by Jill Gregory
Excitedly, the others urged their horses nearer, pressing so close to the mare it could not even sidestep. Brianne smelled the men’s sweat and grime, and something else—their bloodlust. She peered from one hardened face to the next, and tasted her own fear.
‘Powdered hair, layers of rags—I’ll wager a month’s pay she’s young and comely beneath this trickery.” The bearded soldier grabbed for her cloak, but Brianne struck his hand away.
“Halt!” she cried. She spoke in the commanding tone she’d heard her father use when he was angry beyond endurance. She summoned up as best she could an aura of power—praying that the slight effects of the moonstone still clinging to her would help her to appear intimidating, perhaps even awe-inspiring with the gift of power.
“Do not touch me,” Brianne ordered. She said it coldly, with contempt. “Lest you lose your life.”
“Ha, what prattle is this?” the bearded man jeered, but he did not try a second time to grab at her.
Brianne let her gaze sweep from one man to the next. She kept her expression haughty, remote, and imperious, as she had seen her mother do when confronted once by marauders until her father’s men could return to fight them off.
“I am Brianne of Morksbury,” she announced, staring directly at the man with the ale-colored beard, for he seemed to be the leader of the scout party.
His mouth fell open at her words.
“I seek my affianced husband, Eadric of Wen. I demand that you take me to him.”
Silence.
Then, the bearded soldier shouted. “Brianne of Morksbury is wed to the King of Kerric. Do you think us fools...?”
“Yes, if you do not believe the truth!” she bit out sharply. “I have not wed Ralf of Kerric—I escaped him by means of my sorcery, but he is trying to deceive Eadric so that he may lure him into a trap. I tell you I have information which your king will have great need of. You must take me to him without delay or it will ruin all—and it will mean all your heads when he learns what you have done!”
She held her breath as they glanced uneasily at one another. Doubt crept across their faces. The wind roared around them, blowing icy pellets in great stinging gusts.
Brianne bit her lip against the shivers trembling through her. She allowed righteous wrath to blaze from her eyes, but nothing else—no fear, no discomfort, no anxiety.
They must believe me, she thought frantically.
Power born of desperation is almost as mighty as power born of magic, she thought as the moments dragged on. She kept her chin lifted high. But the pressure upon her was so great, she was afraid her bravery might crack at any moment. Then, at last, the bearded man gave a curt nod to Ogbar and the others.
“Bring her,” he barked. “If she lies, King Eadric will deal out a fitting punishment for her. If she speaks the truth, we will be rewarded for delivering the king his rightful bride!”
Still surrounding her, they rode off in formation, with Ogbar gripping the mare’s reins tightly, leaving Brianne no choice but to ride as a prisoner among them.
* * *
On Raumerin Cog, in a tent set up at the base of a crag-covered hill, Ralf frowned as he bent over the battle plans he’d drawn up with his lieutenants. Not bad, he conceded. But still, the formations were not exactly right—his men were vulnerable from the west if...
He glanced up quickly as Barth entered the tent without ceremony.
“Young Cerdic has just ridden into camp, my lord,” Barth said between clenched teeth.
“Cerdic?” Ralf stood so abruptly, the pages fluttered to the ground. An aide scrambled to assemble them.
“What the—send him in!” Ralf ordered.
One look at the boy’s cold-reddened, weary face sent Ralf in three quick strides to his side. He grasped Cerdic’s shoulders beneath the snow-laden cloak.
“What is it? I told you specifically to stay behind. Is something amiss at the castle?”
“The queen... She... you must follow them!”
Them? Ralf’s expression tautened. “Sit down, boy. Here, take a sip of this—only a sip, I said!”
Snatching the gold-rimmed wine cup away from the boy Ralf knelt down to peer into his sturdy, reddened face. “Take a deep breath, Cerdic,” he instructed. “That’s right. Now tell me exactly who I must follow, and what this has to do with the queen.”
