‘My liege.’ A page approached and kneeled before Tarn, holding out a goblet filled to the brim with wine from a Kabran vineyard in the far south. It was one of the best vintages in the extensive cellars laid down by Tarn’s grandfather, Erlich. There were few bottles left as the cellars had been all but depleted by the greedy officials Sarin had sent there to ensure King Brion always did as he was told.
The scavengers were gone now, but what they couldn’t take with them they had made every attempt to destroy. Few had tried to stop them, as a large number of the Kabran nobility had sided with Percheron; they had betrayed their own people in order to retain their wealth and power. Tarn loathed these men, and had banished them all from his court as soon as Brion had died. He wanted no traitors or toadying sycophants to serve him. He would govern alone if he had to until he had gathered around him those advisors he knew he could trust.
Morosely he drained the goblet of wine, then glanced down at the finely wrought silver goblet. It was one of the few royal treasures that had survived. Most had been looted by Sarin’s retreating forces. The rest he had broken up and used to pay the army that had helped him to free Kabra. However, that was the least of his concerns. Rianna should have arrived in Ruberoc days ago. He had sent out troops to seek her out, but so far they had found no sign of Rianna, or Leon and his men.
He was just about to send for the page and drown his sorrows in more wine, when a man-at-arms rushed into the large chamber. ‘My liege,’ he said agitatedly, as he hurried towards the throne.
‘Yes?’ Tarn prayed that it was news of Rianna.
‘A merchant has arrived in the city,’ the soldier said breathlessly, coming to a halt and bowing in one awkward movement. ‘He has come straight to the palace to tell you that he has in his care a wounded man, a member of Captain Leon’s troop. He found the soldier in the woods only ten leagues from the castle of Dane.’
Tarn’s heart missed a beat. ‘Bring the merchant to me, now.’
He waited impatiently until the merchant – a portly well-dressed man – was escorted into the great hall. He hurried forwards and was well out of breath by the time he reached Tarn.
‘Your Majesty, this is an honour,’ the man gabbled, bowing low and totally forgetting that he had been instructed to wait and let the king speak first.
‘You have news for me?’ Tarn tried to hide his concern. ‘You found one of my men?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty. He was gravely hurt, and near death,’ the merchant explained, clasping his hands over his portly stomach. ‘It was only my wife’s skill in the art of healing that saved the man,’ he added proudly. ‘He’d been lying in the woods for nigh on two days.’
Tarn drummed his fingers on the gilded arm of his throne. ‘How came he to be wounded, was he able to tell you?’
‘The soldier, Narian, was a member of Captain Leon’s troop. They were assigned to protect the Lady Riann –’
‘I know that,’ Tarn interrupted harshly. ‘Tell me what happened to him!’
‘Narian tells me that Captain Leon decided to join forces with an acquaintance of his, Baroness Crissana. She was also making her way to Ruberoc, and as she had a large number of men at her disposal, Captain Leon thought it safer for them to travel together.’
‘I have never heard of this baroness,’ Tarn commented thoughtfully.
‘She is a noble lady of untold wealth, who has an army of mercenaries in her employ.’ The man awkwardly cleared his throat. ‘Narian and his compatriots had no reason to doubt the baroness’s men. They made camp on the first night, and Narian and a fellow soldier went into the woods to . . . er . . . relieve themselves.’ He spoke in an embarrassed voice as if one should not mention such matters in front of a king. ‘The mercenaries watched them leave, then a few of them followed Narian and his friend. They were set upon in a clearing; the mercenaries were clearly intent on slaughtering them both. Badly wounded, the two soldiers were left for dead. Narian managed to drag himself into the shelter of some bushes, but by then his friend had died. Next morning, after they had all departed, he tried to drag himself back to the castle of Dane, but he was unable to make it. The gods must have guided me to him. I found him where he had fallen almost two days later.’
‘And the baroness? Which direction did she and her men take?’ Tarn asked. His mind was racing.
‘The northern trail to Ruberoc, I believe.’ The man faltered. ‘But I have been told that your betrothed, Lady Rianna, has not arrived here. Even if they took another route they should be there by now.’
