The Gauntlet Thrown

by Cheryl Dyson

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  APPROACH

  Brydon gazed at the dark bulk of Ven-Kerrick for a long time, trying to memorize the layout. Rakyn’s maps were more familiar than his memory of their rush through the palace during their escape. It was difficult to reconcile the stone walls and towers with the schematics in his mind. His current vantage on a small hillock gave him only sketchy details—they were still too far from the castle to make out any occupants. They had encamped for the night far enough to remain undetected by any patrols sent out, not that anyone would be expecting them.

  He turned Darkling and rode back to the others, who waited near their small fire. Brydon had awakened early and ridden Darkling out to judge the distance they had left to travel that morning. It had taken him, Jace and Verana three days of fast riding to reach this point after leaving Prince Amerryn. He figured they had another few hours before they arrived at the castle proper.

  "We'll have to enter through the caverns," he said to Jace as he dismounted. "I only hope we can find our way through without Shevyn’s guidance."

  Jace smiled and handed him a cup of tea. "That won’t be a problem. On our last journey through the maze, I marked the passages." Brydon stared at him in amazement and Jace shrugged. "You never know when you will need to get into—or out of—a place in a hurry. I used a bit of white rock and left scratches that only I can decipher."

  Verana’s bell-like laugh tinkled forth. "Jace, you are a rogue."

  They waited until dusk before they approached the rock face with the concealed door. Brydon pulled Darkling to a halt at the sight of a rider coming toward them. He shaded his eyes as best he could. It was a lone figure—a single man from the look of it—so he readied his bow and an arrow. Jace cried out and Brydon nearly dropped the bow in surprise as the liver-colored horse slid to a stop some distance away.

  "Brydon!" the rider yelled.

  "Toryn?" Brydon called incredulously. Toryn slapped heels to his horse and galloped closer. When he neared, he reached out a hand and Brydon grasped his forearm with a giddy laugh. The two stallions danced around each other, but Brydon could think of nothing but Toryn and his sardonic grin. He looked the same as ever, except for his strange attire.

  "I never thought I would see the day I’d be glad to see a dirty Falaran alive," Toryn said laughed.

  Brydon did likewise; grinning so widely he felt his jaw would split. "Leave it to a hardheaded Redolian idiot not to listen to sound advice. I told you to stay put. But... I’m glad to see you. How did you get here? Fly?"

  Toryn patted the neck of his horse. "Bloodsong ran most of the way. He’s fast and he does not tire easily. The ship docked in Larec four days ago. How far do you suppose that is? Two hundred miles? A bit less?"

  Jace stared at him for a moment and looked at the chestnut stallion that bared his teeth at Darkling. "Try four hundred and fifty," he corrected. "That journey takes days of hard riding."

  Toryn gaped at him. "That’s not possible—"

  "I’ve been there," Jace insisted.

  Brydon nodded. "Rakyn had maps. The distance is at least that."

  Toryn seemed to struggled with their words for a moment, but then he shrugged it off. "The maps must be wrong, unless we docked in a different location. Bloodsong is fast, but not that fast."

  Brydon looked at the stallion, but decided not to chance touching the horse’s mind this near to Reed. The stallion tossed his head and danced like a normal steed, snorting and posing for Darkling in a pseudo-aggressive stance. It was a beautiful animal, nearly the color of blood, with no white markings to be seen.

  Toryn greeted Verana and Jace happily, but did not take time to detail his adventures. "I brought you a gift," he said and with a grin handed Brydon a familiar-looking wooden case.

  Brydon unlatched it and stared at the contents in amazement for a moment.

  Jace peered over Brydon’s shoulder. "The gauntlet!" he breathed. "Toryn, you are magnificent!"

  "I know. But it wasn’t my doing. Thank a Voor with no liking for Shaitan. He saved my life and helped us take the gauntlet."

