Cold Magics (61 page)

That’s my girl
, Thomas thought. He smiled at her. “Where did you get the mail shirt?”

“It’s Wilson’s,” Eileen said, pulling on his arm. “Now get up!”

 He pushed himself to his own feet and took the weapons. Henry was still in the room, watching the fight in the hallway. The corridor was too narrow for more than two or three men to fight side by side, and George’s bulk took up the most of it. In the room, the air was now thick with smoke from the magician’s smouldering body, and the smell was nearly enough to make Thomas sick. He coughed and called to Henry.

“This one’s a magician,” he said, kicking Alfred. For the first time he thought of the other prisoners. He looked around and saw Ralph dead on the floor, Frank crying in pain as he clutched his open stomach. Annice and Alice were against the wall, Annice’s arms around the body of the other woman. Thomas felt a near-overwhelming urge to keep kicking Alfred until the man died. Thomas turned back to Henry. “He was drawing energy out of people and into the man who made the rods—don’t kill him,” added Thomas, as Henry walked forward, his sword at the ready. “We need him.”

“Why?” asked Henry, not slowing.

“It wasn’t John who betrayed the city,” said Thomas. “It was Richard.”

“Richard?” said Henry, looking shocked. “It was Richard who led us here.”

“It was Richard’s knights who kidnapped me.”

“I know,” said Henry. “Richard said that they betrayed him. He said John confessed and told him—”

“This one,” said Thomas, prodding Alfred with a boot, “said that Richard had his wife and family, and would kill them if he didn’t do the magic.”

Henry looked at the magician, then back at Thomas. “Are you sure he said Richard?”

“Remember after the battle in the city?” said Thomas. “When the young lords challenged me? Remember how I said none of them had been in the battle. None of them were hurt, none of them looked like they’d been in a fight? Remember that?”

“Aye.”

“Remember when we met with Richard that afternoon?”

“Aye.” Henry frowned. “Wasn’t a scratch on him, was there?”

Henry looked down at Alfred, cowering on the floor. The sounds of fighting fell away to silence in the time Henry stared at Alfred. George and the students came out of the hallway.

“No one wanted to go into the prison,” said George. “They’re all dead.”

“Good,” said Henry, not looking up. The room was getting thicker with smoke.

“We need to get out of here, Lord Henry,” said Lawrence. He coughed. “Before the smoke kills us.”

“We do,” said Henry. He turned back to Alfred. “How did you bring down the walls?” Alfred looked bewildered. “Of the towns,” said Henry. “How did you bring down the walls of the towns?”

“Water,” said Alfred. “Rods to call water into the earth below the walls. We soaked them until they were unstable, then pulled them over with ropes and hooks.”

“Tie that one up and gag him,” he pointed at Alfred. “And find something to wrap him in. We’ve got a long way to go.”

28

Two days later, they walked through the gates of Frostmire and into a celebration.

It had been a cold, slow ride from the old mine to the city. They had brought Thomas warm clothes and boots, and a horse. Eileen rode beside him, keeping one eye on him as they travelled. For the night, Henry led them all to a deep hollow out of the wind and had them dig a pit in the snow. They huddled tight together, bodies pressed against one another for warmth. Even Alfred was put in the crush, though not unwrapped or untied, or even fed. Eileen curled herself up next to Thomas, and George lay on her other side. They all took turns standing watch, save Thomas, who was ordered to do nothing but sleep and eat what rations they had. He did as he was told, and rose the next morning feeling awake and strong for the first time in days. The cold air felt sharper, the grey light filtering through the clouds felt brighter, and even the biting of the cold felt right on his skin.

Now, standing in the streets of Frostmire, Thomas wondered at what he saw.

The skies had cleared and the air was colder than before, but it didn’t seem to matter to the crowds. Men and women were dancing in the streets, jugs of hot mulled wine and flasks of whiskey were being passed around. People were singing and dancing, and all through the city jubilant crowds danced about. There was no room to ride their horses in the streets, so they left them with the gate guards. Henry accosted someone and demanded to know what was happening.

“Where have you been?” was the drunken answer. “The Order of the Bear found the raiders and slaughtered every last one of them! The war is over!”

Henry shoved the man and cursed.

“You think it’s true?” asked Thomas.