‘Indeed they should,’ Tarn interrupted impatiently as he rose to his feet. He had no idea who this baroness was, but he was convinced now that Rianna was far from safe.
Totally ignoring the merchant who stood there, most probably expecting a reward, Tarn strode from the great hall. He would question Narian himself, then he would gather his troops and set off in pursuit.
‘You have your orders,’ Leon said gravely as he addressed Gavid. Once his compatriot had departed there would be no one left he could rely on, except Niska, of course.
Gavid nodded. ‘I’d as soon not leave alone,’ he admitted. ‘Once again I beg you and Lady Rianna to come with me.’
‘That is impossible,’ Leon said, shaking his head. ‘I assure you, Gavid, as long as we both stay close to the baroness we will be quite safe. She will ensure no harm comes to either of us.’ He was officially residing in Niska’s tent now. While the few men he had left appeared all to happy too throw their lot in with the mercenaries. Leon still felt very uneasy about the promise he had made to Niska to go to Vestfold with her, but he had no choice, he didn’t want to lose her. She was certain that her brother Ragnor would be able to persuade the other warlords of Vestfold to negotiate a peace treaty with Kabra, and no longer allow bandits safe refuge in his land. She would be able to return to Ruberoc in triumph and Tarn would then be happy to welcome her to his court.
The plan was sound enough, but Leon was concerned about breaking the promise he had made to Prince Tarn. Therefore, he had asked Gavid to carry a message to Ruberoc advising his sovereign that Rianna was safe and well. Soon he calculated they would be close to the town of Nemedia. Leon had yet to discuss it with Niska, but he had decided they could leave Lady Rianna there. She would be protected in Nemedia until Tarn’s troops were able to reach her and return her to her betrothed.
‘Are you sure you will both be safe?’ Gavid asked worriedly. ‘You tell me that you plan to leave Lady Rianna in Nemedia, but why did the baroness not tell you that she never truly intended to return to Ruberoc when we set out?’
‘I have told you already,’ Leon said irritably. ‘She did plan to go to Ruberoc until Lady Rianna made it very clear she would not be welcome at court. We’ll not discuss this any longer,’ he added awkwardly. How could he convince Gavid, when he was confused about the entire matter himself? ‘Advise Prince Tarn that Lady Rianna is safe. She has moved into her own tent, and is constantly guarded by Chang. Understandably she feels safe with Chang because he came to her rescue when she was attacked,’ Leon said confidently, although he still hadn’t spoken to Rianna himself.
‘I cannot understand how anyone could place their trust in Chang.’ Gavid tightened the girth of his horse’s saddle. ‘There is something evil lurking in that man, I feel it.’
Leon took little notice of Gavid’s opinion of Chang. He always had been a little strange and claimed he could sense things other’s could not. ‘You worry too much, my friend,’ he replied. ‘He’s a good leader and the baroness trusts him implicitly. You should go – it will be dark soon, and you have a long ride ahead.’
‘May the winds be with you always,’ Gavid said as he swung himself into the saddle and spurred his horse forwards, soon disappearing into the depths of the forest.
Neither Leon nor his friend saw the four mercenaries lurking in the cover of the trees, watching Gavid depart. They waited a few minutes then followed the lone rider, silently stalking their prey, waitin
g for the perfect moment to attack.
Gavid had taken the southerly route – a narrow path that wound its way between the trees then widened enough to allow him to spur his horse into a fast canter. Drawing their weapons the mercenaries followed him, making sure Gavid did not spot them until they were well out of earshot of the camp. Gavid was just beginning to feel relieved that he was well away from a difficult situation, when he heard the menacing pounding of horses’ hooves. A number of riders were approaching fast. Gavid pulled his sword from its scabbard, hoping it wasn’t bandits, as he urged his mount into a fast gallop in an attempt to outrun his pursuers.
When he realised he wasn’t going to be able to evade the inevitable, he stopped, turned his horse and held his ground. His palm grew slick with the perspiration of fear as he tightened his hold on the leather-bound hilt of his sword, while his exhausted mount stood there, flanks heaving, foam spewing from the side of its mouth.
