Rachael kept her eyes downcast after the first glance. She feared the worst, but could do nothing to change it.
“Do you like it?” The older High Born’s voice sounded cold. He asked a question for form’s sake, not for interest.
“Y-y-yeah.” The younger one’s voice matched his appearance.
“Remove its clothing. I want to see it’s not diseased.”
A bustle at the door turned Rachael to see a man-at-arms bearing a note. Everything paused while the older one read it and swore. “Damn it. We’ll come back later. See no one damages it in the meantime. I don’t want my son catching every disease your men have.” He threw a purse of coin onto the table, turned, and walked out the door, his son shambling afterwards.
The fat merchant waited until they left and picked up the purse to spill the coins onto the table, arranging them in heaps. “You heard him,” he said to Rachael’s guards. “Take her back.” He looked up from the coins. “She’s not to be touched. The High Born don’t like their toys soiled.”
The guard handled Rachael roughly on the way back to her prison, a measure of his disappointment, and threw her onto the floor before they left, the door closing behind them. She waited a moment, listening to their retreating steps, and then struggled to her feet.
The window she’d sensed in the darkness was set high in the wall and some light filtered through it. By standing opposite and jumping up and down, she discovered it opened onto the bottom of a light shaft that doubled as a sewer by the smell. Heavily barred, it was no escape route.
Even though she knew it was futile, she tried to dislodge her gag by pressing its end against the wall and when this failed, tested her bonds. They were still secure. Not tight enough to stop circulation entirely, but so efficiently applied they were inescapable. These men had plenty of practice.
She found a position opposite the window and squatted with her back against the wall. The light suggested mid morning.
* * * *
Helene stood in the midst of the archers and watched the soldiers assemble above them. Walled on the landward side, Kordobah had three gates. This was the main one, guarded by a high gatehouse with archer’s slits at three levels.
Kamran stood in the open, in front of the leading company, holding conference with two armored men, whose eyes strayed continuously to the smuggler’s heads held aloft on spears behind him. Every man in the leading company had one, Kamran’s conversation with Beyorn explained.
They reached some conclusion, for Kamran turned back, away from the gate.
“Parade rest.” His voice carried clearly. “We’ll show our trophies to the town as we march to the Keep. Let them see what happens to smugglers when we’re around.”
Helene’s terror threatened to choke her. This madman she loved was depending on the High Born’s blindness. They would never let an armed group led by a High Born into their town. Because he was peasant born, a mere sergeant, they couldn’t see him as a threat. Truth to tell, she would have agreed with them less than a week ago. “Please, let them believe he’s just a braggart,” she whispered, not sure whom she addressed.
Counting the heads displayed in front of her, she could appreciate his cleverness. Forty heads suggested a battle within the capabilities of a sergeant with a numerical superiority of three to one without suggesting any unusual military ability. It was a nice balance. One she hoped she would live to appreciate.
Two figures appeared at the gate and Helene felt oddly amused when Kamran went down on his knees to honor the High Born. It reminded her of the headsman asking forgiveness of his victim when a High Born was executed. These two fools couldn’t conceive what he was about to do.
The taller one was nodding, agreeing to Kamran’s proposal. He waved casually to the gate and it began to swing open. “March in at the sound of the trumpet,” she heard him say.
Kamran stayed on his knees until the two figures disappeared through the gate, and then rose to his feet to pace up and down across the leading ranks; the perfect picture of a braggart impatient for his moment of glory. She wished she could hear what he was saying to his men, for ripples of laughter ran up and down the front ranks.
Did they know what he was going to do, or did he trust their automatic obedience? Wrapped in her guesses, she knew very little. Could she be wrong?
A trumpet sounded distantly from within the town and Kamran straightened. A final joke with the man nearest and he strode to the front. “Parade,” his voice rang clearly and every man, even Helene, straightened consciously. “March.”
They were on their way.
A few weak cheers marked their passage through the gate, but there was a band waiting at the main square and it struck up a martial air when they appeared and a wave ran down the column as each company adjusted their step to match the music, the sergeants calling time until they all settled into the new tempo. More, better organized, cheering, and Helene could see the gates to the main keep standing open at the head of the ramp leading upwards from the square.
Kamran led his men right around the square, circling the band in the center, and then started them up the ramp. When he reached the gate, he drew his sword in salute and led his men through, wheeling them so the three companies circled the inner courtyard when he halted them. A command turned them inwards to face Kamran and the two High Born standing behind him and a step higher. A nod to the trumpeter and he turned smartly, an almost casual sweep of his sword decapitating the older High Born. The younger one managed half a step before he suffered the same fate.
The companies dissolved, small parties running purposefully to secure the gate, take the Keep and disarm startled men-at-arms. Beyorn’s twenty men doubled purposely down the ramp, taking a shortcut through the band as they ran for the main gate. Ten archers fell in behind them.
Kamran, Helene and her assistant stood in the courtyard. He appeared to be listening intently, gauging progress by the sounds he heard. Then a trumpet pealed triumphantly from the direction of the main gate, and he smiled.
