Fate's Star

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  She looked around the room, catching their eyes. “I will continue cleaning, and will send for you all gradually. Be patient.” She focused back on Dominic. “Or ruin all that has been accomplished so far.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Verice swung down off his horse, sighing with relief to be out of the saddle. He gave his horse a pat on the neck as the stable lads led him off for a well-deserved bucket of grain.

  “That, m’lord, was brutal,” Narthing said, dismounting from his own horse with a sigh. “I’ll confess this has not been a day I wish to see again.”

  “Agreed,” Verice said. “But we got the bastards.”

  Narthing nodded, his smile reaching his eyes. “Birch Cove on the morrow, then. That’s the village on Island Lake.”

  “On the morrow,” Verice said, heading toward his rooms. He peeled his glove off, noting that a seam had given way. He felt as worn as the glove, and wanted nothing more than to peel out of his armor and wash. He could feel the grit on his skin, and the dried sweat itched on his scalp.

  He took the stairs two at a time, already attacking the buckles on his armor. It felt good to have tracked down those bastards. Bandits, raiders, whoever they’d been, they would no longer threaten any of his people.

  Verice strode into his chambers, and called his aide for water and kav, unbuckling his sword belt, and hanging it from its peg. That was another thing he needed to see to; the edge of his blade. He’d hone it while he and Warna talked this evening, after dinner.

  He stripped to the waist, and started washing. There was a tune running through his head, a sprightly one that he didn’t recognize. He started humming as he scrubbed his face. It would have been far better to have taken a long soak in the hot springs below the keep, but—

  The keep was sealed.

  Sealed because—

  He stopped, standing with a towel in his hands, water dripping from his face and hair.

  A cackle of laughter, a blade flashing through the air, glittering in the mage lights.

  The pain washed over him, made worse by the guilt. For the fact that he’d forgotten. Forgotten the deaths, the betrayal, the pain.

  All during the day, the chase, fighting, the return, standing here, he’d not once thought of the attack. Bitterness ate at the back of his throat. Ancestors, what kind of man was he to have forgotten—

  The clatter of dishes in the outer room brought him back to himself. Verice dried off, and pulled out a clean tunic, feeling oddly numb. He took a deep breath before he opened the door to find Warna standing at the table, waiting by her chair. The table was covered with dishes and plates, all waiting for him.

  “M’lord,” She bowed her head, with her usual smile. Except there was something different. Verice bowed his head back to her, studying her face. Cheeks flushed, eyes bright, Warna looked as if she’d been up to mischief.

  “Warna?” he asked.

  “M’lord, I have taken a liberty,” she said, her tone and manner very formal. “I saw that the petitions remained untouched,” she glanced at Verice’s desk where the forlorn pile still sat on a corner. “I’d thought to have one of your clerks come and assist you with them. I sent a message into town, and one Ersal is outside the door awaiting your instructions.”

  “Ersal?” Verice asked. He hadn’t seen Ersal since…

  Warna stood there, her hands on the back of her chair, watching him patiently, looking half-embarrassed and pleased with herself at the same time.

  “I would have gotten to them,” he said.

  “I know,” she said, suddenly serious. “But it’s easier sometimes, with help.”

  He gave her a wry look. “I never liked dealing with petitions,” he admitted. “Would you ask Ersal in?”

  Warna stepped to the door.

  “M’lord,” Ersal put his hand to his chest and bowed.

  “Ersal, it’s good to see you,” Verice said, stepping over to the desk. “As you can tell, once again I’ve a need for a rescue.”

  “M’lord, it would be a pleasure.” Ersal accepted the bundle of documents. “I can have these sorted out for you quickly.” There was the slightest hesitation in his voice, but then he continued on. “When would you wish me to bring them back for your review?”

  Verice gave the man a glance. “I’ll stop by your offices in the next few days,” he said.

  “M’lord, you told me that two months ago.” Ersal said softly. “Your defense of the barony has consumed the majority of your time. Let me ease some of that burden by bringing the work to you.”

