“If you truly believe I have killed your daughter, what good would it do for me to risk coming here?” Varyk reasoned. “As you said, it is very likely I would be caught either entering or leaving and what good would it do to buy myself some time?”
Ryen’s reply was quick. “You wish to buy yourself time until your Lute allies arrive. You know Wyn will more than likely side with you because of his daughter and I will be forced to contend with assaults from two sides.” There was a bitter tone to Ryen’s voice as he continued. “I would not listen to some of my council when they argued against this alliance, saying none of you could be trusted. I defended you, and now my daughter is dead.”
“She lives,” Varyk insisted. “I swear to you, Ryen. Your daughter lives. All I ask is you give us the time to see this truth before you bring folly down on all of us. Once blood is shed there will be no easy way to undo what has been done. My men will return in the next few days, and with Ishar. You have my pledge on it, I swear.”
Ryen sneered. “What good is your pledge, I wonder? You can continue your lies all you want. They will help you none. I know the truth. I have an eyewitness to your deception.”
Varyk was at a loss for words. A witness? He opened his mouth to counter the remark and felt the point of a sword stick into the center of his back. He stiffened.
“I find I dislike the sight of my father with a knife at his throat,” a woman whispered low. “Remove the dagger. Now.”
Varyk hesitated and hissed as the sword tip went deeper. The woman apparently had no problem skewering him with the weapon. He released the tension on the blade and held both of his hands up. Ryen turned and angrily ripped the dagger from his right hand. For a moment Varyk wondered if Ryen might kill him with it so great was the anger in the man’s deep green eyes. With the sword at his back, Varyk realized he had no defense.
“Father,” the woman spoke softly. Her tone sounded concerned.
Ryen held the dagger readily and walked around. He set the candle on a metal stand and took the sword from the woman. “Serine, go fetch the guards.”
Varyk turned and studied the woman. She had to be one of Ishar’s sisters. Her features were very familiar with long red hair braided down her back, tall statue and intense green eyes that now seemed more focused on Ryen than Varyk.
She addressed her father. “Perhaps you should heed his words. They might bear some wisdom,” she cautioned.
“You think I might have wisdom in my words, yet your actions give your father the ability to kill me without hearing and listening to my good judgment,” Varyk ground out through clenched teeth.
Serine frowned. “I will not stand by and watch you hold a sword on my father, sir, no matter how intriguing I find your words.” She glanced back to Ryen. “Still, before you go to war, should you not consider what he has to say?”
Ryen flicked his gaze her way. He looked back at Varyk. “You are not a warrior and I will forgive your innocence of knowledge in these matters. This man cannot be trusted.”
At his words, Serine went rigid with anger. “I may not be a warrior, but I am a healer. I see what happens when a man lets emotions rule his head instead of his intellect. I am the one who attempts to put back together what is left of the man when the war you start is finished.” She took a step closer. “I only ask that you think instead of just reacting. It is what my sister would want you to do.” Serine stepped back and gave a low nod of her head. “I will see that the guards come.” She stepped back through the flap of fabric and disappeared from sight.
Ryen caught Varyk’s eye, and shrugged. “Our women are a touch too spirited at times.” He kept the blade ready.
A moment later three soldiers entered. Ryen nodded. “How goes the rain?”
“The downpour has eased to a steady fall, my lord,” one soldier answered, confused.
Ryen nodded and pointed to Varyk. “See to him and bind him. Kill him if he moves.” He looked back at Varyk as the soldiers quickly found rope and bound the Raanan’s wrists. “I wish I could allow myself the luxury of time my daughter believes I have, but I find I cannot.” He looked toward a soldier. “Has the rain slacked enough that you can see good and clear to the holding?”
“Yes, my lord, for the moment the rain has eased from the heavy downpour and the day is upon us. A glimmer already shines to the east,” the soldier answered.
Ryen walked toward a bed. Atop it lay a sword and scabbard. He set down the blade that was in his hand and slid the other sword out, tapping it against his leg as he turned. Ryen motioned toward Varyk. “Bring him. Let us do this.”