“She tried to come after you, my lord. Because of the moonstone. I overheard her speaking with Myla—I was sulking because you wouldn’t let me come with you, and I heard them talking outside the solar. The queen is in desperate need of your moonstone—and she disguised herself so that she could come in search of you. I was afraid for her when she set out alone, so I followed her.”
“Good boy,” Ralf muttered, then stared grimly into his squire’s bleary eyes.
The boy was shivering, and he looked half frozen, yet elated with his adventure. Ralf drew a fur throw from the cot and wrapped it around the squire’s shoulders.
What wild doings were these?
It seemed to Ralf suddenly that the moonstone burned hot against his chest—this same moonstone which had come into his possession years ago in such a strange way. He remembered Brianne’s fascination with it, a fascination quickly forgotten in the intensity of their lovemaking.
But what had this moonstone to do with her?
“Here, Cerdic, take one more sip of this, and now a deep breath. That’s it. This is important, my boy. You say the queen followed me. Well, where is she?” Fear roughened Ralf’s voice as he knelt and stared commandingly into the face of his squire.
“Captured, my lord!”
Ralf gripped his shoulder. He, who had never known fear in battle, knew it now. It seared his soul.
“Go ahead, Cerdic,” he said with forced calm. “Leave nothing out. Tell me calmly and completely—what has happened to the queen?”
Chapter Six
Holding her cloak and hood tightly against the howling wind which threatened to tear the very branches from the trees, Brianne rode amidst Eadric’s soldiers and tried to plan.
Through snow and wind and thick forests they rode, through scraggly hills and barren plains, across Raumerin Cog and beyond. She wondered if Ralf and his army had watched them from behind the low blue hills of the Cog, allowing Eadric’s scouts to go unhindered so that they might advise their leader to ride forward, straight into Ralf’s trap.
Little would the troops of Kerric guess that the ragged-figure amidst the riders was the new Queen of Kerric, she thought, chafing in frustration at her predicament. She felt Ralf must be close by, yet she dared not call out to him or give away his troops’ presence in any way.
So as she and Eadric’s soldiers left Raumerin Cog behind, her heart sank. If only she possessed the power to speak directly to Ralf’s mind—if only she had the moonstone. She could then at least alert Ralf to what was happening. He’d send a rescue party to follow her, and she would stand a chance of returning to him in time to gain the moonstone.
But she must do nothing to endanger him or his army. She would have to face Eadric alone, and somehow find a way to lure him and his army forward quickly into Ralf’s trap. As if that wasn’t enough, Brianne realized that she must somehow accompany them to the battlefield. Perhaps in the confusion of attack, she would find the means to escape Eadric and reach Ralf and the moonstone in time.
They did not stop riding until nearly dark, galloping all the way. But at last they reached a vast encampment hidden away at the foot of a flat-topped hill, bordered by a snowy wood. Beyond the wood, dark barren hills loomed like giant shrouds in the distance.
She heard a woman’s blood-chilling screams coming from one of the tents they passed. The leader, seeing Brianne stare in alarm, growled, “Never you mind. That’s only a wench from one of the conquered lands. The king finished with her, and turned her over to the rest of us. If you’re lying about who you are, you’ll meet the same fate—or worse. Come along, this way.”
She was hurried without fur
ther discussion to the king’s tent, the woman’s screams still echoing horribly in her ears.
So this is Eadric of Wen, Brianne thought, shaken, as she studied the hulking, gold-haired man before her. Though her heart pounded with revulsion, she forced herself to stand motionless, with quiet dignity, before him, and said a silent prayer of thanks that she had been carried off by Ralf before this monster could have claimed her.
Eadric’s appearance was as fierce as it was unattractive. He had a thick neck, brawny arms, and the great barrel chest of a young bull. But oddly, in contrast to the rest of his body, which was large and stout, his hands were small and stubby, covered with wiry gold hairs. She shuddered. He had the look of a barbarian—coarse, fearsome, and aggressive, but there was also a cunning intelligence in his face, which made him, she supposed, even more dangerous than a mere bloodthirsty brute. His pale mouth was sneering and full-lipped, his complexion ruddy, and there was an aspect of cruelty in his flaming blue eyes. They were round and heavy-lidded beneath pale lashes and swooping yellow brows, and they gleamed with the burning malice of one who enjoys the suffering of others.
