Godfrey Under Siege: The Griffin Legends, #2

By Mark Howard

The crusade marches on, but Godfrey de Bastogne is left to defend the strategically important castle known as Olso Fortress. As his men yearn to return to their homes in Bastogne at the crusade's imminent conclusion, Godfrey is torn between going with them to reclaim his birthright and starting a new life in Azgald with Madeline, his betrothed. Meanwhile, Madeline seeks to increase her magical abilities but is thwarted in every attempt by the castle's new librarian. At the same time, High Warlord Alvir has neither forgiven nor forgotten the wounds dealt to him by the crusaders, and he lays siege to Olso Fortress. Will Godfrey prove to be the leader he needs to be in this dark hour? Can Madeline forgive him for his failings and sharp words before succumbing to bitterness? Or will a traitor within the fortress throw the castle gates open to the enemy before Godfrey and Madeline can come to their senses?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Howard
• Release date: Nov 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215629840

Mark Howard

Mark Howard lives in Ohio with his wife and four children. When he is not writing or taking care of his family, he enjoys reading, biking, playing board games, and going on other imaginative adventures. Social Media: @HowardMarkLouis Website: www.thegriffinlegends.com

Book preview

The Griffin Legends:

Godfrey Under Siege

Chapter One

The wind howled in Godfrey’s ears as he rode his snowy white griffin, Spathi, high in the air. His blue cloak fluttered behind him. Though he always dressed warmly in the Nordslands, especially when he knew he would be flying with Spathi, the cold air bit his exposed face under his spangenhelm. The sight of flying among the clouds was serene, a stark contrast to the sights and sounds of carnage he knew would soon follow.

For a moment, he glanced down at the horn hooked to his belt on the opposite side of his satchel. Though plain in appearance, it was fashioned from one of the horns of Vozzab. He bit his lip and thanked the gods he would likely never have to fight such a rare and equally terrifying beast ever again.

Scanning the grassy fields below, Godfrey noticed a small cluster of bright grey stones matching the rock that consisted of much of the Wyrmwind Peaks. They were the decaying walls and columns of some ancient building he could not easily identify. Was it once a grand temple dedicated to long-forgotten gods? Perhaps it was the last remnants of some villa belonging to a wealthy lord whose tombstone had crumbled to dust centuries before. Though the elves’ empire had vanished long ago, the scattered ruins of a once proud civilization could still be found in every realm Godfrey had ventured to.

A small group rode their steeds at a full gallop across the field beyond the ruins below. There were maybe a dozen of them. Their weapons and armor appeared to be of Nordsman design, and their saddlebags were full of what he assumed was the loot stolen from the caravan he had come across while patrolling the roads leading to Olso. Drawing his sword, Uriel, he pointed the tip of its sparkling blade down at the horsemen.

There, Godfrey cried to Spathi. That has to be them. Let’s get these raiders!

The griffin made a slight bank to the right before entering a steep dive. His heater shield strapped to his left arm by its enarmes, Godfrey gripped the reins with his left hand while his right still clutched his sword as tightly as he could. His stomach sank. No matter how many times he did this, whether in actual combat or in training, he could never shake his fear of falling, especially when first going into a dive like this.

The ground rushed up to meet them. Spathi aligned himself with one of the Nordsman raiders towards the rear of the group. The howling wind made it nearly impossible for Godfrey to distinguish the thundering of the horses’ hooves just below him from the din rushing through his ears. They were on top of the Nordsmen now.

Extending his talons, Spathi screeched as he tore into one of the riders flying at full speed. The griffin’s razor-sharp claws eviscerated both rider and mount before he pulled up the next instant. The Nordsman died without knowing what hit him.

Signaling with his feet and tugging on the reins, Godfrey directed Spathi to wheel before going in for another dive. The raiders responded by drawing bows and arrows and firing up at him as their steeds continued to race across the field. The missiles whizzed past Godfrey, and he urged Spathi into a rapid descent. The griffin ripped into another mounted warrior from the side, and Godfrey was close enough to hack into a third Nordsman. His magical sword, blessed by the Sun God himself, cleaved through the raider’s chainmail with ease. No ordinary blade could do that.

