The lord of the castle

chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

He heard of Channa Leigh's betrothal, as he heard of everything that happened in the village.

He had  shunned her presence and now she was betrothed to another.

Stricken by the news, he shut himself away in his castle.

He felt the changing seasons in the chill within the castle's cold stone walls, saw it in the changing color of his eyes as fall's brown turned to winter gray.

He had ever hated winter.

Below, the villagers gathered their children close.

Huddled around their cozy hearth fires, fathers told and retold the ancient stories and legends of their people, while mothers sang songs and lullabies.

Sometimes, when it seemed the long winter nights would never pass, when the loneliness grew more than he could bear, he took on the wolf form and ran with the pack that dwelled high in the mountains behind the castle.

They accepted him as one of them, and he found solace in their company.

Often, he felt compelled to go to Channa Leigh, but it was too painful to be close to her.

Had he been less selfish, he would have sought her out so that she might again see the world through his eyes, but being near her only emphasized his loneliness, his separateness from those in the village.

Now, he stood before the hearth, the light from the fire playing hide-and-seek with the shadows that

lurked in the corners.

He held his hands out to the flames, felt the warmth seep into him, but all the fire in the world could not ease his loneliness or chase the darkness from his heart and soul.

He was like the shadows, he thought, torn between light and dark, between good and evil.

There had been times, though rare, when he had refused to grant a boon to one of the villagers simply because it pleased him to refuse, because it gave him a perverse sense of power to know that he held the fate of the supplicant in his hands.

There were times, when he stood within the cold stone walls of the dungeon where he practiced his magic, that he felt the darkness rise up within him.

At those times, he felt the promise, the insidious lure, of the Dark Arts.

Other times, when he had granted a boon to one who sought his help, he was filled with an inner light, with the satisfaction that came from helping one in need.

But he had no thought for goodness or kindness this night.

The Darkness rose up within him, thick and black and smothering.

Turning away from the fire, he left the dungeon to stalk the dusky corridors of the castle, his long black cloak floating behind him like the smoky gray mists that sometimes covered the land

near the sea.

He caught a glimpse of himself in one of the windows, a tall, dark silhouette moving swiftly, silently.

A solitary creature who belonged to no one, belonged nowhere but here, in a castle that was as cold and empty as his heart.

He paused in midstride, nostrils flaring.

Someone was coming.

Descending the long spiral staircase, he crossed the great hall and flung open the door.

Dugald of Brynn reeled back, his eyes growing wide.

One hand, lifted to pull the bell, remained frozen in midair.