“Sharpe saw them.”
“And why did he not announce Little Boar’s death and warn us about the thieves until yesterday?” Sara interjected in a tough voice. “He went to Ralf’s house instead. And how did he learn about Boar’s death?”
“We should not discuss such things here,” Belar said.
“You started this.” Varia stared at Belar.
“I apologize, Varia. We will go now.” He bowed again to Varia and nodded toward Sara, then went for the door.
“Belar,” Varia called after him, and her voice was not unfriendly. Belar stopped in the door, but did not turn. “This was a peaceful valley until ... until Sharpe came here and twisted Boar’s mind. It could become a peaceful place again.”
Belar turned, and his lips moved with no words. “I am just a soldier,” he finally shrugged.
“This is what soldiers should do, bring peace.” Varia stepped forward and took him by the arm. “I would like to see Sara again. We need each other, and our children need help. The kind of help that only real men can bring. I will pray to Fate for the future of the valley.”
“Pray.” Belar nodded awkwardly, and went out without a word, followed by Sara and Lovrin.
“What am I missing about Belar?” I asked when I was back in the kitchen.
“He is a normal man. Fights when in need, but doesn’t kill for pleasure. Belar has one good mind and two hearts. That is the root of the trouble.” Her brow wrinkled, as she thought it through. “Sharpe killed his brother. Not directly. A risky endeavor that I guessed was plain robbery, which they tried four years ago on a caravan coming from Muniker. Old Gravor led the band, and he was Sharpe’s right hand. Belar’s brother was much younger, just seventeen years old, but well clad and good with the sword. And he liked money too much. One night Belar got drunk in the inn, and Matei carried him home. We don’t know how much truth and how much wine and sorrow were in his words. He told Matei some ugly things about the protectors of the caravan being poisoned so the mercenaries could replace them. But then who killed Gravor and his band?” she turned her hands up. “Not that I carry about that scoundrel. He was a treat for any unprotected woman in the valley.”
“Tell me about Gravor.”
“He is dead,” Varia shrugged.
“Dead men make good stories. I am sorry,” I added in haste, seeing the pain on her face. “There are too many strings, and I need to pull them one by one.”
“An old man. Small in size and kindness. They said that he drank his victims’ blood. We will never know for sure. Is that a good story?”
“What can you tell me about his sword?”
“Sword,” she shrugged again. “Like any sword. Steel. Cold. No, I just remembered, it had a curved blade.” She went to the fire to warm her hands. The kitchen was anything but chilly. “It was a short sword, but Gravor was almost a dwarf.”
“The wine spilled the truth.” I said, and she turned her head, but stayed silent. “That awful thing with the poison, it’s true.” Her eyes followed me as I moved closer to the window, haunted by my own memories. “It happened in Muniker, indeed, and Gravor got himself hired by the caravan whose protectors he killed. What’s in Belar’s second heart?” I killed Gravor and maybe Belar’s brother...
“Ralf saved his life. It was not some heroic gesture. Ralf and his men found young Belar in the mountains after an accident. And Belar is a man of character.”
The Mother Storm was now just bad memory, and the cold took over the world. A cold like nothing else I had encountered before; even the Turquoise Lake was frozen – children were riding horses on the thick ice. We arrived at the edge of the forest surrounding Boar’s castle at sunset. Built on a small rocky hill, the castle rose from the forest – it was not large, but the steep edges made it hard to conquer, at least hard for four men. Around the castle, the trees were cut for less than two hundred paces. I wouldn’t have allowed the forest to creep so close. Behind me, a horse whickered softly. A touch and a soft word quieted the animal. Taun and Lisandru went home with the horses, and we continued on foot. It was a quiet time, and I did not expect the guards to be too watchful. Silently, Damian led us through a ravine, out of the guards’ view. A film of ice had formed on the trees, and one had two small branches looking like a mustache of little icicles. A last flash of sunshine made it shiver. In minutes, darkness came with the speed of a winter gale. In swift succession, the colors of the castle’s walls went from yellow to grey to black. The full moon still shone a milky light, and almost blind we walked, or mostly slid, through the ravine.
