The Usurper's Crown (37 page)

Lord Avanasy?
thought Ingrid absurdly.
There is something he neglected to tell me.

Even as that thought spread another smile on her face, Avanasy entered the god house. The dim light did not hide his own pleased grin.

“Lord Avanasy?” she inquired, in English.

“It is only an honorary title,” he replied with a dismissiveness Ingrid found a bit too lofty to be entirely trusted.

Before Ingrid could make any further remark on the subject, Hajek said, “Will you break bread with me before Dimska today, Lord Avanasy? The village will wish to thank you publicly tonight, I am certain.”

Avanasy looked to Ingrid, but Ingrid just raised her eyebrows to indicate this was his decision. “I do thank you, Keeper,” he said, “but I fear we must be gone before the evening falls.”

“I am sorry for it,” said the keeper. “But not surprised to hear it. Still, let me help you break your fast.”

Breakfast turned out to be thick black bread toasted on the hearth, spread with a potted paste made of dried and salted fish. All this was washed down with drafts of cool water. The meal tasted strange to Ingrid, but she was now as hungry as she had been thirsty before, and was not in the mood to decline any food, even if she could have done so without giving offense.

After they had eaten for a time in polite silence, Avanasy turned to Hajek. “Good keeper, you recognized my name when I gave it …”

“The garrison sends men down here every so often.” Hajek jerked his chin in the general direction of the coast and the fortress. “They buy our catch and salt. Sometimes they drop a bit of news. More often they grumble in our hearing and we take our news that way.”

“Have you had any news from Vyshtavos?” He was doing his best to keep the strain of worry out of his voice, and not entirely succeeding.

Keeper Hajek made a face around his current mouthful as if he was keeping down a laugh. After a moment, he swallowed and regained his countenance. “Precious little of that sort reaches this far, Lord. We were, of course, commanded to pray for the empress and the new heir …”

“What!” cried Avanasy.

Hajek blinked. “The empress is with child. She has gone into her confinement.”

Avanasy’s whole face tightened, and Ingrid knew he did not believe what he had just been told. She remembered what he said about the difficulty for sorcerers to get children.

“Is there any other news?” Avanasy went on, his voice hard.

“There’s been some …”

Before Hajek could finish what he meant to say, a boy rushed through the door. He bowed hastily to the icon and ran up to the keeper.

“What is it?” asked Hajek.

“Soldiers,” panted the boy. “Riding fast.”

Hajek wiped the crumbs from his beard. “It’s too soon for this to be for our fish …” He stood. “Perhaps, master, mistress, you should stay here. We will meet them at the wall.”

Hajek put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and steered him out the door.

Ingrid rose together with Avanasy and they followed the keeper as far as the door.

“You believe this will be for us then?” she asked him softly in English as they waited in the shadows.

Avanasy nodded. “But what that means depends on who it is.”

Which was no sort of reassurance, but Ingrid was certain Avanasy knew that.

Outside the low arch of the doorway, the morning was bright and cloudless. It might even have been hot, if it were not for the constant ocean wind. Only a few voices drifted through the village. Ingrid realized she must have been very soundly asleep, for she had not heard what must have been the considerable noise of the village rising early to go work their nets.

In the far distance, she could just make out the rhythmic thudding of hoofbeats on turf. If they had been riding fast as the child reported, they did not do so now. There was more horse than one, but they moved at a steady walk.

Perspiration prickled the back of Ingrid’s neck.

Keeper Hajek’s voice raised itself on the wind, possibly in greeting. Ingrid could not make out the words. Another man’s voice answered. Avanasy pressed his hands against the wall as if that could help him hear better.

“Three of them, at least,” he murmured. “I cannot hear the names.”

Ingrid strained her own ears. The men’s voices lifted and lowered, as if in easy conversation.

“They don’t sound as if they’re making demands,” she ventured.

“Yet.” Avanasy’s jaw worked back and forth. “If only there was some way …”

But he was not allowed to finish his wish.

“Will you come out then, my lord?” inquired a man’s polite voice. “And whoever’s in there with you. I charge you in the empress’s name.”

