Stormed Fortress (51 page)

* * *

Cold, whitely shaken, Jeynsa s
'
Valerient failed in her third attempt to spark the wick of the tallow dip. Her tower chamber was fireless and dark, but not without human comfort. Over her shoulder, Sidir
'
s quiet reach plucked the flint from her trembling fingers.

'
Let me.
'
He drew his knife. A practised rap flaked the stone back to sharpness. Peerless scout, he kept shaved bark in his scrip. The flint was returned, followed by a lit spill that even the most nerve-wracked grasp could not fumble while kindling the pricket.

Wood scraped, from behind. The quiet strength of warm hands guided Jeynsa to sit in the chair just pulled up by the hearth. Sidir did not speak, but crouched by the hob and began to sort the scant logs from kindling within the bronze bin. Soon, he had a clansman
'
s small blaze, which threw off only enough light and heat to take the chill off the bed-clothes he would hang to warm using the towel-rack.

Eased by winter practices known throughout childhood, Jeynsa massaged her shut eyelids, left swollen from weeping.
'
I can
'
t stand my ground with him. Not anymore.
'
For she had seen, finally: in Dame Dawr
'
s exalted abandonment, she confronted the worth of the joy she nearly destroyed out of grief. Her father was dead. To give in to rage was to be consumed by his loss and murder the promise that infused the present. Guilt salvaged nothing. Through the settling pause, while the blaze caught and sang, and a blanket dropped over her shoulders, Jeynsa allowed the grave calm in Sidir
'
s presence to soothe her dashed pride.

He never pressed her, but perched on the settle, hands laced at the patched knees of his leathers. The indoor setting did not nourish his strength. Yet he was himself: his person and habit unchanged from his traditional origins. A stag-horn-handled-dagger with a curved blade for skinning hung at his hip. Not the same steel he had carried from Halwythwood: that heirloom piece had been lost at his branding, lately replaced by an astute gift from Talvish. The raided sword he had never put off, since he came, was cocked back against his tucked ankle. The shorn clan braid, and disfiguring scars he had suffered in her behalf had never been flaunted to diminish her. Until now, that blameless restraint never stung beyond bearing.

Her crushing remorse at last impelled speech.
'
How can I serve Rathain as
caithdein?
'
she despaired.
'
I have not reached the years of my formal majority, and tonight, we both watched the s
'
Brydion dowager melt like run wax in Prince Arithon
'
s hands.
'
Jeynsa wiped her stained cheeks. Her tears had spilled over, again.
'
Is there any spirit alive who can withstand the masterful force he has learned to wield in compassion?
'

Sidir answered, thoughtful.
'
Asandir thought you capable, should the sore need arise, and if our liege
'
s willed choice ever threatens the kingdom. He hasn
'
t, tonight. At least, not by my lights, or by the sure instincts passed down through my ancestry.
'

Jeynsa sighed.
'
I
'
m glad Mother sent you. Eriegal wouldn
'
t show me your kindness.
'

The tall liegeman
'
s glance flicked up. Steady, his blue eyes held burning reproach.
'
Eriegal has never found trust in his Grace. That
'
s why he was not sent to Vastmark, by Caolle. No Companion among us has not hated, for loss. But some
nurse the wound like a canker.
'

'
Not you
'
Jeynsa challenged.

'
Or your mother
'
Sidir broached, a tender touch on the flinching pain instilled by her sire
'
s late passing. He added, delicate,
'
Did you know Eafinn?
'

Jeynsa shivered, raised her knees, and wound her arms tight, with the blanket fringe tickling her moistened cheeks and the soft wool embracing her misery.
'
I knew his son better.
'

He had been well-loved, that vigorous young man with the flaxen braid and a spirit keen as a raptor. He had gone off to serve with Jieret
'
s doomed war band, and had left no children to further his lineage. The fight to safeguard Prince Arithon
'
s life had claimed too many dead in Daon Ramon Barrens. Sidir had no words, there. Self-honest, he could not absolve his own part: that the same ugly fate would have been his lot had his doomed High Earl not ordered him homeward.