  “You know me too well, Ersal.”

  Ersal tilted his head. “This time tomorrow, m’lord? I promise to take no more time than necessary.”

  “That would be fine,” Verice said. “My thanks, Ersal.”

  “My pleasure, m’lord.” Ersal turned. “M’lady,” he bowed his head to Warna and left.

  Verice returned to the table and gestured to Warna to sit. “You look like someone who’s gotten away with mischief,” he said mildly.

  “You’re not upset?” Warna asked, as she started to uncover dishes.

  “No,” Verice said. “Not about that.”

  She paused, staring at him with those wide brown eyes, and Verice suddenly remembered the tune he’d been humming.

  It was Warna’s. She sung it at Wolfe’s.

  “I think your day was a bad one,” she said tentatively, passing him the bread. “What happened?”

  Verice shook his head, and started to serve himself. “No. I’d rather hear about your activities. Anything you want to tell me?”

  “Well,” Warna picked up her fork. Her lips curved in a smile. “I think your dogs are getting fat.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  A pounding on the door of the Healers Hall startled Warna awake. Sand and Gray both came to their feet, growling and barking at the stairs.

  It took her a moment to orient herself. She’d had dinner the night before with Verice, they’d talked about a variety of things, he’d agreed to let Ersal deal with the petitions…

  The pounding came again, more insistent. Now she heard raised voices...what was happening?

  She threw on her tunic, went to the small window and leaned out. Three large carts were just below, and a small group clustered at the door.

  “Here now,” Ricard bellowed. “What’s this then? Lady Warna is still sleeping, you rude dogs.”

  Warna laughed. If she’d slept through the knocking, his voice alone would certainly have woken her.

  “She’s sleeping here?”

  That would be Priest Dominic, his tone implying some nasty things.

  “We’ve supplies for the Hall,” Dominic continued. “At her direction, I might add.”

  Warna darted a glance at the barracks, to see Verice’s men gathered for their departure. They hadn’t left yet.

  Drat that priest. They’d all agreed to help her last night. If this was his idea of cooperation and patience—

  “Constable,” Warna called, cutting through the argument below her. “I’ll be right down.”

  She pulled back inside, and dressed quickly, braiding up her hair as she ran down the steps.

  At least Ricard had stopped bellowing at the top of his lungs. He’d switched to a low menacing growl, one that Warna could feel in her bones even before she opened the door. “—no need for this,” he glared at Dominic.

  “Every need for it,” Dominic glared right back, looking imposing and regal in his white and gold robes. “I’ve not much time and a responsibility to see this Hall stocked and ready. We’ll be done and on our way quickly.” The disdain in his face as he gave Warna a glance slid into pure satisfaction. “I’ve received a summons to the Church at Edenrich, and the portal will open at noon.”

  “What, among all those humans?” Ricard raised his eyebrows.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to appreciate the nuances,” Dominic’s disdain was restored. He was staring down his nose at both of them.

  �
��Constable,” Narthing was calling from the midst of the men. Ricard frowned, giving Warna a concerned look.

  “Go,” she said.

  He gave her a nod, and strode off.

  Warna swung open the door behind her, and the acolytes started ferrying supplies from the carts into the hall. “I’ll be back; I’m going to the kitchens for kav.” And to make sure that Verice hadn’t noticed this ruckus and interfere. “I’ll return shortly.”

  “No need,” Dominic said, taking a basket out of the cart. “We know what needs to be done.”

  “I want to know what needs to be done,” Warna said. “So that in the future—”

  “Please,” Dominic sailed past her, his robes flapping. “You’re little more than a pet, girl.”

  Warna lashed back. “And yet you are summoned to the human city of Edenrich, elf.”

  Dominic paused in the doorway. “To the highest offices of the Church I served, where the halls ring with the voices of highborn nobles. Humans, yes, but of the highest blood and breeding. I imagine I’ll be most comfortable in their presence. Now, if you will excuse me.” He whipped out of sight before Warna could open her mouth.