“We start to climb here,” Damian patted a rock in front of him. “I did it many times when I was a child.”
I doubt that it was in the winter. I flexed my fingers; despite the thick gloves, my hands were half numb. They were strange gloves, with cuts allowing the tips of the fingers to sneak out; useful for using the bow or for climbing. Only if my skin doesn’t stick to the frozen stones. And I wore old boots of supple doeskin. They belonged to Matei. My riding boots were too rigid for climbing icy stones.
The slope was not steep, and we sneaked between large boulders until we arrived at the base of the castle’s wall. With each step, I could feel the rough terrain through the doeskin boots.
“We go left, around the wall,” Damian whispered, and walked further, his body barely visible under the moon’s and stars’ light. It was at least the luck that the sky over the cold nights was as clear as it was starry. When Damian was twenty feet above the place where we reached the wall, he stopped on a narrow icy ledge. “It should be here,” he stared up. “I can’t see the window. I need to climb down on that rock.” He pointed down, hesitantly, because of the thick ice. Slowly, Damian took down the winding thick coils of hemp rope across his chest, and offered one end to me. I passed the rope around my waist, and tightened it. Damian went down in all four, almost trudging. “We are almost in place, just ten paces further. I see the three candles in the window.” Carefully, he tensed the rope before climbing up.
“Vlad,” I said, and he gave an owl’s cry three times, waited for thirty heartbeats and cried twice more.
Silence engulfed the valley, until a window opened thirty feet up, and someone quietly whistled the Merry Girl of the Mountain. Vlad cried two more times. A few moments later a rope came down; both its coils and faint rasps on the stone resembling a snake. Sharpe, I could not stop thinking, and my hand went for the Wing Talisman – it stayed quiet, pressed between my numb fingers and my chest.
The lightest of us, Pintea, was the first to climb the wall; the rope tightened around his waist. Pulled from above, the rope went up with him, and he almost walked with the help of the tense cord. In front of the window, his body became visible from far around, and I bit my lip, staring nervously at the tower of the castle’s gate. There were two sentries there. Then Pintea was gone, and the rope came down again for Damian, and again for Vlad. I was the heaviest one, and climbed last, Vlad and Damian handling the rope. Inside the room, Sara was wringing her hands in silence, the first thing I could see when my head passed over the window sill. Vlad and Damian were in the middle of the room, panting from lifting me. Pintea was watching the door.
“Livia fed you too much,” Damian grinned.
“No way, all my life I was afraid of being too skinny for a swordsman.”
“Skinny?” Damian’s eyes widened.
“You should have seen him when he appeared in our house: a taller Livia,” Vlad laughed. “And yet he could have broken your arm with his twig hand.”
“Sara doesn’t believe you,” I laughed.
“You are lean and move like a large cat,” she smiled. “But you are tall and have broad shoulders.”
“Thank you, my lady,” I bowed. “Finally someone who has a good eye. But one more month in Livia’s care, and I will be a fat man. Tell me.” I stared at her and Lovrin who kept quiet until now.
“Sharpe is already here, with ten mercenaries,” Lovrin said. “They came in the
evening.”
“What about Belar?”
“He is not happy,” Sara bit her lip.
“But he will not help you.”
“He may, if...” Lovrin was hesitant. “We’ve told him that four soldiers may come to help us. He said neither yes, nor no, just told the guards to call him when they arrive.”
“It could be worse,” I shrugged. “Where can we talk with him?”
“In the council room.”
“If things go badly, I may have to jail or kill him.” I stared at both Lovrin and Sara.
“Don’t kill him,” Sara whispered. “He is a fine man.”
“I don’t like to kill, Sara; it’s just that things may not go as planned. Let’s hope that he will agree to be your Chief of the Guard after I leave. Damian, Pintea, you stay behind. Don’t let anyone except our people here leave or enter. Vlad, you come with me. Does she know what’s going on?” I pointed to the maid in the room.
“Dena is my trusted servant.” Sara placed a hand on her shoulder, and the girl made a nervous curtsy, avoiding my eyes.