'
Father spared you for Feithan
'
Jieret
'
s brown-haired daughter declared, as sharp with her own observations.
'
That she should not be left alone, after him, as Barach took charge of the lodge tent.
'

'
Perhaps.
'
Sidir seldom flinched, no matter how piercing a subject assaulted his dignity He lived for a mate now, but the path that had saved him had never been his own choice.
'
I don
'
t think your mother was all of the reason your father made his decision. Eafinn was dead, and Caolle, gone also, who had served on the horrific campaign waged in Vastmark. That left no one other than me, for your prince. He
'
s not easy to fathom. Everyone fears the potential to overpower that Arithon refuses to wield. Very few know his heart. Fewer still have been offered the gift, or been entrusted to see into his mind, as himself.
'
A slow breath, then, courageous:
'
This is twice, he has shown you.
'

Jeynsa swallowed.
'
Because of his deep regard for my father, he won
'
t use his initiate defences.
'

Sidir smiled.
'
You see that much, most clearly. But I suggest you
'
ve missed his other intent. The care that he bears you is genuine, and not granted only for Jieret
'
s bequest. His Grace would bring you out, whole, Jeynsa. Will you let go and leave for him?
'

'
I won
'
t stake him out as hooked bait to get murdered!
'
she snapped through a ripe flush of shame.
'
But must the recovery of my stubborn error come at an untenable cost? Who will cry out for Alestron
'
s free people? Should the lives in the citadel be kept at risk for the sake of Duke Bransian
'
s pride? Who
'
s left to counter the curse that stakes out the s
'
Brydion as scapegoat to salve the Alliance?
'

'
I don
'
t have that answer
'
Sidir allowed, stern no longer, but only sorrowful.
'
You
'
ve brought your prince here. That can
'
t be changed. Reaction will happen, now that he
'
s involved. Since the innate compassion you witnessed tonight will never allow him to turn a blind eye, whatever comes, we all reap the price of your bargain.
'
Before pain could bite deeper, he added, not bitter,
'
Arithon
'
s playing touched more than Dame Dawr. I think he unveiled his own boundless hope to remind us we strive in the present. There are no victims,
now.
While we survive, for as long as we love, our future is yet to be written.
'

Jeynsa stared at her hands, chapped rough from hard labour. She had no place to turn, except to capitulate, if only to silence her conscience. Sidir held his peace, prepared to make the space to recoup her demolished dignity. While the quiet extended, and the crawling flame-light traced barracks-style wood furnishings, noise intruded. Beyond the shut door, the matched tramp of hobnailed boots ascended the outside stairwell.

Sidir arose.
'
That isn
'
t the bearer of friendly news.
'
His alert, scout
'
s senses picked up the jingle that bespoke heavy weapons and chainmail. Cat fast on his feet, he assumed a guarded stance, just before the latched panel slammed open.

One of the duke
'
s burly sergeants, and more armoured men, packed into the stone-walled landing.

'
We
'
ve come for Jeynsa,
'
the officer declared without courtesy.

Sidir weighed the man
'
s presence. Never hurried, his talent for insight digested details: from the fellow
'
s stiff neck, and wind-burned, blunt features shaded beneath his strapped helm, to the bristling hang of his weapons. Last, his glance swept the surly-faced colleagues who crowded the head of the stair.
'
Let her change her attire for audience,
'
he said, reasonable.
'
I will stay at hand and accompany her.
'

'
Duke
'
s orders!
'
the leading officer snapped.
'
She comes now. Alone.
'

Deadly calm, Sidir warned Jeynsa to silence.
'
Is this an arrest?
'

'
Move aside, forest man! My lord
'
s will is my duty. Don
'
t try me with insolent arguments!
'

Yet Sidir stood his ground.
'
You address the one chosen as Teiren s
'
Valerient,
'
he reminded.
'
A girl not yet in her majority, and subject to her sovereign liege, who is also a guest of s
'
Brydion. By right, your appeal should be made to Prince Arithon. Since you
'
ve spurned my escort, Jeynsa goes nowhere without his Grace
'
s informed consent.
'

'
Not when she stands on the citadel
'
s turf,
'
the sergeant insisted, combative.
'
Stand down!
'

'
Sidir!
'
Jeynsa cried.
'
If Bransian
'
s on the muscle, you
'
ll be killed, and for nothing. His soldiers won
'
t gainsay a direct command!
'

But the Companion returned a sharp shake of his head.
'
I do know where my feal priorities lie.
'
Cold as spring ice, Sidir challenged the officer, and the nettled men who had cordoned the doorway.
'
Now we have a problem,
'
he declared, no less earnest, and unsheathed his weapons in one fluid movement.

