Overnight, fresh snowfall had eradicated all trace of that world known as Yesterday in favor of one pristine and new. Powder-mantled and rime-bejeweled, Silvermoor laid in immaculate slumber like a pale queen whose troubled brow had smoothed with pleasant dreams. She would not wake for yet a while longer, but her protector had already risen in the predawn as was his wont and duty. Marius admired her curving twilit beauty like a bridegroom from the bedchamber balcony of his chateau.
A tight, crooked smile spread over his face as he drew the crisp air of early morning into his lungs, feeling his half-woken body begin to stir and revitalize. He closed his eyes and the tranquil scenery of Silvermoor was overwrit by a memory of voluptuous lily-white skin and luxuriant curls as dark as ebon peeking out from under bed-strewn furs. Playful eyes glimmered like incandescent jewels and beckoned him with a supernal force of will equal even unto God's. Tentatively, he let himself imagine obeying these commanding eyes, so full of life and love, and come to lie next to she who used them to compel him so completely.
But ere long followed other memories, ones usually locked tightly away in the deep, dark cellar of his mind. That same beauteous face, those same eyes lit in joie de vivre, now morphed into a countenance of frenzied fear obscured beneath tearstain and blood. Marius' own eyes opened hastily beneath a deep scowl and he growled at his own foolish reminiscence. Peering down, he saw that his hand gripped into the balustrade, leaving faint grazings in the stone like the marks of some wild animal's claws. They were not the first, as the rail's gouged surface attested. His upper lip curled in self-disgust and the guilty hand tightened into a fist until its knuckles were as white as the snow. At length, Marius retreated back in from the cold.
Tempestuously, he forced shut his balcony doors with a sound like a thunderclap and began rummaging through his effects as might some angry bear. When, rather unusually for a man of his station, he had gathered up fine garments and leathers he thought hardy yet aristocratic and had attired himself, he donned a green woolen cloak and at last confronted his looking glass. Beside it hung a pale half-mask Marius used to cover the hideous right side of his face, mangled many years ago in defense of the realm. Time had dulled the severity of his wounds, but the mottled flesh and scars would forever remain. He examined the disfiguration like an old map, traced his jawline's missing bit of beard and the jagged valleys of his cheek in lamentation, right down to the perpetual snarl that had been carved onto his mouth. Numbly, he lifted the mask from its perch as carefully as if it were made of fine china and went through the ritual of securing it over his ugliness.
When at last Marius emerged from his chambers, the lean form of his faithful valet was there waiting for him in the hall even as the oaken door swung close.
"Good morning, sir," the older man greeted sedately with a small bow. He knew from years of experience that it was best to tread lightly with his master soon after waking.
"It was. Briefly," Marius grunted and began to make his way down the hall. "What do you have for me today, Guillaume?"
Striding alongside, the servant withdrew a pair of pince-nez tucked into his doublet and held on a chain about his neck, then browsed the vellum parchment in his hand. "Well, sir, you'll be happy to know the last of the assart rents have been paid from this past harvest. There'll be no need to go pounding on any doors."
"The mere threat of my visage staring back at them from their doorstep is more than enough to make men like Monsieurs Brake and Chevalaire hurry to pay their taxes," Marius reflected moodily. "What else?"
"The lumbermen say they've met the firewood quota for the month, which is rather a nice surprise."
Marius stopped and turned his head. "Already? It's not even new moon yet, that can't be right." He thought a moment, frowned, then continued walking. "Send someone to do a tally; it sounds to me like those flea-bitten hermits are giving me a very polite buggering until they get another raise in wages."
"Sir?"
"They haven't met their quota, Guillaume, they've stopped doing their job."
The valet nodded in understanding and made a mental note, knowing someone was going to get a dreadful good tongue-lashing later. "Very good, sir." The pair came to the top of the staircase and proceeded down to the ground floor. "Moving on, there seems to have been a spot of bother with some animals prowling about the farmsteaders' homes and making a general nuisance, getting into pantries and the like."
