“Vlad, Pintea, open the gate,” Codrin ordered. “Damian ready your bow. Just in case. Nicolas, Lisandru, take care of the door. Keep those merry fellows inside.” They are still enjoying our wine, he wanted to say, but stopped himself. There was no need to spread the news that he was the Seer of the Realm. At least not until he was better trained. Stirred by unexpected noise, his thoughts stopped abruptly, and he turned: soldiers were coming around the corner, coming toward the gate, and they had two torches.
In the low light, there was a moment of confusion on both sides, the flickering lights playing games on everybody’s face.
“Enemy crossbows. Triangle. Charge.” Codrin was the first to react. His keen eyes had seen the spears and the crossbows. Their only hope was to reach the guards before their bolts and spears could fly.
“Alarm!” Tulis shouted.
At the ‘triangle’ command, Lisandru and Pintea ran toward Codrin and, forming a wedge, they charged together. Damian ran too, until he was in a position from where he could see the men with the crossbows. He sent two arrows in swift succession, but each of them arrived a moment after the guards released their bolts. There was a small delay in the way the guards reacted too. The first guard’s bolt hit Codrin in his left upper arm. He gripped his short sword, Flame, harder, keeping it only for an emergency; it was a rare fight which went as planned. This one was no exception. The second guard’s bolt hit Damian in the shoulder, and he let his bow fall, pain coursing through him.
It hit the bone, Damian thought, teeth gritted from the pain running through his body. His eyes searched the guards he had shot at: one was dead, the other was hit in his right shoulder too. On both sides, there was no one able to shoot anymore. Clumsily, he unsheathed his sword with his left hand and joined Codrin.
Unable to use his left hand, Codrin slowed, and Lisandru took his place at the apex of the Triangle. They clashed with the spearmen just when they were lowering their spears, ready for close combat; the enemy was too close to throw their spears now.
The men in the gate room, heard the first cry of alarm and ignored it. The second shout half woke them up, and they ran to pick their weapons. It took them longer than usual, and even longer to reach the door. The chief grabbed a torch, opened the door and found himself in front of the Spatar of Peyris. The former Spatar of Peyris, but he did not know that.
Codrin twisted to his right, letting the spear come by him unchallenged. The guard cursed and pulled it back, rotating it to the left at the same time, trying to hit Codrin in the side. It was too late. Codrin was now facing him, and his sword bit into the guard’s neck. With an anguished cry, strangled into a gurgle before being fully formed, the man fell into his knees, clinging to life, his hand trying to stop the blood flow. His face was flushed with terror, and a thick spattering of blood marked his neck in an angled track from side to side. He lost this fight too, and fell, face down, his head hitting the ground with a dull sound.
One guard jabbed his spear with the speed of an arrow. At the front of the wedge, Lisandru deflected the spear with his small sword and lunged with the long one. Both attacks had been so fast that only the final result was visible. The point of the spear was deflected safely behind Lisandru, whose body was extended in a tight forward stance, the point of his sword stuck deep in the guard’s neck. The man fell on his back, his mouth open in a wordless howl. Lisandru instantly jumped forward, behind the remaining guards.
Pintea deflected two spears at the same time and half stepped back. He did not try to kill; there were two guards in front of him, and his task was to keep them busy. Like Codrin and Lisandru, he fought with two curved swords of differing lengths.
His arms and hands covered in his and the dead guard’s blood, Codrin moved to the right to intercept Tulis, who had called the alarm and now attacked, sword up. Despite the slick smears of blood, the rough surface of the hilts of both his swords prevented Codrin from losing his grip. Seeing the bolt in his opponent’s arm, Tulis tried a powerful blow to take advantage of the wound. Instead of parrying, Codrin ducked and slashed en passant. Tulis fell before understanding what had happened to him. His sword fell from his limp fingers as he died. It hit the stones with a metallic noise. Tulis hit the stones too. There was not much noise.
In the doorway, the chief of the gate room finally managed to speak. “Sir Nicolas. There was an alarm.”