Varyk was dragged forward through the curtains. He fought against it and received a knee to the stomach. Gasping, he went down on one knee but was brought back up and dragged onward. In a moment they were back out in the rain. Varyk blinked back the water from his eyes and saw Ryen moved with steady patience toward the holding wall. “Ryen,” he yelled. “You spoke of a witness? I want to see this witness who would accuse me and my people of such treachery. Do I not at least deserve this small request?”
Their voices had drawn the attention of several people and many more began to creep out of tents to see the happenings. Ryen turned and strode back to Varyk. He stared at the Raanan severely for a moment. He turned toward a female soldier standing close by, her hand on her sword. Varyk noticed she wore the same wolf symbol emblazoned on her chest that Ishar had worn. “Brya, send for Fenric to come,” he uttered with absolute command.
The woman bowed and turned, striding off in the direction of a nearby tent.
Varyk looked to Ryen in shock. “Fenric? He was the friend of Ishar who visited and cut his stay short.” Varyk shook his head. “How can he be our accuser? He was welcomed to the holding and treated with respect. He saw that we treated your daughter with the same respect. Whatever else he has told you are vicious lies.”
Ryen gaze was one of death. “Why would a man I have known all my life and who helped teach and instruct Ishar in the beginnings of swordsmanship, a man who has always been honorable in all his dealings and words, why would such a man lie? And why should I believe the words of a stranger I barely know over a lifelong friend I would trust unto death?”
“Thank you, my lord,” a voice uttered softly behind Varyk. Fenric came forward and pointed a finger in Varyk’s direction. He focused on Ryen who was before him and spoke loudly. “This is he, my lord. He used coy words and showered us with many praises but I saw through his deception to the hate lying in wait beneath. I warned your daughter to come with me, that we would tell them we were going out for a ride and simply never come back, but in her good nature she could not see the evil that resided in this holding and refused.” Fenric’s face fell. “And now she is dead.”
At his words, anger began to rise through the crowd. Several more soldiers drew their swords and bellowed for Varyk’s blood in Ishar’s name.
Fenric continued, speaking to the crowd. “I should have stayed to die by her side. I left because I hoped to hurry Ryen to the holding and so let these mangy Britai see the fury of our men and women and tremble to try anything. But I was too late. Ishar is dead at their hands and this is their leader. He decided her fate. Let us decide his.”
Cries of ‘kill him’ rang out. More soldiers drew their weapons. Varyk realized Fenric’s words had stirred up a lust for justice from the people. They wanted blood because of Ishar’s supposed death. They would kill him and move quickly on to the village in their anger and desire for vengeance if he could not halt this rage. He looked at Ryen and pleaded. “This man’s words are false. Do not do this. It might very well destroy the peace you and your daughter have fought so hard for.”
“If this is what we are to expect from your peace,” Fenric sneered, “I rather believe we would do better on our own and let the Lute and Britai stay within their own lands.” He looked around at the crowd. “We are more than capable of defending ourselves against the Tourna. We have done so in the past. We will do so in the futu
re.” A roar of Haaldyn pride rose from the crowd at his words.
Ryen held up a hand and silence slid upon the people before him. “That is not a decision to be decided tonight.” He looked at Varyk. “I asked this man for one simple thing. My daughter, returned safely. He denies me this and after the words of Fenric I find I fear the worst.” Ryen pointed to Varyk. “He would have me give him time to produce her. He says she is off with his men, that there is no ploy at work here, that I must trust him.” Ryen looked at his people. “Yet we all know a Lute force will be here within a few days. He means to buy himself time for his ally to arrive.”
“If that were the case, why would I not stay safe within my holding?” Varyk argued savagely. “I have done nothing to harm this peace. Your daughter lives and you will regret very much what you do.” He saw several of the Haaldyn closest to him seem to take in the measure of his words.
Fenric must have seen it also. He stepped forward and beseeched to Ryen, placing a hand on the weapon by his side. “By this sword I have worn in service to you for over thirty years I swear an oath on my life and my honor that all I say is true.” Fenric pointed a finger at Varyk. “Listen to him and in two days we will face an enemy on our flank and our front. He means to destroy us as he did your daughter. Your daughter,” Fenric pleaded, “your beautiful daughter, Ishar, who came to this place full of hope and desperate for the peace these people claimed was readily available for all of us.” He spit on the ground for effect. “They mean us no peace. Only death.”
