The Pentacle War: Book One - Hearts In Cups

by Candace Gylgayton

  The ride across the Inner Ward was remarkably pleasant and uneventful. Most of the valley was devoted to raising cattle and sheep and farming its many orchards. Now, in the late spring, the blossoms were off the trees and the new leaves, bright green vibrantly touched with yellow, filled the branches and danced in the breeze. Young livestock, sleeping or frolicking with one another, dotted the pastures between the orchards. There were no cities as such, but a plenitude of towns and villages were scattered comfortably throughout the valley. The largest town was Durstede, located in the heart of the Inner Ward and through which the main road in and out of the Pentarchy ran. Here Gerard called for camp to be made on the second night after departing from the earl's company.

  Hollin had ordered her tent raised and prepared for the evening while she dismounted to walk and stretch her stiff legs. In the distance she could descry the closest peaks of the Tarrants already growing a misty blue-violet in the late afternoon light. Celia was bustling around in the background, ordering the men in the disposition of her mistress' things. Hollin noted with amusement how adept Celia had become at setting up their camp, ordering soldiers and servants alike with a quick tongue that permitted no dissent.

  "We'll be turning westwards now, your grace," Gerard remarked as he came up beside her and raised his eyes to the distant mountains.

  "It seems a great shame to have to take such a long detour," she replied.

  "I agree, but since the main road is closed to us, we must find another way. Lord Brescom has assured me that Slakestone Pass is quite safe and much shorter in the long run than any of the other eastern passes. Once through, we can cut over to the main road again. You just leave all of this to me, your grace." His condescending air irritated Hollin but, in all honesty, she admitted to herself that she had less knowledge than he about moving this large a party through the mountains. When her tent was ready Hollin retired to it and stripped off the heavy, travel-begrimed riding dress. The temperature had become balmy since descending from the Ward's Girdle, and she was sticky with sweat underneath the clothing. Celia had water ready for washing as she deftly picked up her mistress' discarded clothes and took them to be cleaned by one of the servant women. Upon her return, she informed her newly washed and attired mistress that one of House Treves' men was outside, asking to speak with her. The duchess' tent had a curtain that could be drawn across the main space, essentially creating two rooms, and Hollin now ordered Celia to screen off their sleeping area so that she could receive her visitor in the relative privacy of the remaining tent space.

  Two men followed Celia back into the tent and bowed before the seated duchess. After introducing the elder of the two men, Celia drew off to an unobtrusive position behind the duchess, seating herself somewhat primly, and began working industriously on some mending. Hollin waited expectantly as a middle-aged man wearing the golden harp and red chevron of House Treves on his tabard stepped forward and bowed. "I regret having to disturb your grace, but Lord de Chantalcalm instructed me to bring this man to you as soon as he contacted me."

  "Thank you," Hollin replied courteously. "I will speak to him alone. You may wait outside for now."

  The captain nodded and ordered the man at his back to remove his weapons in the duchess' presence. A plain but good-quality leather scabbard and sword were unbuckled from his belt and handed it to the officer, who carried them from the tent.

  Beckoning the young man forward, Hollin was hard put to recognize the dapper musician of prior acquaintance. He looked both drab and subdued, dressed in the dull grey and brown homespun of a commoner. In spite of the outer signs of his descent in rank and privilege, his fine hazel eyes regarded her steadily without any sense of forwardness, and she found that the liking she had first experienced on meeting him had not diminished. Over his shoulder was a bag whose outlines suggested that his small harp was still accompanying him.

  Suppressing a smile, the duchess said simply, "Welcome Daffyd ap Blewyns."

  "Your grace," he replied with a self-conscious bow. "I hardly know what to say..."

  "Then perhaps I should speak first. As you know, Lord and Lady de Chantalcalm approached me after your... incident, and asked to be allowed to include you as one of the company on this mission. You were to meet Lord Colin and the escort here at Durstede but, unfortunately, as the captain may have already told you, Lord Colin suffered an accident and has been forced to return to Pentarin."

