“Damn fool,” muttered Earon, settling back on his saddle to watch.
The two men circled each other. They were a good match, nearly the same height, but Jarrett had a few pounds on his Stravad opponent. Allistar feinted and Jarrett blocked him. The swords rang with a dull percussion. Jarrett lunged forward, but Allistar easily knocked the blade aside.
The Terrian wasn’t mistaken. He didn’t have his usual speed or grace, and his attack was easy to predict. Swinging back around, he came at Allistar on his left side, but the Stravad sidestepped and slammed the blade into the dirt. He placed his foot on the end of it and looked into Jarrett’s eyes.
“Let’s stop this now.”
Jarrett slammed his shoulder into him, knocking him back and freeing his sword, then he took a few steps away, curling an arm around his side. “No. You’re hardly trying.”
“Jarrett, this is stupid. It’s too early. You’re going to be hurt.”
“You haven’t disarmed me yet. Come on. A little more.”
“No, I’m not doing this.”
Jarrett wiped his sword arm across his forehead. “Listen, if you disarm me, I’ll stop. That’s all you have to do. Knock the sword from my hand and it’s over. I swear.”
Allistar considered the matter, then before Jarrett could set his feet, he attacked. He drove at the Terrian with such force that Jarrett had to dance back to avoid being spitted. Earon sat forward and Kian lifted his head, cocking it in interest.
The two men kicked up a flurry of snow as they moved around the campsite, their swords clashing and ringing in the cool, still air. Jarrett’s steps were faltering and he was favoring his left side. Kendrick had never seen the Terrian deliver such haphazard strikes before, while Allistar was a study in swordsmanship, spinning and turning with innate grace.
At one point, Jarrett landed off balance. Allistar caught his sword at the hilt and twisted, attempting to wrench it away. By pure luck, Jarrett shifted weight and turned his wrist, sliding free of Allistar’s maneuver.
They backed away from each other. Jarrett was breathing hard and he wasn’t even trying to disguise the ache in his side. Kendrick wondered if blood was seeping beneath the hand he held over the wound.
“Enough!” shouted Allistar in frustration. “I won’t do this anymore.”
Jarrett straightened to his full height and sucked in a deep breath. “Until you disarm me. That was the agreement.” He held up the sword. “I’m still armed.”
Allistar looked to his companions, but no one knew what to say. “This is suicide, Jarrett.”
“Keep your agreement.”
“Fine,” spat the Stravad. “If this is the way you want to play…” He dropped into position.
Kendrick leaned forward. Jarrett had closed his eyes and let his hands fall loosely at his sides. The Nazarien realized he’d seen this expression before, but he’d never understood it until now. Jarrett was calling upon his Stravad blood, asking it to respond.
Allistar attacked. There was no denying the Stravad’s skill. He was a study of motion, economy of strength, but he was no match for the Terrian. Jarrett pirouetted and slipped under Allistar’s attack. Had he been in earnest, he would have gutted the Stravad. He came up behind Allistar, but as Allistar turned, he slid away, a blur of motion. Their swords sparked, then Jarrett pivoted. Metal arced through the air, catching the dying rays of sunlight, then landed, point down in the snow, vibrating on impact.
The point of Jarrett’s sword quivered in the hollow of Allistar’s throat. The Stravad reared away, his hands out to the side, his eyes wide. Earon chuckled and Muzik whistled, but Jarrett merely dropped the blade and curled an arm around his side.
“Thank you,” he said.
CHAPTER 29
“Your Majesty, I have someone who would like to meet you,” came Dolan’s voice.
Tugging his boot into place, Kalas looked up from his spot on the camp cot. The Nazarien and another hooded figure were just ducking under the lean-to’s roof. Behind them stretched the Sarkisian desert, dotted with patches of spring flowers and doused fire rings. Soldiers moved about in the act of breaking camp.
The hooded man lifted his head. When his eyes met the prince’s, he gasped. Kalas rose swiftly to his feet and caught the man’s arm.
“Dolan?” he said in concern as the man swayed.
The Nazarien reached for the closest chair and placed it behind the man. Kalas helped him to sit.
