has never stopped searching for me. In the beginning, I thought he would improve the lives of the people of Gritheim and the surrounding regions but he creates only chaos.

‘How many follow him?’

Five tribes of immortals and a few mortals who wish to become immortal. Forty vassals can raise an army of about four thousand men. Others waver. They fear Arne’s wrath if Dominai doesn’t win.

‘Many of them are camped outside the palace right now.’

Your strength will be tested. But if Arne can gain reinforcements in time he can destroy or capture most of them. When Fitzsimmons gives you the signal, you must join forces with the men and attack the rearguard.

‘How long will that be?’

When Herron runs out of patience and starts attacking the palace.

‘Very soon then.’

I’ll watch them and be back tomorrow. The writing vanished.

Leonné shook Germane awake and told him what the finger had written.

‘We now have a strong ally. Our luck is changing,’ said Germane.

‘Praise the gods! Let’s hope Fitz’s instructions come quickly.’

‘Best get more sleep, in case we must fight tomorrow.’

Chapter Forty-Eight

HERRON STORMED OUT OF his tent. ‘Ready the ram,’ he yelled to his men. ‘He’s betraying us. The women are not in there.’

He stamped toward the palace, the ground thundering beneath his heavy boots.

‘Fitzsimmons, you whoreson. Speak with me.’

With a nonchalant roll of his arm in the air, ‘How can I help you?’

‘Lady Leonné and Hilde are not in there. What say you to that?’

‘I didn’t tell you because I knew The Master would blame me for letting them go. They tricked me, spelled me into sleep, and bribed my guards to let them out. I think they left two nights ago, I feared to report the truth.’

‘Where are they headed?’

‘Leonné mentioned going to Wizard Draynot at Calabrine in the East before she vanished, but she might have said that to put me on her false trail. She’ll be over the side of the mountain now. I’ve sent soldiers to bring them back. She said she wanted to marry no man for fear of losing her powers. The wizard will help her improve her skills so she can defend herself against me and the Master. She wants to do good deeds with her skills.’

Just the length of his answer fueled hatred in Herron, knowing Fitz played for time yet again. He held back his hatred for the right moment. ‘Did the women stay together? The Master senses Hilde has not left the area.’

‘No, they hate each other. Hilde resents the fact the Daughters won’t allow her to rejoin the lodge.’

Herron messaged this information to Dominai, who responded quickly. Attack the fortress and capture Fitzsimmons. He knows more about the missing women than he admits.

‘It will be my pleasure,’ smirked Herron.

Fitzsimmons wondered if the master could penetrate the shield he placed around Leonné. Even after she regained control over her body, she should be protected against him.

A SOLDIER WARNED Fitzsimmons, ‘Sir, Herron’s men have found the water hole. They’re blocking it.’

‘And Herron knows I lied about Leonné. His men are loading the ram. We must expect an imminent attack. Ready the archers. Tell them to kill the men preparing the trebuchet and cannons. They’ll be replaced, but it will slow them down.’

The broad, muscled archers readied their bows. The enemy soldiers heaved heavy rocks into the basket and loaded the balls into the cannons. One by one, the archers released a stream of targeted arrows, slicing the soldiers’ necks and backs and knocking them to the ground. Others pulled away but were replaced until one cannon released its ball. Cracking wood and a metallic crash announced a break in the portcullis. Weakening the palace’s defenses had started in earnest.

Next came the thunder of the trebuchet being rolled into position. A shower of rocks hammered into the battlements, holing the walls and knocking off some archers. Fitz watched the men flailing and tumbling to the ground.

‘We can’t lose too many men. Tell the men to shoot while the soldiers prepare the weapons.’

A ram was maneuvered into position. Four men pushed the contraption, pulled it back, and heaved the ram into the portcullis. It held fast despite cracking in several places. 

