The God Tattoo: Untold Tales from the Twilight Reign Read online

  The count nodded encouragingly. ‘Not been there, but I know the name from my travels. They’re said to brew some good beers in those parts, the Gods only know why I never managed to visit! Nonetheless, you’re more than welcome to my home, I’d never have forgiven Derran had he denied me such rare company.’

  Alscap’s manner was so disarmingly honest and welcoming Calath found himself going against his nature and warming to the man immediately. They were the words of court flattery perhaps, but the count’s deportment could not be further from that condition. He looked a man unafraid to be exactly who he wished to be, and Calath envied him that.

  ‘Exactly as I predicted,’ declared Derran with satisfaction. He opened his mouth to speak again but noticed a sternly dressed man hovering behind Alscap, wringing his hands anxiously. The count followed Derran’s gaze and his face became stormy.

  ‘Ah yes. Derran, Marshal Calath, please excuse me. My man here has some catastrophe he needs to show me,’ said Alscap, adding in an irritated tone. ‘Quite what, he’s yet to bloody tell me, but apparently it’s disastrous enough to drag me away from my guests.’

  The count glared at his man, who wilted visibly but kept his lips firmly pursed as he shot a nervous glance at the newcomers.

  Derran stared at the servant in puzzlement, but then shrugged and his cheer returned. ‘Well we shall have to find our own way; I hope your mystery is worthwhile. If it is, come and fetch us!’

  With that he stepped aside and bowed to the pair to let them past. Calath shuffled back as much as he could, for form’s sake rather than any lack of space on the enormous porch, and received a cordial nod of acknowledgement from the count. His path clear, Alscap took up a furious pace with the servant scurrying alongside and Calath realised they were heading toward the stable-block, where three men stood with pitchforks before an open door.

  Now,’ announced Derran, dismissing the curious scene. He took his friend’s arm and began to manoeuvre him inside. ‘Let us join the others. They are on the east terrace?’ The question was directed toward the servant who had been staring out after his master. The man jerked back to the present and nodded hurriedly.

  Once inside the magnificent hallway Derran had to urge his friend on yet again as Calath hesitated to admire the room. A great staircase rose ahead, branching out both left and right and curling back to a landing above. A magnificent chandelier hung above them, while tall lacquered cabinets and a pair of stag-heads adorned the wall. The magistrate led Calath around the staircase to a passageway directly behind it.

  This took them to a serene courtyard where a pair of orange trees overlooked an ornamental pond. Alscap Hall rose on each side of this square haven, while a single path meandered through the gravel to a second door up ahead. As they entered, the sound of casual chatter met their ears and they quickly found themselves entering a crowd all dressed for either hunting or walking; most also sporting badges of rank and title.

  Calath hesitated in Derran’s wake at the open doorway, surprised at the numbers gathered. The large reception room was full, as was the terrace beyond its three open doors. Children ran through the forest of bodies, young men posed and competed in their army uniforms or the latest fashion, while ladies did likewise or admired the colours and trappings of honoured soldiers.

  A few knights wore their full colours over hunting leathers, and one scarred veteran even displayed the green-and-gold of the Kingsguard, to the admiration of all. Calath could see a formidable woman of about fifty keeping close to the veteran’s side, basking in the esteem her husband was being shown. Though the man bore several scars to the face and one eye was concealed by a patch, this did not seem to hinder the confidence with which he addressed the fluttering young lady before him.

  Derran stopped when he had advanced half a dozen steps into the room, matching the gaze of those who had turned to stare, nodding to others and staring through a handful until he saw his quarry. He turned, surprised to find Calath not at his heel, and gestured for the marshal to accompany him.

  Calath did so, discomfort accentuating the weight he put on his faithful stick, but he managed to keep his head up as he made his way onto the terrace behind the widely welcomed magistrate. It quickly became apparent their destination was a handsome family of three men and two women. Ruling the conversation was a knight in full colours whose fiercely earnest expression melted to a smile when he saw the newcomers.

  ‘Magistrate Derran, so good to see you again.’