  Brydon stared at the gem-encrusted item and slowly closed the lid. To have the gauntlet in hand after such an arduous struggle… it was almost overwhelming. He could turn and leave right now. He could return home—forget the machinations and problems of the south. He could go back to Falara and claim the throne, let Ven-Kerrick and the Concurrence fall. He winced at the thought of leaving Shevyn in the hands of Reed. How worthy would he be for the throne then? He handed the gauntlet casket to Jace.

  "We’d better get moving," he said to Toryn. "I don’t suppose you want to stay here and guard the door?"

  Toryn raised a brow without bothering to answer. Brydon nodded, knowing the question had been redundant, and led Darkling over to the rock face. He pressed the stones that opened into the cavern. They filed inside and Brydon closed the door behind them. As he did so, Toryn removed a torch from the wall and lit it. The darkness closed around them and Toryn held the flickering torch high.

  "I hope you remember which passage to take? Because I don’t," Toryn offered as he examined several corridors that led from the large chamber.

  Jace studied the walls of each opening all and then gestured toward one of the central passages. "This one."

  "Are you sure?" Toryn asked.

  "Have I ever been wrong?"

  Toryn crinkled his brow, but apparently could not recall Jace ever being wrong. They unsaddled the horses and fed them some grain. Brydon gave the horses a barely perceptible mental nudge to keep them from fighting during their absence. He fervently hoped they lived to return, or the horses would be trapped in the cavern until they starved. He argued briefly with Jace at the wisdom of setting them free outside, but decided against it.

  They would just have to prevail.

  The journey through the twisting caverns did not seem to take as long as it had the first time they had traversed the maze, but at the time fear of Reed’s pursuit had given length to every shadow.

  Jace led them to the stables and only gave Toryn one smug grin. Brydon cracked the door and peered inside; the place bustled with activity. Stable boys and servants entered and exited, arms laden with harnesses, yokes, and blankets. Oxen bayed from the stalls. Men shouted at each other and the noises blended with an even louder cacophony beyond the doors.

  "We seem to be just in time," Jace commented after joining him at the door to take in the scene beyond.

  "For what?"

  "I have no idea, but from the look of it, everyone in the kingdom is in attendance."

  A sense of foreboding gripped Brydon at the words. "Can we get through?" he asked and closed the door, shutting out the sounds of activity.

  "I don’t think so. We are not exactly inconspicuous."

  "Should we go back and try a different passage?" Verana asked.

  Brydon looked at Jace, who nodded. "We will try a few. If they lead us nowhere, we will come back here and take our chances."

  Toryn sighed, obviously less than pleased with the idea of more trekking through caverns, but he said nothing. Brydon frowned and wondered if Toryn had changed during their separation; Brydon had expected grousing and complaints, but Toryn had remained silent for the duration.

  Jace led as they backtracked. They bypassed a corridor that veered to the right and took the first left-hand branching. The new passage made several hairpin turns and eventually dead-ended in a small cavern. They searched diligently for possible concealed doorways to no avail. Discouraged, they trooped back to the main passage—marked by Jace with a white chalky stone—and went on. The next leftward passageway terminated in a flight of stairs that curved up into the darkness.

  "Excellent," Jace breathed. He put a foot on the lower step, but Brydon’s hand stayed him.

  "If this leads to the castle," Toryn asked, "why would Shevyn take us through the stables before?"

  Brydon grinned. "If it were your castle, would you tell near-strangers of a secret way to
get inside? She took enough of a chance showing us the passage that led to the stables. Also, Shevyn may not know all the secret ways." Brydon paused. "We need a plan. Toryn and I will try to locate Shevyn and bring her back here—wherever ‘here’ is. Jace, you and Verana find Kerryn. He may have plans of his own for disrupting this wedding. Whatever else happens, Reed must not be allowed to remain in Ven-Kerrick. Either we kill him or we capture him and turn him over to Rakyn. He has exercised his will upon these people long enough. And Adona help him if he has harmed Shevyn."

  "Shaitan will be his downfall," Verana said solemnly.

  "'Men are like grass and their glory is like the flowers of the field; the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the glory of Adona stands forever,’" Jace quoted.

  "So be it," Brydon and Verana said in unison.

