She looked at Vulpan, who was still deep in puzzled concentration, and then she hurried to the door. Lily threw a final glance Kirin’s way but he had already turned back to Stracker. Feeling sick to her heart, she closed the door behind her.
Leak was waiting for her. “Mrs. Felt?”
“Leak!” Stracker bellowed from inside.
“Excuse me,” Leak said, his eyes widening.
“Yes, of course,” Lily said, “I’ll just return to our chamber.” The moment the boy’s back turned on her, she fled in the opposite direction.
She ran heedless of who was watching or giving her strange looks. She wouldn’t waste this opportunity or the eyesight Kirin had surely just squandered on saving her life once again. Sickened and angered by their circumstances, the emotions drove her harder. Her mind in turmoil, she had to stop several people to ask the way to the chapel.
Finally, with her mind still very much with the sad yet lovely face of Kirin and his tender voice, she reached her destination. As she rounded the final corner, she collided with a priest.
“My dear, you look so worried. Are you in the right place?”
“I . . . yes, the chapel. Kirin told me to use the side gate.” Then she felt alarmed. “Oh, Father, please don’t tell anyone I was here.”
“Lo, help me, why would I? Whatever is wrong? You mentioned Kirin. I know him well. Is he returned?”
“Yes, yes, he’s back, he’s in trouble. It’s General Stracker . . .” And finally she began to weep.
“Let me help you. Come. You should not be seen in this state if you are trying to protect your anonymity. Here, come back here. It is safe, my dear, I promise. Please.”
Meekly, all protest dissipating, Lily allowed herself to be led into a small chamber behind the chapel. She stood awkwardly in its center, regarding the priest as he closed the door behind them.
“I am Father Briar.”
She nodded, gulping back her tears. “Kirin has mentioned you.”
“You said he’s in trouble?”
“He’s with Stracker.” Briar’s interested expression faltered. “And that ghoul, Vulpan.”
Now the priest’s expression darkened. “A ghoul, indeed. I’ve heard of his vile practice.”
“He has tasted my blood and Kirin’s.”
Briar’s mouth twisted in revulsion. “Why is Kirin in trouble with General Stracker?”
“They think he has something to do with the death of that man called Freath.” Briar looked shocked. “They are questioning him now. They . . . they let me go but only because Kirin . . .” She shook her head. “Kirin made me promise I would flee the palace. He is worried for our safety.”
“As well he might be around General Stracker. The man has no conscience!” the priest spat.
She nodded. “I have to get out of here. I promised him.”
“All right, I understand. I will help you as I have helped Kirin and Freath in the past.”
“Are you a . . . a royalist, Father Briar?”
“I am a man of faith, that’s all. I was priest to the Valisars during Brennus’s reign and my loyalties are to anyone who believes in people. Stracker is not of that sort. He has a loyalty only to himself. And he hates anyone who is not Steppes-born.” He gave another twist of his mouth. “He does not receive my blessing.”
“How can you help me?”
“The same way I have spirited others before you from this place. I will hide you and get you out of the palace gates.”
She looked at him with gratitude and disbelief. “Really? You’ll get me out?”
He nodded and patted her hand kindly. “Right away. You look as though this is urgent.”
“It is.”
He smiled. “We’re in luck, then. I have some food deliveries to make to some of the outlying villages. The palace cooks up and waste a lot of food that I can’t bear to see used as currency by unscrupulous soldiers or servants. I like to load up my cart and take it out to the needy every few days if I can.” He gave her a reassuring nod. “Come, we’ll be on our way immediately. Er, forgive me, but I don’t even know your name.”
She found a grateful, fleeting smile. “I’m Lily, Father Briar. Kirin Felt’s wife.”
He stopped leading her and stared at her, shocked.
“I’m not sure I understand why we let the woman go, General Stracker,” Vulpan whinged.
“Because I chose to,” Stracker growled, although honestly he wasn’t that sure either. “Why are you swaying, Felt?”
