A Dance of Blades s-2

by David Dalglish

  “We have no horses.”

  “I’ll buy one from the Utters in the morning.”

  Evelyn pulled her arms tight across her chest as if she were cold. She recognized that tone in his voice. He’d made up his mind, and it’d take tears and a hysterical fit from her to change it. She didn’t have it in her. They had to do something before more soldiers showed up looking for Tristan.

  “Trevor’s old enough to look after most things,” Matthew continued, as if trying to reassure her. “And with the cold already breaking, we’ll easily last until spring on what wood we have. I’ll leave you half the coin, too, in case something happens. You can afford salt or meat if need be.”

  “I know I can do it,” she snapped. “Don’t mean I want to, or will enjoy it. I’m scared, Matt, scared witless. What if men come looking while you’re gone?”

  He kissed her forehead.

  “I trust you,” he said. “And I’ll pray you stay safe. I don’t know what else to do, Evelyn. I just don’t know.”

  Come morning, he trudged east through the half-melted snow, across fields he knew by heart. The Utters were a large clan, and wealthier than most, at least compared to the local farm folk. They had several horses, and while they might not be eager to part with one, Matthew knew the gold jingling in his pocket would be persuasive enough.

  When he returned, it was atop a mare he’d paid for – far more than she was worth, but given how they were still waiting for winter to make its exit, and time wasn’t on his side, he’d been forced to accept. He refused to be overcharged on the saddle, though.

  “Without that mare you got no reason for it anyway,” he’d said, and after threatening to buy a saddle from the Haerns or the Glenns, they’d relented. The mare was a beautiful horse named Strawberry, so named by one of their daughters. Matthew thought the name a little demeaning for such a majestic creature, but figured he’d leave it be considering the horse was already familiar with it. On his ride back, he swung by Fieldfallow (the closest thing to a town for thirty miles) and bought trail rations and a thick riding coat.

  “Little early to be heading up to Tyneham,” the old storekeep had said. Matthew only gritted his teeth and paid, again twice as much as he would have in spring. Back at the house, Tristan was already bundled up and ready to go. His fever had come and gone, but never as bad as before. Matthew kissed his kids goodbye, hugged his wife, and then set Tristan on the saddle.

  “You ever ridden a horse before?” he asked.

  The boy nodded. “At the castle,” he said. Matthew guessed he meant Felwood, and again he felt tempted to stop there. Lord Gandrem was an honorable old man. Surely he wouldn’t let something untoward happen to the boy. Resolving to decide the issue later, he climbed into the saddle, shifted Tristan so they could both sit more comfortably, and then set off.

  The first day came and went uneventfully. A caravan passed them heading north, dour men that didn’t even wave greeting. Just before nightfall, he spotted a distant pond. Glad for once for the cold, since there’d be no mosquitoes flitting about, he set up camp beside it, Strawberry staked close enough to the water’s edge to drink. Tristan had remained quiet through much of the ride, and Matthew didn’t press him to talk. Come the fire, though, it seemed both their tongues loosened.

  “How long until we get there?” Tristan asked.

  Matthew poked the fire with a stick, shifting one of the thicker logs into a hotter section so it might burn better.

  “It’ll be several days to reach Felwood. From there, less than a week to ride into Veldaren. That’s where your ma is, right?”

  The boy shivered, as if the mere mention of her name reminded him how far away from her he was.

  “I think so,” he said. “Do you…do you think she misses me?”

  “Can’t see why not. Evelyn would be sick with fits should one of our sons run off missing.”

  Tristan pulled his blanket tighter about him, and his eyes glazed as he stared into the fire.

  “He died protecting me,” he said.

  “Who?”

  “Mark. I liked him. He’s nicer than Lord Hadfield.”

  The name Mark didn’t ring any bells, but Hadfield sure did.

  “Do you know why Arthur would want you dead, boy? You’re young, sure, but you got ears and you probably know more than I when it comes to the upper crust.”

  “I don’t. He always said I was like his son, and when he married mom, he’d be my father.”