With a guttural command shouted by one of the riders in the Nordsman tongue, the horsemen dispersed and began shooting their arrows while circling Godfrey and Spathi. A projectile bounced off Godfrey’s shield. Another grazed his cheek, slicing it as a trickle of blood flowed freely from the wound.

With a jolt that reverberated through his whole body, a third missile struck him just below the collarbone. He cried out at the force of the impact as the arrowhead bit into his flesh. Wincing, Godfrey ripped it out by the shaft. His chainmail and gambeson had prevented the arrowhead from penetrating too far.

Spathi kicked off the ground, lunging at another raider. The warrior fired his bow in response. The arrow came straight for Godfrey’s face. For a second, his vision blurred. He was dazed and briefly forgot where he was. The missile had bounced harmlessly off his spangenhelm’s flared nose guard but still rendered him senseless for a moment. Luckily, Spathi was unaffected and was shredding the unfortunate Nordsman with beak and claw by the time Godfrey regained his senses.

Another command was shouted by a Nordsman rider in their growling language. Godfrey was beginning to understand certain words of it through repetition while on crusade in the Nordslands. Charge was unmistakable to him at this point.

With swords and axes drawn, the Nordsmen attacked Godfrey from every direction. He slashed his sword, again and again, killing with each blow. Spathi twisted and swiped his raptor-like talons, knocking riders from their horses. One strike pierced the griffin’s side, and Spathi shrieked.

Cursing his carelessness, Godfrey bashed the marauder’s face with the cross-guard of his sword. Its chin strap breaking, the Nordsman’s helmet rolled across the ground as the warrior reeled backwards. Spathi immediately dispatched the rider’s horse with a snap of his beak. Now that the warrior’s face was no longer obscured by the helmet, Godfrey’s jaw hung open as he saw the bruised and bloodied but beautiful face of a young fiery-haired woman staring back at him. What was such a beautiful woman doing here in the midst of a fight?

She jumped to her feet and thrust her sword at him. Without thinking, Godfrey parried the blow, and his riposte met her neck. It was a response that came automatically after years of training for knighthood and months of campaigning in the Nordslands after being knighted. Only as she cried out with blood spurting from the wound did Godfrey realize what he had done.

For one horrifying moment, Godfrey met her eyes. This was no undead monster living in the depths of a haunted keep. She was no witch. She was only a girl defending herself from his attack. The young woman fell to the ground, choking on her life force. There was nothing he could do, and she would be dead in a moment.

The few remaining raiders fled, galloping off on their horses. Spathi made to pursue, but Godfrey restrained his mount. He shook his head at the griffin’s questioning gaze. There was already too much blood for one day. Too much blood.

After dismounting, he checked over Spathi’s wound. It was not serious. He knew that immediately. Still, he took his time tending to the shallow cut and refused to look at the Nordsman maiden as she gave out a few sputtering gasps, lying in a growing pool of crimson.

Gingerly stepping away from Godfrey, the griffin began feasting on the stinking entrails of one of the dead horses. Godfrey wiped the blood from his sword with a rag and sheathed the blade. The woman’s breathing stopped as he searched through her saddlebag. Silver, gems, jewelry; it contained the stolen goods from the caravan just as described by the dwarvish merchants Godfrey had encountered on the road prior to beginning his search for the marauders.

Godfrey clenched his jaw. His hand began to shake. It had not done so for some weeks until now. He turned to the pale corpse of the woman on the ground. Even in death, this Nordsman maiden was still just as beautiful as Lady Madeline back at Olso. She must have been about their age, maybe a little younger. His whole body trembled at the thought.

You stupid girl! he shouted with tears streaming down his face. Don’t you know this isn’t the place for you!

