The Heir of Jeragoth
A Victory of Sorts

Iliard was awakened by the sound of his bedroom door opening slowly and quietly. He sat up in bed and said, “What is it, Isak?”

“I beg your pardon, Lord Iliard. I’m sorry for waking you.”

“It’s all right, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“Colonel Gormin is here,” Isak replied. “He said he needs to speak to you right away. He said it’s very important.”

Iliard was instantly alert. Tabor wouldn’t wake him in the middle of the night unless it was extremely important. “Tell him, I’ll be right there,” he said.

“Yes, my Lord.”

After Isak closed the door, Iliard lit the lamp by the side of his bed with a slight wave of his hand. He got out of bed and quickly pulled on a pair of breeches and a shirt. Then he strapped on both of his swords. When Iliard got to the anteroom where Tabor was waiting, the look on his old friend’s face spoke volumes. “Tabor, what is it?” he asked. Tabor’s eyes slid slightly in the direction of Isak, who was standing unobtrusively in a corner of the room awaiting Iliard’s orders. Iliard turned to him and said, “It’s all right, Isak, you can go back to bed now.”

Isak bowed and said, “Yes, my lord,” and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Tabor waited a few moments before speaking, then he asked, “Are you sure he really went to bed?”

Iliard nodded, “Isak is completely trustworthy. I hired him myself.”

A half-smile touched Tabor’s lips. “I guess you would know then, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Iliard answered, “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“We have a real problem and I need your advice. Would you mind following me to my office?”

Mystified and a little frustrated that Tabor wouldn’t tell him anything further, Iliard nonetheless followed him downstairs. When they reached his office, Colonel Gormin had a brief word with the guards standing outside. Both men saluted sharply and hurried off. When Iliard threw him a curious look, Gormin said, “I thought I would send them upstairs to keep an eye on things.”

Iliard nodded. “Thank you.”

Gormin opened the door to his office and indicated that Iliard should precede him. Inside the outer chamber of Gormin’s office, one of the few female guards, Kira, stood watch over a small figure huddled in the corner of the large sofa that dominated that half of the room. Iliard looked at the person on the sofa and swore under his breath, “Damn!” It was Erienne. Underneath the long dark cloak she had donned, she wore the simple gray skirt and white blouse of the castle’s female servants. At her feet was a small satchel that Iliard knew couldn’t hold much more than a single change of clothing. As soon as Erienne saw him, the blood drained further from her already pale face and she bowed her head in shame. Iliard could feel the waves of grief, misery, and despair emanate from her.

Gormin touched his arm and motioned for Iliard to follow him into his inner office. After he had closed the door behind him, he said, “She was caught trying to put this in Bert’s study.” He handed Iliard a small wooden box, a piece of parchment and a green ribbon. “The note’s for you. It was wrapped around the box.”

Iliard took the note and read it:

Dear Iliard,

I will not need this anymore. Please take care of Alana.

Erienne

“Damn it!” Iliard exclaimed aloud. “She really was trying to leave.”

Gormin nodded, “But she wasn’t taking much with her. The amulet in that box was the most valuable thing she had and she was leaving it behind. She has no money and only one change of clothes in that bag of hers. I don’t know where she was going. I’m not even sure she knew where she was going. I can only imagine what would have happened to her on the road at this hour of the night.”

Iliard asked, “Do you think she was meeting someone?”

Gormin shrugged, “It’s possible, but my gut tells me no. I mean, I know there are people out there that help slaves escape, but she didn’t seem to be meeting anyone. I came to you because…well the laws about runaway slaves are pretty strict. I didn’t want to have her go through that, if you know what I mean. She just seemed lost to me.”

Iliard nodded in agreement. “She’s been lost since she got here last year. I tried to do what I could to help but,” he shrugged, “You know how Bert can be sometimes.” He looked over at Gormin and asked, “May I speak to her alone?”

“Of course,” Gormin answered. He opened the door to his office and motioned for the guard to bring Erienne in. Once she was in the room, both Gormin and the guard left and closed the door behind them.

Iliard turned the two chairs that were in front of Gormin’s desk so they were facing each other and then said, “Erienne, please sit down.” As she took the seat, Iliard could see that she was trembling so much she could barely find the arms of the chair. He tried to reassure her, “It’s all right. No one is going to hurt you.” His kindness only seemed to distress her more and she burst into tears. She covered her face with her hands as great, gasping sobs tore out of her throat. Iliard hesitated as discretion and compassion warred within him. Finally, compassion won out. He knelt down in front of her chair and put his arms around her while she wept.