He wore a green embroidered tunic fastened with a heavy glittering brooch at his shoulder, but the rich garments could not disguise the common set of his jaw, the greasiness of his longish hair, the leering aggressiveness and self-importance with which he studied her.
“So,” he said, licking his lips speculatively, “you claim to be the Princess Brianne of Morksbury. Well, wench, let us see you better, so that we may judge the truth of your story.”
Smiling coldly, he reached forward with a swift movement and ripped the cloak from her. Brianne, still bundled in tunics and breeches, glared at him as strands of her pale, powdered hair twirled loose from their pins and cascaded around her face, framing it like silvery flower petals.
“Hmm. Perhaps you speak the truth indeed.” Eadric grunted, interest and approval sparking in his eyes. “You may yet survive this night, after all.”
“I demand an end to this indignity.” Brianne spoke crisply, as if addressing a servant. She stared him down, hoping he wouldn’t detect the breathless terror clutching her. Stories she had heard of his brutality pushed at the edge of her mind, as did the screams of the woman in the camp, but she resolutely shoved them away.
“How dare you keep me standing here like some waiting woman? You have sworn to marry and protect me, my lord Eadric, and it is your duty to save me from our enemies. Will you stand by your pledge to my father, or will you not?”
“If you are the lady who you say you are, and are untouched by Ralf of Kerric’s grimy hands, I will indeed lay down my life for you.” Stepping toward her, he grasped her arm.
“Sit down, my lady,” he urged with a smile. “You may have some wine and some food—such poor rations as we have here—but not until you tell me the name of your father who pledged you to me.”
“King Ansgar of Morksbury.”
She was thankful to be seated, at least, for her knees felt weak, and it was all she could do to keep them from shaking. She folded her hands in her lap and looked up at him with as much composure as she could summon, trying not to shiver. Without her cloak, the tent and the seat of the wooden stool were cold.
“And your mother?” he prodded.
“Queen Erinn. And my sister is Emma, who is wed to Duke Feour and lives in the far Kingdom of Raudinium across the sea. What more will satisfy you, my lord?”
Though he seemed intrigued by her ready answers, suspicion still clouded Eadric’s ruddy face. Brianne knew he feared she was a spy sent by Ralf to lead him into a trap.
Not far from the truth, she reflected grimly. And all the while that Eadric studied her, and paced, frowning, about his tent, Brianne thought of Ralf waiting at Raumerin Cog, and of Emma and Feour and the baby, being drawn every moment closer to death.
Her only hope was to lure Eadric to Raumerin Cog at once.
I can save them all. I must think of a way, Brianne told herself, struggling not to be daunted by the harshness of Eadric’s countenance as he scowled at her and approached once more, reaching out to cup her chin.
She managed not to recoil, though bile rose in her throat.
“Princess Brianne, it seems to me you have the look of your mother,” Eadric said slowly, turning her head from side to side, examining her as though she were a new brooch he was considering to complement his tunic. “I met her once, you know. She was a great beauty, and your father was a strong king—though overly foolish and far too tolerant of his subjects.”
Brianne fought back the anger that bristled through her. Eadric gave a nod, as if satisfied with her placid reaction.
“If you are who you say, and you have come from where you claim—well, we’ll see. Tell me now, where is this Ralf of Kerric? What is his plan?”
Brianne was thankful for all the years she had spent at her father’s knee while he plotted battles and pored over maps of the greater land outside Morksbury. She answered with steady assurance as Eadric stared piercingly into her eyes.
“He is planning to engage you on the border of Tersfield, my lord, between Kerric and Raumerin Cog. If you advance quickly across the Cog and past Tersfield, you can surprise him before he reaches even the Kerric border, then take him unawares before he has properly placed and instructed his men.”