Gavid couldn’t say he was surprised when he saw who the men were. The four mercenaries galloped towards him yelling wildly. They attacked, their horses circling Gavid. He was a good fighter and he parried and slashed, hearing the grating sound of metal scraping against metal as he fought all four of them at once. Guiding his horse round with his knees, he swung his sword in a wide arc, never knowing from which direction the next blow would come.
He felt the tip of his sword slash through sinew and bone, setting forth a bright spray of red. Barely hearing the wounded man’s cry, Gavid parried another blow and felt a blade slice through his leather doublet and cold metal pierce his flesh. Almost immune to the pain, blood seeping slowly from the wound, he pulled away and turned. One of his attacker’s blades hit his horse’s flanks, it whinnied in agony and instinctively tried to flee but its hooves slid on the damp grass making it stumble clumsily. Gavid lost his balance and fell to the ground.
Rolling forwards, Gavid sprung agilely to his feet, slashing at the legs of an opponent’s horse. It screamed and fell, just as the blade of another weapon buried itself deep in Gavid’s shoulder. Swinging his sword in a shining arc Gavid managed to near sever another attacker’s arm, but his blade embedded itself in solid bone and it was too late to pull his sword free to deflect the next blow. He felt only a brief moment of pain, and uttered only a faint gurgling sound as the sword ran him through, piercing his heart. The blackness overtook Gavid before he even reached the ground.
It was near dusk when Sarin and Zene first saw the flickering flames of a campfire in a narrow valley just ahead. They had travelled far and their horses were tired, so they slowed to a walking pace as they descended the slope of the hill. The day had been surprisingly warm, but it was getting colder now. Sarin longed for a hot meal and a soft bed for the night, but he could expect nothing more than the little they had to eat in their depleted saddlebags and a few hours rest on the hard ground.
Sarin and Zene made no attempt to hide their approach as they moved close to the camp. Most of the soldiers were huddled around the fire, but two guards stepped forwards, barring their way with their long spear-tipped lances. ‘Who goes there?’ they demanded, as a number of the other soldiers rose to their feet, swords sliding smoothly from the scabbards affixed to their belts.
‘Friends,’ Sarin announced. ‘One of your countrymen, soldier,’ he added, his spirits raised by the sight of his crest on their tabards.
‘Countrymen, you say?’ A young man wearing the insignia of a lieutenant stepped forwards. His sword was undrawn but his hand rested pointedly on its ornate hilt.
‘I am a nobleman of Percheron,’ Sarin said coolly, still thinking it wise not to announce his true identity at once. However, he hoped that someone within the camp might recognise him, but to his frustration he saw no sign of this in the eyes of the young lieutenant. ‘We are low on supplies, and find ourselves in a land where we are clearly no longer welcome. My comrade and I seek your aid and protection, Lieutenant.’
The young man frowned, and glanced over at Zene who stared haughtily back at him. But she was careful to keep her hands on her reins and well away from her weapons.
‘You are dressed like a common mercenary, sir. And this woman?’
‘Is a warrior of Freygard,’ Sarin finished sharply. ‘Allow us to enter your camp and we will explain everything.’ Moving slowly and very carefully, Sarin drew his sword and tossed it to the ground. It landed point down in the hard soil, swaying gently. ‘Zene,’ Sarin prompted, waiting while she rather resentfully relinquished her weapons, tossing her sword and dagger at the lieutenant’s feet.
‘Why do these men not trust you?’ she asked Sarin. ‘They are your countrymen.’
‘We are in a land we once ruled, where we are now looked upon as mortal enemies. Would you not also be cautious?’ the lieutenant addressed Zene.
‘I would be cautious also,’ she agreed, eyeing him with suspicion. ‘But I would still recognise my own kind at once. Are you so stupid you cannot do the same?’
The lieutenant smiled wryly. ‘Your friend sounds as if he comes from Percheron, I’ll give you that,’ he commented, still staring thoughtfully at Sarin.
‘And your men outnumber us over five to one,’ Sarin pointed out. ‘What harm can come to you if you allow us into your camp?’
‘You are right,’ the young man agreed. ‘Perhaps I am being overly cautious, sir. I should welcome a fellow countryman.’ He beckoned them forwards. ‘Come. Sit by the fire and share our meal. Perhaps you would care to tell us how you and your companion came to be here, so far from the border of Percheron, when our army is in retreat?’