At last Erienne quieted and her trembling stopped. Iliard pulled away from her and sat down across from her. She wiped her eyes and looked over at him anxiously. He leaned forward and said, “Erienne, I have to ask you some questions and I want you to be honest with me. I can only help you if you tell me the truth. Do you understand?” She nodded silently. He leaned back in the chair and asked, “Were you trying to run away?” Her eyes widened with fear, and again she merely nodded. He let out a soft sigh. “How long have you been planning this?”

“Since Bertrand left for the Baron’s Council,” she murmured, her head bowed.

“Three weeks,” he said aloud. “Where were you going?”

“I…don’t know.” Her cheeks reddened slightly and she said softly, “Probably back to Pelandra’s.”

Iliard nodded but said nothing. He couldn’t help but think how desperate she must feel to want to go back to working in a brothel. “Were you meeting someone?” he asked.

“No,” she answered with a shake of her head. “I was just going to walk back to Candril.”

Iliard knew she was telling the truth, but he marveled at how she could be so innocent as to believe that she could walk safely down to Candril City alone in the middle of the night. He felt a surge of anger at the situation. They would have found her body somewhere along the road. The servant’s clothes she was wearing told him that at least one other person knew she was planning to run away. Whoever that person was, well meaning or not, they had put her life in danger by helping her.

“Who gave you the clothes?” he asked. This time the fear was stronger, not for herself, but for someone else. She stared at him mutely. He hastened to reassure her. “I promise you, no one will go to the post because of this. You have my word as a Novadi warrior.”

Erienne’s fear lessened somewhat. “My friend Senet gave them to me,” she answered.

Iliard felt a twinge of warning. “Who is Senet?” he asked as casually as he could.

“She’s one of the maids that takes care of my rooms,” she answered. “And she’s my friend,” she added, almost defiantly.

“It is strange that I have never met her,” Iliard said. Erienne looked at him blankly and shrugged. “I see,” Iliard said. And he did see. Senet had been sent to encourage Erienne to leave Castle Candril. She would have had to avoid him. “What about Alana?” he asked.

Erienne bit her bottom lip and her eyes filled with tears. “Senet said I should take her with me, but I couldn’t. I know she’s not safe out there. And here…here she’ll be free. She won’t be the daughter of a slave. She’ll the daughter of Baroness Candril.”

“But why leave her?” he asked. “She still needs you.”

Erienne shook her head. “She doesn’t need me. She has everything she needs here. She’s the Baron’s daughter and she should grow up believing that she’s the daughter of nobility. I’m a slave, the bastard child of a slave. If she found out that I was her mother, she’d be ashamed.”

Iliard shook his head, “Alana would be proud to have you for a mother. You’re a good mother and a good person.”

“That’s what Ophelia kept telling me,” she said.

“But…?” Iliard prompted.

“But I know what the other servants are saying about me. They say I’ve gone above my station and that I got pregnant to trap Bertrand into giving me money. I’m a slave, a prostitute, a…whore.”

Iliard frowned, “How did you hear all this? Did the servants say this to you directly?”

“No,” she answered with a shake of her head. “Senet told me.”

Somehow, that didn’t surprise Iliard in the least. “Now, why would she tell you these terrible things if she’s your friend?” he asked as gently as he could.

“Oh, she didn’t want to tell me. I made her.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Erienne sighed, “She would come in some days and she’d be very upset. When I asked her what was wrong, she wouldn’t tell me at first. She said it would only upset me. But I finally got her to tell me because she was so upset and I couldn’t stand to see her so unhappy because she’s been so kind to me.”

“Of course,” Iliard said, doing his best to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Senet had done her job well. “Was that all the servants said about you?” he asked.

Erienne shook her head. “No. They also said they felt sorry for Alana because of what I am. I’m not the kind of mother she needs.”

Iliard could only think that she was exactly the kind of mother Alana needed. The last thing he wanted for his niece was for Mirasol to have any hand in raising her. He knew, however, it would be useless to try to get this through to Erienne. She had been convinced through her so-called friend that she was unworthy to be Alana’s mother. He was so frustrated he wanted to shake some sense into her. Instead he tried a different tactic. “What about Bertrand? Don’t you love him?”

Once again tears sprang into her eyes. “I love him, but he doesn’t love me. I’m just a…convenience to him. He comes to my bed late at night and leaves as soon as he’s done with me. He treated me better when I was at Pelandra’s.” Her voice caught in her throat as she continued hoarsely, “He used to act like he loved me, even if he never said it.” She put her face in her hands and began to weep again.

