by M. S. Brook
And then it happened. The shower of blood seemed to awaken the vithons from their trance. They went into full bloodlust frenzy, seeking a target for their raging fury, and Saduk was right in their path. In the blink of an eye, they turned on their lord and master. They sprang on his horse and pulled it down, and then they went for him. It wasn’t possible, but I fancied I could hear his shrieks above the clamor of the song.
When they’d finished with Saduk, the vithons went after their keepers. With the bloodlust frenzy aroused, the keepers lost whatever measure of control they’d had. They pulled on their chains and shouted commands, but it was all for naught. The vithons turned on them, savaging anyone who stood in their reach. The Bezarqs and keepers fought back desperately in the close quarters, but they had no room to maneuver on the packed span. The vithons, so much quicker than man or horse, took command of the bridge. They slaughtered the Bezarqs where they sat their horses, unable to flee the punishing claws and dagger-sharp teeth coming at them from every side.
The frantic vithons wanted nothing so much as to escape the tormenting sounds and return to their safe nests in the fortress, but their desire was thwarted there also. Bezarqs troops were still emerging out of the gates, blocking the way back inside. Some of the vithons leapt over the sides of the bridge to escape the sound under water. Others charged up and down the bridge, knocking the line of Bezarqs into the river. Those Bezarqs who fell into the water were snatched into the embrace of swimming vithons and rolled under the black depths.
Still, the Bezarqs came. They were under orders from Saduk, and because of his death, those orders could never be revoked. Their vows of absolute obedience gave them no choice but to ride on into the slaughter. They fought off the vithons as best they could, even managing to kill many of them, but Bezarqs were not used to fighting vithons, and the close quarters did not favor mounted soldiers. Those fortunate enough to escape the vithons were claimed by Guardians at the other end of the bridge.
At length, the stream of Bezarqs dried up. When there were no more Bezarqs to kill, the last of the frenzied vithons were unable to stop themselves. They turned on their own kind and, in a dreadful display, slaughtered each other on the bridge.
When it was done, not a single vithon or Bezarq was left standing. The great throng of Dominians and townsfolk must have worn their voices out, for they stood in silence. The musicians quit their playing, and the last echo of shrieks and growls died away. The moonlight glowed on the gently flowing river; the flicker of northern lights, almost forgotten now, lent a dreamlike feel to the scene.
“Game’s over,” Rowland said softly. And then it hit me that he was right. My whole body trembled as I tried to take it in. I looked across the field at the great host of men and women who would return safely to their homes in Canwyrrie. There was Uncle Fergal with the two constables; I spotted Azar, and Torin, and Brady, Nieve and Linden. Not all of our great company would return, and we would mourn them later, but for the moment it was enough to hear Morningstar’s gentle whicker and feel the cool nighttime breeze on my overheated skin, to know that Rowland was there beside me.
“Look up on the walls!” someone shouted. The blazing torches on the battlements revealed several men waving a large white cloth. “We surrender!” they called across the river. “The fortress for our lives.”
A great roar went up from our united forces. When it died down, Constable Carlin gave orders for all healers to attend to the wounded and for the Evergreens and yeomen to relieve those still fighting the fires. “Eagles and Lions, we charge the bridge!” he shouted.
With a great answering shout, the Guardians pulled into formation. The stone span thundered with their charge to the gates, still thrown wide from the passage of the Bezarqs. My heart was torn in two—part of it went along to Bal Zor, wondering what or whom they might find inside the walls. But that was not where my duty lay. Many men were wounded, a number suffering from the venom of vithon bites. They must be treated before the fever took them. I slipped off Morningstar with a stiff jolt and unfastened my treatment bag.
Chapter 37
The town of Balton came to our aid again, helping our Minstrel Company move the wounded to a safe place for treatment. We used an old stone chantry that faced the square for a hospice. Those wounded who were unable to walk, we carried on litters and settled them on blankets on the floor. People from the town brought pots of water and firewood and clean linens for bandages. I had the only medicines, which we saved for the worst injuries, but our supplies didn’t last long.