“You are drunk,” Nicolas said sternly. “Stay inside, there are other people to take care of the intruders.”
“But, sir.”
“Go inside,” Nicolas snapped, and pushed the man back. He closed the door and stood in front of it. Codrin glanced back in time to see the door closing, a tangerine line of candlelight narrowing and blinking out.
Almost blind in the low light, Vlad finally managed to open the postern gate. He went out and whistled three times.
Alerted, the guards were now pouring out from the barracks. Codrin was glad the door did not let more than two men pass at once. They were still sleepy and disorganized, so most of the time only one man came out at a time. They gathered in groups of seven and, once formed, each group ran toward the gate.
Attacking from behind, Lisandru cut two spearmen down in swift succession, and now there was no one left alive from the first group of guards.
“Pintea, take the bow from Damian,” Codrin said.
The second group of seven guards was coming around the corner, almost running. Lisandru was already there, and the first man fell. Beyond the corner, the guards stopped abruptly, collided against each other, and stayed hidden for a few moments until another one took command and organized them. They moved back from the corner and came into view twenty paces away, all six at once. Pintea released two arrows quickly, and Lisandru burst into the middle of the spearmen, cutting left and right, Codrin and Damian covering his back. Across the space in front of the gate, men were shouting wildly, cries of pain and screams of fear. There was no way to distinguish between them. In the commotion, Codrin’s men were all silent, like death herself.
Codrin took a moment to look around him. “Back,” he ordered, as more guards appeared, their crossbows prepared to shoot. They retreated and took cover around the corner again, Lisandru peering past them. He rubbed sweat and blood off of his face with his elbow. It was not his blood.
Five men entered through the open postern, inside the gate tower. “You two,” Vlad said, touching them. “Open the gate. “Sandor, ready your bow. They have crossbows and spears. Follow me.”
The noise coming from the inner courtyard finally woke Veres up. “What happened?”
“A guard fell from the gate,” Cleyre said and touched his face gently. “Sleep, now. I want you in good shape.” Sleep, dear husband, and let them take the fortress.
“I am in good shape,” he said, and turned toward her.
She placed her good arm around his neck and kissed him fiercely. Grunting, Veres cupped her breast and rolled over her. She started to moan loudly to the rhythm of his thrusts, and the cries from the fight vanished from his mind.
Twenty feet from the corner, Sandor joined Pintea with his bow and nocked quickly. Vlad and two more men ran to replace Codrin and Damian, and there were now four swordsmen in good shape waiting for the guards to come.
The remaining twelve guards reacted too, and they moved back and away from the corner, formed up and turned to face the intruders. They had only one man armed with a crossbow, and he fell, pierced by two arrows at once. The guard was tall and stocky, a bear of a man and, clutching the shafts of the arrows, he howled with all the power of his large lungs. The sound echoed so strongly from the surrounding walls – the courtyard was only thirty feet wide – that it stunned all the men, who stopped fighting for a few moments. His howl died in a strangled growl, and the fight started again. Even Veres thought he had heard something, but Cleyre moaned even harder, and that pleased him.
Lisandru and Vlad crashed into the spearmen, covered by the other two swordsmen. Codrin and Damian
moved forward too, together, keeping two spearmen busy, on the left side of the melee.
That was when the riders finally passed through the open gate, and they surrounded the fighting men.
“Stop fighting!” Codrin shouted. “Drop your spears and surrender.”
Reluctantly, the seven surviving guards dropped their weapons.
Veres finally finished, and a niggling doubt passed through his mind. “Why did you cooperate just now?”
“You are my husband.”
He frowned, some vague memories of noise outside coming to him, and went to the window. “You bitch,” he growled, seeing riders everywhere, and walked menacingly back toward her. “You tricked me.”
She moved toward the wall, leaning her back on it, knees gathered at her chest. Veres tried to grab her, but she kicked out and thrust him away from the bed. He fell on his back, and stood up, his face disfigured by rage.