Iliard waited until she had quieted and then asked, “Erienne, are you sure this is what you want? It seems to me that you don’t really want to leave. Why else would it have taken you so long after Bertrand left to decide to run away?”

Erienne looked up at him, a bleak expression on her tear streaked face. “I have to go. I have to get out of this place before the part of me that wants to die gets stronger than the part of me that wants to live.”

Iliard stared at her for a moment, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. He reached out to Erienne’s mind with his own, touching her thoughts, looking for the blackness that was associated with thoughts of suicide. Normally he did not enter a friend’s mind without their permission, but this was a special case. He had to know for certain if Erienne was actually contemplating ending her own life or if she was just being dramatic. It didn’t take him long to find it. The shroud of dark thoughts was there, covering her mind, coloring her perceptions.

With a sigh he stood up and put his hand on Erienne’s hunched shoulder. “Stay here,” he said. “I’ll be back in a little while.” He felt her start to tremble again as her fear blossomed anew. He stepped back and sat on the arm of his chair, “Erienne, look at me.” When she raised her eyes to his, he went on, “You are safe with me—always. I will not let any harm come to you. Do you believe that?” Erienne nodded and attempted to smile at him. “All right then. You will be safe here until I come back.”

In the outer chamber, Gormin and Kira were talking quietly to a frightened looking serving boy. The lad looked to be no more than ten or twelve years old. When Gormin saw Iliard, he stepped away from the conversation. “One of Cranerock’s men found him sneaking around outside my office.” he said quietly. “The boy says Lucine sent him to find out what was going on.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Iliard commented. He looked over at the boy, who looked near to tears. “So, what will you do with him?”

“Just give him a good scare and tell him to never do it again.”

Iliard chuckled, “From the look on his face I’d say that should work just fine, although Lucine might be scarier to that boy than you are.”

Gormin laughed and replied, “I know she scares me. I think, though, I’ll have a word with scary Lucine.” He looked over Iliard’s shoulder at the closed door of his office and asked, “What about her? What are you going to do?”

Iliard glanced over at the door and then back at Gormin. Here, he knew, was one of the few truly honest people in the castle. He shook his head and said, “I’m not going to tell you, Tabor. That way, when Bert asks, you won’t have to lie.”

Tabor nodded in understanding, “You know I’m going to have to tell him.”

“I know,” Iliard answered. “Just send him to me.”

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Gormin asked.

Iliard’s mouth twisted into something between a smile and a grimace as he said, “Time will tell, my friend.”

#

Bertrand stormed up the staircase to the second floor. If what Tabor told him was true, he was going to… His careening thoughts stopped for a moment. What exactly was he going to do? Iliard was a Novadi warrior. Bertrand couldn’t lay a hand on him if Iliard didn’t allow it. His feelings of helplessness just served to fuel his anger as he continued down the silent hallway. Well, he could damn well banish the bastard. But if he did that… Bertrand’s thoughts were halted once again as he faced the open doors of Erienne’s rooms. He was brought up short. There were no doors for him to slam open. He looked through the doorways and could see Iliard sitting in a chair facing the open window. Alana appeared to be asleep on his chest.

Bertrand strode into the bedroom, but before he could say a word to Iliard, Alana lifted her tear streaked face from Iliard’s chest and said plaintively, “Papa, want ’Ren.”

Bertrand shot a baleful glare at Iliard before he answered his daughter, “I know, little one. We’re going to find her, aren’t we, Uncle Iliard?”

Alana turned back to Iliard and said, “Unca Illy, want ’Ren.”

Iliard sighed softly and pulled her close. “I know small one, I know.” He got up from the chair and called out, “Ophelia.”

Ophelia came hurrying into the bedroom from the sitting room that now served as Alana’s nursery. She too looked like she had been crying. When she saw Bertrand there, she curtsied deeply and said, “Good morning, Baron Candril.” Then she turned to Iliard and said, “You called me, my Lord?”

Iliard gently pulled Alana away from his chest and held her out to Ophelia. “Please take Alana to her room.”

Ophelia took Alana in her arms and said, “Yes, my Lord.”

As the maid turned to leave, Iliard stopped her, “Ophelia, remember what I told you.”

Ophelia glanced briefly at Bertrand before she answered hesitantly, “Yes, my Lord.”

