Fragments of Grace (Prequel to the Dragonblade Trilogy) (50 page)

Horrified, Chloë could see that her suspicions had
been right; Aysgarth’s army laid seige regardless of who was in, or out, of the
walls of Ripley. She had no way of knowing if Keir truly made it out of Ripley
alive. She had lost consciousness before she had her answer and it was quite
possible they simply threw him back in the vault or killed him. She realized that
she had to know. Seized with anxiety, with the desire to know the truth, she
stumbled towards the chamber door.

It wasn’t locked, which was surprising. Slinking
down the dark, spiral stairs and gripping the wall to keep her balance, she had
no idea where she was or where she was going. All she knew was that she had to
find out what happened to Keir. Moving quietly but not particularly quickly due
to her stiff back and weak body, she ended up in a dark corridor that dumped her
out into a small, circular room.

The noise from the battle outside was louder here,
drifting in through the windows.The smell of smoke was heavy. She noticed a
small table off to her right, shoved up against the wall. It was cluttered with
all kinds of things and, timidly, she stepped out of the corridor and moved to
the table to see what was spread out all over it. As she approached, she could
immediately see blade, broadswords, battle axes, pieces of leather and armor,
the remains of a meal, and other clutter. 

Just as she reached out to finger one of the broadswords
that was more squat that long, she heard voices and movement off to her left,
through the door into another room, and she scurried back into the corridor
from where she had come. Grabbing the sword, she hid in the shadows, trying to
see what was going on, and from what she could gather they were bringing
injured men in from the battle outside. She could hear them shouting for a
physic and the groans of the wounded.  The blade in her hands was heavy but she
was determined to find someone, anyone, and threaten them unless they told her
what happened to Keir. It was the best plan her exhausted mind could come up
with.

She moved closer to the sounds in the other room,
staying close to the wall until she could peer through the doorway.  She could
see the great hall beyond and men on the floor being tended by servants.  There
was blood and pain everywhere and she swallowed hard at the sight, trying very
hard not to be disgusted.

As Chloë stood in the doorway, she tried to single
out someone who might be in charge of the mess, someone who could tell her what
had become of Keir.  She was sure that Ingilby and his men were outside in the
battle, but as she thought on it, she was equally sure that no servant could
tell her what she needed to know.  They were usually ignorant of such things. She
had to find someone who would know.  She had to find a soldier.

Keeping very quiet, she looked around for another
way to the keep entry that wouldn’t take her through the great hall, but there
didn’t seem to be any other form of passage.  With a deep breath for courage,
she lifted the sword, realized it was heavier than she had anticipated, but by
that time a few in the great hall had already seen her so she charged out and
skittered over to the keep entry.  She left a few shocked expressions in her
wake, men watching a whispy woman with glorious red hair running through the
hall.  They had no idea who, or what, she was.

The entry to the keep was open, as there was a constant
stream of wounded being brought into the hall.  Chloë stepped outside, seeing
flames everywhere and men running about.  It was a battlefield and as she stood
in the open doorway, two more flaming projectiles came sailing over the wall,
one of the bursting about thirty feet away from her and spraying burning oil
everywhere.  Resisting the urge to run back inside and hide, she took the few
steps down to the bailey, as Ripley’s keep was a low-lying structure, she ended
up standing in mud and blood. It was a disgusting mix and she focused more on
finding a patch of ground that wasn’t filled with bloodily fluids than on
finding someone who could tell her where Keir was. Just as she found a patch
that was relatively dry, she noticed a great deal of commotion at the
gatehouse.

The gatehouse wasn’t so much a true gatehouse as it
was simply a big stone arch that housed a portcullis and enormous oak gate that
was currently burning.  Great pieces of it were falling to the ground, clipping
the men who were trying to reinforce it.  As Chloë watched, somewhat
transfixed, an enormous piece fell off and revealed the porcullis beyond, nearly
in full. She could see the army though the big iron grate. 

Many men and at least three great battering rams
came into view. It was difficult to make out any features from the angle of the
sun and the direction of the shadows, but she could see dozens of men trying to
bring down the gate and portcullis.  In fact, the burning gate had softened the
iron portcullis sufficiently that several of the enemy soldiers were grasping
it with ropes sheathed in leather, pulling at a corner of it and trying to bend
back the teeth.  Those inside Ripley began hacking at the leather-covered
ropes, only to be struck down by arrows shot through the portcullis.

“I had no idea you were well enough to fight.”

The voice came from behind and Chloë startled with
fear, lifting her sword before she even saw the face of the man.  In truth, she
didn’t need to see him.  She knew that voice.  And she knew she was in for a
fight.

Ingilby stood a few feet away in his battle armor,
looking rather weary but unharmed. The armor was newer and well-made, and
somewhat pristine. In his hand he held an enormous broadsword with a leather
hilt, a glorious weapon built for battle.  His expression was even but Chloë
was terrified as she faced off against him.

“Where is Keir?” she demanded. “What did you do with
him?”

Ingilby cocked an eyebrow. “You wanted him released.
I released him.”

“Released him
where
?”

Ingilby gestured to the crumbling gate and the
battle now going on through the portcullis. “Outside,” he said. “I should have
thrown him over the wall like he did Alphonse, but alas, I did not. Perhaps I
am the more civilized between Keir and I.  Perhaps that is something you should
keep in mind.”

Chloë’s expression darkened. “How do I know that you
did not throw him over the wall?” she asked. “I would see him, otherwise our
bargain is at an end.”

Ingilby looked confused. “What do you mean?”

Chloë began to shake as she held up the heavy blade;
she wasn’t in any condition to be holding something so heavy. It was difficult
to keep it steady.  