* * *

The cramped, street-side tavern where Dakar had been cornered to cash in his hoarded winnings, was packed to bursting. Unemployed citizens hungry for warmth rubbed shoulders with whores and plump, aproned washing-women, and the rust-stained gambesons of off-duty garrison men. Though the evening was young, the crowd already vented rambunctious steam. Raucous noise shook the rafters. Dice games and arm-wrestling had stopped, for the nonce, in favour of running the odds on the contest incited by Talvish.

The fat prophet and the back-country grass-lander faced off to see which one could best hold his drink.

The pair stood, toe to toe inside a ring of cleared space, while Talvish, blond and insolent, used glib talk and the occasional mailed fist to safeguard the packet of ration chits. The task was not tame, since the booty had lightened the pockets of unwary sentries throughout weeks of wrangling card games. Some of the laughter around him was forced; not all of the badgering he fielded was friendly. Shouts belted out between jokes carried menace: the fact the wad was two fingers thick suggested the chance Dakar
'
s partners might have been fleeced.

'
He
'
s a slinking Fellowship spellbinder!
'
a sore loser carped from the sidelines.
'
Could have used craft to shuffle the deck! Might
'
ve dealt any hand in his favour.
'

Talvish quipped back,
'
Ever met Asandir? No?
'
His smile turned evil.
'
Then, believe me, you wouldn
'
t care to be in Dakar
'
s boots if he
'
d maligned his initiate knowledge for cheating.
'

'
Wouldn
'
t be caught in his boots, standing here,
'
groused another, a feint jabbed at Talvish.

The shied blow was warded, forcefully brisk. Though playful, the fair swordsman encouraged no nonsense: for the length of the wager he was the available target. No bettor who placed hard-earned coin on the outcome would strike at the pair of contestants. Not while he hoped to collect a lucky sum in recovery. Talvish doled two more chits to the barmaid. His purpose was simple: keep the contentious crowd sweet until Fionn Areth was drunk. Lay him flat long enough to silence his turmoil, while the Masterbard
'
s adept handling of Jeynsa lanced her cankerous grief and let her start healing.

Dakar shouldered the role of buffoon in support. Whatever his reason for amassing beer tabs off half of Duke Bransian
'
s fighting men, he rocked on splayed legs, stripped down to breeches and shirt-sleeves. His portly frame had lost weight, the linen sagged at his waist gathered in by a belt, ineptly punched to tighten the buckle.

'
Go on, infant,
'
he goaded the herder.
'
Your turn to down the next tankard. Show us a thirst that can put men to shame! Six piddling rounds are scarcely enough to whet the spit in my whistle!
'

'
Sheven,
'
Fionn Areth objected. Black hair in his eyes, he already wobbled like a loose post in a gale. Country-bred obstinacy kept him bolt upright, while the bar-keeper poured the next round and tried not to wince at the tilt in the vessel that captured the beer.

Dakar grinned.
'
You won
'
t last eight, milksop.
'
Blinking, he licked the foam from his moustache and watched his comment strike home.

Fionn Areth flushed purple.
'
Go suck on a goat!
'
Chin out-thrust, his napped stockings bunched at his ankles, he tipped his head back and chugged. Reeled back on his heels, he keeled beyond recovery, then toppled like a felled plank. His own splashed beer caught him full in the face and set him coughing.

The bystanders roared. They banged on the trestles, while the losers screamed, and the elated winners bellowed in triumph. Whichever their lot, the spectacle cut short: Dakar, in midcrow for his easy victory, bent in half, then dropped to his knees.

