Sons of the Falcon (The Falcons Saga) (65 page)

“See
that you do, that’s all I ask.”

Laral
showed Andryn how to help him into the mail and surcoat. The boy had to stand
on a chair to raise them over his da’s head. Once he’d buckled on his sword
belt, Laral sent Andy down with the satchel of socks and bedding. “Have Sed tie
them behind my saddle. My shield, too. Fetch it from the armory.”

When
they were alone, Bethyn asked, “Will you see your father?”

He
blinked at her. “He’s dead. Andryn didn’t tell you that part?”

After
a moment of astonished silence, Bethyn’s mouth pinched with scorn. “Why should
he? The man was nothing to him.”

Lander
would have been proud of his grandchildren, if he had swallowed his pride long
enough to cross a bridge. “All those things I wanted to tell him…”

“Oh,
my dear, I’m so sorry.”

Laral
reached for his helm, but Bethyn laid her hands on it first. They walked
arm-in-arm down the stairs, his helm tucked under her arm. “You have the pouch
I embroidered for you?” She tried not to choke as she said it.

He
raised a hand to his chest, laid it over the little lump under his armor.
Bethyn had stitched Brengarra’s yellow lightning bolt and black tor on one side
of the gray leather and Tírandon’s black and silver chevrons on the other.

“Da!”
Lesha hitched her skirts and ran up the stairs into his arms. Her face was
blotched pink with weeping. Andy must have told her what was afoot, and
insensitively, too. “Can’t you say you’re still sick?”

He
kissed the crown of his daughter’s head. Her hair smelled like sunshine. “I
would go even if I was.”

She
shuddered with sobs.

“Lesh,”
Bethyn said, tugging her gently free and raising her chin with stern fingers.
“This is not the time or the place. You must wait until after a soldier rides away.
Find your smile now.”

The
tears stopped, but the smile just wouldn’t come. Lesha’s heart was too tender
to feign happiness.

“My
dear girl,” Laral said, a finger brushing her damp cheek, “this is what your
songs are made of. Did you think it wouldn’t hurt? Give me something for luck.”
On the day he met Arryk and vowed never to raise a sword against him, he
carried a pink ribbon that had fallen from his daughter’s hair. Today she
pulled a kerchief from her sleeve. The hem was embroidered with plump brown
wrens, their tails perked high. He tucked it into an iron-studded vambrace, and
Bethyn handed him his helm.

“I
think we’ll stay here until the time comes,” she said. “You’ll see us waving
from the gatehouse tower. Come along, dear.” She led Lesha back upstairs.

Laral
hurried off in the other direction.

Men
crowded the courtyard. Half the garrison saddled horses and lined up at the
smithy to have their swords sharpened at the whetstone, while the other half had
gone into town to divide the militia. Smiths checked the shoes on every hoof,
filled quivers with quarrels, checked crossbow fittings, and mended broken
links in chainmail. Men from the militia trickled through the castle gate,
hefting their pikes and heavy packs. Sedrik and Haldred tried to obey a hundred
orders at once and looked relieved when their foster lord emerged from the
keep. “Your horse is ready, m’ lord,” said Sedrik. “Ours too.”

“Do
we get to carry arms?” asked Hal. Bless the boy, he was ready to be knighted
yesterday.

“I’m
only taking one of you,” Laral said. At their protest he added, “I don’t need
three squires on the road. I’ll send for the other of you later. Though I hope
I won’t need to.”

“I
been your squire the longest,” Hal said.

“I’m
the king’s cousin!” Sed cried, furious face turning as red as his hair. “You
have to take me. We gotta find him.”

“Give
me a coin.” The boys dug in their pockets as if someone had filled them with
hot embers. Haldred produced a tarnished silver piece fastest and flipped it toward
Laral. “You’re tails, Hal.”

“Heads,
I wanna be heads.”

“Ach,
fine, heads.” Laral tossed the coin skyward, let it fall. It struck the cobbles
with a
ting
, bounced and rolled. Sedrik chased after it.

“Don’t
touch it!” Hal called, chasing Sed. The boys watched the coin slow down and
wobble onto its side. Arryk’s profile winked up at them. Hal laughed.