As she walked back toward the nursery, both men heard Alana say, “Fee, want ’Ren.”

Bertrand waited until the door to the nursery was closed before he rounded on his brother. “All right you son of bitch, where’s Erienne? And what the hell was that all about?”

Iliard ignored Bertrand’s first question and answered the second as he looked at the closed nursery door. “I am protecting Alana, as I was charged to do.”

“Protecting her?” Bertrand said angrily as he stepped closer to Iliard. “From what? From me?”

Iliard put his hand on Bertrand’s shoulder and said, “That remains to be seen.”

Before Bertrand could respond, he felt a familiar pull in the center of his chest and the two of them appeared in his study. He exploded. He pushed Iliard away and shouted, “What the hell are you playing at!? This is my castle, my barony! I could banish you today if I wanted to!”

“Yes, you could,” Iliard replied calmly. “But then you would never see Alana again.”

That was the last straw for Bertrand. He lunged at Iliard. “You son of a bitch, I’ll kill you! First you steal my mistress and now you’re trying to steal my daughter!”

Although Bertrand was only inches from Iliard and Iliard made no move to avoid him, Bertrand could not make contact with his brother. Whenever he tried to grab or strike Iliard, his hands sank into something invisible, soft and pliable and yet as strong as steel. Iliard, meanwhile, stood with his arms crossed, his impassive gaze focused on his enraged brother. Finally, Bertrand realized the futility of his actions. He took a step back from his brother and glared at him, his face a mask of impotent fury. Iliard put his hands on his hips and asked, “Are you ready to talk now?”

Bertrand ground through clenched teeth, “What?”

Iliard looked his brother in the eye. “I did not ‘steal’ Erienne. I will tell you exactly where she is. I brought her to the Emerald Eagle Inn.

“Damn you!” Bertrand shouted, “I am baron here! I say who comes and goes! Erienne is mine!”

“Your what?” Iliard asked softly, “Your slave? Is that all she is to you?”

“No,” he answered vehemently, “It’s not like that.”

“Then why does she still bear the mark of slavery on her arm?”

“What difference does it make?” roared Bertrand, “She has everything she could ever want. I’ve given her more than anyone in her position could ever hope for.”

Iliard shook his head in wonder, “Do you even listen to yourself? A person in her position? It’s like you think of her as something less than human.”

“That’s not true,” Bertrand retorted angrily.

“Then why is she still marked as a slave?” Iliard asked again. “You could have changed that. You could have done anything you wanted. You could have given her a castle. Hell, you could have given her a barony.”

“Well,” Bertrand mumbled, “The law is very strict…”

“The law!? You ARE the law! You can do anything you want and there is no one who can tell you nay.” Iliard paused a moment to calm himself, “Blessed Asaeria, man. Think about it. You took her out of a brothel and set her up in her own house with her own servants. You practically took Neridius’ head off for suggesting you take the child away from her. While she was there, we all treated her like the lady of the house. She felt safe and secure, even though she still wasn’t free. She knew Alana wouldn’t grow up in slavery even though she was the child of a slave.

“Then you brought her here. The first thing you did was tell her she couldn’t be the mother of her own child. Then you abandoned her to the tender mercies of the servants in this place. I told you Mirasol would find a way to get to Erienne and she did. She didn’t even have to lift a finger, the servants did it all for her.”

“What are you talking about?” Bertrand asked belligerently, “Mirasol’s servants never go into that wing.”

“They didn’t have to,” Iliard said, “servants talk to each other. If they perceive a threat they work together to eliminate it. Erienne was a threat and they eliminated her. You know,” he said with regret, “she probably could have held up against them if you hadn’t left her.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I never left her.”

“Really? How often did you go see her? When was the last time you spent a whole day with her? Have you spent any time just talking to her or do you just go to her room to lay with her?”

Bertrand’s eyes blazed with anger. “What the hell business is it of yours?”

“It became my business last night when Erienne told me that she wanted to end her own life,” Iliard retorted harshly.

“What?” Bertrand’s face paled and he stepped back a few paces. “What are you saying? Why would she do that?”

“I told you this place would be poison for her. She’s not equipped to deal with the scheming that goes on around here. She takes everything and everyone at face value and so she was easily manipulated. It took time, but eventually she began to believe that she was so worthless that it would be better if she were dead than for Alana to find out she was her mother. But it wouldn’t have worked if you had been there for her. She could have withstood all of it if she believed you truly loved her.”

“I do love her, she must know that.”

