Mad Lord Lucian (6 page)

Senda had seen enough. He walked back to Mandor's and spent the rest of the afternoon in his room, lying on his back on his pallet, trying to think of some way to stop the Mystic from killing everyone on the island.

EIGHT

SEVERAL DAYS PASSED without any more hangings and burnings. Senda almost believed that the evildoings were over. His life took on a familiar routine and he lost himself and forgot about Lucian and Anali.

However, many of the servants began to spread strange tales of the walking dead. They claimed to have seen Lord Suasor himself, roaming near his estate, crying out for Jaenet, cursing Lucian and Anali. Senda scoffed, convinced these were merely stories meant to keep the gossip alive.

The tales grew more and more frequent as the weeks passed. Several people had turned up missing and their deaths blamed on the ghosts of those that had been killed. Senda thought they had gotten scared and perhaps left the island. The idea of ghosts hurting the living was preposterous.

Soon, no one would go on any errands after nightfall. Mandor tried punishment, but his people refused to leave the safety of the manor after sunset. He tried to threaten them, but to no avail. Even the thought of being let go was not enough to force them to leave the castle.

The stories of the missing became too frequent for Senda to ignore. He thought the Mystic was behind the disappearances rather than some spirit. He tried to puzzle out why the man was here on the island and what he gained by healing Lucian, then turning him against his own people.

One night, he decided to go see for himself what was happening in the streets after darkness fell.
If I can prove Anali is behind these disappearances, then maybe Lucian will send the man back to the swamps
. The streets were eerily silent. There were no people heading for a tavern, or servants about their duties, or couples out for a stroll. Not even the feral dogs and cats roamed the neighborhoods.

Senda decided to walk to Suasor's manor to see if he could spot the spirit of the dead man. As he approached, his skin prickled and his hair stood on end. He stopped, afraid to move any closer.
Oh, stop it! Are you a man or a child?

The home was bathed in shadows. Not even the twin moons cast enough light to keep the darkness at bay.

As Senda turned to leave, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He spun and screamed when he caught sight of something pale white dancing across the ground. He tried to run but was rooted to the spot, his muscles unable to obey the command his brain was sending.

The white mist coalesced into a figure that bore a striking resemblance to Lord Suasor. The man's flesh hung from his bones, and his eyes burned vermilion fire. His mouth hung open in a silent wail of despair, and his fingers raked the flesh from his face.

Suddenly, the ghost turned, and his eyes flashed. Senda's leg flooded with warmth as his bladder let go. He watched with increasing horror and dread as the spirit of Suasor drifted closer.

It has to be some trick of Anali's!
Senda wanted to look around for any sign of the Mystic, but he was too frightened to take his eyes off Suasor. The man hovered just a few feet away. It pointed at Senda. Its mouth worked as though it was speaking, and yet no sound emerged from the spirits rotten lips. Senda could tell that the spirit was angry.
Perhaps he blames me for his death?

Senda cried out as the ghoul flew directly at him. His body grew icy cold, and he couldn't breathe. Spots danced in front of eyes. In a heartbeat, the cold was gone, and Senda hit his knees, shivering, and gasping for breath. He sat for a time, ignoring the stench of urine assailing his nostrils. He was afraid to look up, afraid he would see more spirits in the streets.

Knowing he couldn't stay there all night, Senda forced himself to his feet, swaying a little as he stood. He kept his eyes averted as he
made his way back to Mandor's home. He sneaked to his room, changed out of his soiled clothing, and tugged on a fresh cotton nightshirt. He lay on his pallet, blanket pulled to his chin, eyes darting about the room, certain the spirit of Suasor was going to fly through the wall any minute to exact his revenge.

*   *   *

The next morning, Senda awoke with a jolt, barely holding a scream in check. It took several minutes to slow his racing heart.

The dream seemed so real. He had seen the predatory spirits of the dead sucking the life out of the people of the island, tossing the empty husks of their prey into the Sea of Solace. Those that had been killed had joined the ranks of the spirits hunting the streets of Lucian's island kingdom. Senda chided himself. It wasn't like him to allow a dream to scare him so badly.
But I have seen the ghosts! The rumors are true
. He ignored this voice, dressing hurriedly. He had to start the morning chores, and he doubted a bad dream would be a good enough excuse for Dreban.

