“Do you deny we could seize this barge by force of arms?”
“You threaten me? Me? That’s even funnier. I have Lord Dews’ personal guarantee of safe passage.”
“Indeed? Show it to me.”
“Right here it is.” The bargemaster fumbled beneath his heavy coat and pulled out a tattered slip of paper. He held it up for Santon to scan. “You see? I have the protection of Lord Dews himself.”
“Alas, I do not see him or his sword here to aid you.” Santon swung his shield around and caught the bargemaster’s arm just above the elbow. The man yelped in pain as his arm went numb. With a deft grab, Santon took the pass.
“Here now, you can’t do this!”
Santon swung the shield around once more, this time connecting just under the man’s chin. The bargemaster’s head snapped backward as he tumbled into the icy River Ty. He came to the surface sputtering and gasping for air.
“Best get into dry clothing before you catch your death,” Santon said, unsmiling. Seeing the former bargemaster paddling for the far shore, Santon turned and signalled Lokenna and the others. “My liege, the craft is ours for the taking.”
Santon showed the rebel pass to Lokenna, who handed it over to the lieutenant. She said, “Do with this what you must.”
“Get us to the castle. Do it now, now, yes, do it now!” Lorens cut capers like a jester, trying a handspring that failed and left him upside-down against the rude shelter in the aft of the barge. Santon would have laughed save for the momentary impression of ugly black insects coming from Lorens’ mouth. He remembered what Lokenna had said about her brother — darkness and evil surrounded him.
The expression on the king’s face also bespoke of death. His lips moved and a spell formed.
“Brother, stop it!” snapped Lokenna. The sense of dread faded as Lorens righted himself and motioned imperiously to the officer and the few men remaining in his personal guard. They had already begun leading the horses aboard.
“You deny me my simple pleasures, sister. Do not make that mistake again.” His dark eyes blazed with hatred. Hardened though he was, Birtle Santon found himself moving away from the madman.
“Cast off the mooring lines,” came the lieutenant’s command. The movement of the barge into the sluggish flow of the river broke the tension. Lorens spun smartly and vanished into the barge-master’s rude quarters as his men started the tedious work of poling along.
The craft moved slowly at first, then gained speed as it neared the centre of the current. Occasional ice floes banged hard against the hull. Each one startled Santon.
“You are no river man,” said the lieutenant, laughing at his discomfort. “I grew up here. Makes me feel alive.”
“Do you regret leaving to join the king’s guard?” asked Lokenna.
“Of course. But the rebels must be put down.” The lieutenant touched the rebel pass in his pocket. “Someone of royal blood must reign in Porotane.” He issued a few more commands to keep the craft on a straight course in the flow, then asked Lokenna, “Is it true? Are you his sister? There is so little resemblance.”
“We are twins.” Lokenna stared at the distant, passing shoreline. “It is difficult for me to believe we are related, yet I know it is true. Even more than your word, Birtle,” she added.
“She is a wizard, too?” the officer asked of Santon. Santon’s voice failed him. All he could do was nod. The Demon Crown had awakened much in Lokenna — and it continued to grow. He looked to the land in hope of sighting Vered.
The young adventurer was nowhere to be seen. Santon didn’t know if this was for the good or not.
“Lieutenant,” came an aggrieved cry from the stern. “There is a chain across the river ahead of us. Men with bows are positioned on either shore to keep us from cutting the barricade.”
“Strip off your uniform insignia,” the lieutenant ordered, obeying his own command. He heaved the betraying rank into the river, where it vanished tracelessly into a cold, watery grave. “We are filthy enough to hide the fact that the uniforms are of the same cut and colour. Most of you, stay in the hold.”
A tall man with a long red banner signalled them from the near shore. Santon waited anxiously as the lieutenant expertly guided the barge over, his soldiers poling slowly.
“Good day to you, Bargemaster,” came the greeting. “You don’t look to be laden with cargo this trip.”
“We need dry docking. Sprung a leak in the hold, we did. Damn boat’s going down on us slow,” the lieutenant shouted back.