“Forgive me, general. I have not been well. In fact, I think I am going to be . . .” Kirin staggered and then collapsed, unconscious.
“Leak!” Stracker shouted. The boy took a moment or two to respond but finally ran into the chamber, his gaze drawn helplessly to the man out cold on the ground.
“Fetch the physic!” Stracker demanded.
“General, I believe Physic Chard is not in the palace at present.”
“Then fetch . . . oh don’t bother. I will handle it. I want this man revived immediately. I have questions for him.” He shook his head, the blurriness of his confusion gradually giving way to clearer thought. “Did you see the woman?”
“Yes, general.”
“Where is she?”
“Returned to Master Felt’s chambers, she said.”
Stracker shook his head again, clearing his throat and feeling suddenly enraged. “Aludane strike me! Put a guard on her, boy! She is not to leave the palace.”
“What happened?” Vulpan asked, seemingly returning to his senses as Stracker just had.
“I let the bitch go, it seems.”
“I told you not to,” Vulpan snapped, forgetting himself.
Stracker lashed out, backhanding Vulpan across the cheek, then grabbing the blood-taster’s injured hand and squeezing it. Vulpan looked ready to pass out from the pain.
“Vulpan, you are here at my pleasure. Your very existence is permitted only by my pleasure. Never . . . ever believe that Denovian dirt can ever speak to a Steppes-born as an equal.”
“I’m sorry, general,” Vulpan whimpered. But Stracker didn’t want to hear it. “Leak!” he shouted. “I want you to put a permanent guard on Kirin Felt.” Before the boy could answer, he strode away angrily.
Stracker was weary of being let down by others. Rather than issue any more orders he strode down to the Valisar chapel, determined to give his instructions personally. He took a wrong turn twice, on both occasions having to ask servants, terrified at coming face to face with Stracker—famed for his temper—for directions. The Valisar chapel was not a place he visited and on the rare time over the last decade that he had, he had simply followed messengers.
Finally he found himself in the familiar courtyard he had passed through on his way to view Freath’s corpse. That had been a happy day, intensified by witnessing his brother experience what appeared to be a genuine sense of loss. It had amused, even pleased Stracker to see Loethar looking so suddenly bereft. It had always irked Stracker that his brother had permitted the Denovian aide into the inner sanctum of their lives. The man had already proven himself to be a traitor once and Stracker had never once trusted the opinionated, somber servant. In quiet moments he had admitted to himself that he had found Freath unnerving; the man’s intelligence, his manner of speaking down to Stracker, even though the wording appeared polite, was as infuriating as his increasing closeness to Loethar. Loethar protected Freath, relied on Freath; Stracker had even caught him laughing with Freath. Loethar laughing! His brother found so little in life amusing that even the sound of his mirth was a shock.
They’d laughed as boys. They’d been real brothers then. It had never mattered to Stracker that they had different fathers. He wanted to be Loethar’s best friend. In fact, although he was the eldest he had always been quietly in awe of Loethar’s composure. Nothing rattled Loethar; his brother was so controlled, so clever and even though he was wiry rather than strapping, he came to be a feared warrior. Loethar had often counseled
Stracker during their younger years that the only reason he won so many fights was that he used his intelligence rather than his fists.
“I beat my opponent before we strike a blow,” he had told Stracker. “You have to think everything through, Stracker. That’s what strategy is. Winning isn’t always about leaving your rival bloodied and unconscious. Sometimes losing is winning.” Stracker hadn’t understood that final remark. Not until the day had come to fight for the leadership of the tribes. Then Loethar’s losing streak had all made sense. The best of the tribes had gone into their fight with Loethar with a smirk, expecting to win easily.
They hadn’t. Loethar had beaten all rivals for the crown of the tribes in astonishingly brutal style. He had even winked at Stracker during the combat. And then he had shocked everyone further by proclaiming that as their new ruler he was going to change their future. No longer would they be the foraging/herding tribes of the Steppes. Instead they would conquer their arrogant neighbors of the Denovian Set and enjoy the riches of the fertile soils of the west.