“You
cheated,” Sed cried. “That coin is weighted. M’ lord, he cheated.”

Laral
didn’t have the patience for this. “Hal, get your things together. Sed, you’re
to stay here and keep—”

A
ruckus in the gatehouse caught his attention. Militiamen weren’t trickling in
anymore. They were running, glancing back over their shoulders. One of them shouted,
“The king is coming!”

Laral
plowed through the pikemen to reach the gate. Great spiked barricades had been erected
outside the portcullis. The town, usually quiet, overflowed with strangers.
Wagons and carts clogged the streets. Crowds gathered and argued. Bethyn would
have much to do in Laral’s absence. He searched the eastern stretch of highway,
past the Demon Ring and dead ash trees, but only a mule-drawn cart hauling more
frightened farmers approached from that direction. Arryk wouldn’t be coming
from the west, but that’s where he saw the White Mantles.

Half
a hundred of them rode through the ford with the impressive display of an
avalanche. The king was not among them. Three massive dogs trotted alongside
the horses, tongues lolling from their mouths. One hurled a bark toward Laral
and charged ahead. The beast nearly bowled him over in her excitement to greet
him. “Daisy! Or are you Woodbine?” Her sisters, dripping strings of slaver,
caught up and circled and sniffed. Rose had a brindled coat and was easy to
tell apart from the other two. They all demanded their share of attention.

“Lord
Brengarra,” called one of the Mantles, trotting into the shadow of the towers. His
shiny silver helm was inlaid with gold wire in elaborate patterns. Tall silver
wings swept back from his face. Captain Moray was a thundercloud of a man,
brusque and glowering and suspicious with a waxed black beard and bushy black
eyebrows threaded with gray.

“Captain,
welcome. Have you heard from His Majesty, then?”

“We
were hoping you had.” His fist rose, and the Mantles reined in.

In
that case, their eastbound journey could mean only one thing.

Moray
dismounted. His Mantles followed suit, moving as one man. “The Lord Chancellor ordered
us to stay and defend the city, but our job is to protect the king’s person,
and so we will, if we can. I knew we shouldn’t have stayed behind, but His
Majesty is too honorable for his own good.”

“But
how did you get out of Brynduvh? The people here say—”

“The
tunnels, and I expect you to keep your mouth shut about that, Aralorri. Er, m’
lord.”

After
all these years, the same distrust. Laral led the Mantles through the gate and
into the courtyard. Most of the pikemen were simple folk who had never had
occasion to lay eyes on the king’s guard. They gawked and scurried out of the
way. The three mastiffs, however, managed to scare more people than the men or
swords did. But Rose, Woodbine, and Daisy preferred to harass the garrison
horses. Panicked whinnies echoed inside the walls, and the men of the garrison
had to wrangle the dogs to get the horses under control.

Captain
Moray inspected the chaos. “You say you’ve heard of Brynduvh’s troubles. You
mean to lead this lot to her aid?”

Best
leave out the bit about the bird and any mention of Thorn Kingshield. “Er, we
are on the same mission. To find the king.”

Moray
grunted approval. “If he’s dead, we mean to make his assassins hurt. If he’s
alive we’ll cut him free or die trying.”

Foolish
bravado. “Will you consider talking before you bare your sword?”

“
Negotiate
?
With Aralorris?” He spat on the cobbles like a storm hurling lightning. “They guaranteed
the White Falcon’s safety. Seems to me they’ve proven the usefulness of negotiation.”

“You
don’t know what happened, Captain. None of us do. You march in swinging a blade
and you might do more harm than good. If you ride with me, you will restrain
yourself. I mean to find Arryk, hopefully without unnecessary bloodshed. We march
in an hour.” If Laral pushed the Mantles hard enough, maybe they would be too
tired to fight before he could find some answers.

But
the captain of the king’s guard wasn’t about to take orders from an Aralorri. “Our
horses need rest. If you will refuse to wait, we’ll meet you at Athmar.”

Laral
beckoned to one of his grooms. “See that the Mantles’ horses receive the finest
care. Haldred! Escort His Majesty’s guard to the guest wing.” The orders were
formalities. Everyone at Brengarra was accustomed to seeing to the comforts of
Arryk’s guard. They frequented these halls at least twice a year. Laral turned
back to Moray, leaned close and whispered, “We won’t be staying at Athmar,
Captain. It’s in enemy hands.”