The kitchen staff was already gathered when he arrived. It didn't take long for him to realize something was wrong. The servants were crying, their aprons damp with their tears. Dreban was trying to speak to them, but they only wailed and wrung their hands.

“Have you checked her bed? The stables? The latrine?” Dreban demanded.

“We've checked everywhere. Lilla's missing, taken by the spirits of the dead!” One of the scullion maids burst into fresh tears.

Dear Spirits. The head of the kitchens is now missing
.

“Senda. Have you seen Lilla this morning?” When Senda shook his head, Dreban cursed. “Simon, you are in charge of the kitchens until further notice. I suggest we all get to work. Mandor won't want to be waiting for his breakfast.” He stormed out mumbling about the injustice of it all, that he should have to deal with having to tell Lord Mandor that his head cook was missing.

Senda went to work, his mind numb. It had been easy to ignore the reports of the missing when it wasn't anyone he knew. Lilla wouldn't have run off. If she wasn't at her station, something was dreadfully wrong.

Lord Mandor did not seem to care that Lilla was gone. As long as Dreban kept the household running smoothly, he was perfectly happy.

Weeks passed, and each night, more people disappeared from their beds or never returned from their errands, leaving their frantic families to guess what might have happened. They began to look at each other with suspicion and fear, wondering if their neighbors and friends had anything to do with the disappearances.

And yet, no one looked to the one man who was responsible. Not one of the townsfolk seemed to put Anali's arrival together with the horrible happenings on the island. Senda imagined him watching over the chaos he created, smiling in malicious glee.

Many folk started to talk about leaving the island. Senda worried what would happen if word reached Anali's ears. Surely he couldn't allow people to leave and spread tales of what was happening here. Someone was bound to question Lucian's murdering of Lord Suasor and Anali's hanging of Lord Byron's household.

Senda watched soldiers make their way through the city. The sound of their marching was deafening. People watched from doorways, windows, and balconies wondering what the commotion was all about. Their tear-filled eyes met Senda's own, and all he could do was stare back, mouth slack, head moving from side-to-side in useless denial. The soldiers pulled people into the streets, kicking and screaming, only to slit their throats and leave them to bleed to death in the dirt and filth.

Senda shrank back into the shadows of the buttery, hands over his ears, trying to shut out the screams, the sound of crunching metal on bone, the splatter of blood and gore against the walls, the wails of the injured and dying.

“I told you Lucian had appointed me as overseer, to dig out the rotten filth of his people. I told you I have ways of detecting the seeds of treachery. What happens today is on your heads.”

Senda whimpered in fear as Anali's voice washed over the entire island. The same prayer played over and over in his mind:
Dear Spirits, please help us!

But no help came. The soldiers moved across the island, dragging commoner and noble alike into the streets to kill them in cold blood. The Mystic's voice rang out, telling the people that it was their fault and that he and Lucian meant to destroy the scourge that infected the island.

After what seemed an eternity, the soldiers marched back to the castle, their shining armor covered in blood. No one wanted to be the first to step out of their homes. Children clung to their parents, or stood in doorways staring at the bodies of their parents in the street. The silence was deafening. Not one woman wailed, not one child sobbed.

Senda ventured from the buttery when he heard Dreban's voice asking everyone to return to their duties.

“How can Mandor expect us to clean and scrub? Shouldn't we be worried about the bodies?” a groom asked. To do his duties, he would be required to go outside to the stables.

“I only know what Lord Mandor ordered. Do you want him to throw you out of his home? You will be killed come nightfall by the ghosts for sure,” Dreban said.

Senda agreed with the groom, but kept his thoughts to himself. Since there wasn't any cleaning or rearranging to do in the buttery, he helped scrub the floors in the large dining hall. The mundane task left his mind free to ponder what was happening. He wouldn't have believed the tales of the spirits roaming the streets at night, except that he had seen Lord Suasor with his own eyes.

