Her first glance was toward her husband. “Fool! You could do nothing right! They could hear that something was wrong up there! I barely escaped ahead of them!” She looked up, finally seeing Nermesa. “But he was now correct about one thing; you cannot leave here alive!”
Jenoa picked up the whip with no regard for the limp form beside it. She shouted out a wordless command to the raptor, who seized upon her presence and calmed. Once more, the bird focused on Nermesa.
Soron lunged just as Bolontes’ son finally unlocked the second manacle. He threw the chain at the oncoming avian. The links were not nearly enough to harm the raptor, but caused the hunter’s aim to falter just enough. Instead of Nermesa’s head, Soron snatched only empty air.
“Taste his fine flesh, my pet!” cooed the Brythunian. “And then you can feast on that of his friends as well!”
Whether or not the Lady Jenoa was even more mad than her unlamented husband, Nermesa did indeed fear for Sir Gregorio and the other Poitainian knights. They would not be expecting so monstrous a menace and even as skilled as they were, some of them might be maimed or killed.
But at the moment, Nermesa could only worry about himself. He started for his sword, only to have the whip slash at his unprotected hand.
And as he pulled the bleeding limb back, talons raked his breastplate. Nermesa, his gag off, cried out as one needle-sharp point just briefly snagged his arm where it was unprotected. Fortunately, the wound proved very shallow, but it was a warning of what might yet come.
Soron’s mistress laughed at his plight, calling again on her beloved creature to attack.
Unable to get any nearer to his weapon, Nermesa instead ran back in the direction of the key peg. However, his flight was not panic, for as he ran, he used what strength remained in him to continue to bowl down one iron stand after another, spilling fire everywhere. Many of the flames doused quickly, but others blossomed to stronger life thanks to wood and even old bits of cloth.
The dried refuse left by Soron contributed most of all, the natural fuel causing a larger fire to quickly develop near the perch. The raptor once again grew frantic as he now sought to escape this new and imminent danger.
“Stop that! Stop that!” shouted Jenoa. The whip came flashing at Nermesa.
This time, he caught it. Pulling hard, the Aquilonian brought the golden-haired woman to him.
“You will help me to get out of this chamber,” he muttered in her ear.
Instead of being cowed, she only laughed. Gripping her tight, Nermesa moved back toward the window. To go in the opposite direction would have brought him too near the raptor, whose actions had now grown manic. Nermesa also still hoped to retrieve his sword, which he would need should they be confronted by any guards. The knight could only guess that Gregorio and the others faced resistance downstairs or by now they would have been up here to aid Nermesa. The rest of the house was still very likely under the control of Lord Eduarco’s men.
Dragging Jenoa with him, Nermesa wended his way around. As he did, he managed to tip two more of the, stands. By now, Soron was in a frenzy, unsure of where to turn, where there was not a hint of flame.
As Nermesa passed the window, he heard from without the sound of battle. The deadly racket spurred him on. He finally came within arm’s reach of the sword—
Yet, as he bent for it, Jenoa pulled free of his remaining grip. With a wild laugh, the Brythunian rushed toward her pet.
But Soron paid her no heed. The giant avian’s mighty struggle had finally ended with success. There was a tremendous cracking sound, and the far end of the perch broke off. As the massive piece of wood slid to the floor, it left the raptor’s chain dangling.
Soron did as any beast would have under the dire circumstances; he raced for the only opening large enough for him to pass through.
Unfortunately, Lady Jenoa stood in his path.
It was not any attempt by Soron to attack her that doomed Eduarco’s sinister bride. Merely the fact that all the bird wished was to leave. Soron barreled into his mistress, shoving her back as easily as a stalk of grass. He drove Jenoa back to the window.
With a muffled scream, she tumbled out.
But if Jenoa had slipped easily through the opening, the way was not so simple for her pet. The fit was tight for the raptor, so much so that he finally backed up again for a second charge.