“Of course it’s true,” said Henry. “Richard wouldn’t dare lie about it. If another attack came, the people would be completely demoralized.”

“So why would he do that?” asked George.

“Because he wants to control the duchy, not destroy it,” said Henry. “He’s got what he wants, whatever that was, and now he’s getting rid of the evidence.” Henry led the others through the streets, a murder of sharply-armed crows in their black uniforms, stalking through the snow and the brightly dressed, gaily dancing crowds. In their midst, Alfred, tied and led by a length of rope, followed without protest.

Word of their arrival reached the castle gates before they did. The guards cheered as they walked in, and the knights of the Order of the Bear stood at rigid attention, swords drawn, in a double line that led from the gates to the door. There were at least a hundred of them, Thomas realized. He looked to Henry, who squared his shoulders and said, “Follow me.”

Henry led the way with Sir Lawrence hard on his heels. Thomas, Eileen and George followed, with the students walking in behind. The great doors opened as they approached, and Lord Richard stood before them, dressed in a rich, red robe, with a black armband around his arm. Baron Goshawk, Amelia, Lady Prellham and William were all at the door of the great hall, waiting to meet them. Amelia looked pleased as punch to be the first to see them. William looked like Amelia had made him come. Baron Goshawk’s face filled with relief at the sight of them, while Lady Prellham frowned disapprovingly at Eileen.

“Brother!” Richard said, stepping forward and raising his arms. Henry stiffened slightly, but kept walking. Thomas and the others kept pace, stopping just below the steps at Henry’s gestured command. Henry mounted the stairs alone, and Richard embraced him. “I am so glad to see you alive,” he said. “And Thomas! I had given up hope. Thank goodness John spoke when he did or we may well have lost you.”

“It was indeed fortunate,” said Henry. “Is he the reason you are wearing a black armband?”

“Him? No.” Concern and sadness flooded Richard’s face. “But you have not heard, have you? I am so sorry.” He took a deep breath. “Henry, our father died last night.”

“What?” Henry reeled back from his brother, stumbling out of the other man’s grasp. “How? You said he was getting better!”

“And so he was,” said Richard. “Then two days ago a fever consumed him. By the middle of the second day he was raving and by nightfall…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, brother. I sent messengers with the news.”

“We didn’t see them,” said Henry. “We came straight here after we rescued Thomas.”

Richard looked confused. “I am glad you did so, but why? Would he not have served better in the field, protecting the refugees?” He raised a hand when Henry tried to speak. “No, this is not the time for such things. It is a time of grieving and of celebration both, and you must be exhausted. Come inside, my brother.”

“A moment,” said Henry. He walked back down the steps to Thomas. He had gone pale, and his eyes looked almost glazed with shock. He stopped in front of Thomas and his students. “Get John,” he whispered so quietly Thomas nearly missed it. “Take the prisoner to the cells,” he commanded. “He will face the king’s justice in the morning.”

“Your troop should retire to their barracks, Captain Thomas,” protested Richard. “Give your prisoner over to my men. They will see him to the dungeon.”

“With respect,” said Henry, turning on his heel to face his brother, “it was one of your men who betrayed Thomas to the enemy. I will not lose this prisoner in the same way.” Thomas, whose mind was still reeling at the thought of the duke’s death, was impressed with how calm Henry sounded. “These men have taken great pains to bring this prisoner here, and I believe they would consider it an honour to escort him to the prison themselves.”

Anger etched itself on Richard’s features, only to be smoothed away a moment later. “I understand your hesitation,” he said, “though I have only confidence in the men who remain. Still, you may do as you wish.”

“Baron Goshawk,” said Henry, “escort Captain Thomas, if you would. I’m sure he’ll have much to tell you about our adventures.”

“Of course, Lord Henry. This way, gentlemen.” Richard and Henry stood aside, and the baron led Thomas and the others into the building. Lady Prellham and Amelia fell in step at once. William, looking sullen, followed along behind Amelia.

“Well, it must have been quite the exciting trip,” said Amelia, attaching herself to George’s arm. “Tell me what happened. Were you in any battles? And how did you hear the news so soon? The riders were sent out only yesterday.”

“What were you thinking?” demanded Lady Prellham of Eileen from the other side. “Going into battle? It is no place for a young lady.”

