Fate of the Messenger
By Lindsay Schopfer
Brega sang the song of death, her strong alto voice echoing among the columns of the cold hall. She trembled as she sang, overcome with the power that was her birthright. She knew that one of the Re’Claughs was dead.
The festive hall fell silent. Servers stood frozen in the act of pouring wine. The scullion at the turnspit forgot his duty as the spiked pig scorched on one side. But it was the lord of the hall, Keli’grew Re’Claugh, who turned ghostly pale. The warrior-landholder stood slowly, compelling each member of the castle garrison to scramble to his feet as well. Lord Keli’grew’s eyes met Brega’s with a dark intensity. She returned his gaze even as she finished her keening, the final notes lingering and dying in the crackling flames of the hall’s torches.
“Who?” The single word pulsed with emotion.
Brega drew a deep breath and shuddered. “Your son, Fradwick, my lord.”
Lord Keli’grew’s hand tightened on his goblet. “How?”
“Poison, my lord. Served to him in a savory pie at table this very evening.”
The Re’Claugh lord flung his goblet to the ground, spilling its contents and denting its polished surface against the flagstones. Squire Mackleson at his side quickly rose to his feet.
“My Lord, do not grieve so quickly. We have had no report of any harm done to your son at Lord Greggor’s hall.”
“The death of Fradwick has been within the hour,” said Brega. “Word will not reach this far until a carrier pigeon brings the news the day after next.”
“And yet you know of it,” said the squire.
“It is my birthright,” said Brega simply.
“Pshaw! And when have you ever shown your power before? Not since your grandmother has a Re’Claugh been keened in truth. Do you deny that your own mother could not keen our Lord’s mother and father at their passings?”
Brega said nothing as her face burned hot. Squire Mackelson turned back to his lord.
“You must tread carefully, my lord. Greggor’s holdings are strong, while we are weakened by plague and a poor harvest. We cannot risk the damage done by unfounded accusations.”
Lord Keli’grew seemed lost between anxiety and outrage. “But if my son has been poisoned, I cannot ignore it. Neither my honor nor my people would allow it.”
“Then I suggest we wait for word from Lord Greggor. If all is well, we need not have worried. But, if your son has been poisoned, is it not more likely -and more easily dealt with- if it was the work of someone from our own court? Someone with foreknowledge of the event?”
Lord Keli’grew sank to his chair slowly, brooding silently.
“We shall wait and see,” he said at last.
The lord then called for another goblet and the feast slowly breathed life again. Brega was unnoticed as she left the hall. She would have to hurry. She had until the day after next to escape her lord’s holdings.