Seizing his blade, Nermesa almost started off, then feared what a predatory avian so vast might do to the people of Poitain. Soron had tasted human flesh and clearly reveled in it thanks to his late mistress. When hungry, he would no doubt go in search of similar fare, perhaps snatching something easy . . . such as a child.
Brandishing his weapon, the knight turned on the giant. This was the best opportunity to be rid of a potential terror that had already claimed several lives. Despite his mission, Nermesa dared not ignore Soron.
He leapt just as the bird rushed the window. This time, the creature bent low and kept his wings tight as he shoved his way through.
Soron’s low stance enabled Nermesa to land atop the avian’s back. However, the Aquilonian failed to halt the creature’s momentum. The raptor let out a terrifying screech as both he and the human dropped out into the air. Soron’s wings instinctively opened, and the giant did his best to keep aloft.
Nermesa clung for dear life, the very concept of being airborne something that had never before entered his thoughts. Perhaps at another time he might have found such a thing exhilarating, but at the moment, all Bolontes’ son could think of was what would happen when he hit the ground far below. The memory of his last glimpse of Jenoa before she vanished through the window burned into his mind.
The raptor continued its haphazard flight, racing over the estate in the blink of an eye. Nermesa, barely holding on, caught sight of flames coming from the tower but little else. He prayed to Mitra that Gregorio and the others were all right.
Then Soron dipped to the side in a clear attempt to rid himself of the burden atop him. Fearing less for his own life and more for those who might become the giant raptor’s next prey, Nermesa returned to his daunting task. Clutching tight with his one hand, he turned the sword’s point downward and thrust.
The blade sank several inches deep just behind the skull. Soron screeched. The raptor’s body shook, and he lost some altitude. Nermesa could not see what lay below and did not care. In his mind, he was certain that he would die now, and his only regrets were for Telaria, his parents, and his king.
And with them in mind, he thrust again.
The second strike went in mere inches from the first. Blood splattered the Aquilonian’s face, and Soron let out a wild cry. The huge bird shook, and his flight grew completely erratic. Nermesa clutched tight, waiting for the end.
The bird’s vast wings struck foliage, jarring the creature. Nermesa’s grip finally slipped. He slid down the back of the dying behemoth.
Instead of air, branches greeted him. His arm slammed against one thick one, and his sword tumbled from his grip. Nermesa crashed through layer after layer of branches, his drop slowing but not stopping.
He seized hold of a larger one that momentarily halted his plunge. Then it snapped, and Nermesa dropped to the ground . . . which proved to be only a few feet more.
As he struck the ground, in the distance came another, much more violent crash. Nermesa could only imagine it to be the raptor, finally dying. He gave thanks to Mitra that, should he not survive, at least Jenoa’s monstrous pet would not hunt again.
But although his body was wracked with pain and his head throbbed as if every Black Dragon marched atop it, Nermesa finally realized that not only had he survived, but he had survived fairly intact.
It was a struggle to rise, but rise he did. Nermesa could not see the estate from where he was, nor could the knight hear any sound of battle. The tower window had been facing south, but Nermesa was certain that Soron’s mad maneuvering had taken him in an entirely different direction.
He picked up his s
word, which had fallen not far from him, and stumbled on. However, Nermesa had not gotten very far when, in the distance, he heard from his left the manic pace of more than one horse.
The Black Dragon started running toward the sound. Ahead he thought he saw an open path, perhaps even a road running across his route. Nermesa wondered if it was the same road he had crossed when heading toward the estate. If so, then that meant that the raptor had flown south. Unfortunately, the woods around him prevented the knight from seeing either the hills to the north of Eduarco’s lands or those from which the Aquilonian had initially come.
Then, a sudden concern swept over him and Nermesa flung himself into the grass. His first assumption had been that whoever was riding through the woods were friends . . . but what if they were not?
Three shadowed riders came into sight. Their animals raced as if demons followed them. Nermesa grimly nodded to himself; they did not strike him as Gregorio’s men. Escaping guards from the estate, no doubt.
