Eira slapped the flat of the bed. “You will find me much more agreeable when I am allowed to move around,” she cried, eyes flashing.
“You have just been seriously injured,” he cautioned. “I would not have you bleed to death walking over the halls of this fortress.”
“I do not still bleed,” she said icily. My wounds heal quite nicely and if you want to relieve a little of my irritation, you could inform me of what has happened while I am forced to languish away like some frail child.” She ended her rant with a huff and crossed her arms defiantly.
Varyk’s lips twitched. The twitch formed into a smile and he chuckled. He held up his hand as Eira’s eyes widened into rage. “Forgive me. It is just good to hear you sound so formidable,” he said.
“I am glad my ill will finds you so agreeable,” she said crossly. Her eyes softened and she pleaded. “Please, my love. What has happened? All I know is a hush has dropped across the halls of this place as if people fear something.”
Varyk closed the door. “Ryen arrived early this morning,” he stated abruptly. “He immediately sent a herald with a simple message. It read, ‘Send my daughter to me at once. I wish to hear word of the peace spoken between the two of you from her lips’.”
Eira lay back and looked thoughtful. “He knows something is amiss.” She glanced at Varyk, puzzled. “How is that possible?”
He stepped over to the end of the bed. “I do not know,” he said doubtfully, “I am at a loss. I sent the herald back with a note from myself that welcomed Ryen and asked for a meeting between only the two of us outside the walls on open ground before both of our people.” Varyk tightened his jaw.
Eira frowned. “I take it from your expression he was not taken with your response?”
“The herald returned with a quick reply. Ryen refused the meeting. He has informed me that if I step outside that holding without his daughter beside me that he will kill me on sight. Furthermore he has decreed if she is not returned to him by morning, he will assume his daughter lives no more and will destroy the village as retribution before laying siege to us.”
Eira eyes widened. “Has he so many soldiers that he does not fear the men within these walls?” she asked curiously.
Varyk sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “He has come with a fair number of soldiers as part of his entourage, all of whom I am certain are battle-hardened men and women who have fought for years. What do we have? Newly trained Britai soldiers with no battle experience and I am without my warriors who would be able to keep them in formation and fight without crumbling.” He stood and ran his hands through his hair. “The siege is no great threat. The Haaldyn cannot easily break these walls with their small numbers and they came prepared with no large tools of war. We are safe within the holding, especially since the Lute are due to arrive very soon.” Varyk’s face grew somber. “But I feel a truth in Ryen’s words. If he feels he has lost his daughter, he may very well destroy the village and I cannot allow that.” He turned away. “I have already ordered Jusa to prepare the men. If Ryen tries to destroy the village I will have no choice but to engage him. It must be done with care. Once the gates are open, it will leave the holding weak.”
“Varyk, no,” Eira cried with desperation. She slid the covers aside and would have risen had he not moved quickly and halted her by sitting on the edge of the bed. Eira’s gaze was one of desolation as she gripped his hands. “If this happens, it cannot be turned back. This will end any chance of peace. Even if Ishar returns alive, the harm of this battle might very well drive a wedge between us and the Haaldyn for lifetimes to come, even more if the Lute arrive and are forced to choose sides. It will threaten the peace that now stands. It might very well destroy it.”
Varyk leaned over and kissed her hands. “I know.” He glanced up. “I have thought of scenario after scenario that I might try and I can think of only one other way to deal with this other then direct confrontation.”
A shiver ran through Eira as she realized his intent. The look in her eyes became one of horror. “No,” she spoke abruptly, her fingers wrapped tight within the sleeve of his shirt. “Do not do this,” she pleaded.
Varyk frowned. “Even if there was a chance it might ease this conflict?” he asked gently. “If I am able to speak to Ryen man to man, without him having to judge his words by how it makes him appear before his people, I might be able to convince him to at least give us another day or two before outright violence occurs.”
“He has said he will kill you,” she hissed. “I will not chance that those words are spoken as a bluff.” Eira shook her head. “You must not go.”