Sarin and Zene walked their horses slowly into the centre of the camp. Surrounded by a tight circle of soldiers, they dismounted. Sarin handed his horse over to one of the men without a second thought, but when another soldier stepped forwards to take hold of the chestnut’s reins Zene glared at him. ‘No!’ she exclaimed.
‘He just wishes to see to your horse,’ the lieutenant said to appease her. He had probably never seen a woman so scantily dressed in public before and his gaze slid pointedly over her bare arms and legs, before coming to rest on the low neckline of her tight-fitting leather bodice. ‘Sit by the fire, lady, you must be cold.’ Despite the chill of approaching night, Zene had not bothered to put on her cloak, which was still rolled up behind her saddle.
‘Cold,’ she derided. ‘Why should I be?’ she added, staring at the soldiers in their heavy chainmail shirts. ‘Your men are weak,’ she taunted with a sarcastic smile. ‘Female warriors are far stronger.’
‘The warriors of Freygard all dress that way,’ Sarin explained, irritated by Zene’s lack of tact; the last thing Sarin wanted to do was antagonise these men. ‘They do not appear to feel the cold overmuch. Often she puts me to shame. They are a hardy race it seems.’ He sat down by the fire, holding his hands out to its heat, and rubbing them together to warm them further before accepting a leather cup containing spiced wine. ‘I thank you for your hospitality, Lieutenant?’
‘Lieutenant Faros,’ the young man said, looking expectantly at Sarin.
‘My companion’s name is Zene – she is, or rather she was, a member of Queen Danara’s personal guard.’ Sarin was still cautious enough to keep his own identity secret until he’d sized up the situation a little further. His army believed him dead; all of Percheron believed him dead. They might be unwilling to accept the truth, especially as he had no evidence to back up his claim. Few of his men had actually seen him in the flesh, apart from those who guarded his palaces in Percheron. The only likeness most of them would have encountered was his profile stamped on their coins. ‘Until Zene helped me escape I’d been a prisoner in Freygard for nigh on half a year.’
Sarin’s confession caught the interest of all the soldiers around the campfire as they stared even more curiously at Zene.
‘We’ve heard stories of life in Freygard. Of the warrior women and their beautiful Queen,’ Faros said with a knowing smile. ‘Not one of us has ever come across a man who has b
een captured by them and escaped to tell the truth of his imprisonment. Would you be willing to give us an account of your adventures?’
‘Of course,’ Sarin agreed. ‘But first I would beg some sustenance. Once we learned of your presence in the area, we made an attempt to track you down, not even pausing to rest or eat. My stomach is so empty it groans.’ Even as he spoke one of the soldiers stepped forwards and placed a steaming bowl of stew in Sarin’s hands. ‘Thank you, my man,’ he said politely, while thinking that much had come to pass since he’d left Percheron. Here he was thanking a common soldier for something that was his divine right.
‘Eat. Then we will talk,’ Lieutenant Faros said. ‘No man should be required to speak for long on an empty stomach,’ he added, as he motioned for the man to pass food to Zene as well.
The bowl and the wooden spoon he was required to use were crude, but Sarin didn’t care as he ladled the delicious stew into his mouth. It was only simple fare but it was the best food he’d eaten for months. ‘This is very good,’ he said, greedily wolfing it down, while Zene, also ravenous, followed suit. Yet all the time she ate she warily watched the soldiers.
A soldier, carrying a couple of bulging water-skins, staggered into the camp after having just filled them at a nearby stream. ‘Lieutenant . . .’ he faltered and grinned wolfishly as he noticed the scantily dressed woman. ‘Should I . . .’ His mouth dropped open as his caught sight of Sarin. The skins fell from his hand, spilling water all over the ground. ‘You’re dead,’ he gasped as the steadily spreading puddle of water made a loud hiss when it hit the glowing embers of the fire. ‘My lord,’ he muttered, falling to his knees.
‘What is wrong with you, man?’ the lieutenant snapped as the soldier shuffled on his knees towards Sarin.
‘I thought for a moment I’d seen a ghost, my lord,’ he mumbled. ‘But you are flesh and blood,’ he added excitedly as he grabbed hold of Sarin’s hand.
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