She jumped up from the stool and clasped her hands imploringly. “Act swiftly, my lord Eadric, or lose the advantage over Ralf! His army is massive, his men fit and rested, with much armor and weapons. Surprise is your greatest ally. Reach the border of Kerric before him, before the dawn, and you shall catch him unawares, I swear!”
Eadric’s men glanced at one another—wary glances—yet filled with hope. Eadric leaned low to gaze directly into Brianne’s face.
“How do you come by all this knowledge, Princess?” he asked with oozing gentleness. “Surely, Ralf did not speak freely before a captive bride-to-be! And that reminds me, just how did you manage to escape my mighty enemy Ralf, who is renowned for his shrewdness?”
“You forget,” Brianne chided him with a small, cold smile. “I am a sorceress. You say you met my mother once.”
“Indeed.”
“Then you know that she possessed great power, as do all the women of our line. We are born with it and trained for it. I am no less a sorceress than she,” Brianne stated quietly, though inside she was racked with doubts.
“If you are truly a sorceress, prove it.”
“What?”
“You heard me, Princess.” Suddenly, he seized her wrist. The blue eyes blazed with vicious challenge. ‘Perform some feat of magic or mystery to prove your identity. Surely, Brianne of Morksbury, daughter of Queen Erinn, should have no difficulty summoning forth evidence of her abilities.”
Silence fell within the tent as Brianne met his harsh gaze. All around her, she sensed the tension of the men, whose hands rested lightly now on the hilts of their swords. Eadric was regarding her with growing suspicion.
“Unless you are a liar and a spy,” he suggested. “In which case, my men will cut you into little pieces and feed you tonight to the wolves!”
“There will be no need for that, my lord,” Brianne returned, pale but resolute. “You shall have your feat—something small, but which will prove my identity. Come outside with your men.”
Holding her head high, she swept from the tent, trying frantically to think of some small thing she could do that would impress him. She glanced about at the camp teeming with soldiers and wagons and horses and arms.
What now... she wondered in desperation.
Eadric nudged her none too gently. “Well?”
“Gather seven unlit torches in a circle around me.”
She stared down at the earth as he shouted an order to one of his men.
You can do this, she told herself, trying not to allow the quaking fear to take possession of her. All depended on Eadric’s believing her—if she couldn’t convince him to lead his army toward the
Kerric border near Tersfield at once, it would be too late for her to even hope to reach Ralf in time to save Emma.
She raised her head only when all the torches had been gathered. Seven men holding seven torches ringed her as she stood with Eadric in the center.
She lifted her face to the air above and felt the frozen biting cold. The wind had died with the passing of the afternoon. All was now raw, bitter, still as death—the sky awash with fragments of clouds.
She had seen her mother do this countless times—not with seven torches in a circle, that was only for effect. But creating fire... willing it into being... summoning a spark...
Those were small things, the easiest of tasks. Surely, such an effortless skill would come to her now that she’d had some slight contact with the moonstone.
Desperately, trying to appear composed, she blocked out all thoughts of Ralf and Emma and even of Eadric, who stood glowering beside her. She concentrated on the smooth small stone which had touched her skin last night... concentrated on summoning the powers it contained, powers that were rightfully hers...
Powers she was ready now to claim...
Yet nothing happened.
Eadric muttered something impatiently beside her. Something about feeding her to the wolves. She heard some of the men grumbling, others snickering.
Eadric cursed.
Brianne blocked out the sounds, shutting them resolutely from her mind.
Concentrate.
She saw the stone again, blue, smooth. She imagined it touching her skin. It was warm, she reminded herself. Warm and blazing with power. In her mind’s eye, the stone seemed suddenly to glow. Yes, it glowed—with power. She felt it. Brianne envisioned the torches, envisioned the moonstone floating over each of them, igniting them in flames. Fire, she willed herself, see the fire.
Darkness flared behind her eyes.
Fire, she thought fiercely.
See... the... fire.
The world gave way to wavering shadow. She could see nothing, and then at once she was hot all through, burning... and she lifted her arms as if to shield her face from the flames... and suddenly, a great gasp went up, and men shouted... and then the heat faded, and she opened her eyes and dropped her arms.