He looked down with a weary glance. “Do you trust me?” he asked quietly, drawing light circles on her hands. “Do you trust me, the man you pledged to spend your life with?” Varyk turned his eyes to her dark brooding ones. “I will not have the blood of the people in that village on my hands. The only way to stop that is for me to go to Ryen and hope he will allow me a chance of explanation.”
“And if he kills you?” she whispered hoarsely.
“My hope is that he will give us this time. I do not care if he demands I remain confined among them until she returns, but if Ishar does not return and is dead, maybe I will balance out the deaths and the peace will continue. I ask only this of you: if I do die, you will continue this peace to the end that it was meant to go, you will guide this holding and these people and my men toward a preparation of meeting the Tourna, and most importantly, you will not seek revenge.”
She jerked her hands from him. “You cannot ask this of me,” Eira spoke rigidly. “The Lute in me will want revenge.”
Varyk gave a deep sigh. “I pledged myself to a woman who looked beyond who she was as a member of her people and bound herself to a man of a people who no longer exist. I have seen the end the Tourna will bring to us through the destruction of my own land, my own people.” He stared intently into her somber dark eyes. “You speak of this peace, of the desperation you have felt to see it through to the end,” he said firmly. “Do not fulfill the desire of these people who would have it fail. If I fall, promise me you will continue to seek it with the same passion you have shown everything else you love in life.” Varyk cupped her face. “Do this small thing for me.”
“Small,” Eira choked out. She leaned into his hand. Tears ran across his knuckles. “I cannot even think of your death, much less what I would do beyond that.” Eira closed her eyes for a moment then picked up her head. She gave him a grave look. “But I promise,” she said halting, “to seek everything I do with wisdom and forethought.” Her shoulders drooped. “It is all I can swear to at this time.”
Varyk bent over, brought her face up and kissed her. “That is all I can ask.”
He turned to go but Eira reached out a hand and stopped him, her fingers wrapped around his wrist in a snug grip. When Varyk glanced back she smiled softly, attempting to hide her sadness and failing. “Stay for a while longer. It is a small thing that I ask?” she said, gripping his arm tight.
His jaw tightened. A myriad of expressions ran across his face. Varyk’s smile was faint but real. “A little longer,” he spoke softly. He slid out of his leather overguard, threw it down beside the bed and lay down gently next to her.
*
The moon was nearly halfway to its crest when Varyk emerged. Clouds moved into the area and a rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. He glanced appreciatively at the change in weather and made his way to Jusa, “Any movement?” he asked.
Jusa shook his head. “None toward the inside of the village. They stay along the fringes to make certain no one leaves.” He looked up and sighed as the sound of thunder grew. Jusa turned his attention back to Varyk. “The villagers must be nearly frightened out of their minds.”
Varyk nodded. “I know.” He hesitated and bent close to the Britai soldier. “Jusa, what I am about to tell you is for your ears only. No one else will know, save Eira. You understand?” The Britai man frowned but nodded
. Varyk continued. “I am leaving the holding shortly through the tunnel. I intend to sneak into Ryen’s camp and seek him out personally. I have to speak with him before innocent blood is shed by the light of the morning.”
Jusa’s face paled. He looked around, then moved even closer to Varyk. “My lord, I beg of you to let me go,” he whispered in supplication. “If Ryen seeks to harm you, I wish to be at your side to defend your life no matter what comes. I owe you this for all you have done for my people and this holding.”
Varyk placed his hand on Jusa’s arm. He shook his head. “I need you here with Eira if anything goes wrong,” he calmly answered. “She will need your help in guiding and training these men and others to face the Tourna. Eira will need you to help hold this peace firm, no matter what happens. I have her pledge on this.” Varyk’s face grew firm. “I want yours.”
Jusa looked torn, between his sworn duty to obey his lord and his innermost desire to stand beside Varyk during this trial. His face fell but he nodded. “I pledge this to you,” he whispered gravely.