  Matthew felt a tingle in the back of his head at that. Perhaps it had something to do with marriage. Had Alyssa rejected Arthur, and he lashed out spite? Did he want to remove any potential heirs? What foul plans might he have for Alyssa as well? Too many questions without answers.

  “Safe to say he ain’t planning to be much of a father to you,” Matthew said. “Now eat up. Got a long ride tomorrow, and you’ll need the energy for it. Riding’s tiring work, though you wouldn’t think it.”

  They slept under blankets. Halfway through the night, Matthew awoke to distant howling. Coyotes, he figured. A tired glance to his side showed Tristan shivering, a shaking fist pressed to his lips. He was crying. Touched, Matthew reached out and put his arm around the boy, sliding him closer so he could wrap him in a hug. Tristan continued to cry, but his trembling stopped. Soon the crying turned to sniffles, which turned to steady breathing. Matthew fell asleep not long after.

  Come morning, they both woke red-eyed. Tristan said little, and several times Matthew had to hold back an angry word. Evelyn always insisted he was a bear when he got up in the morning. No reason to take that out on the poor kid. They ate some rations, drank, and then rode south, stopping every few hours to stretch their legs and rest their backs. Matthew wasn’t a stranger to a horse, but he hadn’t ridden in over six months. Muscles he didn’t know he had announced their angry presence to him.

  “Starting to think walking would be a better idea,” he grumbled.

  Tristan said nothing.

  By the second day, the plains were spotted with trees, and with each hour they rode, they gathered thicker, forming clusters that would soon be a forest. Felwood Castle was getting closer. It was one of those nearby clusters that saved both their lives. They’d stopped by one for a piss, and while dismounted they heard the thunder of hoofbeats approaching from the south. A warning instinct, like when he knew something was after his animals, told Matthew it was time to get off the road.

  “This way,” he said, grabbing the reins in one hand and Matthew’s wrist with the other. He led them into the copse of trees, far enough that they’d go unnoticed.

  “Stay here, and hold on tight,” he said, handing Tristan the reins. Hurrying back toward the road, he peered from behind a tree as a group of five rode past at full gallop. They wore dark tabards that he easily recognized. Hadfield’s men. Did they know of Gert and Ben’s absence? More importantly, did they know where it’d happened?

  Trying not to think about it, he returned to Matthew, who stood with wide eyes.

  “It’s them again, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Matthew said. “Looked like it.”

  “Will everyone be safe?”

  Matthew’s jaw clenched tight. He yanked the reins from the boy’s hand and led them back to the road.

  “Ashhur only knows,” he said as the silence hung over them. “And if not, then may Karak curse every one of those bastards.”

  Including the one who brought you to me, he thought, not cruel enough to say it aloud.

  *

  O ric sped his men across the road between Felwood and Tyneham, the lightest touch of panic brushing his neck. It wanted to dig in, sink its claws deep, but he refused to let it. He hadn’t failed his master yet, and so far he had no reason to think he would. Not a soul had seen or heard anything of Nathaniel. It seemed likely he’d frozen to death, that strange Watcher there for the gold and nothing else. The lack of information suggested the boy was a corpse in the melting snow somewhere, his body devou
red by coyotes or vultures-except for one troublesome detail: they’d found Gert’s horse unbridled, the soldier nowhere to be found. That meant he was dead somewhere, killed while searching for Nathaniel. So far he had no evidence, but he assumed the same had happened to Ben. For two of his men, armed and armored, to mysteriously vanish…they’d found Nathaniel, and then paid the price. He needed to discover where, and quick. If the boy even made it to Felwood, there’d be disaster. Lord Gandrem certainly knew of Alyssa’s loss, and Oric had personally brought the ‘body’ to be buried. All sorts of questions would need answered should Nathaniel appear alive and well, and none of the answers would endear him to anyone. It was either find the boy or hang from a noose.

  The farms were few and far between as they rode north, and something clicked as he finally came upon where the ambush had first been.

  “Let’s say you’re wounded and carrying a sick boy,” he said to his men. “Snow’s falling, and you’re low on food. What is it you’d do?”

  “Ditch the boy,” said one. “Either way he’s dead. No reason to go with him.”

  “Assume yourself a better man than that. What then?”

