In The Shadow Of The Beast

By Harlan H.
Howard

Smashwords Edition

Published 2013

by Harlan H. Howard

on Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Harlan H. Howard

All rights reserved. No part of this book may
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fiction. Characters and events are the product of the author’s
imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely
coincidental.

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CHAPTER 1

Origins

Chandeliers that cast a brilliance
throughout the room. Candles that flicker in sconces set into high
recesses within stone walls. Shadows that jump and sway with the
excitement of a feral thing. Within salubrious and sumptuously
decorated banquet chambers the low murmur of conversation played as
companion to the shrilling and whinnying of stringed and fluted
instruments.

Elegant ladies, their corsets fit to
bursting with ample bosoms and refined gentlemen resplendent in
their ceremonial war dress stood here and there around the opulent
chamber. Some spoke animatedly of their latest material
acquisition, others boasted of financial gain or martial prowess,
while some told outrageous, bawdy tales much to the shock and
amusement of their fellows. Then there were those that stood off to
the side, whispering amongst the shadows of things that would not
be deemed fit for polite conversation in such rarefied high
society.

Doing much of the whispering, Baron Vincenzo
Mortaron was an imposing slab of of a man. An unapologetic
aristocrat, with blood running through his veins as blue as the
depths of an arctic sea, and just as suffocatingly cold. He spoke
with a brazen authority, instilled by birthright and well exercised
at that. But his over-bearing manner was tempered by a cruel
intelligence that glittered maliciously from behind dark eyes.

Mortaron was hunched secretively over the
mantle of a fireplace that crackled and spat, deep in conversation
with another person. Smaller of frame and brilliantly fair of hair,
the other man held not nearly half the physical presence of
Mortaron, yet he carried himself with the confidence of one well
used to having the ear of powerful men.

‘
It is arranged,’ said
Mortaron. ‘The Regent has but to speak the vow of betrothal and my
sister’s virtue is his to do with as he pleases.’

The other man nodded appreciatively, sipped
thoughtfully at a goblet of dark wine in his hand.

‘
And your sister would do
this willingly?’ he said.

‘
Willingly be damned,’
scoffed Mortaron. ‘She will do her duty as her baron commands
it.’

The firelight was dancing in his eyes as
Mortaron savored his next words. ‘And when it is done, events will
gather distantly that will see us do particularly well out of the
arrangement.’

The other man raised his glass, a rueful
smile upon his face. ‘My masters will be most gratified to learn of
this...a toast then; to best laid plans.’

Mortaron raised his own goblet, before
knocking back its inky contents in one quick swallow. The Baron was
a man notorious for an almost predatory sixth sense, an attribute
that had served him well in countless battles. It was that sense
that prickled now, causing him to turn in time to see the serving
girl that had passed behind himself and his conspirator. She turned
away quickly, as if trying to pretend she had not been close enough
to overhear their conversation.

‘
You,’ called out Mortaron,
stopping the girl dead. She turned slowly, timidly standing before
him, a tray of silver goblets balanced upon her delicate hand.
Large brown eyes looked up fearfully out of a pleasantly oval face,
and it satisfied Mortaron to see the discomforting effect his
presence had on this young creature. Silly, pretty young things
like this one were one of his many indulgences, and Mortaron viewed
them with about the same casual regard he might have for a good
riding saddle. An object of necessity.

‘
You ought not to sneak up
on your betters girl,’ Mortaron said. ‘You might hear things that
you should be living in blissful ignorance of. A head as pretty as
yours would look somehow diminished resting at the bottom of the
executioner’s basket.’

The girl, already pale of skin, seemed to
turn even whiter at this, and the tray of goblets started ever so
slightly to rattle in her hand. ‘Pardon lord, I meant no
intrusion,’ she stammered.

She managed to drag her eyes from the floor,
raising her gaze until it was met by the soul flensing stare of The
Baron Mortaron. His cruel eyes seemed to fix on her, pinning her
immobile in place like one might pin a moth to a specimen board.
The moment seemed to drag for an eternity, the weight of those
ticking seconds bearing crushingly down and then...

‘
Beth, you’ve been dawdling
again!’ From across the room a senior house maid was floating
gracefully toward them, her stern aspect firmly in place as she
drew near to the trio around the fire. ‘Pardon my lords,’ she said
to the two men, ‘we’re ready to serve supper now if you’d like to
make your way to the dining room.’

She didn’t wait for an answer before turning
to the trembling serving girl, ‘With me please, Beth,’ as she
turned smartly and began to to glide back toward a servants door at
the back of the room.

Immensely relieved, the serving girl turned
to follow her mistress, hurrying from the sight of The Baron, who
did not take his eyes from her until she had closed that servants
door behind her.

On the other side, the house mistress moved
down a serving line thundering with the cacophony of a kitchen in
the middle of a full dinner service. Beth scurried along in the
mistress wake, grateful to be away from the scrutiny of The Baron.
She wasn’t really sure what she’d overheard in the reception
chamber, but would have put a years wage on it being nothing but
wickedness.