  "I was told only that Lord Colin was no longer with the embassy. Is he all right?" There was a sense of real concern as he ventured the question.

  "His arm was broken but he is in no danger," she replied. "Before I parted from him, Lord Colin asked me to offer you the opportunity to still participate in this expedition as a member of the contingent from House Treves."

  He hesitated, trying to assemble his words. The last few weeks had bruised him greatly. The kindness extended to him by Lady Dinea was not balm enough for the lack of self-worth that beset him. It was she who had suggested this course of action, and he had accepted it partly because it sent him away from Pentarin for a purpose other than exile, and partly to please the lady. He had done much pondering as he had traveled north, about what he had and had not done and what he must do for his future. Thoughts of Angharad had been ruthlessly driven from his mind. Deep within, he felt that if only he could go far enough away, she would eventually fade to an acceptable ache in his conscience. When he had arrived in camp an hour ago to discover that his lord was not there, a sense of dread had overtaken him and he feared that the final dissolution of his former life was at hand. Here now, he was being handed back that sense of purpose which he sought.

  With a sigh, he sank to his knees before her. The action startled Celia into dropping her thread and she had to hunt about her feet for it. The duchess' eyes widened perceptibly, but she said and did nothing as he said, "I would take it as a boon from your grace to be allowed to accompany you on your journey. I know that much evil has been spoken about me in recent days, but I swear to you that I am honest and that I will serve you in such manner."

  "You need make no promises of fealty to me Daffyd ap Blewyns. I am not your liege," she reminded him gently.

  "Please your grace, the man that I came hence to follow is not here. Allow me to offer my services to you, though I ride with the men of House Treves." There was such a resolute and purposeful quality to his voice and face that the duchess paused before responding.

  Hollin's lips tightened she searched the man's face, judging what she read there and trying to understand the motive that drove him to make this unnecessary offer. Through the auspices of the viscount, he was under no obligation to make such a personal submission. Perhaps he felt the need of such a badge of protection and, when she remembered Lord Gerard's conservative nature, it might well be warranted. If she accepted his offer, he would be safe from any summary dismissal or punishment that someone with a grudge or a reactionary sentiment might attempt to inflict on him. It was reason enough for her and she answered accordingly.

  "In the name of Prince Brian ap Gryffyd, for whose return this expedition was formed, I accept your pledge of loyalty." It was not exactly what he had asked for, but he bowed from where he kneeled and an expression of calm settled on his features as he rose to leave.

  When he had gone, Celia ventured to remark that he seemed a very well-mannered young man, not at all what she would have expected from the gossip that had gone around the palace. Hollin simply shrugged in a noncommittal fashion and asked if dinner was to be ready soon.

  Gerard, as the duchess had foreseen, was much less forbearing than Celia about the newest member of his company when he stormed into the duchess' tent after sunset. His bullish head was pushed forward as he sputtered indignantly. "Your grace must forgive me, but I cannot tolerate having such a creature made a member of this illustrious embassy!"

  Hollin glanced up coolly from the book that she had been reading. She sat on her low camp chair, wrapped in a fur robe with her feet cl
ose to the warmth of the brazier. A table was positioned at her elbow with a lamp and a cup of some hot beverage that smelled sweetly herbal.

  "I don't see why not," she replied, placing the book face down on her lap. "He has been freed and declared not guilty by Lord Percamber himself. The Viscount of Treves asked that he be allowed to join the escort and I have approved. Why should you make a fuss over it?"

  "Because it's not right," he hissed in return. "Begging your grace's pardon, but the Duke of Creon hasn't exonerated him, and there are men of his in this camp that would be more than happy to break this man's neck for their lord if they knew that he was here."

  "Then they must not be informed that he is here." Her reply was short. "He is here because I have given my consent to it. Do you wish to challenge me, Gerard?" She fixed her haughtiest look on him as her fingers drummed a restless beat on the cover of her book.

