Irons in the Fire (Chronicles of the Lescari Revolution)

by Juliet E. McKenna

  "Don't touch him!" Welgren stretched out a hand to hold Branca back.

  She dodged around him to help Derenna. Acrid vapours caught at her eyes and throat, rising from the floor where the liquid had landed.

  Moving away from the door, she gave Karn his chance. He snatched at the door handle, wrenching it open. Branca saw raw redness spreading across his bare skin as he ran into the yard. She tried to shout but the fumes from whatever Welgren had thrown were scouring her throat. All she could do was cough. Helpless tears streaming from her eyes, she saw Karn knock down a groom with a single punch and scramble into the saddle of the horse he'd been holding.

  "Stop him!"

  Stronger voices took up her feeble cry but the men by the gate were taken unawares. The sound of Karn's steed was lost amid confused questions before another groom thought to find a horse and give chase.

  Welgren managed to stop coughing. "Let's get her out of here."

  Lady Derenna was already stirring as he slipped his arms under her, raising her from the dirty floor. Branca went to help support her. "What was that?"

  Welgren wiped his watering eyes on his shoulder. "Vitriol solution."

  Outside, the mounting block was conveniently close. Between them they half-led, half-carried Lady Derenna to sit on it.

  "What do we say to my lord?" An agitated woman caught at Branca's sleeve.

  "I don't know," she snapped.

  The woman backed away, affronted.

  "Just sit still." Ignoring the discolouration spreading across his own hands, Welgren carefully felt along the vicious bruise running from the corner of Lady Derenna's eye into her hair. "Branca, who was that?"

  "Ow." Lady Derenna winced.

  Branca looked around but no one was paying much attention to them amid the uproar. "A Triolle spy. His name is Karn. He's supposed to be dead."

  "How did you know he was here?" Welgren parted Lady Derenna's hair with gentle fingers.

  "We didn't." Branca stifled another cough. It was just too painful. "We only came to warn you to be on your guard."

  "How did you recognise him?" Lady Derenna glared at Branca, her eye swelling.

  She saw Lord Narese hurrying into the yard. "Later."

  "My lady." He came over to clutch Lady Derenna's hand, aghast. "Who did this?"

  The men and women of the household gathered round, all loudly insisting that the attacker had been a stranger.

  "Enough!" Lord Narese's rebuke silenced the clamour.

  Welgren spoke first. "Her ladyship needs to lie down quietly in her room."

  Lord Narese clapped his hands. "Bring a hurdle!"

  "I can walk," Lady Derenna insisted.

  Branca dutifully offered her arm.

  Lord Narese nodded unhappily. "Very well."

  Everyone obediently backed away. Branca had to admit that this Lescari habit of servility had its uses. In Vanam, a double handful of people would still be offering advice and taking offence when they were ignored while a crowd of onlookers ten deep would all be noisily revelling in the excitement.

  It seemed to take three times as long to get back to Lady Derenna's bedchamber as it had to walk down to the stable yard. The noblewoman was leaning ever more heavily on Branca as they negotiated the final flight of stairs.

  "My lord." Opening the bedchamber door, Welgren balanced due deference with the authority of his profession. "May we have some warm water and a clean cloth to bathe her ladyship's injury?"

  "Of course." Lord Narese hesitated.

  "Go and see if your men have caught the scoundrel," Lady Derenna hissed.

  "Indeed." Spurred to action, he hurried away.

  "Lie down."

  Lady Derenna did as Welgren commanded, a faint groan escaping her.

  "How badly did he injure your hands?" Branca went to draw the curtains.

  "He may have cracked a bone or two but it's not as bad as I made out." Welgren turned his attention to Lady Derenna. "As for you, my lady, I don't believe your skull is cracked, though your head will feel as if he split it like a ripe melon for a day or so."

  "What about his wounds?" she asked, her eyes tight shut.

  "The vitriol solution will leave him sore." Welgren flexed his bruised hands with a grimace. "But I'm amazed he can walk with that gash festering in his back, never mind steal a horse."

