Lord of the Rose (46 page)

“No … I mean yes, my dear,” said the rail-thin duke, as he glowered at the walls, the floor, at everything in sight, including his wife. Still, he forced himself to speak calmly. “I must save the stones, and of course that means I must leave the city with them.”

“What are you going to do?” the woman asked breathlessly.

“Well, I have no choice,” snapped Rathskell, decisively. “I will place the most portable of my treasury—the gems and
jewelry—into strongboxes and have them loaded onto a wagon and personally drive that wagon up the mountain road. I will head for Caergoth. That way, at least I will be able to exert my influence on Duke Crawford—he
will
bring his troops to the city’s aid!”

“How will you—I mean, we—get out? The road to Thelgaard and Caergoth is blocked by that terrible army of savages!”

“I told you—the mountain road, my dear. And not we—just me. It is rough, but with a good team and driver, I should be able to get up into the foothills before the wretches know what I am about. With luck, I can reach Caergoth in three days and be back with a relief force within a week in plenty of time to rescue you.”

“But—what about the city? Your castle?” The duchess sniffled. “What about me?”

“Captain Rankin will be in charge. As long as he keeps the gates closed and the walls manned, you will be safe here. I can’t ask you to take the risks of the road, my dear. If we can keep those wretches focused on Solanthus, it may be that Caergoth will be able to fall upon them from behind. Yes, that is my plan, and if I so say so myself, a brilliant plan, with bright hopes for success!”

“Do you really think so?”

The duke fixed his wife with a withering glare.

H
orribly seared by the black dragon’s acid, Carbo writhed in pain as Jaymes bore him along, the bluff above the broad Vingaard. They made camp at the first shelter they reached in a grass-lined ravine, and Dram gave his small flask of dwarf spirits to their injured companion. The strong drink seemed to alleviate the little fellow’s pain, but it couldn’t do anything to heal his grievous wounds. The acid had burned his flesh away and blinded him. They stretched him on a blanket on the ground. He held his brother’s and sister’s hands, as, gradually, his labored breathing grew quieter, more relaxed.

Carbo died shortly after sunset, and the companions laid him to rest in a small grave, watered by the tears of his sister and his long-lost brother. Jaymes and Dram, having dug the grave, stood uncomfortably by as the bereaved pair sobbed out their farewells.

“You should never have come for me,” cried Salty Pete, his narrow shoulders quivering. “This wouldn’t have happened—he’d still be with us!”

“No,” Sulfie said, sniffling, wiping her large nose with a handkerchief. “He wanted to come and find you. He was so brave.”

Jaymes cleared his throat, touched his chin, his heart. “I think he’s proud that he helped to get you out. He was a hero.”

“But he’s dead! Sheedra killed him, called him a ‘nasty’! I hate her!” Pete proclaimed.

“Well, she’s dead too. Jaymes and his sword took care of her,” Dram said.

“I’m sorry it was too late for your brother,” the swordsman said.

Jaymes turned and stalked to the edge of the ravine. He looked at the murky waters of the Upper Vingaard, his fists clenched into white-knuckled knots in the gathering darkness.

“Jaymes—wake up.”

The warrior was awake in an instant, sitting up, reaching for his sword, until he recognized the white-robed enchantress who had suddenly appeared, as she so often did, without warning.

“What is it?” he asked, throwing off his blanket and rising to his feet. “You have news?”

He and his three companions were camped on the open plains, several days march south of the Brackens and the grave where they had buried Carbo. Sulfie, Pete, and the dwarf still slept. Nearby, two casks stood with their gear, containing the rest of the explosive compound they had been able to ferret away from Sheedra’s lair.

“The Duke of Solanthus is moving the contents of his vault to Caergoth or Palanthas. He will take it on the road himself. If our suspicions are correct—if he is the one who ordered the murder of Lord Lorimar—the green diamonds will be among that treasure.”

“Do you really think it was him?”

Coryn shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know what to think. Remember what you told me: The house was attacked by six knights, none wearing the sign of an order.”

“But they were Solamnics, I’m sure of that,” the warrior asserted. “One of them was standing over Dara’s body and muttering, reciting that foul pledge—
Est Sularus oth Mithas.”

“And she was already dead?”

“Yes, I told you. I was in another part of the house, I heard the commotion and came running. Dara had been stabbed through the heart. The lord was bleeding, his leg nearly sliced off.”

“And the attackers?”

Jaymes shook his head. “I’ve told you all this before … more than once.”