“Are you all right?”
The man’s green eyes searched Kalas’ face, but he didn’t immediately speak.
“Get him a drink, please,” urged Kalas.
Dolan moved to the camp table and poured out a glass of brandy. Kalas took it and handed it to the man, motioning for him to drink.
While he drained the glass, Kalas shot a look at his second.
“This is the Baron. He and a brigade of men have come from Kazden as quickly as they could.”
Kalas rose to his full height and regarded the Lawry commander. “Welcome, Baron,” he said.
The Baron drained the last of his drink, then rested it against his thigh. He studied Kalas once more. “You look just like him. Gave me a start.”
“Him?”
“Talar,” said Dolan at his back.
Kalas wasn’t sure how to respond. He never was. Whenever he heard that name, he felt such a conflict of emotions. “Did you know…him?” he forced out.
“We were like brothers. In fact, I thought of him as family.” The Baron shook his head. “You look so like him. For a moment I thought you were him.”
Kalas exhaled. He wanted to change the subject. “You brought a brigade with you?”
“I did.”
Dolan retrieved another chair for the Prince. Kalas sat down. “I appreciate the numbers, but I believe we only asked for a couple of squads. Is there a reason for so many?”
The Baron gave a wry smile. Two dimples formed in his cheeks. “Of course. We have intelligence that there’s unrest in Sarkisian.”
“Unrest?”
“Hundreds of refugees converged on the city after Tarnow’s death, demanding assistance. They weren’t welcomed. In fact, they were forced to camp outside the city gates.”
“In the desert?”
“Yes.”
“Through winter?”
The Baron narrowed his eyes. “Thus the unrest. No one has seen Rarick for two weeks, but there has been an obvious military build-up during that time.”
“Of Guardsmen?”
“And regular infantry. When I got your message, we felt it was prudent to bring more men.”
Kalas turned to Dolan. “Do you think he builds forces for Dorland?”
“Or Adishian.”
The Baron nodded. “Adishian, likely. Word of the changes you’ve made leaked out. There’s no doubt he has spies in Adishian.”
Kalas leaned back in the chair and eyed the Baron critically. “He isn’t the only one with spies, is he?”
The Baron flashed his dimples. “Certainly not. How do you think I know of the military build-up?”
Kalas drew a deep breath. “Well then, I guess we’ll see if we are welcomed at Sarkisian’s gate.”
“I’d guess we won’t be,” said Dolan.
“What you’ve begun in Adishian has earned you followers, but it’s also earned you enemies. We live in a devious time, Your Majesty, and one can never be sure of his friends.”
The threat was implicit. Kalas understood that the Lawries were allies only as long as he held true to his promise of prosperity for Adishian. He also marked that Dolan didn’t come to his defense. Obviously, he still had a lot of trust to earn.
“That said, I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you…” The Baron’s voice trailed away meaningfully. He exchanged a look with the Nazarien. “We’ll be watching your back, Your Majesty, and I would personally be honored if you’d let me ride at your left side.”
Kalas rose to his feet. He didn’t think pledges of fealty,
however short lived they might be, ought to be acknowledged while sitting down. “I accept your offer, Baron. Your protection and your sword will be welcome as we enter the lion’s den.”
The Baron smiled and pushed himself to his feet. He gave Kalas a formal bow. “By your leave, Your Majesty,” he said.
“You are dismissed.”
The Baron turned and moved toward the opening, but he paused and looked back. His face was shadowed by the sunlight, but his green eyes showed clearly. “I can tell you about your father, if you’re interested.”
Kalas felt like he’d been gut punched. He swallowed hard and his expression sobered. He broke the Baron’s look. “Another time, perhaps,” he answered.
The Baron hesitated a moment more, then he turned away. Kalas watched him move out into the desert, a phalanx of men falling into step at his back.
Avoiding Dolan’s gaze, he shifted on his heel and grabbed his sword from the cot, slipping the belt around his waist. “Have the men break down this tent,” he ordered, then paused. “Please.”
* * *
Tyla brought the horses to a halt and surveyed the small farm. A man chopping wood by the side of the house looked up, pausing in mid-motion. He set the axe into the block and moved toward her.
