Leslie Moore - Griffin's Daughter

“ And I with you, Son. I have written to Leonus to tell him that our contract can go ahead as planned. With the gods’ luck and a little good timing, you should have Leonus’s daughter wedded, bedded, and pregnant by fall’s end.”

“ That is what I need to talk about, Father. I don’t want to marry that girl.”

“ What you want doesn’t matter,” the duke sniffed. “You’ll do as you’re told. This isn’t up for negotiation.”

Magnes pulled his hair in frustration. He could feel the pressure building within him, threatening to boil over in an explosion of fury. “Father, listen to me!” he cried. “I will not marry Duke Leonus’s daughter!”

“ I strongly advise you not to defy me,” the duke growled dangerously.

The dam within him burst and swept Magnes along on the crest of the wave. “I will abdicate my position and take priestly vows if you insist on this marriage! We all know Thessalina should be your Heir, anyway. Give it to her, Father. It’s what we both want. Set me free, I beg of you!” he cried.

Without warning, the duke rose from his chair and rushed Magnes, pinning him against the wall by the fireplace. Magnes gasped in surprise, alarmed at how easily his father could hold him. “Please, Father,” he croaked.

“ Shut up! I know what this is all about. Don’t think I don’t know about you and my game warden’s daughter. Who d’you think had the little whore packed off to Greenwood in the first place, eh?”

A red fog shrouded his brain, and Magnes howled.

The next few moments rushed by in a blur of fists, and screams, and the sound of things breaking, and excruciating pain, and still more screaming, and blood.

Blood!

Blood on my hands!

The red fog lifted, and Magnes looked down into the blank eyes of his father.

“ Father?” he whispered.

The duke did not answer.

Magnes raised his dripping hands to his face and moaned in horror. He staggered to his feet and stumbled backward, away from the hearth upon which the duke lay, his broken skull resting in a rapidly spreading puddle of gore. A gobbet of hair, skin, and blood dangled from the sharp stone corner of the mantelpiece.

A loud crash exploded behind him. Magnes whirled around to see a chambermaid standing at the partly open door of the study. A heavy tray lay at the girl’s feet, shards of crockery and food splattered in a heap upon the carpet. Face white with shock, she pressed her hands to her mouth and stared, first at the duke’s lifeless body, then at Magnes.

Magnes nearly choked on the bile rising in his throat. Pointing at the corpse, he croaked, “My father must have fallen and hit his head…We were arguing…Oh, gods!”

The maid’s eyes widened with fear. Her mouth worked, but no words came out.

“ It was an accident,” Magnes whispered plaintively. “I didn’t mean…”

Oh, gods, I didn’t mean to kill him! Did I?

A wave of weakness threatened to topple him. His muscles began to twitch uncontrollably as his mind succumbed to panic.

I’ve got to get away, run away, they’ll think I murdered him, I’ll hang!

It was an accident! Someone please believe me!

The maid opened her mouth and screamed.

Magnes bolted past her and ran, fleeing up towards his apartments, the girl’s shrieks feeding his own terror.

Back in his chambers, he stopped just long enough to scoop up his hunting knife and a small pouch of coins he kept beneath his mattress. From his window, he could hear shouts. The maid’s screams had been heard.

Got to leave now, or they’ll catch me!

Cautiously, he opened the outer door of his chambers and paused to listen. He heard the sound of many feet pounding up the stairs toward his father’s study. A heartbeat later, the hoarse shouts of men crying out in dismay, followed by the piteous weeping of the maid sent him stumbling out into the darkened corridor. He turned and rushed away from the main staircase to a smaller, back stairway that led down to a side door in the outer wall of the keep. Under the cover of darkness, he slipped out of the keep and quickly made his way to the stables.

Inside the barn, the soft snores of horses at rest filled the warm air. Silently, Magnes glided down the rows until he reached the stall of his favorite mount. Storm greeted him with a sleepy whicker, and Magnes stroked the horse’s velvet nose. Briefly, he pressed his face to the warm skin, then reluctantly moved on to the next stall. He would have to leave Storm behind yet again. He knew that, eventually, he would have to sell whatever horse he rode out on tonight, so Storm must stay at Amsara.

Magnes had never ridden Storm’s neighbor, an unassuming piebald gelding. The horse was small, but looked sturdy enough; in any event, he would have to do. Magnes went to the tack room to fetch a saddle and bridle, and soon had the beast ready.

As he led the horse cautiously out of the stall, a childish voice broke the relative quiet. “Oi! Who goes there? What are you doin’?”

Gods, Dari!

“ Hush, Dari!” Magnes hissed. “It’s me, Lord Magnes!”

Dari appeared at Magnes’s side, carrying a stub of candle. He held it up, and in the flickering light, Magnes could see the look of puzzlement on the boy’s freckled face. “Lord Magnes, sir. I didn’t know t’was you. I was just on me way to the privies. If you don’t mind me wonderin’, sir, but it seems awfully late t’ be goin’ out.”

“ Please, Dari. Listen very carefully. You can’t tell anyone you saw me.”

“ But why?”

“ Don’t ask me any questions! I need to go now.” Magnes immediately regretted the sharpness of his response. “I’m sorry, Dari, but I must go.”

The boy let out a startled cry. “M’lord! You…ye’ve got blood all over yer shirt, sir! Wha’ happened? Are ye hurt?”

“ Remember what I said to you,” Magnes repeated fiercely. The young groom nodded slowly, wide-eyed with bewilderment. Magnes snatched a spare saddle cloth down from the stall railing and draped it over his shoulders; a poor attempt at hiding the incriminating bloodstains, but he could think of nothing else. He clicked his tongue and the horse followed him out into the yard. He checked the saddle girth and mounted, but before he could turn the horse toward the gate, Dari reached up and put his hand on the rein.

“ Lord Magnes, will I ever see you again?” The boy gazed up at him, a sad, knowing look in his eyes.

“ Dari…” Magnes’s voice caught, and he had to pause in order to keep from sobbing. “I don’t know. I’ll pray to the gods, that I might return home someday. You’re a good boy, Dari. I’m sorry you got involved.” He looked toward the keep and muttered, “It was an accident.”

From the direction of the keep, faint shouts drifted on the night breeze.

“ What was, Lord Magnes?” Dari whispered. “What accident?”

Magnes did not answer. He shook the reins and tapped the gelding’s flanks with his heels. The muffled clop-clop of the horse’s hooves on the hard packed earth beat in counterpoint to his pounding heart. He looked back once to see Dari standing motionless, his face eerily lit from below by the candle stub in his hand.

“ Evening, milord,” the guardsman said in greeting as Magnes rode up to the outer gate.

“ Goin’ out so late, sir?” his fellow guardsman inquired.

Magnes had to think fast. He put on a sheepish grin. “Um, well, yes. You see, there’s this girl who lives out on the Greenwood Road and, well, her father…”

Both guards guffawed. “Say no more, milord. We get yer meanin’!” the first guard said in a cheerfully conspiratorial tone. His eyes flicked to the saddle cloth over Magnes’s shoulders, and his brow furrowed in puzzlement, but he made no comment.