* * * *
Rachael heard the trumpet and wondered what it signified. It brought her to her feet, and she moved closer to the window and away from the door so she missed its silent opening. She was startled when Anneke touched her on the shoulder.
“Don’t move while I cut you loose,” the girl said, a razor sharp blade parting the bonds pinioning Rachael’s arms. She was more careful with the rope around her wrists and then the gag. Anneke had to pry the cylinder loose from Rachael’s locked jaw. “Go ahead of me up the stairs,” she said. Turn right at the first landing and follow the passage to the front door. Turn right again once you’re outside, and run like hell. We’re in the middle of a rebellion and everybody is panicking.”
Rachael followed orders, her arms swinging awkwardly as she ran. Anneke was still behind her when she reached the street. She heard her slam the door in the face of a man who shouted his alarm, but she knew which way to turn and started running, a strange sense of familiarity directing her steps as she weaved through alleys and streets toward the wharves. They avoided everyone, the few people they saw hurriedly fastening doors and shutters, and reached the main wharf at its landward end with only four smugglers in pursuit.
“There’s as small skiff, just this side of the sea gate,” Anneke called. “Run for it and be ready to row like hell when I get there.”
Rachael felt Anneke’s decision to delay their pursuit before she glanced back to see her topple a pile of bales across the wharf. It made the men following skip out of the way, creating a pause in their pursuit Anneke used to gain ground, running for the boat in Rachael’s wake, the men gaining the ground they’d lost with every stride.
Rachael tumbled into the boat in her haste, but she’d cast off and was sitting at the oars when Anneke reached the top of the steps and had to turn at right angles to descend. The leading man’s outstretched arm reached for Anneke’s streaming hair, his fingers half curled to grasp it, only have the impact of two
arrows throw him into the water. The other three men died with him, each pierced with at least one arrow.
Anneke paid no heed to their fate. She ran down the steps and jumped into the boat and Rachael’s lusty stoke of the oars sent them clear of the wharf.
“I think you’re safer with us.” A blond man-at-arms stood at the water gate, surrounded by ten archers with drawn bows, every arrow aimed at her.
“I think he’s right.” Anneke advised. “I don’t think they’d miss at this range.” She had the slightest of smiles curving her lips, so Rachael accepted the situation and backed water to the steps.
“Kamran would like to speak to both of you,” the blond man said, one hand held by his side so only Rachael could see it, the fingers curled into a covert Federation recognition signal.
She could feel Anneke watching her, so she shrugged, signaling her acceptance of the situation.
“Make sure you tie the painter securely,” the blond man said. “Boat theft is a crime.” He seemed to think it was funny.
The archers formed up around them and further restraint wasn’t necessary.
Their route back into the town led past the smuggler’s warehouse. The corpulent merchant’s body hung limply from the upper story hoist beam. Half a dozen spearmen held four looters and an equal number of smugglers prisoner. The corporal in charge nodded to their captor. “We got here a bit late.” He jerked his head to the limp corpse. “A few townsfolk decided to pay old scores.”
“He won’t be pleased, but he’ll understand. I’ll take your prisoners. You secure the place and report later.”
The corporal nodded. “Bind these bastards and give them to Beyorn.” He looked questioningly at the two women.
“These are guests…for the moment.” The minimal pause was a threat about their future status Rachael couldn’t ignore—Federation signal or no.
Everything was catching up with her, her thirst, the pain in her jaw from its long extension around the gag, and aches in her body from the bindings. Her head felt wooden with fatigue and the ground spongy beneath her feet. It was difficult to keep her balance, and she careened unintentionally into the archer walking at her side.
“Grab her before she falls,” she heard Beyorn order and two archers locked arms under hers and carried her to the Keep.
“What’s wrong with her?” a woman’s voice asked, cultured, concerned. “She’s been a smuggler’s captive.” She answered herself. “I can see the marks of their bindings. Set her down on that pallet. Get me watered wine, a bowl of water, a cloth, and towels. You’ll find them just inside the main hall.”
“Yes, Helene.” An archer rushed to do her bidding. Rachael could see he was smiling, as were the other archers. They knew and respected the woman.
“What about you.” The woman was looking at Anneke.
“I just happened to be around.” Anneke sounded amused.
“Good. You can help me with her. Give her watered wine until she’s had enough, bind up her wrists in that wool soaked in goose grease, and bathe her clean. I know what she feels like.”
A shadow blocked out the sky and Rachael looked up. She saw her sergeant. She’d come all this way to be hung.
He smiled. “You’ve been a lot of trouble, Red. I’m glad we caught up with you at last. We have some unfinished business.”
Anneke smiled.
“You must be her mysterious friend,” the sergeant had noticed. “I’d like to discuss what happened to my scouts.”
“Later, Kamran,” Helene interrupted. “The smuggler’s had her and she needs care.”
“In a minute.” Her opposition didn’t upset him. “Did you get your signal away, Red?”
Beyorn, the blond man-at-arms, stood out of Kamran’s direct vision. He nodded slightly, urging cooperation.
Rachael decided to trust him. “Yes.”
“When will they pick you up?”
“Tonight, just after midnight.” Anneke joined in.
“Can we get her there in time?”
