Page 28 of Luthias

Luthias closed his eyes briefly as the sound of Emery’s light footsteps retreated quickly down the hall. He would not chase her down. He would not carry her off to his chamber. He was a man, not a beardless lad. But why had he seen her binding another man’s wound?

“You look ready to pound something,” the war master said as he came into the chamber, taking care not to touch anything. “Shall I fetch Camdyn, or meet you in the sparring circle myself?”

“’Twill pass.” He looked into Taveon’s dark, solemn eyes and saw something other than amusement. “What now?”

“’Tis something the patrol found in the eastern slopes,” he said, his voice dropping with deep disgust. “The last rains washed away a swath of earth, and uncovered an old cave. Inside the thing...I dinnae ken what to name what I saw. Come with me, for I reckon you need see what and how ’twas done.”

They rode out together from the stronghold, leaving their horses tethered at the base of the slope before climbing over the uneven, rock strewn slide to reach the site. On a ledge above, two guards from the patrol stood watch, their faces grim.

Luthias found solid footing before he brushed the dirt from his hands and surveyed the newly exposed face of the slope. The area had once been pocked by caves used long ago by herders hunting for strays. Since that time the clan had created less hazardous pastured areas with stone walls to prevent the animals from wandering. No one came here anymore.

“’Twas once used as a shelter, mayhap,” Taveon said as he pulled aside a swath of newly-exposed roots to reveal the small, dark recess behind them. “We thought the caves all collapsed after the quakes and slides during the Famine Winter. Even to reach the place, one almost need be half-goat. Ah, fack, the stench, ’tis near worse than the sight.”

Seeing his usually fearless war master going pale made Luthias peer into the darkness. For a moment he thought he beheld pedestals that had been built inside the cave, and then he recognized them as tall piles of animal bones that had been stacked neatly, some reaching from floor to ceiling. The wind brought the stink of rotted meat and the privy to his nose. Feeling the bright sunlight on his back as he beheld the work done inside the cave made his gut clench, but he took a step closer to be sure.

“By the Gods,” he murmured. One stack had been formed from only deer leg bones; another had been woven from their spines. At each joint a spike had been driven through to the one beneath it. “They’ve been cobbled together.”

“Aye, and corded with twine to keep their infernal shape. As ’twas the damned thing at the back.” The war master ducked his head and entered the cave, taking hold of something in the shadows and dragging it into view.

The sight of the cage, which had been built entirely of blackened, sharpened antlers, sickened Luthias. All of the points had been turned inward so that whatever had been placed in the cage would be pierced at every turn, but the shape of the construct resembled something even more gruesome. Criminals sentenced to die in iron cages of the same design would be stuffed inside and left hung at crossroads.

A momentary flash of a pale, thin hand reaching out through a gap in the antlers made Luthias feel even sicker.

“’Tis a gibbeting cage.” He eyed the smooth, knotted strips of leather holding the antlers together and wondered what murderous insanity had guided the builder. “Here, on our land?”

“Aye, and ’twas likely used to hold something large.” Taveon used his dagger to scrape the blackness from one of the antler points, revealing the horn underneath. “Every inch, ’twas soaked in blood I reckon. Mayhap ’tis from the time of the Romans. They hunted the druids in the highlands for half a century.”

“Blood doesnae last so long, no’ even sheltered in a cave. ’Twould have been long ago scoured away by weather and insects. ’Twas recently done.” Luthias drew back from the cave and looked around the site. “Search the slopes around this place for tracks. I want this madman found and brought to me.”

Had the hand he’d seen belonged to Mery? Would she be taken by this fack? Try as he might, he could not summon the image again.

“’Tis that I wonder. The bones, they’re from beasts, but ’tis no’ all we found.” The war master reached into a belt pouch and produced a length of ragged, stained linen that looked as if it had been partly gnawed through in the middle. “’Twas caught inside the cage.”

Luthias frowned. “Binding for the legs?”

“I reckon no’, my lord.” Taveon extended each end and brought it up to his face. “I reckon ’twas used as a gag.”

Chapter Eight

Although Emery had almost nothing to do, the same could not be said of the MacRoss and their vassals. It depressed her a little to discover how quickly the great hall emptied after the morning meal as everyone went off to do their work. She’d only caught a glimpse of the laird as he and Taveon rode off yesterday, and this morning Luthias had left before she’d come down.

The sages were still busy cleaning up the mess caused by Elder Sgur’s hair growth elixir disaster, and Duine had asked her not to visit their hall for a few days to keep the old sage from being tempted to experiment on her. Camdyn had left to obtain some special tools he’d ordered from a craftsman in a neighboring valley, and due to the day-long ride had spent the night there, so the forge stood empty. Darach devoted his mornings lately drilling the men out in the lists, but when she’d suggested she might watch them practice he’d just chuckled.

“Taveon claimed you couldnae bear to watch the laird beat Camdyn with his fists,” the chieftain told her. “The sparring matches, they’re far bloodier.”

“Fine, I’ll stay out of the lists,” she grumbled. “But I need something to do. I can’t sit around all day watching everyone else work.” As he looked out toward the gardens she shook her head. “Can’t. I accidentally pulled up a bunch of feverfew yesterday, so I’ve been banned from working in the gardens.” She sighed. “It just looked like a bunch of weeds. Who knew it was medieval aspirin?”

“Go and ask Cook if she’s some work for you.” As Emery scowled Darach wagged a finger at her. “Take a vow of silence first. Your tongue needs rest.”

Squaring her shoulders and putting on the most cheerful expression she could muster, Emery went into the kitchens, where everyone seemed to be mixing dough, covering bowls or carrying big rounds of dough out on huge wooden paddles to the stone ovens outdoors.

“Fair morning, Mistress,” she said as she sidled up to the cook and peered for a moment at the multi-grain dough she was kneading. “May I help out in the kitchens today? I won’t talk to anyone, I promise. I’ll just mix or bake something. Anything you want. Put me to work.”

“If you’ve naught to do, my lady, then you may grind,” the older woman said as she turned from the work table and handed off a platter of unbaked bannocks to a waiting scullery. “We’re in need of more flour and the miller shallnae send ours until the morrow. You may pick out grit to your heart’s delight.”

“Right.” She eyed the quern and the huge, heavy rolling-pin shaped stone used to reduce dried grain to powder. Just looking at it made her arms feel tired. “You know, oat flour always makes me sneeze. It’s worse than pollen. Have I mentioned that I have very weak wrists?”

“I imagine they’re puny compared to your tongue.” Cook tried to look haughty and disapproving, but her lips twitched. “You’re as fidgety as a cricket, lass. Why dinnae you go to your chamber and embroider with silks like a fine lady? ’Twill calm you.”