She had thought of adding her own talent to the mix, but under the watch of two such senior physicians the risk was too great. Their techniques might be outdated, but with such an important patient they would notice any unexplained changes. She was content to observe for the time being. There was no true illness, only the trauma of losing someone so important he felt like part of her. It was difficult, but Adalhaid of all people knew surviving it was possible. Children were resilient, and she was confident Aenlin would improve with a little more time. If her condition worsened, she could try and steal a moment alone with the child and give her recovery a magical nudge in the right direction. Until then, she would wait.
AETHELMAN
After a couple of days of bumbling about the palace, the guards had come to recognise Aethelman on sight, and one or two of the less surly ones even acknowledged him as he passed. As this familiarity developed, he started to stray farther into areas of the palace where he was not necessarily permitted to be.
The way the Stone moved around meant that Rodulf kept it on his person, which left only two ways to take it from him: when he was asleep, or when he was not paying attention. Aethelman didn’t particularly like either of his alternatives, but given the choice, sneaking into Rodulf’s rooms while he slept seemed like the best option.
He was not born to be a spy, and every moment he spent in the palace increased the risk that Rodulf would see and recognise him. He hoped the changes in clothing, coupled with a beard he was developing to the point that it could be styled in the southern fashion, would make him no more than vaguely familiar if they did bump into one another, but the danger was real and largely unavoidable. He observed from the shadows and made a mental list of the things that would aid him. Rodulf being drunk was one. The deep sleep of an inebriated man was perhaps Aethelman’s best chance, although on each of the nights he had followed Rodulf back to his apartment he had been joined by a girl from the kitchens, and it was clear to anyone passing down the corridor outside that they were getting little sleep.
He would draw too much attention if he spent the whole night lurking outside, and likewise if he was constantly walking up and down it. There was only so long he could wait before he made his move, and he knew there would only be one chance. As much as he knew this was the task that had been handed to him, his great test, he prayed to the gods for help and guidance. Despite the great comfort he was living in, he had not been able to shake off the exhaustion that had built during his search over the previous months. He had little appetite for the rich and plentiful food that would once have tantalised him, preferring bread, soup, and water. As loath as he was to admit it, the signals his body was sending him were clear. Time was running out.
WULFRIC
Estranza had been dry, sunny, and hot on every day that Wulfric had spent there. He had grown so used to it that he had come to assume it was like that all the time. It felt odd to see dark grey clouds roll in from the mountains distant on the western horizon, but before long, the day grew dull, and the clouds opened.
It rained heavily, fat drops of water driving straight down from above. The ground, hard after so much sunshine, quickly flooded and the road looked more like a shallow river. They were soaked in moments, and had to slow their pace as parts of the road started to wash away.
‘I’m really growing to dislike this country,’ Jagovere said, having to raise his voice to be heard over the teeming rain.
‘You’re not the only one,’ Walt said. ‘I’m getting too old for this carry-on.’
Wulfric cast him a glance, but could not be sure how old he was. He certainly carried more years than the rest of them, but he still looked to be in his prime. Wulfric hadn’t had much to do with him prior to their captivity in Kandamar, but he seemed to have grown increasingly objectionable in the time Wulfric had spent with him.
‘There’s a town ahead,’ Varada said. ‘We can stop there until the rain passes. These downpours rarely last more than a few hours.’
It didn’t take long to reach the town, which was slightly larger than the one where they had encountered the constable and his men. The inn was clearly marked with a large sign outside, so they wasted no time in stabling their horses and rushing out of the torrential downpour. Wulfric stopped in his tracks as soon as he got inside.
Diego dal Zama and a dozen armed men sat at the tables clustered around the fire. As with the arrival of any group of people at an inn in a small town, everyone looked to the door to scrutinise the strangers. Most immediately returned to their drinks, food, and conversations, but Diego stood and hooked his thumb into his sword belt, a smile spreading across his face.
‘Why’s that fella staring at us?’ Enderlain said.
‘He’s one of dal Valeriano’s men,’ Wulfric said.
‘Ah. Not the best of news, that, is it?’ Enderlain said.
Wulfric had thought Diego would be staring at him. It had been obvious from the moment they met that Diego wanted to fight him, something Wulfric relished equally, but his gaze was fixed on Varada. He said something to the men around him and walked out into the open, away from the table.
‘I wonder why he’s walking like someone kicked him in the balls,’ Jagovere said, referring to Diego’s stiff and cautious movement.
‘Somebody did,’ Varada said with a satisfied smile. ‘Hard enough that he still feels it.’
They all looked at her.
She shrugged, and pointed to the faint bruising still on her face.
Enderlain let out a subdued laugh. ‘Bit of a coincidence that we’d run into him here.’
‘Bad luck?’ Jagovere said, but he didn’t sound convinced.
‘I find that hard to believe,’ Wulfric said.
‘What now?’ Sander said.
‘Their numbers will be more of an advantage outside,’ Wulfric said. ‘Better we do it here.’ He drew the rapier he had taken from one of the constables; he had been looking forward to the opportunity to try one in a real fight.
The door opened again, and three more men came in, their oilskin coats dripping with water.
