War Maid's choice

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Traram watched the first flight of flaming arrows trace lines of smoke across the sky and smiled thinly. He hadn’t had many archers to begin with, and it had become painfully evident in the assault across the wall that the ones he did have weren’t as good as King Markhos’ armsmen.

Fortunately, they didn’t have to be for what he had in mind.

The steeply pitched, cedar-shingled roofs of the main lodge, the stables, and the enclosed barracks showed clearly above the cursed ornamental wall. They were big targets, and the plunging arrows struck firmly into them. Within seconds, more smoke began to curl upward, and Traram’s smile broadened. The defenders had economized on manpower by defending the buildings, firing from cover as his men crossed the wall and falling back on the doors and windows as the attack rolled in. But large and ornate as the lodge was, the entire area enclosed by its wall wasn’t all that spacious, and after the casualties they’d taken in the initial assault, the King and his guardians couldn’t possibly have enough manpower for firefighting on top of everything else. Once the buildings were nicely alight, they’d be driven from cover, forced to huddle in the limited space where nothing would burn and hemmed in by torents of heat and moke. They’d find their defensive options badly cramped when that happened.

Flames began to leap and dance along the roofs, the columns of smoke growing thicker and denser, beginning to billow on the fires’ growing updraft. He watched those columns climb and waited.

Some of the armsmen and servants dashed for the watering troughs and the lever-arm pumps that served them. It was an instinctive reaction, but one Leeana knew instantly was futile. There were simply too many arrows, too many separate pools of flame spreading across those roofs, and her heart sank as she pictured what the heat and smoke were going to do to their ability to defend the King.

But then she heard a sound even more horrifying than that thought-the screams of panicked horses.

“ The stables! ” she shouted, and ran madly across the courtyard, ignoring the scattered rain of burning arrows hissing out of the heavens. More feet pounded behind her, following her towards the stables with the bone-deep instinct of all Sothoii.

Hooves thundered on box stalls, more whistling screams of terror rose from within the smoke, and Leeana heaved desperately at the bar across the stable doors. Someone skidded to a halt beside her, helping her, throwing the locking bar aside, grabbing the huge double door panels and hauling them wide. Smoke, heat, and those bone chilling screams billowed out of them, and Leeana coughed as she ran into the heart of chaos.

She flung open the stalls nearest to the entrance, dodging frantically as the horses in them threw their weight against the opening doors. Those horses saw light, knew where the door was, and terror gave them wings. They thundered out of the stable, fleeing madly from the crackling flames, and Leeana coughed again, harder. The smoke was incredible, and the stablemaster had stored a loft full of hay against the coming winter. Burning bits of shingle and roofing timber spilled into the loft, and the dried hay caught instantly. White smoke joined the seething coils of wood smoke, and it was suddenly impossible to see more than a foot or two through the choking, suffocating waves of heat.

‹ Come back!› Gayrfressa cried in the back of her brain. ‹ Leeana! Sister- come back!›

Leeana heard her hoofed sister, but even Gayrfressa’s voice was lost and far away, somewhere beyond the immediacy of her mission. She staggered in the blinding smoke, finding the stall latches by feel more than by sight, throwing them open, but these horses couldn’t see the entrance, and even if they could have, crackles of flame danced and leapt between them and the stable door. The path to escape and life lay between those flames, but they eyed the wall of smoke with ominous red glare, and the panicky horses shied away from the visible menace. They reared and trumpeted madly, deadly in their terror, and Leeana jumped aside, barely in time, as one of them blundered blindly deeper into the death trap of the burning stables.

She caught another by the halter, and was nearly dragged from her feet by the terrified creature. She managed to hang on, wishing desperately that she could somehow bandage its eyes, but that would have taken an extra set of hands. All she could do was speak to it as soothingly as the tumult of sound and her own coughing breath would allow while she dragged it towards safety.

She’d managed to get it almost all the way to the entrance when a flaming bit of debris landed on its croup. The fiery piece of wreckage wasn’t especially large, but the burned horse squealed and bolted forward, nearly trampling her as it broke free of the stable. She staggered, almost falling, then started back into the roaring inferno once more.

