The Pentacle War: Book One - Hearts In Cups

by Candace Gylgayton

  Hollin cried out in anger and horror, but Daffyd, once again at her side, laid hold of her reins and urgently called for her attention. "Your grace, we must make for the trees over there!" He pointed to the western end of the meadow where the gathering fog wisped through the edges of the forest.

  With a grim expression, Hollin gave Farion his head and together they made a dash for the safety of the trees. The green of the grass swept under his hooves as Farion carried her away from the confines of the battle. They were almost under the boughs of the first trees when Hollin heard the pounding hooves of another horse racing alongside. Before she could evade it, an arm reached out to encircle her waist and tore her from her saddle. She received the quick impression of a leering face, and then she drove the dagger she still clutched into his leg, and fell to the earth with a heavy thud as he dropped her. Thoroughly winded, her heart pounding and her ears ringing, she fought to stay conscious. Gasping to force air back into her lungs, Hollin heaved herself onto her hands and knees, looking frantically about for the dagger she had let fall when she hit the ground. Seeing the glimmer of its blade in the deep grass, she crawled over to it and sat up. Not far from her, Daffyd wheeled his horse, dodging and parrying the attacks of two more riders. A vibration from the ground alerted Hollin to danger coming at her again from behind. Lurching to her feet, she whirled around to find that the man who had first taken her from Farion’s back was now galloping straight for her. A rictus of pain and blood-lust distorted his face as he charged at her with a raised sword. In desperation, Hollin feinted an escape to the right, throwing herself to the left at the last minute. His horse charged by, skidding on the wet grass as it was viciously pulled to a halt. The man bellowed a curse and turned to ride at Hollin again. Assuming that her diversionary trick would not work so well a second time, Hollin turned and ran for the shelter of the woods. The sound of galloping hooves behind her grew louder. She tried to run faster but her skirts, flapping and catching at her legs, hindered her. For the second time, she fell sprawling to the earth as her skirts tripped her. Panting, she lay in the long, wet grass, waiting to feel the hot pain of metal on her exposed back. She was amazed when the horse thundered by harmlessly. Cautiously raising herself up on her elbows, she looked around and realized that she had reached the eaves of the forest. Several hundred yards away, men and horses clashed eerily in and out of the thickening fog. She craned her neck around, searching for the man who had attacked her. His body, face down with an arrow jutting from his back, lay not far from her.

  Crawling slowly until she was under the branches of a large tree, she pulled herself upright and, leaning against the roughness of the tree’s trunk, she looked back at the meadow. With relief, she realized that she was well-away from the pass, where most of the fighting was concentrated, and that no one else seemed to be looking for her at this point. Perhaps whoever had fired the arrow that had killed her assailant assumed that he had shot her as well. Though she was safe for the moment, she knew that it was a false safety. To her left, about twenty yards away and at the edge of the meadow, she saw an unhorsed Daffyd contending with an armed rider. A second body lay unmoving on the grass and three saddled horsed trotted aimlessly about the meadow, staying well away from the the fighting. There was no sign of Farion. Looping her skirts over her arm, Hollin stayed under the cover of the trees as she warily made her way towards Daffyd.