"Fox? Bear?" Marius queried, eyebrow raised. There was nothing like a good hunt to get him in high spirits.
"Nothing so dramatic, sir. Badgers, I believe. I trust you'll want a few of the hunters to attend to the matter? Set traps and such?"
"Mmm," Marius grunted again in agreement, visibly disappointed as he reached the bottom step. He crossed his arms behind his back and stared contemplatively out the tall windows of the chateau's foyer. "Is that all?"
"One last thing, sir," Guillaume said, putting away the vellum and spectacles and taking out a small, hand-folded letter from an inner breast pocket. It had a broken wafer of red wax impressed with a seal of nobility. "From Lord Lucien," he said as he handed it over to his master.
Marius took it idly, gave the swooping calligraphy the most cursory of looks. "Yes? What's he want of me now?"
"Only your presence, sir. It's an invitation. He's requesting your appearance at a..." Guillaume paused, cleared his throat warily. "At a ball, sir."
Marius' eyes fell on his valet with a hint of indignation. "A ball," he said flatly. "What can he mean asking me to a ball?"
Guillaume forced a sheepish smile. "I'm sure I don't know, sir, but no doubt His Lordship means you no offense. He loves you like a brother."
Marius frowned again, handing the lord's invitation back to Guillaume and staring once more out through the windows. "I don't need you to remind me of the particulars of our relationship."
"Of course not, sir," the servant appeased, accepting the letter. He waited patiently while his master brooded, not daring to inquire further. Absently, Marius scratched his beard in thought, fingers drifting up to touch his mask.
Unexpectedly, there came a frantic knocking from the entryway door. Guillaume made for the antechamber at once and, dually perturbed and curious, Marius followed after him. Standing outside was a young peasant boy wrapped in tattered furs and looking wide-eyed and out of breath.
"What's the meaning of this, child?" the valet protested. "One does not just storm up to a knight's estate and start banging his front door off its hinges!"
Marius raised a hand. "It's alright, Guillaume. What's wrong, lad?"
"Beggin' yer pardon, sir," the boy panted. "My pa and brother was off grazin' the pigs in the forest, see, and they..." He sucked in air. "They found a body, sir."
"A dead man? Unfortunate, surely, but why do you come here in such a panic?"
"It were in a queer state, Pa says." The boy swallowed, fearfully looking over his shoulder as if worried someone might hear, then whispered, "He says it were witches."
Marius clenched his jaw and put a hand on the young peasant's shaggy shoulder. "That's not an idle word to bandy around. Are you telling me true, lad?"
The boy nodded fervently. "I am, sir, honest I am! Or anyway, it really is what my Pa says."
"Son, I don't mind telling you I hope your father is just a superstitious old fool. You'll take me to him now." Marius turned to his valet. "Guillaume, have Rafale made ready."
"Your prize horse, sir? Oughtn't you perhaps take one of lesser value? If there are really witch—"
"He's the fastest and most sure-footed, now do as I say!" Marius barked.
The servant bowed apologetically and retreated back inside to relay his master's will. Marius took the peasant boy around the estate to the stables, where in short order his steed was prepared for riding. The stablehands trotted Marius' stout dapple out with haste and the knight mounted the horse himself just as quickly while his attendants hoisted the young messenger up into the saddle behind him. The boy directed him towards the westernmost fringes and Marius cracked the reins, sending Rafale galloping away from the chateau to skirt the edge of the great forest that wreathed Silvermoor like a horned moon.
Dispatching to the boy's homestead, they found his father and brother waiting for them. Both hardy-looking men, each nonetheless seemed agitated by what they had found in the woods near where they took their swine to forage. At Marius' insistence, the father agreed to show him the body they had left out there for fear of diablery, urging his sons to remain on the farm. The knight left Rafale in their care and he and the swineherd proceeded on foot towards the borders of the forest that now loomed newly ominous despite their wintry beautification. Marius prayed silently to God that this was nothing more than a goose chase.