  “Carry him until I find the closest shelter.”

  Oric tapped his forehead. “Exactly. Patt, take Rat and go north. Stop at the first two homes off the road, and you search them thoroughly. The rest of you, come with me.”

  They split, two north, three south. Oric had a feeling this Watcher, when in danger, would have gone south instead of north, since by all appearances Veldaren was his home. They saw no dwellings for the rest of that first day, but come the second, a farm appeared in the distance. Oric led the way, feeling his pulse quicken. This had to be it. The Watcher would have stopped here, maybe not for long, but at least for food and water.

  When he knocked on the door, it was a long time before he heard a response.

  “Who’s there?” asked a woman’s voice.

  “Oric Silverweed, soldier of lord Hadfield of the north. I demand entrance.”

  A lock rattled from inside. Oric leaned back toward his men and whispered, “Hands on your hilts at all times.”

  The door opened, revealing a mildly attractive woman in her early thirties. Beside her stood a teenage boy, a dagger tucked into his belt. From where Oric stood, he saw several more children, all younger, huddled about a wood stove.

  “Where’s the man of the house?” he asked as they stepped inside.

  “That’s me,” said the eldest boy. Oric raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the woman. Something already felt off.

  “What’s your name, boy?” he asked, glad to see him ruffle at being called boy. If he was angry, he might say something stupid, something he’d rather have kept quiet about.

  “Trevor.”

  “Where’s your pa, Trevor?”

  That brief hesitation, along with the woman’s sudden flare of her eyes, was all Oric needed to know.

  He had two men with him, one a young soldier named Uri, and the other a skilled fighter named Ingram. Oric turned to them, purposefully putting his back to Trevor and his dagger.

  “Ingram, search out back. Check the barn, the fields, anywhere they might keep him. Uri, search the house. Pull up the floors if you have to.”

  “You can’t do this!” the woman shouted. Oric struck her with the back of his hand. Finally Trevor drew his dagger. Before he could do a thing, Oric crossed the distance, rammed his throat with one arm, and grabbed Trevor’s wrist with the other. He held him pinned against a wall as the younger children screamed.

  “You pulled a blade on me, boy,” Oric said, feeling like a wolf among sheep. He let a wildness appear in his eyes, knowing it’d frighten them more. “That means I can do whatever I want, and I got half a mind to leave you a cripple. Think your ma here will keep feeding a worthless belly that can’t help out in the fields? How you think she’ll like watching me cut off your fingers one at a time?”

  Trevor’s eyes were wide, and he looked ready to cry. He couldn’t speak, only cough, and Oric kept the pressure up to keep it that way. He wanted him lightheaded, scared, convinced he was about to die.

  “Stop it, please,” the woman pleaded. She still stood near the door, a red mark swelling on her face. Meanwhile Uri flung open drawers and dressers as he searched the house, occasionally stamping hard with his heel to test for false floorboards.

  “Stand over there with your children,” Oric snapped at her. “You make a move toward me, anything at all, and you can watch as I pull your son’s guts out one inch at a time.”

  She reluctantly obeyed, sitting between her two girls. A young boy was with them, and he moved to sit at her feet. Oric turned back to Trevor, who had dropped the dagger and started retching silently.

  “Take a deep breath,” he said, lessening the pressure. As air sucked into his windpipe, Trevor coughed, every gasp he made strained. “Good. Now you listen to me, got it? I’m missing two of my men, and I’m thinking they were here. But let’s not worry about that right now. Right now, I want to know about a little boy, red hair, about five years old. Did someone bring him here? The truth, you worthless shit, tell me the truth.”

  Trevor’s face contorted with pain. He had something to say, no doubt about it. But he didn’t want to. Even threatened with death, he didn’t want to say. He was protecting his parents, Oric realized. Nothing else could keep his tongue still when so blatantly faced with death. Well, there were ways around that.

  “Uri,” he shouted. The man appeared seconds later.

  “Yeah, Oric?”

  “Find anything?”

  Uri shook his head. “He ain’t in here. Nothing for Ben or Gert, either.”

  Oric looked to the adjacent room, which was curtained off, decided there would work.

