Sean Dalton - Time trap

‘This the turnkey has said, my lord,“ said the jailer quietly.

Sir Magnin nodded. “And what assurance do I have that you can be trusted?”

“My word, my oath-”

“If the devil commands your heart, you can lie,” said Sir Magnin harshly.

“Then bring a priest and let me swear before the cross,” said Leon. “I do not fear the sacred relics of God.”

Sir Magnin snapped his fingers, and a minion ran to fetch the priest. He came at last, sneezing, yawning, and looking frightened. His cassock sat crooked on his shoulders, and his tonsure needed clipping.

“Yes, my lord?” he said in a quavery voice, puffing hard.

Sir Magnin gestured at the jailer. “Bring Leon forth.”

The jailer looked at the turnkey, who fumbled his keys with such shaking fingers that the jailer finally snatched the ring from him and unlocked the door himself.

Leon emerged, taking care not to look smug. He knelt before the priest and kissed the cross extended to him. The priest led him through a recital of his vows to God, and nothing struck him dead. His lips were examined to see if they had been burned by contact with the cross. They were not. He was given communion, and the wafer and wine did not poison him.

“I see no fault in this man or in his soul,” said the priest at last.

“It seems we have misjudged you, Leon,” said Sir Magnin. He smiled and threw his arm across Leon’s shoulders, leading him from the dungeons. “Tell me of your twin’s plan and what he intends against me.”

“He must not escape the castle,” said Leon swiftly. “A thorough search must begin now.”

“It is under way. Sir Geoffrey has charge of that.”

“When he is caught, he must be stripped,” said Leon. ‘There is a bracelet that he wears, similar to mine.“ He held up his right arm.

Sir Magnin frowned. “Of what significance is this cheap jewelry?”

“None, save that it is a mark of our family. I would have it, to be sent home. That is all.”

“Yes, yes, no matter. About the precautions to protect my men… if he can call on demons to serve him, how do we fight him?”

“The dark powers do not always obey him. You know they are treacherous and love to betray those whom they serve. He must be stripped, then thrown into anointed water to see if the possessing spirits can be driven from him. If not, then he must-he must be burned.”

Leon’s head rang with the word. He felt as though his throat was scorched, as though he had swallowed the very fire he called for.

Sir Magnin’s hand tightened upon his arm. “You still care for this brother, do you not?”

Leon lifted his head with an effort. “I am afraid,” he said honestly. If the LOC was not the link that bound them, then he would perish with Noel. It was an awful risk. But he felt driven to take it.

“There is nothing to fear,” said Sir Magnin softly, kindly, “as long as you serve me true. Never lie to me again.”

The threat in those black eyes struck to Leon’s heart. He bowed. “I swear I shall not, my lord.”

“Good. I had a brother once whom I loved with all my heart. He died when we were boys. I wept upon his grave. Thanks to God I was never faced with your choice, but you have done well to put a stop to Noel’s evil.” He smiled. “You will have your reward when this is done.”

“Thank you,” whispered Leon. He still felt cold. Now that he had set this in motion, he wondered if he had gone too far. But when he thought of a lifetime linked to Noel, of watching him from afar, never a true part of life, he knew he could never escape the conviction that there should be only one of them.

I shall be the one, Leon thought with fresh determination.

He looked up. “Lady Sophia must be well guarded. She betrayed him tonight. He may seek revenge there.”

Sir Magnin’s face darkened. “My own hand will guard her. Go, Leon, and join the search.”

“Wait,” said Leon, remembering something he had overlooked. “I do not want to be mistaken for him by your guards.” He glanced back at the priest. “Is there some badge I can wear, to mark me as different?”

“Give him your cross,” said Sir Magnin.

The priest’s palsied hands lowered the cross by its chain over Leon’s head. It hung upon his chest, its silver shape cold and heavy.

He put his hand around it and smiled. “That will do perfectly,” he said.

Outside, running across the courtyard through the crisp night air, Leon threw back his head in triumph, wanting to howl aloud. It was so easy to manipulate these people, so easy to find their weaknesses, their superstitions, and twist them into whatever he wanted. Within a short time it would be he, Leon Nardek, who ruled Mistra, and not Sir Magnin the Black.

He ran because the others were running. Guards had sleepy, frightened servants rousted from their beds and lined up shivering in the night air. Sir Geoffrey, dressed in full mail and surcoat, his spurs jingling with every step, strode about directing a systematic search.

Leon watched, but he knew too much time had passed since Noel had escaped. It was doubtful he had managed to get past the guards at the main gates, but he was clever, resourceful, and he had the LOC. Leon worried, and moved into the shadows to search ferretlike in the small crannies and dark corners. With his mind he swept out, hoping to find Noel in that way, although so far Noel’s mind had been completely blank to him.

Concentrating, he found instead a scurry of thought somewhere ahead of him. Someone, not Noel, was concealed behind the ovens where the bread for the castle and town was baked. Leon could feel the warmth still radiating from die round stone sides of the huge ovens, although their fires had long since been banked down for the night.

A rickety shed projected from one side as a wooden appendage where loaves were cooled and business was conducted. Leon’s quarry hid inside it, hardly breathing, frightened, all thoughts banked down like a fire covered with ashes for the night.

He made his way to the shed on silent feet, drawing the dagger one of the guards had returned to him. He eased open the half door, and it groaned upon its leather hinges.

There came a swift furtive rustle from the back, a whispered, “No.”

His nostrils widened. He sniffed the air and detected the delicate scent of… woman. Yes, he was certain. This one smelled of the forest, of pine, of innocence. He licked his lips and went forward.

When he got close, she came at him in a rush, striking him with her shoulder, and nearly overbalancing him. He caught her by the hair, yanking her around so roughly she cried out.

Swiftly he clamped her against him, and she struggled and kicked like a wild creature until he pressed the point of his dagger between her breasts. She went absolutely still; only the sharp jerks of her breathing betrayed her.

“ Nom de Dieu,” she said, using a French oath although he knew at once she was Greek. “Do not hurt me with that. Please do not-”

“Silence.”

There was cunning in her voice beneath the pleading. He hurt her just a little to get her attention. “You are the girl from the mountains?”

“Yes. I–I am Elena Milengus.”

“Very good. And what are you doing hiding out here in the darkness, Elena? Are you waiting for your lover?”

She choked and began to weep.

He squeezed her. “None of that! I do not want you. Pay attention to me. Everyone is looking for the man called Noel.”

“I know,” she whispered. ‘That was why I have been hiding. We tricked Sir Magnin because we thought he would cheat us of our share of the ransom money, and now he is angry.“

“What do you expect, you stupid fool?” said Leon. “No, listen to what I have to say. There is a way for you to redeem yourself.”