  "And blessed be the princes who are wise in the ways of the world," Jace added.

  Brydon looked at him curiously. Jace chuckled and rooted in his pack, then pulled out a length of black material.

  "Uniforms of Ven-Kerrick," Jace explained. "Provided by Rakyn, of course, the sneaky little—"

  "Jace," Verana warned and Jace laughed.

  "Prince," he finished. Jace had only two of the uniforms, which consisted of simple black tunics and matching cloaks, embroidered with the silver gauntlet crest of Ven-Kerrick. He gave one to Brydon and one to Toryn, insisting that his own black uniform would pass cursory scrutiny. They did not argue and donned the outfits before ascending the steps.

  The stairs ended in a door that swung open with a low grating—a sound that was dissipated by the din of running water. Brydon looked around in amazement as they stepped out of the darkness. They seemed to be in one of the two towers of Ven-Kerrick. The doorway was concealed by the stones of a large staircase which curved up and away.

  The sound of water came from a large circular fountain—the only object in the room. Water poured from a haphazard rock sculpture in a continuous loud cascade. It was strange-looking and seemed to be oddly placed, tucked away a lonely corner of the castle.

  They shut the concealed door and Brydon had a burst of intuition. "The fountain is here to cover the noise of the door."

  Toryn was already at one of the two arched doorways that led from the room. The others joined him. The left-hand passage revealed a long corridor that seemed to continue endlessly, lit by oil lamps in cressets every dozen or so feet. The right-hand corridor was better lit—a large doorway led outdoors; it was open and daylight brightened the corridor. Directly opposite the outer door, another open portal led into the castle. From there came the muted sounds of weapons clashing and men shouting.

  Brydon started forward, but Jace pulled him back. "I know where we are," Jace explained quietly. "We are near the barracks. That door leads to the interior practice yard—where the Gauntlet Knights usually spar."

  As if to confirm Jace’s words, faint sounds of clapping emanated from the area beyond. Brydon nodded.

  "If we explain the situation to the Gauntlet Knights," Verana said excitedly, "they will help us!"

  Jace shook his head. "There are no knight-priests here. Reed persuaded the king to send them away long ago. How else could he have managed to murder the royal family with none the wiser? Most likely those are Reed’s men out there."

  Before they could decide on a course of action, a burst of giggling startled them. They all turned as the sound became louder and two girls descended the stairs of the fountain tower, breathlessly reaching the bottom with a rustle of taffeta. They were brightly gowned, bedecked in laces and bows, and their young faces were alight with mischief. They halted when they spied the four interlopers and one clutched the other’s arm fearfully.

  "Oh!" she burst out and her round face blushed prettily under a wild mass of blond curls. "We are lost."

  The second one giggled and clutched her friend more tightly. She was less fluffy than the first, but her hair was just as curly and just as blond.

  Jace stepped forward and smiled at them. "Are you certain you two are not prowling the castle, looking for mischief?"

  The thin one burst into laughter and buried her face in her companion’s shoulder.

  "Hush, Katryna," the plump one hissed, controlling a giggle. Then she looked saucily at Jace. "No, kind sir. We were merely seeking a way back to the Great Hall. Perhaps these handsome young men would be so good as to escort us?"

  The one called Katryna gasped and stared at her friend as if shocked at her boldness. The first tittered, unabashed. She looked at Jace once more. "You are a knight-priest, are you not? Are you with the Gauntlet Knights encamped in the outer ward?"

  Jace did not respond to the odd question, so Brydon asked dumbly, "The Gauntlet Knights are here?"

  The plump girl looked askance at him. "Unless there is another company of knight-priests who dress in black with a fisted gauntlet blazoned on their cloaks," she replied. "My father was displeased that the Gauntlet Knights are not in charge of the ceremony. It is rumored that Prince Reed is planning to disband them when he is king." She turned large blue eyes on Jace. "Is it true?"

  "I do not know, child," Jace responded quietly. "I am a Shield Knight, from Terris."

