Cold Magics (28 page)

“In fact,” Henry was saying, “I am sure that your family would be most disappointed to find that you had run out without telling them. Disappointed to the point that they would not allow you to spend your free time at court anymore.”

Amelia pouted. “Fine. But I hope you shall give me some of your time at a later date.”

She flounced off and Henry sighed. “She is impossible, that girl.”

“But she seems to like you,” said Thomas.

“She likes anyone with ‘lord’ in front of his name,” said Henry. “And anyone who gives her gossip.”

“I noticed,” said Thomas, leaning against the wall beside Henry. “Did you know that one of the people you brought north with you was a witch?”

“I did know,” said Henry. “But have yet to learn who started the rumour.”

“Wonderful.” Thomas watched Amelia change direction toward a table of young noblemen. A moment later, she was laughing and sitting with them. Without looking at Henry, Thomas said, “By the way, I’m now your agent commissioned to search for information about the enemy, including their home, their habits, their tactics and their magic.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Henry slowly turn towards him. “You are, are you?”

“Aye,” said Thomas. “And I’ll be needing money, too.”

“And how did this come about?”

“I needed a reason to be looking for obscure books about magic.”

“And you came up with that?”

“Your brother called me a court magician, this morning,” said Thomas. “Between that and Amelia’s rumours, I think this is a far better reason, don’t you?”

“It has the advantage of being true.” Henry sighed. “Fine. Just don’t get caught by the inquisitor.”

“Now about that money?”

“And here’s George and Eileen,” said Henry, ignoring Thomas’s question. “And Sir Lawrence. I thought I told you to take the evening for yourself.”

Eileen, to Thomas’s surprise, had at her waist the long, sharp knife that George had given her back at the beginning of the summer. George was carrying his thick walking stick, and Sir Lawrence, walking beside them, was wearing simple, warm clothes with his own sword prominently displayed.

“You did,” said Sir Lawrence, “but you neglected to mention that you were going out for the evening.”

“How silly of me,” said Henry. “Well, since you are here, you may as well tag along. Come on, everyone.”

The night was a great deal colder than the day had been, and Thomas found himself shivering even under his warm winter clothes. Henry kept them moving at a brisk pace, leading them on a twisting route through side streets to a shabby part of the city. The apartment buildings were smaller and not as well-kept, the streets narrower. The men in the alleys had they look of predators rather than refugees, and cast appraising eyes at the group, though none made a move toward them.

Thomas spotted a dozen of the church’s posters plastered up on a wall. He pointed it out to Henry. “Have you seen these?”

“No.” Henry went closer and read the posters in the fading light of the sun. “When did those go up?”

“Last night,” said Eileen. “Church soldiers put them up.” When George, Henry and Sir Lawrence all turned to look at her, she pointed at Thomas. “He asked. I listened.”

“Could be a tactic to get heard by the duke,” said Henry. “Get enough voices clamouring for the protection of the church and my father would have to give them an audience.”

“Or give them me,” said Thomas.

Henry nodded. “There is that.”

“Would he?” asked Eileen.

“Depends what he’s offered.”

“Comforting thought,” said Thomas. “Thanks.”

“What’s to keep him from pulling Thomas off the streets?” asked George. “I mean, he did that in Hawksmouth.”

“This isn’t the South,” said Henry. “If Father Roberts tries to go against my father right now, my father will hang him from the city wall. You can’t have that sort of challenge in a time of war.” Henry led them around another corner. “Here it is!”

The sign above the tavern door proclaimed it to be
The Prince’s Arms
. Inside, the floor was covered in sawdust, the floorboards were splintery, the benches and tables roughly built, and the room crowded with patrons. The air was warm from the fire and the crowd, and filled with a crowd of scents from fresh-baked bread to stew to mulled wine, overlaid with the scent of unwashed bodies packed too closely together. A dozen heads turned their way the moment the door opened.

“Lord Henry!” shouted someone in the crowd. “It’s Lord Henry, back!”

A moment later, every man and woman in the place was on their feet, cheering. Henry grinned.