Ryen’s eyes hardened. He glanced at the soldiers. “Bring him.”
Varyk was grabbed and hauled forward. He fought against his bonds but was dragged mercilessly forward toward the holding. Ryen ordered them to stop outside of the range of arrows but close enough that Varyk knew anyone along the wall would have a perfect view of what was about to happen. Fire burst upon his left as the grease of animals was lit to light the lessoning night. Varyk was shoved to his knees. The three soldiers drew their swords and backed away, giving room to Ryen. They stayed nearby, ready with drawn weapons.
Ryen stepped up. He turned and faced his people. “What I do now I do for my daughter and for my people, so all may know the Haaldyn will not stand by and allow injustice to occur to our people outside our lands.”
Varyk closed his eyes and prayed silently. Jusa, whatever you have done, please do not have allowed Eira out of her room. Do not let her see this. He opened his eyes and watched as his executioner raised the blade above his head and angled it for a downward swipe.
14
Ishar nudged her mare faster as the holding came into view. The downpour had reduced observations to nothing. It was only as she and the Raanan warriors made their way from the back of the holding, toward the front and main gate that the rain had begun to ease enough to offer greater visibility. Her father was already encamped. Numerous tents loomed in front of them. Off to her left a horseman approached their mounts. He wore Haaldyn garb.
“Halt,” he ordered, raising a hand, “By order of Ryen of Haaldyn. I order you to stop.”
Ishar turned to confront the individual. Better her than any of the exhausted Raanans. All were weary, dirty, and definitely wet. Several were injured. None were in the mood for gentle talk and a persuasive tongue. Ishar knew she needed to be the voice of reason. She sat straighter in the saddle and tried to look as dignified as possible for one drenched to the skin as she studied the Haaldyn who was slender and appeared young. This one had seen no battle. “Who orders the daughter of Ryen to halt?” She asked with a sharp tongue.
The Haaldyn stopped and stared with wide eyes. He urged his horse closer and studied her. “But you are dead,” he exclaimed in shock, “We have it on good authority.”
“I bet I know on whose authority,” Lysandr muttered as he gave a kick to his mount’s side. The Raanan second in command moved his horse up beside Ishar and leaned over. “We need to continue,” he stated softly to her. “Tell him to move aside or I will have Davaris move him.” His tone was cold.
He was ready for battle, she realized. It would not take much to push any of them close to reaching for their swords. With the sight of Varyk’s holding surrounded partly by Haaldyn, the Raanans were on edge. Ishar frowned and looked at the Haaldyn soldier. “What is your name?”
The soldier blinked. “Hul, Siobyn,” he answered rapidly.
She arched a brow and acknowledged his use of her command title with a nod. “Then you recognize who I am?”
“Yes, Siobyn,” he gulped. “I have seen you before, when you visited the town of Varisk along the coast after a Tourna raid. I was but a boy then but I would know you anywhere.”
He was still a boy, she thought. Ishar’s smile was thin as she replied, “Then return to your post, Hul. These men are with me. I will continue on alone in their company. There is no need to send word to my father. I will attend to that.”
Hul nodded and started to turn away but looked back with concern. “Forgive me, Siobyn, daughter of Ryen, but there is something happening between the camp and the holding. A short while ago I heard a shout that became many. It would appear something has upset our people. I would have sought it out but I did not want to leave my post and I heard no horn blow for battle.” He paused before continuing. “You might wish to go and quickly. Your father thinks you dead. It is uncertain what he will do in his grief,” he added solemnly.
The smile dropped from her face at his words. Hul believed what he spoke. She could see it in his eyes. Ishar nodded. “Thank you. I will seek the trouble and let my father know I am well. Keep to your post.”
The Haaldyn soldier moved quickly away in the now steady drizzle. Ishar shivered and moved her horse forward. As she neared the front corner of the holding wall the sound of voices reached her. She recognized them. These were voices raised in anger. Ishar felt a panic within her grow and heeled the mare she rode in the sides. The horse laid back her ears but moved into a fast canter.