Varyk gripped the Britai’s shoulder. “Keep soldiers posted and change the guard at more frequent intervals. Fresh eyes will notice subtle changes in the dark, especially with the storm that approaches. I intend to use its fury to slip amongst Ryen’s soldiers. Ryen, however, might have a similar desire to move within the elements of the storm. Any change is to be reported to Eira immediately.” Varyk stepped close as he whispered, “No one must know that I am gone.” He stepped back and his golden eyes fixed Jusa with a firm stony fierceness.
Jusa swallowed and nodded soberly.
Varyk nodded. “Then come with me and secure the tunnel behind me. If all goes well I will enter through the front gates upon my return.” He did not wait but turned and walked back toward the fortress and the tunnel. A flash of lightning was followed by the crack of thunder. The clouds crept farther across the moon as the first drops of rain began to fall.
*
Ishar patted the wet, slick neck of her mare. She and every other Raanan were soaked to the skin from the constant rain that had started hours earlier. Their clothes hung heavy from the steady falling downpour. The rain showed no signs of easing as the warriors made their way toward home, instead it showed signs of becoming a constant companion. Ishar glanced toward Traevyn with concern. He rode upright in the saddle but only just. His head hung down and when she rode close, Ishar saw his body shivered. She knew if she were to reach over and touch him she would find his fever had not abated. Traevyn refused to stop and rest, citing they had no time to waste. They had to return to the holding. Though she had seen Lysandr tighten his lips, no Raanan had argued against continuing. They each recognized the truth of Traevyn’s words.
Neither Ber nor Glyndwr carried a fever and though Gavin did, it was lightly felt. All of the men held themselves stiff and weary in the saddle. Two days of riding were tiring; more so when one had been nearly full of constant pouring rain. Earlier in the morning, the rain had caught up with them and during the day had moved slowly ahead. But this was a large storm, the clouds spread out before them and far behind. There was little hope they would see the end before reaching the holding. And now, winds had added themselves to the mixture. Ishar shivered as a cool breeze whipped through the group. She was grateful for the overthrow Davaris had given her. Though now wet, it provided a layer of protection against the stiff wind picking up from behind. She shivered again and moved her horse close to Traevyn’s.
He glanced toward her. His eyes were exhausted and full of pain. “What?” Traevyn asked wearily as he tried to control the shudders that racked his body.
Ishar reached up and pressed her palm to his neck. Heat radiated. She compressed her lips. “You need to stop,” she argued. “We are close enough to the holding that we should not have to worry about any attack from the Tourna. I can ride on alone if I have to,” she added.
The rain gushed from the sky, onto his soaked head, dribbled down his hair and neck and into his clothes. He blinked water from his eyes. “It is all but a flooding out here,” he said hoarsely, “and there is no shelter close. I have no desire to stop and stand out in this downpour when I can continue on and finally find some place warm and dry.” He shook his head. “We continue on. Together.”
Ishar recognized the wisdom of his words. She just hated that he was hurting because of her: defending her, riding to protect her. Ishar nodded in defeat at his obvious insistence, Traevyn would not be deterred. “We should be there within the hour.”
He nodded but barely, as if his body hurt with the simple action. Ishar frowned but kept her silence as they continued on with a steady firm pace.
*
Varyk let down the cover to the tunnel. He heard Jusa slide the bar across, locking it down. Varyk stood and peered through the bushes. The rain fell steady and brisk and the volume seemed to increase with every minute. The first spring storm had finally arrived. A deluge would not be far behind. He rose and slipped out into the open and moved out across the darkness of night.
By the time he had sneaked to the edge of the village, the rain came down in sheets. Varyk crept forward, looked around, then stood and walked toward the encampment. He reasoned with soldiers spread around the village and in the camp, Ryen’s men would not be likely to challenge a man moving between the two with outright brashness. It proved to be a correct assumption. Though he saw several guards as he made his way into the encampment, a casual wave of his hand produced the same gesture in return. The rain also made it difficult for his Raanan clothing to be noticed. Once in the camp, Varyk moved from tent to tent searching for Ryen’s. He headed for the center and found what he was looking for: a large tent with several guards at its entrance.