Then a cheer arose outside the walls of the chantry. We rushed outside to see a wagon come rolling down the road, Tal driving a team of four horses. The wagon was loaded with food, and on top were all the healers’ kits and extra supplies. “I thought you might be needing these,” Tal said, pointing his thumb toward the wagon bed.
I waved my thanks and went back inside, where Nieve, Linden, and I attended those suffering from vithon sickness, leaving the easier treatments to the less experienced healers. We cleansed the deep puncture wounds of venom and covered them with herbal drawing poultices. The ugly stage of chills and spasms set in, and we sponged their overheated bodies with cool water and sang soothing healing songs to calm their fearful trembling.
Some of the brave Dominians suffered burns while fighting the fires, and they came to us for treatment too. Our healers washed their burns with cool water and covered them with moist dressings. The chantry echoed with the peaceful sound of healers making their rounds.
My hands were busy with my treatments, but my inner thoughts were on Bal Zor and what discoveries Carlin might make. Had he learned anything about the king? Surely we would hear if he were found. My heart began beating too fast again, and my hands became unsteady as I applied my treatments.
Rowland cast several concerned glances my way.“I’m sure you could go now,” he said after everyone had received their first treatment. “Surely there are enough healers here to carry on.”
“But I can’t just leave. Nieve needs my help.”
“Nieve will not hold you.”
Rowland was right. Nieve would release me without question, so why did I hesitate? My chest ached, and my gut felt like it was twisted in knots. I bent to feel a warm forehead with the back of my hand. “Our treatments are working,” I said to Rowland. “He’s cooler.” Rowland touched my shoulder, and I straightened to face him. “I’m afraid of what I will find,” I whispered. “What if he’s been tormented and is desperately ill? Or what if he’s been killed? After all this time of hoping and waiting, I don’t know if I’m strong enough to handle what we may find.”
“You are,” Rowland said. “You are as strong as you need to be.”
I spoke with Nieve, and she was quick to understand my request. “Of course you must go.” She gave me a quick hug. “We’ll be fine here.”
Rowland and I struggled back into our mail coats. We grabbed our helmets and ran out the door. Riding for the bridge, I hardly saw the dark piles of vithon carcasses sprawled over the field. The fallen were there too, some garbed in black, others in the bright colors of Canwyrrie. We slowed to pick our way around the bodies on the span. The stones were slick with red and black gore.
We left our horses inside the gates and found Constable Carlin in the middle of the ward, directing the takeover of Bal Zor. The constable beckoned to us. “I’m glad you’re here. The fortress is secured, and we’re clearing out the dungeons now. Our search rounded up a few conscripts, but only the keepers who stayed with the vithon breeders and their pups put up a fight. The household slaves have been very helpful. Saduk was not a kind master, and they owe him no loyalty. I’ve told them they are free to leave or free to stay and help us, and most of them are happy to stay, at least for the present.”
“Did you discover any of his family members?” I asked.
“Saduk’s family went north some weeks ago. His oldest son comm
ands the occupation of the Northlands, and Saduk’s wife and younger son went to stay with him.”
“Sir, you’ve accomplished a great deal in a few hours.”
“As I say, there’s been little resistance. All the Bezarqs went out to battle, so it’s been a matter of going room by room to look for stragglers.” Carlin’s eyes sharpened. “Lord Kempton indicated that you would be greatly interested in the dungeons. Torin will show you the way.”
We followed Torin to the wall at the back of the fortress where stone steps led to a dank tunnel. “We think this was once a cave,” Torin said as we descended, “hollowed into the rock by the flow of the river. They built an outer wall of stone and made it into a prison.”
The darkness of the passageway was scarcely relieved by flickering torches set in sconces along the way. The rocky walls and floor were sweaty with damp from the nearby river, and the smell of unwashed bodies and waste came in sickening waves. I tried breathing through my mouth, but the stench was unavoidable.
“Pretty rank down here,” Torin said.
Rowland’s face was set in a tight grimace. “Yes, sir, it is.”