Something hit her. Already off-balance, she fell, and barely managed to tuck a shoulder before she hit the ground. The cut on her ribs sent a stab of pain through her, but she ignored it, shoving herself back up onto her knees, starting for the stable again.

“ No! ” a voice shouted in her ear.

She coughed, trying to understand, and felt hands on her shoulders, dragging her back. She turned her head and found herself looking into a face she knew.

“No, Milady!” Tarith Shieldarm said. He shook his head, tears washing pale lines through the soot on his own face. “No…it’s too late.”

‹ Listen to him! Listen to him, Sister!›

Leeana twisted, trying to pull free, the hideous screams of the horses still trapped in that vortex of flame washing over her, but he wouldn’t let her go.

“No,” he said once more. “You can’t! It’s too late!”

The words broke through to her at last, and she sagged, suddenly aware that she wasn’t simply coughing. She was weeping wildly as those shrieks of agony rolled over her, and the man who’d been her personal armsman for so many years gathered her into his arms and held her tightly.

“There, lassie,” he murmured in her ear, stroking her singed, ash-smutted hair with one callused hand. “There. You did what you could. Come away now.”

“No, here- here! ” Hathan Shieldarm shouted.

“Leave the horses!” he heard Tellian bellowing. “Fiendark take it, leave the horses! ”

Hathan winced at the pain and rage in his wind brother’s voice, but the baron was right. They couldn’t save all the horses, whatever they did, and in trying to save any they played directly into the hands of the men trying to kill the King. He snarled, beating at one of the King’ armsmen with the flat of his saber, hard enough the man staggered and nearly fell. He came back up, his face a snarl of fury, then stopped when Hathan struck him again. The armsman shook his head, and reason flowed back into his expression.

Reason…and hate. Hate directed at that moment against the wind rider who’d stopped him from running into that roaring, crackling furnace.

Reason won. The armsman shook his head, then nodded and staggered back towards the King.

“Into the corner!” Tellian shouted. “Get the King into the angle-now, damn you! Now! ”

Sir Frahdar Swordshank’s voice joined the baron’s, whipping the remaining armsmen and courtiers into something resembling organized motion. They dragged the wounded with them, trying to keep low, under the smoke, as they backed into the southwestern corner of the walled enclosure. The wind-such as there was of it-was out of the west, pushing the worst of the smoke away from them. The rolling, roaring flame which had engulfed the main lodge was to their right front, and the wall itself was to their left. It was a pathetic excuse for a defensive position, but it was the best they had.

‹ They’re moving, Brother, › Gayrhalan told Hathan. ‹ They’re moving.›

They were, and the wind rider heaved a mental sigh of relief. Then his head came up as a huge, chestnut mare loomed out of the smoke beside him. Leeana leaned against Gayrfressa, coughing, her face streaked with tears, and Hathan’s heart twisted as he saw her. He started to reach out to her, but there was no time. The best he could do was give her a nod of encouragement before he and Gayrhalan crossed to Tellian.

The baron looked up grimly as Gayrhalan drew up beside Dathgar.

“She’s all right,” Hathan said quickly.

“So far,” Tellian grated. His face was as filthy as his armor, smeared with ash, and his eyes were hard, as close to despair as Hathan had ever seen them.

“They’ll be coming again…soon,” the baron continued, wrenching his thought and heart away from his daughter, focusing on the desperation of the moment. “This time it’ll be the gate.”

“Unless they decide that’s what we’re going to expect and they use the cover of the smoke to come over the walls again,” Hathan replied.

‹ It will be the gate,› Gayrhalan said flatly. Hathan looked down, and the courser turned his head far enough to looked up at him with one eye. ‹ We hurt them too badly on the walls last time, Brother. They won’t come in scattered that way a second time.› He flicked his ears in the equine equivalent of a shrug. ‹ The gate will let them come in together, and they’ll expect the smoke to keep us from seeing them until they’re right on top of us.›

“Gayrhalan’s right,” Tellian said harshly as Dathgar relayed the gray stallion’s argument. “Even if they don’t use the gate, they’ll come in concentrated this time, and that means they’ll have to cross the courtyard to get to the King. That’s when it will be up to us.”

Hathan looked at him for a moment, then turned and peered into the rolling walls of smoke and flame and nodded in slow understanding.