His heart broke at the full realization of what Lucian had done. He never would have thought Lucian to be so cruel as to put people to the sword for no reason.
It's not my Lord that did this deed
. Senda knew the real Lucian was dead and gone, replaced with a man with no soul.

The household staff remained quiet, their nervousness evident in the clinking of dishes as their hands trembled. Mandor seemed not to notice as he stuffed his face with dinner. He sat alone at the great table.

When Mandor was done, the servants cleared the dishes and cleaned up without their usual banter and gossip.

“Senda, I have a message for Lucian. Bring it to him at once,” Mandor ordered.

Senda tentatively reached out for the envelope, wondering why Mandor wanted him to take the message to Lucian. His duty to serve too ingrained to argue; he bowed and left to deliver the rolled parchment.

The sun had not yet sunk below the horizon. Senda decided to give the message to the first guard he saw and leave it at that. He refused to bring it to Lucian in person.
I can't face him
.

A commotion just outside the main gates gave him pause. His already shattered nerves couldn't take any more surprises. A soldier was being dragged into the castle. His screams reached Senda.

“Lucian is mad! Can you not see it? We must stand up to him, lest we all fall to the madness!”

A rush of excitement swept through Senda.
Someone else sees it too!
He knew he would never make it to the castle before they forced him inside. Senda felt sorry for the man. The guards would bring him before Lucian. And at the rate Lucian was going, the soldier would be hanged.

Moments later, a terrified scream echoed in the square. Senda looked up, and watched in horror as Lucian's guards flung the soldier to his death. He backed away from the grisly sight of the man's broken body and ran for Mandor's, dropping the letter in the street.

NINE

THE NEXT DAY, SENDA AWOKE to the sound of marching footsteps. Some stopped at the front of Mandor's manor, while the rest moved on. He quickly got dressed, wondering what foul plot was afoot. He crept down the back hallway to the kitchens. He could hear Lord Mandor arguing with the soldiers outside, calling them all sorts of foul names. Most of the staff peered from behind counters and barrels of flour and sugar.

Mandor's roar of rage made them jump and squeal in fright. Senda peered out the window. Mandor was being led away by two soldiers. The rest were making their way into the house.

“We must flee, or we will all be put to death just like Lord Byron's household!” Senda cried out to the others as he ran for the buttery.

There was a small door leading to the outside. It hadn't been used in some time and the hinges were rusty. Senda tugged with all his might and felt the door open a mere inch. The rest of the staff pushed against him, urging him to hurry.

Senda tried to shut out the sound of the soldiers moving through the house, grabbing anyone they found. The noise of the footsteps grew louder.

“Here's a bunch who think they can escape Anali's justice.” The big man sneered and wiped his mouth.

Senda's muscles ached and cords stood out on his neck as he wrestled with the door. The soldiers grabbed those closest to them and shoved them to their comrades in arms. The rest pushed against
Senda, forcing the tiny door closed with the weight of their bodies. Senda tried to shove them backward but their fear took over. All they could think of was to get as far away from the soldiers as they could, and that meant forcing themselves against Senda, which made it impossible for him to open the door.

Suddenly, the weight on Senda's back disappeared and he cried out as he yanked with all his might. The hinges opened with a loud creak. Senda threw himself through the door just as a soldier grabbed his foot. He kicked as hard as he could, smiling as he felt his foot connect with the man's face and laughing when he heard the grunt of pain.

“One of ‘em's gettin’ away!”

Senda ran for the nearest alley, panic and instinct driving his feet. He pushed over barrels and crates, hoping to slow pursuers just enough to allow him to escape. Senda bolted through people's homes, closing the doors as he passed through them. He slowly but surely made his way for the coast. As he ran, the sound of pursuit grew quieter.

He never looked back, just kept running for his life. His adrenaline began to give out as he got closer to the coast. The sound of the waves crashing on the rocky shore drowned out his heavy breathing.

Senda knew he couldn't stop to rest. He had to find a boat and get off the island quickly. He climbed over rocks and boulders, wincing as they cut into the soles of his feet. As he caught sight of the docks, his heart sank. Someone had set fire to all of the boats, leaving behind charred bits of wood.
There is no way off the island!