“Be patient. Tell me again,” said the wizard.

“I can’t remember details. I lost my head, to be honest. I was in such a rage, I killed them all. Five of them, and quickly. The last one talked a bit—only told me his lord would be pleased.”

“Could they have been bandits?”

“No, there was discipline in their attack, like knights. That vow—I will swear on what’s left of my honor that they weren’t Dark Knights. They were Solamnics.”

“Then it must have been Rathskell,” the enchantress said. “We know he was furious when Lorimar denied him the right to seek Dara’s hand in marriage. Thelgaard strikes me as too stupid for such deviousness, so I think Solanthus is the one. He will be leaving with his treasure before the dawn.”

“Why? Isn’t the safest place for his treasure within the walls of his own castle?”

Coryn gave him a sly half-smile. “Let’s just say that all of the lords are having an attack of nerves. The Lord Regent feels he is short of funds. Perhaps I had a little something to do with that.”

“What, you stole his gold?” Jaymes asked.

“Of course not!” The white robe feigned shock. “I did fix it so that he might be a little reluctant to spend it. In any event, Solanthus plans to ride even before the dawn. He will take the mountain road to the south so he can avoid the horde on the plains.”

The warrior frowned. “I’ll never get there in time,” he said, shaking his head. “Even with a fleet horse—”

She cut him off, her smile broadening. “Well, there are more expeditious ways to travel than even astride the fastest horse.”

He looked at her questioningly.

“Let me have your ring,” she said.

Puzzled, he pulled the golden band off of his finger and handed it to her. She held it up and murmured an incantation, repeating the quiet words three more times. When Coryn handed the ring back to him, it felt slightly warm.

“Go ahead, put it back on,” she instructed. “You will be able to use it to teleport four times—you must picture the place you wish to go. Turn the ring twice around your finger, and it will take you there.”

A shiver ran down his back as Jaymes slipped it over his finger. The warmth it emanated felt pleasant, comforting.

“Do you know the mountain road south out of Solanthus?” she asked him.

“Yes. I know it well from my goblin-hunting days. Dram and I just traveled that way to meet with Cornellus.”

“Good.” Coryn handed him a small leather bag. “Here,” she said, answering his raised eyebrows, “this is a magic bag. In case,” she added with her sly half-smile, “you find yourself with a few more treasures than you can easily carry in your pockets.”

He nodded. “It should come in handy,” he said.

By now Dram had awakened, and the two gnomes were also stirring. Jaymes filled them in. “You should make for the Vingaard Mountains with all haste,” he said. “I will catch up as soon as I can. Tell Swig Frostmead I’ll be bringing his money.”

After a hasty goodbye, the White Witch wrapped them both in the cocoon of her magic, and they were gone.

The wagon rumbled along the narrow mountain way, skirting the steep foothills of the Garnet Range. The Duke of Solanthus and his driver clung to the rails and the reins, trying to stay perched on the jolting seat. A column of a dozen Knights of the Crown clattered along ahead of the four sturdy workhorses pulling the wagon, while a similar detachment followed close behind.

The road was dangerous. To their right, the slope spilled down to a cliff, which hung over a dry ravine some two or three hundred feet below. To the left, the land rose sharply.

They had departed through a little-used gate in the very south of the city walls, far from the main roads connecting Solanthus to the rest of Solamnia. Fortunately, there were no goblins near this route. Leaving before dawn, they had been able to travel high into the mountains before the sun rose. Behind them now they could see the ogre army sprawled across the plains like locusts, a dark smudge extending for miles in three directions around the walled city dominated by the stark landmark of the Cleft Spires.

Duke Rathskell glanced over his shoulder, not at his besieged city but at the four strongboxes lashed into the wagon’s cargo bed. They were all filled with jewels. Probably enough jewels to ransom his city, he reflected sourly, but they were bound elsewhere.

“My lord duke!”

Rathskell saw one of the men from his trailing escort galloping forward, waving for his attention. He kept his grip on the side rail, gritting his teeth at every wrenching bounce, waiting for the man to catch up to the rumbling wagon.

“What is it?” snapped the duke, even as the driver, at his orders, kept urging the team of horses onward.

“Goblins, my lord,” said the knight. “A large number have moved onto the road behind us. They seem bent on giving chase.”

“How many of them?” he asked.

“A detachment. A good-sized group, to be sure—maybe a thousand of the bastards. We didn’t spot them at first, and now they are but a few miles behind us.”