“You will pay for that,” he growled and pulled her by the chain. She tried to resist, but he was too strong, and when she was close enough, Veres grabbed her hair with his left hand and punched her with his right fist. After the third punch, Cleyre was already unconscious, but he did not stop beating her. “I will kill you, bitch.” He raised his fist for a final blow.
Inside the house, Codrin let his Farsight fly, and searched it, room by room. He finally saw Cleyre, and he saw Veres too. His mind shut off abruptly, and he stayed blind for a few moments. “I am fine,” he said in response to Vlad’s worried glance. “Follow me.” His eyes lit with an inner fire, he ran toward the stairs and climbed, taking five steps at a time. He burst into the room, took three large steps forward, and his boot exploded in Veres’s ribs. Codrin threw him to the floor, kneeled over him and punched until Veres looked even bloodier than Cleyre.
“Codrin, you will kill him,” Vlad said and caught his arm from behind. “Not that he doesn’t deserve it, but not like this.”
“I forgot myself,” Codrin said and stood up. “Thank you, Vlad. Throw him in a cell. Take his clothes too, but no food, only water.” He saw the chain on Cleyre’s foot. “Chain him.” He went to check her chain, but he needed a key to open it.
“The key is in Veres’s pocket,” an old woman said from the door. “I am...”
“Maro, I know,” Codrin cut in. “Reymont’s spy. Which pocket?”
Ignoring his question, the old woman went to the soldier carrying Veres’s clothes and came back with the key. She unlocked the chain and pulled it away. There was a wound on Cleyre’s leg, where the metal had bitten through her flesh when Veres pulled the chain. Maro went out, found a carafe of water, which she had left in the corridor, and returned to the room. Saying nothing, she started to clean the blood from Cleyre’s face, who was still unconscious. Two soldiers dragged Veres’s naked body out of the room, and Codrin signaled to everybody but Vlad to leave the room too, then he watched the old woman closely.
“Vlad,” he said after a while, “take charge outside. I will stay here. Send Nicolas with my healing kit.”
Maro began to clean the blood from Cleyre’s neck and shoulders, and Codrin sat at the edge of the bed. He gently stroked Cleyre’s hair.
“I hope I did not come too late,” he whispered.
“She will survive. Cleyre is tougher than most men think.”
He started to move his fingers gently over her skull, looking for concussions. He found nothing and moved to assess her shoulders and clavicles, then her arms and ribs. They seemed fine, nothing was broken. The swollen wrist was a problem, but not a major one.
“You know what you are doing,” Maro said, and moved to clean the wound on her leg. It was fresh, so she was not worried.
Ignoring her, Codrin found a sheet and covered Cleyre’s almost naked body.
“Are you her lover?” Maro asked.
“I thought that Reymont would find better questions to ask.”
“No, not Reymont, it was just the curiosity of an old woman. You seem fond of her.”
Nicolas came in, and seeing Cleyre’s swollen face, he stood, shocked, in the doorway.
“What a delicate Spatar,” Maro laughed. “I bet you would have fainted seeing her before I cleaned her up.”
“Maybe I should hang you, to see if I can survive the view.” Nicolas entered the room and gave the Assassin healing kit to Codrin. “I don’t know what this is. Vlad asked me to bring it here.”
Codrin opened the kit, and cleaned the wound on Cleyre’s leg with alcohol. For the first time, she reacted, moaning slightly. “Cleyre,” he said and shook her gently, but she did not answer.
“You no longer need me.” The woman stood up, and took her carafe, ready to go.
“Maro, you will not leave your room without my permission. We need to talk later. Nicolas, set two guards at her door.” Cleyre moaned again, and Codrin turned toward her. “Wake up, Cleyre.” He stroked her hair and waited.
Maro left the room, followed by Nicolas. Who is this man? she thought. He gives orders to the Spatar of Peyris. I did not know that Cleyre had a secret lover. I hope that she will speak for me. That man is hard, and he may want my head, and Nicolas may feel the same.