“You got the proper papers?”
The officer held up the pass issued by the rebel leader. Santon held his breath. He saw from the size of the garrison on the bank and the heavy stone fortifications that stretched around the river’s bend that fighting their way free would be impossible. They had to bluff — and avoid a search.
“Can’t see it from here. Pole closer.” Behind the rebel moved archers. Santon saw one dip the arrow tip in pitch and wait beside a fire-pot. A single flaming arrow could send them to the bottom of the river.
“We can’t get past the chain without using the pass,” the lieutenant said. “We’ll be fine. Wait and see.”
Two of his men worked a pole back and forth along the riverward side of the barge, complaining as they worked. When the barge was close enough, the lieutenant jumped across to the bank with the pass.
Santon waited impatiently, his barrel chest ready to explode from holding his breath. He panted harshly when the officer returned and signalled for his men to pole them back into the river.
“The pass was good?” asked Santon.
The lieutenant shook his head. “He never looked at it.” The officer rubbed thumb and forefinger together to show what had convinced the rebel to let them pass.
Santon watched as the massive chain was pulled back from the river to let them by. He waved to one rebel on the shore, who waved back. The rebels weren’t so much different, he decided.
How could the kingdom be any worse off in Dews Gaemock’s hands when bribery still worked its own magic?
*
“There are the royal docks,” said Santon, not sure if he was happy to see them. The barge had listed in a storm two days prior and the rocking motion had given him a continual case of seasickness. Even the lieutenant who professed to have been raised on the river had not fared well. Only Lokenna appeared untouched by the motion. But considerations other than his personal comfort nagged at him.
“You fear for me,” said Lokenna, leaning against a thin pole and staring at the castle rising in the distance.
“I fear for my own life, too. Now that we have arrived, Lorens can tap into new reserves of troops. They still remember him as king, after all. Even without the crown, he is more formidable here than in the Yorral Mountains.”
“What has happened in Castle Porotane in his absence?” Lokenna asked. Santon wasn’t sure if she spoke to him or merely put voice to her inner thoughts. Changing subject abruptly, she said, “I remember it. The details aren’t mine yet, but I remember the castle, but not in winter. In spring, with greenery surrounding the castle. An arbour?”
“Brambles for defence,” supplied Santon.
“That the demon-damned place you been yearning for?” asked Pandasso. He had lost weight from his own bout with river sickness. Santon still considered him to be a pig.
“Her castle,” Santon said pointedly. “It belongs to the ruler of Porotane.”
“She’s no ruler. She’s my wife.” Pandasso’s tone had changed during the trip, though. He had seen Lokenna grow in stature until her regal bearing matched that of the proudest monarch. His words carried less belligerence even if he still protested the obvious.
“There is fighting on the shore,” said Lokenna, interrupting the pointless squabble. “Rebels attack the royalist troops.”
Santon did not need the woman to tell him this. The ragtag rabble attacking the uniformed ranks could be comprised only of rebels. They fought with the unity
of a company, yet had the look of poor farmers and merchants. He found himself shaking his head in amazement. The rebels parted the approaching cavalry and began hacking the soldiers to bloody ribbons. For all their lack of military precision and beauty, they fought valiantly and well — and their officers knew tactics.
“We must make our own way to the castle,” said the lieutenant. “We can expect no help from them. The fools! They ran into a trap as if they were led by the greenest recruit.”
“They might be. Who can say what has — ” Santon fell silent abruptly when he saw Lorens lightly jump from the barge to the dock. The man’s eyes had glazed over. He held his arms in front of him as if blind and he had to feel his way along an unknown corridor. But the dancing sparks at his fingertips told of immense magic powers beyond an ordinary mortal’s control.
“I feel it. The blackness rises within him,” said Lokenna, her eyes clamped tightly shut. “How does he tolerate it? It…it makes my skin ripple with its evil.”