  "Oh." A look of momentary disappointment crossed her features, and then she brightened. "Well, it has been pleasant conversing with you." She nodded to Jace. "Our fathers will be furious with us if these kind gentlemen do not escort us back to the Great Hall forthwith."

  "Seela," the thin girl gasped, but the other shook her off and sauntered forward with a shimmer of green satin and attached herself to Toryn’s arm.

  "You are going back to the Great Hall to watch the wedding, are you not?" Seela asked Toryn sweetly.

  The blood drained from Brydon’s face. "Wedding?" he choked out, unable to stop himself.

  The girls looked at him oddly. "The wedding of Queen Shevyn to Prince Reed, of course. How can you not know?"

  "He just returned from Penkangum last night," Toryn interjected smoothly. "We did not have a chance to tell him the news."

  Katryna, apparently overcoming her shyness during her moment of solitude, rushed forward and clutched at Brydon’s arm.

  "Is it not romantic?" she gushed, fluttering golden lashes.

  "We would be well pleased to escort such fair ladies," Brydon said into the tense silence, shaking off his daze. He detached himself from the coyly smiling Katryna and handed her off to Toryn.

  "I shall be but a moment, milady, while I converse with the good knight," he explained. She nodded and latched onto Toryn’s free arm. The two girls giggled and murmured into Toryn’s ears, an activity he did not seem to mind in the least, judging by his amused smile. Brydon, Jace, and Verana moved away from the others so their conversation would not be overheard.

  "Wedding!" Brydon spat. "It seems we arrived just in time."

  "He will marry nothing but Shevyn’s lifeless body, if I know her at all," Jace commented dryly.

  "We have to find her quickly."

  "I will try to get word to the Gauntlet Knights," Verana murmured. "None of you would be allowed through the gates without question, so I will go. Surely, they will let out one lone healer to tend to a sick person in the village. With the crowd, will likely avoid close attention."

  Jace nodded. "I will look for Kerryn. I should draw little notice in a castle full of wedding guests, after a minor adjustment." Jace unbuckled his cloak and draped it over his left shoulder before fastening it again with the clasp-chain upon his right shoulder. Thus worn, it left his right arm and hand completely unencumbered, and also covered the shield insignia upon his breastplate.

  He grinned. "Now I am but a simple man-at-arms."

  "Very simple," Verana agreed with a bright flash of a smile. Jace gave her a quelling look and grasped Brydon’s forearm.

  "Go with Adona," Brydon said fervently. Verana laid both her hands upon their clasped arms in silent blessing. Brydon left them and crossed the room to join Toryn and the girls. Jace and Vera
na departed through the left-hand passage.

  Brydon pasted a smile on his face. "They will find their way to the chapel," he said brightly as one of the blond girls left Toryn to fasten her grip upon Brydon’s left arm. "Is your party located in the lower level, or the upper gallery?"

  "I think we are to be seated in the lower level, but our fathers were discussing the dullest things in one of the upper antechambers. Katryna and I were terribly bored and slipped away to watch the soldiers pretend to fight. They are giving an exhibition before the ceremony."

  "Then your fathers are most likely where you left them. We shall go back the way you came," Brydon decided. He turned and drew his companion past the fountain and they ascended the stone steps.

  On the castle’s second level, they made their way past a small gathering of onlookers, most of who leaned on the long stone railing and looked down into the practice arena below. Wagers were called out, betting on this or that combatant. Brydon hoped for the practice sessions to result in many a fatal accident for Reed’s men, the fewer soldiers he would have to deal with later.

  The crowd thickened as they approached the antechamber at the eastern end of the viewing deck. Noblemen and women of all types milled about, renewing acquaintances and exchanging gossip. Brydon and Toryn returned the girls to their fathers with a minimum of fuss—the elders admonished the girls for traipsing off alone, thanked Brydon and Toryn, and sent them away with pointed glances that warned them never to approach their noble daughters again.