Varyk stooped down behind the closest tent and studied the situation. For several minutes he watched as no one entered or left between the men on guard. The sky cracked open with a clap of thunder and the rainfall became worse, pounding the ground in torrents. The guards stepped closer under the overhang and hunched their heads down. Varyk looked up at the sky, at the water gushing down and moved. He would not have long. The deluge could slow at any moment and his movement might easily be noted. Varyk crept to the back of the large tent, crouched down, and slipped silently under a flap.
He was in darkness. He listened and heard movement more to the front of the tent. It must be divided into sections, he thought. There was probably a place for Ryen to rest somewhere in the handmade room he now found himself. He lifted himself up quietly and tried to instinctively feel for a waiting opponent. Varyk moved toward a glimmer of light showing between the fringes of two flaps. He let his fingers brush open the covering a bare space and voices floated to his ears.
“Address the entire dispatch to Gaza. He will know how to get the other messages where they need to go. Send Toma. He is one of our fastest and surest riders. We will have to pray the Lute do not stop his progress. Tell him if he is stopped and questioned he must say he sends tidings of good news regarding the peace. If they search him? Well. We can only hope they do not.” There was a pause. “Do you have all of that, Haskin?”
“Yes, my lord,” a low voice replied. “Will there be anything else?”
“No. Get these sent and retire. I think we will all need our strength for tomorrow and the coming days.”
From within his hindered view came a tall, thin man dressed in Haaldyn clothing. He carried several leather satchels slung over his right shoulder. Haskin, Varyk mused. This could not be the Ryen he had heard such great things about. Beyond his fair coloring, there was nothing of Ishar in his face and no regal bearing. The Haaldyn made his way out through the flap lining the entrance. Then there was only the patter of rain beating down on the tent with a steady rhythm. Already the gush of water had eased to some degree. Varyk heard a sigh and a grunt and the slid of a chair moving. Footsteps approached and he stepped aside and waited.
A moment later, a man entered with a candle in hand. Varyk moved quickly and slid hi
s dagger around from the back and pressed the blade tight against the throat of the man he hoped was Ryen. The man was as tall as Varyk though slightly more broad, with long red hair sprinkled with gray pulled back at his neck by a metal catch.
The man went still. After a pause, he stated casually, “I assume you want something besides cutting my throat since I still live.”
“Are you Ryen of the Haaldyn?” Varyk stated stiffly.
“Who is asking?” was the gruff reply.
Varyk frowned at the man’s arrogance. “I am Varyk of Taryn, the holding you now stand before with such meager forces, yet such strong readiness for war.”
At the mention of his name, the man went stiff. “You are a fool,” he muttered fiercely. “You have come all this way to kill me as you did my daughter? You will not find me so easy a kill and my men will never allow you the chance to make it back within your gates. They will see you die in front of all in the holding and the people in the village will still be made to suffer.”
“I did not come to kill you,” Varyk said softly.
“The blade would indicate otherwise,” Ryen answered angrily.
“The blade only opens an opportunity for dialogue I was afraid would be missing if I had tried to simply enter unarmed. You would argue against this?”
Ryen was silent for a moment. “What dialogue is needed between us?” he spit out. “I have nothing to say to the killer of my daughter.”
Varyk felt his own ire rising but smothered his growing irritation. How could the man be so certain his daughter was dead? It did not make sense. He tried reasoning with Ryen. “What if I were to tell you your daughter is not dead? That she rides even now with my men on a mission to the west to halt a plot to destroy the peace we both want quite desperately? What would you say to that?” Varyk only prayed that his words were true and Ishar lived.
Ryen’s tone was implacable. “I would say you lie to protect yourself and to prevent a war.”
The Treason Blade (Battle for Alsaar Book 1) Page 25
