A Different World: Part 1 - The Siege of Penthorpe Keep - 15. Chateau de la Maubvin

After a day and a half of stumbling through the cold, past gnarled branches and through a wind laced with razors, the wood parted and at long last Skold came to Chateau de la Maubvin. The castle sat atop a tall hill, surrounded by trees. Looking upon its many towers and parapets Skold could see the majestic beauty the castle once held. But, as with many things, the black plague had altered its appearance, sapped the life from it. Yet the sense of being watched crept over him like a cold chill. There was life within the castle even if it was of the artificial variety. In Ostette Illyum had said it was rumored the caste was haunted. From where he stood Skold could believe it.

It was a long, slow climb up the hill, which was steep and slippery. Several times he had to dig his fingertips into hard snow-encrusted dirt. Each pulsing ache that went through his body was a welcome distraction from his thoughts. He’d spent the last night and a half with only his hunger, exhaustion, and the guilt he felt over Konstantine’s death to keep him company. Everytime he tried to sleep was a repeat of watching Konstantine die and each waking moment granted an unfulfilled wish that it’d never happened, that Konstantine was still alive. Worse yet was the emotional vulnerability, the way his mind wandered ceaselessly. Before, on many days, when the hunger was in full swing because he hadn’t eaten in days, he’d been able to push the hunger aside. He’d been trained to separate his mind from his body. But now it all felt new to him, as if he was experiencing every sensation and feeling for the very first time. It was like being reborn.

In the storm of emotion and sensation there was only one certainty, one mission: getting to the necromancer. What would happen when he got there Skold was too afraid to guess. It was enough just to keep climbing. At long last his fingers dug into earth for the final time and he pulled himself up with arms that screamed in pain and begged for relief. For a moment his lips were peeled back from his teeth in a grin and his eyes were narrow slits. Then he was completely on solid ground.

Everything hurt. There was nothing but hurt. Somehow he managed to roll over on his back so he was staring directly at the grey, cloudy sky. He gave into the need to rest. I’ve earned it, he thought. Yes, I’ve earned it. He watched the clouds move slowly across the sky. Occasionally the sun peeked through and a ray of sunlight would touch his face like the warm caress of a lover. He wondered if Konstantine was in Valhalla, wandering its high arched halls or in the endless dungeons of the underworld for the sins he’d committed.

This last thought made Skold chuckle to himself. “And just where do you think you’ll end up?” he asked himself.

When the ground had grown too hard and he too cold, Skold pushed himself to his feet and faced Chateau de la Maubvin. Several feet away a winding path of stone steps led up to the castle. The steps were crude, steep, and cracked as if they’d been here since the dawn of time, weathered underneath the heels of trolls. Skold began to climb them, his face streaked with grime, his hair wind-tossed and oily. Again he was under the impression he was being watched. Was the necromancer watching him from one of the windows perhaps, with the seer standing by his side, whispering her strange prophecies in his ear?

At the end of the steps Skold came to a set of double doors set in a tall arch. Each door had a round metal handle; both of them were covered in thick swaths of webbing. Skold pulled out his dagger and cut most of it away before pulling the door open. The door was heavy: even with the superior strength elves possessed he had to pull with both hands.

Gloom awaited him beyond the threshold. His ears twitched as he listened intently for sounds of movement, one hand placed tensely on his sword should one of the necromancer’s revenants try to attack him. When nothing moved he stepped cautiously over the threshold.

Immediately the smell of dust greeted him, of a place that had been abandoned for a long time. He could not help but ponder at the choice of the necromancer’s dwellings. Did he choose this place out of personal taste or out of the necessity to hide and not be discovered?