Walaric wheezed as he ascended the mountain slope in front of him. Though spring would soon give way to summer, snow could still be found throughout the heights of the Wyrmwind Peaks. Exhausted from more than three hours of hiking through the mountains, he grumbled to himself. His back still hurt too; ever since the cyclops threw him from his horse on the road to Narlstad. He yearned for his lost steed, Moon Frost, still, but horses were worth their weight in gold among the crusaders these days. Old wounds aside, he was glad to at least finally be on his feet again at all and silently praised the gods for their mercy. Spending so much of his life in shrines, monasteries, and libraries had hardly prepared him for all of this rugged adventure he now found himself a part of. But he was doing this for his friend, he reminded himself. He looked at the sword on his belt. Yes, he would even risk his life and spill blood for the life of his friend.

Turning his thoughts away from his fatigue and the potential danger he was in while wandering through the wilderness alone, Walaric searched his memory for one of the epic poems Bishop Clovis had taught him back at the orphanage in Vosg. Yes, a poem would help distract him. There were plenty of poems about difficult journeys by land and sea. Travels of Edico came to mind. It had a scene similar to what Walaric believed he was going through at the moment.

As he began bouncing his head to the meter of the poem, Walaric found it even more difficult to breathe. This was not the desired outcome. He stopped in his tracks after just a few stanzas. No sense continuing like this if getting caught up in poetry was only going to make his lungs burn. Edico might be able to travel through the Kerek Mountains for weeks on end, but Edico was part god. Walaric was born to mortal parents so far as he knew, and he needed a rest.

Finding a relatively flat spot on the mountainside, Walaric unceremoniously plopped down in the snow. Forgetting the poem, he stared at his surroundings as he caught his breath. Far below, and partly obscured by the mountains, was Olso Fortress. It was an ancient keep of elvish design encircled by double white stone walls. It sat high enough among the foothills to have a commanding view of the surrounding farmland, but not so high as to be inaccessible. According to Godfrey, Olso had served as a significant outpost back in the days of the elves’ empire. At least that was what Godfrey said an elf called Luka told him.

Walaric, Godfrey, and the other Bastognian crusaders had resided there and in the neighboring fiefs since capturing the castle from the Nordsman High Warlord Alvir. Though Godfrey had not expressly said what his immediate plans were, Walaric dared not think of Olso as home. The crusaders would move on as soon as they had finished consolidating their hold on the realm. He stared up at the faint image of the Moon in the pale midday sky. How strangely directionless Walaric felt since Godfrey defeated the dragon at Olso. Would the Moon guide him still or was it the call of the Sun he should heed after all?

After a few more minutes of him ruminating, the melting snow began to soak through his trousers. Walaric got to his feet. He had to find Godfrey.

Cresting the snow-capped slope, Walaric searched the surrounding mountains. Godfrey knelt at the top of the next mountain over while Spathi lay curled up beside him. Walaric thought to shout out to him, but he noticed Godfrey was leaning against his sword as he knelt. The tip of the blade was planted in the snow. Fidgeting in agitation, Walaric thought better than to interrupt Godfrey’s prayer.

He took several more minutes to traverse down the slippery mountain slope and ascend to where Godfrey was, but Walaric found Godfrey still in the attitude of kneeling in prayer by the time he reached him. At first, Godfrey did not appear to notice him, even though Walaric made no particular efforts to conceal his presence. However, the griffin stirred and trilled when he noticed Walaric.

Godfrey raised his head at this disturbance, and his eyes met Walaric’s. He wore a haggard expression but gave a half-smile. He stood and sheathed his sword.

Sorry to interrupt, Walaric said.

Don’t worry about it. Godfrey sighed.

I saw you fly over Olso. Walaric pointed a finger up in the air as if tracking something in mid-flight.

I needed some time alone. Godfrey looked at his feet.

I thought, after a couple of hours, you might need some time with a friend. Walaric frowned. Brooding alone does no good from my experience.

A dark scab covered a relatively fresh cut on Godfrey’s face. His tabard was ripped near the collarbone. Walaric had grown accustomed to seeing similar tokens of battle covering his friend, but not the sadness in his expression or a professed desire for isolation. Walaric furrowed his brow. Something substantial was bothering Godfrey.

What happened during the patrol this morning? Walaric asked.

Godfrey cringed but said nothing.