Herron swore. ‘Aim the ram above the portcullis and weaken it.’ The men were closer to the walls. The archers sent flaming oil-tipped arrows into the group of soldiers, setting alight their clothes and the wooden ram, which began to smolder. The men screamed rolling over the ground to kill the flames. Some soldiers doused them with pails of water. Others ran to fetch water to soak the ram and put the embers out. 

‘Do the same with the trebuchet,’ yelled Fitzsimmons. ‘Try to burn the basket.’ The archers tried in vain to stop the basket from being lifted, but one brave man leaned out and shot one flaming arrow wrapped in oily cloth into the basket as it rose, setting fire to its ropes. The basket reached the battlements, dropped its stones, and the fired rags onto the walls, scattering the archers and men at arms, but it turned into a ball of flame and fell shattering when it hit the ground.

‘One machine down. We need to disable the ram and the cannons,’ cried Fitzsimmons. ‘Direct your fire at the cannon and at the ram.’ 

Herron screamed with rage as one cannon and the ram were destroyed. ‘Mend the trebuchet and attack the battlements!’

‘I must consult the spell books,’ said Fitzsimmons.

He rushed to his room. He could construct a shield around a small group of men but not the front or whole of the palace. He checked the grimoire.’

Great gods, I’ve an idea, he thought.

He ran back to the battlements. He took out a wand the king’s mage had given him the last time they met for his tutorage. Obeying her warning he had kept it hidden until it was needed most. He placed a powder over the tip and leaned over. He grimaced, hating heights, remembering when he nearly fell over. He focused, his head still aching from the master’s continuing attempts to enter his mind. He directed the wand at the men working on the ram and said, ‘Cover and secure them.’ Sparks flew from the wand, and a stream of ice-like substance hit the men and the ram and solidified. They tried to break out, but they were trapped as the shield held firm.

Success, thought Fitzsimmons.

Herron responded by sending men up ladders, their precarious ascent blocked by pails of hot sand stinging and burning them as they covered their faces with singeing hands and slid off the rungs to their deaths. He sent more up, backed by streams of arrows forcing the defenders back. The onslaught continued.

Fitzsimmons lost more folk, but not in vain, as none of Herron’s men had been able to breach the battlements. But he had precious few men left. Arne, hurry with your men for gods’ sake. His eyes searched the remaining men and felt relief when he saw Beaumont’s second in command ordering men on the far side. Thankfully, they had no fear of being attacked from behind. Arne, I’ve got to hand it to your ancestors, they knew what they were doing when they built the palace here.

Hawk ran up to him out of breath. ‘Master, an army has been seen in the valley at the foot of the mountain. It may be Arne’s men!’ Hope oozed from the young squire.

Fitzsimmons raced to the far end of the battlements. About five hundred men trudged toward the palace. One carried Arne’s standard. 

‘If the standard bearer is genuine, we may yet be saved,’ yelled Fitzsimmons to the surrounding men. 

Torsten, one of his five who rarely left his side since Herron’s army had arrived, stepped forward. Worry crossed his brow. ‘We can’t get a message to Leonné. Will she know they’re coming? The worst would be for her to be caught in the crossfire.’ 

‘I told Heroux and Germane to check frequently. They’ll find out soon enough and keep the women safe. We’ve held up the offensive. Arne’s men will take four hours to reach Herron’s army. We wait now.’

Chapter Forty-Nine

LEONNÉ PREPARED FOR BATTLE. She rubbed her crystal, and writing appeared on the wall. 

Use this spell and cover your men with a shield. Then, use the second spell. Create a hole and use the wind to push the men at the back into it. Fill it with water and drown them. She memorized the spells and sent Sabine to fetch Heroux.

Heroux’s men crept to the front of the cavern and listened. They had heard a heavy thud in the valley. One ventured out and looked over the mountainside. A large group of men were riding and walking in their direction. 

‘It’s Arne’s army, m’lord.’ 