After a minute or so of standing in the shadows, Skold’s eyes began to adjust to the dark. Pillars rose from floor to ceiling, once grand but now covered in dust and cobwebs. The tiled floor beneath his feet was cracked in places. Banners hung from the walls, their fronts faded. A moaning gust of wind caressed his cheek like a grieving lover. He came to a wide staircase that led to a corridor that went to both to the left and right. Which way should I go? He didn’t want to search the whole castle for the necromancer. Already the ache had returned to his body. His eyes and head ached from having spent so long without sleep. In the end it was a second gust of wind that helped him decide. The gust came from the left and wafted to the right. It was strong enough to ruffle his hair.

Perhaps this place is haunted after all, Skold thought as he took to the right.

Already he could feel the necromancer’s presence. At first it was weak but became stronger the deeper into Chateau de la Maubvin he went. It was like a familiar scent, as if he’d always known it. He peeked through a set of doors into a large, empty room; once it could have been a ballroom but its use was lost to him. Yet even here he had the sense there had been people here once. What had happened to them? Where were the bodies? Were they now a part of the necromancer’s army?

A thought occurred to Skold; why it hadn’t occurred to him sooner, Skold didn’t know, but it was enough to rejuvenate him: He could bring Konstantine back.

And that in turn would absolve Skold of his guilt.

He quickened his step. The next few rooms he checked were like the first: empty, soulless. He came to another staircase and to another long corridor. It wasn’t long before he found himself grinding his teeth in frustration, angry with the necromancer and his games. Surely he knows I’m here! he thought. He always knows where I am!

Skold could no longer contain himself. “Where are you?” he shouted. His voice echoed, bouncing off the ancient, dusty walls. “I’m here! Come out, come out wherever you are!!!”

Silence was his only answer.

His eyes narrowed. What sort of game was this? It doesn’t matter. I haven’t come this far just to turn around.

An hour of passing through corridor after corridor, peeking in empty rooms, and climbing staircases identical to the one before and the before that he came to another door. Hand on the hilt of the sword, he pushed it open slowly and stepped inside.

This room was not empty.

The room was large and oval, the walls lined with bookshelves filled end to end with leather bound books. There was a desk, worn with age, but sturdy looking, and on top was a plate with a half eaten hunk of bread and what appeared to be a chicken leg that had been gnawed down to the bone.

Skold smirked. So the necromancer needs to eat just like the rest of us.

There was a bed with ruffled sheets and…

Something moved out of the corner of Skold’s eye. Sword instantly in hand, Skold turned and faced his own wide-eyed reflection. He found himself facing a tall mirror. It was beautiful, framed in gold. Runes had been etched into the frame, their designs completely foreign to Skold. Another language? he wondered. But what language could it be and how could he not know it? The language of the fae had always been the oldest...or so he’d always been taught. Strangest yet was the reflection in the glass itself. He looked over his shoulder. Surely it was a trick, an illusion of some sort, a type of strange glamour.

The room in the glass was completely frozen: the bed, the desk, the walls, all of it covered in thick layers of ice.

Someone appeared behind him. Skold jerked around, ready to attack, only to face empty air. Confused, he faced the mirror once more. A man was standing directly behind him: his face was as pale as goat’s milk. The eyes were colorless, hollow, empty of life. Instead there was a nameless sadness there. It was impossible to say how old he was, whether he was human or fae. The mouth moved but no words were coming out or Skold simply couldn’t hear them.

Get away from it, something inside of him said. This artifact, whatever it is, is dangerous. But he was paralyzed, transfixed by the man before him. Why was he trapped on the other side of the glass? What was this place he was trapped in? Where was it? Would breaking the glass free the man from this strange otherworldly prison that existed on the other side of the glass?

You can’t break the glass! Get away from it!

As Skold was about to turn around and continue his exploration of Chateau de la Maubvin, the man lifted an arm. Skold took an involuntary step back, suddenly afraid, a feeling he couldn’t remember ever knowing. Then the hand touched the glass and the prisoner’s ghostly features twisted into a mask of rage. He began to beat at the glass with his balled up fistl, making the glass vibrate each time.

“Don’t worry,” said Eloyse from behind him. Her reflection had appeared in the doorway behind him. “He can’t get through the glass unless Bane summons him.”

