The Wolf of Harrow Hall (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms Book 7) Read online

  “I always do,” I said stoutly, then turned from him so I might take the path that led northward out of the village.

  To Lord Greymount.

  * * *

  At first, the going was easy enough. True, the air around me was still and cold, biting against the exposed skin of my face, but I was used to winter’s chill. At least there was no wind to speak of, nothing I would have to fight against as I made my way through the forest. And yes, perhaps there was the risk of encountering a wild animal, but my grandfather had taught me they were often more afraid of us than we were of them, and if I walked calmly with a strong, sure step, more often than not any animals I encountered would avoid me and go in search of easier prey.

  Besides, ever since Grandfather died, I had worn a long knife on my belt as I went about my business in the forest. That knife served many useful purposes, not the least of which was deterring predators, whether or not they went on four legs or two. Yes, the village was safe enough, as were the lands that surrounded it, but I often had to range far in my searches for dye-stuffs, and I had heard rumors that sometimes desperate men would hide within the woods, outlaws seeking to escape the justice of the Mark’s guard.

  Those rumors had remained just that, for I had never seen anything more frightening than a bear on those foraging missions. It was hard to say who was more startled in that one instance, the bear or I. We had stared at one another for a long moment, and then he turned and ambled away, and a minute or so after that, I remembered to breathe.

  So I felt safe enough as I made my way steadily northward. Perhaps it had been foolish to set out with no food or water, but three leagues was really not as far as Amery wished to make it sound. Walking briskly, I should reach Lord Greymount’s castle within three hours. Surely they would offer enough hospitality that I would be given water and perhaps a small bite to eat, oatcakes or somesuch.

  No, a castle would most likely have something far grander to offer than oatcakes. My imagination rather failed me at that point, for of course I had never seen the inside of a castle, or the outside, for that matter. When Lord Greymount’s men came to collect the taxes, or to inspect the woodlands, they did present rather a fine appearance in their doublets of deep blue with the silver wolf’s head emblazoned on the breast, and their steel greaves and helmets shining in the sun. But they never stayed, not even to take some porter at Hamm’s inn, before returning to their lordship’s castle.

  Their lordship. What would he be like, our lord of Harrow Hall? I had heard only the barest details of his person, for even the gossips in the village did not have much information to relate. He was not all that old, being some thirty and three years. The title and the castle had gone to him nearly two decades ago, when the former Lord Greymount passed from a fever and left his young son to carry on without him. Ever since Phelan Greymount inherited the lands that had been his father’s, we expected to hear that he had taken a noble bride from the court in Tarenmar, so he might carry on the family line, but it seemed his lordship was not disposed to marry, for he was yet without a wife.

  Since no one in the village had ever seen him, and because of his apparent reluctance to enter into matrimony, some ugly rumors had swirled about — that he was deformed in some way, that he was so ugly not even his title was enough to make him appealing. I had always brushed those rumors aside, thinking such sentiments spoke more of the ones who traded them than the person they were actually discussing, but now, as I trudged along the muddy path, I could not help wondering if there might be some truth to those rumors.

  In that case, his lordship might be very angry at my intrusion.

  I swallowed, and told myself not to be so silly. It was far more likely that Lord Greymount was a haughty sort who did not wish to waste his time on commoners such as myself or the rest of the inhabitants of Kerolton. For all we knew, he had a large retinue of courtiers from Tarenmar who feasted nightly in his castle, although one would have thought we’d have heard something of such revels, if they occurred. At the very least, we should have encountered them as they hunted in the woods of Sarisfell, but no such parties were ever seen.

  A flake of snow drifted down to the earth before me, and then another. They were soft and feathery, and so fat they looked fluffy enough to stuff a pillow — if they had been made of down and not ice.

  Damn. I paused for a moment and squinted up at the sky, which looked far nearer than it had when I’d taken my leave of Amery and set out on this path. More and more flakes began to descend, leaving white flecks on my gaudy cloak and already beginning to dust the bare mud of the path with sugar-frosting traceries.