  Though he had not managed to get into the forest, Daffyd had found a tree and was shielding himself from the attacking rider by keeping it between them. Finally, frustrated with trying to maneuver his horse around the tree, the rider dismounted and came after Daffyd on foot. Daffyd, who wore no armour save a leather vest, was underdressed for a contest with the mail-clad warrior advancing on him. His opponent moved swiftly and swords were raised. They met with a clashing of steel and the straining of muscles, then broke apart to repeat the action. After a half-dozen encounters of this kind, Daffyd's arm began to grow weary and he started steadily backing away towards the forest. His opponent, not wishing to allow Daffyd the possibility of turning and making a dash for the forest, forced Daffyd to retreat in a half-circle, putting his own back towards the wall of trees. Then, while deflecting a particularly powerful blow, Daffyd’s right foot slipped and he lost his balance. As he fell to the the ground, his hand hit a rock, sending his sword flying from his grasp. His opponent rushed forward to take advantage of the situation, but his eagerness offset his judgment, and his blow went awry. In desperation, Daffyd kicked at the man's legs and brought his opponent crashing down beside him. The other man, who had not let go of his sword, rose to his knees and aimed a blow at Daffyd, who was trying to scramble over to where his weapon lay. Hollin, having crept to within a few yards of where Daffyd fought for his life, now darted from the cover of the trees and, before either man was even aware of her presence, she flung herself at his opponent’s back, burying her dagger into his neck. He screamed as blood spurted, and she retreated, pulling her dagger from the wound while he sank to the grass. Daffyd clambered to his feet, grabbed his sword and, catching her by the wrist, they ran stumbling for the safety of the forest.

  When Daffyd felt they had retreated far enough to not be seen, he paused to lean against the bole of a tree. Both were breathing hard and had faces streaked with sweat and dirt. Blood was spattered in dark spots on the front of Hollin’s dress. Hollin wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, leaving a grimy smear.

  Pushing away from the tree, his breathing restored to normal, Daffyd straightened himself and spoke to her with quiet intensity. “We must escape this carnage, your grace."

  "You are right; there is nothing more that we can do," she replied with great sadness in her voice. "But where shall we go? We have no food and no horses."

  "I will go back and get my saddle bags. I pulled them off with me when I jumped from my horse. We will have to try to escape on foot, but the further and faster we leave this dreadful place, the better."

  Leaving Hollin waiting anxiously within the shadow of the trees, Daffyd crawled back to where he had dropped the bags and retrieved them. From where he lay in the long grass, he could see the fighting continuing in the distance. The odds against the members of the embassage were unfortunately discerned by their severely depleted numbers. Cautiously making certain that no one was watching him, Daffyd melted back into the eaves of the forest. With his saddle bags slung over his shoulder he jogged back to the duchess, the sounds of the conflict growing fainter as his distance from it increased.

  Hollin had not sat idle while he had been retrieving his gear; exploring the woods around her she had looked for indications of trails. When he returned she was able to show Daffyd a narrow path with the hoof prints of a single horse clear in the soft ground.

  "When I was pulled from my horse," she explained, "I did not see him again. These may be his prints!"

  Daffyd shook his head dubiously. "They could belong to any horse. However, a horse is a horse, if we find it. If you are ready then let us be off; they may still come looking for us."

  "The odds are against our people?" she asked against her own better knowledge.

  "There is no hope in that direction," he said bluntly.

  Tightening her lips, she replied, "Then let us go."

  As they started down the thread of a trail, Hollin said no more, concentrating only on keeping up with Daffyd's rapid pace. He moved surely and quietly along the trail, his long stride covering much ground. In her cumbersome clothing and riding boots unsuited for strenuous walking, Hollin was hard put to keep up with him. Holding her skirts in her hands she hurried on with the memory of the last hour burning in her mind. So wrapped up in her own angry thoughts was she that when Daffyd stopped unexpectedly she barely avoided running into him. Looking over his shoulder, she saw a small clearing in the dim light. There, with his reins fallen over his head and the saddle at an uncomfortable angle, grazed Farion. Stepping around Daffyd, Hollin called to the horse. Raising his head the horse nicker
ed and, as she moved out from under the trees, he walked to meet her.

  "Hello Farion," she said in a trembling voice, stroking his neck and putting his reins right.

  "Well, this is luck," was Daffyd's comment as he joined her. The horse’s nostrils blew in great gusts as he inspected his mistress' companion. Daffyd rubbed his hand on the horse's forehead.

  "I think that he can carry both of us," Hollin told Daffyd.