  “Come take him,” he told Uri. The other soldier grabbed Trevor by the wrists and shoved him through. Meanwhile, Oric walked over to the woman.

  “What’s your name?” he asked her.

  “Evelyn,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Pretty name, that. You come with me now, or I’ll drag you away by the hair while your little ones watch. Your choice.”

  She kissed her daughters and stood. Oric put a hand on her neck and guided her into the room where Uri pinned Trevor against a wall.

  “You’re trying to protect your ma, maybe your pa, or both,” Oric said as he shoved Evelyn onto the small bed in the cramped room. “But you ain’t protecting them, not anymore. Gonna show you what’ll happen, Trevor, if you don’t tell me what you know, got that? Hold him tight, Uri.”

  “Will do.”

  Oric struck the mother, spun her onto her stomach, and ripped at her skirt. When she started to sob, he took a wad of the blanket and shoved it into her mouth. Trevor struggled, but Uri stood a foot taller and easily outweighed him. Oric pulled off his belt, pushed aside the rest of Evelyn’s skirt, and shoved himself inside. She screamed into the gag, tears streaming down her face. Oric beat her when her screams got too loud, or when Trevor’s struggles lessened. He needed the horror to continue. He wanted that fucking brat scarred.

  When he finished, Oric pulled back and refastened his belt. Evelyn pulled at her skirt, trying to hide her nakedness, but Oric yanked at it, denying her even that.

  “Let him go,” he said to Uri.

  Trevor flung himself at Oric, who expected the reaction. He ignored a single punch, caught Trevor by the throat, and flung him back against the wall.

  “You want to know what will happen next?” he asked as Trevor clutched his wrist. “I’m thinking Uri wants a turn, but I’m not letting him. Know why? Because you’re going next unless you tell me everything that happened here.” He laughed. “How’s that sound? Ever wanted to needle your ma, Trevor? Here’s your chance. No one will blame you. You were just being a man, right, protecting your family? How about one of your sisters out there? Think they could use a good poke? Maybe I’ll make you do all three, just one after another, until…”

  �
�Just stop,” he screamed with what little breath he had. “I’ll tell, everything, I’ll tell everything, please, just stop, just stop…”

  He let Trevor go, who collapsed at his feet. Oric knelt before him so they could stare eye to eye.

  “You tell me every goddamn detail you know, or next time, I might not be so nice.”

  Oric listened as Trevor told of Haern’s arrival with a boy he knew only as Tristan. He listened as he detailed Tristan’s amputation. Then came Ben and Gert’s arrival, and Oric felt his blood boil as he heard of how their father killed them. Both of them, Trevor insisted. He seemed determined to make that clear. Last came their father’s departure for Veldaren only a few days prior, mounted and following the main road.

  “Good boy,” Oric said, slapping the boy across the face when he was finished.

  “Mind if I have a go?” Uri said, nodding to where Evelyn remained upon the bed, her face wet with tears. Oric shrugged.

  “Get on out, boy. No need for you to watch this.”

  The three soldiers gathered outside the house ten minutes later.

  “No sign of anything strange,” Ingram said. “Found where they maybe did some digging recently, but the ground’s too hard and cold for me to check.”

  “Don’t bother,” said Oric. “We know what they did. Nathaniel’s with their father riding south. If we press hard we can overtake him.”

  Uri pointed a thumb back at the house.

  “You leaving them alive? They helped kill two of us, tried lying as well. Don’t set much of an example.”

  “Leave them all for now,” Oric said. “When we find this Matthew, I want to drag him back to his home so he can watch as we kill every last member of his family. Let that story spread across the north. No one opposes Arthur, and no one dares kill his soldiers. Now ride. No matter what, they can’t get to Felwood before we do.”

  17

  D eathmask and Veliana toasted their success with stolen wine in wooden cups. They’d killed three of Thren Felhorn’s Spiders before fleeing, and their cloaks had made their guild affiliations clear. As far as both guildmasters knew, they were at war with one another. Given how close the attacks had been, and the overall chaos of the night, it’d be near impossible to prove which had been first, so neither could prove theirs had been mere retaliation.