Baron Caidin paused in his pacing to glare at the gnomish knave. 'You mean ten, Pock. You're holding up ten fingers.'
The gnome frowned. 'Whatever, Your Grace.'
Caidin gritted his teeth in annoyance, but there was no point in correcting Pock. It was not for his brains that Caidin tolerated the foolish gnome. Castellan Domeck had caught Pock several years ago picking the pockets of petty nobles in Caidin's court. Normally a thief was beheaded without question, but Caidin had sensed that he might put the crafty gnome to good use. He had been right. These last years, Pock's big eyes and pointed ears had uncovered many interesting secrets and conspiracies whispered by Caidin's vain and ever-scheming courtiers.
'Ten this week, Pock. Twelve last week, and nine the week before that.' Caidin moved to the window, watching as servants tossed the corpse and its detached head into a cart and hauled them away. 'But it isn't enough.' The baron turned from the grisly sight just as the keep's bells began to toll a funeral dirge. His lip curled back from his teeth in disgust.
'Wort!' he said sourly. 'No doubt he's aping about his blasted belfry like an animal.' He turned on the gnome. 'Remind me to have you flogged for telling Domeck and Sirraun that Wort is my half brother.'
'Er, what if I happen to accidentally forget to remind you?' Pock gulped.
Caidin grinned wolfishly. 'Why, then I'll have you flogged for forgetting.'
The knave nervously scratched his wrinkled head while he tried to decide if there was any sequence of events which wouldn't result in his getting flogged.
Caidin sat at his cluttered desk, absently fidgeting with a jeweled stiletto. He wondered if he should finally have Wort killed. The hunchback's appearance in the Grand Hall yesterday had been utterly embarrassing. Few in the keep remembered the deformed half brother of the baron's childhood. Caidin wanted to keep it that way. His eyes grew distant as an unbidden memory surfaced in his mind.
They had been children together. Even then Caidin had been tall and strong, and at all boyish things- riding horses, shooting arrows, convincing girls to skulk with him into the stable's loft-he far surpassed the other boys of the Old Baron's court. The keep's children looked to him as a natural leader, a role he gladly accepted. Yet there was one child Caidin always wished would not follow him.
'Wait for me, Brother!' Wort would call out, hobbling after Caidin and the other boys as they set off to buy plum pasties in the village or to go catch toads in the bogs. The others would laugh, making fun of the ungainly little boy who always tripped and fell in his haste to catch up. Caidin would only cross his arms and stare with silent disapproval. The stunted boy with the twisted spine became the butt of all Caidin's worst jokes. Hardly a day went by that Wort did not find horse dung between the covers of his bed, or worms in his bowl of stew. Nothing seemed to deter him. Blithely, a smile constantly upon his homely face, he continued to follow after his handsome brother. Even then, Caidin did not truly hate Wort. Not yet. That came later, one day on the edge of the sheer precipice west of the village.
The cliff was called Morrged's Leap, after a spurned lover who, legend held, threw himself to a bloody death on the jagged rocks a thousand feet below, and whose shade was said to haunt the place. Caidin and some of the keep's older boys had gone to the precipice one spring afternoon, daring each other to teeter on the precarious edge. As usual Wort followed, his hunched chest racked with exertion. A dark thought occurred to Caidin then. Perhaps here was his opportunity to be rid of his troublesome brother at last. Wort was so clumsy. If he fell, it would seem an accident. So Caidin balanced boldly on the edge of the cliff, taunting his brother.
'Come, Wort, I thought you wanted to follow me,' he jeered. 'Or are you too much of a coward?'
'Caidin, you mustn't!' Wort shouted in terror.
'You are a coward, Wort. I should have-'
That was when the rock beneath his heel gave way. The others screamed and stepped back as Caidin slid over the edge of the precipice. Desperately, he grabbed for a handhold, but the rock crumbled beneath his fingers. A strong hand clamped about his wrist, catching him. Caidin looked up in shock. It was Wort.