“It’s no place for anyone,” said Thomas. “Baron, how far to the cells?”

“There are two sets,” said the baron. “The one for the commoners are under the east hall.”

“Where’s the cell with John in it?”

“Lord John,” corrected Lady Prellham.

“In the old wing,” said the baron. “But surely that wouldn’t be suitable—”

“Take us there,” said Thomas.

Alfred made a protest, unintelligible through the gag.

“Is that proper?” asked the baron.

“Yes,” said Thomas, hoping his tone made it clear there was not to be an argument.

Apparently it did. “Beneath the old keep, then,” said Baron Goshawk. “This way.”

He led them through the halls and, to Thomas’s surprise, into the practice room. On the far side was a door, opening to a set of steps that led down. “Used to be the original cellars,” explained the baron. “Goes deep enough to be below the frost line in winter; took months to dig, according to the keep records.”

“Any guards in there?” asked Thomas.

“I shouldn’t think many,” said the baron. “Why?”

“Draw,” said Thomas. Steel hissed out of scabbards and the thin light shone on a dozen rapier blades and the wider blade of George’s battle sword. “No one gets in. George, grab Alfred’s rope.”

“What are you doing?” demanded Lady Prellham.

Thomas ignored her. “Lord William, I need you to come with me.”

“What’s going on?” William demanded, starting to back away.

“Stop him,” said Thomas, and a half-dozen students surrounded the young lord, blades pointing at his chest. William stopped. He glared at Thomas, looking at once angry and impotent. “I need you to come with me,” repeated Thomas. “It’s important.”

“Important enough to kill me for?” demanded William.

“Aye,” said Thomas. “But I’m not the one who will do it. Please, Lord William.”

“Oh come,” said Amelia. “It’s important to Lord Henry, too, I expect. And I don’t want to go down there without someone’s arm to hold on to.”

“And what of me?” demanded Lady Prellham.

“Your word you will stay here and stay quiet,” said Thomas, drawing his own rapier. “Or my men will bind you and gag you.”

Lady Prellham looked from the students with their drawn blades to Thomas. She lowered her voice. “What is going on, Captain?”

“Your word, Lady Prellham.”

“Is this Lord Henry’s idea?”

“Your word,” Thomas repeated. “Please.”

Lady Prellham’s lips pressed into a tight, disapproving line for a moment, then, “Very well. You have my word.”

“Thank you,” said Thomas. He looked at Marcus. “Get the lady a seat, please. We’ll be up shortly. Baron, lead the way.”

“We’ll need light,” said the baron.

Thomas had two students kindle torches in the fireplace, giving one to the baron and the other to Eileen. “Lead the way, Baron, if you please.”

The baron did, taking them down a long set of stairs into a hallway that was noticeably cooler than the rooms above, with a dozen doors on either side of it. Two guards wearing church uniforms stood on either side of the last one in the row. Thomas advanced on them, George beside him. The guards reached for their own weapons when they approached, but Thomas held up a hand. “No need,” he said. “We’re just here delivering a prisoner to his cell.”

The guards looked wary and their hands stayed on their weapons, but neither made a move to draw. Thomas led Alfred to the cell opposite the guards. “Put him in there, George,” said Thomas. George did, closing the door and pushing the thick bolt into place. “There,” said Thomas, turning his rapier on the throat of the nearest guard. “Fight and I’ll kill you where you stand.”

The other guard reached for his weapon. George’s fist flew and hit him once in the face. The man’s head bounced off the wall behind him and he slid to the floor. “Take their swords, Baron,” said Thomas. “Then put them in the cell beside Alfred there.”

The baron relieved the men of their weapons then dragged the unconscious one into the cell.

“Does he have any more men inside with him?” Thomas asked the remaining prisoner. The man said nothing. Thomas took the blade away from him and George grabbed the man, shoving him into the cell with his companion.

“Now what?” asked Eileen.

Thomas grasped the bolt on the door to John’s cell, pulled it open, then pulled on the door itself. He stepped back as it swung wide.

Inside, the inquisitor was sitting behind a small writing desk, his quill busy scratching across the paper in front of him. He looked up, annoyed at the interruption then started, seeing Thomas and his drawn rapier. Thomas’s eyes were on Lord John, however.