  Well, there was no help for it. I had been walking long enough that I guessed I was closer to Lord Greymount’s castle than I was to the village. Turning back was not an option. The best I could do was increase my pace before the snow grew too deep.

  Walking faster did help to warm me somewhat, for along with the snow came a thin, biting wind, one that did its very best to penetrate the folds of my cloak and pierce through the bodice and skirt of homespun I wore beneath it. My boots were thick and sturdy, dearly bought this past summer when my old ones gave out completely. Even so, I could still feel the wet and the cold seeping up through their soles and the knitted woolen stockings I had on.

  I ignored the discomfort as best I could and kept walking. This certainly wouldn’t be the first time I’d gotten wet through from an untimely snowstorm. And though my grandmother had tutted over me on those previous occasions and made me sit by the fire so I might dry out, I had never once caught a cold or an ague from being so thoroughly soaked. She might have commented on my unusual good health, except that it did save her from days or even weeks of worrying. One did not question such luck, but only accepted it as a gift from the gods. Even so, she must be fretting now, knowing that I had been caught out in the snow. I did not know whether to wish that Evven had delivered his message on time or not. I feared my grandmother would worry even more if she knew I was on my way to Harrow Hall, rather than merely trying to make my way home through familiar woods.

  And this storm — it swirled thicker and thicker, obscuring the path before me. True, that narrow opening through the trees helped to guide me even after the muddy route was more or less obscured by falling snow. If I kept to that opening, one which enterprising souls had cleared long before I was born, then I should remain on course.

  But then the trees began to thin, and I came out into open country, a region that seemed to be comprised of blowing snow and nothing else. Of course, I knew that was not true, that in fine weather these were probably handsome, rolling hills, but in that moment, I could feel only despair, for I had no true notion of where I should head next.

  I stopped where I was, shivering, holding the opening of my cloak closed as tightly as I could to prevent the rising wind from penetrating right through my garments. Much good that did, for the cold seeping up through the soles of my feet was quite bad enough on its own. My hood slipped down, and the wind pulled at my hair, freeing it from the plait I wore down my back. I blinked when the loose strands whipped about, stinging my eyes.

  As I stared into the blinding white, I thought I saw a brief flash of light somewhere ahead, and the dark, looming shape of a building before the snow closed in once more.

  That had to be Lord Greymount’s castle. I couldn’t allow myself to consider any other possibility. Now I had a bearing to follow, even if I couldn’t see it clearly at the moment. But I had spotted that light, and the edifice which surrounded it. I couldn’t allow myself to believe otherwise, didn’t not want to think that I might be chasing only an elusive will o’ the wisp.

  My footsteps dragged as the snow thickened, but I made myself move forward, all my will focused on the light I had seen. It had to be there. It had to.

  Strangely, the wind seemed to not be quite as chill, its roar somehow muted in my ears. Was the storm lessening? No, the snow appeared to blow around me quite as wildly as it ever had. I could not al
low myself to pause and puzzle through the conundrum, however. I had to keep walking, to keep thinking of the shadowy building I had seen for that one brief moment.

  No, it really was quite warm. How lovely to be so comfortable, even with the snow falling all around, slowing my footsteps.

  I blinked, and reason seemed to assert itself.

  No, you are not warm, my mind told me, assuming my grandmother’s brisk, sensible tones. You are freezing, and you will die out here if you do not reach that castle.

  A small whimper escaped my lips. I wanted to be warm. I didn’t want to keep walking. Had I ever been this weary before? I couldn’t seem to recall. My thoughts were sluggish, slow and torpid as my very footsteps.

  My legs gave way, and I stumbled to my knees in the snow, soaking my skirts. But that was better, wasn’t it? Anything was better than that interminable walking. Perhaps if I merely lay down for a little while….