“I told you I led one of my father’s companies,” he shouted over the noise.

“Aye,” said Thomas, letting go of his rapier. “This is their tavern, I take it?”

“It is,” said Henry. He let the crowd cheer a while longer, then raised his hand and shouted, “Quiet!”

The room instantly stilled. “Everyone put a drink in your hand,” he said. There was a bustle of activity as people raised or refilled drinks. The bartender came out from behind the bar with five cups on a tray. Henry passed them around and Thomas could smell the strong whiskey rising from the cups. Henry waited until every man had a cup in his hand before he spoke again.

“On our way home,” said Henry, his voice carrying through the tavern, “just inside the southern borders of Frostmire, we were ambushed by the invaders. They were hidden in the snow and attacked us without warning. They killed Sir Michael and Sir Gareth.”

Thomas watched the expressions of the patrons darken, and heard sad mutters floating through the crowd. Beside him, Henry stood still, waiting for the mutters to subside. “The invaders lost that fight.”

The room went silent all at once.

“I do not mean that they got away,” said Henry into the silence. “They outnumbered us, and threw fire at us and we defeated them anyway. We fought them when they stood, and we rode them down when they broke. None got away.”

A new murmur filled the room; surprise and a vicious glee mixed with the sorrow. Henry raised his glass high. “To Sir Michael, Sir Gareth, and to victory!”

“To victory!” rang out through the room. Henry tossed his whiskey straight back, and everyone in the room did the same. Thomas finished his own drink in a single gulp, and lowered it just in time to see Eileen, red-faced and eyes tearing, lowering her own cup. To Thomas’s surprise, she managed not to cough. Her brother was unfazed.

“And now,” said Henry, when the cheering died down, “To dinner! Louis!”

The bartender quickly cleared a table for them, but Henry only stopped at it long enough to hang his rapier and cloak over the back of a chair and collect another drink—beer, this time. Then he was back in the crowd, talking with anyone nearby, catching up on two months of local gossip and wagering on dart throws or tosses of the dice. His wagers were small and he laughed as hard when he lost as when he won.

The food arrived and Henry returned with it. They dug into what Thomas had to admit was one of the better meals he’d eaten in a fair while. Henry kept the chat light the entire time, and he included those at nearby tables and even the serving girls in the conversation.

As soon as the food was done, men came over and begged Henry to join them in dicing. Henry did, and soon the others were pulled into various games in the room. When arm-wrestling began, George stepped in and defeated all comers until a small man who was nearly as wide as he was tall stepped forward and planted his elbow on the table. They locked hands and strained against each other for the better part of a quarter hour before Henry distracted George and the other man won. Thomas lost a few coins at cards, and Eileen won a few at darts. Henry went from one table to another with abandonment, downing drinks with the ease of one far too accustomed to alcohol for his age and spreading his money liberally.

They stayed until Louis declared the tavern closed for the night and shooed the last of his patrons into the street. The men and women said their good-nights to Henry and went on their way, leaving Thomas and his friends standing alone in the streets.

Thomas breathed deep, letting the cold night air clear the alcohol and pipe smoke from his head. A light snow was falling, adding a thin layer of white over the dirty grey that covered the streets. Thomas was drunk, but not heavily. Eileen was staggering a bit, but not as much as Henry, who had drunk more than Thomas and Eileen combined. George, who had practically matched Henry drink for drink, was walking carefully, but his size had kept him from the worst effects of the alcohol.

“Now that,” said Henry, “Was a good night.”

“Aye, it was,” agreed George. “Nice folks.”

“Aye,” said Henry. “Hope none of them starve to death before spring.”

The pleasant mood vanished and the group fell silent. Thomas looked around at the empty streets, wondering where the refugees had gone for shelter. “What would you do, Henry?”

“Me?”

“Aye, if it was your choice. What would you do?”

“Hunt,” said Henry. “Send out parties of a hundred men at a time and hunt the enemy like deer. Chase them out and drive them back until they were gone from the duchy or forced to make a stand.” He shook his head. “Of course, father would never agree. With winter on us, he thinks there’s nothing out there worth protecting. The farmers are all in the villages or in the city.”

