by Sara Bell
Gareth propped himself on one arm, concern chasing away the last fringes of sleep. “Did I use you overmuch last night?"
Alric was quick to shake his head. “You did nothing to me I wasn't sincerely longing for.” He reached out his hand, his fingers ghosting over the coarse hair of Gareth's beard. “You need a shave."
"You mean you don't like it?” Gareth pretended offense. “And here I grew it just for you."
"Liar.” Alric ran one finger over the bridge of Gareth's nose with a cheeky grin. “You grew it because you were too busy pursuing our enemies to spend time on such a trivial thing as removing your beard.” He sobered. “The night is over, Gareth. We must talk of this thing."
Gareth sighed, knowing Alric was right but wanting desperately to avoid the truth. Finally, he said, “Denmar escaped."
Alric didn't seem surprised. “The man is more cunning than you credited him with. I told you he'd not be easily captured."
"I know, but damned if I wasn't hoping to murder the monster with my bare hands.” Gareth sat up, allowing the covers to pool in his lap. “We plundered his stores and laid waste to his lands, but the varlet himself was nowhere in sight."
"And what of our own men?"
"We lost few of our troops and had no reason to rely on our reserves. Indeed, none of Denmar's allies came to his rescue."
"Not even Winthrop?"
"Therein lies the surprising part,” Gareth said. “Not only did Winthrop offer Denmar no aid, but the man himself intercepted us on our way back to Drystan. Winthrop begged a private audience with me."
Alric's eyes went wide. “You must be jesting."
Gareth shook his head. “It seems The King of Stiles paid Winthrop a visit and explained that Denmar had robbed them both of their children. I hate Winthrop for what he tried to do to you.” He took Alric's hand in his. “I truly do, but after listening to him, I actually felt sorry for the man."
"There's no sin in compassion. Winthrop's lost as much as we have.” Alric released a slow breath. “At least the weight of Adela's death has been lifted from my shoulders."
"About that...” Gareth locked eyes with Alric. “Bertrand's dead. As I understood it, Winthrop killed him the moment he realized Bertrand had murdered Adela."
Gareth was afraid at first that Alric would feel guilty for sending Bertrand to his death, even after everything Bertrand had done. To his relief, he saw nothing in Alric's eyes but quiet acceptance.
After digesting the news, Alric said, “Was that all Winthrop wanted?"
"No. It seems over half the High Council is working with Denmar on a plot to overthrow King Elwin."
"So it really is Elwin's seat that Denmar seeks.” Alric whistled. “Next we know, Denmar will be hatching a plot to take over not just Orielle but the entire known world."
"Not if I can help it. Winthrop claims he has proof of Denmar's intent. Winthrop's on his way to Banning to speak with the High King, or so he says."
"You don't believe him?"
"Don't trust him is more like it, but with no proof all we can do is wait this thing out. If Winthrop doesn't honor his promises, word will get back to us and we'll decide what's to be done about it. Until then, there's no sense borrowing trouble."
"Aren't you the wise one.” Alric brought Gareth's hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. “You're always thinking ahead."
Gareth's stomach gave a low grumble. “Right now I confess my only thought is breakfast.” He leered at Alric and then winked. “Well, perhaps ‘tis not my only thought."
"As I'm hungry, too, I'm afraid your other thoughts will have to wait.” Alric let go of Gareth's hand before rising to his feet. “Want me to wait while you dress and then scrape that fur from your cheeks?"
"Go on ahead. I'll meet you downstairs in a moment."
Alric leaned down to press a soft kiss to Gareth's lips and then left Gareth to his morning ablutions.
Unwilling to be away from Alric a moment longer than he had to, Gareth made quick work of it, shaving and dressing in record time. Leaving the bedchamber behind, Gareth headed downstairs.
Jeoffry was waiting for him on the second-story landing. “There you are. I thought you intended to laze about the bed all day."
"I might have, had I not been so damned hungry.” Gareth made a face. “Eating little more than stale bread and dried venison for nigh on seven months whets a man's appetite."