They found the corpse in almost no time at all. Though it hadn't been hidden away very deeply into the weald, someone had cleverly disguised the body and posed it in the higher boughs where a man would not usually think to look. Dark furs (Wolf furs, Marius noted) of like color to the trees were wrapped all about it, even the face, obscuring it, and branches had been tied together as a sort of framework to hang it from. The only things exposed were the victim's entrails, hanging down from a slit in the wolfskin and providing a gruesome morning meal for some carrion birds. A languid red rain dribbled down from the fleshy ribbons and spotted the snow at the foot of the tree.
"Never woulda saw it if'n the herd hadn't started nosin' around in the blood," the pig farmer said. "Can't tell if'n it's a man or woman, though. What about you, sir?"
Marius shook his head, eyes glued to the figure above him. It was human sacrifice, he knew at least that much. "I'll need you to return to my estate with me. I'll gather some men together and you can bring them back here so they can pull whoever that poor soul is up there down."
"It's witchcraft, ain't it, sir?"
Yes, Marius thought grimly. Yes, it most certainly is. "I don't want you speaking any such nonsense to anyone, do you hear me?" he told the man, subtly closing the distance between them.
The farmer's eyes flitted to his mask, then his shoulders, then to the ground. "Yes, Sir Marius. I know how to keep my mouth shut. But what about yer other men?"
"They're professionals. And they know better than to disobey me. Now let us return."
Taking one last look over his shoulder as they set off, Marius noticed something about the body his earlier position had not permitted. He could see clearly now that the hands had been bound together and upraised as if in prayer. What was more, there were shoots of leafy tree limbs that had been tied to the victim's back and, from his new angle, seemed to be outstretching, almost like...
Dear God! Marius shuddered. Those are wings. It's... it's an angel.
The knight turned away again with wrathful disgust. It was them, it had to be them. They were back, and seemingly with a vendetta. Marius gnashed his teeth and clenched his fists in an effort to curb his anger. If he had been alone, perhaps, but it would do no good to lose control now or he would have to send his men out later to deal with two bodies. It was important to keep focused on the task at hand. Lord Lucien would need informing, of course. Unhappily, Marius realized he would have to attend his lord's ball, after all...
A tight, crooked smile spread over his face as he drew the crisp air of early morning into his lungs, feeling his half-woken body begin to stir and revitalize. He closed his eyes and the tranquil scenery of Silvermoor was overwrit by a memory of voluptuous lily-white skin and luxuriant curls as dark as ebon peeking out from under bed-strewn furs. Playful eyes glimmered like incandescent jewels and beckoned him with a supernal force of will equal even unto God's. Tentatively, he let himself imagine obeying these commanding eyes, so full of life and love, and come to lie next to she who used them to compel him so completely.
But ere long followed other memories, ones usually locked tightly away in the deep, dark cellar of his mind. That same beauteous face, those same eyes lit in joie de vivre, now morphed into a countenance of frenzied fear obscured beneath tearstain and blood. Marius' own eyes opened hastily beneath a deep scowl and he growled at his own foolish reminiscence. Peering down, he saw that his hand gripped into the balustrade, leaving faint grazings in the stone like the marks of some wild animal's claws. They were not the first, as the rail's gouged surface attested. His upper lip curled in self-disgust and the guilty hand tightened into a fist until its knuckles were as white as the snow. At length, Marius retreated back in from the cold.
Tempestuously, he forced shut his balcony doors with a sound like a thunderclap and began rummaging through his effects as might some angry bear. When, rather unusually for a man of his station, he had gathered up fine garments and leathers he thought hardy yet aristocratic and had attired himself, he donned a green woolen cloak and at last confronted his looking glass. Beside it hung a pale half-mask Marius used to cover the hideous right side of his face, mangled many years ago in defense of the realm. Time had dulled the severity of his wounds, but the mottled flesh and scars would forever remain. He examined the disfiguration like an old map, traced his jawline's missing bit of beard and the jagged valleys of his cheek in lamentation, right down to the perpetual snarl that had been carved onto his mouth. Numbly, he lifted the mask from its perch as carefully as if it were made of fine china and went through the ritual of securing it over his ugliness.
