Ewian caught his eye but his face remained impassive. Earlier, they had agreed that they were not pleased with how the situation looked. Darius hated letting the king walk in with them. But their company was small and they needed every man and more. According to the message that had arrived during the night, the main army was roughly four hours behind them. So close, but too far. He only hoped they appeared in time. At least their current group had only to hold out until then.
The signal was given and they began to move. Keeping the King within his sight, Darius readjusted his grip on the reins and focused on the walls coming into view. For the fiftieth time in the past hour, he mentally ran down his gear and its careful placement on him and his horse. His mail lay heavy beneath his leather and metal jerkin. His heavy cloak concealed the dagger in his belt and his shield was carefully attached to the travel gear behind him to hide the hilt of his sword within easy reach. Looking around casually, he tried to relax and prepare his mind for the madness to come.
He found himself thinking of Brice. If all was well, she was safely with Karyn and the children. She was protected by strong walls and Ewian’s wife’s knowledge of how to protect her family in this type of situation. As much as he missed her presence, he knew she was safer inside the castle and city walls. Now he would be free to defend his master and king without the distraction of protecting her and worrying that his failure might bring her death. Somehow the thought of her death caused him more dread than that of his king or himself. The fact he did not fear his death did not surprise him. He had been facing the possibility of his life ending in the next instant for all of his days. As soldier and bodyguard, he had been entrusted with other men’s lives more times than he could count, but never had one life been so much more important than the others. Disturbed by the course of his thoughts, Darius broke them off.
All he could hear was the creaking of leather and metal and the heavy plodding of horseshoes on grass and dirt. Some of the men started up nervous conversations. The guise of relaxed banter was good, but Darius hoped none of the men at the gates would be able to hear the actual words. The hearing of the discourse of the younger pair to his right was a dead giveaway that something was wrong. The men were too nervous to think straight.
“It looks like rain,” the one said in a monotone.
“The clouds are certainly gray,” the second replied in a strained voice that cracked on the word gray. He did not spare a glance for the clear blue sky above his head.
“Do you suppose the farmers will have a good harvest?” the first continued.
“Apples were in season last month.”
Ewian edged his stallion closer to the king’s. Darius turned his attention away from the nonsensical conversation. Dropping back behind the king’s right flank, he scanned the top of the walls just visible beyond the trees. Not many metal helmets caught the sunlight. He wondered if that number would increase as they approached.
They rounded the last grove of trees and the walls and the entrance came into view. The short drawbridge was down, the main city gate with its large doors stood wide, and the heavy iron portcullis was raised so only the spikes showed below the arch. Darius edged closer to the king’s flank. This was going too well. Something was amiss.
As they approached, there was no shout of greeting or challenge from the walls and only ten or so guardsmen were visible on the outside of the gate. Darius watched the gatehouse above the doors. That was where the large gears worked to lower and raise the portcullis. No activity or movement could be seen. The great doors of the gate opened outward so that the portcullis supported them from within when they were closed. A second set of even heavier doors could be closed on the opposite side of the portcullis so it was enclosed by the two sets.
Darius’ task was to get the King through and to a meeting place of safety. They were expecting a long battle in the streets and the King needed to be able to command the men from a hidden stronghold. Darius already had a place in mind deep in the old city.
Most of the other men were instructed to scatter and build barricades in the streets. Hopefully most of the citizens would be helpful. If they were, there was a chance of success. If not, the cause was essentially doomed.
The shadow of the wall fell over them and they passed into the tight courtyard immediately inside the gate. An armed company awaited them and began to escort them toward the castle that loomed on the hill above the city. Behind them a crowd had gathered, probably citizens, their daily routine interrupted by the king’s arrival. Keeping his eyes sharp, Darius looked about for the best avenue of escape. He wanted to have the king off the main street before the worst of the madness began.
Only moments before the loud boom of the portcullis closing echoed through the streets, Darius spotted the street he was seeking. Signaling the King and the rest of his circle to follow him, Darius suddenly turned his horse and plunged into the crowd. He had chosen a place where the crush was thinner so the likelihood of someone getting trampled was smaller. Reassured by the clatter of hooves behind him, he galloped down the cobblestone alley and into the cramped squalor of the old city.
Four hours later, Darius scowled as he carefully moved the leather sleeve of his jerkin over the bandage wrapping his upper arm. It still hurt. “Be careful not to start the bleeding again,” Kurt cautioned. Darius grimaced in response. He had been injured often enough to know the drill.
“How long?” Darius asked as he eased the garment over the rest of him. The healer helped.
“Don’t use it for a few days at least.” The older man started lacing the front of the shirt.
“Kurt, do you really believe I am going to be able to do that?” Darius grimaced again as he reached for his cloak. The man was an idiot if he thought Darius was going to be able to nurse himself. They were fighting for the city and the king needed all the protection and support he could get. Half of the men were trying to get the main gate open before their reinforcements appeared and the other half were trying to get into the castle where the leaders of the rebellion had barricaded themselves in with hostages from the royal family.
The healer frowned in response. “I am aware of the circumstances, boy. I just would hate for Brice to miss out on the joy of growing old before she is widowed.”