"At least you saw some of the fight.” Jeoffry made a face. “Drystan's been quiet as a tomb since we arrived."
"You say that as if it's a bad thing.” Gareth studied Jeoffry with care. “What's bothering you, old man?"
"Denmar is a worthless scourge, but he's a warrior first and foremost. As a strategist, he's nothing short of brilliant.” Jeoffry crossed his arms. “Were I in his place, I would have mounted a surprise attack on Drystan and taken King Alric ere the bulk of your forces returned."
"All that I've seen indicates Denmar isn't strong enough to take Drystan on, especially since we've depleted his forces.” Gareth said it with no small amount of satisfaction. “Perhaps we have him running scared."
Jeoffry snorted. “If you believe that, I've a one-legged carthorse I'd like to sell you.” His eyes flashed in the light spilling from the landing's only window. “Denmar is plotting something. You can mark my words on that."
Gareth believed him, but until they found Denmar their hands were tied. “Come down to the hall and break your fast with me. A good meal will go a long way toward quelling your fears."
Jeoffry shook his head. “I want to brief the men who accompanied you and King Tristam to Denmar's holding. Perhaps I can glean some idea of what Denmar is planning from the details they give me."
"On that, I wish you luck.” Gareth clapped Jeoffry on the back and continued down the stairs toward the hall.
The enticing smell of roast pork wafted through the arched door as Gareth entered the private hall reserved for family and honored quests. Unlike the massive main hall used for feasts and gatherings, this room was smaller and more intimate, with richly woven tapestries and family portraits lining the walls. A square oak table surrounded by low, polished benches sat in front of the stone hearth.
It was there Gareth found Alric, waiting for him.
"I thought I told you to go ahead and start without me."
Alric shook his head over his untouched plate. “What fun is to be had in eating alone?” He waited until Gareth was seated across from him and had been served with a steaming trencher of his own. Alric then broke a chunk from a thick loaf of brown bread and took a healthy bite.
Gareth delved into his own meal, enjoying the combined tastes of tender pork and boiled eggs. He and Alric ate in companionable silence, and it wasn't until Gareth pushed his near-empty trencher away that he again spoke.
"Saints but I'm full."
"'Tis no wonder considering all you ate.” Alric pushed his own half-full trencher aside. “You must have been starving."
"I was. More so from my reunion with you than anything else.” Gareth waggled his brows. “Care to rekindle my hunger?"
"Not while I'm still recovering from our previous escapades.” Alric swung his legs over the bench and stretched. “I half expected Tristam and Maris to join us this morn."
Gareth snorted. “I didn't. Between reacquainting himself with his wife and getting to know his new daughter, Tristam is going to be well occupied for the next few days."
"I'm sure you're right.” Alric rose and then walked over to the hearth. He gestured to the portrait above the mantel. “Tristam's father, I take it?"
Gareth nodded. “I never met him, but by all accounts he was a just and fair king. Tristam has always said his father would have welcomed me as Kiel's mate."
"Speaking of Kiel...” Alric pointed to the portrait to the right of the fireplace. “Is that him?"
"Yes. ‘Twas painted just after we returned from our wedding trip.” Gareth smiled, remembering. “One of the artisans at Lachl
an painted it for me."
"Lachlan?” Alric turned to face him. “How did it end up here?"
"After Kiel died, I went through a period where I couldn't stand to be reminded of him. ‘Twas simply too painful.” Gareth stood and stretched much as Alric had done a moment ago. “I had the portrait sent here so it wouldn't be a constant reminder of my grief."
"And now?"
"Now I see it only as a fitting tribute to a good and loving man.” He came to stand in front of Alric. “There is no pain when I look upon the portrait, not anymore. I'll always carry with me memories of the past, but ‘tis with a hopeful heart I look to the future."
"I'm glad to hear that.” Alric reached for his hand and was about to say something else when a horn sounded and shouts rang from outside.
Before Gareth could investigate the source of the commotion, Jeoffry came bounding down the stairs, his face flushed.
"Riders are coming.” Jeoffry missed the last step in his haste and hit the landing with a jarring thud. He wasted no time in righting himself, coming to stand before Gareth and Alric. His body vibrated with tension.