‘When they pass us, we must meet them and discuss our strategy. We may protect them with magic and distract them from the fight in the palace. Fitz’s men are holding it but need help… and soon.’

‘The waterholes are blocked.’

‘We must act on our own initiative then,’ said Heroux. ‘We wait until our allies arrive, but I have a plan.’

They waited, and when Arne’s men came close, Heroux sneaked through the mountain forest to find the king.

‘Sire, we have twenty-five men and some women, but they are protected by a shield in a cavern. Lady Leonné has help from an immortal and can use her elemental skills to fight the enemy.’

‘What of Fitzsimmons and the palace? Has the man turned traitor on us?’

‘No, your Excellency. His men defend it valiantly, but the archers and others defending the battlements are being picked off. He needs reinforcements soon. The original number of enemy troops was about two thousand, but Herron has lost some of them. Two cannons, a ram and a trebuchet have been disabled.’

‘They must know we are coming, so we’ll attack quickly. Bring your men and follow us.’

Heroux gathered the men. ‘Leonné said the women without children want to come.’

He did not have time to argue. ‘Tell them to stay at the back then. Tell them to use stones and slings, and bow and arrows to disperse the army.’

A solemn, cold, tired, and scruffy army of women and old men armed mainly with bows, forks, hoes, slings and knives followed the soldiers, but their morale was high. If the people in the palace could hold back that large an army, they could do their bit to win the battle.

Arne’s men stopped a short way from the palace. Herron’s men shot arrows into their midst, scattering them.

‘Bring the archers nearer,’ ordered Arne. They hurried to their places.

‘Archers disperse their army.’ Arrows rained onto the troops, who waited like sitting ducks.

Fitzsimmons, in turn, asked his longbow archers to do the same. The frightened troops couldn’t run to the front or the back. They were stuck on this narrow track with ravines on both sides. Both sides were suffering injuries. Arne pulled his troops back to avoid more casualties. Herron pushed his on, but Arne’s men responded with more arrows, so Herron also turned his men back. They gathered in large but depleted groups outside the palace.

More breathing space, thought Fitzsimmons. 

Leonné asked Arne if she could use magic to deplete the army.

‘She’s very skilled, Sire,’ said Heroux and has the help of the immortal, Raybnyz.’

Arne swallowed his prejudice. It’s only one girl who would perish if everything goes wrong.

‘Send her ahead but only with a few troops and yourself, Heroux. Don’t waste my soldiers or yourself by taking unnecessary risks.’

Leonné’s party moved forward. Germane stayed by her side. If Herron’s men didn’t kill him, Fitz would, if he let anyone harm her. With her heart racing, Leonné chanted spells and shielded the men. Then, she reached the groups of Herron’s rearguard.

‘My friends, the wind and rain, gather those men who defy the gods and create chaos and harm in this valley. Feed them to the valley river and save Arne’s folk.’ She waved her wand, and the ground divided, leaving a hole. The rain fell like a tumult churning and bubbling. The wind turned and twisted, pulling and pushing the flailing men into the pond. Tentacles dragged them down, filling their lungs with fetid water and drowning them until the bubbles vanished and the water was still.

The remaining men ran closer to the main army. Fitzsimmons’ men shot cannons, pushing them back. The wind caught them dumping them in the pond. This was repeated until only five hundred men were left out of two thousand.

‘Herron, your army will be destroyed completely. If you leave now, we will spare your remaining men,’ shouted Fitzsimmons.

‘Show you’re not a coward, Fitzsimmons. Come out and fight me,’ challenged Herron.

Fitzsimmons hesitated. His men were dropping like flies. If he killed Herron, his men might lose heart and flee. On the other hand, Herron was larger and possibly more muscular than he and was probably wise in the arts of black magic. He also had the backing of Dominai.

Torsten touched his arm. ‘Don’t! Who will lead our troops if you die?’

‘You’re ready to take control. Don’t underestimate yourself.’

‘The men rely on you to raise their morale. You lift them with your leadership.’