We came upon a long row of cells, each with a heavy wooden door that hung open. The first cell was empty, the floor covered with trampled straw and furnished with filthy blankets, a bucket, and a couple of rickety chairs. At the top of the outer wall was a small window, barred but open to the air, showing a small patch of night sky.
“We’ve cleared out the first two cells,” Torin said.
Ahead was the echo of voices—a Lion sergeant with a small company of Guardians standing outside the cells. Pitiful, broken-down men stared at us through the open doors. Their clothing was mostly rags, their hair and beards long and tangled. Some were Northlanders, but many were Dominians.
“Saduk is dead,” said the sergeant, standing in an open doorway. “You are free men.”
Unwilling or unable to believe what they were hearing, the prisoners did not say a word. Perhaps they feared it was a trick.
“In the name of the king,” the Guardian repeated, “you are all free!”
I studied the prisoners’ faces. Not a whisker moved. Would I even recognize the king if he were here? Several Guardians slipped into the cell. The prisoners allowed themselves to be led down the long tunnel and into the fresh air.
We stayed until all the cells were emptied. Two prisoners were too weak to walk, and the Guardians carried them out on litters, their footsteps retreating down the long passageway. I stood, unmoving, aware of the sound of dripping water and the hissing flare of torches. Light and shadow flickered on the scarred walls of the tunnel. My heart was like a stone, fallen to the bottom of my chest.
Rowland found my hand and gripped it. “Come, let’s get out of this hole. We’ll see if the constable has learned anything new.”
Carlin joined us in a quiet corner near the gate tower. He must have been tired, but no hint of it showed in his alert blue eyes. “At Lord Kempton’s particular order, I’ve been questioning the household for any knowledge of King Aidan’s whereabouts. Lord Kempton was most urgent that I was to let you know as soon as I’d completed my search. I am sorry to say that our effort was fruitless. The seneschal is convinced he would have known if the king was ever held here. He and the other slaves denied hearing the slightest rumor of where the king might be. It seems the king’s whereabouts was a well-kept secret.”
Both men were looking at me with such kindness that I nearly broke. I stared at the stone wall and tried to compose myself. Rowland stood beside me, holding my hand. Neither of us speaking. In the quiet I became aware that our minstrels had starting playing again on the other side of the river.
“It is clear that my quest goes on,” I said to Carlin.
Carlin nodded. “I hope it is also clear that the Royal Guardians are with you. You have only to say the word. And not only the Guardians.” He smiled. “I think you two need to have a look across the river. It will lift your spirits.”
Rowland and I climbed the stone steps to the wall walk above the gate. The strains of a joyful song of victory became clearer as we reached the top of the wall. Behind us, the fortress of Bal Zor was ablaze with torchlight, and from the highest tower, the Shield of Enfys was snapping in the breeze. “Our field ensign is up,” I said.
Rowland smiled and nodded. “Your father would be very proud of you.”
I moved closer to him, and his arm found a comforting place around my shoulder. Across the river, the Dominians were warming to the music, joining their rich harmonies to the song the minstrels played.
“I can’t explain it,” I said, “but somehow I’m sure he’s alive.”
Rowland nodded. “We’re in the best place to make a discovery. Saduk must have left some sort of hint—a map, a letter. We’ll search through his papers. Something will turn up.”
I turned my head to look into Rowland’s face. “I hope you’re not in a hurry to get back to Highfield.”
His eyes were shining in the torchlight as he gazed into mine. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I snuggled into the crook of Rowland’s arm, and together we watched the growing celebration in the square. Drunk with their newfound freedom, the good folk of Balton were dancing in the streets, joined by many of our Guardians and yeoman. Singing, laughing, shouting, cheering—the sound was like a roar coming across the river. Watching them, I forgot the pain of my disappointment. Soldiers and farmers, Dominians and Canwyrs, graybeards and children—for the first time in generations, our people were celebrating together, united in childlike wonder and delight.
I felt my heart take flight and soar like a bird set free from a snare—free to dream again.
The End
