Rorie chuckled. “That’ll be a day to see then.”
Firelight flickered over Jes’s somber face. “The Baron—he courts death like no other man I have seen. He seeks that embrace, and yet he lives.”
Damon shivered. “Why?”
“A past is a difficult thing to overcome, is it not?” Jes turned the meat in the small frying pan. Damon looked down at his hands.
“He’s not yet met an enemy he couldn’t overcome,” Rorie put in, rolling his eyes at Jes’s enigmatic remarks.
“Sure he doesn’t just irritate them to death?” Alan asked.
Bryn smiled, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “You did know him well, then?”
The same interest sparked in Rorie and Jes’s eyes. It seemed without the Baron present, they were a little more willing to bring up the sensitive topic of his past.
Two can play at that game then.
“We grew up together. Still trying to do everything by himself, is he?”
Bryn raised a wry eyebrow and nodded. Jes placed food on the tin plates and passed them around, Sean’s portion largest. Sean glanced up as if preparing to argue, but met Jes’s glare across the fire.
Alan bit into his bread, melted cheese and grease from the meat dripping from the crust and over his fingers. It wasn’t the finest meal he’d ever eaten, but after the grueling day, he was hard pressed to remember anything better.
Sean finished first, washing down his meal with a long draft of water. A fresh alertness showed through the dark rings under his eyes, but he still didn’t move to turn in. Jes collected the plates when they were all done, splashing some water over them to rinse.
Bryn stood and retrieved his bedroll, tossing it down near his seat. He undid the Baron’s and placed it by Sean.
“We’ll stay here for the night, if he comes or not,” Bryn cut off Sean as his opened his mouth to argue.
“And if not?” Sean asked, a mulish expression so like the Baron’s on his face. “What if they captured him, or worse?”
“If he is taken, I think Lord Barkley will keep him alive. We have something he wants, and he’ll have something we want,” Bryn said.
“Are you sure he won’t just kill him?” Alan stared into the flames. Adam had already tried that once before.
“You know more of his past than we ever will,” Jes replied. “You tell us.”
All eyes turned to Alan, but he remained lost in the thoughts of seven years ago.
“No,” he finally spoke. “Lord Adam doesn’t yet know of the plans of the Clans and Sarksten. He’ll keep the Baron alive for now. My people would never trade for him, but you might. Who’s to prevent you three from taking us prisoner right now?”
“True.” Rorie looked a little too taken with the idea.
Bryn kicked the highlander’s leg. “We have our orders from the Baron. You are under our protection,” he reassured them.
Alan half-smiled. After travelling with the Baron he could understand the loyalty these men had to him. He wondered who the Baron might be if things had been different. Undoubtedly, he would have risen to high command in Brogan’s household, and Alan would have sworn his sword to his old friend without question.
I might swear to him still, even as an outcast. Alan fisted his fingers in his checkered cloak. But he would never allow me to.
The poor excuse tainted his mind, and he found himself praying for the Baron. His men believed him invincible and fearless, Alan knew all too well that no man truly was.
He dug a flask from his pack and took a long drink. Sean stared into the fire, his face twisted in worry. Bryn shifted to toss a fallen brand back into the flames, a rush of sparks leaping up into the darkness, dancing like fire sprites of ancient legend. Damon leaned forward on his knees, resting his chin against a fist as he tracked the path of the flying embers.
The silence of the camp was broken by the harsh, rasping scrape of steel against whetstone as Jes honed his slim dagger. Beside him, Rorie whittled away at a sizeable branch, the layers of wood curling away from his knife to flutter to the ground.
Nobody seemed in any hurry to turn to sleep. Restlessness jittered through Alan at the return to silence, and he reclaimed his seat.
“So, how’d you meet the Baron?” Alan extended the flask to Bryn.
Bryn half-smiled and took the flask, taking a sparing sip. He gestured around to Rorie and Jes with a finger. “You’re in for a long story or two.”
Alan shrugged. “I think we have the time.”
