Blood in the Water (42 page)

Branca couldn’t see how the loss of those regiments would be enough to guarantee victory for Evord. Not once the Parnilesse advance joined forces with Marlier.

“Where are you going?” Trissa demanded.

“Do you recall Lord and Lady Capalire, who were so grateful for our help in disentangling their son and heir from that fortune-hunting songstress?”

“I do.” Trissa nodded with reluctant understanding.

“I don’t,” Branca snapped.

“Lady Capalire was one of the late lamented Duchess Casatia’s most intimate friends,” Charoleia explained. “One of her most trusted waiting-women is a Draximal spy. If I tell Lady Capalire that Duke Secaris’s unknown son has been found, the woman will find a way to get word to Lord Geferin, I’m sure of it. He’ll set his own dogs chasing that hare as well as sending word to Duke Orlin. That should cost him at least a day’s delay.”

Trissa looked uncertain. “Whatever mummer’s tale you tell Lady Capalire, she won’t let you ride back alone through the night. You’ll have to stay there till morning.”

“True enough.” Charoleia thought for a moment. “So you two will realise that’s where I must have gone, when our good hosts start worrying why I haven’t returned. I’ll be full of apologies in the morning and explain that’s where our gallant coachmen had gone for help. And we’ll be on our way with profuse thanks and a suitably generous purse.”

Branca tried to pick her way through all this. “How does Mistress Lanagyre know this Lady Capalire? Or are you still Mistress Halisoun? What if these good folk here ask someone from the household about it all and they know nothing about a broken coach?”

Charoleia waved such inconvenient questions away. “Lord Capalire’s men don’t drink in wayside taverns.”

Trissa had other concerns. “Are you sure we have time for this? We’ll be that much later setting out on the road tomorrow. Those scouts aren’t so very far behind us.”

“We must make time,” Charoleia said firmly, “otherwise Lord Geferin and Ridianne the Vixen will both arrive to threaten our friends while they’re still waiting beneath Triolle’s walls.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Litasse

Triolle Castle,

26th of Aft-Autumn

“Your Grace, your husband.” Pelletria slipped into Litasse’s bedchamber, her face taut with concern.

Litasse’s heart quickened. She slapped away the maid’s hand brushing her hair. “Has Lord Geferin arrived?” Would that improve Iruvain’s temper?

“No.” Pelletria glared at the startled maid. “I’ll see to Her Grace, Milda. Get about your duties.”

The girl quickly gathered up the previous day’s chemise from Litasse’s bed and scurried away.

“He’s had some news.” Pelletria took up the brush. “But I can’t find out what it is.”

The frustration in her words was at odds with her gentle hands as she coaxed out tangles. Litasse’s cap had signally failed to smooth her hair as she had tossed and turned through another sleepless night.

Down in the courtyard, the racket of the armed men crammed into the castle was relentless, night and day. That wasn’t what kept her awake; she’d stopped paying it any heed. Now she listened afresh and heard a disquieting note of urgency. What was afoot?

She contemplated her half-dressed reflection in the mirror. It would take all Pelletria’s skill with cosmetics to hide the bruises of weariness under her eyes. Despite the bright fire in the grate, she felt cold with foreboding.

Iruvain’s heavy tread was advancing up the stairs. Litasse felt the brush tug her hair as Pelletria tensed.

He threw open the door. “Get dressed, quickly!”

“My lord.” Litasse sprang to her stocking feet. “Has Lord Geferin arrived?”

“What?” Iruvain stared, uncomprehending. “No, and I’m not waiting here any longer. We’re going to meet him.”

Now it was Litasse who gaped. “My lord?”

“Get dressed, for travelling,” Iruvain ordered harshly. He glowered at Pelletria. “You, pack no more than one horse can carry. You’ll leave with the first contingent, under Lord Roreth’s command. Don’t forget Her Grace’s jewels.”

As he turned to leave, Litasse hurried across the room and reached for his arm. “I don’t understand.”

“We’re going to take the Pannal Road and join forces with the Parnilesse army.” He angrily shook off her hand. His eyes were more shadowed than her own. “That Soluran and his mob will be here by tomorrow. We must leave while we can, or be trapped within these walls.”