Ishar peered through the light rain into the murky night and tried to discern the figures before her. She recognized them at the same time that the entire situation became plain to her. The panic became an unbearable pressure on her chest as she realized what was about to happen. “Father,” she screamed to the man with the sword raised in his hand. Knowing the Raanans were right behind her she surged forward, intent on reaching her father before it was too late. “Father,” she screamed again, “No! Do not do this! No!” she screamed again into the wind.
The blade descended but he must have heard, for her father redirected the blow and the sword slammed into the ground. The force buried it deep into mud. She watched as her father jerked his head up and watched her approach with shock upon his face.
The Raanans gave a roar of anger behind her. They had caught sight of Varyk kneeling in the mud with his hands bound. Ishar heard the sound of steel clearing scabbards and knew she had but scant seconds to deflect the anger of the men. Before the horse could come to a halt, Ishar leapt from the mare and moved toward Varyk. She turned and brought her hand up, pleading and praying the Raanans would listen. Lysandr raised his hand. The Raanans’ horses slid slightly as they were pulled up short. Lysandr gave Ishar a guarded dark look she understood. He was ready for anything that might happen but he was also giving her his trust.
Ishar nodded to him and moved over and behind Varyk. She helped him to his feet and with her dagger, slit the ropes that bound him.
Varyk turned and glanced back with an aggravated frown. “That was far too close for my comfort,” he muttered as he rubbed his chaffed wrists. Both turned and looked at Ryen stiffly.
Her father stared at her as if she was a ghost. “Ishar?” he said softly in astonishment as if he could not believe her presence. He walked over to where she and Varyk stood and touched her face. “Ishar,” he stated roughly, with more strength to his tone. He grabbed her and hugged her to him. “I thought you were dead,” he muttered into her wet hair.
Ishar hugged him back fo
r a second, then pushed at his chest. Ryen seemed reluctant to let go but relinquished his hold and stepped back as if perplexed by her actions. She gazed at him in anger and pointed to Varyk. “Father, what were you about to do? This man has done nothing but offer the hospitality of his holding and his goodwill toward us. Why did you seek his death?”
Ryen looked confused. “We were told by Fenric you were dead by their hands. When Varyk refused to produce you, we believed Fenric’s words and assumed the worst.”
Ishar turned her anger toward Fenric who looked visibly upset and uncertain by the events now placed before him. He stood alone as all eyes turned for explanation. Ishar pointed her dagger toward him and faced her people. “This man is a traitor.” A gasp rose through the crowd at her words. “He has attempted to see me dead and allied himself with the Tourna to obtain such an end.” The murmurs among the crowd began to grow. She turned back toward her father. Ryen looked shocked by her words and he studied his longtime friend with a marked and growing anger. Ishar waved her other hand in the direction of the Raanan warriors, all still mounted. “It is only because of these men, Varyk’s noble and honorable warriors, that I live and am able to speak this truth.” She glanced back at Fenric with contempt. “He would have you blind to anything that is not Haaldyn. Fenric says he wishes us secure, but what he really wants is to be alienated from Lute and the Britai and these Raanans, even if it cost every Haaldyn their life in the end. This is how deep his anger and resentment are at this peace we now try to propose.”
Ishar turned and faced her people. She saw many did not know how to take her words. They spoke of such a depth of treachery and by one of their own. The thought was frightening. Ishar understood. It terrified her. She gazed at her people, the silence only broken by the drizzle of rain that appeared to pick up as she continued. “I know not everyone here is prepared for this peace. That includes people in this camp and in the holding. There are so many doubts. We have been enemies for such a long time that friendship feels too strange. I, too, felt uncertain coming to this place at first, but in the time I have spent among these people, I have come to see beyond our unique habits of culture, at the core we are all similar: people who are struggling to prepare and survive the next Tourna invasion. Some here struggle with the same hard feelings as many of you, but many understand what is at cost: our freedom and our very lives.
The Treason Blade (Battle for Alsaar Book 1) Page 26