  The man shook his head. "We can travel faster if you ride with the saddlebags and I lead him. I can see that your skirts are hindering your speed and there is very little daylight left. Though it may be some time before it's discovered that we have escaped, it will be discovered." He ceased talking and sat on the ground, opening one of his bags to extract a pair of leather walking shoes. "I can go faster in these."

  Hollin inspected the saddle, righting it and tightening the girth. She lifted one of the saddle-bags, throwing it over the pommel while Daffyd, on his feet again, threw the other behind the saddle and lashed it in place with a piece of rope. He also unbuckled his scabbard and tied it to the pommel. Taking the reins from Hollin, he offered his hand and boosted her up into the saddle. As she adjusted her feet in the stirrups, Farion moved beneath her. She steadied herself and the horse moved willingly after Daffyd.

  The rangy horse jogged along behind the man, while the horse’s passenger ducked and swayed in the saddle to avoid being hit by low branches. As they plunged deeper into the forest, the last light of day faded and night enveloped them. Hollin did not know how Daffyd was able to find and follow any path, but he kept them moving while there was any vestige of light. At last, with true night around them, they stopped.

  "We can go no farther tonight." Daffyd's fatigued voice rose out of darkness. "The horse can be tied to one of the trees. I will make a pile of pine needles for protection from the cold."

  "What about wild animals?" Hollin asked as she dropped from the saddle and landed on her feet beside him.

  "The only wild animals we need fear are those behind us," he answered bitterly, untying the rear saddlebag. Dumping it on the ground, he continued in a gentler tone. "Forgive my rudeness your grace; I am very weary."

  Hollin reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder. "You are tired, but you are also right. Let me take care of Farion, you sit for a moment." She lifted the other bag down and handed it to him. He said nothing, but began to gather pine needles into a large mound.

  Meanwhile, Hollin unloosed the girth and pulled the saddle off the horse’s back. Next she removed the bridle and slipped a loop of the rope, handed to her by Daffyd, over his neck. They had just crossed a tiny clearing, and she walked back to pull a handful of grass. Twisting it into a whisp she forced her numb body to rub it over the horse’s wet body. When she finished, she discovered Daffyd standing nearby with a skin of water.

  Hollin took a long draught and handed it back. "Is there a way we can offer some of it to Farion?" The horse had begun to thrust his nose at her, eager for the water he smelled.

  "Cup your hands together and I'll pour some in for him," Daffyd instructed. She did as he bade and the horse drank gratefully of what they gave him. Taking the rope, she tied it to a branch and gave Farion an affectionate pat on the shoulder. Only now, with her primary task accomplished, did she begin to shake with cold and nerves.

  Following the dark bulk of Daffyd’s back, she made her way cautiously to where he had put together a primitive campsite. Taking her by the hand, he led her by touch in the blackness of the night, to a hollow in the mound of needles and leaves he had built. She sank down, groaning with physical relief, into the soft, crackling pile. The clean, sharp scent of pine surrounded her.

  Daffyd sat down, somewhat diffidently, next to her. "I'm sorry about the cold," he apologized, "but I think it unwise to light a fire." She agreed and took the strip of dried meat and pieces of dried fruit he placed awkwardly into her hands: basic traveling rations.

  As she chewed, she realized how very hungry she was. He gave her another two strips of meat and a stale hunk of bread. After devouring these, her stomach quieted down. "Have you any idea where we are?" she asked at last.

  "I have a fairly good notion," he answered. "The forest that we have been traveling through is an extensive band from east to west. To the east, it spreads out and ends on the hills just above the valley of the Inner Ward. To the west, it climbs further into the mountains and is cut in many places by canyons and ravines. The Great Northern Road tends to be the dividing line. We began by heading almost due west but have been going downhill, southwards, for at least an hour. In the morning I should be able to get my bearings a little better."

  "How do you know all of this... traveling through the woods and keeping a sense of direction?" she inquired, jolted into wakefulness by her own question.