“My proposition to you was me in exchange for Keir’s
freedom,” she said. “If he is not truly free or if, in fact, you have killed
him, then we have no bargain.”

Ingilby’s even expression fled and his eyes
narrowed. “And then what?” he wanted to know. “Do you propose to walk out of
here? I can tell you, quite irrevocably, that you will not leave this place. I
will keep you here and you will belong to me regardless of Keir St. Hèver’s
health or welfare.”

“Then you did kill him!”

Ingilby’s patience was evaporating quickly. “Foolish
wench,” he rumbled. “Look at this place; look at that gate. St. Hèver is
leading the attack. He wants you back, but he shall not have you. You belong to
me now and I have waited long enough.”

With that, he smacked the sword in her hands onto
the ground, reaching out to grab her around the wrist in one smooth motion.
Startled, Chloë began to scream and pound on him as he began to drag her back
towards the keep.  Her sounds were those of fear and panic, an innate response,
having no idea that just outside the weakened portcullis, someone had heard her
cries.

***

Keir awoke sometime before sunset when his brother
came back into the tent that was positioned far back from the fighting. He had
been passed out on a woolen pallet, sleeping a sleep of such exhaustion that
not even the sounds of battle could penetrate. But he startled himself awake
when Kurtis entered the tent and called his name, and he lifted his head in
time to see a soldier bearing Keir’s armor entering the tent, and still another
man behind that man carrying Keir’s weapons.

Keir staggered up from his pallet, struggling to
clear the cobwebs from his mind as he shifted into battle mode. It was a
natural state to him, like eating or breathing, and as Kurtis drank heavily of
watered ale and shoved a few piece of bread in his mouth, Keir began dressing. 
He ignored his twisted ankle, the bumps and bruises, as he began to transform
into the efficient killing machine. Nothing on earth was more important than
what he was about to face, no battle he had ever fought of higher value.  As he
strapped on his greaves, his breastplate, and had Kurtis help him with his back
plate, his mind briefly wandered to the battle in Wales and how he had been
ordered to command the king’s armies. Not even those battles were of higher
consequence than the one he faced right now, a siege at a relatively small
castle with relatively unimportant people inside her.  All except one.

Chloë.
Her name flashed before his eyes, somehow
breezed through his ears and ended up in his chest like a great sharp dagger to
cut out his heart. He must have somehow whispered her name because his brother,
finished with the last strap on Keir’s backplate, came around front and looked
at him.

“What did you say?” he asked.

Keir looked at him, thinking about what he might
have said, and shook his head. “Nothing,” he muttered, moving to strap on his
broadsword. “What is the status of the siege? Have you made any headway?”

Kurtis nodded, noting the transformation of his
brother from wounded prisoner to powerful knight with satisfaction. “The gate
is demolished and we are gaining headway with the porcullis,” he said, leading
Keir out of the tent into the sunset beyond. “We have been bombarding them since
we arrived with flammable projectiles. Michael has made excellent work out of
the phosphates and oil.”

Keir plopped his helm on his head, glancing up at
the great plumes of greasy black smoke that were escaping from Ripley’s bailey.

“He usually does,” he said. Then he flicked a wrist
at the walled fortress. “What about ladders upon the walls? I see none.”

“That is because we have nearly finished almost two
dozen of them,” Kurtis indicated the open field back behind their camp and the
trees beyond that formed a dark green line in the distance. “See the men out
there in the field? They are nearly finished. I wanted to wait until we had all
twenty of them built before charging the walls. I did not want to do it in
pieces because a solid, big attack will be more effective. Meanwhile, we have
been attacking the gate and have managed to seriously damage it.”

Keir was following his brother across the road to
the main gate of Ripley, noticing that the main cluster of fighting seemed to
be within that confined space.  Some of his men had ropes around the softened
porcullis, pulling it back and away, disloding it, while those inside of Ripley
tried to fight them off. Kurtis came to a halt before they headed towards the
chaos of the gate.

“There is something you should know,” he said to his
brother. “While you were unconscious, we lost Coverdale.”

Keir stared at him a moment before sighing heavily,
looking particularly distressed. “What happened?”

Kurtis shrugged helplessly. “He was riding up from
his position to the rear to see how the battle was progressing and took an
arrow to the throat,” he said. “I tried to stop the bleeding but there was just
too much damage.”

Keir’s features were lined with sorrow. “Where is he
now?”

“I took him back to his wife.  She is too young to
handle the grief, you know, but regardless, she is now your commander and in
charge of the entire Coverdale barony, I might add. You may want to pay her a
visit to express your condolences since you are in charge of her armies.”

Keir just shook his his head. “I will pay her a
visit after I retrieve Chloë.  Until then, this battle and this army belong to
me.”

“She does not understand why we are here and wants
to return to Aysgarth with her husband’s body.”

“I will pretend that I did not hear that.”

He started to move but Kurtis grasped him by the
arm. “All well and good,” he muttered, “and I do not fault you. However, there
is something more; be advised that the men do not know what has happened to
Coverdale. The few that saw him fall I have sworn to silence. I fear the
knowledge of his death might kill their morale.”

Keir’s pale eyes were intense. “Let the men see me
tall and strong, fighting this battle, and it will matter for not.  I am the
true leader of this army and have been for several years. Coverdale was never
much of a factor, although he was a decent man. I will mourn him.”

With that, Keir charged towards the gatehouse. 
Kurtis watched the man walk away for a moment, sensing his resolve and
determination, before catching up with him. In truth, it had been some time
since they had fought side by side and in an odd way he was looking forward to
it. Together, they joined the fight at the portcullis as Aysgarth’s army gained
headway.