The explosion knocked over those on the barge. Santon shook his head, trying to clear away the ringing in his ears. His vision had filled with dancing yellow and blue dots that only slowly faded. When his keen sight returned, his stomach turned over and over worse than it had during his bout of seasickness.
Wars had washed past him. He had seen destruction so bad that it dulled his mind. But this? Never had Birtle Santon seen such destruction of life. He wanted to vomit.
Lorens’ spell had exploded within each of the rebel soldiers. As if a huge taloned beast had clawed its way free, their bellies and chests were left in mutilated, bloody strips. The snow-dusted landscape had turned an ugly red from their life’s blood. Here and there spots sizzled as the superheated fluid cooled.
“There,” said Lorens with some satisfaction. “That will keep the rebels in their place.”
Santon found it difficult to stand. Only Lokenna’s aid made it possible for his rubbery legs to begin walking. When they reached the dock, he waved her off, preferring to be on his own. How could such a fiend possess so much power?
Lorens had slain with the pass of his hand — and showed no remorse at the ghastly deaths. He acted as if he had stepped on a morroach and nothing more.
The ambushed soldiers re-formed their ranks. Santon looked around the countryside, hoping to see Vered. Lokenna needed the Demon Crown to counter such immense power on her brother’s part.
Santon walked, but he did not see his friend. Every step closer to the castle caused dread to mount that much more.
*
“The castle,” Lorens said with gusto. “And it is mine! I rule with absolute power within its walls. Soon enough, that power will enfold the entire kingdom!”
Darkness had fallen. Watchfires along the battlements sputtered and sent sparks and smoke into the clean, clean air. They had not encountered any more rebels on their march from the docks, but many spies had been eliminated. Lorens licked his lips at the thought of those fools sending small children to spy on him.
He cared naught if they were grown or babes in arms. Traitors were traitors and he would kill them all!
If only he had the Demon Crown…
His hard eyes turned back to the castle walls. Fear leaped and died inside him when he thought of what he might find. Archbishop Nosto had been so powerful. But what of Theoll? The small baron had coveted the throne. And others? Lorens had spied on dozens of plots and counterplots when he had worn the Demon Crown.
The crown. He needed it now!”
“Majesty?” came a timorous voice. For an instant Lorens thought the voices that sometimes spoke within his head had returned. Then he realized it was only the whoreson married to his sister.
“Yes, my dear brother-in-law,” he said with mock civility. Lorens pondered the spell that would remove this odious piece of garbage. Patrin had not taught him many useful spells, but that small grounding in magic had served him well enough. What he had not been taught by his master, he had learned wearing the crown.
Where was that wondrous magical device? Torturing Lokenna might be enough, but he doubted it. She spoke with the ring of truth in her voice when she said she did not know where the golden crown was — but could recover it.
“King Lorens?” Pandasso licked dried lips and rubbed his pudgy hands together nervously, as if to cleanse them of guilt. “We’re almost at the castle, aren’t we?”
Lorens held back his acid retort. Of course they were at the castle. Any fool could see it rising before them.
“Yes. What can I do for you?” he asked, his voice silken.
“Majesty, you see, it’s like this. Between me and Lokenna, it was all just as good as fresh cream until those two showed up with that damned crown.”
Lorens said nothing. New schemes formed. He might have found an unexpected ally in this oaf. Torture might not be required, after all.
“I want things to be like they was between us. I’m a good husband.” Pandasso shuffled his feet and averted his eyes. Lorens knew the man lied. “I just want us to go back to Fron and forget all this. I don’t need to go into the castle — and my wife’s no queen.”
“True,” Lorens said. “But there are problems with restoring your former life.”
“The rebels burned the town and my inn with it.”
“The crown, dammit,” flared Lorens. He quieted down and went on, carefully choosing his words with studied calm. “With the crown, I could aid you immensely.”
“I saw what you did this afternoon. The rebels…” Pandasso’s voice trailed off.
“The King of Porotane has powers far beyond those granted by the Demon Crown.” Even as he spoke, coldness gripped Lorens’ innards. The power came and went, as did the voices. Now he felt hollow and alone — and weak. So weak! No matter how superior he was to this ignorant peasant, he was deathly alone and vulnerable.