“Hello, pretty lady,” he said in Nevaisser.
Tyla didn’t see anyone else in view, but smoke curled lazily from the chimney. The farm was neat and tidy; however, the roof of the barn showed signs of wear. “Hello, I was wondering if we might make a trade.”
“Trade? What would you be needing?”
“Food and water for a few days. Maybe a night in your barn?”
He looked over his shoulder at the barn. He was around Tyla’s age, medium height with sandy blond hair. His hands were huge and his shoulders stretched the fabric of his shirt. He turned back to Tyla and gave her an appraising smile. “Now why would I make a pretty lady like you sleep in a barn? You can have my bed.”
“The barn’s fine.”
“And what do you have to trade?” He made a motion at her throat. “I wouldn’t mind that bauble.”
“You would the moment you touched it. This is no bauble.” She curled her fingers around the emerald. “Actually, I’ll trade you one of my horses.”
“A horse for a little food and a night in a dusty barn.” He took a step closer to her. “I’m happy to give you a lot more.” He finished his offer with a wink.
“Clynd!” came a sharp voice from the house. The man turned, ducking his head.
Tyla looked up to see a small, wiry woman standing on the porch.
“You had better not be plaguing our guest,” she shouted.
“’Course not, Mama.”
“You just come on up to the house, baby,” said the woman to Tyla, “and ignore my randy son. Clynd, go back to chopping wood.”
Tyla gave Clynd a wry look as she rode toward the house. The woman came down into the yard as Tyla dropped to the ground. “You traveling all alone, baby,” she said, then came to a halt when Tyla turned toward her. Immediately her eyes widened and she dropped to her knees. “Gods above, please forgive us, Your Majesty.”
Tyla hurried forward and drew the woman to her feet. “Please don’t.”
The woman clasped her hands. “We heard you’d left Adishian. Oh, Your Majesty, I am so happy to see you.” She pressed Tyla’s wrist to her cheek.
Tyla leaned close to her. “Please, don’t do this. I’m no longer Queen. Please treat me the way you were before you recognized me.”
The woman met Tyla’s gaze. “You look exhausted, Your…”
“Tyla.”
“Tyla,” she repeated. “I’ll bet you’re hungry. And you could probably use a warm bath.”
Tyla laughed. “A bath would be so wonderful, but let me unsaddle the horses first.”
“Nonsense.” The woman hooked her arm through Tyla’s and drew her toward the house. They climbed the stairs and the woman pulled open the door. “My other son can take care of them.” She stuck her head inside. “Royce, get out here and unsaddle these horses. Give them a bit of grain. Tell Clynd to bring in the bathtub.”
Tyla heard scrabbling in the house, then a second man appeared. He looked almost identical to Clynd. “Yes, Mama,” he said, ducking out of the house. He came up short when he saw Tyla and his eyes widened.
His mother swatted him on the arm. “Get going, you.”
The young man hurried down the stairs and into the yard as the woman drew Tyla into the house. The interior was warm and filled with sunlight. A couple of armchairs were arranged before a stone fireplace. To the left was a kitchen with a polished wooden table and four chairs.
The woman handed Tyla into a chair and went to the fireplace. She lifted a huge iron kettle onto the fire, then went to the sink and began pumping water into a pitcher.
“Can I help you?” asked Tyla.
“Nonsense. You sit and rest, baby.”
Tyla forced herself to relax. The house was pleasant. A vase of flowers sat in the middle of the table and bright floral curtains outlined the windows. She was pleased that the woman had gotten over her shock.
“Can I ask your name?”
“Rosamel,” the woman said, hurrying back and forth. “Can I ask you why you’re traveling alone?”
“Fair question, but the answer’s complicated. I’d rather not say.”
“But you’re coming home?”
Tyla drew a deep breath and exhaled. “I am.”
Clynd entered the house, carrying a tub on his back. “Where you want it, Mama?”
“Put it in your room. You’ll bunk with Royce tonight, boy.”
Clynd gave Tyla another wink, but he scurried into the doorway of his room as his mother swatted at his backside. Tyla couldn’t help but smile. Such a small woman with such a powerful personality.