That
knocked the wind out of him. “Athmar? Drona is my cousin. She…” He jabbed a
finger in Laral’s face and bellowed, “You’re not going to find the king! You’re
taking your men north to aid Aralorr. It’s they who have done this!”

A
hush descended over the bailey.

Laral
would’ve liked nothing better than to dunk Moray into a horse trough until he
grew some sense, if not some common courtesy. “Careful, Captain. If you were a
rash man, you would have been demoted long ago. And if Aralorr has attacked your
cousin’s lands, no one consulted me. I
will
help you find Arryk. He is
my dearest friend, and I fear he has come to harm.”

“What
if he has?” Implied: would Laral raise a sword against his own people?

“I
will do everything in my power to see him safely home. But we will negotiate
first. Am I clear? Otherwise, you can cross into Aralorr on your own. I will
have no part of you.”

Moray
paced, whipped off his glove and slapped it across his palm while he wrestled
with his suspicions and gathered his composure. At last, he decided to be
reasonable. “If we’re cautious we can skirt Athmar to reach the bridge. But if
Athmar is surrounded—”

“The
bridge is taken, aye. Any enemy worth the name would’ve seen to that first. We
will avoid bridges and roads.” Just as the falcon said.

“But
the river.”

“Captain,
you do not forget I am Aralorri. Remember also that my father is … was … Lord
Tírandon. I know how to cross that bloody river.”

Laral
did not wait until the Mantles were settled before ordering his men into ranks.
He wanted to travel quickly but knew the pikemen on foot would slow him down. Best
get started. The twenty-five ‘ones’ from the garrison mounted up. Hal and Sed
buzzed about him like flies, double-checking his gear, and Andryn emerged from
the stables, leading his own pony. Laral called across the yard, “No, Andy, put
him up. You’re not going.”

A
light died in his son’s face. He stood holding the reins, blinking in startled
silence.

Laral
winced. Sheepish, he crossed the yard, though it was probably too late to
handle the matter delicately. He laid a hand to Andy’s shoulder. How thin it
was. “Son…”

“How
can you leave without me? I’m your
squire
. I’m indispensable. You can’t
ride into battle without your squires. Tell me the truth! You’re leaving me
because you think I’m a weakling!”

Laral
squared his feet. Brawling time. “That is
not
true. Sedrik is staying
too. He’s going to keep training you while I’m away. You’ve had all of
two
lessons, Andy, and—”

“But
I’m your
son
. That makes it
different
.”

“And
if I took you with me, I wouldn’t have to worry about an enemy’s sword. Your
mother would kill me. Try to understand, we don’t know what we’re riding into.
If it turns out to be nothing, I’ll send for you and Sed. All right?”

Andryn’s
teeth ground in fury. Tears welled as he glared sidelong at his father.

“I
know it won’t help, but here.” Laral unlatched the diamond-studded dagger from
his belt. Andy stared at the black leather sheath sparkling with gems for a
long time before he reached out and took it. “Guardian. That’s its name. Take
care of your mum and sister for me.”

Andy
held the reins in one limp hand and the dagger in the other, and stared at the
cobbles, desolate. The sight of it broke Laral’s heart. He turned without
another word, mounted his charger and dug in his spurs. His soldiers could keep
up or not. The cloud-ringed spire of Tor Roth grumbled with thunder, like a
seer telling of dark tidings. Atop the hill near the ring of dead ash trees,
Laral reined in and turned in the saddle. Two women waved from atop the
ivy-bearded tower. If Andryn joined them before the garrison caught up, Laral
would go back for him. He raised a hand to wave, hoping to catch a glimpse of
his son, but he saw only shiny helmets of the sentries, the wind-whipped hair
of his wife and daughter, and the banner lowering from atop the keep’s roof.

“M’
lord?” asked Haldred, cantering up the hill. “Did you forget something?” The
garrison trotted up behind him; the militia marched double-time but stopped
when the horses stopped, huffing, waiting for a new order.