  "I was raised in the mountains between Tuenth and the Inner Ward," he said. "My uncle is a squire with a fair-sized holding in the province of Lowgria. My father moved south when he married my mother, one of the old Viscountess Treves's ladies-in-waiting. I was sent to my uncle's for fostering when I was a child. While there, I made friends with many of the hunters and the men who make their way in the world using their woodcraft. I learned from them."

  "And later you returned to Treves?"

  "Yes, I was sent for when I was sixteen. That's when Lord Colin became head of House Treves and my father decided that I should make a career as a man-at-arms."

  "That explains your swordsmanship, but where did you learn your music?" she asked, her interest blocking out some of the cold and keeping the recent past at bay.

  His disembodied voice was reflective. "My uncle's house, actually. He loved music and there were always musicians and singers gathered about his hearth. Traveling bards received generously from his hand. I learned to play many instruments there, and to sing as well. After I rejoined my parents, the Lady Dinea heard me and encouraged me. I was never all that interested in soldiering, and I think the swordmaster at Castle Howell was just as pleased to see me go into the house. I mostly played for her ladyship and Lord Colin and their guests. Occasionally, she took me with her to her father's house in Mirvanovir to play and teach. Eventually Lady Dinea decided to bring me to Pentarin for formal training with Auric de Varennes." His voice fell silent. Around them the forest loomed with it's strange night-time song. Beside him he heard the relaxed breathing of the duchess. "Sleep now, your grace, and have no fear for the night."

  "I will. Thank you for all that you have done." Her voice was drowsy as she lay back and pulled her cloak close. Daffyd reached over and swept a covering of pine needles over her body. Hearing her breath become rhythmical with sleep, he lay down at her side and flung an armful of needles over himself. Closing his eyes, he dropped immediately into a fathomless sleep.

  Hollin awoke with a start and found herself curled into a ball amidst the prickling of pine needles. The events of yesterday flooded into her mind and she realized that the nightmare from which she had escaped was today's reality. She lay still and contemplated her choices. That the company had been betrayed was obvious, and she thought she knew who had instigated it. Brescom had directed them this way and given Gerard instructions for the pace as well, so that they would arrive at the pass in the late afternoon when men would be less alert and the light failing. He had told them that the slide which blocked the road had occurred within the past week and yet there were signs of many men already having come up the pass. It was all too likely that he had sent his force of men directly across the Inner Ward to prepare the trap, knowing precisely when the embassy would reach the designated spot. He had chosen his place well. A narrow box to be entered and sealed off. A place where a natural disaster, as well as a manufactured one, could be equally to blame. A place secluded from the eyes and ears of anyone who might come to the aid of the beleaguered party. Thinking of Celia as she was mercilessly cut down and Benedict, whom she had last seen fighting for his life in the bloody-handed melee, Hollin swore her
own personal vengeance on the traitor.

  At the same time she knew that traitor though Brescom was he did not possess the daring to strike on his own at the lawfully sanctioned company that they represented. Someone far more powerful and ruthless with vaster plans was behind this villainy. Putting the Duke of Mirvanovir's name on the deed, she realized the scope of the plot. With the royal embassy destroyed and no one the wiser, Pentarin would be off-guard as it looked expectantly to the north; all the easier to strike from the south.

  The snapping of pine needles beside her reminded her of her companion and savior of yesterday. With grim irony she recalled Gerard's imprecations against bringing him on the journey. Without his help, she might well lie butchered in the grass with Celia. She shivered, disturbing her prickly bed, and met his eyes as he sat up and looked at her.

  "You are cold?" he asked solicitously.

  "Yes, but at least I am alive. And I do feel more rested," she added, sitting up. It was very early and curls of mist clung to the trees and fingered the ground. She looked for Farion, momentarily afraid that he might have run off again, when the sound of teeth tearing at grass reassured her that he had merely unloosed himself and was grazing in the little clearing.