Lady in Black
By Laura Schiller
Series: The Faerie Path Trilogy
Copyright: Frewin Jones
A thin, pale moonbeam fell through the narrow slit of King Oberon's stone-walled dungeon – the Sorcerer King's dungeon, now – and touched the thin, white, shadow-eyes faces of the people inside. They were twenty, huddled close together not only for warmth but for lack of room – people ranging from a six-year-old girl sleeping in her mother's arms to the six-hundred-year-old Chief Librarian. The cesspit in the corner filled the air with its sharp stench; everyone was trying to stay away from it unless necessary. No one spoke; after a long day of cooking, cleaning, and enduring the abuse of the Sorcerer King's people, they did not have the energy to spare.
Footsteps echoed down the stone corridor outside. Several pairs of eyes snapped open; they glanced at each other in fear and alarm.
But no – this was not the heavy, metal-shod rattle of a Gray Knight, nor the miserable shuffling of a slave. These steps were light and quick, barely audible even to ears sharpened by fear.
"It is well," said little Erin, breaking the silence in a high, lisping voice. "The Lady is here again."
She smiled up at her mother, then into the shadows where her fellow prisoners sat. Many of them could not see her, but the sound of that hopeful little voice, together with the thought of the Lady, lifted their hearts.
A set of ivory keys clicked softly outside, followed by the slow, ponderous motion of a heavy oak door. The light footsteps moved into the room, accompanied by a long, rippling, rustling shadow. A soft voice, young and female, whispered a single spell word, and a heavy basket woven out of rushes appeared in her arms. Her smooth white hands – the mark of a noblewoman and the reason why the prisoners called her the Lady – gleamed in the dark as she set the basket down and drew back the dark cloth it was covered with.
Wonderful, mouth-watering smells rose up from it: brown bread, cheese, fruit and vegetables. There was a bottle of fresh water, sweeter than any fruit cordial or wine had ever tasted. Things that were deemed too good for the slaves, but too plain for the Sorcerer King's delicate palate, so they would be less likely to be missed.
The Lady came every five nights or so; beyond the spell she used to remove the charm of invisibility on the food, she never spoke. They did not know how she eluded the Gray Knights; either she used the Mystic Arts, or perhaps the mingled shadows of her cloak and the darkness of the dungeon helped her to move unseen.
The people crowded around the basket – very quietly, so as not to alert the Knights – passing food around to those at the back of the cell. A suppressed sob of relief and gratitude was heard, along with fervent whispers of "Thank you...God bless you...Thank you so much!"
The Lady's face was covered with a black mask, so that only her mouth, her chin and the spaces around her dark, glittering eyes could be seen. Her expression was unreadable as she looked around for a moment, waited until the basket was empty, picked it up and whispered a spell to make it invisible again. She turned to go.
At that moment, Erin reached out and took hold of the Lady's cloak.
"Who are you, my lady?" she asked, her eyes huge as she looked up into that barely visible face. "Please tell us."
The Lady had not answered before and she did not answer now, but a shiver ran through her tall, slender body as she stopped in the doorway. Then she pulled her cloak free, shut the door and hurried away, her footsteps swallowed up by a cold and heavy silence.
"She must be an angel," said Erin in awe.
"If she has," said her mother bitterly, "Then why does she not come to free us?"
"Maybe it is not in her power."
Erin's mother handed her an apple and kissed the top of her head. "If it comforts you, little one, think of her as an angel all you like."
The Lady's cloak streamed behind her as she walked, ducking into shadows and concentrating on that long-forgotten spell learned from her oldest sister whenever she felt the presence of a Gray Knight. Her heart hammered in her ears; she had come so close to revealing who she was...too close.
If the child knew, she and the others would spurn my aid – and attempt to murder me, belike. I hear their whispers. Trechla, they call me. Traitor woman. That is what I am. I have made my bed and must lie in it, cruel and thorny though it be.
If only I could free them all...but where would they go? Even should the spell stretch to cover over a hundred people, they would leave a trail. The Gray Knights would find us, and we should all be in worse straits than before.
And meanwhile, all the aid I can give is but a drop in an ocean of misery – and the fault is all mine.
Inside her room, surrounded by ghostly, skeletal figures floating around in a grim parody of a court dance, Princess Rathina closed the ragged red curtains of the bed and curled into a ball, rocking back and forth, staring at nothing.