Turpin says you intercepted some robbers, Walaric probed further.

Godfrey hesitated. His mouth opened and closed a few times as if he could not decide on the right words to say. His hand shook. Walaric had not seen that in a while.

They were women. Godfrey turned his gaze to Spathi when he finally spoke. All of them. The marauders were all women.

Turpin told us that after he found the battle site and returned the stolen goods to the dwarves. Walaric nodded. Madeline says there are bands of roving Nordsman sisterhoods in these parts. They are called Amazons.

What kind of cowardly savages send their women out to fight? Godfrey spat.

Madeline says the Amazons only answer to themselves. Walaric shrugged. They reject femininity, preferring to prove themselves through combat. They’re supposed to be skilled archers who fight on horseback.

So I saw. Godfrey turned back to Walaric with a fierce look.

It’s a wicked world. Walaric threw out his hands in frustration. Not everyone lives up to the ideals of a chivalrous dragon-slaying knight.

Right. Godfrey conceded with a dismissive wave of his hand. I know. I know. I’ve seen some bad things. I just wasn’t ready for something like that.

What were you praying about? Walaric hoped to change the subject.

I— Godfrey started.

Spathi cocked his head in Godfrey’s direction. Godfrey shifted his weight from one foot to the other while averting his eyes once again. Walaric frowned at Godfrey’s obvious discomfort. Maybe this was the wrong question for him to ask. No. Walaric would soon be ordained a priest, and Godfrey was his friend. It was his prerogative to ask about these things.

This might sound silly coming from me. Godfrey started again. But do you think the gods are still with us?

"You slew Vozzab with a magic sword blessed by the Sun God himself! Walaric exclaimed. You carry one of his horns on your belt. How could you wonder if the gods are with us? If the celestial gods do not smile on you for killing a demonic dragon, I don’t know what deeds they would ever favor."

Right. Godfrey slowly exhaled. But High Warlord Alvir escaped the battle. We’ve spent several weeks consolidating our hold on this realm when we should have pursued the Nordsmen into the heart of their territory. And now, killing women...

You only did what you had to. Walaric put a comforting hand on Godfrey’s shoulder. Those Amazons murdered several dwarves in that caravan, stole their wares, and they would have killed you too if they had been given the chance. Protection of this realm falls to you now. That horn symbolizes your authority here in this realm. You did not kill women. You brought robbers to justice.

Godfrey nodded, conceding Walaric’s point.

Tancred and Turpin also agreed if we wanted to hold onto this region for Azgald for the long term, we had to do more than just conquer and move on, Walaric added. We had to rebuild and strengthen this—what are we calling this region again?

The Nordsman name for it is unpronounceable, Godfrey explained. The Azgaldians call the region surrounding Olso Fortress Kovdor.

Kovdor, Walaric repeated. We have to strengthen Kovdor for Azgald before rejoining the rest of the crusaders.

I still feel lost. Godfrey slumped his shoulders. What you say makes sense, and it made sense when Tancred and Turpin said it, but I don’t know if my heart agrees with my head now. I want to know what to do next for the crusade, but Loxias does not seem to answer my prayers.

Did you try addressing him by another name? Walaric suggested.

What? Godfrey could not look more exasperated than he did right now.

Helios? Walaric raised an eyebrow. Sol? Phoebos? Lyceus? The Sun has a lot of names you could call him in prayer. The same can be said of the Moon or any other god or goddess you can think of.

My family only ever addressed the Sun God as Loxias, Godfrey explained.

Well, it would make sense to address the Sun as Loxias if you are looking for a prophecy, Walaric answered. But what if the Sun didn’t want to give you prophecy but wanted to give you light or healing instead? You would need to address the god by one of his other names for those blessings.

That’s not what I was taught, Godfrey countered.

Different families and peoples have different traditions about the gods. Walaric pointed a finger at himself. As a future priest, it’s my job to know them all so that I can tell you how best to serve them. The gods can be fickle, and they won’t always listen. Next time you offer a prayer, start it like this: ‘Loxias, Helios, Phoebos, or whatever appellation you wish to be known by today, hear my prayer...’ That way, the god will be obliged to answer you.