  Brydon barely acknowledged the false gratitude before he turned and entered the long corridor with Toryn hurrying after him. They passed the dining hall and wove through the milling crowd. Before the large doors that opened into the upper portion of the Great Hall, a large flight of stairs climbed to the next level. Brydon was glad to note that the steps were not guarded, though plenty of Reed’s guardsmen were visible—alert sentinels scattered throughout the crowd. Brydon took care to keep his face turned from them, in case any of Reed’s men might recognize them from their previous ignominious visit to Ven-Kerrick.

  Brydon dragged Toryn into a small party of nobles as they ascended the stairs. The leader of the group regaled his flock with an elaborate tale of how the marble staircase had been built and how a Kerrick had arranged to have the marble blocks purchased from the 'heathen Parmittans', though that had been before the Great War, of course.

  Halfway up the stairs, Brydon saw Kerryn standing in the crowd below, talking to a tall, hawk-faced man. Kerryn looked despondent and nervous and Brydon longed to signal to him, but there was no time. He would have to trust Jace to find him on his own. When they reached the landing for the third level, and the nobles turned right and made their way to the Grand Balcony, from which vantage one could see below all the way to the first floor entry hall. To the immediate left, a wall paralleled the balcony railing and led to large double-doors, before which stood two competent-looking guardsmen in Reed’s bastardized Ven-Kerrick livery. Brydon spared them the merest glance before he marched down the left-hand corridor.

  "Those are Shevyn’s rooms," Brydon explained to Toryn in a murmur, remembering his endless poring over Rakyn’s maps and floor plans. The presence of the guards confirmed it.

  "The sentries don’t look to be a problem," Toryn suggested.

  "Except that Sheyvn’s doors are in full view of the Grand Balcony. I do not think the crowd will stand idly by while we deal with the guards and abduct the queen."

  They stopped before the next set of doors and Brydon made certain no attention was directed their way before he opened one and took Toryn inside. They entered a sumptuously decorated sitting room. Brydon spared it barely a glance before crossing the room and entering another portal. A second chamber was also quickly crossed. The third chamber contained a large bed, an oak armoire, and the usual bedchamber furnishings.

  Brydon walked directly to the left-hand wall and pulled aside the tapestry. Toryn hurried over to hold it up for him so that some light from the window embrasure fell upon the wall. Brydon probed the stone for a moment with splayed hands until he located a hairline fracture. He pushed hard and a portion of the wall pivoted silently, opening a way into the next room. He grinned at Toryn's surprised look.

  "Rakyn," Brydon explained. "Someday I plan to find out just how he knows so much about this place."

  He stepped through cautiously, with one hand on his sword-hilt, and Toryn followed. They found themselves in an empty bedchamber, elegantly furnished in pale oak and decorated with tapestries of burgundy, rose and peach, woven in delicate patterns of Bodorii design. A large unfinished needlework was mounted on a stand near a comfortable chair. It caught Brydon's attention.

  He paused and reached out to touch the stitching. Red roses bloomed around a white horse. The front portion of the horse was nearly finished—the man astride his back was nothing but a shadowy sketch of charcoal. It reminded him of a young girl's dream, never to be finished. The girl who had been Shevyn was gone now, her childhood taken abruptly by the murder of her family and her experiences thereafter. Brydon’s resolve to put an end to Reed’s evil strengthened. He could not give Shevyn back her innocence, but perhaps he could return her birthright and give her back some semblance of a normal life.

  He looked to the large door against which Toryn’s ear was pressed. Toryn beckoned and Brydon joined him. He had hoped to find Sheyvn in her quarters preparing for the imminent nuptials. The sound of women's voices led him to believe the assumption had been correct. He murmured brief instructions to Toryn, who nodded and stepped aside. Brydon opened the door and strode through, leaving it partially open behind him. Six pairs of eyes swiveled to him, surprised. The seventh pair stared straight into the mirror set before her. The shocked ladies-in-waiting recovered quickly.

  "How did you get into that room?" the eldest demanded—a large woman with a starched dress and greying hair.

  "I have been there the entire time, of course, by order of Prince Reed," Brydon said haughtily, though the name grated upon his ears. "The time grows near. Is she ready?"