“Who is he?” Skold asked.

“He’s no one. He’s a ghost.”

He glanced at the seer, wide-eyed. “What is this?”

“The mirror is a communication device of sorts. Anymore information I dare not say. But I’m sure he would be happy to explain. Come, let’s not keep him waiting. Soon you will have all the answers you seek, Skold.” She smiled and beckoned the elf to follow.

“I buried Konstantine,” said Skold.

“Yes, I know.”

Skold scoffed. “Right, you know everything.”

“Not everything.”

“Can the necromancer bring him back?”

The seer stopped and studied him sharply. “Is that really what you want?”

In his time as commander Skold had watched hundreds, thousands of people die, a majority of them under his command. But Konstantine’s death was the first that had gotten under the wire and it stung like a knife to the heart. Had he gotten to Konstantine a few minutes earlier then perhaps Konstantine would be alive. Father castrated me so I wouldn’t be distracted by my body, so that I could become the perfect weapon, he thought. As it turns out there is no such thing.

The words settled in Skold’s throat like a heavy weight. He wanted nothing more than to swallow them but they just sat there, getting heavier and heavier. He had no choice but to say the words lest he choke on them.

“It’s my fault he’s dead,” said Skold.

“No,” said Eloyse, moving on, “it’s not. I’m sure you have a long list of sins, as we all do, but that one is not yours to carry.”

She pushed open a door and led him into a large dining room. The walls were without decoration. Hovering above the long dining room table was a metal chandelier filled with candles. Sitting at the end of the table, grinning at him, was the necromancer.

Bane.

“Skold,” he said, wiping at his face with a kerchief (before him there was a plate of what looked like chicken, a hunk of bread, grapes, and beside that, a goblet of wine). “You’re here at last.”

Skold could only stare, unsure of what to say or how to react. The first time he’d seen the necromancer it had been dark. He’d been able to make out the shape of his features: his height and broad stature, the long nose, and bushy eyebrows, and the twin suns that were his eyes. But now, up close and under better lighting, he could see that Bane was quite appealing.

He appeared to be of Scandinavian descent with bright red hair cut surprisingly short. The lower half of his face was covered in several weeks worth of growth. The sharp tips of his ears could easily be seen in the candlelight. His massive hands were placed on thick hips. Skold could see the veins stitch- marking their way through his pale flesh and knew the necromancer would be very fit. As with all adult fae it was impossible to tell how old he was at a glance. However, Skold could sense it. It encircled the necromancer like an invisible aura, a feeling not unsimilar to when Skold had first entered Chateau de la Maubvin.

Skold was in awe of him.

“Do you have nothing to say?” said Bane.

Sudden barbs of anger hooked themselves into Skold. “For the last three weeks I have traveled through freezing winds, dug myself out of caves, and been attacked by orcs. I just buried a friend. All because of you.” So focused was he on the necromancer’s face he was unaware his voice was shaking and his hands were clenched into fists. They stared at one another from across the table - Bane’s eyes like the sun and Skold’s like the moon. The seer stood off to the side, tensely watching the silent exchange flowing between the two elves.

“If I thought I had even half a chance in succeeding I’d kill you now,” said Skold. “And unless I find your explanation of why you called me here to be sufficient I just might.”

“You could try,” Bane growled. “You’d lose.”

Skold clenched his jaw defiantly but said nothing.

The necromancer heaved out a deep sigh. He glanced at Eloyse. “Why don’t you turn in for the evening, Eloyse, do whatever it is you do in your free time. I have no need of you at this moment.”

The seer opened her mouth to protest.

“Now,” said the necromancer, shooting her a look that said not to argue.

She nodded. “As you wish, your Grace.”

Skold blinked. Your Grace?

“I do not wish to fight you nor do I wish to kill you. I am not your enemy.”

“Then what are you?” Skold asked.

“An alley - a friend. I imagine you’re quite hungry. Would you like something to eat?”