One of the riders chose that moment to call to the leader, “Braggi’s fallen behind!”
“Then he’s left behind!” shouted another voice. “As would be any of us if we failed to keep up! All that matters is the plan! Soon, Aquilonia will be without a king!”
They were silent after that. The trio raced past Nermesa’s position even as he came to grips with what he had just heard. For one thing, he recognized one of the men. The second voice had been that of the Gunderman, Wulfrim.
But what was of more significance, what dwarfed all else, was what the villain had said.
Soon, Aquilonia will be without a king.
Wulfrim had just been speaking of the assassination of none other than King Conan.
8
MANY OF THE fears that Nermesa and Count Trocero had discussed had apparently been more than mere imaginings. Someone did indeed seek nothing less than the slaying of the king and no doubt had hoped that Prospero, well acquainted with Conan’s stronghold, would provide the information needed to get into the palace. He had been a logical choice, being one of the few far away from the immediate protection of the king’s forces. Yet the attempt to use Prospero had evidently failed, and now Nermesa was certain that the legendary knight had perished, for why else had Bolontes’ son become so important?
But even without either man to torture for information, the villains appeared both willing and able to continue with their plot. Did that mean that they had captured someone else and perhaps gleaned the knowledge needed from them? Even Count Trocero, perhaps?
Rising, Nermesa approached the road. He gazed back in the direction from which the trio had come. Nermesa had to return to Gregorio and the others as quickly as possible so that they could take up the chase of Wulfrim before the trail grew cold. If only there was—
Another horse came racing out of the darkness. The Black Dragon stumbled back, taking refuge behind a tree just to the side of the road.
The silhouette of the rider approaching marked him as other than a knight in plate armor. The words of Wulfrim’s companion came to mind. Braggi—who was supposed to have taken the Aquilonian’s message to Gregorio—had fallen behind.
As the rider neared, Nermesa leapt out and seized his leg. The horse reared, startled by the attack. The man atop let out a cry of surprise, followed by a curse in what the knight recognized as the language of Gunderland.
The two struggled. Although his opponent had the advantage of height, Nermesa had the advantage of angle. His foe had to twist almost backward to fight him.
Finally, the man could no longer keep his seat. He slid off, nearly falling atop the knight. Nermesa shifted to the side, sending the rider sprawling.
But the darkened figure was quick to recover. He drew his sword and met Nermesa’s attack while the horse trotted to a halt a short distance ahead. Fearful that the animal might choose to run, Nermesa pressed his assault.
“Surrender, Braggi,” the Aquilonian growled. “Surrender or forfeit your life!”
Nermesa did not expect the man to obey, but his use of the name startled his foe, as planned. Braggi hesitated, leaving an opening of which the skilled Black Dragon readily made use. He cut under the villain’s guard, then brought his blade up.
The tip cut open Braggi’s throat. The Gunderman collapsed, dead before his body struck the ground.
Nermesa had not bothered to try to capture Braggi after the other had ignored his one offer to surrender. From what he had seen, these men were desperate enough to die rather than betray their masters. Even if he had managed to capture the Gunderman, it was doubtful that Braggi would have said anything useful. In the meantime, Wulfrim, who knew much more, would have been long gone.
Wasting not a breath, Nermesa moved on to the horse. The animal remained skittish, but murmured sounds calmed it enough for the knight to take control of the reins. Sheathing his sword, Nermesa quickly mounted.
He wanted so very much to return for assistance, but Wulfrim and his cohorts would be far away before then, and there was no telling if the trail would still exist by the time Nermesa and his allies returned here. The Aquilonian finally urged on his new mount, hoping that if he was able to catch up to the trio, he would be able to handle them himself.
The trail continued down the road. Nermesa suspected that his quarries were trying to leave Poitain, possibly for some base at the northwest edge of the blue mountains. That gave the Black Dragon a bit of hope, for surely there would be some trustworthy tower or castle from which he could summon help if necessary.