Bryn fingered the flask. “I was already living in the mountains as an outlaw,” he began. “I stole bread for my family. My little boy was starving and my wife was pregnant with our second. The whole county was starving and poor after the war.” He took another drink from the flask, letting it linger in his mouth before swallowing. “I knew the baker. He always looked the other way when I came to visit, but one day guards were watching.” He capped the flask and handed it back to Alan. “The sheriff sent me to the mountains for one loaf of bread.”
“Seems a bit much.”
Bryn shrugged. “It’s been almost six years ago now that I first met the Baron. He was alone and living as well as the rest of us in the mountains. The man in charge of the mountains then was known as the Butcher.”
“The Butcher?” Damon straightened. “I heard of him even in prison.”
Bryn cast him a look, as if calculating just how many years Damon would have been imprisoned. “The most notorious murderer Alsaya has seen in years. Got his start in the Sea Wars they say.”
Alan tapped his fingers together as he stared into the fire. “Not so hard to believe that the Sea Wars were a good place to learn murder.”
He ignored Sean’s quick glance up. There was a reason he never talked about the war, even seven years later.
“Aye. The Butcher demanded tribute from everyone else who lived in the mountains, and I refused. He took me prisoner. Fortunately for me, the Baron crossed his path at the same time.”
Rorie gave a dark chuckle and tossed a handful of wood shavings into the fire.
Bryn smiled. “The Baron wouldn’t give tribute either. He was a stubborn man even then. He picked his fight with the Butcher, and wouldn’t stay down. The Butcher kept his men in line with fear and threats, so they just stood and watched the fight.”
“What happened?” Alan asked.
“He tossed the Butcher off the side of a cliff.” Despite the calmness of Bryn’s words, they carried a savage pleasure. “Most joined him after that.”
“He killed the Butcher?” Sean whistled.
“Aye, but not before he gave the Baron his mark.” Bryn angled his face towards the fire.
Alan frowned at the faint scar that traced Bryn’s right cheek from under his eye across to his jaw, exactly like the Baron’s. Although from the looks of the Baron’s scar, the Butcher was good and flamed when he carved his face.
“And what of your family?” Sean trapped a bit of wood shaving from Rorie’s knife that a light breeze shoved towards him. He rubbed it between his fingers.
“Safe now. When I was banished, they were left at the mercy of the sheriff. When the Baron found out what had happened to me, we set off for them at once. The sheriff won’t be laying a hand on anyone ever again.” Bryn’s mouth set in a hard line.
Rorie threw his whittled masterpiece into the fire. “Aye, Bryn’s the most innocent among all of us. But he makes a pretty decent outlaw.” He grinned as he took the flask from Alan. “As for me, I was banished from the Highlands. A man accused me of trying to steal his lands and his wife.”
“And did you?” Alan couldn’t help but ask in a bit of amusement at Rorie’s flippant tone.
“His lands maybe, but believe me, no man would go near his wife!” Rorie chuckled with an exaggerated shudder. “They gave me the mark and sent me on my way. I wandered the mountains and found them more to my liking than the high hills.
“You prefer the mountains?” Sean sounded like he’d ju
st heard that horses flew. “What kind of Highlander are you, then?” For the first time, a bit of humor crept into his eyes.
Rorie laughed, raising a hand in acknowledgement. “Wander the mountains, and you’ll see. Now, we Highlanders believe that magic still haunts this world, and the caves and narrow gorges of the Cardics are full of it. The bears that live there can grow to be three times the size of a good mountain horse and as savage as a legion of Karanti.” Rorie leaned forward, hands spread wide as he gestured.
“One day I stumbled into a she-bear’s territory, and let me tell you, she didn’t care for that. Our battle was not going to end well for me, a fact I had already made peace with, when in rides the Baron with a small hunting party. From the savagery with which they confronted each other, it appeared that this bear and the Baron were old enemies.”