  Before the steely adamant gleam in her eyes, he dropped his own. "I beg your grace's pardon, but I have been given the task of protecting your grace and commanding this venture; I do not wish to oppose you, but I feel that it is in the best interests of everyone concerned that this man not be permitted to join us."

  "I understand what you say and why you are saying it, but the fact remains that I make the final decisions. And I say that he comes with us. If you do not wish him to ride with the other men, he may join my personal retinue, but I do not wish to hear any further opinion on the matter." Flipping her book back open, the duchess recommenced her reading.

  Gerard stood indecisive for a moment and then, with a stiff bow, he retreated.

  The journey westward along the base of the Tarrant Mountains progressed quickly using the available roads. By the end of the first day, they turned north again and began to climb the knees of the mountains. There were fewer inhabited areas so close to the mountains, but an occasional shepherd could be seen on the higher slopes. Now that they were coming closer to where they would leave the borders of the Pentarchy a sense of excitement touched the company.

  In the group of men riding near the duchess, the newest of their number rode uneasily. Last night as he was settling down for the night he had been called before Lord Gerard to be informed quite bluntly that Lord Gerard did not wish for him to ride in House Treves' contingent any longer. In a canny move, he intimated that Daffyd's presence might provoke bad blood between the men of House Treves and House Creon, but in fact Gerard was merely trying in a petty way to get back at the high-handed treatment that he felt the duchess had used with him. Since it was by the duchess' orders that Daffyd was allowed to ride with them, Gerard thought it best if, in the future, Daffyd ride with her. Daffyd had acquiesced quietly and now found himself riding among the green and gold liveried men of her grace's personal guard.

  That night, they camped in the last village within the Pentarchy, knowing that the next morning they were to start up the road that led into the Tarrant Mountains, a place belonging to children's fables and superstition for most of them.

  Chapter 9

  The next morning brought little sunshine, and even that dissipated as the company began their climb into the mountains. The weather grew colder and mistier the further they traveled, and by mid-day the valley of the Inner Ward had vanished from sight entirely. The road itself was in fairly good condition, considering its location, though it was barely adequate for their numbers. Gerard commented to the duchess as they rode together that the road seemed to have been well-used recently. Lord Brescom had given him detailed instructions about this lesser-used route and, Gerard continued, according to that information the road climbed quite high into the mountains before cutting through a steep defile, after which it wandered in a northeast direction until it eventually connected with the Great Northern Road.

  In the middle of the afternoon they entered a vast stretch of conifer forest. The sky had grown grey and sullen, making the forest seem darker and more dreary the further they rode through the wet gloom. Conversation died and the thoughts occupying most of the men turned with yearning to the warmth of evening fires and the smell of cooking food. Soon the muffled tramp of horses’ feet on the pine needles, along with the creaking and jingling of harness, were the only sounds to be heard.

  A vague knot of uneasiness began to take possession of Hollin when they entered the forest, a mood which she could not shake. The dankness of the surrounding trees seemed to penetrate the heavy wool of her cloak and made her shudder with something more than cold. Settling more deeply into her saddle, she thrust her gloved hands under the wealth of Farion's mane in an effort to stay warm. Glancing behind, she saw that Celia, looking miserably uncomfortable on her quietly plodding gelding, had fallen back and was no longer riding with Langstraad’s contingent of guards. Eventually there was a thinning of the trees and their long ride through the tunnel of trees was over.

  When she emerged from the forest, Hollin saw that they were high up on the shoulder of a mountain. The afternoon had grown late, and a thin mist was settling on the ground as they followed the narrow road across a grassy meadow. Gerard, who had dropped back from the vangard, informed her cheerfully that the Slakestone Pass was directly ahead. There was a small valley just beyond it where he planned for them to make camp that night. Hollin nodded glumly as she surveyed the steep defile cutting through the cliffs that rose abruptly on the other side of the meadow. Only two or three horses could walk abreast through the pass, which meant that it would be slow going. Wanting to make sure that Celia was all right, Hollin brought her own horse to a halt and let Gerard start for the pass ahead of her. Sitting quietly with the contingent of riders who made up her personal guard, she waited for Celia to catch up. The remainder of the company was strung out across the meadow to the edges of the forest. The sharp sound of shod hooves striking rock reverberated on the cliff walls as Gerard and his point-riders entered the narrow, rocky canyon. With the thought that soon she could retire to the comforts of her own tent, Hollin started to lead her people up the trail as soon as Celia reached them.