Skold’s eyes flickered to the necromancer’s half eaten plate and suddenly felt ravenous, his legs weakening. He managed to pull the chair back and dump himself into it before they gave out completely.

He nodded. “Please.”

The necromancer responded by pulling a small bell from the pockets of his robes. He waved it and before the third tinkle a young woman stepped out of the door behind Skold. She was human and couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. Her hair was pulled back, her hands clasped before her. Her dark eyes stared meekly down at her feet, empty of life or emotion. Her face was deathly pale. Her dress was plain and frilless. A long scar went from one end of her neck to the other.

Skold’s eyes narrowed; a cold chill went up his spine. She’s a revenant, he thought,

“Anushka, get Skold here some soup and wine, won’t you?” Bane said with a smile.

Skold opened his mouth to protest but before he could, as if reading his mind, Bane said, “I placed a preservative spell on her. Until I relinquish the spell she is alive - at least in the most basic of ways.”

“Could you bring Konstantine back?” Skold asked before he could stop himself.

Bane’s eyebrows drew together, his mouth sagging at the corners. His hands were folded just under his chin. “I could - quite easily. But he would not be the Konstantine you knew. He would be a puppet for me to impress my will upon, to do as I please. He wouldn’t feel emotion and he wouldn’t have a soul. All that is gone.”

Skold was too emotionally exhausted to feel sorrow - or disappointment. Anushka returned with a large wood bowl of soup and a goblet of wine. Bane stopped her and whispered something but what he said Skold cared not. He grabbed the bowl and took a sip ofat the broth. It scalded his tongue. He set the bowl down, eyes watering. Skold was all too aware of the way the necromancer watched him, barely blinking, not uttering a word.

The broth was good: buttery, with various vegetables and what might have been rabbit. When Skold finished he felt full...and tired...so tired.

“I had Anushka prepare you a room,” said Bane. “You should sleep.”

“No,” Skold murmured. He stood, face flushed from the wine. “I need answers, Bane...”

The necromancer’s name felt strange on his tongue, unnatural.

Bane rose out of his chair once more. For his size he could move quite gracefully. He walked around the table, his footfalls echoing throughout the dining room. He stopped in front of Skold. Up close he towered over the younger elf.

“I will explain everything in the morning,” he said, taking Skold’s face in both of his hands.

Warm, Skold thought. His hands are so warm.

Looking up into those yellow eyes, he felt all the terrible emotion of Konstantine’s death fade away. He no longer cared about where he was or why he’d come here or what the future held.

Bane was tilting his face up, drawing closer, his grip firm but gentle. His lips touched Skold’s and Skold fell into Bane’s arms.

“Sleep, little elf,” was the last thing Skold heard him say. “Sleep.”

Skold awoke gradually, waking up long enough to study his surroundings before falling back to sleep. When he woke up for the second time he sat up and realized he was completely naked. Had the necromancer undressed him? He frowned at the vertical scar where his genitalia should have been and felt another emotion he wasn’t accustomed to: embarrassment. This, in retrospect, was interesting because he had laid with many men and never once felt embarrassed when their eyes widened at the sight of his scar, as they realized the rumors of his being a eunuch were true.

So why now? he thought. Was Konstantine’s death really such a blow?

The answer was obvious.

The room was simple with a large bed, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe. Sitting next to a neatly folded stack of clothing was a basin with water inside. A fire was crackling merrily in the hearth, keeping the chill in the room at bay.

Skold went over to the basin and splashed his face with water. Though his body still ached in places he felt much better than he had the day before. Before he’d always been able to push himself to stay awake for days out of a need to survive...when he was able to sleep it was only for a few hours at a time. But this last time going so long without sleep had taken its toll on both his body and mind. The necromancer was right, he thought. I really did need to rest.

The necromancer.

The last thing Skold remembered before waking up was...He closed his eyes and remembered the feel of Bane’s touch, the strange look in those beautiful yellow eyes, the touch of his lips, the feeling of not caring and being content, the feeling of wanting his touch and then falling into his arms. Even now there was a strange warm feeling in the middle of his stomach.

