Darkness Rising 1 - Chained

Chapter 13 - The Crypt

“There’s precious few of you old guard left, isn’t there, Jirdin?” Aldred asked, as he selected an apple to eat for his breakfast.

“As you say, master, the baron has seen fit to entrust the care of his castle to a fresh pair of hands. Those of us that remain are, of course, honoured to continue in his service. Will there be anything else, master?”

Aldred shook his head and watched the servant hobble out into the corridor. Jirdin’s answer no doubt concealed bitterness at the systematic deconstruction of a staff that had taken generations to form. Aldred had been back from the city for only two weeks and this castle full of strangers still disconcerted him. It was as if the gods had taken the skeleton of the fortress, stripped it of its flesh and blood and then filled it with some facsimile, some imitation of the place he once called home.

None within the echoing corridors talked of the changes. Yet ten minutes ride from the walls of Blackstone Castle the tongues of the peasants flapped like thirsty dogs. It was the dark Azaguntan at the root of it all, they said, bringing in his ebony-hearted cronies.

Aldred was inclined to agree. He had been sat with Livor on the college common, reading poetry with gusto to an audience of society girls, when the missive from Lord Korianson had arrived. He had seen the flicker of hurt on his best friend’s face despite Aldred swearing there must be some mistake or misunderstanding. But the letter was very clear; the master of arms was no longer in service.

With that letter something altered between Livor and Aldred too. The letter had tainted their friendship and Aldred’s dislike of the Azaguntan Quigor had gained far greater momentum.

The midday sun seared his eyes as he pulled back the curtains. He looked out from his mullioned window, with all the relish of the undead. His room commanded a view over the courtyard and its walls and down the steep hill of Garan’s Motte. From the base of the Motte the bailey spread outwards, a green carpet stretching from the dry moat to the dark stone of the curtain wall. The grass was smattered with buttercups and bluebells and Aldred’s mind drifted to the riverbanks of the college he had just left.

Aldred wandered out of his chamber into the corridors of the castle, smiling in reminiscence. He drank in the view as he passed each window, tasting the air, feeling the tranquil scents corrode his hangover like brine on an ancient anchor.

Oh, to be back on the college greens in the air of anticipation that spring created. Thetoria city was spectacular at this time of the year. Across Nurolia it was known as the City of a Hundred Bridges and Aldred fancied that he had punted under every one and jumped naked off a fair few as well. The bifurcation of the Whiteforce River created the River Birin and divided the city into three sections. Alcansford College sat within the south-eastern segment, its expansive estate enjoying the warm winds that drifted from the Bay of Thetoria some two hundred miles to the east.

Aldred had thrived in the college, ricocheting from lessons on literature, art, economics, history and philosophy to tutorials on swords craft and war. He soaked up the teaching with the eagerness of the young, as if he had been starved of life’s entire colour in his monochrome home.

Many were the lessons learned in those three years and many the lips he had kissed and laughter he had heard, catching the giggles of the maidens like butterflies in a net. He could still smell the aroma of spring flowers, still hear the bubble of the river, still sense the last kiss planted on his lips almost absent mindedly, like a post-script on a letter. An aching for those vibrant times arose in him and he paused to gain his bearings in the gloom of the castle.

He looked around with a twinge of annoyance, momentarily confused as to his whereabouts. Had he been gone so long that he got lost within his own home? Then he realised that a rearrangement of tapestries had changed the appearance of the hallway he now stood in; he was at the south staircase, a spiral set of steps that descended within the circular tower deep into the depths of the castle. He had just decided to retrace his steps when he realised that he had not visited his mother since he had returned.