“What of Marlier’s army?” protested Litasse. “They’re little more than a day away!”

Too late, Litasse remembered Iruvain hadn’t told her that. She’d heard it from Karn, who had returned just before dawn. He wasn’t supposed to have spoken to anyone but the duke himself.

“That laggard whore’s nowhere near close enough to be useful.” With his anger focused on Ridianne, Iruvain didn’t notice Litasse’s unsanctioned knowledge. “The Soluran will arrive here before she can bring him to battle.”

“Then he can sit at our gates, and outside Triolle Town, and endure our arrows as long as he wishes,” Litasse protested, “until the Vixen pins his regiments against the walls like wolf skins on a barn door!”

“I will not be trapped in another siege!”

Iruvain’s voice rose from fear, Litasse realised, not from anger.

“My lord husband,” she said carefully to hide her own unease. “No one can blame you for the fall of Tyrle. Duke Garnot—”

“Duke Garnot—” Iruvain turned away. Not before Litasse saw the tremor twisting his mouth. “You know nothing of it, woman, so keep your tongue behind your teeth. Be ready to leave before the next chime.”

“No, my lord husband, this is folly.” Litasse stood firm. “You cannot leave a defensible position where you can easily halt an enemy’s advance. Not when you have allies approaching from both directions who will crack them like a nut on an anvil!”

“Do not gainsay me, woman!” Iruvain raised his hand and took a menacing step towards her.

“Beating me won’t make it any less true.” She raised her chin defiantly, even though her knees trembled beneath her petticoats. “We are safe behind solid stone walls. We have our own men-at-arms and militia defending this castle. Triolle Town’s walls are guarded by trusted mercenaries, sworn to our own badge and Draximal’s—”

“Draximal’s?” Iruvain clenched his fist but punched only the empty air. Whoever his wrath was aimed at, it wasn’t Litasse. “Do you know what Draximal’s trusted mercenaries are doing, my lady wife?”

“No.” She could say that with all honesty.

Iruvain ran a hand through his hair, leaving his normally ordered curls ragged. “Once Lord Cassat fell, the field outside Tyrle was chaos.” He closed his haunted eyes for an instant. “I couldn’t recall all his hired regiments, not after the Dalasorians hit us. The Draximal militiamen fled too, in all directions. We thought the mercenaries would rally them, see them safely back across the border into Duke Secaris’s lands.” He shook his head in despair. “But the hirelings slaughtered the militia. I’ve just had word of it.”

“No!” Litasse protested, appalled.

“They’ve left bodies naked for the crows all along the Wyril Road, robbed and murdered.” Iruvain’s anger subsided into bleakness. “Honest men, loyal men, only trying to get home to their families. Because they knew Lord Cassat’s muster had left only old men and boys to guard their homes. So now the loathsome curs are plundering every hamlet and village along the highway and killing anyone who stands in their way.”

“That’s vile.” Litasse shared Iruvain’s horror. “But Duke Secaris will see justice done, you know he will,” she insisted. “There’s no reason for us to leave these walls and our own loyal men—”

“Trusting in walls was Garnot’s folly.” Iruvain’s ire abruptly rekindled. “I told you what happened at Tyrle. This Soluran has Mountain Men bringing who knows what ruinous skills from their upland mines. He has mercenaries well versed in whatever Aldabreshin alchemy can burn wood and stone. Duke Garnot should have learned the lesson of Emirle Bridge. I won’t make that mistake, my lady wife. I won’t sit here to become their next victim. Make ready to leave at once and don’t oppose me again!”

He strode for the door. Litasse let him go. Down in the open bailey, men shouted, horses neighed and wagons rumbled over the cobbles.

Litasse sank onto her dressing stool. “What do you make of that?”

Pelletria was combing hairs out of the brush, her lined face thoughtful. She dropped a black tangle into the flames, to crackle and flare into nothingness.

“I think we should make certain it’s really Draximal mercenaries murdering and raping along the Wyril Road,” she said finally. “That wizard can earn some of the wine he’s been drinking. It could just as easily be some of these rebels slipping their leash. Mercenaries are all as bad as rabid dogs, no matter whose collar they wear.”