  Derran beamed to all and pumped the outstretched hands of all three men with his usual fervour, before graciously kissing the hands of both ladies in tailored riding dresses.

  ‘Sir Pardel, may I introduce a dear friend of mine? Marshal Calath, not of Narkang as he has already corrected me today, but of Inchets.’

  Calath felt himself redden, but the smiles were friendly and he managed to join them rather than shrink back.

  ‘Marshal Calath, it is an honour to meet you,’ said Sir Pardel, bowing and then raising one hand to introduce the others. ‘My son, Adim,’ he supplied, indicating a broad youth dressed in regimental colours of white and blue. Father and son had more than a similarity between them, both men tall with deep chests and twinkling green eyes.

  ‘My younger brother, Unmen Corl.’

  Calath had reached out to grasp the hand of the unmen, but swiftly moved to kiss his onyx ring at the knight’s words. The unmen wore no other sign of his position as parish priest and had dressed as any man of property might. He was still tall, with a pale complexion and smooth hands, as well as the vague generous smile Calath had noted on the faces of many priests.

  Sir Pardel directed Calath’s attention next to his wife, a plump and rosy woman, before finally introducing his daughter Meranna. She held out a spotlessly white gloved hand for the marshal to kiss, keeping it high so he hardly needed to stoop, and bestowed a dazzling smile.

  Calath’s tongue caught for an instant, but then managed to murmur ‘My Lady,’ to which he received a nod and slight curtsey. Meranna looked up to Derran suddenly, her face coming alight.

  ‘Magistrate Derran, Marshal Calath must be the academic you spoke of over dinner a few weeks past.’

  Calath felt a sudden heat rise from under his collar, but Meranna’s face betrayed no mocking. As Derran beamed and nodded Calath realised she was simply interested to meet a man of learning; something he considered fortunate in the company of dashing young knights and soldiers.

  ‘I know Derran’s sarcasm too well to take that as any great compliment, but I do admit to being an academic,’ said Calath with as wide a smile as he could.

  ‘Nonsense, ah, sir,’ Meranna countered, belatedly remembering she addressed a titled man. ‘The magistrate was good enough to lend me some of your works; I confess to more mathematical interests myself, but what I did understand I found truly impressive. Your descriptions and analysis of the Age of Darkness were truly illuminating.’

  Calath managed not to blush, but his eyes dropped to inspect the floor of a moment. ‘One of my more respectable works. Unfortunately my recent research has been of a rather less salubrious nature and several of my peers do not seem to agree with its validity.’

  Sir Pardel gave a bark of laughter and clapped a gloved hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘He’s got her going now, Adim. Let’s see to our horses before growing something intellectual ourselves! By your leave Marshal Calath, Magistrate . . .’

  Both men nodded and Sir Pardel touched his wife on the arm, before giving Meranna an amused smile. The two soldiers and unmen marched down the steps to the garden where a gaggle of grooms loitered. One jumped up as they approached and gestured for them to following him to their horses, the three men sharing a joke that sent laughter echoing around the garden.

  ‘I’m afraid my father’s interests differ somewhat from my own,’ explained Meranna, though not in apology.

  ‘I’m sorry . . .’

  ‘No, not at all. He doesn’t mind academic talk; it’s simply
that he doesn’t understand it. He’s actually been very encouraging to my studies, for all that my uncle disapproves.’

  There was an edge to her voice then, not bitter for her expression was too proud for that, but noticeable enough to draw a reproachful glance from her mother. Before the conversation could continue though, Alscap’s servant appeared at the back of the room to announce in a loud and clear voice that the hunt was about to commence. Those who were riding, mainly men but one or two young ladies among them, went with calls of wager down onto the lawns and followed the grooms away.

  Calath didn’t move, letting the flow of people stream past to either claim their horse or find a good vantage of the fields to the rear. Clearly the hunt was going to start off in the woods to the right, with the intention to drive any quarry out into the miles of fields behind and make any kill in view of the Hall. The terrace afforded a good vista and Calath’s companions moved slightly away from the terrace wall as others vied for the best view.