"These riders ... How many are there?"
"I estimate fifteen, but their number is not what gives me cause for concern.” Jeoffry took in a deep wealth of air. “The outrider waves the Standard of the Gryphon."
"King Elwin's personal seal?” Gareth exchanged an uneasy glance with Alric. “Could it be a summons, then?"
"There's only one way to find out.” Alric cast his eyes on Jeoffry. “Instruct the servants to rouse Tristam and prepare the household for guests. Tristam, Gareth, and I will meet our visitors at the gates and make them welcome."
Jeoffry bowed low before leaving to do as ordered. In little time, Tristam joined them downstairs and then the three of them were on their way to the stables with Jeoffry following behind. There the four of them saddled their mounts and then rode for the gates.
Tristam reined his stallion into the lead with Gareth and Alric flanking him on either side. “I don't like this. Elwin wouldn't have sent his personal standard were something not amiss."
"Perhaps he wants only to send word of the evidence against Denmar.” But even as he said it, Alric's voice was filled with doubt.
For his own part, Gareth remained silent, unwilling to speculate. He said not a word until they were at the castle wall, and then he said nothing more than, “Open the gates,” to the watch commander.
The iron gates swung inward as the riders from Orielle approached. The standard bearer urged his horse to the side, allowing what appeared to be the chief messenger to take the lead. The man, a seasoned soldier from the look of his weathered face, quit his horse before bowing low to the ground.
"Greetings, most exalted Majesties. I am Herzl, chief scribe and messenger to the Highest of Kings, King Elwin.” At Tristam's signal, Herzl straightened. “'Tis he who bade me issue this summons to King Gareth of Kray."
"A summons.” Gareth didn't like the sound of that, and judging by the look on Alric's face, neither did he. “A summons in regard to what?"
Herzl took two steps closer. “Perhaps this will answer Your Majesty's question.” From the folds of his garment, Herzl brought forth a sealed velum scroll and passed it up to Gareth with bony fingers.
Gareth broke the seal and unrolled the document. He cursed when he realized just what he was reading.
"What does it say?” The question came from Tristam, who was in the process of sidling his horse closer so he could read over Gareth's shoulder.
Gareth handed Tristam the parchment to read before turning his attentions on Alric. “I'm to report to Banning three months hence."
Alric swallowed. “For what reason?"
"To answer charges of treason and attempted murder, and to bear witness to a petition on Denmar's behalf for a reinstatement of his marriage to you.” Gareth leaned over Merrick's back and spat on the ground. “It seems Denmar isn't done with us yet."
Chapter Fifteen
Under normal circumstances, the journey to Banning would have been a pleasant one. Unlike the overgrown paths and steep trails leading from Drystan to Kray, the road to Banning was well traveled. Though it was a full five weeks journey, a host of villages dotted the path, meaning they could pass the occasional night in an inn and eat hearty tavern fare rather than living off whatever wild game the soldiers caught. Indeed, with the summer heat having given way to an early autumn breeze, Gareth would have counted it a blessing to spend five weeks traveling with Alric were it not for the specter hanging above their heads.
On the evening of the eighth day, the entire company—including the five hundred soldiers they'd brought for protection's sake—stopped in a grassy field through which ran a bubbling, clear water creek. As Wycaster and the men he commanded went about the work of making camp and watering the horses, Gareth handed Merrick off to one of the young squires and sought Alric out.
Gareth found him on the far side of the stream in a heated argument with Tristam. Gareth stayed safely behind the tree line, out of sight but close enough to hear what they were saying.
"I'm telling you, it's the only way."
"And I'm telling you, you're a fool if you even think to do this thing.” Tristam's face was red with anger and frustration. “Do you honestly believe Gareth will allow you to hand yourself over to Denmar like some human sacrifice?"
"I'll argue this no longer. My mind is made up, and there's nothing you can do to stop me.” Alric turned his back on Tristam and then stalked away.
"So he means to let Denmar have his way, does he?” Gareth stepped out from his hiding place, scaring Tristam near to death.
