Gayle Eden Read Free Page A

set camp, answered, “It was once a picturesque forest but was set to fire. It will take years to recover.”
    Given that her husband stayed beyond camp, she did not get to ask him personally, and besides that, Illara sensed a particular mood now, something heavy and dark in the air and even in Randulf, who wasted no time bedding himself down under the wagon.
    * * * *
    Frost blanketed the land on their morning rise. A mist of silvery white coated everything, so that when they reached the old remains of the city. Its half-tumbling walls, she could distinguish it from the contrast, and see too, on a rise beyond the old cobbled streets, a towering castle with great wings and round towers. Only upon passing the gatehouse did she realize it too was scarred and pocked.
    The jingle of the harness and clop of hooves obscured any other clamor. She strained to see Pagan’s entry first, through a gatehouse, several more doors beyond the main one with slots known as murder holes in the structure.
    He moved onward to the left, and Randulf turned their wagon to the right and the Keep. The main entry doors were on a second level, flanked by two sets of stone stairs. Anyone approaching from the courtyard, left or right, could access them. The doors were thick iron, high and arched, as had been most of the windows she could make out.
    Randulf halted the wagon. Illara climbed down, letting her hood fall back. Noticing the fog lifting, she saw both guards scattered about and other armed men, several craftsmen and servants back in the inner courtyard.
    It had indeed been massive, not just the castle itself but the distance from inner courtyards, lower wall, to outer defense walls, which rose twenty feet and would have at one time encircled a great city below. Still, it towered, and the dampness on the stone made it look blackish.
    There was a hollow sound above. She glanced up to see the Great hall doors open and a woman stepped out. She was dressed in a black wool gown and wore a sooty scarf on her head.
    Randulf pulled her out of her muse by saying, “You may go on, milady, and there will be someone to see to you. I will have everything unpacked and see that your trunks are brought in.”
    “Thank you, Randulf.” She glanced at him before slowly walking toward the stairs and ascending them. The closer she came to the woman, the more she could see of a visage, perhaps in her early fifties, a not unhandsome face, though clearly marked with troubles. She met the woman’s smoke gray eyes upon reaching the landing.
    “Welcome, my lady. I am Lylie.”
    “Thank you for your welcome, Lylie. Please call me Illara.”
    She followed as the woman turned and led her inside to a massive Great hall. Arched beams braced overhead and huge chandeliers between them that swaged down on chains, fitted with large candles. There were tables and benches, a clean stone floor and large hearth, which burned brightly.
    Though she glanced right and left, also noting stairs and archways, a closed off west wing heavily bolted, Illara, as she opened her cloak, noted the riches in the gold and silver plates lined over the mantle, and in the bowls and trays sitting on the white clothed tables.
    Walking toward the hearth, she glanced at Lylie, who held her hand out for the cloak.
    The woman said, “The master sent word ahead and the solar above is ready. But if it pleases you, I will bring food and something warm to drink.”
    “My thanks. Yes.”
    She stood by the fire after Lylie hung her cloak on a peg, seeing as the woman turned back through some entry, the figure of another female servant, who was passing behind a screen before going about. Counting among the riches; tapestries, weapons, and no doubt Tourney prizes tucked in niches, Illara still had the feeling of some violence having taken place to and in the castle. Like the land, it bore the scars in its strength, and bore them with, if not in spite of, some attempt to destroy it.
    Lylie entered on silent feet