  As a group they edged towards the open doorway, lingering outside as the room beyond emptied also. From there he saw the scarred man of the Kingsguard have his sleeve tugged by Alscap’s servant, back from the stables. He turned an ear in that direction to catch the man’s words, realising from the man’s face that the calamity was not yet resolved.

  ‘Sir Chatos, Count Alscap requests that you lead the hunt,’ said the servant in a hushed voice. The last few nobles to leave paid them no attention, but still the servant leaned towards the knight in a conspiratorial manner. Sir Chatos gave him a questioning look, but seeing his anxiety declined to pursue it.

  ‘Of course. Will the count be joining us later?’

  ‘He fears not, but hopes that his business will be concluded before you return.’ The knight nodded, shrugged and straightened up to take in the people milling about the terrace.

  ‘Very good, I shall of course do as the count requests. If he requires anything else of me, he need but ask.’

  The servant bowed and Sir Chatos strode off to make his way down to his horse. For a moment the servant stared after the veteran and then he hurried over to Calath, avoiding the marshal’s gaze as he did so. The servant cleared his throat audibly and Calath realised that it was Derran he sought, but Calath’s interest was no less diminished, perhaps increased now that the magistrate’s attention was required.

  ‘Magistrate Derran, my lord requests that you come with me to deal with a rather delicate matter.’

  Derran stared down at the man, irritation clouding his face. ‘Matter? What matter?’

  The servant looked uneasily at Derran’s three companions, his hands clasped tightly as they had been on the doorstep. Lady Pardel immediately took hold of her daughter’s resisting hand, giving Meranna a sharp look before excusing them both from the marshal’s presence.

  Meranna stood her ground for a second, as intrigued as Calath, before a tug on the arm overcame her resolution. Calath stared after her, enchanted by the beautiful young lady who had actually read his work for pleasure. Even with her mother dragging her backwards, Meranna had a grace that distinguished her from the crowd of nobility. He was too old to believe in love at first sight, but he felt that he knew his own mind well enough to recognise a kindred spirit. The servant gave Calath an unhappy look.

  ‘It is, ah, a matter of an extremely unusual nature, and not something the count wishes to be discussed in company,’ he suggested with pleading eyes.

  Derran dismissed his fears with a wave of the hand and adopted his inquisitorial tone of voice. ‘Nonsense! If it’s truly that unusual then I insist on Calath’s presence, his expertise in the unusual outstrips my own.’

  The servant opened his mouth to argue, but caught Derran’s expression and thought the better of it.

  ‘Very well sir, please follow me.’

  Leaving the cheerful spirits behind, Calath and Derran retraced their steps through the Hall and out the front door again. The servant could hardly stand the pace imposed by the marshal’s malformed leg. He darted forward to open doors, rushed through then scampered back to silently hurry his charges. If it hadn’t been for the plain distress upon his face the man would have resembled a spaniel running back and forth, leaping up to catch their attention then off scouting the path ahead.

  If anything, Derran took exception to this anxiety and forced even his friend Calath to wait for him. While his nature was wonderfully calm in a social capacity, the magistrate was known for his ‘impatience with impatience’, as Derran laughingly termed it. The man believed matters happened in their own time and haste for haste’s sake was unnatural. One of his favourite sayings was that no man hurries the tide, a reversal of the common phrase that was so typical of the large magistrate.

  Their goal, unsurprisingly, was the stable block where Count Alscap had disappeared toward. The building was large, even for a mansion the size of Alscap Hall, and Calath guessed the count was a man who bred, presumably for racing since he wasn’t from a military family.

  It had two wings, the nearer of which seemed to house the grooms and stablehands from the upper story windows. One man remained outside, a pitchfork clasped threateningly in both hands until he recognised the servant. Still he eyed the newcomers with suspicion, but it was fear that dominated the youth’s face. Nervously pushing back a sandy mop of hair, the boy shifted from one foot to the other and stole glances at the door he stood beside even as he watched the newcomers. Whatever lay within, it had obviously proved too unsettling and he had been ordered to remain without; a command he seemed more than happy to obey from the way his eyes widened as the servant reached for the door.