Darius paused at the thought in spite of the fact it had crossed his mind frequently in the past few hours. “The thought of dying had crossed my mind, old man. I do not consider myself invincible.” Awkwardly he tried to swing his cloak across his shoulder with one hand. It fell short. “At least she would be a free widow. You know that our marriage makes her no longer a slave.”
The healer caught the slipping cloth and assisted him in fastening it so it fell over his bad left arm. “I figured that was part of the reason, but widowhood is still nothing to be desired, whether one is free or not. And marriage to a one-armed mercenary is not much better.” Patting Darius’ right arm, Kurt looked up at him briefly. “Besides, I have grown fond of you. Now get.” He shooed Darius toward the hall. “And send in the next man as you leave.”
Obediently, Darius stepped into the dim and cramped passage. Two men stood next to the door, one leaning against the wall and looking quite gray. “He is waiting,” he muttered before heading to the stair to the common room below.
The Falcon Claw Inn’s common room was empty except for three men leaning over the table in the back corner. As Darius approached, the center man lifted his head. “If you are ready, Darius, we are to head toward the castle and find a way in. The king needs us to open the gates from the inside.” Jarn’s eyes challenged Darius to turn down the assignment.
“Then let us go. I know a back way in.” Darius turned and headed for the door. He could hear Jarn’s hurried shuffling gait as he tried to catch up. The man was a good soldier, but Darius had never gotten along easily with him. He always had an underlying tone to his voice that reeked of contempt.
~~~
Part V
Brice was helping Joyla cl
ear the table after dinner while Karyn heated the dishwater when there was suddenly a loud banging on the front door. “I will get it.” Lysa jumped up from playing with her little sister on the floor. Crossing the room at a run, the child eagerly reached for the latch. Brice glanced over to see Karyn wiping her damp hands on her apron and starting to move toward the door. A crease had appeared between her eyebrows. It must be unusual to have callers at this time of the evening. Suddenly the door opened with a loud bang as it bounced off the wall and shook the house.
Brice turned in time to see Lysa dangling from a large stranger’s arm, her small face white against the dark red of her hair. “Don’t move or I kill the brat.” An evil looking blade lifted to hover threatening close to the girl’s throat. Brice felt the familiar burst of fear in her center. As it spread into numbness of shock, she tore her eyes up to the face of the man. Cold black eyes looked back at her and she almost shivered. This man was ice.
“Which one is Darius’?” He demanded. Three men had entered from behind him and were now surveying the room.
“The dark one.” One of them pointed at her. Brice’s eyes flew to his face and her heart sunk. It was the cook Darius had introduced as Hameal in camp only a few days ago. What is going on?
Instantly the other two moved to restrain her. The leader then addressed Karyn who still stood as if bolted to the floor. The only life in her face was the emotion in her eyes. They glared at the stranger who held her child. “We are going to take both of them. Tell Darius that if he wishes to see his wife alive again, he needs to only follow. I will be waiting.”
Jerking his head toward the open doorway, he signaled for the others to leave. Brice found her arms being forced behind her. Something coarse was tightly wrapped around her wrists. One of the men shoved her forward so forcefully, she stumbled and wrenched her shoulder. Biting her lip to distract herself from the tears burning her eyes, she struggled to recover her balance. Somehow, she made it over the threshold into the falling night.
The leader, as she saw the cold one was, came out last and immediately threw Lysa in Hameal’s direction. “Watch the brat,” he growled. “She is almost as valuable as the wench.” He strode off down the empty street. Her keeper, an older man, jabbed her hard in her still tender ribs to get her to follow. Obediently she turned and started walking, but her attention was on Lysa. The child was surprisingly silent. As they moved, Brice worriedly glanced over at her. Pale face staring woodenly before her, the child walked as if in a dream, a nightmare of the worst kind.
“This way,” Darius said as he and Jarn hurried along. The familiar street of neat houses ended in a dead end. The towering outer wall of the castle grounds loomed. Darius ignored it and headed along to the left. There, as he expected, was the hidden door into Ewian’s backyard. Pulling out the key, he made quick work of the lock and pushed the door inward. Ducking to enter, he turned immediately to allow Jarn to follow. Closing the door behind them and locking it again, he turned to find Jarn surveying the darkening garden.
“Is this your place?” Jarn asked as they stepped from beneath the shadow that the moon cast. The leaves still remaining on the vegetables in the garden outlined shaky rows. A child’s wooden toy horse lay on its side in one of the beds.
“Ewian’s,” Darius replied. Avoiding another toy on his way down the main path, he led the way toward the rather small building opposite the gate. “The only way onto the street is through the house.” Jarn did not reply, but Darius heard his following footfalls. Turning his attention to the building, Darius had an overwhelming sensation that something was not right. Then he heard the cry. Covering the remaining distance at the run, he reached the back door and forced it open. The latch flew free of the doorframe at his first assault and skidded across the floor with a clatter and stopped a few feet into the room.
It took him only a moment to register the tear stained faces of Karyn and Ewian’s eldest child, Joyla. Karyn was protectively rising to place herself between her daughter and the door. The youngest was at her feet. The baby must have been the one who had cried out, because she was now regarding Darius with an upset startled look and her face was red.