It wasn’t long before Rosamel had the water heated. She called both boys into the house to carry the iron pot to the tub. Once they finished, she shooed them from the house and threw the latch on the main door. Then she escorted Tyla into her son’s room. Laying out soap and a towel, she left the room and returned a moment later with a faded dress.
“Thought you might like to put on something clean.”
Tyla smiled at her and reached up to undo the braid in her hair. “Thank you so much, Rosamel. You don’t know what your kindness means to me.”
The woman came forward and clasped Tyla’s hands. “Take your time, baby. Enjoy the hot water.” With a pat, she left, shutting the door behind her.
Tyla finger combed her hair and undressed, then slid into the blessedly warm water. She quickly bathed, but once done, couldn’t resist the pull of the water. Leaning back, she let her muscles relax and closed her eyes.
However, the moment she loosened her control, emotions rose inside of her. Her shoulders began to shake and tears worked their way into her throat. Covering her face, Tyla gave into her grief, her body shaking with wrenching sobs.
Rosamel found her huddled over in the cooling water. She grabbed the towel and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Come on, baby, it’s all right. You’re safe here. Let’s get you out of the cold water.”
Tyla allowed the woman to help her stand. Rosamel directed her into a chair before a cracked mirror. “Let me just comb the tangles from this hair,” she said, pulling a brush from the pocket of her apron.
Tyla didn’t have the energy to fight her ministrations. She let Rosamel comb her hair until it was a glistening black curtain far down her back. After she finished, Rosamel urged her to stand, leading her to the bed.
“Get dressed and lay down for a nap. Everything will look better after a little sleep, then we’ll have dinner. You look like you haven’t eaten well in weeks.”
Tyla grasped the woman’s hand and brought it to her lips, kissing the back of it. “Thank you.”
Rosamel tsked. “Nonsense. Now get dressed.” She left the room and Tyla quickly slipped into clean undergarments and the dress.
It was too big for her and shapeless, but it was clean. Pulling her hair over one shoulder, she crawled onto the bed and curled up.
The sobs came again, but this time she didn’t try to fight them. She was so lonely, she couldn’t control her misery. Longing for Jarrett filled her, but gradually, she fell asleep.
She awakened some hours later to a soft voice and a gentle touch on her shoulder. “Miss, Miss, wake up. Mama says supper is ready.”
Tyla blinked open her eyes. Royce was kneeling beside the bed. Lifting her head, she looked around. Darkness had fallen outside the cottage, a beam of moonlight shining through the window.
She eased into a sitting position. Her head hurt and her eyes felt swollen. She pushed back her heavy hair. “Goodness, how long have I slept?”
“Only a few hours. Are you hungry?”
Tyla realized she was, especially as the smells from the kitchen were wafting through the open door. “Yes.”
“Let me help you up,” offered Royce, holding out his hand.
Tyla accepted it. The man’s hand was enormous like his brother’s and calloused, but he gave her a kind smile. She rose to her feet and smoothed out the folds of the dress. “I must look a sight,” she said with a laugh.
He shook his head. “You are beautiful.” Releasing her, he took a step back and ducked his head. “I’m sorry to be so forward, Your Majesty.”
“Tyla, please. And you weren’t forward. It’s nice to hear.” When he gave her a smile, she returned it. “Let’s go eat. I really am hungry.”
Tyla hadn’t eaten so well since Temeron. Rosamel made roast chicken and potatoes with a cream gravy. Fresh beans from the garden swam in puddles of home churned butter. And there was bread, fluffy, airy bread, so unlike the travel cakes she’d been living off for so many days.
Tyla ate more than usual, she ate until her stomach was uncomfortably full; however, when Rosamel brought out fresh peach pie, she simply had to try a small piece. After dinner, Rosamel made them all tea and they took a seat before the fire. The two women occupying the armchairs, while the men sat on the hearth. Tyla sank into her chair and looked around the cottage.
All her life she’d known castles, but she couldn’t deny she could see herself living quite comfortably in a cottage like this if she could only have Jarrett by her side. The thought brought back the ache, but she forced it down.
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