Risen (22 page)

“You have news of my son?” she
asked, but somewhere in her being knew they’d not found
him.

“No, my Lady, but our Lord has
found the boy’s trail; he is tracking him as we speak.”

“Tracking him?”

“Herluin is dead. So are his wife
and one child. However, it appears two children escaped to the
woods behind the farm.” The man gestured as though the woods were
directly behind him. “Lord Ravan believes Risen is one of them.
He’s followed the trail into the forest.” The messenger raised his
eyes for the first time, meeting Nicolette’s. “He sent us to give
you word that he’s gone after them. We’re to tell you…” the man
swallowed, “…that he will not return until he has your son.” The
message complete, the soldier dropped to one knee and averted his
eyes.

She simply nodded. “I see.” The man
stood and seemed surprised that she was apparently unmoved by this
critical information.

“My Lady,” he implored, “we are
dispatching a band of soldiers to follow after him, at this very
moment. I know this must be difficult for you.” The man spread his
hands in appeal. “Is there anything more we can do, anything you
require of us? Something to ease the wait?”

“How many are with my husband?” She
wondered.

“There are eight, my Lady. Eight of
his best, and Velecent.”

“Stop them; do not dispatch the
force. They will not be able to catch Ravan, and it will simply be
a waste of our resources,” Nicolette ordered. “We must secure the
safety of the town, put out the fires, help our people.” With that,
she was as quickly done with him, and turned to the other courier.
“Please, the other news?”

“Oh—uh, yes, my Lady.” The second
messenger seemed as surprised as the first at her lack of emotion
to the news of her lost son and blurted, “We have turned the
battle. Victory is ours, and we have captured the leader of the
resistance. He is being held, pending return of our Lord Ravan.”
With some satisfaction, the man added, “We are prepared to execute
him forthwith, if that be your wish, and—”

“Bring him to me.” She cut him off
easily.

All were immediately
silent.

The soldier cautioned, “But my
Lady…he is a barbarian, a ruthless—”

“Bring the man to me now, and do
not speak to him of my son. Do you understand?” She stared coldly
at both men, eyes flitting back and forth. “Has anyone mentioned
Risen to him?”

The messengers glanced at each other
before one answered, “No, my Lady.”

“Good. See that you don’t. And
neither do I wish the captive harmed in any fashion. Simply bring
him to me.” She dismissed them, gesturing toward the exit for them
to leave straightaway.

“Yes, my Lady.” The second
messenger dropped his eyes. “As you wish.” He was wisely unprepared
to argue with her, bowed his head and exited, followed by the
other.

“Moulin,” she commanded, “prepare
my solar. I wish to receive my adversary there. Flank me with
guards, and I want you there as well.”

“My Lady, this man is our enemy,”
he argued.

“Do not question me!” she hissed.
It was one of the few times Nicolette had ever raised her voice to
him, and her eyes flashed in a very peculiar way. “Go!”

“As you wish.” He bowed, leaving
Nicolette alone in the foyer.

Gathering her gowns, she moved from
the massive hall to her solar and prepared to receive the prisoner.
Sitting calmly and motionless, she simply waited. Finally, all were
assembled just as she commanded. Moulin stood to her right, and
soldiers flanked either side of her as the prisoner was ushered in
to meet his most unusual captor.

The warrior was old, at least in his
fifth decade, and battle hardened it would appear. He moved as one
fatigued not only with war but with life. That was not the least of
it. His face was scarred from burns, and his eyes were devoid of
regret. This is what Nicolette noticed first off, that the man was
without fear, and it gave her caution.

The prisoner was half carried for it
appeared one leg was broken, and a trail of blood was left on the
floor as he was hauled in. Even so, he gave little indication of
the pain he must have been enduring. Instead, he was almost
sanguine.

Crippled though he was, the man
found his good leg and stood, balanced before her, eyes flashing in
defiance even as death greeted him in the form of a woman. He next
seemed confused, looked about as though expecting Ravan at any
moment. But as all men were apt to do, his attentions went swiftly
to the strange beauty sitting before him.

A lesser leader than Nicolette might
have cringed for the awful expression and manner of the prisoner
that was dragged before her, but she only leaned forward in her
seat, eyes narrowed, her chin resting in one delicate hand as she
asked straightaway, “Why do you hate him? Why do you wish to kill
Ravan?”

All present, and especially the
prisoner, were surprised—surprised that she already knew so much of
the purpose of his crusade, for he’d not spoken of his intent at
all since his capture. None could know his true ambition. But she
did.

He snarled, “I seek the one named
Ravan because he is a murderer—a killer of children.”

Nicolette paused, long and patient,
to consider his words before replying. “My husband has killed but
never a child and none that were undeserving. I ask you again, why
do you wish my husband dead?”

The man lifted his chin, his eyes
nearly shrouded by his thick brow, his face streaked with sweat and
grime from the awful battle. Peering from beneath his countenance,
he sneered at the woman who addressed him. “So you are the
butcher’s whore…”

Moulin stepped forward, halberd
raised, but with a swift lift of her hand, Nicolette commanded he
not move, all the while keeping her cold gaze on the
prisoner.

The man glanced briefly at Moulin
before he continued. “He is a murderer; he killed my son, and then
because of it, his mother took her life. I have lost both of them
because of this man.” He took a patient, exhausted breath before
adding, “I am Tor, father of Modred, and I will not cease my war
against the one called Ravan until either he or I am
dead.”

“You should be careful what you
wish for,” Nicolette murmured with perfect calm as she sat back in
her chair and studied the man.

“Your husband tore from me my only
living son.” For the first time, emotion played across the face of
the captive. “He will die by my hand; for only this I live, or I
will die trying.”

