Read Wulfyddia (The Tattersall Trilogy Book 1) for Free Online Page B

one of the first defenses to
have been put in place, and it was at the center of much local mythology. In
addition to the many ghost stories concerning the moat, an entire cohort of
dark beasts were said to reside under the noxious water. There were even some
who claimed that the moat had its own spirit, though usually it was only
natural bodies of water which could claim the protection of a water spirit. Personally,
Spencer had never seen anything particularly remarkable on his walks past the
moat, and the only moat-creatures whose existence he had ever heard confirmed
with absolute certainty were leeches.
    The keep
itself was an ugly thing, at least to Spencer’s eyes. It was uniformly black,
largely undecorated, and quite squat, save for a number of spindly towers that
poked up towards the sky like spikes. The interior of the castle was not
particularly aesthetic, either. Many of the royal chambers were quite lavishly
decorated, and the largest chambers, such as the great hall where court was
held, had a certain eye-popping grandeur, but the architecture itself was rather
hideous. Windows were few and far between, since the castle was built first and
foremost to withstand a siege. Instead, there were arrow slits everywhere,
which let in very little light and often leaked when it rained. 
    The
sprawl of the city spilled from the keep in every direction except the north,
in which direction the keep was so close to the sea that on stormy nights the
spray of the ocean kissed the stone of the keep. Beyond the keep there were a
series of walls, some in better states of repair than others, most sporting
battlements and guard towers. Each wall dated to a different year, and often to
a different century, and many of them had entire stretches of masonry which
were either crumbling, or missing entirely. It looked as if after each
devastating battle, the ruling monarch had simply put up a new wall rather than
repair the old one. The result was a rather patchwork mismatching of walls.
There seemed little rhyme or reason to their construction, save for a vague
pattern which seemed to spiral inward. The people who lived among the outermost
walls were the poorest, many of them refugees from provinces stricken by
famine, disease or flooding. Closer to the keep, the roads improved, the stench
of sewage and rot faded, and the buildings transitioned from shacks to cottages
to large houses with multiple chimneys. The chasm cut across it all, isolating
the Haligorn from the rest of the city.
    ***
    Black
hair drifted in the cold water like seaweed. The hands were white, chilled,
slack. The woman was suspended in the green water of the lake like a specimen
in a jar, and she was just as still. Then one finger uncurled, fernlike, and
the eyes opened, wide and livid, staring at Melisande. The lips, the awful pale
lips, stretched into a grin. The hands flailed wildly, churning the frothing
water as the woman thrashed through the lake, coming for Melisande, who was
frozen, suspended just as still as the woman had once been. 
    With a
soft cry Melisande jerked awake. Her eyelashes fluttered rapidly as she took in
her surroundings, haunted by some lingering fear which had followed her from
her dream. She was safe, sequestered in Felunhala’s study with only her
mistress’s polished skull for company. There was no floating woman. Melisande
shifted in her chair, wearily rubbing her face as her eyes went to the
grandfather clock that loomed against the far wall. It was already mid-morning.
Felunhala and the Fool had to be sleeping in; otherwise her mistress would
certainly have come for her. Felunhala did not approve of sleeping late, even if
Melisande had been awake and working into the early morning.
    She
stared down at the mess of papers that had served as a pillow while she dozed,
willing herself to remember which project she had been working on when she
drifted off. She glanced at a sketch of a lake, and some of her confusion
faded. Of course. She