  "You said he's supposed to be dead." Lady Derenna squinted at Branca. "What did you mean, and how did you recognise him?"

  "Charoleia said he had been snooping around her affairs in Vanam," Branca said flatly. "Later she found out he'd sent spies hunting mercenaries for Master Hamare of Triolle but by then, she had word he'd been killed."

  Welgren nodded. "Anyone leaving him with that wound would think so."

  "You saw him in Vanam, I take it?" A tear escaped Lady Derenna's swollen eyelid.

  Branca nodded rather than lie outright. She had seen Karn's face when she was brushing as lightly as she could against Charoleia's thoughts. The beautiful woman's willingness to encompass the man's death had unnerved her more than she had dared show. Trusting in the honesty of Aremil's motives was one thing. Trusting all of their fates to Charoleia was something else. At least she hadn't learned anything too dreadful, not so far anyway.

  "I think he's been on our trail for a while," Welgren said unhappily. "Last market day, one of Lady Shaptre's grooms asked if I'd tend a man who'd been injured by a pitchfork during haymaking. That's who this man Karn claimed to be."

  "We can just thank Halcarion I happened to see him." Branca wondered if the goddess was favouring them with good luck or bad. "What did he ask you? What did you tell him?"

  "Nothing." Welgren shook his head. "I'd only got as far as cleaning that wound and listening to his heart and lungs with my sounding rod. Neither sounded overly healthy and that infection will probably be the death of him anyway."

  "Let's hope so." Lady Derenna shifted her head on her pillow, her eyes still closed. "But we must leave, before he can tell anyone we've been here."

  "Unless Lord Narese's men catch him." Welgren looked at Branca.

  "I don't think we can count on that," she said reluctantly.

  Welgren bent to look at the lurid bruise spreading across Lady Derenna's face. "I'll make a poultice for that, and find something to ease your headache."

  "Tend your hands," she said faintly. "We need to ride on today. Branca, tell Aremil what's happened."

  Welgren ushered Branca out of the room and shut the door gently. "Stay with her until I come back. She shouldn't try riding today."

  "Then we'll have to ask Lord Narese to lend us a carriage. She's right, we can't stay here." Branca looked down to see her hands were shaking. "Can you do that? Then when you get back, I must warn Aremil that this man Karn is still alive."

  "I imagine his lordship will try to talk her out of leaving." Welgren managed a wry smile. "Not that he'll succeed."

  Branca watched him go along the corridor. Her hands were still shaking. How long would it be before she was calm enough to reach through the aether to Aremil?

  It was all very well using Artifice to knot the different threads of their plotting together. But warfare was coming, any day now. Aremil had said so. She hadn't thought about it before now, but her only weapon was Artifice. After the horrid shock of the day's events, she had better give some serious thought to using it for protection and, if need be, attack.

  Derenna could have been killed. They all could have died. Karn's merciless threat echoed in her memory. He would have driven that rod through her eye and into her brain without a moment's hesitation.

  She looked down and saw that her fists were clenched. Once she'd warned Aremil, she decided, she'd see what Kerith could tell her of the harsher, more aggressive enchantments that fascinated him so. What might Jettin know that she could use to defend herself and those travelling with her?

  What could Master Tonin tell her of those more aggressive enchantments that the ancient races had linked to the merciless nort
h wind? She'd have to think carefully how best to phrase such a request if she was to win his help rather than his censure. Or perhaps those Mountain Men could tell her something useful. Their tales of the mysterious sheltya working up in the remote mountain valleys might serve to illuminate some of the puzzles that still teased Vanam's scholars. She should ask Tathrin to speak to them on her behalf.

  She spread her fingers and saw that her hands were still. As soon as Welgren returned, she'd shut herself away in Lord Narese's curio room and work her Artifice.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Failla

  The Three Pigeons Inn, in the Lescari Dukedom of Carluse,

  38th of For-Autumn

  "What brings you back this way?" The innkeeper set the platter of roast pork and turnips down. "You were heading west, weren't you?"

  "You remember us?" Nath poured ale into his tankard.