Rorie looked at each of them in turn, nodding as he saw he had their attention. “Let me tell you, the fight they had moved the very mountain we stood on. Then, with one thrust, his spear took her through the heart. She sent him flying over the edge of a gorge with a final strike. I pulled him to safety and pledged myself in thanks.”
Alan shook his head in amazement.
“It’s rare that Highlanders need saving, but if you do save one of us, we go with you to the very cracks of doom, for Highlanders never forget.”
“Aye, Highlanders also love to tell a good story, too.” Bryn reclaimed the flask. “Last time he told it, he was saving the Baron from a mountain cougar.”
Rorie burst into a booming laugh that echoed back off the rocks. Bryn tossed the flask to Jes among the laughter. Jes took an appraising sip and raised an eyebrow in approval. He capped it again and began his tale.
“I came to the mountains from my country four years ago. An avaricious noble had laid claim to my sister in Gedrin, but she had promised her heart to another. I could not fight this man alone. I had tried and failed, miserably you might say. This man who seized my sister had taken everything we owned and had turned the law against me for crimes I did not commit.”
“No one would help you?” Alan guessed.
Jes nodded. “I came by sea, desperate to find someone with enough strength to help me. One day I came upon a young man fighting for his life on a path beyond the foothills. He was one against five. One man lay dead and another mortally wounded, but two of their remaining companions had pinned him against a tree while the third began to cut this warrior’s throat.”
Alan whispered a curse, and Sean’s eyes widened in horror. Damon rubbed his own throat with a wince.
“That was no way to die,” Jes said. “I did not know the young man, but I could not watch as he was murdered in a battle where he had no hope of victory. It was not honorable. And if I allowed such a thing, their dishonor would be mine.”
“You saved him.” Alan smiled.
Rorie mimicked shooting a bow and arrow with a dramatic whooshing sound.
“I helped the stranger to the nearest village where he eventually recovered.” Jes ignored the Highlander’s poor imitation. “But as you have seen, he bears the scar to this day. At first he was angry with me for saving his life.”
“And then?” Sean asked.
“I told him ‘for a man who said he wanted to die, you seem very keen to avoid the afterlife.’” Jes offered a partial smile that brought a glimmer to his eyes.
“But the Baron let me tell my story. When we were able, I led him and his men across the mountains to Gedrin to liberate my sister.” A dangerous grin lit his features. “My sister and her husband are now living quite happily and wealthily too.”
Rorie reclaiming the flask with a laugh. “That was a journey I won’t be forgetting!” He raised his drink to the memory.
Jes’s smile flashed in the firelight. “Nor will the inhabitants of Calicrassa!”
“You’ll have to tell that story sometime.” Alan grinned.
“Even the Baron doesn’t mind that one getting told,” Bryn put in.
Sean shook his head slightly, staring down at the glowing coals instead of joining in. Alan’s smile faltered. He did just hear three stories in which his brother almost perished in gruesome ways. Good thing he doesn’t know half of what happened in the war.
A horse shifted and dislodged a stone. The sound cracked in the still night, and all attention instantly focused in that direction. The rest of the horses flung their heads up, but once they settled, silence returned to the Wolf’s Head.
Alan strained to listen for long moments after, hoping that the sound hadn’t come from their animals.
Bryn glanced at the place the moon had stopped to rest on its journey. “It’s midnight.”
Sean released a worried sigh, leaning forward to press his hand against his head again.
The quiet of the night covered them in a heavy blanket of suffocating silence. The Baron wasn’t coming.
Chapter 20
Rhys lay on his side on a cool stone floor, wrists chafing under the taut ropes that bound his hands in front of him. He barely remembered coming to the tower. He attempted to roll onto his back, stifling a groan as pain throbbed through his body.
“You’re awake.” A voice invaded the silence. “Good.”
Rhys’s heart stalled before rushing on in a frantic drumming. His mouth lost what little moisture it had left. How could he have forgotten?
A figure detached itself from the shadows of the wall and stepped toward him. Kane. Lord Adam’s hunter, torturer, and executioner. The man who had questioned Rhys for hours on end before Brogan found him. The man who had delivered the sentence. And the man whose face still haunted Rhys’s dreams.