“You answer if someone comes at the door,” I said to Dena, “but let no one enter. Find a good excuse. It will be a long night. Show me the council room, Lovrin, and bring Belar to me.”
“They are coming.” A squire entered to warn us, his voice almost strangled in the silent council room. The morning was still young, but the sun was making the forest look as if it was alight.
I was leaning on the left column of the fireplace. From the window, Belar nodded, and the young squire left the room as fast as he could without giving the impression of running away. He is older than Pintea. In Boar’s chair, Sara was wringing her hands, a gesture I came to know. Lovrin was pale and silent.
“Take your places,” I said.
Pintea and Damian grabbed their bows and hid behind the columns of the fireplace. It was a peculiar thing, going out from the wall for five feet, and bordered by two marble columns able to hide several soldiers. If not elegant, it was at least impressive. Belar sat on Sara’s left, his chair at an angle against the table, his body half turned toward the door, ready to jump. Vlad took his place beside him, and sat in the same way. Lovrin stood behind Sara. His hand tapped her shoulder, and she swept her hand over his. I stood on her right, and rested my boot on the chair. There were three swords in plain view on the table.
“So, Belar,” Sharpe burst in the room, “You let some foreign men slip in the castle.” He stopped abruptly, staring at me. The man behind knocked into him. “Keep your eyes open,” Sharpe growled, then stepped forward. Silently, his ten mercenaries entered the room, and spread out along the wall. “Why are these men here?” he pointed at Vlad and me.
“I am asking the questions here,” I said.
“Codrin is my Chief of the Guard,” Sara said, her voice strangled.
“Codrin?” Sharpe frowned.
He took the warrant from Aron.
“He killed Little Boar,” Sharpe growled.
“If that’s true, why did you not come to tell us? How is it that you escaped?” Sara asked calmly.
“That’s none of your business,” Sharpe said.
“It is my damn business,” Sara stood up. “I am the Lady of this castle, and you answer to me or leave.”
“The castle goes to Ralf; you are just a woman. He made me Chief of the Guard.”
That moment, one man whispered something to Sharpe, and I recognized one of Aron’s men.
“I know who Codrin is,” Sharpe said, his voice filled with both anger and greed, and pushed him aside. “My purse, of three hundred galbeni. Steady!” He pulled his sword from its scabbard. Its sharp edge caught the light from the fireplace, became a line of yellow fire. “They are few and weak. Kill them!”
Eight mercenaries did the same, and spread out even more. Aron’s man unsheathed his sword too. Two mercenaries grabbed their bows.
“Sheath your steel and leave, and no harm need come to you,” I said.
Sharpe laughed, and for the first time, his pale skin showed a little color. His dead eyes squinted, and the fire in the room played colorful games with his bristly dark red beard, which ran to the base of his neck. “Twelve swords against three. Belar, you have chosen the wrong side. I have waited so long to chop off your head, and send you after your useless brother.” He raised his sword in Alta Guarda. “It will happen now. Charge!” Sharpe shouted and sprang forward. Aron’s man stayed behind, close to the door; he and the archers.
I wished to have my Assassin’s swords with me. I weighed my old Arenian blade. “Cover Sara,” I said to Belar.
The two mercenaries tensed their bows, aiming at me. Two arrows flew from behind the fireplace and put them down. Sharpe and five mercenaries moved to surround me. Three attacked Vlad. I pushed the chair at the feet of the closest mercenary. He stumbled, and my sword cut his jaw from ear to mouth, spraying his teeth out. Two more arrows made a thumping sound as they pierced some thick necks, and two more bodies fell – one at my side, one at Vlad’s side. Sharpe came closer, but again, he let one of his men attack me first. I parried and stepped back. Belar countered on my left, a third advancing soldier. Damian threw down his bow, and charged with his sword.
He should have waited longer... I parried another sword; Sharpe was still waiting. On the edge of my vision, I could see Sara’s eyes, wide and almost white.