  Flushed with the insult, Warna’s hands formed fists, and she took a step to follow and berate the elf. But Verice’s men were still milling about, and she desperately wanted kav.

  She turned and headed to the kitchens, uttering a small prayer that the cooks had made it strong.

  Verice came out of the barracks eager to be on his way, only to run into a bleary-eyed Warna entering the kitchens. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes flashing.

  “You’re up early,” he said.

  “I asked for someone to stock the Healing Hall with supplies,” she said crossly. “I didn’t expect Priest Dominic at the crack of dawn.”

  “Arrogant bastard, isn’t he?” Verice said.

  Warna rolled her eyes.

  “Skilled though,” Verice added, pausing to follow her into the dining area. “I’m surprised he’s still in Tassinic. He was angling for assignment to the Church in Edenrich.”

  “Well, he’s apparently received a summons,” Warna said as she headed to the hearth, nodding to the men who were eating. “I need kav.”

  “Ah,” Verice said, following her. “I wonder if he realizes what he’s getting himself into.”

  Warna glanced over her shoulder at him as she poured herself a mug. “How so?”

  “Let’s just say that the Church in Edenrich is more concerned with its power base than its spiritual obligations.” Verice shrugged.

  Warna took another sip and stared at him over her mug. “Where are you off to this time?”

  “Birch Cove,” Verice said. “A small town, near a lake, by the Summerford border. We’re not expecting trouble.”

  Warna stared into her mug before she glanced at him. “Take care anyway,” she said softly.

  Verice looked at her, her golden hair pulled back in a braid, with wisps of gold escaping, crowning her in the morning light. Suddenly, he wanted to sit with her, drink kav and talk about her plans for the day.

  Narthing was hovering in the doorway, he had to go.

  She gave him a questioning look over her mug, and he suddenly felt foolish. He bowed his head to her and left to join his men.

  He mounted, feeling oddly bereft, as if he’d forgotten something, or lost a chance at—

  He shook his head, lifted a hand, and started the chant to open the portal.

  The glowing circle formed, a doorway of flowing white curtains of gossamer, moving in an unfelt breeze. His men formed up behind him; Narthing moved into position in front. They’d preceded him, so that he could take the portal down behind him as he rode through.

  Narthing gave the order, and the horses moved forward at a walk, well used to this mode of travel. Verice waited until the last tail disappeared, then urged his own horse through, concentrating on the closure. There was a moment of white light, of disorientation, and then he was through on the other side.

  To find the air filled with smoke and screams, and his men under attack.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The skirmish won, the enemy in retreat, Verice followed the last of his men through the portal, emerging into the Castle courtyard, filthy and bone weary. With a savage gesture, he snapped it shut behind him, on the ruins of Birch Cove. Nothing left there but burning buildings, smoke-filled air, and the heads of the ‘bandits’ on pikes along the road.

  A fierce bolt of satisfaction went through him at that memory, but the sight of the village dead lined up in the courtyard, covered in shrouds wiped any sense of gratification away. Far too many lost.

  It was late, the night was still and quiet, the stars bright above his head. The walls burned with torches and he could see the watch making the rounds.

  Constable Ricard appeared at his side, his face reflecting the strain of the day. He cast an eye over Verice with a frown.

  “Not my blood,” Verice reassured him.

  Ricard’s relief was in his eyes, but he gave a simple nod of his head. “We’d word you’d be at it till daybreak.”

  Verice stripped off his gloves. “It didn’t take long to hunt them down.” He indicated the rows of bodies. “What of—”

  “The survivors of Birch Cove have asked to return and bury their dead,” Ricard said. “They want to return to their homes as well. I’ve told them all that must await your decision.”

  Verice rubbed his face with his bare hand.

  “The healers have seen to the wounded, my lord.” Ricard gestured over to the other side of the courtyard. “We’ve housed the villagers as best we can. Some of the men have given up their beds for the night.”