He opened his eyes and studied his reflection in the water of the basin. “What’s happening to me?” he whispered to his reflection. Of course his reflection did not answer but stared back resolutely, as if to tell him he was being utterly ridiculous.

He dressed himself. The clothes that had been laid out were simple but expensive: a white wool sweater, black leather breeches, and his boots which looked to have been scrubbed and mended while he was asleep. His sword leaned against the chest of drawers, along with his bag. Feeling oddly reminiscent he picked up the sword and unsheathed it. Even though the sword had seen many battles the blade was as sharp as the day King Yaldon had put it in his hands and named him commander. “You will carry his sword and armor,” the fae king had said, “as well as his name.”

It should have been Sonja who was commander, Skold thought. She’d always wanted it, always wanted to make Father proud but he was too busy trying to mold me into being like him to pay much attention to her. She would have been a much better commander than I. And because it was him who got to carry the sword and wear the armor she resented him for it...maybe even hated him. She never came right out and said it but he knew it was there.

So why did you take it if you didn’t want it? You could have said no.

His thoughts were interrupted by a quiet knocking at the door. He slid the sword back in its sheath and leaned it back against the chest of drawers. He cleared his throat and said, “Come in.”

It was Anushka. She stood in the doorway and beckoned silently for him to follow.

He made sure to stay several paces back. Why he was weary of her he couldn’t say. Remembering Bane’s words, she truly was like a puppet. She moved like a person forever trapped in a dream, her eyes vacant, her back slightly stooped.

Not only did Skold feel weary of her but he also felt...sad for her. Like so many of the emotions he’d felt as of late he wondered why he was feeling these things. He’d seen more dead bodies than he dare count: fae and human, men and women, and yes children. After a while you stopped looking to see if their ears ended in sharp tips because in the end it didn’t matter if they were fae or human - they all looked the same.

Still Anushka had died young and judging from the scar across her neck it had not been a pleasant death.

Bane and Eloyse were waiting for him at the dining room table; the seer sat to Bane’s right.

“Ah, good morning,” said Bane, looking Skold up and down, not bothering to hide his lust. “You look just as good in those clothes as I imagined. Do they fit?”

“Perfectly.” Skold took the seat at the end of the table. He glanced at the seer. Something about the very sight of her still chilled his blood. The fact that she’d double crossed him stung. In turn, she did not look at him, but stared fixedly at the table as if in lost in thought.

“Would you like some breakfast?” Bane asked.

“I’d like some answers,” Skold said more sharply than he intended. “I think you’ve kept me waiting long enough.”

Bane’s smile faded. “Very well. What do you want to know?”

Skold hesitated. He had so many questions he didn’t even know where to start. “Start at the beginning: the scouts up on the hill. Those were King Yaldon’s men. Did you kill them?”

“Yes,” the necromancer said without blinking, without hesitation.

“Why?”

“To grab your attention - and because I hate King Yaldon.”

“So you’re his enemy? You’re working against him? Are you in league with King Yaldon?”

Bane laughed. His laughter, like his voice, was deep and gravelly. “No, Skold. I serve neither of them..”

Skold went to ask him to explain but stopped himself; it would be best to stay on topic. “Did you kill those scouts out of cold blood or did they try to oppose you?”

A glint filled those golden eyes. “I killed them for the fun of it...and because I suspected you’d come looking for it. That necklace...I left it there just for you.”

“You also attacked my friends and I,” said Skold. “My sister was in my company. She could’ve been killed.”

“But she wasn’t. I was testing you...testing your capabilities. I never intended to kill you. Why do you think Eloyse came when she did? I sent her.”

Skold flicked another cold glance back in Eloyse’s direction before returning his attention to the necromancer. “What do you want from me? Why have you been following me around?”