Leeana finished tying the water-saturated cloth across her nose and mouth. It helped-some-and she pressed her face into Gayrfressa’s shoulder, trying to shut out the horrible sounds still coming from the stable.

‹ You did all you could,› Gayrfressa told her quietly. ‹ You did all you could.›

‹ It wasn’t enough,› Leeana replied silently, hearing the sob in her own mind voice.

‹ Of course it wasn’t. But I’m selfish, Sister. I want you alive, not dead in that stable.›

Leeana flinched, hearing the terror in the courser’s voice and knowing it wasn’t for herself. She stroked the huge mare’s flank, her hand trembling, and started to say something more, but there was no need for it.

And there was no time, either.

Traram waved his men forward.

They obeyed his hand signal without eagerness, but there was no hesitation, either. It wasn’t just about the money anymore. They’d lost two thirds of their companions, and they wanted vengeance for those deaths.

They moved forward, faces swathed in water-soaked cloth, eyes squinted against the stinging smoke. The gate loomed before them, like an apparition seen through driving snow, and expressions tightened and stomachs knotted as they headed for it. It was time A bugle sounded suddenly behind them, and Traram whipped around just in time to see a mounted Sothoii armsman crashing out of the forest behind him with his lance couched.

“The King! The King! ” Cassan Axehammer shouted, and his armsmen charged.

The waves of smoke rising above the trees had spurred them forward, and Cassan’s heart had risen with every furlong. The hunting lodge must be engulfed in flame, and that very possibly meant Markhos and Tellian were already dead. Even if it didn’t, the confusion it engendered could only aid his own plans, and the warning Talthar had issued through that accursed squirrel drove him like a lash. If Talthar had told him the truth-if the assassins truly believed Cassan was the one who’d hired them-those assassins had to die, and die quickly. And so he’d launched his armsmen into the mercenaries’ backs at the gallop without wasting a precious moment trying to order or control their formation.

Surprise was total. Traram and his men had been entirely focused on the burning hunting lodge. The sudden, soaring notes of the bugle, the drum roll of hooves, and the thunder of warcries swept over them, and a merciless steel stormfront of lanceheads and sabers was close behind.

Some of the mercenaries turned, striking at their enemies with the fury of despair before they were ridden over by steel shod hooves, lanced, or cut down by furiously driven sabers. One or two, closest to the flanks of their formation, bolted for the woods, only to be cut off and slashed down by outriders of the main charge.

Most of them never had the opportunity to do even that much. Taken completely unawares from behind, they died almost before they ever realized they were under attack.

Tellian and Hathan stared at each other in confusion and speculation as the bugles continued to sound.

“Trisu?” Hathan said, but Tellian shook his head.

“It might be, but I don’t think so. It sounds to me like there’s too many of them for that.”

‹ You’re right, I think, Brother, › Dathgar said. ‹ There are at least several hundred of the lesser cousins out there-more than Lord Trisu could possibly have assembled.›

“Then who the Phrobus is it?” Hathan demanded as Gayrhalan relayed Dathgar’s remarks. The dark-haired wind rider grimaced. “Not that I’m not grateful, you understand, but something about having that many armsmen turn up all unannounced at the very moment people are trying to kill the King turns me all suspicious.”

“And me,” Tellian agreed grimly.

“So what do we do?”

“That, Brother, is a very good question.” Tellian drew a deep breath, his eyes worried, then exhaled noisily and looked down as Frahdar Swordshank appeared at his stirrup.

“The King needs your advice, Milord,” the guardsman said, and Tellian nodded curtly.

Dathgar turned without any instruction from his rider, picking his way through the armsmen between him and Markhos. The courser halted beside the King, and Tellian bowed from the saddle.

“Your Majesty?”

“I suppose we should be grateful,” Markhos said, his tone flat, “but we’ve had unpleasant surprises enough for one day. I can’t quite rid my mind of the thought that this might be another one.”

“I think there are too many of them for it to be Lord Trisu,” Tellian replied. “Which presents the question of who else it might be. It’s always remotely possible someone else realized what was happening and rode to your rescue, but it seems…unlikely, I’m afraid.”