  No. I had no idea whether I even uttered the word aloud. Something in me was fighting that insidious warmth, forcing me back to my feet. I stumbled forward a few paces, eyes slitted against the driving snow, the ever-increasing wind. In that moment, I had no clear idea where I was even going, only that I must keep moving, keep putting one foot in front of the other.

  My outstretched hands collided with something solid and dark. I blinked, and realized that the obstacle in front of me was a great wooden gate, surrounded by stone walls on either side.

  Another whimper, this one of shocked relief, escaped my lips. Somehow, against all odds, I had managed to find Lord Greymount’s castle.

  A dark iron ring hung from the gate. I reached up and grasped the ring with fingers numb even though they were encased in woolen mittens, then let it fall against the weather-scarred wood with a dull thud.

  No response. Perhaps they had not heard the sound through the howling of the wind. I took hold of the ring and banged it against the gate, over and over, until my strength failed and I sank once more to my knees. I could no longer feel the cold or the wet. No, the snow bank that had piled up against the gates of the keep was soft and welcoming, so much more comfortable than my hard, narrow bed back home. I was so very tired. Only a little sleep….

  I shut my eyes, and let the darkness claim me.

  Chapter 2

  Pain lanced through my fingers and toes, sharp, insistent. I sucked in my breath with a gasp and began to sit up, only to feel a heavy hand against my shoulder, pressing me back down onto a mound of soft pillows. In that moment, I realized I lay in a real bed, not the snow bank where I had collapsed…when? My memories of what exactly had happened were as hazy and indistinct as the snowy landscape outside the window, which had begun to darken with the coming of night.

  I blinked, letting the chamber where I lay come into focus around me. The room appeared to be quite large, almost as large as the cottage I shared with my grandmother. A huge hearth of carved stone took up half of one wall, but I couldn’t see much more detail than that because of the bed’s hangings, which were a faded blue velvet. At least, I assumed they were velvet. I had never actually seen velvet before, had only read about it in books, and had always considered it nearly as mythical as a dragon or a griffin.

  Sitting in a chair next to my bed was an old man, his white hair drawn into a severe tail that fell halfway down his back. I assumed he was the one who had pushed me down against the pillows, for despite his obvious years, he sat as straight as someone half his age, and his shoulders were still broad beneath the dark doublet he wore.

  “Where — ” I began, then stopped, for the word had come out as barely a croak.

  Without replying, he held out a cup of carved bone. It must have contained something warm inside, for I could see wisps of steam curling away from the liquid within and up into the air.

  I took the cup from the stranger, glad of its heat against my still aching fingers. Something prevented me from taking a drink, however. In that moment, I realized my sodden cloak and skirt and bodice had been removed, although it seemed I still wore the chemise I’d had on underneath those garments. Even though it seemed that some of my modesty had been preserved, I couldn’t help blushing at the thought that this stranger — or perhaps some other of the servants here — had undressed me while I lay near dead from exposure.

  So I slanted the man a look from beneath my eyelashes and paused, the cup cradled in both hands.

  “It is only warm broth, child,” he said. If he’d noticed the way the hot color had flooded my cheeks, he gave no sign of it. “Drink it. You need to restore your strength.”

  He sounded impatient with me. I noted a certain clarity to his pronunciation, a crispness to the way he formed his words. Not from here, I thought. Perhaps from Tarenmar, although that was mere speculation on my part, since I had never actually spoken with anyone from the capital city and no idea what their accents might sound like.

  I lifted the cup to my lips and drank the broth. It was good, hearty and rich, not overly salty. Another sip, and another. After that, I could feel some energy returning to my limbs, could feel the ache at the back of my throat begin to ease itself.

  “Where am I?”

  He gave me a smile that showed teeth which were far better than I would have expected in someone his age. “You are in Harrow Hall. Was that not your destination? I fear there is not much else to be found in this part of the world.”