"Would you please make a noise next time so I'll know what you're about?” Tristam lay one hand over his heart. “Saints, but you gave me a fright."
"Not half as frightening as the notion of Alric throwing himself into Denmar's hands."
"You don't sound surprised.” Tristam watched Gareth closely. “You've been expecting this.” It wasn't a question.
"Since the moment I received the summons.” He managed a thin smile. “Seems my husband believes he has to save me from myself."
"This is serious, Gareth. Alric is suggesting suicide."
"Relax, Tristam.” Gareth clapped him on the back. “All will be well."
"You say that as if you've a plan."
Gareth shook his head. “'Tis not a plan, exactly, but I believe that what I have to say will change Alric's mind."
Tristam eyed him with open skepticism. “What could you possibly tell Alric that he doesn't already know?"
"The truth, Tristam.” Again, Gareth smiled, this time with more sincerity. “Nothing more than the bald truth."
* * * *
Alric sat just outside the forest bordering their camp. He was perched on a downed log, counting the stars. It was well after midnight, and he'd managed to avoid Gareth for most of the evening. The sight of Gareth—the beloved face he would soon have to forsake for all time—was a pain Alric could scarcely endure.
"Contemplating your escape?” Gareth sat down beside him.
"I didn't hear you come up.” It was a trifling thing to say, but better than focusing on the matter at hand.
"Of course not. You were too busy making plans to hand yourself over to Denmar."
Alric turned, his swiftness causing the old log to groan beneath them. “You were spying on my conversation with Tristam."
"Yes.” Gareth saw no reason to deny it. “Not that I needed to, mind you. I figured you'd try to play the hero sooner or later."
"I'm no one's hero.” Alric stood, wiping his palms against the sides of his hose. “Were it not for me, none of this would be happening."
"You take too much upon yourself, Alric. Denmar was my enemy long ere I laid eyes on you."
"Yes, but it's me he wants. The only reason he's accusing you of these crimes is so he can force my hand."
"I see.” Gareth folded his arms. “So instead of standing up to the varle
t, you're going to give him what he wants?"
"At least you'd be safe then."
"Says who?” Gareth rose from the log. “Denmar wants you for a weapon, Alric. If he gains control of your powers, no one in the Over Kingdom will be safe."
"I won't let that happen.” Alric looked away. “I'll die first."
"Either way, you're proposing suicide.” Gareth closed the distance between them and pulled Alric back around so the two of them were again facing. “I've a better plan."
"Oh?"
Gareth nodded, a gesture easily seen in the bright light of the full moon. “Do you trust me?"
"Trust has nothing—"
"Answer the question. Do you trust me?"
"You know that I do."
"Good.” Gareth stepped back before loosening the dagger at his belt. Palming it, he said, “Did I ever tell you that I'm descended from the Warriors of Iskador?"
"The mountain people?” Alric was surprised, and not just by the turn the conversation had taken. “I thought the Warriors of Iskador were nothing more than myth."
"Not according to my mother.” Alric could just see Gareth's smile. “She regaled me with stories of them, of the brave men who blended into the mountainside like shadows. ‘They were fierce fighters and loyal lovers,’ she would tell me. Mother even went so far as to say a man of Iskador's brood had seduced one of our maiden ancestors. ‘Gareth,’ she said, ‘the blood of Iskador runs thick in your veins. You can do anything—have anything—your heart so desires, and the likes of mortal man ne'er can stop you.'” Gareth's eyes were intense on Alric's, even in the darkness. “You're everything I desire, Alric, and no one—not even Lucien of Denmar—is going to take you away from me."
"Those were nothing more than fairy stories, Gareth.” Alric took a deep breath, his chest aching with the weight of it all. “Denmar's threat is real, and unless I give him what he wants, he won't stop until he kills you."
"Without you, I may as well be dead already. If you go to him, I'll have nothing left."
"That's not true. You'll have Tristam, Mar—"
"Nothing.” Gareth captured Alric's chin in the palm of his free hand. “You once told me you loved me. Did you mean it?"
