NOVEL NEXT 05 - The Count.
The young man carefully studied the movement of the soldiers from the terrace of the main hall. Some dismounted in the castle courtyard. Others talked jovially among themselves as they headed to the dining hall. A few went to the barracks to rest. The stable boys were busy collecting the horses to lead them to the stables, and the armorer was counting crossbows, helmets, swords, and shields as they were handed to his assistant. The castellan ran back and forth, giving orders to everyone, trying to organize the commotion caused by the return of the guards.
Up there, the cold, damp night wind blew, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He wore only a white shirt, untucked over dark breeches, and his long blonde hair swayed with the night breeze. As he watched the lively bustle of the courtyard, the door to the hall opened heavily, and the captain of the guard entered with large strides. He quickly scanned the room until he saw the young man outside. He approached the terrace entrance with quick, firm steps and stood at attention before him in a martial manner.
“My Lord, we have proceeded according to your orders. The thieves have escaped with the copy,” announced the captain, his voice powerful and proud.
The young man returned to the hall, leaving the glass door open. He was barefoot, but the cold multicolored stone floor didn’t seem to bother him. The wind that entered made the tapestries covering the walls sway gently. Tapestries that told stories of ancient feats and distant battles, which no one bothered to remember anymore. He poured liquor into two fine crystal glasses and offered one to the captain, inviting him to sit by the enormous fireplace that warmed the room.
“Thank you, my Lord,” said the man, accepting with a formal bow and waiting courteously for the young man to sit first. “As you ordered, we also sent the spies. They will inform us of any movement those ruffians make.”
The young man remained silent, observing the guard. The captain, somewhat uncomfortable, leaned back in his chair, staring at the glass.
“I’m glad to hear that everything went well, Kracio,” he finally said, his voice sweet and condescending. “I hope they weren’t harmed. I’m not too worried about a couple of thieves; they’ll end up hanged somewhere else. What’s important to me is knowing who is interested in acquiring the amulet.”
“Of course, my Lord. My men had very clear instructions not to shoot to kill.”
“Good, good…”
The young man fell silent again, contemplating the dance of the flames in the fireplace. Only the crackling of the wood and the howling of the cold wind entering through the terrace, accompanied by the muffled sounds from the courtyard, could be heard.
The captain, not knowing what to do, diverted his gaze to the rough eagles carved into the stones flanking the fireplace while twirling his bushy mustache. The artist who carved the stone seemed not to have seen many eagles in his life, as the head was disproportionately large, the beak too small, and the eyes looked more like a human’s than a bird’s.
Then he fixed his gaze on the panoply adorning the upper part. A shield decorated with the family emblem, the golden rampant eagle on an azure field, and crossing behind it, two bastard swords, which the young Count always insisted should be well-oiled and sharp. Crowning the ensemble was a tournament helmet adorned with a crest of red feathers. Suddenly, breaking the awkward silence, the young man seemed to realize his presence again, as if he had already forgotten he was there.
“Kracio, what are you waiting for? You may leave.”
“Yes, my Lord… Good night,” responded the captain, rising with a bow and leaving the room quickly, relieved. He hadn’t even tasted the liquor.
The young man was left alone in the room, absorbed in his thoughts. After a while, he pulled the chain hanging from his neck and took out a golden jewel from inside his shirt. A pendant shaped like a snake biting its own tail, encircling a large red stone set in the center. He examined it closely and smiled.
“My dear Marcell, I think I know who’s after that trinket,” whispered the figure sitting in the shadows of the hall.
The young man looked up. He still couldn’t quite explain why no one else but him seemed to hear that voice or notice the presence. A female figure, red-haired, covered by a thick cloak of dark furs. She wasn’t a figment of his imagination; she was real. As real as the warmth of the fireplace flames, or the cold he felt on his bare feet, or the strong and sweet taste of the liquor he was savoring.
The figure approached him, swaying sensually, to pick up the glass the captain had left. With a mischievous smile, she began to slowly lick the rim of the glass. She watched him with a provocative gaze through violet eyes that seemed to shine with their own light. Marcell knew that this figure was only a facade. He could see through the mask of lustful and unreal beauty. There was nothing beautiful or human about it. It was something that wouldn’t hesitate to devour him at the slightest chance if he let it.
“Tell me, my Lady. Will you tell me, or will it be another of your games? It seems you enjoy watching me waste my time figuring out things you already know.”
The woman laughed sweetly and emptied the glass in one gulp. Then, she straddled Marcell, letting the heavy cloak fall to the floor, revealing her voluptuous nakedness. She embraced him and began to lick his neck with an inhumanly long tongue, rough like a cat’s.
“Let me enjoy some small pleasures, my Lord. You know my favorite amusement is these innocent games, don’t you?” she whispered in his ear, with a mischievous smile. “Besides, if I told you everything, it would be too boring…” she continued, rubbing against him and panting lasciviously.
“You can stop; you know I won’t fall for that,” Marcell replied, pushing her away.
The woman stood up, laughing heartily.
“You are so deliciously young… Dear, I think you deserve a clue,” she said mockingly as she covered herself again with the heavy cloak. “Today I am in a good mood, I will sing something for you. Pay attention:
From the dawn of time, Secret is the Shrine,
Deep are its foundations, ancient its Divine.
In the twilight hour, in the valley bare,
His will to test, to three trials dare.
Edel was her name, sorceress her labor,
Guardian by fame, to protect was the endeavour.
But in vain is their strive, as they cannot comprehend,
That the subtle drive of time, cannot be put to an end.
For at the last chime of the world, when all comes to an end,
Death shall cross the sky, when the world is done and spent.
The Serpent's Gate, holds the darkened lore,
Hidden deep in fate, sealed by ancient lore.
And at the twilight of their days, two sisters were stole,
"I embraced them as my own," as a mentor's role.
They now stand as guardians, seeking the elusive seal,
Using arcane arts, and the commoner's appeal.
But in vain is their strive, as they cannot comprehend,
That the subtle drive of time, cannot be put to an end.
For at the last chime of the world, when all comes to an end,
Death shall cross the sky, when the world is done and spent.
She sang the song with a magical, marvelous, unreal voice, as if it came from another world, another dimension. It felt like hearing not one voice, but an entire choir of infinite voices. The last phrases resonated like a distant echo, and as the sound faded into the recesses of the hall, the figure vanished into the shadows, like mist at dawn, leaving the young Count alone and lost in his thoughts.