Stracker had to admit that his brother had kept his promise. But where had his sense of fight gone? Loethar was a king in all senses and yet he seemed satisfied, bored even, not even vaguely interested in broadening his rule or any further battles. His brother had become soft, complacent. He even seemed to like the Denovians! Stracker shook his head with disgust. He could remember a time, a decade ago, when his brother had eaten a king. Nothing had ever amused the big warrior as much as that day when Loethar had ordered King Brennus of Penraven to be roasted. Nothing ever would again.
As Stracker looked around, anticipating Father Briar to come scuttling to his aid at any moment, he realized that his and Loethar’s relationship—their once fun friendship as youngsters—had been breaking down for ten anni . . . perhaps before that even.
Where was Briar, damn him to the eternal fires!
Stracker saw a lad scurrying across the courtyard. “You, boy!”
The boy hadn’t even seen him, so intent was he on getting to his destination. He stopped in his tracks, a look of pure startlement on his face. “My lord, Stracker,” he stammered, terrified.
“You should address me as general,” Stracker remarked, enjoying watching the youngster squirm.
“I . . . I’m sorry, general.”
“Where is everyone?”
“Everyone?” the boy repeated, a quizzical expression claiming him. Stracker bristled and the boy all but squeaked in terror. “Who can I fetch for you, general?”
“Where do you work?”
“In the stables, general.”
“So why are you going toward the main buildings?”
“I was hoping to grab some fresh bread, general. I’m starving.”
“Never could fill my own belly full enough when I was your age, boy, but I’ll tell you something, it’s good to be a bit hungry. It keeps you sharp, keeps you alert.”
The boy nodded, still terrified. “I’ll remember that, general.”
“Have you seen Father Briar?”
“Yes, sir. I have. In fact, I helped to hitch his horse and cart not long ago. He was in a tearing hurry.”
Stracker frowned. “Why is that?”
The boy shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. He kept hurrying me along to get the cart hitched and then he told me to leave. He . . . er . . . he was the one who suggested that the kitchens might give me some bread. I was to tell them that Father Briar sent me.”
“I see. Do you know where he was headed?”
The lad shook his head. “No, sir. He normally likes to take food that the palace no longer requires out to the needy. But today is not usually the day he would do that.”
“Why?”
“Today we usually check over the horses, general.”
Stracker’s eyes widened, and his brow lifted in mock query.
The boy hurried to explain. “I mean, we are always checking the horses, sir, but today we go over each horse very thoroughly. Father Briar knows not to request the use of an animal.”
The general frowned. It irritated him hugely that Briar was not available and galled him even further that he couldn’t understand what had got into his head to allow that stupid wife of Felt’s to get away. They were hiding something, he had been sure. And still he’d let her go. He couldn’t understand why one moment he had been feeling completely in control and the next he had been vague, making a ridiculous decision. His head still felt blurry. His mouth felt dry too.
“General?”
“What?” he bellowed, annoyed that the boy was interrupting his thoughts.
“I said the woman was in a hurry too.”
“What woman?” Stracker roared, spittle flying into the boy’s face.
The youngster stepped back in terror. He raised his hand to wipe his cheek but seemed to think better of it. “Er, the woman who got into the cart beside him.”
“Who was she?”
The boy shook his head. “I don’t know, sir. I didn’t recognize her.”
“Describe her!”
The boy did his best.
Stracker’s gaze became distant. “Father Briar left with this woman?” He began to feel a new sensation—a familiar one—as fury coursed through his body.
“Yes, general. It was a bit odd now I come to think of it. He dismissed me but I glanced back and saw him helping the woman into the cart. Except he was helping her into the back, not next to him. That’s what struck me as odd. Perhaps she was tired and planned to lie down?”
