Mad Lord Lucian (7 page)

The children of the island spent a lot of time playing on the shore, exploring the multitude of natural caves and enclosures formed by the rocks. Senda hoped he could escape detection long enough to begin searching the other side. A few of the Lords had estates close to shore. It was possible they had some kind of craft that could make it across the Sea of Solace. Senda heard shouting in the distance and clambered over the rocks, ignoring the pain in his feet. He found an opening and climbed inside, moving as far to the back as he could. The voices never got closer. They soon disappeared among the sound of the waves.

As darkness fell, the temperature dropped. Senda's clothing had gotten wet and he shivered uncontrollably in his dank, dark hole. His stomach rumbled.
Time to leave
.

He crept carefully from his cave, terrified he would find Anali waiting for him. There was no one nearby. Senda felt safer under cover of darkness than he had running from the soldiers in broad daylight.

He could see the amber glow of the fires burning all over the island. The faint shouts of anger and shrill screams of terror drifted on the night air. Senda kept to the shoreline, unwilling to move any closer to the horror that was descending on the town.
I wish I had a weapon of some kind
.

His feet protested every step, but he forced himself to keep going, to get to a boat and row to safety. The thought of there not being a way off the island except to swim was too much for Senda to bear.

A large boulder pile forced him to move inland. If he was twenty years younger and had shoes, he might try to climb over the rocks, but his tender feet and aching bones screamed for an easier route. He passed near the outer wall of a Lord's manse. When his stomach gave a rumble, Senda decided to brave encountering the soldiers to find some food and maybe even some shoes.

The smell of smoke lay thick and heavy in the air. Senda coughed, trying to quiet the noise against his sleeve. The manse still stood, though it looked to have sustained some damage. He gingerly stepped into the courtyard, testing the temperature of the ground, hoping the stones were not hot.

The home was empty as a tomb. Senda sent up a prayer to the good Spirits and moved quickly to the kitchens. The larder was full and had not been touched by the fire. Senda grabbed some bread, cheese, and beef, throwing together a quick sandwich. He ate so fast he nearly choked. A swig of ale washed it all down.

Senda made his way through the house in search of some clean clothes and shoes. His footsteps echoed in the empty house. He was afraid the noise would draw a soldier to investigate, or worse, a hungry spirit, eager to taste his living essence. He threw open a door to a room belonging to one of the servants. Once he had changed and pulled a pair of boots on his aching feet, he felt almost human again. As he made his way to the front door, he paused.
I need a
weapon
. He ran back to the kitchens and grabbed a large butcher knife off the counter. The weight of the weapon in his hand made him feel better, braver somehow.

The street outside was still empty, although he could hear people running and shouting nearby. Senda didn't know if they were friend or foe, so he assumed the worst and stayed hidden from view, darting in and out of the shadows, heading to the opposite end of the island.

Senda stopped dead in his tracks. Apparitions floated down the street. He stayed where he was, terrified of alerting them to his presence.

A man stumbled into view, a large knapsack over one shoulder pulling him off balance. He spotted the ghosts and tried to run. But the sack was too heavy. Senda silently prodded the man to drop it and
run
!

He seemed to hear Senda's cry and let go of his burden, but it was too late. The spirits of the dead flew at the man at breakneck speed, surrounding him in a matter of seconds. His shrill scream pierced Senda to the bone, hurting his ears.

In seconds, the spirits had reduced the man to nothing but skin and bones. They shoved his now lifeless body to the ground and continued their patrol.

Senda stayed where he was, too scared to move. He glanced around, looking for any more spirits while he moved slowly through the shadows. His eyes were never still, probing the intersections, alleys, buildings, and shadows. Senda knew he had to not only watch for specters, but for the living as well. A soldier could end his escape just as easily as a ghost.

He passed several more grisly scenes of the spirits of the dead sucking the life from the living. Senda kept his head down and his eyes peeled for danger. His instinct to survive outweighed the urge to help his fellow man.
What can I do to help?

The tang of salt water on the air alerted Senda to the coast. He sent up one final prayer for a boat or canoe, or even a raft that he could use to escape the island. It was blessedly quiet, lulling Senda into a false sense of security. He boldly walked toward the coast and stopped dead in his tracks when the cackle sounded from directly behind him.

TEN

“I KNEW YOU WOULD END UP HERE.”