And what if he still doesn’t answer? Godfrey crossed his arms.

Sometimes ‘wait and see’ is the hardest answer to hear. Walaric sighed.

Godfrey scowled. Walaric frowned too. It was easy to listen from the comfort of a church pew as a priest gave a sermon on patience and everything unfolding in the due time of the stars. It was much harder to try to live it out on crusade. While they were waiting, armies were moving, monsters and knights battled it out, and people died.

Let’s go home. Godfrey indicated Spathi.

Home? Walaric repeated.

"I meant to Olso." Godfrey cleared his throat.

Oh. Walaric looked back in the direction of the fortress. It will take more hard fighting to retake Bastogne after the crusade is over.

Right. Godfrey gave a slight tug on Spathi’s reins, and the griffin stood. I’ve tried not to think about that too much out here. Let’s worry about that later when we can do something about it besides worrying.

Walaric kept his mouth shut but clenched his teeth at the thought of King Wilhelm’s injustice. If anyone deserved to be thrown into the Abyss, it was him. Despite Walaric’s brooding, Godfrey’s eyes were distant once again. He was concentrating on something else now.

Godfrey hopped in Spathi’s saddle and turned to him. He motioned to Walaric to also mount the griffin. Walaric shook his head vigorously.

No. Walaric trembled. No, no, no.

Come on, Godfrey insisted. It will be a lot faster than walking.

There isn’t enough room in the saddle for both of us, Walaric countered.

Just hold on tightly, Godfrey instructed. I’ve done it with Madeline before.

Spathi turned to Walaric and shook his head. He could have sworn the griffin was questioning his bravery. He rubbed his forehead. Glancing between the griffin and the path Walaric had traveled to get to this spot, the acolyte weighed his options. With an expectant look, Godfrey gestured for Walaric one more time.

I’m sorry. Walaric sighed.

What? Godfrey’s jaw hung open.

Biting his lip, Walaric immediately regretted his decision.

Thanks, but no, Walaric said. I would go with you to Farthest Thule, the darkest depths of the Abyss, and back. But I’m keeping my feet on the ground the whole way.

Fine, Godfrey answered curtly.

Grinding his teeth, Walaric doubted the sincerity of Godfrey’s reply.

We go on foot. Godfrey dismounted the griffin. But Spathi won’t like it.

Leading Spathi by the reins, Godfrey walked past Walaric as he began his descent. Walaric did not know much about griffins, but he guessed a creature accustomed to flying probably would not like going up and down the steep mountain slopes that lay ahead of them. Walaric silently cursed himself as his thoughts dwelled on Godfrey and Spathi’s apparent frustration. Olso would be a long trek.

Chapter Two

Madeline brushed her long, dark hair out of her face as she paced through Olso’s great hall. Servants bustled to and fro, moving in every direction on their several errands. She glanced behind her to see her two maidservants from Pavik, Elja, and Thieda, following their mistress at a respectful distance, awaiting her call.

Elja and Thieda were both blonde young women close to Madeline’s age. They were tall and fair-skinned, and their dresses were simple compared to Madeline’s, though still more decorative and made of finer material than the peasants wore. However, Elja’s hair was curly and her eyes were green while Thieda’s hair was straight and her eyes brown. Madeline suspected they had some Nordsman blood in their ancestry, but she never openly questioned them about it. Some lines of conversation were just rude.

Lady Madeline? Elja asked after Madeline had been staring at them for a moment.

Madeline shook her head and turned away from the handmaids. At one point, back in Pavik, Madeline might have considered them friends, but things were different now. Their conversations were much more respectful at Olso than they had been back at her father’s estates at Mendelpav and Rorku.

It’s nothing, Madeline replied.

Are you sure, my lady? Thieda insisted. Is there something we could get for you?

No. Madeline turned to face them.

With shocked expressions, Thieda and Elja both jumped back.

Sorry, Lady Madeline! Elja cried.

