Dragonblade Trilogy - 01 - Dragonblade (10 page)

Unbeknownst to the
occupants of the manor, three of Mortimer’s men had made it inside the large
house by way of the kitchen. The cook was killed and two servants beat
unconscious. They were waiting for the king when he flew into the house,
yelling for the man that Mortimer knew as Dragonblade. The lad was in a panic
and was nearly hit by a sword that came flying at his head. He managed to avoid
being decapitated and raced into the great hall, pulling a sword down from the
hearth and defending himself admirably. All of this happened in quick
succession, but the fiercest battle was yet to come. 

Two massive knights
came hurling off the stairs, racing into the great hall to join the melee. Tate
and Stephen were without armor or weapons and at a distinct disadvantage;
Stephen grabbed the long, slender iron pole that was used to stoke the hearth
and drove the dirty end into one man’s neck. Tate picked up the nearest stool,
used it to block a strike against him, then swung about and used it as a weapon
to disarm his adversary. It was a smooth move, accomplished in a matter of
seconds. An additional move took his foe’s legs out from underneath him and he
collected the man’s sword before it hit the ground. In a deadly turn, he used
it against him.

There was still
another attacker in the room, going after young Edward. Stephen did away with
the man, putting the fire pole between his ribs. As the man fell, the knight
caught his sword. Now, at least they were armed. Their odds were increasing.

Edward was exhilarated
and terrified. “In the
garçonnaire
!” he yelled. “There are more!”

“Go help Kenneth,”
Tate ordered Stephen. He looked at the young king. “Up the stairs, now.”

The tone of command
left no room for debate. Stephen left for the
garçonnaire
, but Edward
had yet to move.

“I can fight,” he
insisted.

“It was not a
request,” Tate replied. “Get up the stairs to the mistress’ chamber and lock
the door.”

Edward was about to
argue further but he suddenly paused. “I smell smoke.””

Tate smelled it, too.
He suspected what was happening and his plan of attack shifted. Before he could
say anything further, a body abruptly stepped from the shadows and hit him
squarely across the back of the head. Without his helm, Tate went down like a
stone. Edward’s eyes widened as the figure came into the weak light.

“De Roche,” he gasped.
“What… what are you doing here?”

Hamlin de Roche was
big, dark and ugly. His armor was of the finest grade and his demeanor gave him
the ambience of the devil. He grinned at Edward, evil and death bleeding from
every pore of his body. He stepped over Tate’s supine form.

“My king,” he greeted
in a deep, raspy voice. “As Mortimer’s finest servant, the earl does not pay me
for my good looks or pleasant nature. I have come for a reason.”

Edward was backing up
as De Roche moved towards him. “Stay away from me, you bastard. You will not
lay a hand on me.”

“I do not intend to
lay a hand on you,” de Roche said calmly. “I intend to take you with me for
Mortimer’s pleasure.”

Edward was to the
stairs, backing his way up the steps and unaware that he was about to corner
himself. He had a sword in his hand but dared not strike out at de Roche; as
deadly as Tate de Lara was, de Roche had nearly the same reputation. He was a
powerful warrior, Roger Mortimer’s most valuable knight. Catching Tate unaware
had been a first; Tate had gotten the better of de Roche many times. 

“Stay away, de Roche,”
Edward raised the sword in a weak threat. “I will kill you if you come any
closer, I swear it.”

De Roche laughed low
in his throat. “You are brave, sire. You have grown since last we spoke.”

Edward was nearly to
the top of the stairs and increasingly fearful of his fate. He was at a
disadvantage and he knew it. But unexpectedly, a wet figure pushed past him, a
blur of hair and ashen flesh. Toby suddenly wedged herself between Edward and
the dark knight, causing Edward to trip and fall back on the steps. Truthfully,
he was so startled to see her that he had fallen over his own feet.