Litasse looked at her. “Do you honestly believe this Soluran would permit such atrocities?”

“No.” Pelletria admitted. “But if we can find some news that might at least make His Grace wonder, that might just delay this folly of his long enough for the Vixen and her men to arrive. Or for Karn to return with some word from Lord Geferin to convince Iruvain to hold fast here.” She sighed. “I don’t like the notion of divulging Iruvain’s plans to Parnilesse but I don’t see that we have any choice.”

“If Iruvain doesn’t want folk to think him a coward, he shouldn’t act like one.” Litasse felt more of a pang at the thought of rousing Karn from the bed he’d so recently sought, exhausted. “Let him sleep till we’ve written our letter. Is there anything else we can do? We need something to put some backbone into Iruvain.”

Pelletria looked searchingly at Litasse. “His Grace still hasn’t come to your bed, not once, since he learned you’d lain with Master Hamare?”

“No.” Litasse hadn’t imagined she’d have cause to regret that. “Why?”

“He couldn’t make you travel if we feigned the threat of a miscarriage,” Pelletria said grimly.

“I suppose not.” The old woman doubtless had the necessary herbs to make the pretence convincing. Litasse shivered.

“You’re cold.” That spurred Pelletria towards the bell pull. “We had better send for some travelling clothes and pack a chest. There’s nothing to be gained by openly antagonising His Grace.”

“How long do you imagine the maids and lackeys and whoever he leaves to garrison the castle will stay once their duke and duchess run away?” Litasse reached for the gold and scarlet gown laid ready for this morning. “Do you suppose he’s thought of that?”

“I doubt it,” Pelletria said frankly.

“Help me with this.” Litasse stepped into the gown and turned so Pelletria could lace the back. “Master Minelas can scry and find out exactly where Lord Geferin and the Vixen are now. If they’re close, we’ll let Iruvain know somehow. Karn will think of something.”

Litasse stood, tense with impatience as Pelletria found jewels befitting her rank. She reached for a fine wool shawl. “Let’s see what help our guest can offer.”

Walking across the open bailey, she contemplated the bustle with disfavour. “This looks more like a kicked ant’s nest than resolute preparation for retreat,” she said in low tones.

“Panic choking the roads with carts could actually help us,” Pelletria mused. “If Iruvain’s scared of being trapped inside these walls, surely we can argue being caught in the open would be ten times more perilous.”

“He won’t be delayed as long as his men have whips and swords to force a path,” Litasse said with asperity.

As they reached the steps to the White Tower, a kitchen boy opened the door, precariously balancing a tray burdened with dirty dishes.

“Your Grace!” He nearly dropped the load as he attempted a bow.

Litasse saved a sliding bowl. “Please, don’t let me delay you.”

“Away with you.” Pelletria glared at the lad.

“Your Grace.” Ducking his head, he scurried off through the crowd of servants, men-at-arms and grooms harnessing quarrelsome horses.

“I see our guest has breakfasted adequately,” Litasse commented tartly once the boy was out of earshot.

“He ate enough for two men thrice his size yesterday.” Pelletria sniffed. “It’s a wonder he stays so slender.”

Did some magic ensure that? Litasse wasn’t about to say such a thing aloud with so many people hurrying up and down the stairs.

“Let’s hope he’s dressed, Your Grace.” Pelletria knocked on the wizard’s chamber door. “He doesn’t seem to be an early riser.”

To Litasse’s relief, Minelas was already fully clothed in a purple doublet and velvet breeches with amethyst-studded buckles at the knee. He was currently picking his teeth, intent on his reflection in a silver mirror. When he made no move to stop, Pelletria coughed ominously.

Minelas set the mirror down and replaced his toothpick in its ivory case. “Good morning, Your Grace. I have news. The Soluran and his army are within a day’s march.” He gestured towards the bowl on the washstand. “But the Duke of Marlier’s forces are hard on their heels.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Litasse said impatiently. “Where are Lord Geferin and the Parnilesse army?”