When at last Marius emerged from his chambers, the lean form of his faithful valet was there waiting for him in the hall even as the oaken door swung close.
"Good morning, sir," the older man greeted sedately with a small bow. He knew from years of experience that it was best to tread lightly with his master soon after waking.
"It was. Briefly," Marius grunted and began to make his way down the hall. "What do you have for me today, Guillaume?"
Striding alongside, the servant withdrew a pair of pince-nez tucked into his doublet and held on a chain about his neck, then browsed the vellum parchment in his hand. "Well, sir, you'll be happy to know the last of the assart rents have been paid from this past harvest. There'll be no need to go pounding on any doors."
"The mere threat of my visage staring back at them from their doorstep is more than enough to make men like Monsieurs Brake and Chevalaire hurry to pay their taxes," Marius reflected moodily. "What else?"
"The lumbermen say they've met the firewood quota for the month, which is rather a nice surprise."
Marius stopped and turned his head. "Already? It's not even new moon yet, that can't be right." He thought a moment, frowned, then continued walking. "Send someone to do a tally; it sounds to me like those flea-bitten hermits are giving me a very polite buggering until they get another raise in wages."
"Sir?"
"They haven't met their quota, Guillaume, they've stopped doing their job."
The valet nodded in understanding and made a mental note, knowing someone was going to get a dreadful good tongue-lashing later. "Very good, sir." The pair came to the top of the staircase and proceeded down to the ground floor. "Moving on, there seems to have been a spot of bother with some animals prowling about the farmsteaders' homes and making a general nuisance, getting into pantries and the like."
"Fox? Bear?" Marius queried, eyebrow raised. There was nothing like a good hunt to get him in high spirits.
"Nothing so dramatic, sir. Badgers, I believe. I trust you'll want a few of the hunters to attend to the matter? Set traps and such?"
"Mmm," Marius grunted again in agreement, visibly disappointed as he reached the bottom step. He crossed his arms behind his back and stared contemplatively out the tall windows of the chateau's foyer. "Is that all?"
"One last thing, sir," Guillaume said, putting away the vellum and spectacles and taking out a small, hand-folded letter from an inner breast pocket. It had a broken wafer of red wax impressed with a seal of nobility. "From Lord Lucien," he said as he handed it over to his master.
Marius took it idly, gave the swooping calligraphy the most cursory of looks. "Yes? What's he want of me now?"
"Only your presence, sir. It's an invitation. He's requesting your appearance at a..." Guillaume paused, cleared his throat warily. "At a ball, sir."
Marius' eyes fell on his valet with a hint of indignation. "A ball," he said flatly. "What can he mean asking me to a ball?"
Guillaume forced a sheepish smile. "I'm sure I don't know, sir, but no doubt His Lordship means you no offense. He loves you like a brother."
Marius frowned again, handing the lord's invitation back to Guillaume and staring once more out through the windows. "I don't need you to remind me of the particulars of our relationship."
"Of course not, sir," the servant appeased, accepting the letter. He waited patiently while his master brooded, not daring to inquire further. Absently, Marius scratched his beard in thought, fingers drifting up to touch his mask.
Unexpectedly, there came a frantic knocking from the entryway door. Guillaume made for the antechamber at once and, dually perturbed and curious, Marius followed after him. Standing outside was a young peasant boy wrapped in tattered furs and looking wide-eyed and out of breath.
"What's the meaning of this, child?" the valet protested. "One does not just storm up to a knight's estate and start banging his front door off its hinges!"
Marius raised a hand. "It's alright, Guillaume. What's wrong, lad?"
"Beggin' yer pardon, sir," the boy panted. "My pa and brother was off grazin' the pigs in the forest, see, and they..." He sucked in air. "They found a body, sir."