Ingrid’s heart leapt into her throat, choking her. She could see at once what had happened. While some of the soldiers had kept Hajek busy talking at the gate, others had circled around the back of the village, crept between the houses, and found the place where the strangers were most likely to be sheltered. Overhearing their whispered conversation, the soldiers ordered the strangers out.

For all the anger and self-reproach in Avanasy’s eyes, there was nothing to be done. The god house had only one door and no windows at all.

Shoulder to shoulder, they walked out into the daylight.

Three soldiers met them with swords drawn. They had taken care to stand so their shadows would not cross into the line of sight of the threshold and give away their presence. They were all brown from sun and wind. Two had golden hair showing underneath their helmets and heavy beards concealing their faces. The third was younger and slighter. His beard was neatly trimmed along the line of his pointed chin and his eyes glittered as he looked Avanasy and Ingrid over.

Uniform seemed to be woolen coats with chain mail over all and breastplates over that. The rows of braid and brass buttons on cuffs and collars were probably indications of rank. Leather gloves covered their hands, and worn leather boots their legs, just below the round steel caps that protected their knees. Their swords were clean and straight, and glinted in the sun, and Ingrid suddenly felt very keenly that her neck was quite bare.

“Thank you, my lord,” said the one with the trimmed beard. “It is best to do these things quietly, don’t you agree?”

In reply, Avanasy drew himself up to his full height. “Over-Lieutenant, I have been summoned back to Isavalta by imperial order. The errand is urgent, and must not be hindered.”

“And my commander will be happy to examine any documents you carry to prove your assertions,” said the over-lieutenant, sounding like the soul of reason. “In the meantime, my orders are to return you and any companions you may have,” his eyes raked Ingrid over, “to our fortress. So, if you will be so good as to walk with us, and to remain quiet.” He gestured with his free hand, indicating that they should start toward the rear of the village.

Avanasy’s fists opened and closed, but they were unarmed, and the soldiers surrounded them. He brushed his fingertips against the back of Ingrid’s hand, as if to reassure himself that she remained solid, and they turned and walked as they were ordered. One soldier took up position on either side of them, and the over-lieutenant brought up the rear.

Avanasy held his head and shoulders proudly as they were marched through the village, but his eyes were never still. They darted this way and that, looking for a way out of this, Ingrid was certain. She tried to do the same, but all she seemed able to see were the glinting swords in the hands of the armored men that flanked them. Her mouth had gone as dry as dust and her brains seemed to have fled.

But if they were unarmed, they were not unnoticed. Their escort led them around another hut, and straight into the grandmothers. Two of them carried the big wooden bats used for stirring the kettles. Another pair carried a kettle between them full of something that steamed and smelled strongly of the sea. The others, maybe half a dozen old women just stood like stones, blocking the way and making no noise at all.

Which left Ingrid wondering where the children were.

“Good morning, honored Grandmother,” said the over-lieutenant. “How do I find you on this fine morning?”

“You’ve two guests of ours there,” said one of the old women, a squat creature, wrinkled and brown as the stump of a tree. It was then Ingrid noticed that Malan’ia was also nowhere to be seen. “We’re here to say you’d best leave them be.”

“Grandmother, I honor your respect for the laws of hospitality,” the over-lieutenant replied seriously. Beside Ingrid, the nearest soldier shifted uneasily. His eyes seemed to be counting the old women, and taking in the long wooden bats, and the steaming iron kettle. “But these two are wanted for questioning. If they’ve done nothing, they’ll be back with you soon, you may be sure of it.”

“You’d best leave them be,” repeated the old woman. “There’s no trouble wanted here.”

“You old fools!” cried a different voice.

Ingrid began to realize what a warren this village really was. A place of dark doorways and careful ears, where anyone might appear from anywhere. Apparently the soldiers did too, because the new voice made them all jump.

Malan’ia stormed out from one of the doorways. “What are you doing?” she shrilled. “Do you want to see the entire village burned to the ground?” She planted herself squarely between the villagers and the soldiers. “Burned for a sorcerer?” she sneered. “Have your brains all turned to sea foam? Do we need that much more trouble? Let them pass!”

The squat woman narrowed her eyes. “Malan’ia, it may be you’d better stand back too.”

“Stand back and what?” demanded Malan’ia, hands planted on hips. “Let you kill us all? Let you wipe our home away into memory? Get along with you, all you old fools! This has nothing to do with us!”