“Or perhaps she was my prisoner making her escape with the good Father.”
The boy looked shocked. His lips moved but nothing came out.
Stracker poked him in the chest. “And you helped him!”
“No, general, I . . .” The boy didn’t finish because Stracker had him in by the scruff of his shirt. He whimpered as the general lifted him and then began to yell and struggle as he was raised above the huge man’s head.
Stracker ignored the boy’s cries. Someone had to pay for this; someone had to help quench the rage that when it came made him feel like a parched, desperate man. He grunted and threw the boy aside in disgust, feeling a mild sensation of satisfaction as he watched the stablehand’s body crumple at the bottom of the wall he had been flung against.
Chapter Thirteen
Kilt and Jewd had traveled through the night, riding hard, taking spare horses and trading both pairs for a new set the following morning. Kilt refused to pause for rest or sustenance, insisting they eat and drink in the saddle. Jewd put up no resistance; in fact the big man remained mostly silent during their journey, which Kilt was grateful for. He wanted to tell Jewd—needed to tell Jewd—that he was glad they were together but right now he needed the quiet space in his mind.
They were approaching Penraven city and had slowed their horses to a trot. They needed to pass unnoticed into the general throng of dwellers. Kilt had no plan . . . not yet . . . but he had to find Lily. He had put her life into far too much danger. And she would never believe what had happened since she had left. Convincing her that Leo was now the enemy would take some doing—but that was for the future. Right now he had to find her.
As usual Jewd seemed able to read this thoughts. “Lily’s not going to believe a word of what we have to tell her.”
Kilt grunted.
“How much will you say?”
“Everything. She needs to know that Leo is prepared to kill me.”
“Kill is probably not the right word.”
“What is, Jewd? What he had in mind was nothing akin to life as we know it.”
Jewd nodded, their horses moving in time with each other, gradually slowing as the city gates drew closer. Brighthelm dominated the landscape. Kilt was overwhelmed by its size as much as its grandeur. He’d been a long time in the forest, with Francham the closest comparison he had to city life. Now he recognized it as the provincial town it was, nothing close to the noise alone of the capital. Was everyone talking at once? He could hear
a drone of voices in the distance, behind the city walls, the clang of metal, the bellowing of animals. The city bell heralded midday.
They had caught up with what looked to be a merchant caravan entering the city. Jewd peeled away slightly from Kilt to flank the last cart in the caravan, as Kilt did the same on the other side. Now they just looked like they were riders in the same party. As Kilt had hoped, they were permitted to pass through without the guards so much as glancing at them. Kilt even raised a hand in thanks and realized no one was paying him any attention.
He felt the appropriate awe as his horse took him beneath the great gate, hooves echoing on the cobbles and around the stone above him. He’d seen the glorious shadow timepiece that King Cormoron had built and various royals had added to over the centuries, but it didn’t fail to impress him when his gaze fell upon it again.
Kilt tensed at the thought of the Valisar royalty and without meaning to he felt his magic reaching out to test the surrounds, desperately hoping there would be no response, no alarming reaction. There wasn’t, but he still couldn’t shake the tension.
“Are you all right?” Jewd asked.
He nodded. “Anxious, I suppose.”
The big man’s expression told Kilt he understood. “We’ll find her.”
“Where to begin?” Kilt remarked as they slipped off their horses and began leading them through the streets.
“Stables first, a good meal and then we’ll make some decisions.”
It sounded like a not unreasonable plan and they found stables easily enough. Once unencumbered from the horses, Kilt’s belly grumbled in anticipation of a meal. Jewd led them into an inn that Kilt paid little attention to. He even let Jewd order the food while he found a quiet corner and sipped on ale that was surprisingly strong. For some reason he’d expected beer in the city inns to be watered. He hoped Lily was still unharmed; couldn’t bear to think of her trapped or frightened.
“Duck pie on the way,” Jewd remarked as he joined him, sliding into the booth opposite.
King’s Wrath Page 16