  “It was my destination,” I replied. So they had taken me in. And there I had thought that no one had heard my frenzied pounding on the gates.

  “And you are?”

  “My name is Bettany Sendris. I come from Kerolton.”

  “Ah.” He glanced away from me toward the hearth, but the logs within seemed to be burning briskly, in no need of assistance. “And what is your business here, Bettany Sendris of Kerolton?”

  That was the real question, wasn’t it? For some reason, I found myself reluctant to confess my poverty to this elegant old man. The terrible moment must come at some point, but I would rather conduct that particular business with the lord of the manor himself, and no one else. “May I ask your own name, sir?”

  Another smile. “I am Lorn Merryk, his lordship’s steward. I must surmise that it was grim business indeed that brought you out into such a storm.”

  “It was not snowing when I left Kerolton.” A feeble reply, perhaps, but I did not want this dignified-looking man to think that I had intentionally set out in such weather. Only a very great fool would have taken such a risk.

  “This storm did seem to grow in strength very quickly. Our apologies for not coming to your rescue sooner — that ring on the gate does tend to bang about a good bit when the wind picks up, and it was not until one of the guards realized it was being struck with some regularity that he came out to investigate. We do not get very many visitors here, you see.”

  So much for my theory about Lord Greymount regularly entertaining grand guests from Tarenmar. “Do thank that guard for me, Master Merryk,” I said.

  “I will.” He paused for a moment, keen dark eyes seeming to take in every detail of my appearance. The gods only knew what a wreck I must have looked, although I told myself it was foolish to care about such things when I had been on the very brink of death. “But I fear you have not answered my question, Mistress Sendris. Certainly you were not invited here, which leads me to believe that your errand was important enough to overlook such a lack.”

  It was my turn to hesitate. My fingers tightened around the cup I held. To stall for time, I drained its contents, then extended my hand so Lorn Merryk could take it from me.

  Which he did without comment, before rising from his chair so he could go and set the empty cup on a small table a few feet away from the bed. Standing, he appeared a great deal taller than I had imagined, and far more intimidating. He still wore a pleasant enough expression, but something in the set of his mouth told me he would not be all that patient if I continued to evade his questions.

  I cleared my throat, then said, “I
fear my reason for being here is something intended for Lord Greymount’s ears only.”

  Master Merryk’s brows drew together, and I thought I saw a spark of anger in his dark eyes. “His lordship does not grant audiences.”

  “Ever?” I asked, before I could prevent the word from escaping my lips. So were the rumors true? Was the lord of Harrow Hall so terribly deformed that he would see no one except his own servitors?

  “Rarely,” the steward allowed. “Certainly not to young women who show up uninvited on his doorstep.”

  “But — ” Whatever happened, I would not beg. I was the interloper here, yes, but that was not reason enough for me to abandon my dignity. These days, it was the only thing I could say was truly mine. “I know I am asking a great deal, Master Merryk. But my reason for being here is of a personal nature, and so I feel that I can only speak of that reason to his lordship…and no one else.”

  Those words earned me another frown. Then Lorn Merryk let out something of a sigh, barely more than a very slight exhalation. “Very well, Mistress Sendris. You will need some time to recover before you are strong enough to get out of that bed. Rest this night, and perhaps after you have had a good night’s sleep, you will reconsider your position.”

  I knew that a single night of slumber would not cause me to change my mind, but I also did not wish to argue further. Besides, I could tell that even our brief exchange had begun to tire me. My eyelids seemed weighted with weariness; it was with some difficulty that I continued to keep them open. Even so, I managed to push myself up a little higher against the pillows, so I might get a better look outside. A wasted effort, for a deep purple dusk had descended upon the landscape, which was obscured further by blowing snow.

  “I fear the storm is truly upon us,” Master Merryk said. “Neither you nor anyone else will be going anywhere tonight — or tomorrow, either, if my guess is correct. So sleep, Mistress Sendris, and we will decide what to do with you once morning has come again.”