“Actually, I’ve been searching for you for a long time,” said Bane. He glanced at the seer. “We both have.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated,” said Eloyse, speaking for the first time since Skold had sat down. “But I will explain. Years ago, before the start of this terrible war, I had a vision...of you Skold. And of Bane.”

“What was this vision?” asked Skold.

“You were standing on top of a mountain,” said the seer after clearing her throat. “You had your father’s sword in hand and you were wearing his armor. Bane was standing behind you. Before you was Paladin’s castle and below you was the corpses of all who had been slaughtered and conquered. Perhaps it would be best if I show you.”

“I don’t believe in prophecies,” said Skold.

“As I told you back at Penthorpe Keep prophecies are rarely set in stone. The visions I have often change because of the decisions one makes. It’s very trying to pin something down when everything is constantly changing. But it is important that you see it, Skold. The outcome of the war and the fate of this world depends on it - because if what I’ve seen doesn’t come to pass then there will be nothing left of the human race...or the fae. The world will be but an empty shell.”

“And so you want to stop Paladin?” Skold asked, his eyes dancing from the seer to the necromancer and back.

“Aye,” said Bane. More bitterly he added, “Though I do not share Yaldon’s sentiment of aligning with the humans I feel Paladin needs to be stopped...even if I do respect his ambition.”

“So you think the humans should be wiped out?” Skold asked.

“This world belonged to us long before they came to be. Why should we share it?” said Bane. “But the Black Death doesn’t care about human or fae. It doesn’t pick sides, it just kills. If that means we have to save the human race in the process of saving fae then so be it.”

Skold nodded. “Alright, seer, show me your prophecy.”

She held out her hand.

He hesitated and took it. A bright flash of light filled the dining room and Chateau de la Maubvin was gone.

From where he stood on top of the mountain he could see the vast harsh icy landscape in every direction. In the distance was the ruins of a desecrated village: straw-roofed huts were engulfed by vicious blazes that sent spirals of smoke towards the sky, carrying with it the scent of blood, burning flesh and death. Most of the dead were plague victims, their skin black like leather.

Off to the left was a tall castle. Paladin’s castle.

In his hand he held his father’s sword. Even with his armor on the wind seemed to pass right through him, slicing at his flesh like a thousand sharp knives. His skin was numb. (Though somewhere in the back of his mind Skold knew this to be a dream it felt painfully real).

“Raise them,” the necromancer said from behind him. Though Skold had turned to face him he could not see Bane...but he would recognize the voice from anywhere. “Raise them and end it. You have the power now for I taught it to you.”

Skold faced the ruined village once more and raised his hands into the air, eyes closed. He began to chant and before him the dead began to rise…

There was a falling sensation and suddenly he was sitting back in his chair. He hunkered over, gripping the edge of the table. He sat back hard enough to almost tip the chair over on its back and gulped in breath. He felt like a man who had been drowning and just broke the surface of the ocean.

“It can’t be,” he said when he could speak.

“It could be,” said Bane, standing up. He looked at Skold, his eyes blazing. “I could teach you. You could be my apprentice.”

“But...death magic...it’s a crime,” said Skold. “It’s the greatest crime one could commit.”

“Yes but it could also be a chance to be something more,” said Bane. “Once my kind ruled the world before we were on the brink of being wiped out. With such power as to raise the dead and control them to fulfill our whims everyone feared us. Now there are but a few and they’re all too scared to come out of hiding. But I’m not scared. I refuse to hide any longer. Skold, I can’t bring back the Konstantine you knew but I can give you the power to avenge his death...and together we can make Paladin pay for every single death he has caused.”

“What about my own sins?” Skold asked, his voice shaking with emotion. “What about my own sins? My sword has enough blood on it to damn my soul to the underworld. I have been unimaginably cruel to others, killing without question. I have killed innocents.”

“Then do this and absolve yourself of your guilt,” said Eloyse.

Skold nodded and looked the necromancer in the eye. “I’ll do it, make me your apprentice. Teach me.”