Anneke nodded.
“Great. I’ve got a message I want her to take to the Federation.”
“She goes with me.” Rachael wouldn’t abandon Anneke.
“She’s not a Federation citizen, or employee, and I have matters to discuss with her. She will not be harmed.” Kamran called two guards from the gate. “Take this woman to a guest suite. She is to be provided with everything she needs, but I want her there when I have time to talk to her.”
Anneke looked at him searchingly for a long moment and then knelt down by Rachael. “He is a man to be trusted. Tell your people that. I will be safe.” She stood up. “The rendezvous is this side of Cape Gris-Nez.”
Kamran nodded and Anneke walked away, her guards trailing her like servants.
“Well, Red are you ready for a boat journey?” Kamran stood above her.
“My name is Rachael.”
“I like Red better,” he shrugged. “But, Rachael it is.” He turned away. “Beyorn, check the harbor. The wind’s too light. Something about eight oared. Big enough to carry a change of rowers and a litter. You and I will go with them and take our turn at the oars.”
“Make sure there’s room for me too,” Helene said. “She needs care.”
Rachael liked Kamran’s grin. It made him human.
“Here I was, thinking you’d stay here and rest, becoming the chatelaine again.”
“You’ve sent those days into the past, although I might grow to like the sound of Queen Helene.” The woman smiled.
“You’ve become very ambitious, my love.”
Rachael recognized the banter of lovers and thought the pair well-suited.
* * * *
Kamran stood in the courtyard as the four spearmen bore the litter away. Red…he corrected himself, Rachael, looked like she’d had a hard time with the smugglers. Her wrists were raw and the corners of her mouth torn. The Federation medical team would repair her injuries, but Helene would make her feel better in the meantime, and that was important.
He’d caught her glance at Beyorn. Was the Federation playing a deeper game? He liked the implications. The man was a genuine Westlander. This meant the Federation had a presence there and had sent him here to assess the situation. He hadn’t intervened when they were about to hang Rachael and her friends, Kamran remembered him at the far end of the scaffold, so his orders must be serious.
It could mean a deal with the Federation was closer than he thought.
A movement at a window above him caught his attention, the so-called Traveler girl. The guards had been smart. The only window to her room faced the courtyard and was under the eye of the watchmen in the gatehouse towers. He’d lived with the Travelers on his way to the mountains and learned some of their tricks as payment for his services as a guide, but this Anneke was no more a Traveler than he was. She’d done something to terrify the scouts and he must know what if he was to counter it successfully.
“Sir?” his senior sergeant, the one he trusted most, asked.
“I’m taking Beyorn and his twenty for a quick trip down the coast. We should be back by noon tomorrow, or early evening at the latest. Keep the town quiet, round up any looters and hang them in the square with the smugglers. Make your own judgment in any case not absolutely clear cut and I’ll back you.”
The sergeant nodded his understanding. “My family is back there.” He pointed in the general direction of Valentia.
“I’ve sent messages to divert the High Born until we march, and Dirk has orders to protect our own, no matter what.”
“I wondered why you left him behind.”
Kamran smiled. He’d bought Dirk’s personal loyalty to him with blood on a dozen battlefields and a hundred savage skirmishes. He’d thought long and hard before leaving him, but he had to convince the men their families were safe, and they knew Dirk for his stubborn defenses. The least threat from the High Born and he’d have the families within the compound and hold it for months, if need be.
“I’ll remind the others,” the sergeant smiled. “Every man-jack here has volunteered to join us, and there’s talk of raising a voluntary levy as well.”
Kamran nodded. “Keep an eye on her.” He pointed upwards at the girl. “She gave in too easily. Guard her well.”
“Perhaps I should sleep with her?” the sergeant grinned.
“Not if you value your manhood. Your wife’s temper is well known. I heard she threatened to geld you the last time.”
The sergeant laughed and turned away. He had work to do. Kamran watched him, still smiling, and then gave a final glance upwards at the window. The girl gave him a cheeky wave, pointed to the harbor and the angle of the sun, reminding him of the passage of time.
Kamran laughed, bowed his acquiescence, and left.
* * * *
Anneke watched him go. Peter would like this man, but it was time for her to go. Helene would look after Rachael, and all her injuries were within the scope of the Federation medics. She had no excuse to linger, and there’d been too many deaths.
She could never match her father’s detachment to casualties. He calculated the odds, counted the costs, balanced them against results, and forged ahead. Her lapse in allowing the smugglers to capture Rachael, and the measures she took to rescue her, wouldn’t amuse him. He’d have stood back and nudged others into achieving it.
It was his way.
A final look around and she stepped through the portal into Limbo.
Her father was there.
“Hello, Peter. Been watching over me?”
“Do you need me to?” He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.
“Would you stop if I didn’t?”
“That reminds me of an equally unanswerable question on Earth. I think it went, when did you stop beating your wife? Any answer could be construed as an admission.”
Anneke looked at him sharply, knowing that trying to scan his thought was futile. He was the only one who could block her out so completely he would disappear from her mind’s view. Peter rarely played word games like this. Could he be hiding something?
The Alliance Page 9