  Gerard was half-way up the defile when the first boulders began tumbling down from the cliffs above. Immediately after the rocks began to fall, Hollin heard the sound of men shouting hoarsely in the chill air and horses whinnying in alarm. Gerard cried out and she saw men with raised swords riding towards them from the farthest end of the defile. Some of Gerard’s men foolishly tried to charge the enemy riders at the end of the defile, only to have a new assault of rocks rain down upon them, trapped as they were in the confines of the narrow canyon. Seeing no possibility of escape up the pass, Hollin wheeled Farion around and urged him to retreat back down the trail. Other riders who had been behind her tried to take the same course and result was a bottleneck of congestion at the entrance to the pass.

  The crash of swords connecting with shields and the twang of arrows being fired sent a quiver of fear through Hollin and she hesitated, wondering what she should do. Taking advantage of her indecision, Farion grabbed at the bit and pushed his way through the other horses, carrying Hollin out of the canyon and back to the meadow. In the meadow, men and horses were roiling about in confusion, as the company was attacked by another large group of mounted warriors emerging from the forest behind them. A group of six warriors on horseback separated themselves from the attacking forces when Hollin appeared, and began galloping in her direction. As they came closer, Hollin saw that the attackers were well-armed and well-mounted, and wore no identifying badges. Sir Benedict Heath, leader of the Langstraad’s host, waved his sword and shouted, trying to rally the guards to protect their duchess. Even as he exhorted them and those riders closest to her attempted to respond, Hollin found herself cut off from her guards. Pulling a long fighting dagger from a pocket in her boot, Hollin prepared to defend herself. Farion, navigating through the press of horses and over the rocky ground in an attempt to avoid the warriors bearing down on them, abruptly had to leap to the side when a horse in front of them fell. This evasive action put them beside an unmarked ride
r who had moved in close, and who now murderously swung his sword at Hollin’s head. Farion reared at the last instant and the man missed, though the wind of the sword told Hollin how close he had come. Without a shield, and boxed in by the horses and riders behind her, Hollin desperately tried to fend him off with her dagger. Before he could take another more accurate swipe at her, a rider wearing Langstraad’s green and gold colors suddenly pushed his horse past Farion and, slashing downward with a powerful stroke, knocked Hollin’s attacker from his horse. The man’s body fell at Farion’s feet, causing the horse to back up and nervously dance in place. Though exposed to mock warfare during his training, Farion had never experienced the real thing before, and his natural flight reaction was beginning to countermand his training.

  "To me, your grace!" Hollin heard a voice ring out. In amazement, Hollin recognized her rescuer as the former musician, Daffyd ap Blewyns.

  With a mute nod of aknowledgement, she tightened her grip on her reins and got ready to follow him through the hole that had opened between the combatants. The horse Daffyd rode bounded forward and Farion, giving in to his nature, was swiftly on the other horse’s heels. When they were safely away from the core of the engagement Hollin pulled her horse up short, and attempted to assess the situation. The noise of the fighting was deafening. Fifty yards away Celia sat screaming, immobilized with terror on her frantically plunging horse. Instinctively, Hollin tried to turn Farion back towards the melee with the idea of riding to Celia's aid. Farion crab-stepped and tossed his head, resisting her command to go back. From where she sat on her obdurate horse, Hollin saw a rider, wearing chain-mail with no identifying tabard, charge through Langstraad’s defensive line of riders and thrust his sword into Celia's side. A bright red fountain erupted as he pulled his weapon from her body. Celia toppled from her horse and was lost under the hooves of the horses crowding the area.