“Be advised by your good friend here, Grandmother. We’re taking our leave, and our prisoners now.”

The over-lieutenant tried to start forward. The squat woman stepped into his path. The flanking soldiers drew in closer to Avanasy and Ingrid. Ingrid heard the blood singing in her ears. Malan’ia, with a snort of derision, raised the back of her hand to the squat woman and slapped her full across the face.

At the same time, Avanasy grabbed the soldier beside him, and using his sword arm as a lever, swung the man around and sent him careening into the over-lieutenant.

“Run!” he shouted to Ingrid.

But Ingrid had no intention of doing such a thing. The soldier flanking her lunged for her, and Ingrid dove forward, measuring her length on the ground and rolling sideways. As she did, the two old women with the kettle hefted it in one motion and flung its contents straight in the soldier’s face. He reeled back screaming as the boiling water drenched him and the weed wrapped his hands and face. He fell, clawing at the green mass that clung to his face, searing his skin and blinding him.

Ingrid scrambled to her feet. For an instant, she saw Avanasy facing the over-lieutenant with one of the paddles in his hands. In the next heartbeat, Malan’ia was on her, pushing and pinching, with sharp elbows and sharp fingers. Ingrid staggered backward, and tried to shove the old woman aside, but she was tougher and more wiry than Ingrid had given her credit for, and she just pushed back, sending Ingrid stumbling toward the remaining soldier, before the other woman reached her, and pulled her cursing back.

“Let them go, damn you! You’ll have us all put to the sword for a
sorcerer
!”

The second soldier wrapped one brawny arm around Ingrid from behind. She kicked back, but her shoes found nothing but armor and leather. She would have bit down, but there was nothing but leather and armor holding her pinned.

Avanasy parried the over-lieutenant’s blows with the stout paddle, but splinters flew with each cut. Only the length of the thing kept the over-lieutenant back, and it would not hold much longer.

“Sorcerer!” the soldier bellowed. “I’ve got your woman!”

Avanasy swung around, and the over-lieutenant pulled his sword back to aim a fresh blow. Ingrid cried out in warning, but at the same moment, she heard the sound of galloping hooves.

The soldier wrenched Ingrid around toward the sound. The over-lieutenant hesitated just long enough and Avanasy dodged the blow. The old women screamed, scattering like leaves, and another soldier on horseback plunged between the huts.

He held no sword, but a pike, and he bore down on Avanasy. Ingrid screamed. She could not help it. But the blow did not catch Avanasy. Instead, it sent the over-lieutenant spinning and crying out, dropping into the dust, his sword falling from his hand.

The rider wheeled his roan horse around in a tight and expert circle. The soldier behind Ingrid tightened his grip until she could barely breathe, dragging her back from the rider. The edge of his sword pressed against her belly.

“Let her go,” said Avanasy, his voice low and dangerous as he picked up the sword dropped by the fallen over-lieutenant. His eyes never left the soldier. “Where will you go and how will you get there?”

The rider closed in beside Avanasy, his pike lowered and ready. Ingrid could make out nothing of his face in the shadow of his helmet, but his coat was bright blue and its trimmings were gold.

The wind carried yet another new roar, over the perpetual sound of the ocean. The sound of men’s angry voices, and there were a lot of them, and Ingrid knew where the children had gone. Their grandmothers had sent them scampering down the cliffs to call back the fishermen, the young men with strong backs and arms, nets and hooks and perhaps even spears for their work. Horses neighed and voices cursed, and yet more voices roared, and the soldier holding Ingrid swung her around yet again, and she felt his grip slacken.

Ingrid threw herself sideways, lunging with all her weight, and trusting desperately to her woolen petticoats to keep the edge of the sword from her flesh. She fell again into the dust, skinning her palms and banging her chin so hard it rattled her teeth. Hooves started behind her and she rolled again in time to see the soldier trying to flee from the horseman, and taking the blow from the pike straight in his back so he too went sprawling in the dust. This time the old women got him, falling on him, rolling him over, kicking and beating wherever there was enough bare flesh to make a target. The over-lieutenant staggered to his feet, but the horseman wheeled around again and charged back. This time he took the blow on his helmet, fell backward, and stayed down.