“You think it may be whoever sent the assassins,” the King said, looking Tellian straight in the eye. “After all, whoever it might have been”-the unspoken name of the baron they both knew it had to be hovered between them-“wouldn’t want any inconvenient loose ends dangling about.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, at any rate,” Tellian admitted.

“And I,” Sir Jerhas Macebearer put in from the King’s side. “But we might all be wrong. And even if we aren’t, how many men could…whoever is behind this have trusted with the truth?”

“That’s a good point,” Tellian said after a moment. “Dathgar”-he patted the courser’s neck-“thinks there are at least ‘several hundred’ horses out there. His ears are a lot better than mine, and I trust his judgment. But no one could have brought that many armsmen fully into his confidence about something like this without some hint of it leaking out. Or, at least, no one would take the risk that it might leak out. And whoever might command them, those are Sothoii out there, Your Majesty. They won’t take kindly to the notion of attacking the King.”

“Meaning what?” Markhos asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Meaning that someone has to go out there, find out who they are, and get a grip on the situation before there’s an…unfortunate accident.”

“And who did you have in mind?” Markhos demanded, then snorted harshly at Tellian’s expression. “That’s what I thought. And the answer, Milord, is that it isn’t going to be you.”

“But-”

“No,” the King said flatly. His nostrils flared. “First, I cannot and will not risk one of the Kingdom’s four barons at a time like this. And, second, Milord, if that should happen to be who both of us are afraid it might be, the last person we need to send out to talk to him is you.”

“But-”

“I’ll go, Your Majesty,” Hathan said quietly.

Tellian’s head snapped around. He hadn’t heard his wind brother approaching, nor had he realized Hathan had heard the conversation. He opened his mouth quickly, but Hathan shook his head.

“His Majesty’s right, Tellian. We can’t risk you, but it has to be someone whose word will carry weight not just with whoever their commander might be, but with those armsmen themselves. But neither Sir Jerhas nor any of the other of the King’s guests have armor, and even if that’s Trisu himself out there, accidents can happen. A hasty archer could put an arrow right through any of them if they were sent out as His Majesty’s envoy, and we need Sir Frahdar right where he is. I, on the other hand-”

He tapped his steel breastplate with a gauntleted fingertip, smiling thinly at his wind brother, and Tellian gritted his teeth.

“Dathgar and I are just as well armored as you are,” he pointed out bitterly.

“Yes, you are. But if that is Cassan,” Hathan smiled grimly as he finally said the name out loud, “seeing you is far more likely to push him over the edge. He wouldn’t be happy to see me, either, of course. But if you’re still in here with His Majesty, he’s going to be less tempted to try to arrange an ‘accident’ than he would if you came into reach. Especially if he hasn’t informed his men of what he’s really up to. And if he does do something hasty, Gayrhalan and I are well enough protected-and fast enough-to have a better chance of getting back here in one piece than anyone else you could send.”

Cassan watched Stoneblade reforming his armsmen and tried not to fidget.

The baron had hoped to carry straight on into the lodge, riding to the King’s rescue in the sort of confusion most likely to create a tragic accident which could be safely blamed on Tellian of Balthar after all the inconvenient witnesses were dead. But the collision with the mercenaries had disordered and slowed his armsmen, and Stoneblade was too good a field commander. He was only too well aware of what could happen in that sort of situation, and he had no intention of allowing it. He’d had his buglers sounding the recall almost before they’d hit the mercenaries, and Cassan’s teeth ground together as he watched his senior captain in action.

I should have told him what we’re really after, he thought grimly. Either that, or I should’ve left him the hell home!

Unfortunately, he hadn’t, and Horsemaster’s company had obeyed Stoneblade’s bugle calls without even thinking about it. The men were confused and anxious, and their horses were spooked by the smell of smoke and burning horseflesh. They were grateful for the promise of control and command those bugle calls offered.

Now how do I get them back into motion? Cassan wondered. There has to be a way, but I’ve got to be careful. I can’t afford -

“Milord!” Tarmahk Dirkson pointed suddenly, and Cassan looked up as a smoke-stained, soot-streaked wind rider rode slowly through the open gate. Cassan’s jaw tightened with a sudden burn of fury, but then he relaxed slightly. It wasn’t Tellian’s dark bay; it was that other bastard Hathan’s gray, and his mind worked feverishly as he watched the wind rider come to a halt twenty or thirty yards outside the gate.