‘They’ll have to motivate themselves. I’m going to fight him,’ said Fitzsimmons, shrugging his hand away.

Damn you, you pig-headed fool, thought Torsten. You and Leonné deserve each other. Stubborn as oxen the pair of you!

‘Find my armor and help me dress,’ Fitzsimmons ordered Hawk. The squire fetched his armor and helped him into the mail.

‘Are you backing off Fitzsimmons, you yellow-livered coward,’ yelled Herron. ‘I demand armed combat, not jousting. Not first blood, but to the death.’

‘Very well,’ said Fitzsimmons. ‘In one hour. Set it up and leave your men a distance away. This is to be a fair battle.’

‘Accuse me of cheating, do you?’ roared Herron.

‘Call it what you will.’

Herron nodded, but Fitzsimmons did not trust him a bit. He wished he had Leonné here to help him. 

Seeker and Erwin circled above the battlements. ‘He be needing help,’ croaked Seeker. 

‘Let’s tell Leonné,’ said Erwin. They flew off to find her.

When the time was nigh, Fitzsimmons left the palace and stood a short distance from Herron, who was also armored and heavily weaponed. Torsten followed Fitz, pointing his bow at Herron.

‘Need you a nursemaid?’ Herron laughed.

‘I trust you as little as a serpent above me in a tree. If you cheat, he’ll shoot you dead, and others on the battlements are ready to follow his lead.’

‘Ready yourself to fight,’ said Herron, watching Torsten who flexed his muscles anticipating wrong-doing. ‘I’ll be your undoing.’

Fitzsimmons lifted his weapons and readied himself for combat. As he thought, Herron didn’t wait for the marshal to start the fight. He ran forward, swinging his ball and chain, hoping to catch Fitzsimmons unawares. Fitz adroitly jumped over the ball and moved to the side as Herron lost balance for a moment and flailed about as Fitzsimmons pushed him back with his shield, sparks flying as metal scraped metal. He gave him no time to rebalance, running forward and kicking him between the legs. Herron howled and fell to his knees.

Fitzsimmons hit him with his flail, but Herron’s dagger, thrust into his leg, caught him. He swore and staggered, allowing Herron to rise to his feet and swing his ball around his head.

Herron scraped Fitz’s shoulder with the ball, lifting him off his feet. He fell on his backside, and Herron stood above him poised with his dagger, ready to strike, but Fitzsimmons slung his chain around Herron’s feet, tugging him to the ground. He swung his ball between the man’s legs, disabling him. Herron panted and coughed; barely able to move. He lifted his head and warned Fitzsimmons, ‘This is not over.’ 

He grabbed his dagger as Fitzsimmons moved in for the kill. Touching the sword tip, Herron chanted a spell, and his clothes and mail burst as dark grey scales appeared over his thick, muscled torso. His arms and legs lengthened and grew fierce, long, crooked claws and toes. His tongue forked and grew, and fangs appeared in his mouth.

Fitzsimmons glimpsed his heavily lidded eyes, beadily scrutinizing him above his helm. Growing out of his head, tentacles were weaving around him. Ragged sharp points stuck out of his back and his long tail twitched toward Fitzsimmons’ face as he approached him.  

Fitzsimmons moved back as the tail nearly swiped him off his feet. He tried to slice into Heron’s side, but the sword sprang off. The scales were as tough as iron. Herron crawled onto his back legs and stood up, ready to take on Fitzsimmons again.

Fitz noted he had tripled his size and towered over him, but he was also bulky and slow, his clawed feet thundering in the earth, sending dust clouds around him. The dust obscured his vision for a moment, and Fitzsimmons attacked. He dug his sword into the soft, unprotected flesh under the joint where Herron’s arms met his torso. Herron gasped as grey-green liquid dripped onto the earth, and he slid in his own gushing blood.