  "I never forget a pretty face." Red-faced and rotund in his long apron, the man winked at Failla, more paternal than hopeful.

  She managed a dimpled smile and sipped her drink.

  "We come and go where the work is." Nath shook his head ruefully.

  "If that's what learning gets you, you can keep it," the innkeeper joked. "I'll take ignorance and being my own master. Well, enjoy your dinner."

  As he walked away, Nath speared two slices of the succulent pork with his belt knife and transferred them to his plate. "We shouldn't have stopped here again. Pass the bread, please."

  "We'll be leaving in the morning." As she handed the bread basket over, Failla felt the letter hidden in her bodice crackle. How could he not hear it?

  Kerith dropped into the third wooden chair around their small table and helped himself to meat and vegetables. "Aremil tells me curious folk have been getting far too close to our friends travelling to the north." He looked covertly around the taproom.

  Failla tore a piece of bread into fragments. "Who's curious?" she managed to ask.

  "Those same folk from the south that we were warned about," Kerith said quietly. "Thankfully, there's no hint that anyone hereabouts suspects us."

  Failla tried to look relieved.

  Kerith hooked a slice of meat with the tip of his knife and dropped it onto her crumb-strewn plate. "You don't eat enough to keep a bird alive. Have some of this."

  "Thank you." If she tried to eat it, she knew she would choke. Would these two men see that as a sign from Ostrin that she hid some guilty secret? Had that superstition travelled to Vanam and to Tormalin along with those who'd fled Lescar?

  "If news does travel south, there's scant time left for those who might hear it to act." Nath looked to the scholar for reassurance.

  Kerith shrugged as he chewed. "That depends who he tells. Rouse the boar or the stag even this late in the day and our friends could find their hunt cut short."

  Why did Kerith insist on referring to Duke Garnot and Duke Moncan by the heraldic beasts on Carluse and Sharlac's blazons? There was no one close enough to hear them anyway.

  Irritated, Failla pushed her chair back from the table. "I had better write a letter to warn my uncle." Courteous habit threatened to bring both men to their feet. "No, don't get up. People will look. Finish your meal. I have a headache. I'm going to bed. Don't wake me when you come up, I beg of you," she added hastily.

  If they thought she was unwell, it was all too likely one of them would look in on her with inconvenient solicitude. As she pressed her hand to her breast, she felt the hateful pressure of the folded paper. Could she go up to her room and burn it? No. She was probably already late and the sooner she went, the sooner she'd be back. Hopefully before Nath or Kerith finished eating.

  At least she didn't have far to go. Ignoring the stairs in the inn's rear hallway, she slipped out of the back door as if she sought the privies in the yard. She kept going, past the silent pigsties. The lingering scent of blood from an outhouse where the freshly killed meat hung curdled her empty stomach and she was glad she hadn't eaten.

  Obedient to some long dead duke's command, the tavern claimed the largest of the plots marked out along this side of the high road while the others had been granted to craftsmen. At the front, their workshops opened to passers-by, their dwellings, vegetable gardens and chicken runs all tucked behind. A narrow alley ran between the stout stone walls marking their boundaries and the ramshackle fences defending humbler cottagers' patches from foraging animals or hungry vagabonds.

  Failla hid in the shadow of a sprawling elder bush for a few moments to be certain she wasn't followed. Satisfied, she stepped over a foetid ditch and hurried into the darkness. At least the dusk quickly gave way to night's concealment now that the Autumn Equinox was so close at hand.

  The alley took her to a wider road leading down from the highway to the heart of the little town. There were a few people here and there. Failla kept to the side of the marketplace rather than cutting more swiftly across. With luck anyone seeing her would think she was just slipping from one house to the next. She wasn't wearing a cloak, after all.

  She wished she'd fetched a shawl from her room, though. The skies were clear and the night was growing cold. She looked up to see both moons at their waning quarter, the stars of Halcarion's Crown bright between them.

  Inside a handful of days, both moons would be gone and the sun would set on the darkest night in this whole latter half of the year. No one had told her, but that must be when Captain-General Evord would lead his army down from the hills, taking advantage of the dim nights to follow. How else could they hope to reach Sharlac's borders undiscovered?