‘Looks like they want to do it in here too,’ Jagovere said.
The tavern stank of wood smoke, wet cloth and unwashed bodies, but there was nowhere else Wulfric would rather have been. His skin tingled in anticipation. The civilians in the taproom backed away to the bar, but they could get no farther—Wulfric and the others blocked the door, while Diego and his men denied them any escape from the back. They would be unwilling spectators to the fight that was about to take place, and were in as much danger as anyone else there.
Wulfric scanned the men opposite him, looking for the one with the glint in his eye that said he would attack first. It came as no surprise that it was Diego. The crackling of the fire in the taproom’s hearth was the only sound as the opponents sized each other up.
Diego drew his rapier and fixed his eyes on Wulfric. ‘Shall we?’
Wulfric lifted his rapier and adopted the low, balanced position Jagovere had spent so much time drilling into him in Kandamar. The image of one of the Estranzan court dandies with their feathered hats sprung into his mind, and he felt ridiculous, but that was the way it was done, and he knew there was a reason for it.
The taproom filled with the clash of steel and the roar of battle, as the others hurled themselves at one another. Only Wulfric and Diego remained still. There was something about the cocksure way he had behaved in Torona that had reminded Wulfric of Rodulf, and the memory returned to him, inflaming his temper. Wulfric lunged. Diego moved quickly. He dropped back two paces and easily swatted Wulfric’s thrust to the side. He followed up with a quick slash, but Wulfric was able to bring his blade back in time and parry, feeling the jarring strike reverberate all the way up his arm to his elbow.
He countered quickly, not wanting to allow Diego to gain the initiative, but once again the Estranzan parried and Wulfric felt his frustration grow. Without missing a beat, he attacked again, firing in thrust after thrust,
stamping his front foot down hard with each one in a fashion that he thought would make Jagovere proud. Diego parried each one and at no point looked troubled by the barrage. Wulfric gritted his teeth in anger, and felt them chatter against one another. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get past Diego’s blade, and each riposte was getting closer. The rapier felt too alien, and Wulfric wished for a sabre more than anything.
A wave of light-headedness came, but passed as quickly as it arrived. Wulfric realised he was holding Diego’s blade with one of his leather-gauntleted hands. It took him a moment to register what he had done, having no memory of grabbing it. He could feel it bite through his glove, but it was a distant sensation rather than pain. Diego reacted quickly, drawing his dagger and swiping at Wulfric in one smooth movement. Wulfric stepped back, still holding the blade, and thrust. Without his rapier to parry, Diego could do nothing but stare at Wulfric with hate in his eyes as Wulfric’s rapier pierced his throat. He pulled his sword free, and let go of Diego’s blade. Diego toppled over, blood spilling from his throat and mouth. Wulfric stepped back and looked around, but the fight was over. The others had been watching him.
‘You almost looked like a gentleman there,’ Jagovere said. ‘For a moment.’
WULFRIC
As he rode, Wulfric looked at the munitions-grade rapier he had taken from the constable and used to kill Diego. He thought of what Jagovere had said about looking like a gentleman and a measure of self-awareness came to him. Since the battle in Darvaros, he had been struggling to make sense of the new world he found himself in by adopting its ways. The rapier was the physical embodiment of that, and it suddenly made him feel foolish. He hefted it in his hand. It felt good, but would never be part of him the way a well-made sabre was. He looked at the hilt of the sabre tied to his saddle, and threw the rapier into the undergrowth at the side of the road. Surviving among the southerners didn’t mean he had to become like them. His attempt to do so had nearly gotten him killed against Diego. His gift had saved him, and he felt shame at the thought that he had not been the better man.
‘It’s rather odd, don’t you think?’ Jagovere said, appearing beside Wulfric as they rode.
‘What’s odd?’ Wulfric said, thinking Jagovere was referring to him throwing away the sword.
‘That we encountered Diego and his cronies so soon after our meeting with the sheriff and his men.’
‘Maybe dal Valeriano sent them both at the same time,’ Wulfric said, ‘but the constable got to us first.’
‘Possibly,’ Jagovere said, looking over at Wulfric. ‘But we’d accepted that the sheriff had followed us from Torona. Do you still believe that?’
Wulfric shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Diego would have been with dal Valeriano, which means word has reached him. We’ve been moving at a good pace. Faster than news could have come from Torona. I think it ever more likely that someone warned him before then. I don’t think we were seen in Torona.’
‘A Darvarosian?’ Wulfric said.
‘Unlikely. I don’t think they’d want to advertise the fact that they failed in their treaty obligations by allowing us to get back to Estranza. It’s someone else.’
Wulfric cast an eye over his shoulder to where Varada was riding. She immediately caught his gaze, but her expression revealed nothing.
‘The woman?’
‘She’s the obvious suspect, I agree. She suggested the northern road. Coin is always king to people of her trade. The same could be said for us, I suppose, but honour is less important when you conduct your trade in the shadows.’
‘I’m not killing a woman until I’m certain,’ Wulfric said.
‘I don’t like the idea either,’ Jagovere said, ‘but if she’s selling us out, it has to be done. I’ll put it to her when we camp for the night. Her reaction should tell us what we want to know.’