“What if I told you how to get this crown back? What would that mean to me? To me and Lokenna?”
“My sister is stubborn, but I am gracious in my rewards. The crown is hardly necessary, but it is a symbol of power in Porotane.” Lorens tried to arc sparks between his fingers to impress Pandasso. He hastily hid his hands under his cloak when nothing happened.
“You give me a new pub and some money — and Lokenna back — and I’ll tell you how she intends to get the crown.”
“It has something to do with the missing thief, does it not?” Pandasso jumped as if stuck with a needle. Lorens laughed at his simple-mindedness. “Of course it does. Why else would one accompany us and never mention the other?”
“She’s to meet this Vered outside the castle. He was following us all the way from the Yorral Mountains.”
“How is she to signal him?”
“They don’t know I know, but I overheard them talking.”
“Yes, yes.” Lorens stilled his need to recover the crown. He laid a hand on Pandasso’s arm. “It’s what Lokenna needs, even if she does not realize it. You see more clearly than she does in this. What is the signal?”
Bane Pandasso told him.
CHAPTER X
“The situation is critical, Baron,” Commander of the guard Squann did not have to make this report to Theoll. The small noble had eyes. All he needed to do was gaze from the uppermost battlements at the gathering horde of rebels to know the peril. They came like flies to decaying meat. Getting rid of them would be harder than merely brushing them off.
“Captain, I appreciate your concern about external matters. What concerns me more is internal — and political. Lady Anneshoria grows bolder by the day.”
“She has many believing her.”
Theoll wondered if Squann played some duplicitous game. The captain had rushed from Anneshoria’s arms to report that the woman plotted against him — but had the officer known that Theoll watched his every movement? Were Anneshoria and Squann engaged in triple-dealing?
In Castle Porotane those who merely worked plots within plots were novices — and usually perished for their i
nexperience. What game did Squann really play and whose pawn was he?
“She awaits you at dawn. The meeting is set so that the other nobles will appear minutes after you have been killed.”
“What?” Theoll jerked his attention back from the ramifications of a traitorous guard commander to what the man really said about the plot. “Oh, yes, yes. I know this. I will not let her do away with me that easily.”
“It might prove an excellent opportunity to remove Anneshoria,” suggested Squann.
Again Theoll worried. Squann shared the woman’s bed when she had pointedly refused such an offer from him. And he was regent king! That Squann played both sides to his own advantage, Theoll never doubted. What did he gain? What could Theoll lose?
“The rebels have infiltrated the castle,” said Theoll.
“Who, Baron? Give me their names and I will have them beheaded!”
“Nonsense. We can use them. Anneshoria…has contacted them. She is a traitor in our ranks.” Theoll watched slow realization dawn on the captain’s face. The officer brightened at this lie that might rid the castle of Anneshoria permanently and with no chance of reprisal from her supporters.
“I had heard such rumours. I can find facts to verify this.”
“Of course you can. Go and do so.” Theoll dismissed Squann with a wave of his hand but called out before the captain had left, “A moment, Captain. Who commands the rebel forces at this moment?”
“We have been unable to find out, but from the deployment and tactics, I believe Dalziel Sef faces us. There are none of the subtleties Gaemock always employed.”
“What has happened to Gaemock?” Theoll wondered aloud. “It is no matter. Let the rebels diminish their own rank. We have problems of our own with traitors, don’t we, Captain Squann?”
“I’ll look into it immediately, Baron.”
Squann had barely vanished when Theoll sprang up from his paper-strewn desk and went to the ward spell-guarded box behind the tapestry. For the hundredth time, he ran his fingers over the oak lid. It had been tampered with, he saw. A slow smile crossed his thin lips. Anneshoria knew what lay within — and it was all part of his own trap to snare her. The diminutive baron did not care if Squann allied himself with Anneshoria or not.
A Symphony of Storms (Demon Crown Book 3) Page 7