“Sir Garman,” the baron said, turning to his captains. “Until we know more about the situation-especially the King’s situation-I want us prepared for any eventuality. You and Sir Kalanndros remain here and make certain you keep the men under control. I trust you to use your own judgment-and especially to see there aren’t any accidents until I get back here.”

Stoneblade looked at him for a moment, then nodded, obviously relieved by his baron’s determination to keep anything untoward from happening.

“Of course, Milord.”

“Very well, then. Tarmahk?” Cassan glanced at his personal armsman, and Dirkson nodded back, then gave his squad a stern look.

“On your toes, lads,” he said.

‹ Wonderful,› Gayrhalan growled as he and Hathan saw the crossed battleaxe and warhammer on the banner above the small, close-spaced cluster of horsemen walking their mounts towards them.

‹ It could be worse,› Hathan replied.

‹ Really? How?›

‹ Give me a day or two and I’ll think of something.›

Gayrhalan snorted, but there wasn’t time for another exchange before Cassan and half a dozen armsmen in his personal colors reached them.

“The King, Sir Hathan? Is the King all right?”

Hathan blinked at the raw fear in Cassan’s harsh, quick question. It certainly sounded sincere.

“The King is well…so far,” he replied after a moment, and watched Cassan sag in the saddle.

“Thank the gods!” The baron shook his head. “I was certain we were going to be too late. Thank the gods we got here in time after all!”

‹ Careful, Brother.› Gayrhalan said. ‹I think he’s lying-his lips are moving!›

“You did get here just in time, Milord.” Hathan kept any awareness of his companion’s comment out of his reply. “We’re grateful you did.”

“And you’re wondering how it happened.” Cassan’s expression turned grim, and he shook his head. “I don’t blame you. Tomanak knows there’s enough bad blood between me and Tellian to make anyone suspicious. I won’t pretend I’m sorry about that, or that I’m anything except his enemy, either. Or even that I wouldn’t do just about anything to get the better of him. And that spills over onto you, of course.” He met Hathan’s eyes levelly, his expression unflinching, then drew a deep breah and squared his shoulders. “But we serve the same King, however we feel about one another, and the last thing either of us needs is a return to the Time of Troubles.”

Hathan’s eyes narrowed at the other man’s open admission of hostility and sensed his courser’s matching surprise at the baron’s frankness.

“I’m sure Baron Tellian would agree with you in at least that much, Milord,” he said.

“And very little else, I’m certain.” Cassan managed a thin smile, but then he exhaled noisily and shook his head again.

“I don’t suppose any fair-minded man could blame him for that. But this time he and I are going to have to work together if we want to prevent just that from happening.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I discovered-too late, I was afraid-that my kinsman Yeraghor’s strayed into dangerous waters.” Cassan’s tone was that of a man admitting something he manifestly wished he didn’t have to. “It may be at least partly my fault. He knows how bitterly I hate Tellian, how far I’ve been willing to go to get the better of him, and he’s allied his fortune to mine. That probably opened the door to what’s happened…but I believe he’s been manipulated by someone else. Someone who would be delighted to see the entire Kingdom disintegrate into the Time of Troubles all over again.”

He paused, and Hathan cocked his head. He never would have expected Cassan to implicate Yeraghor in something like this!

“Manipulated, Milord? By whom?”

“I can’t be sure,” Cassan replied in that same unwilling tone, “but something his lady said in a letter to my wife struck me as…odd. I had my agents in the East Riding look into it very cautiously. Two of them seem to’ve disappeared without a trace. The third came to me with a tale I dearly wanted to disbelieve, but I fear he was right.”

The baron’s nostrils flared.

“There’s wizardry afoot in Ersok, Sir Hathan,” he said flatly. “I don’t believe Yeraghor realizes it, but I have conclusive evidence. I believe someone from outside the Kingdom-someone who knows all about my enmity for Tellian-has used sorcerous means to influence him. It was the last thing I wanted to believe, but when my agent reported that Yeraghor had actually dispatched assassins to murder the King, I couldn’t take the chance that he might be wrong.” Cassan’s shoulders sagged. “I turned out my armsmen and we rode as fast as we could. The whole way I was praying my agent was wrong, but these”-he waved wearily at the bodies of the dead mercenaries littering the ground-“look like exactly the assassins my agent described.”