Belar took a cut on his shoulder. His opponent lost his arm first, then his life. Another arrow put down a mercenary at Vlad’s side. He was one to one now. Sharpe was circling around me, and he let again his other man attack first. I dodged, and pushed him into Sharpe’s body. Both lost their footing, and my sword slashed the mercenary. His sword fell, and he knelt, his hand pressed to his belly, blooded swelling through his red fingers.
“Bastard,” Sharpe growled, and stepped back in search of balance.
Vlad killed his man and moved to support Damian. It ended fast and both came to encircle Sharpe, whose eyes swept the room left and right, yet he was still calm.
“Leave Sharpe to me,” I said, as he was now alone – Aron’s man had left the room in haste. “Belar, don’t let that man leave the castle,” I pointed toward the door.
“You are too haughty,” Sharpe smiled a dry thing, circling. His eyes searched the door, but Vlad was blocking it.
“This haughty man will kill you.” I circled too. “You are weak, and Frankis will be safer without its worst Black Dervil.”
His sword hit the brazier on the table, scattering embers and hot coals at my feet. I jumped aside. He feigned to charge, and retreated, his blade making a circle in the direction he thought I would move to escape his feigned attack. He guessed well, but my sword was already there, and steel rang on steel. If I did not count my mentor, Tudor, Sharpe was the fastest sword I’d met. He was faster than Cernat or Valer, but did not have their skills – he lacked Cernat’s calculated mind, able to think five or six moves in advance, or Valer’s bloody efficiency, and his way of using the opponent’s moves against him. Sara took the carafe from the table and threw its wine on the glowing coals. The wine’s fragrance filled the room.
“We need a steak,” Sharpe laughed, circling again. “Would you join me?”
He charged before finishing his words, slashing low, high, low again. I parried. He stepped back. From Alta Guarda, my sword crashed down. Under the hard stroke, his hands twisted slightly aside. I let the sword glide. At the end it touched his face, leaving a thin red line, and retreated. I stepped back. His sword jerked up, to protect his cut face. My sword went down, rasping over the chainmail on his belly. He ducked down again, instinctively, like a wounded animal. Our blades met, and I pressed hard against his body. “Die!” he growled. With my left hand, I caught his blade by the hilt, and going up, my sword pierced his neck. I took a step back to let him fall. My sword was red for half of its length, gleaming darkly in the firelight. I could hear Sara’s puffing, as if her lungs had started to breathe again after a long pause.
>
Here and there the carpet was still smoldering where some of the scattered coals had fallen, and the wine had not reached. Lovrin used his boot crush them.
“We are done,” I stared at Sara. “You can start to prepare the wedding.” I smiled, and she came to embrace me, before settling herself in Lovrin’s arms.
I kept my status as Chief of the Guard until the snow let me leave the valley. As agreed, Belar took the position, and Damian became his right hand. Before leaving the Long Valley, both Lovrin and Sara pledged allegiance to me, and Damian too.
In two weeks, I will see Saliné. The direct road to Arad was still closed, but the one to Dorna was free, but longer. From the hill, I stared obliquely at Boar’s former castle, which looked smaller and smaller under the bright sun.
Chapter 9 – Dochia
I woke seeing white. Only white. Not that pure color you see in fresh snow, something milkier, but white nevertheless. And not everything was clear in front of my eyes; patches of thin fog weaved patterns in the murky white. I blinked. The white was still there. I tried to move my head. I could not. Am I dreaming? I kept my eyes closed for a while. I counted to a hundred, and opened them abruptly. The white was still there. The fog too.
“You are awake,” a voice told me. It was both familiar and unknown, neither woman nor man. Better to say I had the impression of a known voice, but there was no memory to reveal its owner to me.
“You must gather your strength,” the voice continued, and a wet thing wiped my face. It was white.
Who are you? My lips moved (or it was just an impression?), but no sound was produced.
“Your lips moved. Do it again.”
Who are you? I repeated.
“Again.”
Who are you?
“That’s all you can manage?”
All. I closed my eyes, and counted to ten, then inhaled deeply. Another ten. I exhaled.
“Good,” the voice commended me. “Continue. What you fight is inside your mind. Think of a dam. It can stop the water for a while. There are cracks in your inner dam. Exploit them. You are trained to fight mind games too.”
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