‘Don’t raise your hopes, human. I’ll kill you and then ask the Master if I can wed your woman. What a pact that would be, eh? A Mocador and a witch - aye, no one will be able to stop us!’

Fitzsimmons had heard of this mystical species but was revolted at the prospect of Leonné mating this monster. It raised his blood and motivated him to kill the whoreson. Grabbing his spear from the ground, he lifted it as if to throw it at Herron but instead turned and pushed it into the flesh behind Herron’s knee. His opponent dropped to his hands and knees. Fitzsimmons hit him on his head and inserted his dagger under his neck. He pinned him there, holding the monster’s arms as he pushed it in further. Herron fell forward. Fitzsimmons pulled his helm off and cut his throat.

He decapitated him and held up the bloody head.

Heinreid gritted his teeth. There was no way that a human should have been able to kill a Mocador, especially one as close to Dominai as Herron. He eyed Fitz’s sword and swore when he saw the light of magic pulsing from it.

Fitzsimmons waved the head in the air. ‘Who’s next? Or do you lay down your weapons and go back home?’ The enemy soldiers moved back from the palace. Heinreid called his officers into the tent. One said, ‘Arne’s reinforcements are attacking us from behind, Sir. We are like rats stuck in a trap.’

‘I’ll ask The Master,’ said Heinreid, but a rasping disembodied voice said, ‘You’ve failed. Make your peace with Fitzsimmons and leave. Save your men for the next battle.’

‘Yes, Master. I’ll bury Lord Herron’s corpse first.’

‘Forget it,’ he said contemptuously. ‘It will decompose into the dirt like the filth he was. Move your men.’

‘Certainly, Master.’ Heinreid ran out and mustered the remaining men. ‘Decamp! Meet at the bottom of the valley. Leave the corpses.’

The soldiers hurried about their jobs and marched quickly down the valley, all semblance of an army gone; leaving wounded and scared men to flee.

Arne’s men had already run to the forest and hidden ready to attack if the leader broke his word.

Heroux breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank the gods we live to fight again. Let’s go back to the palace.’

They trudged back. Leonné removed the shields. The physic and wise men tended the injured and then they congregated in the Great Hall. The remainder of Herron’s soldiers who had been rounded up would be interrogated tomorrow and their fate decided by Arne.

Fitzsimmons hugged ‘You were wonderful.’

Arne swept into the room. ‘We must talk. You defeated Dominai this time but you must soon leave and conquer his territory. Destroy him and his officers and bring their heads back to me to show the people that my right to the throne will not be challenged.’

Fitzsimmons said, ‘Hilde’s safety must be secured and we still have to hand over the grimoire to the Daughters. They may help us defeat Dominai.’

‘Go then, seek them first and ask their advice.’

The king took Leonné’s hand. ‘You have proven yourself to be as talented and brave as my men. You may go with them to fight and protect them.’

‘Thank you, Sire. I’m honored,’ she said making a deep curtsy.

Fitzsimmons said, ‘When I’ve destroyed this immortal, I must find out if this relation of mine is the true heir to my father’s estates. Until then my future is still insecure.’

‘I wish you well in your journey. May the gods protect you.’

Arne left them. They would rest and then prepare for their marriage before their journey to find the Daughters and then The Master.

The end of Book Two

Book Three.

Achard and Leonné know when they consummate their marriage her powers will develop. They must find and restore the grimoire containing the key to the Book of the Realms to the Daughters but Dominai now knows Achard is his deadly foe and guesses the young knight is determined to destroy him in order to clear his mind and free himself from his control. They must enter his homeland, find him and eliminate him but Orella and Guiscard still collude with others to endanger them.

He must also resolve the problems concerning his inheritance. Does Sancerre still want him dead or will he transfer his hatred and attentions to his elder brother who claims to be the true heir to his late father’s estates?

Follow Achard and Leone’s path as they discover hidden dangers and magic as they confront the master and try to restore peace to the land of Gritheim.

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