“But the raiders are burning the villages.”

“I did point that out to my father.”

“What did he say?”

“That it was unfortunate.”

George kicked at a snowbank. “Doesn’t seem like a good plan to me.”

“Well, we certainly agree on that,” said Henry.

They were halfway back to the castle when Thomas realized they weren’t alone in the street. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been hearing the noise before he identified it as the crunch of many footsteps on the hard-packed snow. Thomas, wishing he was more sober, looked over his shoulder.

The street behind them was filled with men.

They wore rough clothes, their worn boots wrapped in rags. Some wore cloaks, others had thrown blankets over their bodies to keep warm. Thomas poked Sir Lawrence, who looked back. His eyes widened and his hand went to the grip of his sword. Thomas put one hand on Henry’s shoulder and reached out to Eileen with the other. Both looked, and Eileen reached for George. Without a word being exchanged the five increased their pace.

The men behind them moved faster to match them, footsteps merging into one long slur of sound. More men joined them, coming from alleys and doorways. Ahead of Thomas and his friends, the narrow street they were on opened up onto the main thoroughfare that would lead them back to the castle. They turned the corner, and Henry stopped short. Thomas and the others did the same two steps later.

The street in front of them was filled with women and children dressed in ragged and worn clothing. Many of them had the pinched faces of the near-starving, many more shivering in the cold. They stood in a wide circle that blocked all possible passages back to the castle. Their breath made a fog of ice crystals, filling the air. No one said anything. They just watched.

“The middle of the street, or the wall?” asked Lawrence, his voice low and worried.

“The middle,” said Henry, his voice no louder. “If they pin us against a wall we’ll never get free.”

The five moved into the middle of the street. The crowd of men from behind them mixed with the men and women and children, surrounding them in a wide circle. Still, no one in the crowd spoke. Even the children were unnaturally quiet, staring at them all.

“What are they going to do?” whispered Eileen. “What do they want?”

Thomas turned in a slow circle, scanning the crowd. “No one has any weapons.”

“There’s enough of them that they could tear us apart without them,” said Lawrence.

The crowd shifted, opening a path on the road to the castle. The men and women faded back against the walls of the building, leaving a space more than wide enough for the five to pass through, save for the man who stood in the middle of it.

“Baron Gallen,” said Henry, “I had not realized that you were in the city.”

The man wore the same rough clothes as the rest and had the same pinched, cold, hungry look on his face. There was nothing that would mark him as a baron save Henry’s words and the respect of those around him. He bowed to Henry. “I had not planned to be here.”

“Many did not plan to be here,” said Henry. He looked at the crowd surrounding them. “To what do we owe this escort?”

“Concern for your safety, Lord Henry,” said Gallen. “Apparently, the city is becoming filled with desperate and hungry men and women who have lost their homes and their livelihoods.”

“Surely you’re not suggesting that these good people might take it into their heads to harm me,” said Henry, gesturing at the crowd.

“No,” said Gallen. “I’m suggesting that there are those who would not hesitate to arrange for it to appear as if my people are responsible for events that they are not, and use those events as an excuse to drive my people from the city.”

“
I stand corrected.” Henry took his hand off his rapier and went to the baron, linking his arm in the other man’s and gesturing for Thomas and the others to follow. Henry began walking them towards the castle. At first, the crowd didn’t move. The baron waved his hand and people started stepping back out of the way.

“My father had a feast to celebrate my return.” said Henry. “I am surprised you didn’t attend.”

Gallen shook his head. “I was not invited.”

“I see.”

“Rumour has it the king refused to give you men, but the High Father’s church has come and stands ready to help.”

Henry snorted. “The king is sending two hundred men, who are on their way as we speak, along with another five hundred mercenaries. The High Father’s church sent twenty men and an inquisitor for their own purposes, which have very little to do with whether or not our duchy survives the winter.”

“When will your father send out his armies, Lord Henry? All the men here are ready to fight, if he will only give the word.”