Senda turned to face the one man he feared most. “Where is Lucian?”

“He is in the castle. And there his spirit will stay for all eternity.”

“He is dead, then?”

“Oh, most surely. You see, one does not often long survive my…ahem…
ministrations
.” The Mystic laughed.

Senda looked at the man, hope leaving him with each passing moment. “Why? Why did you come?”

“You asked for someone who could cure your Lord. I merely answered the call.”

“That's not what I mean,” Senda snapped. “Why did you turn Lucian against his own people? Why kill them?”

“Because I
can
!” The Mystic stepped from the shadows and he raised his hands to lower his hood.

Senda gasped at the changes that had occurred in the Mystic. His face was drawn and pale, looking much like the faces of the spirits that now inhabited Lucian's island. Anali had sprouted long fingernails, giving his hands the look of a predatory bird with its talons outstretched.

“And now, it's time. I must be off soon, and I can't leave anyone living behind.”

Anali raised his hands. Senda took his hand from behind his back where he had carefully kept the knife hidden. Just as Anali was
about to say the word of power, Senda flung his hand forward, releasing the blade.

The blade sunk to the hilt in the Mystic's chest. Senda dove to the side as a fireball flew past. He jumped to his feet. Anali stood in shock, gingerly touching the hilt of the knife. Blood dripped from his mouth as he hit his knees. His mouth worked, but no sound came out.

Senda jumped as he felt rather than heard the unearthly screeching of the spirits moving toward him. Every time they opened their mouths, his skin crawled and pebbled in goose flesh. They swarmed over the Mystic. Anali screamed, blood gushing from his mouth. To Senda's horror, one of the spirits entered into Anali's open mouth. The Mystic's eyes bulged as he tried to draw breath.

As Anali lay dying, Senda ran for the coast, panic nearly overwhelming any coherent thought. The twin moons lit his way, bathing the beaches in silvery light. There were several houses along this stretch of beach.
Please, dear Spirits, let there be a boat!

After moments of frantic searching, Senda spotted what he was looking for. A small rowboat was tied to the post of a rickety dock. He jumped in, nearly capsizing it in his haste. Just as he reached for the rope, he spotted several spirits barreling toward him. He fumbled with the knot that kept him from escaping.

Pull it over the post!

Senda did not question this strange voice. He did exactly as he was told. He yanked the rope over the post and shoved off just as the dead reached the dock. They screamed their rage and anger, hands raking the air in frustration.

Senda grabbed the oars and began to row in earnest, wishing to put as much distance between himself and the cursed island before his strength ran out. He watched the ghosts mill about the edge of the dock and the beaches, unwilling—or unable—to pass over the water to reach him.

He rowed until the sun came up. His arms cramped and trembled with each push and pull. For the thousandth time, he wished he had brought along some food and water. His tongue felt like a piece of old shoe leather.

Exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he toppled backward, unable to continue rowing. His eyes closed and fell into a deep, restless sleep.

EPILOGUE

SENDA MADE HIS WAY through the busy streets of Vis Rellisa, cursing himself for losing track of time. Lord Faesal had requested his presence at dinner. It would not do to anger his new Lord after only a few weeks in his employ.

He burst through the kitchen door and winced as the chamberlain glared and shook his head. “You're late.”

“I lost track of time.”

“I suggest you change for dinner. There are more people present than Faesal expected.”

Senda blanched. He had been dreading this moment for a week. He knew it would come sooner or later; he had hoped for later.

“Come. They are waiting.”

Senda followed the man, trying to think of what he would say to Faesal's and the others. They reached the main audience chamber much too soon. His heart thumped and his mouth went dry.

“Ah, here is the lone survivor himself. Come, these men and women need to hear your tale.” Faesal beckoned Senda forward, his face kind and warm.

Lucian used to look on me that way
. Senda chose to remember the man he served in that light, rather than the twisted and suspicious man he had been at the end.

“All but one of the men we sent to that island have yet to return. We want to hear in your own words what happened there.” One of
the Lords in attendance met Senda's eyes, worry creasing his forehead. “The poor soul was found lying on the beach near Neera, talking about seeing the spirits of the dead, including the ghost of Lucian himself!” He looked at Senda expectantly.

Senda took a deep breath, steeling himself to tell the true story of the Mad Lord Lucian.

THE END

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