Toby was pale and
shaken, her nightshift damp from the bath she had taken to save her life. She
had awoken on her bed, hearing urgent voices in the hall and wondering why she
was all wet. Ailsa was asleep beside her and she had not the strength to wake her
sister and ask what had transpired. When the voices drew closer, men she did
not recognize, she was curious more than she sensed danger. But a terrified
young man’s voice told her something was amiss. Rising from the bed, which was
no easy feat, she had stumbled to the door in time to see Tate’s squire heading
off with an enormous knight.

The lad was
frightened, that much was evident. The big knight looked as if he was about to
do the youth serious harm. Having no idea who the man was, she instinctively
took a defensive stance. She was enraged that someone would violate the
sanctity of her home, no matter what the circumstances. Staggering over to the
hearth, she grabbed the fire poker, the only weapon-like instrument in the
room.

De Roche was soon aware
of a poker staring him in the face.

“How dare you enter my
home without permission,” Toby hissed. “Leave this boy alone. Get out of here.”

De Roche’s gaze
drifted over her in a way that made Toby feel dirty and exposed. “Lady, this
matter does not concern you. I shall leave your home gladly as soon as young
Edward lets go his sword and comes with me.”

Toby’s mind was fogged
with illness and she did not comprehend that the man had called the squire by a
different name. She lowered the poker as if she meant to attack him.

“Get out. I will not
tell you again.”

“And I will not tell
you again that I am not ready to.”

She swung the poker at
his head. He easily sidestepped the blow, grabbed the poker from her, and
tossed it over the side of the stairs. Toby heard it clatter on the floor
below. Keeping Edward behind her, she made sure to stay between the boy and the
knight as they slowly away.

“You would make this
far easier for yourself if you would simply move out of the way,” de Roche told
her.

“I am not moving,”
Toby replied, firm but frightened. “Why would you want to harm this boy?”

“I already told you: I
do not want to harm him. I have simply been sent to retrieve him.”

“He does not want to
go with you; can you not see that?”

They had reached the
top of the steps. De Roche was finished debating with her and reached out to
move her aside. He truthfully had no intention of hurting her. But the moment
he laid his hands on her, Toby turned into a wildcat and began kicking and
biting. She nipped de Roche on the hand and he grunted, shifting his grip so
she could not reach him with her sharp teeth. 

He was about to toss
her aside when he suddenly lurched forward. It was a violent move that pitched
him onto the floor. He let go of Toby somewhere in the process and she stumbled
back. Only the terrified king had saved her from falling completely. The two of
them looked at the knight on the ground, dumbfounded. But the large body
standing where de Roche had once been ended their confusion.

Tate stood on the top
of the steps holding the poker he had picked up off the floor down below. His
expression was grave as he inspected the man on the floor. Unlike de Roche’s
handiwork, Tate knew Hamlin would not be regaining lucidity any time soon. The
whack to his head had been for damage. For his part, Tate had a slight headache
but was none the worse for wear. He rubbed the back of his skull as he looked
at Toby.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded, though in
truth, she wasn’t. She was horribly weak and still very ill. When she tried to
speak, she suddenly felt very faint and would have collapsed but for Edward. He
broke her fall and Tate picked her up.

“Edward, rouse the
family,” he ordered. “The manor is afire and there is little time to waste.
Tell them to gather what they can and get out.”

“My mother,” Toby
breathed, struggling weakly to remove herself from Tate’s hold. “She cannot
move by herself. She will need help.”

“Then I will send a
man up for her,” Tate said. “We need to get you out of here.”

While Edward
disappeared into one of the rooms, Tate carried Toby back into her chamber.
Ailsa, awoken by the commotion, sat up on the bed and rubbed her eyes.

“What is happening?”
she asked. She saw Toby as her vision cleared. “Toby! What is wrong with her?”

Tate sat Toby very
gently on the end of the bed. “Bravery is exhausting,” he said simply, but
there was no time for idle chatter. “Ailsa, we need to leave right away. Where
are your traveling cases?”