“Your son died pursuing my husband
for vengeance upon the death of your knight…your brother, was he
not? Is this not so?”

The warrior hesitated, obviously
surprised.

“Is this not true?” She pressed
him. “Ravan was fleeing with a handless maiden when you gave
chase—you, your son, and another. There were three who survived the
first encounter in the inn, and none of you suspected he could
smite you further.”

She stepped from the chair and
appraised him from the top of the few steps, hands folded in front
of her. “You were taken completely by surprise when he killed your
son from some distance with a single arrow. Is this not so?”
Nicolette recounted the events as though she’d been there, as
though she’d seen it only yesterday.

Tor simply stared, and she probed
further. “If you’d been successful, you would have pursued and
killed him first, is this not true?”

His eyes flashed with comprehension.
Nicolette knew exactly what had transpired, and she knew he could
not deny it. He spat, “My son is dead…his mother also. It is all I
care to remember, and all the reason I need to kill
Ravan!”

“You will not kill him, not in this
lifetime. But I must know of your intent for Risen, or you will die
poorly,” she advised, her voice deadly calm.

Again, surprise from everyone
present.

The man hesitated, turned his head
sideways as though he might hear her better. “Risen? I know not of
whom you speak. This man is unknown to me.”

Nicolette slowly descended the steps
to stand directly before her captive. The man struggled to stay on
his feet and towered over her, but Nicolette was fearless, inching
so near that she could smell the stench of battle on
him.

Her eyes narrowed, and her lip
curled as she spoke. “My son. If your soldiers find my son before
his father does, what will be his fate?”

This prompted a look of shocked
surprise from Tor. “A son? Ravan has a son?”

“You didn’t know,” she said. It
wasn’t a question.

Tor sneered before his mouth widened
into a sickening grin. “A son,” the man repeated, and exploded into
laughter, the sound oddly out of place coming from one as wretched
as him. It didn’t last, however. He coughed, faltered, and
struggled again to keep his balance, hobbling with his weight on
the one leg. “And he is missing?”

Just as quickly the mirth was gone.
His face fell to a mask of black hatred, and he spoke viciously to
her. “If my soldier’s find your son, he will be destroyed,” he
hissed. “Do you hear me? Slaughtered!” He pulled feebly against his
captors as though he would reach her. “His heart will be pulled
from his chest and cooked for my supper!” The man tried to launch
himself at her, but the guards held him fast as he snarled, “I will
butcher him! Do you hear me? Butcher him!” He spat on her, the
spittle marring the bodice of her gown.

Nicolette ignored it and stood her
ground, mere inches from him. She whispered so that only those very
close could hear her. “Your troops do not know of my son.” Again,
it was not a question, and her eyes flashed with victory. “And they
will never know of him from you, for you will never leave here.”
She lifted her chin, monarch of her realm. “You are bested,
forbidden forever to walk amongst the free. I, Nicolette, am your
captor.”

“I will find a way,” he hissed. “I
will kill him!”

“You will not,” she replied, but
then paused. “However, I shall give you a choice.” She acted as
though she would turn, leave him to his fate, but stopped. “You
will not have the one called Ravan, for your army is defeated, and
your cause is foiled. You will have no recompense whatsoever.
Instead, you will live your days within my dungeon…” Nicolette
focused very intently on him. “…or die now. It is mercy I offer
you, and a warrior’s good death.” Then she warned him, “Do not vex
me, or as quickly I will withdraw my offer, and you will rot.” Her
expression was so dark, so perfectly controlled. All within looked
not at the wretched prisoner but at her.

This offer seemed to surprise him a
great deal, and he took a long moment to gather himself, studying
the strange woman thoroughly. At last, the man exhaled deeply. “A
blade. You would allow me a blade?”

“I would.”

“And allow me a decent burial so
that my wife and son might find me?”

“I would.”

“And with my weapons and steed’s
bridle with me?”

“I would, under one
condition.”

Tor nodded. “What is your
condition?”

“Tell me—what will become of my son
if he is found by your troops?”

Tor hesitated as though unsure she
would keep her end of the bargain. “My troops,” the broken leader
murmured and then smiled. “Perhaps I will have my revenge after
all.” He said this as though to himself then studied her again
before adding with a shrug, “They will kill him in the raze, or
sell him.”

“Sell him?”

“Yes, sell him. It is profitable,
and his hide will service whatever whim his owner desires.” The man
said it with lewd relish, sneered as though thoroughly gratified by
what all present must envision would be Risen’s fate. “The Ottoman
Sultan has a slave army. Murad will pay nicely for the boy,
especially if he is fit enough to fight and can ride. If he is not,
he will be fit in other ways to be sure. Is he beautiful? Like his
father?”

Nicolette asked bluntly,
“Where?”

The man hedged. “I can’t say. The
Balkans—Nis, Constantinople.

“Can you reach your
men?”

“I will not.”

“I give you one chance.”

“I will not.” Tor’s expression
contorted again with venomous hatred. “I will not aide you in
finding Ravan’s son. Given my chance, I would run him through as
quickly as I would take another breath.” His voice fell to a
whisper. “I want nothing more than to kill your son, but since that
is not likely, it is my sincerest wish that Risen be sold and live
in perfect misery, his hide defiled for eternity until they can use
him no more.” Then he said, loud enough for all to hear, “I am done
with this barter.”

Nicolette considered him carefully
then drew from her robes a blade and held it up for Tor to
see.

Moulin stepped up. “My Lady, no! I
cannot allow you to—”

She stopped him with only a glance
then ordered the guards. “Release him.”

They looked back and forth between
themselves, obviously perplexed by this strange turn of
events.