“We didn’t quite make it back to Seabright.” The shadow of Kane’s presence loomed overhead. “We needed somewhere safe to store you until we have some more men. Always making quite the stir, aren’t you?”
Rhys willed his breath to come evenly as he stared up at Kane, who only smirked. Kane kicked him over and forced his chin up with a boot to reveal the scar on Rhys’s neck.
“It’s such a pity. The men I hired said they were the best.” Kane traced the length of the scar with a shining dagger that Rhys remembered all too well. “If I had known they’d only do half the job, I wouldn’t have paid them in full.”
Rhys moved his chin away with exaggerated slowness, still holding the torturer’s gaze. Kane only laughed again and left him with one last kick.
“Don’t get too comfortable, Baron. Your escort will be here within the hour.”
The door slammed, and Rhys pushed himself into a sitting position against the wall, fighting against the ache in his body. They’d forced him onto horseback, and the druids had been more than happy to use their needles and magic to keep him incapacitated during the journey.
His hands shook. Another reason he hated the stories about himself. The stories painted him as a man who knew no fear. If only that were true.
Light entered the small prison through a square window high in the wall, declaring the day more than a few hours old.
If they made it to the Wolf’s Head, they’ll be long gone by now.
His men would follow without question. It was the other two who might be a problem. Alan clung to some misguided sense of loyalty, and Sean might foolishly try to disregard Clan law.
And Damon? His hands trembled again. Damon was the proof needed to clear his name.
He forced himself to think. By now, Jes would have given them his “the Baron courts death” speech, and Rorie would have threatened to hold them hostage to avoid going back to the Keep and delivering the news. Bryn would secure Sean’s family, and Jes and Alan would be escorting Sean and Damon to Sarksten, where they’d be safe.
That’s all that really mattered.
Rhys had no illusions about his worth. It was the reason the Clans had sent him on this errand to begin with. As an exiled traitor to the blood of Alsaya, he had no value for exchange. His only hope lay with his men, so he would have to hold out long enough for them to come b
ack for him.
Adam knew it. Undoubtedly, so did Kane.
~
True to Kane’s word, they left within the hour. Soldiers entered the cell and dragged him upright. The druid lurked in the doorway, a smirk playing about his bearded lips as he held the stuffed figure in threat. Rhys held his gaze with a frigid glare as they passed. The druid looked away for a brief second before stabbing the figure with a needle.
Rhys bit down on the inside of his cheek as the pain transferred to his leg. He forced himself to limp as well as he could down the short flight of stairs to the tower entrance, his hands clenched so hard against the pain it felt like they might break. Kane shoved away from the door and led the way outside into a paved courtyard.
Rhys blinked hard in the sudden glare of the sunlight. A troop of thirty soldiers spread out on horseback around the courtyard. The faint scent of salt lingered on the light breeze, and the sound of crashing waves echoed faintly from behind him.
“All this for me?” Rhys asked, forcing some amusement through his voice.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” the druid sneered, stabbing the bag again, this time into the figure’s stomach.
Rhys nearly hit a knee from the sudden shock of agony. The soldiers holding his arms barely kept him upright. He drew a short breath and tried to straighten again. Now that he knew what to expect, he wasn’t giving the druid the satisfaction of his pain.
A faint bit of amusement played over Kane’s face as he slid closer to the perplexed druid. He took the needles out, and the pain immediately eased.
“I think you’ve made your point,” he said. “But I’d like him to be able to get on the horse. After that?” He shrugged.
The soldiers shoved Rhys toward the horse. One kept a hand on his belt as he grabbed the saddle horn with bound hands and mounted. The reins stayed in possession of another mounted guard.
Kane swung into the saddle. The druid clambered onto his horse with significantly less grace, a fact that seemed to amuse Kane and some of the soldiers. The guards closed in around Rhys as soon as they started forward, cutting off any hope of a dash for escape.
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