Madeline rolled her eyes. She was not overly cross in her reply. The fear written across the servants’ faces was entirely unwarranted. Yet this was not the first time Thieda and Elja had reacted to her like this since their arrival at Olso. Something had changed in them since she last saw them at Mendelpav. Maybe that should not have been so surprising. A lot had happened since then. The crusaders had arrived, she met Godfrey, and she was now engaged to him, but none of that explained her handmaidens’ strange behavior now.

Why are you two acting like this? Madeline put her hands on her hips. Ever since you first arrived here at Olso, you’ve acted like you’re scared of me. What’s wrong? Out with it.

The maidservants turned to each other briefly.

Your father’s knights... Thieda began.

They told us about your fire when they brought us here. Elja finished the thought.

There it was. It was so obvious now that Madeline thought about it. They, like most Ostmen, were terrified of magic.

I suppose most of Azgald has heard about that by now. Madeline groaned. That’s why you’re scared? I’ve been hiding my magic from you for so long, and now you know.

You’re the only witch we’ve ever seen, Thieda apologized.

I’m not a witch! Madeline had difficulty concealing the pain in her voice at such an accusation. Let’s get that cleared up right now. I have no intention of using my powers to summon evil spirits or put curses on people. I only want to use my magic to help people. I’m still the same Madeline you’ve always known.

Sorry. Thieda lowered her head.

Did you really use your magic to incinerate the Great Witch of the North? Elja asked.

Elja! Thieda rounded on the other handmaiden.

No, Madeline answered. But I did use my powers to heal wounded soldiers during the battle here, mostly Father’s knights and footmen. I guess that’s why the people here who were at the battle have been more accepting of my powers.

All this time! Elja exclaimed. Why did you keep it a secret from us?

Look at how you two have treated me ever since you found out! Madeline’s sharp response caused the other girls to recoil.

Madeline took a deep breath. This reaction was quite the opposite of what she had wanted. She threw out her hands in a placating gesture.

I’m not going to burn you to a crisp, Madeline assured them. I’m still your Madeline, but your fear is exactly why Father wanted me to keep my powers hidden. There’s an old saying Father told me once: Three can keep a secret if two are dead. Even well-meaning friends might accidentally reveal things they shouldn’t.

Too late for that now, Elja pouted.

Yes. Madeline rubbed her forehead. Too late.

Well. Thieda perked up. If Madeline says she won’t burn us to a crisp, we’ll just have to trust her. She is our lady after all.

Okay, Elja agreed, if reluctantly.

Some of Godfrey’s knights laughed raucously from one of the long feasting tables as they made a rude joke Madeline was sure they would not have told if they were aware of how close she and her maidservants were. She glanced over at the table. Berimund the Brash was the center of attention, making obscene sucking sounds while Sir Paschal laughed the most loudly of the knights gathered around Berimund. Madeline cringed.

He’s certainly earned his epithet, hasn’t he? Madeline rolled her eyes as Berimund made another rude joke met by more roaring cackles.

Can you believe he has a wife and children down in Bastogne? Thieda shook her head.

He has a way of making people smile. Elja smirked.

He has a way of making knights forget who they are. Thieda pursed her lips. Common footmen I’d expect this of, but a knight should be setting an example.

Come on, ladies. Madeline gestured for the handmaidens to follow her. Let’s get away from the noise. Unlike some people, we have work to do.

The three walked just far enough away from Berimund the Brash’s table so that Madeline was not so distracted by the din. Madeline glanced around. Vonig the Cold, Sir Garic, his squire, Candac, and Sir Taran were at the next nearest table. They were a much quieter group from what Madeline had seen.

Is everything ready for Walaric’s ordination in two days? Madeline turned to Thieda expectantly.

Elja sighed. Madeline pursed her lips at the odd reaction Elja gave. Walaric’s ordination was meant to be a joyous occasion. There was to be a ceremony, a feast afterwards...

Bishop Clovis says we’re ready. Thieda nodded. He’ll ordain Walaric a priest and then he will return to Vosg. He intends to spread the news of the victory here at Olso. It should encourage more support for the crusade back in the southern kingdoms.