  With the question, he turned his attention to Shevyn, who sat in front of a dressing table. Her gaze had not changed from its blank stare into her reflection, not even flickering at the sound of his voice. What had they done to her? She looked a vision, dressed in a silk gown of spun silver adorned with sapphires. Her hair had been carefully coifed and braided with silver beads. A silver crown sat upon her head and flowers of blue and white were tucked artfully around it. A long train of blue silk was fastened around her neck, cloak fashion. She looked a proper queen in every way, except for her dull expression.

  "This is highly irregular," the matron said. "This entire wedding is a sham. Drugging the girl on her wedding day because of nerves? It is proper for a girl to be nervous. Now she can hardly function."

  Drugged? Thank Adona that was it, Brydon thought. He had been afraid that Reed had penetrated Shevyn’s mental wall and destroyed her sanity.

  A younger woman spoke up, her voice rough. A glance in her direction showed tears staining her cheeks. "She does not love Prince Reed," she murmured. "She cannot say the words, but I can tell. She should not marry him."

  One of the other women hissed at her. "Hush! Queens do not marry for love. Her Highness knows her duty. She thinks that Prince Reed can hold the Concurrence together and restore order."

  The mention of Reed’s name caused Brydon to remember himself. "Complaints can be addressed to Prince Reed," he said and managed to keep nearly all the sarcasm from his voice. "Leave now." He pointed at the weeping girl. "All but you. You may help me to escort her."

  The other women glared and grumbled, but obediently trooped out the double doors. Brydon waited with one hand on his sword-hilt in case the guards outside chose to investigate the mass exodus. The doors slammed and Brydon knelt quickly beside Shevyn. He took one of her small, cold hands in his.

  "Shevyn," he said urgently. He touched her cheek until her head turned and he cou
ld look fully into her eyes. "It’s Brydon. I have come to take you out of here."

  At his words, the girl put a hand to her mouth too late to stifle a gasp. She took a tentative step back, but Brydon’s hand flashed out and snatched her wrist.

  "Do not," he warned. "You seem to care for Shevyn. Would you see her married to that devil Reed, or will you help me to get her to safety?"

  "Who are you?" she asked.

  "I am Brydon Redwing, Knight-Priest of the Lance. I am here to see Reed removed and Shevyn restored to her rightful place as queen."

  "A knight-priest!" the girl breathed. "Prince Reed has forbidden them to enter these walls. He claims they stole the gauntlet."

  Brydon gaped at her, though he should not have been surprised. "That bastard is no more a prince than I am. He, himself, stole the gauntlet right after he murdered the royal family."

  "Murdered?" the girl burst out, a trifle too loudly. Brydon shushed her with a quick glance toward the door. She said more softly, "But they were killed by an illness!"

  "Rather a strange illness that killed only the king, queen, and royal princes, was it not?"

  "And two members of the council," she added dully, tears filling her eyes once more. "Oh, it cannot be true."

  "Look at Shevyn," Brydon told her gently. "Does she look like a beaming bride? Or even one resigned to marry out of duty? No, she was drugged because she would never willingly marry Reed. She would rather see him dead than have him gain legitimate control of Ven-Kerrick."

  Shevyn’s stare was far away, but she seemed to focus for a brief instant. Her hand slowly rose to touch Brydon’s cheek as softly as a feather. She smiled sadly, as if he were but a dream induced by the potion she had been forced to ingest. Then her hand fell away and her gaze returned to contemplation of a point just off Brydon’s left shoulder. He caught her hand as it fell and pressed an urgent kiss into her palm. The girl stared at him.

  "You love her."

  The softly spoken words jolted Brydon, but he shook off their import.

  "We must hurry," he said, pulling Shevyn gently to her feet. "No doubt Reed will send someone to fetch her soon."

  They took her through the secret door and into the next room. It was not until then that Brydon discovered Toryn’s absence.

  "Damn him!" he swore through the icy feeling clenched about his heart. The girl looked at him in alarm. "My friend," Brydon explained, "has gone after Reed."