"A dead man? Unfortunate, surely, but why do you come here in such a panic?"
"It were in a queer state, Pa says." The boy swallowed, fearfully looking over his shoulder as if worried someone might hear, then whispered, "He says it were witches."
Marius clenched his jaw and put a hand on the young peasant's shaggy shoulder. "That's not an idle word to bandy around. Are you telling me true, lad?"
The boy nodded fervently. "I am, sir, honest I am! Or anyway, it really is what my Pa says."
"Son, I don't mind telling you I hope your father is just a superstitious old fool. You'll take me to him now." Marius turned to his valet. "Guillaume, have Rafale made ready."
"Your prize horse, sir? Oughtn't you perhaps take one of lesser value? If there are really witch—"
"He's the fastest and most sure-footed, now do as I say!" Marius barked.
The servant bowed apologetically and retreated back inside to relay his master's will. Marius took the peasant boy around the estate to the stables, where in short order his steed was prepared for riding. The stablehands trotted Marius' stout dapple out with haste and the knight mounted the horse himself just as quickly while his attendants hoisted the young messenger up into the saddle behind him. The boy directed him towards the westernmost fringes and Marius cracked the reins, sending Rafale galloping away from the chateau to skirt the edge of the great forest that wreathed Silvermoor like a horned moon.
Dispatching to the boy's homestead, they found his father and brother waiting for them. Both hardy-looking men, each nonetheless seemed agitated by what they had found in the woods near where they took their swine to forage. At Marius' insistence, the father agreed to show him the body they had left out there for fear of diablery, urging his sons to remain on the farm. The knight left Rafale in their care and he and the swineherd proceeded on foot towards the borders of the forest that now loomed newly ominous despite their wintry beautification. Marius prayed silently to God that this was nothing more than a goose chase.
They found the corpse in almost no time at all. Though it hadn't been hidden away very deeply into the weald, someone had cleverly disguised the body and posed it in the higher boughs where a man would not usually think to look. Dark furs (Wolf furs, Marius noted) of like color to the trees were wrapped all about it, even the face, obscuring it, and branches had been tied together as a sort of framework to hang it from. The only things exposed were the victim's entrails, hanging down from a slit in the wolfskin and providing a gruesome morning meal for some carrion birds. A languid red rain dribbled down from the fleshy ribbons and spotted the snow at the foot of the tree.
"Never woulda saw it if'n the herd hadn't started nosin' around in the blood," the pig farmer said. "Can't tell if'n it's a man or woman, though. What about you, sir?"
Marius shook his head, eyes glued to the figure above him. It was human sacrifice, he knew at least that much. "I'll need you to return to my estate with me. I'll gather some men together and you can bring them back here so they can pull whoever that poor soul is up there down."
"It's witchcraft, ain't it, sir?"
Yes, Marius thought grimly. Yes, it most certainly is. "I don't want you speaking any such nonsense to anyone, do you hear me?" he told the man, subtly closing the distance between them.
The farmer's eyes flitted to his mask, then his shoulders, then to the ground. "Yes, Sir Marius. I know how to keep my mouth shut. But what about yer other men?"
"They're professionals. And they know better than to disobey me. Now let us return."
Taking one last look over his shoulder as they set off, Marius noticed something about the body his earlier position had not permitted. He could see clearly now that the hands had been bound together and upraised as if in prayer. What was more, there were shoots of leafy tree limbs that had been tied to the victim's back and, from his new angle, seemed to be outstretching, almost like...
Dear God! Marius shuddered. Those are wings. It's... it's an angel.
The knight turned away again with wrathful disgust. It was them, it had to be them. They were back, and seemingly with a vendetta. Marius gnashed his teeth and clenched his fists in an effort to curb his anger. If he had been alone, perhaps, but it would do no good to lose control now or he would have to send his men out later to deal with two bodies. It was important to keep focused on the task at hand. Lord Lucien would need informing, of course. Unhappily, Marius realized he would have to attend his lord's ball, after all...