  The clouds had gathered somewhat since their arrival. The sun no longer gave the thin layer of snow a sparkle and the temperature had remained low. Though it was only a hundred yards to the stable block, Calath’s slow progress meant he was a little chilled by the time they arrived there.

  Alscap’s servant laid a hand on the door, thumb hovering over the crude latch while he steeled himself. Calath could only wonder what sort of horror lay within that men were afraid to even look at it. With a deep breath the servant pushed on and in. The scrape of a chair greeted him, but no words as Derran and Calath watched the gloomy space before them. The pair exchanged a glance, Calath noting the terror on the face of the young stablehand while Derran merely shrugged and marched on in. With a last glance up to the sun struggling vainly through the clouds, Calath followed suit.

  The room was unremarkable, clearly used for storing harnesses, saddles and feed. The entire building was of young wood and Calath immediately noticed the pungent odour of unfinished ash mingling with leather polish, but it was the poise of every man there that really struck him. They had joined five men. Count Alscap was the only one seated, feigning a relaxed pose though his hand was kept on his sword hilt, three grooms stood with pitchforks tightly gripped, all of which were levelled toward the fifth man who sat curled in a ball in the far corner. The three grooms and their employer looked as ready to kill as to flee for their lives. For what reason Calath could not say, but clearly there was more to the dirty bundle of a man he could see.

  As he inspected the room more closely Calath realised there were traces of blood on the floor and, as the prisoner raised his head to see the arrivals, the marshal could see his nose and lip were badly swollen and cut.

  ‘Marshal Calath, I’m sorry but you cannot remain. This is a matter of the utmost secrecy, by order of the king,’ protested Alscap as soon as he saw Calath, his voice wavering uncertainly.

  ‘In that case,’ replied Derran before his friend could speak, ‘Calath is better suited to this gathering than I. The king has no need of a magistrate.’

  This is a matter of the law, but I cannot have all and sundry knowing what has come to pass here. The king would be furious.’

  ‘Then again I say this is Calath’s affair also,’ continued Derran. ‘He is known to the king and his word trusted by him.’

  Calath almost corrected his frien
d, who was not fully aware of his relationship to the king, before realising that Derran had, in his exaggeration, hit upon the truth. Whatever was going on here it reeked of the sort of dangerous mystery that King Emin so delighted in. When four armed men showed such fear of another, Calath felt sure the king would want to hear events from a known perspective.

  While Calath was ignorant of the king’s motives, he knew the man encouraged a variety of clandestine activities and pursuits within his private gentleman’s club in Narkang. There he brought together a variety of men and women of disparate and rare skills. Mages, artificers and artisans rubbed shoulders with the men of trade who could fund and utilise their work, while others were pure academics as Calath was, but his explorations of theology and daemonology were not unusual in the debates they sparked there.

  ‘Trusted by the king?’ Alscap looked doubtful, being a man whose associations with King Emin were long and well-known. He studied the academic through narrowed eyes, but then suddenly his face brightened as an idea came to him.

  ‘Then perhaps sir, if I’d taken Emin up on his offer of a gentleman’s club membership, we would have met.’

  The count’s face was sharp with suspicion as he studied Calath’s reaction to his words. Derran looked on, bemused but ignored.

  ‘I fear not. The king is not a member of my club, nor any that I’m aware, and I’m sure that a man of your wealth and standing would suit grander surroundings than the Di Senego Club.’

  Calath’s voice was soft and assured as he presented what he knew would be the correct answer. Derran’s confusion was increased when Alscap nodded in response.

  ‘Well, that’s unfortunate, but if you’re a personal friend of the king you may of course remain. Kote, bring up those chairs for my guests.’

  The servant glanced nervously at the ignored man in the corner, creeping around the table to retrieve the chairs, but never letting his gaze leave the curled-up figure.

  Once the pair had eased themselves into a seat, carefully facing the prisoner as the mood in the room affected both, Alscap pinched the bridge of his large nose and began.