The horse raced along, its rider unfearful of those ahead noting him should he be fortunate enough quickly to catch up. They would think Nermesa their lost companion and by the time they realized their mistake, the Aquilonian would nearly be upon them. Fortunately, in the blackness and without his helm, he could pass more for a fleeing Gunderman than a knight, especially one of the plate-clad Poitainian warriors.
Through the dark, rising landscape and under the looming shadows of the not-so-distant mountains, Nermesa rode. There was not enough light for him to see clues pertaining to those he pursued, but the knight trusted common sense, which dictated what he thought the trio would do. Wulfrim would not try to change his course until he was well past the mountains. Once in Aquilonia proper, the traitorous bodyguard might then alter direction, but for now it was very clear where he intended to go.
As he raced along, Nermesa considered just who Wulfrim’s masters might be. There were any number of nobles in Aquilonia who might secretly harbor a desire to seize the throne. Baron Sibelio had been a prime example of that ilk, and he had told a captive Nermesa that there were those who would have eagerly supported his claim. Antonus Sibelio had sought to bring down Conan by eroding the king’s base of support through what would seem the Cimmerian-born monarch’s inability to cope with multiple troubles. Then, when Conan’s support appeared weak enough, his assassins would have slain the king, and the baron would have taken over. Now, it seemed that someone sought to fulfill that plan for himself. It had never been absolutely clear how many had supported Baron Sibelio. Some nobles had been brought to justice for the plot, but by no stretch of the imagination had the king, General Pallantides, or Nermesa believed that everyone had been captured.
So Wulfrim was most likely in the pay of this mysterious and ambitious Aquilonian, and Nermesa could only suppose that the Gunderman now headed back to that same person or one of his contacts. Either way, if the knight managed to keep up, he might discover the truth.
As time passed, fatigue and injury began to take its toll, but Nermesa struggled on. His mount had still been fairly fresh when he had captured it and likely could keep up the pace for as long as those of the other men. Nermesa doubted that he could catch up to them this night, but perhaps the next . . .
Unfortunately, though, things only got worse as the hours passed. Exhaustion finally got the better of him. Nermesa, already pressed tight against the horse’s mane, drifted off despite his precarious seating.
&n
bsp; WHEN HE AWOKE, it was to find that not only had daylight come, but the steed had carried him farther than he had imagined possible. A short distance behind him lay the edge of the blue mountains and around him the hill country that preceded the flatter lands of Aquilonia. At present, the horse, clearly worn, sipped at a stream whose waters enticed the knight to dismount immediately and partake of the cool and much-needed liquid.
As he drank, Nermesa’s head cleared and with it came a rush of fury at himself for his failure to stay alert. That he had been through so much before attempting this chase did not mollify him in the least. The villains he pursued spoke of nothing less than the assassination of the man whom Nermesa had sworn an oath—and his life—to protect.
Yet even after sleeping in the saddle, the Aquilonian had to admit that he was still exhausted. More to the point, he had surely lost the trail. His best hope now was to return as quickly as he could to Tarantia and warn King Conan and General Pallantides of the sinister plan.
Dejected, Nermesa took his fill of water and went in search of food. Fortunately, the stream was large enough to support small fish who seemed ignorant of danger. Using just his hands, the knight caught two, then made a small fire. The meal was enough to satisfy him, and, before he knew it, Nermesa fell asleep against an oak.
When he awoke, it was night again, and the fire had long died. The stars were out, which enabled Nermesa to calculate the general direction of Tarantia. With no other recourse, the Black Dragon mounted. The sooner he reached home, the better. He could send back word to Poitain concerning his situation once he reached a garrison equipped with messenger birds, at the same time sending another missive giving General Pallantides advance word on what he had discovered.
The hills required his path to be a serpentine one, often sending him in the opposite direction to that which he wanted to travel. Still, gradually Nermesa felt as if he made progress. He grew confident that soon he would be out in more open landscape. Once there, the knight could greatly increase his pace.
The Silent Enemy Page 10