‘I’ll be ready,’ Wulfric said. It was only then that he noticed Jagovere had a small one-handed crossbow sitting on his saddle, primed and ready to fire. Varada might have to wait until that evening for her interview, but Wulfric realised that he had just had his.
49
ADALHAID
‘Jakob, what are you doing here?’ Adalhaid said as she left Aenlin’s room.
‘I’ve been drafted in to help with the Markgraf’s daughter,’ he said. ‘It seems someone mentioned to him that I’m the finest physician in the city.’
He gave her a knowing, and utterly captivating, smile. She had made mention of him to the Markgraf the previous evening, but hadn’t realised it would be acted on so quickly.
‘I’m to join Doctors Frantz and Oppenburg in the young lady’s treatment.’
‘There’s been no improvement,’ Adalhaid said. ‘I’m concerned she’s making herself ill.’
‘It’s common enough after great tragedy,’ he said. ‘But with a monitored approach, it’s easily enough treated. It’ll simply take a little patience.’ His face grew serious. ‘You must promise me that you won’t do anything foolish. We can handle this. You have my assurance.’
He continued to stare at her, and she realised he wasn’t going to let her go until she did.
‘I promise,’ she said. She was uncomfortable lying, but took solace in the thought that it was a half-truth. So long as Aenlin did not deteriorate dangerously, there would be no need for magical intervention. With luck, the half-truth would soon be a full truth.
‘I thought perhaps we could talk later?’ he said.
Her heart quickened, but she knew her answer. Petr’s death, so sudden and so silly, had driven home, as though the lesson had not already been well enough learned, that life was unpredictable and short. Wulfric could be anywhere. He might even be dead. Men like him lived violent, dangerous, and usually short lives. Aethelman had said he was an even more attractive target because of his gift. He wouldn’t want her to throw her life away.
She nodded. ‘You know where to find me,’ she said, smiling.
WULFRIC
‘Rider coming up behind us fast,’ Enderlain shouted.
Wulfric sighed and brought his horse to a stop. He drew his sword, irritated by the delay in getting to where they were headed.
The others got out of his way, knowing by that point that getting between him and a man he had chosen to kill was a bad idea. The rider grew closer, and Wulfric wondered what dal Valeriano hoped to gain by sending one lone man against them. Then the thought occurred that perhaps he would be a truly great opponent, a man on whom a warrior’s reputation might be made. He gripped his sword in eager anticipation.
‘Make way in the name of the duchess!’ the rider shouted when he was within calling distance.
‘Duchess?’ Enderlain said. ‘Did Valeriano have an accident?’
Jagovere laughed. ‘Peace, friend,’ he shouted. ‘What news?’
The rider reined his horse to a halt a safe distance from them. ‘Elena dal Torona has been proclaimed Duchess of Torona and has overthrown her half-brother, the usurper dal Valeriano. It is my privilege to bring word of her accession to the provinces. Hinder my task and you will outlaw yourselves.’
‘When did this happen?’ Jagovere said.
‘A few days ago. The morning after her marriage to Lord Carraterro dal Suera, now the Lord Consort.’
‘From right-hand man to Lord Consort,’ Jagovere said. ‘A promotion, I suppose. And where might the former duke be found?’
The messenger shrugged his shoulders. ‘I believe he’s returned to his fortress in Valeriano. Now, clear the road!’
He let out a loud shout and spurred his horse forward to a gallop, leaving Wulfric and the others in a cloud of dust as they absorbed the new information.
‘That paints things a different colour,’ Jagovere said.
‘I’m sick of this place,’ Wulfric said.
‘Power and greed,’ Jagovere said with a shrug.
‘At least it’ll make him easier to kill,’ Wulfric said. ‘If we can get to him in time. There’ll be
plenty who would like to impress the new duchess with his head. Some of his own men included.’
The sun was dropping below the horizon. Jagovere watched it for a moment before speaking.
‘Anyway, we should make camp for the night,’ he said, giving Wulfric a knowing look.
Wulfric nodded.
WULFRIC
Stepping into the realm of intrigues left Wulfric feeling uncomfortable. It went against everything he knew and understood, and considering the stakes, he was worried he would make a mess of things. Jagovere knew better about such things, so Wulfric was content to take his lead. He did his best not to look at Varada, which was difficult at the best of times considering how attractive he found her, but now he felt as though he had to actively concentrate on it.
Conversation at the campfire was stilted, and Wulfric could tell Enderlain knew something was up. Wulfric felt as though his complicity was written all over his face, and had to avoid making eye contact with Enderlain as well. They ate in silence, sitting around the warmth of the fire’s flames. Jagovere stared into them as he prodded at the glowing embers with a stick.
‘How did you get word to dal Valeriano?’ he said, continuing to stare into the fire.
No one said a thing, although Wulfric could see Sander look to Enderlain with a puzzled expression on his face.
‘It’s the betrayal that irks me the most,’ Jagovere said. ‘When you take a chance on trusting someone, and they let you down. That’s always the worst part.’
Jorundyr's Path: Wolf of the North Book 2 Page 34