'I've got you, Brother,' the hunchback said determinedly. 'I won't let you fall.'
With surprising strength, Wort hauled Caidin up over the cliffs edge to safety.
'Are you all right, Brother?'
Caidin only glared at Wort. Now he owed his life to the wretched hunchback.
'I hate you,' he snarled.
'I'd sort of gathered that,' Pock quipped from his chair-back perch. 'Barons don't usually flog the people they like.'
With a start, Caidin realized he must have uttered the old words aloud. The stiletto quivered before him, embedded deeply in the desk. Slowly he unclenched his fingers from its hilt.
'I don't mean you, you maggot,' he snapped. Caidin reconsidered. 'Of course, I do hate you, Pock. I'm just thinking of someone else right now.'
Caidin sighed. Tempting as they were, he knew he must discard all thoughts of having the hunchback murdered at the moment. In his mind, he could still hear the terrible secret that the Old Baron, gray and 'Withered on his deathbed, had whispered in his ear. As long as the hunchback kept to the solitude of his precious bell tower, the dark truth would be safe.
A sharp rapping came at the chamber's door. In a purple flash, Pock leapt from his chair and hid behind a heavy curtain where he could spy unseen. ~ 'Enter,' Caidin commanded. The unnaturally thin form of his lord inquisitor drifted into the chamber.
'You called for me, Your Grace?'
'Yes, Sirraun.' Caidin pulled the stiletto from the desk. 'I want you to increase the pace of the inquisition. It is taking too long. You must bring me more traitors.'
A curious look crossed Sirraun's jaundiced visage. 'Indeed, Your Grace. I hasten to obey. As you know, it is my sole purpose to see the conspiracy against you shattered.'
Caidin slammed a fist against the desk. Parchment scrolls tumbled onto the floor. 'Blast the conspiracy, Sirraun! You know as well as I that it does not exist. Of course there are peasants in the village who despise me. As well they should, for I have no qualms in using them for my own gain.' His voice became an intense whisper. 'But I need more bodies, Sirraun. If I am truly to challenge Azalin, I must have more bodies.' He bore down on the lord inquisitor. 'And so I must have more 'traitors.' Get them for me, Sirraun. I don't care how you do it. But do it, and fast!'
Sirraun gazed at Caidin for a silent moment. Slowly, a sharp smile cut across his thin lips. 'With the greatest of pleasure, Your Grace.' Bowing deeply, the lord inquisitor retreated from the chamber.
'How come you never flog him, Your Grace?' Pock complained, stepping from behind the curtain.
Caidin ignored his knave. Soon, Azalin, he thought with satisfaction. Soon all that is yours will be mine.
Three
'They think they know fear when they gaze upon me…'
Roaring flames consumed the heap of leather- bound books in the fireplace. Shadows danced on the walls of the bell tower chamber, like dying phantoms writhing in the violent orange light.
'I will show them real fear…'
With gnarled hands, Wort tore apart another book and heaved it onto the fire. The burning mound settled under its own weight, letting out a serpent's hiss. Searing heat blistered Wort's face, but he did not care. Handsome princes and brave knights-heroes he could never be, stories he could never live. Let all the books burn. Suddenly the flames made him think of the ashwife who had fallen in her haste to get away from him. He relived how her hands smoked and her face bubbled. For years he had wallowed in guilt from that day. Yet it had been her own fault, he told himself now. Perhaps she deserved to be burned. Perhaps they all did.
'They have mocked me for the last time,' he croaked hoarsely. 'I will show them that a monster is not an object of ridicule, but one of terror. I will show them all. Even Caidin.' A murderous glint lit his eyes. 'No… especially Caidin. Caidin who has had everything while I… I have had this.' He clawed at his twisted face.
What a fool he had been! Oh, what a loathsome, laughable idiot! Mow Wort saw everything clearly. He had not asked for this wretched, twisted body. He was the one who deserved pity. They were cruel and heartless, all of