  On the far side of the marketplace, the road led away beyond the houses towards a little bridge humped over the modest river. A fire-basket burned on the end of the stone balustrade to guide late travellers to the crossing. Failla couldn't see anyone tending it but someone must keep it fuelled.

  Her steps slowed to a halt. Perhaps she should have left a note for Nath or Kerith. But how could she have warned them without betraying herself? If she was discovered, she would have to face the consequences. Regardless, she had better do what she must as quickly as possible.

  She began walking. If she was caught, she could only hope Nath and Kerith had the sense to run as far and as fast they could. With luck they could lose themselves in the uproar once Evord's army overwhelmed Sharlac. Surely there was nothing Duke Garnot or Duke Moncan could do this late in the day? Not even if Duke Iruvain's intelligencer sent some courier bird winging back northwards once he got word from his spies.

  As she passed the smouldering fire-basket and reached the crest of the bridge, she saw another brazier burning bright on the far side. The shrine to Trimon stood dark and silent beyond it. The door was on the far side, facing the open road. As she reached it, the shadows closed around her.

  Between her breasts Failla felt the hilt of the dagger that she'd slid into the front of her stays in place of the wooden busk that normally stiffened the heavy cotton. Drawing it out, she hid the weapon amid the folds of her skirt as she pushed the shrine's door open. Whatever Duke Iruvain of Triolle learned of Evord's army, his intelligence master wouldn't be hearing from this spy again.

  "Pelletria?"

  The vile old woman liked to wait in the dark. Failla tensed, waiting for the rasp of flint and steel, narrowing her eyes against the expectation of a freshly lit candle.

  Neither came. She took a step into the darkness. "Pelletria?"

  She'd kill the old woman and drag her body into the woods. It would doubtless be found inside the next day or so but it would take a while longer for word to spread. Whatever letters Pelletria had written betraying Failla couldn't reach Triolle before a handful of days had passed.

  Long enough for her to give Nath and Kerith the slip. Then she would ride to Lathi's farm and claim her daughter. As long as she could reach Uncle Ernout and secure her gold before the fighting reached Carluse, they could both be lost for good in the confusion of this new war.

  But where was Pelletria?

&nb
sp; She heard a footfall outside. Darting to the far side of the door, Failla pressed herself against the wooden wall. A shadow crossed the faint moonlight falling where the door stood open. She heard the chink of metal on metal. A lantern's glow slipping between the hinges drew a golden line down her gown. The old woman was late. Failla clutched her dagger, ready to strike.

  Whoever was outside shoved the door hard, knocking her off her feet. She fell against the stone plinth in the centre of the dark shrine. Shocked into a cry of pain as the unyielding edge bruised her ribs, she lost hold of her dagger.

  "Failla?" Nath stood in the doorway, lantern held high. "Are you alone?"

  He walked quickly around the shrine, shedding light into every nook. The lantern struck a gleam from the glazed and painted pottery of the funeral urns. There was no one else there. The statue of the god stood alone on his plinth.

  On the dusty floor at Trimon's feet, Failla drew up her knees and buried her face in her skirts.

  "There's no sign of anyone else." Kerith appeared at the door.

  "What are you doing here?" As Nath moved his light, the dagger blade glinted. "With a knife that you stole from me?" His voice rose angrily as he bent to retrieve it.

  "I need to warn my uncle." Failla tried for a tremulous smile, thinking with desperate haste. "You know I send him letters through the shrines."

  "You usually ask one of us to escort you." Kerith's face was rigid.

  "Since when do you leave letters that could be the death of your uncle for anyone to find?" Tucking the naked dagger through his belt, Nath reached towards the statue.

  Failla was horrified to see him pluck a folded sheet of paper from the carved wooden strings of Trimon's harp.

  "What's that?"

  Kerith was blocking the door. If she did get past him, where would she run?

  The paper wasn't even sealed. Nath lifted his lantern to read the brief message aloud.

  "F, you've lied to me. I told you what would happen if you did. P."