Ailsa blinked as if
she did not understand the question. Then she pointed to the wardrobe against
the wall. Tate went to the bureau and quickly pulled out two large leather
trunks. He started throwing clothes in them at random.

Ailsa ran over to him.
“Why do we have to leave? What is the matter?”

She was verging on
tears. Tate paused, putting his hands on her slender shoulders. “You must be
brave, little one. I need your help.”

Her lip was trembling.
“Aye?”

“Help me pack.
Quickly.”

“Why are we hurrying?”

He threw the green
damask gown that Toby had worn the eve the supped together into the trunk.
“Because some men have come. They have set fire to the manor. We must get out
of here. Do you understand?”

Her eyes were full of
fear but, to his surprise, she did not panic. She began flying around the room,
collecting items and throwing them into the second trunk. With the next gown he
grabbed, Tate went over to Toby, still sitting on the bed.

“Put this on,” he said
gently. “Do you need my help to do so?”

Toby shook her head
and, with quivering hands, began to pull at her night shift. Tate turned away,
back to the packing. It seemed as if any doubt he had ever had about her had
fled the moment he saw her standing at the top of the steps, defending Edward
against a man three times her size. He had no idea how she had managed it, but
her courage and strength astonished him.

The trunks were full
in short order and he sealed them both. Then he turned to see how Toby was
faring. She was still sitting on the bed, pale and sickly, but had managed to
somehow pull her wet shift off and put on a linen shift and heavy brown
broadcloth garment. Ailsa had found a pair of woolen hose and was trying to
pull them on her sister’s feet. Edward and Balin came into the chamber, both
wide-eyed at what was happening around them, and Tate put them to work.

“Take these trunks out
of here,” he directed the king. “Balin, take Ailsa out. Do not let her out of
your sight.”

“But… my home,” Balin
gasped. “These men… dead in my hall. What is happening?”

Tate took the hose
from Ailsa and threw propriety to the wind; he deftly rolled a stocking on to
one of Toby’s legs. “I fear that my visit has brought you bad fortune,” he said
quietly. “Get your wife and get out of this place. Be quick about it.”

“This place is all
that I have!” Balin wailed. “I will not go, I tell you!”

“You must or it will
burn down over your head.”

“Then let it burn. I
will not leave!”

He ran off and they
heard a door slam. Ailsa, confused and frightened, began crying. Tate rolled
the other stocking onto Toby’s leg, trying not to think of how soft and shapely
it was. “Ailsa, sweetheart, find your sister’s shoes,” he commanded softly. “We
must hurry.”

She did as she was
asked, sobbing. In little time, they had Toby dressed and Tate collected her in
his arms once more. The three of them moved down the smoky stairs; De Roche
still lay upon the landing and they stepped over him. On the first floor, the
great hall was filled with heavy smoke and some flame. The fire was gaining.
Tate carried Toby out into the yard. 

The Harbottle troops
that had been encamped on the eastern side of the manor house were trying to
douse the fire that had consumed most of the northern section of the house; the
kitchens and solar were completely engulfed. Toby, only semi-conscious,
nonetheless realized what was happening.

“My father,” she
whispered. “Where are my father and mother?”

Stephen and Kenneth
met Tate in the yard. All of Mortimer’s men had been either subdued or killed
and were no longer a threat.  The men-at-arms had taken young Edward back to
the
garçonnaire
, which was still standing. Mortimer’s men hadn’t tried
to burn it. With all of the men running about trying to put out the fire, the
environment was chaotic.

“I must go after the
father and mother,” Tate deposited Toby into Stephen’s big arms. “Ask me later
how she stood up against De Roche.”

“I already heard,”
Stephen replied. “Edward told us. Where is De Roche?”

“Lying unconscious at
the top of the stairs.” Tate motioned to Kenneth to follow him but he gave
Stephen a pointed look. “Take care of her.”