“I don’t think so. Have you ever told her?” Iliard asked. “I know you love her. I saw it that first night at the house in Candril City. She thought you loved her—at least while she was living there. But when you brought her to the castle, you changed. You pulled away from her. Those who wanted her gone took advantage of that. They fed her uncertainty until it grew into certainty that you didn’t care about her. You were her last refuge in this place and you took that away from her. She had nothing left. Her greatest strength is her desire to protect Alana and make sure she has a better life. Now that she is assured Alana will be regarded as nobility, it doesn’t matter to her if she herself lives or dies.”

Bertrand opened his mouth to speak, but found no words. He turned away from Iliard and went to the window. After several minutes Bertrand said, without turning away from the window, “I messed it up again, didn’t I? Only this time I only have myself to blame. I never told her, not once. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I tried and one time I came close, but I didn’t. I guess I thought she’d always be there. I never thought she would leave. How could she, she was mine? But you were right. I left her. This year has been hard and I took it out on her. I could tell she was sad, but it just made me angry. I couldn’t help thinking that she had no right to be sad when she was living a life of luxury. I should have known that wasn’t what she wanted. Hell, I knew that wasn’t what she wanted. I just fooled myself into thinking that all this,” he swept his arm out, “could compensate for whatever else she lacked. I should know better—it hasn’t helped me.” He paused and bowed his head. “You know,” he went on with a small catch in his voice, “I didn’t even say goodbye to her before I left for the council.” He finally turned around and Iliard saw that his eyes were filled with tears. Bertrand spread his hands in a helpless gesture and asked, “So, what do I do now little brother?”

Iliard’s heart went out to his brother. He hated to see Bertrand in such pain, even though he had brought it on himself. For the briefest of moments he struggled with what was right and what would make his brother feel better. His throat constricted slightly and he had to swallow hard before he could answer. Finally he said, “Let her go Bert. Set her free and let her start a new life. She cannot live here, you know that as well as I do. Setting her up in a house would just bring both of you more pain. Alana cannot live with her and Erienne would just be reminded of her loss every time she saw you. She would also be in danger. You saw what happened to the old house. Eventually, the temple of Arnitath would find her and try to use her to get to Alana. She deserves to be free, Bert. Give her that gift.”

Bertrand stared at Iliard for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Without another word he walked over to his desk and sat down behind it. He touched the front of the center drawer and Iliard heard the click of a lock. He pulled the drawer open and pulled out a single sheet of thick parchment on which was written in large elegant letters the words “Writ of Release.” Bertrand took a quill and wrote Erienne’s name in the appropriate places on the form and a description of the marks she bore. Then, after a second of hesitation, he signed his name at the bottom. He then took a small brass pot from a magically heated well in the desk and poured a small disk of crimson wax below his signature. Once again he paused before pressing his large gold ring, on which was engraved the seal of Candril, into the cooling wax. When the seal had cooled completely, he pushed the parchment across the desk toward Iliard, who had moved to stand across from him.

Bertrand then got up from his chair and went to a small chest that stood against the wall behind the desk. Once again his touch alone was enough to open the lock. Bertrand took one of the pouches that hung inside the lid of the chest and filled it with a hundred gold pieces. He then took a second, larger pouch and filled it until he could fit no more in it. He turned and handed the first pouch to Iliard saying, “This is for the mage price.” He held out the second pouch and said, “This is for her. She shouldn’t have to live in poverty because of me.”

Iliard took both pouches and slipped them into a pocket inside his tunic where they seemed to disappear. He picked up the Writ of Release, rolled it and put it in the same mysterious pocket. The brothers stared at each across the desk for a long time before Iliard said, “I’ll make sure she’s well cared for.”

As Iliard turned to leave, Bertrand said, “Wait.” Iliard turned back and saw that Bertrand was near to tears again. “Alana,” he said hoarsely, his hands placed on the desk as if he were supporting himself, “What about Alana? Will you…take her away?”

Iliard’s heart twisted with grief. In a single morning, his and Bertrand’s roles had reversed. Now Bertrand was asking Iliard’s permission to keep his own daughter. He had known that his decision would have far reaching consequences, but he had not expected them to hurt so much. In spite of the pain, he knew he had to drive his point home. “Let me make one thing clear to you, brother. You cannot keep me out of anywhere and if I think Alana is in danger, I will take her away from you.” He walked back to the edge of the desk and put his hand over his brother’s. “But for now, she is still safe here. There are just I few things I need from you to make sure it stays that way.”

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