‹ Toragan!› Gayrhalan said. ‹ Do you think Cassan of Frahmahn might actually be telling the truth?›

‹ Anything’s possible, I suppose. And he did say wizardry was involved,› Hathan replied, yet he couldn’t quite produce his normal acerbity.

“And what, precisely, do you suggest we do about it, Milord?” he asked harshly.

“The first step has to be to see to the King’s safety,” Cassan replied. “And after that, it must be the dispatch of Crown magi to Ersok to investigate and smell out any wizardry.”

He was clearly uncomfortable saying that-not surprisingly, Hathan thought, given his well-known hostility towards the magi.

“It’s the only way to be certain we know what’s truly happening,” the baron continued. “I’m almost certain Yeraghor doesn’t realize he’s being manipulated and controlled by someone else.”

He shook his head again, sadly, and moved a little closer to Gayrhalan. His warhorse was smaller than the towering courser, a fact Cassan would normally have bitterly resented and done everything he could to avoid acknowledging. Now he reached out and upward, laying one hand almost beseechingly on Hathan’s armored forearm.

“I’m almost certain of that,” he said softly, so softly Hathan had to lean towards him to hear him. “But I’m not positive. Gods, I wish I was! The truth is, I’m afraid he may realize exactly what he’s done, and if the Kingdom learns one of the four barons willingly resorted to the use of sorcery, the gods only know how it will react!”

Hathan nodded slowly, forced against his will to acknowledge Cassan’s point.

“It will be essential for Tellian and me to present a united front if that’s the case,” Cassan said, his expression bitter. “And I won’t pretend that thought pleases me one bit. But if the two of us stand together, the fact that we can’t agree on anything else in the world should at least cause the lords warden to accept that none of the other barons are dabbling in sorcery. And if it turns out Yeraghor is being manipulated unknowingly, or even against his will, it’s still going to take Tellian and me together to either keep it from becoming general knowledge or to deal with its repercussions when the truth leaks out.”

‹ Now that sounds more like Cassan, › Gayrhalan said. ‹ The “repercussions” he’s worried about probably mostly have to do with the fact that Yeraghor’s his cousin!›

‹ Maybe,› Hathan replied. ‹ Even probably. But that doesn’t make him wrong. If Yeraghor is the one who used wizardry against Borandas and now he’s tried to assassinate the King, the Kingdom could all too easily tear itself apart hunting for other traitors and hidden wizards. And he’s right about something else, too; if he and Tellian present a united front, everyone else will have to take them seriously!›

“I trust you won’t take this wrongly, Milord,” he said out loud, “but I think Baron Tellian-and the King-are going to want to see this evidence of yours about Yeraghor.”

“Of course they are.” Cassan gave a harsh chuckle. “If the position were reversed, I’d certainly want to see it. It’ll take some time to assemble all of it, but I brought along a copy of my agent’s report.” He took his hand from Hathan’s forearm and reached for his belt pouch. “I think the best thing to do at this point is for me to keep my armsmen safely outside the wall while you take the report back to the King and show it to him and Tellian. Once they’ve had a chance to look at it, then-”

The hand reaching for his belt pouch darted suddenly to one side. It closed on the hilt of a dagger, and before Hathan could react, the dagger came out of its sheath, drove in through the open visor of his helmet and thrust through his left eye socket into his brain.

Gayrhalan was as surprised as his rider. His head swung to the side, trying to bat the dagger aside before it could thrust home, but he was too late. Cassan and his armsmen had planned quickly but carefully on the ride to meet the King’s envoy, and in the instant the courser was totally focused on Cassan, Tarmahk Dirkson flexed his right hand. The short bladed dagger in the spring-loaded sheath strapped to his forearm snapped into his hand and he lunged in a single supple movement. The blade went home, stabbing through the eye opening in Gayrhalan’s steel plate chamfron.

A heartbeat after Hathan stiffened and started to slide from the saddle, Gayrhalan collapsed under him.

“ Treason! ” Cassan screamed, wheeling his horse back towards his shocked armsmen. “Treachery! They’ve killed the King! ”