‘
You’re to be more discreet
around The Baron, Beth. He’s not a man whose attentions you would
wish to draw unnecessarily,’ chided the mistress, who did not even
look back as she pressed on through the kitchen.

‘
Yes mistress,’ said Beth,
her timid voice a barely audible whisper over the growing
din.

‘
I’m sure you’ve heard a
tale or two regarding his lordship’s foul temper,’ continued the
mistress. ‘Well it’s all true and then some.’

Reaching the kitchen the mistress pushed
through a scrum of serving staff, all of them hurrying here and
there, overburdened with trays of sweet meats and glorious savory
delights. The heat in the place was immense, and Beth could feel
the prickle of a light sweat break out on her skin.

Without breaking stride, the mistress
scooped up a silver platter leaden with an assortment of delicacies
and dropped it into Beth’s arms, the serving girl missing a step
and nearly tripping over her own feet in the process of
transfer.

‘
Get this up to her
ladyship, and make sure she eats something.’

Beth didn’t have time to frame a response,
she was already being shooed through yet another doorway and up a
steep flight of stairs that would lead eventually to an upper
landing. This was the part of the house where Beth’s employers, the
family Mortaron dwelt and slept.

‘
...and don’t bloody
dawdle, Beth!’ called the mistress after her as she left the
cacophony of the kitchen behind.

In this part of the house the music and
merriment of the party and the noise of the kitchen were but a
distant murmur, and Beth found herself enjoying the relative
sanctuary in this isolated part of the residence. Indeed the house
could be described as a palace in its own right so large it
was.

The aromas rising from the silver platter
were intoxicating to Beth, who could only ever dream of what it
might be like to dine on so finely prepared a repast. Since coming
into the service of the Mortarons, Beth had been exposed, after a
decidedly limited fashion, to a wealth of such new marvels. She now
served one of the most powerful families in the land of Atos, and
considered herself most fortunate to have landed the position.
Especially at a time of great celebration. Baron Mortaron’s sister,
the Lady Veronique was betrothed to The Regent himself. The first
among the rulers of this troubled land, he was a man feared and
respected as a great warrior and fair ruler, and this was a union
that it was hoped would bring stability to the realm riven with
decades of conflict between the noble houses.

The lady herself was a woman held in almost
as high regard as her husband to be, and having met her briefly a
number of times since her arrival, Beth could easily see why.
Veronique was gracious and warm, possessed of a beauty within that
matched her radiant beauty without. The polar opposite of her
brother The Baron. The word was that the marriage had been
engineered by The Baron himself, and that the lady was ill at ease
with the reality of her use as a bartering piece. No surprise again
that Veronique had decided to shutter herself away on a night when
her brother had arranged for celebrations to announce the joyous
occasion.

It was while considering the current
machinations of the royal elite of the realm, that Beth heard the
noise. Something like the low panting of an animal, hard and
labored, there and gone again. It was enough to stop her in her
tracks, and give her cause to strain to listen for the sound. But
it did no come again.

Her destination was the Lady Veronique’s bed
chamber at the far end of the long corridor, and deciding that what
she’d heard was merely the sounds of an old house settling against
the fierce winds of the east, Beth continued on down the
corridor.

The smell came upon her slowly. It
insinuated its way amongst the odors of the foodstuffs on the tray
she was carrying, and although not entirely unpleasant, it had a
certain earthy pugnaciousness that would not be denied. There was
no doubt that the odd scent was most prevalent in the area
immediately before Veronique’s chambers, hanging in the air about
her doorway like whisps of cobweb trailing on a light breeze.

Beth reached the door to her lady’s
bedchamber, reached out to rap her knuckles lightly upon the old
oak facade before being invited to enter as protocol demanded, when
the animal panting came again. Harder and more insistent this time,
there could be no dismissing it as the the innocent settling of old
timbers.

Beth hesitated before knocking, her hand
hovering inches from the oak, frozen in place as she listened
intently to the hard panting coming from the other side of the
door.

The sound was so strange, like nothing she’s
heard in all her nineteen years. Yet also unsettlingly familiar.
Like the sound of some beast, panting in the heat of the midday
sun.

Beth had always been something of a shy
girl, even as a child she’d been exceptionally timid, sensitive in
a manner that had always so frustrated her old mother. She had
never been one to take risks, to step out of line or to act in an
inappropriate manner. But on this occasion, something in that
animal sound stoked the fires of her curiosity to such a height
that she had quite forgotten her timidity.

Abandoning protocol in favor of satiating
her curiosity, Beth reached out to take hold of the ornate iron
handle bolted into the door, depressed it as quietly as she could
manage until the locking plate clicked open and she could slowly
push the heavy door wide to learn just what it was that was making
that curious sound.

The sight that greeted her took her breath
away. A creature from her wildest nightmares, all matted fur and
knotted muscle, teeth and claws. It was a wolf in the shape of a
man, twice the size of any ordinary workday mortal, and it was
hunched atop the prone form the Lady Veronique. Her night dress was
torn and shredded where the beast had laid into it with his teeth
and claws, leaving Veronique almost nude. The creatures animal
breathing coming in hard, short bursts, and Beth now knew without
doubt the source of the sound that had so piqued her curiosity.