“What happened?” Darius demanded.
“Darius.” Karyn gasped at the same moment and then broke down in sobs. As her mother sank to her knees wailing into her apron, Joyla ran up to Darius and flung herself at him. Instinctively Darius caught her and picked her up. Just then, Jarn arrived behind him.
“Karyn, you must calm yourself.” Darius crossed to the woman. “I need to know what happened. Where is Lysa?”
Karyn lifted her face and put a great deal of effort into suppressing her sobs. “Strange men appeared and took Brice…and…” A shudder shook her. “Lysa,” she whispered.
“Which way did they go?” Darius asked.
“They turned left,” Joyla answered with a hiccup. “Are you going to get them?”
“I will try,” Darius replied as Karyn attempted to wipe her eyes on her already damp skirts. “How long ago was this?”
“Ten minutes at most.” She sniffed.
“Jarn.” Darius began untangling the child’s arms from around his neck.
“Here,” Jarn replied from near the back door.
“Let’s go,” Darius declared. He handed Joyla to her mother and started for the front door.
The path that passed beneath Brice’s feet changed from cobblestones to fine gravel. When it narrowed, she looked around to find them walking along a manicured garden path bordered by hedges. Her keeper had noticed her gaze and jabbed her in the ribs again. She gasped at the pain and almost doubled over. The man’s grip on her bound hands propelled her forward. “Move wench,” he hissed. “Or I will bruise your pretty face too.” He snickered. “Ogert might do that anyway, just to annoy Darius.”
“What did Darius do to him?” She asked as soon as she could manage.
“Silence!” Something hard struck her across her shoulders bringing her to her knees on the gravel. A cold metal edge pressed against her chin lifting it and the leader’s icy eyes bore into hers. “Hostages speak only when asked a direct question.” His voice made her want to shiver, but if she did, the blade would cut her. Clenching the muscles of her back, she prayed for strength.
Apparently satisfied that she understood, the leader withdrew the blade and started again to stride down the path. Brice had a brief glimpse of the large fortress they were approaching before being dragged to her feet again. The prodding and gloating of her keeper continued until she stumbled up wide stone steps. They passed through a large door, which Ogert barred behind them and Brice was allowed to sink to her knees once more. The cold of the entrance hall tiled floor instantly began to seep into her legs. Lysa was shoved down a short ways away and the moment the men’s back were turned, she moved to Brice’s side and leaned against her. Brice had not the heart to tell child that her weight was hurting her ribs. As much as she strained her ears, she could not hear the men’s conversation.
After the brief whispered conference among the four, the leader strode off down one of the main halls and disappeared. Hameal ordered her and Lysa to their feet. Obediently they struggled up, but they both received a jab for good measure.
The men herded them down a long sub-corridor and up three long flights of steep stairs. Just when Brice was certain her legs were going to give out if she saw another stair, they turned off into another wider passage. Stopping before a set of great double doors, Hameal pushed in front, produced an ornate key from the purse at his waist, and opened the doors. Brice caught a glimpse of light on metal and then the cord binding her hands fell away. “Inside,” he ordered before shoving Brice hard between the shoulders. Unable to keep her balance, she was propelled into the dark room and landed face first on a surprisingly soft carpet. With a cry, Lysa landed a few feet to her right. The doors were closed firmly and the latch caught. Then, with a loud hollow clunk, the bolt slid home.
Not waiting to see if Jarn followed or n
ot, Darius started to run. Each footfall jarred his wounded arm, but he ignored it. Catching up with the kidnappers was more important. He spotted them in the Kiylin gardens. Moving from shadow to shadow he kept them in his sight only dimly aware that Jarn was following on his heels. He was surprised when they stopped abruptly and Ogert turned around. He struck Brice across the shoulders with the flat of his sword. A violent anger rose in Darius as she fell to her knees under the blow. Realizing he could do nothing without destroying any chance of rescuing her later, Darius held himself in check. “Ogert is going to pay for that,” he muttered as he watched helplessly. The traitor was forcing her to raise her eyes to his face and saying something to her. Just the thought of the sharp edge of the man’s sword so close to her throat was making his heart race.
“Is he going to kill her?” Jarn’s voice asked.
“No,” Darius answered in a rough voice. “If he did, he would have nothing to hurt me with. Ogert knows me too well to do that.”
“You know that man?” The surprise in Jarn’s voice was unmistakable.
“Yes,” Darius admitted. Beyond them, Brice was forced to her feet again. Darius gripped his sword as they moved forward undercover of twilight and shadows. The man was going to wish he had never touched his wife.
They followed until the group disappeared inside the castle. Then all they could do was watch and wait.
“How do you know the man?” Jarn asked softly so his voice could not carry.
“Three years ago there was an attempt on the king’s life and he was the assassin that Lord Frehim hired for the job. I prevented him from fulfilling his mission and thus humiliated him. Before he escaped last time, he swore he would have revenge.” Darius frowned. “He means to bait me by taking my wife.”
The Mercenary's Marriage Page 8