Madeline gave a slight smile. More crusaders would certainly help in the war against the Clans. However, Thieda and Elja exchanged an uncomfortable look.

Something is still bothering you? Madeline asked. You can tell me. You don’t have anything to fear from me.

What are we going to do about the goblins down in the silver mine? Elja wrinkled her nose. Can’t Godfrey’s knights get rid of them?

Godfrey hasn’t made a decision about the goblins yet. Madeline shrugged.

I hope he gets rid of them soon, Thieda whined. They’re repulsive.

Madeline said nothing more but silently agreed with Thieda and Elja. Goblins were small, slimy, hideous creatures that smelled of spoiled milk when gathered in large numbers. Down in the silver mine, they always spoke to each other in whispers on the rare occasions when Madeline ventured down there. She suspected they were plotting something based on the nervous glances they gave her but, for the moment at least, they still brought silver up from the mine. She hoped Godfrey would make his decision soon, but now there were other pressing matters.

The exorcist from the Temple of Spes left this morning. Madeline turned to Elja. He told me he had destroyed the last of the dark gods’ idols that he could find here in the castle, and he directed us to write him if we found any artifact we suspected carries the dark gods’ taint. Was there anyone else due to visit us?

A sister from the Order of the Ivory Chalice is supposed to arrive any day now. Elja consulted a letter she produced from her satchel. She wrote saying she wanted to examine all the books in the witch’s library.

The Ivory Chalice? Madeline’s heart froze.

She grabbed the letter from Elja’s hand. Holding her breath, she read over it twice. She clenched her teeth.

I should have expected this. Madeline handed the letter back to Elja.

What’s the Ivory Chalice? Elja folded the parchment before putting it back in her satchel. Who are they?

Any time something involving magic happens in Azgald, Thieda began, the Order of the Ivory Chalice sends friars or sisters to investigate.

Wonderful. Madeline sighed. That leaves so much time for wedding preparations...

Didn’t that old exorcist already look over the books in the library? Thieda asked.

He only briefly visited the library, Madeline explained. He said books required more specialized scrutiny. I guess he sent for the Ivory Chalice to give a more thorough inspection.

Madeline clenched her teeth. There was so much to do. All details concerning these matters and more fell to her. She was not yet Godfrey’s wife, but that did not stop all the responsibilities of being the Lady of the castle from being hefted upon her shoulders. She felt torn in a hundred directions all at once.

Can I really run Olso’s affairs? Madeline twisted a strand of hair between her fingers.

You’ve managed so far. Thieda shrugged.

Madeline crossed her arms.

Thieda’s right, Elja said.

Trying to clear all these worries from her mind, she closed her eyes and slowly exhaled. Each problem would be sorted out in time. She was in control, she silently told herself. She was in charge.

The large wooden doors to the great hall creaked open as Bishop Clovis escorted a woman in a nun’s white habit through the portal. She was an older woman, Madeline guessed in her early fifties, and her thin features were accentuated by her high cheek bones. The noise in the chamber immediately died down with one imperious look from this woman. Even Berimund the Brash went silent. Elja and Thieda’s mouths hung open.

She’s here early, Thieda whispered. That’s the Sister from the Ivory Chalice.

Madeline gulped in response.

The older woman met Madeline’s gaze immediately and strode towards her. The surprised Bishop staggered a couple of steps behind as he tried to catch up. The Sister wasted no time at all.

When she reached Madeline, the woman’s eyes darted from her head to her toes and back. A frown crossed her lips, though she said nothing. Madeline took an involuntary step back. This lady was as tall as she was intimidating.

A little red in the face from his sudden exertions, Clovis reached them with hurried steps. The Bishop caught his breath and gestured apologetically. What a rare sight to see the Bishop afraid of anyone.

Lady Madeline. Clovis panted, indicating the older woman. This is Sister Vanya of the Order of the Ivory Chalice.

The Sister extended her hand. Madeline curtsied and kissed the large ruby ring adorning Sister Vanya’s finger. It seemed too luxurious a piece of jewelry for a simple cleric. Perhaps she was a noblewoman who had taken vows in old age out of sheer boredom?