'
Daelion send a confounding wet dream!
'
yelled an armourer through pealing mayhem.
'
Tie score, since the fat lout
'
s gone under!
'

In fact, Dakar languished, crouched on his hands, overcome by hammering nausea.

More noise, peppered through by howls of protest over which contestant had succumbed first. Fists swung now, in earnest. Two victims were bloodied as Talvish
'
s oversight became overwhelmed. He threw down the beer chits; leaped over the ravening scramble as opportunistic bystanders cracked heads to snatch. The
fi
ghtning move hurled him into the circle, as the tap-room seethed into bedlam. No man
'
s intervention could rein in the fight. Too many weeks of stifling pressure frayed tempers to wrathful explosion.

Iron-handed, the field-captain hooked Dakar
'
s arm. His unburdened grip snagged Fionn Areth. Talvish towed away the witlessly fallen, while Dakar, knuckles clenched to his roiling stomach, broke sweat trying to bear his own weight.

'
This is an onslaught of prescient vision?
'
Talvish shouted, hell-bent, as he bashed aside brawlers to reach the rear doorway.

Dakar clipped off a nod.
'
The beer
'
s a frank pittance. This is a light drunk. Duck leftwards. That brute
'
s got nail studs in his cudgel.
'

'
Dharkaron
'
s red glory!
'
Talvish swore, angry. He kicked down the bull-necked combatant.
'
You
'
ve done this before?
'

A groan answered: not Dakar, but Fionn Areth, objecting. The bumping drag across the brick floor had broken his stupor. Talvish paused, too beset to stand off the rank crowd and still man-handle the grass-lander.

'
Pick yourself up!
'
the field-captain snapped.
'
Haul your share and help get us out of here.
'

'
The yokel
'
s done for,
'
Dakar gasped between chattering teeth. He lunged, grabbed a trestle, and shoved Talvish off, adding,
'
Listen to me! I enspelled the lad
'
s beer. He
'
s not going to rise! Find him a haven and leave him to sleep. He can
'
t cause further trouble, tonight.
'

Chilled by
that
note of stark desperation, now suspecting a worse, pending crisis, Talvish assessed the lad
'
s rolled-back eyes, then changed strategy and chose a stout bench. He flopped the near-inert goatherd beneath, then hoped by the Fatemaster
'
s
mercy
the fool might escape being trampled. Next, he seized Dakar
'
s floundering weight and rammed a ruthless course towards the kitchen.

They burst, stumbling, into the stifling heat of clay ovens, and relative quiet. Cooks and scullions were absent, pans and chopping blocks abandoned to mount a defensive charge on the tap-room. As the smell of stewed onions ripped Dakar to redoubled nausea, Talvish laced forceful fingers in his damp shirt front and hauled him erect.
'
Speak! I can
'
t help if I don
'
t know what
'
s happening!
'

The Mad Prophet swallowed back swimming sickness.
'
Run. Pull your rank.
'
Clamped teeth and screwed eyes bought no respite from talent. More visions unhinged his senses.
'
Commandeer a hitched carriage, and quickly!
'
The reeling onslaught hit hard and fast,
and showed Sidir,
again,
hard-pressed to the wall by Duke Bransian
'
s guardsmen, and now bleeding from more than one sword-cut.

Dakar felt a belting slap sting his cheek. The blow scarcely fazed him. Talvish
'
s shout, and the blast of ice-water splashed on his face only left him belaboured and breathless. Dropped by an ache that skewered his chest like the fatal thrust of cold iron, he gasped through roaring darkness,
'
Send someone you trust to fetch Arithon,
now!
He
'
ll be with Elaira. If he
'
s laid down wards, break his door and demand his attention! His Grace must bring her and meet us, forthwith.
'

'
Where, Dakar?
Meet us where?
'
The cry seemed to spiral away into nothing.

'
Jeynsa
'
s guest-chamber
'
groaned Dakar.
'
Quickly. Already, we may be too late.
'
He forced his eyes open, to no avail, as the ceiling fell in and swallowed him.