Ten more minutes passed until Cleyre finally opened her eyes. Seeing Codrin, she started. I am dreaming. She closed her eyes and opened them again, slowly, painfully. Then she smiled. Her smile looked bizarre on her swollen lips and face. It was not pretty, but not ugly either. “Hold me, Codrin,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I need to be in the arms of a man, to wash away the touch of that snail. Just hold me.”
“He’s gone, Cleyre.”
“He’s gone for now, but he will never leave my mind.”
Soon, she fell asleep in his arms, and Codrin stayed on the edge of the bed, unmoving, for the rest of the night, leaning against the wall. He did not leave her even when Vlad removed the bolt from his arm and bandaged him. From time to time, Vlad and Nicolas came and went, talking to him in low voices.
They are lovers, Nicolas thought, the third time he came into the room. But he saved her, so I can’t complain. Tudor may be not as strong as Codrin, but he is strong too. Lost in his thoughts, Nicolas looked at them, and something tilted in his mind. He frowned, and went back to the time Tudor came to Peyris to tell him that Cleyre had been attacked by Bear’s mercenaries and that a Triangle of Assassins had saved her. What a fool I am. There were no Assassins. It was Tudor and those two young men, Lisandru and Pintea, who killed Bear’s mercenaries. He spread the news about the Assassins to protect Cleyre. Clever. Three men against twenty, and only one mercenary escaped. No wonder everybody believed him. Even Reymont didn’t dare try another assassination attempt against her. That’s why they came up with Veres. He left the room, his thoughts reeling. How did Tudor know that Cleyre would be attacked? He must have spies at the Black Dervils’ quarters. He is more than a Wraith Protector, he is a Political Wraith, whatever that means. And Cleyre knew it. He wondered how this would affect Cleyre’s chances of taking Peyris. It still looked bleak; Nicolas did not have enough men, and neither did Tudor.
Chapter 15 – Codrin / Cleyre
At dawn, Cleyre woke up unable to fathom what had happened to her. Then she remembered. And she breathed relieved for the first time in weeks. Codrin was still sleeping, leaning against the wall, holding her in his arms, his head touching hers. Her hand moved to feel his face, and he started from the light sleep only a hardened soldier knows how to sleep.
“I did not want to wake you. Thank you, Codrin,” she said, and then she saw the bandage on his arm. “You are hurt.” She gestured to the bandage without touching it.
“It’s nothing serious.”
“And your men?”
“One of them got a bolt in the shoulder. In three weeks, he will be ready to fight again. A few got small cuts. It ended well. For us.”
“Oh, Codrin.” She tried to embrace him, but her injured left wrist made her moan.
“Don’t strain your wrist. I will bandage it later. I a
m sorry that I could not come earlier.”
“You came. You were the only one who came. I felt lost.”
“Nicolas came too. He told me what had happened, and where they took you.”
“So, he did not betray me in the end.”
“No, and he still knows me as Tudor. It’s better it stays that way for the moment. There are some developments around Peyris and Arad right now. My army is hidden on the border between them. I met Nicolas in Arad, and revealing myself could reveal my army too, or at least warn my enemies that something is happening.”
“Do you know about Costa?”
“He is not a prisoner, but something close to it. He is not allowed to leave Peyris.”
“Would you help me to return to Peyris?”
“Cleyre, the only way you can return there is as Duchess. I am not yet sure if it’s the right time. I am not sure it isn’t either. I may be able to defeat Albert’s army, but I don’t have enough men to lay siege to Peyris. If we can’t take the city, you will come with me to Severin.”
“Severin? I had a Vision that you won in Poenari, but I knew nothing about Severin.”
“Life would be too easy, if we know everything in advance.” He looked instantly apologetic, remembering what happened to her. “I should speak more carefully.”
“It’s fine,” she said and stroked his cheek. “What is Nicolas thinking?”
“You will find out soon enough, but now I am thinking that you need to eat. It feels like I am holding a child in my arms.”
“I feel like a child,” she smiled. “Protected, and, well, as happy as I can be now. Will you tell that old woman to prepare a bath for me? I feel filthy.”
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