  “Narthing?” Verice asked softly.

  “Not as bad as they first thought,” Ricard nodded toward the Healing Hall. “They’ve got him settled, and they drugged him stupid when he tried to leave his bed to return to your side. Won’t be up for much until tomorrow.”

  “Nor will I,” Verice said.

  “You look done in,” Ricard agreed. “There’s naught else you can do tonight. I’ll roust some of the lads, we can get you hot water—”

  Verice shook his head. “I’ll just draw up some water from the well, and wash the worst off.” He started to unbuckle his breastplate.

  “I’ll send out towels then, and something to eat—”

  Verice made a face.

  “Try to get something down,” Ricard said gruffly. “Leave your gear by the well, and I’ll have the lads clean it for you,” he held up a hand to prevent Verice’s protest. “You’d best be to bed, there’s more than enough that will need your attention in the morning.”

  Verice shrugged. No denying that.

  His muscles protested as he lowered the bucket, and pulled it back up, brimming with water. It was cold. He stripped to the waist and plunged his hands in with relief. A lad appeared with towels and soap, and he carried off Verice’s armor and sword. Verice kept his daggers.

  He indulged himself by washing his hair, upending a bucket over his head, letting the cold water wash away the sweat, grime, and blood. The water brought a surge of energy for a time, letting him scrub and towel himself dry.

  Ricard approached with a cool bottle of ale, and some cheese between two hard crackers. “Enough to take the edge off,” he said.

  Verice took a long swig. “You’re sure Narthing’s well tended?”

  “Aye,” Ricard said, throwing the towels and soap in one of the buckets. “And they’d not thank you if you tried to wake him or them.” He chuckled. “Priest Dominic stayed once the wounded started pouring in; he’s bedded down in there as well.”

  Verice looked over at the Healing Hall and the dark window at the very top. Truth be told, it wasn’t Narthing or Dominic he wanted to talk to. He clapped a hand on the constable’s shoulder. “Well, then I’d best see to my own bed. Make sure you see to yours.”

  “Aye,” Ricard said. “Dawn comes quick enough.” He headed off to the gate, p
resumably to finish his rounds before bed.

  Verice set about eating the crackers and cheese between pulls on the bottle. The weariness of his body had more to do with the magical energies he’d expended rather than the fighting. It was an effort to chew, but he did it, watching the crumbs gather on his trous. The ale was cold, and sweet. It replaced the bitter taste of ash in his mouth.

  It was dark and quiet here; the only sounds came from the night watch pacing the walls. A sense of isolation washed over him, an ache of loneliness. The aftereffects of battle, he knew.

  He stared up at Warna’s window again, trying to will the flaring of a light that showed she was awake. He really wanted to check on her, to see if she was well, maybe talk for a moment. If anything was amiss, he’d have been told. Anything he had to tell her could wait until the morning.

  He padded through the barracks bare-footed, silently walking the halls and climbing the stairs. There were soldiers lining the halls, rolled up in bedrolls, asleep. He frowned, thinking about the challenges of relocating the people of Birch Cove. They could rebuild, of course, but he wanted to talk to the village elders before he—

  A huge yawn cracked his jaw, and Verice shook his head ruefully as he opened the door to his chambers.

  Someone had left a mage-lantern open in his sleeping chamber; its soft glow lit the outer rooms enough to see by.

  The dogs were sprawled on the floor around the table, curled in balls. Brindle raised her head and wagged her tail. Verice crooned to her as he crossed the room. Once she saw that he was headed within, she lowered her head, and settled back down.

  Verice yawned as he stepped through, just as happy to be seeking his own rest. Tomorrow would be—

  Warna was in his bed.

  It took a moment for it to sink, for him to understand that the fan of golden hair was hers. She was on her side, facing him, curled around a pillow, covered with one of his blankets. There was a faint frown on her face, as if her sleep was an uneasy one.