I am here on assignment from the order, Vanya announced. I was informed that the witch, Nera, left behind a very large collection of books containing arcane lore and spells.

That’s right. Madeline fidgeted.

She had meant to go through the hefty tomes quite thoroughly, and a few lay scattered about her room, but her responsibilities as the de facto Lady of Olso Fortress left her little time for reading. Venturing a guess at what Sister Vanya intended to do with all of Nera’s books, Madeline grimaced.

I will need all of the witch’s books in the castle gathered and brought to the library, Vanya commanded. I will catalogue them, maintain them, and destroy any dangerous materials I find there.

Yes, Sister. Madeline nodded to Thieda, who then shot off towards Madeline’s room on the fourth floor of the castle. Will you be staying long then?

I don’t foresee myself leaving anytime soon. The Sister gave a thin smile. After all, I am the new librarian here.

But this is Godfrey’s castle, Madeline protested. My father, the Duke of Pavik, bequeathed it to him. 

My dear. Sister Vanya’s smile grew a little broader, and her eyes sharpened as the excitement in her voice became more apparent. In Azgald, all lore concerning magic falls under the sovereignty of the Order of the Ivory Chalice. If I am not permitted to stay, I will simply have to take all the books with me to Sudvall’s library.

Defeated, Madeline sighed. She did not want to lose whatever secrets those books held before getting the chance to look through them. Better to have some access to Nera’s spell books than none at all. She was not about to make a tense situation worse.

Bishop Clovis. Sister Vanya turned her attention away from Madeline. Have my things brought to my room. Lady Madeline, show me to the castle library. I must begin my work immediately.

With a bow, the Bishop left.  

This way, Sister. Elja curtsied.

Madeline silently mouthed her gratitude to Elja as she escorted Sister Vanya from the great hall. The chatter resumed. Wearily, Madeline made her way to the lord’s high table at the end of the great hall. She sat in her chair and held her head in her hands for several minutes.

After a while, most of the servants had left the great hall. It was beginning to grow dark outside. Noticing Godfrey had not returned yet, she frowned. It was unlike him to be gone for so long. Did something happen during the patrol this morning?

She looked about and spotted Varin lurking in the shadows of the minstrel’s gallery. In the short time she had known him, Madeline had quickly grown to expect the cloaked ranger to remain aloof at all times. Though he was the master of all of Godfrey’s scouts and took it upon himself to personally train every one of them in the arts of the ranger since they had arrived in Azgald, he did not like people much from what she had observed. She got out of her seat and took a few steps towards him.

Varin, she called up to him. Have you seen Godfrey?

She made eye contact with the ranger so she knew he could not pretend to be unseen.

He flew past the castle this morning after his patrol, Varin said, clearing his throat as if speaking aloud for the first time that day. Walaric went after him into the mountains.

At least the Amazons didn’t get him. Madeline crossed her arms. Why didn’t you go after him too?

It seemed like the kind of job a friend should do. Varin shrugged.

And what are you? Madeline pointed an accusing finger up at the ranger.

With respect, my lady, Varin answered. I am Lord Godfrey’s servant, not his friend. Walaric is better suited for that sort of task than I.

Without another word, the ranger slinked away. Though Madeline understood what he was saying, it did not stop her from grinding her teeth at his retreating form. Walaric was a good friend, but rangers were better at scaling mountains than the clergy were.

She turned back to the high table. Should she wait for them in the great hall? There were still numerous errands and chores to attend to throughout the castle. No. The servants could run the castle for a bit. This was far more important.

Turning her attention back to the doors at the far end of the chamber, Madeline made up her mind to go after them. She strode towards the hefty wooden doors. Just as she was reaching for the heavy iron ring-like handle, the portal creaked open. To her surprise, Godfrey and Walaric strolled into the great hall. They were talking and joking as if nothing were wrong at all.

Oh. Godfrey grinned. Hello, Madeline.

Hello, Madeline? she repeated with a scowl. "You’ve been gone all day. Where were you? I was just about to