The Pentacle War: Book One - Hearts In Cups

by Candace Gylgayton

  Though Ian had spent little time climbing down mountains and through forests in the dark, he soon found his eyes adjusting to the ambient light of the stars and learned to test each footfall before he gave it his full weight. He knew that of all the men, he was by far the noisiest, but by dogging Arain's heels he kept up a fair pace. He knew Arain chiefly by reputation, and in the ensuing hours he found that the stories of his stealth and skill were not exaggerated. Melting into the darkness of the forest, he seemed able to conjure a path out of an impenetrable tangle of trees, rocks and bushes.

  They traveled thus for several hours, stopping twice, more for Ian's benefit then for the men he nominally led. At last, Arain came to a halt and soundlessly pointed to the flickering light of the army's campfires filtering through the trees below them. They withdrew to a spot fifty yards back, where an outcropping of rocks shielded them and their voices from the enemy.

  Looking at the small portion of sky above them, hemmed in by the tops of trees, Arain spoke in a whisper. "We have perhaps an hour until the diversion. I recommend that we use that time to get as close to the hostages’ tent as possible. The fewer soldiers who see us, the less chance they will guess our mission."

  Ian nodded. "It is a good suggestion, except that we don't know in which tent Lady Idris and her children are being held. I would guess that it would be close to Lord Brescom's though, and, if he is treating her as her rank would demand, the tent will be rather large."

  It was Arain's turn now to nod. "Then Gwalt and I will reconnoiter the camp while you stay here. When we find the likeliest tent, we shall return and move the rest of you into position. Is this acceptable, my lord?"

  Knowing that this was something that Arain would be far better at than he, Ian consented. Around him, the other men sat patiently waiting for the next phase in the night's activities, as Ian's mind began to stray back to the castle and his interview with Angharad. Checking that avenue of thought and speculation, he watched the dark sky above him and willed the time to pass quickly.

  In the deep quiet of the false dawn, a slight figure wrapped in a heavy wool mantle passed the sentries at the northern tower of the main gate and began to make her way up the stairs with the swordmaster, Griswold, at her side. Torches mounted in wall brackets lit the way for them, though it caused a momentary blindness when they came out into the darkness on the roof. A cold, thin wind had already begun to rise in anticipation of the dawn, and Angharad shivered with it. The days of autumn were passing and she felt the first finger of winter in that wind.

  Leaving Griswold standing at the head of the stairs, Angharad walked forward so that she could look out across the distance to where the night fires proclaimed the existence of the besieging army. Someplace out there Ian moved, and she was afraid for him. This was not a time, nor a place, for fear, she told herself as she pushed the mantle back over her shoulders, freeing her arms. Breathing deeply to calm herself, she let her mind begin to roam.

  Like a lodestone, the power reached out and pulled her to it. She hoped that it would be easier to work with this time, having done it once before, but as it pulsed through her, she was again torn apart and had to literally fight to control and direct it. Slowly, sluggishly, she pushed it away from herself and sent it in the direction of the enemy.

  A gust of wind swept through the camp. Sleepy men pulled their blankets closer and huddled against the ground. Along the picket lines, horses began to snort and sidle restlessly. As the wind picked up speed, twisting and whirling, the watchfires were set dancing while tents began to flap and strain at their guy ropes. Men groggily opened their eyes as sentries called out in alarm, but their words were smothered in the rising scream of the wind. The wind did not abate, but continued to build in intensity as a panicky line of horses, breaking free, trotted blindly through the camp. Soon soldiers, men-at-arms as well as their officers, began running and shouting in confusion at this freakish attack. It was then that Ian led his men into the heart of the enemy's camp.

  Arain and Gwalt had returned to say that, from their vantage points, a large tent to the right of the tent flying the colours and device of the Earl of the Inner Ward seemed the most likely place to begin the search. Moving with the greatest caution, the entire band of men slipped from shadow to shadow until they were within sight of the targeted tent. Then they sat and waited for the diversion to be created. When the wind first changed, they stood and prepared themselves. Now they ran forward, no one speaking, all moving with the same quick stride, short swords drawn and glinting in the light. Two sentries challenged them as they dashed through the camp but were cut down by one of the men, who stayed to fight while his comrades ran on towards the tent.

  By the time they reached their goal, the wind was wreaking havoc in the camp. Everywhere there was fear and tumult as the invisible enemy furiously blew. Arain pulled a long hunting knife from his boot and cut a rift in the side of the tent. Immediately stepping inside with swords at the ready, the two men scrambling off of their cots were as surprised as the raiders. A lantern swinging wildly from the roof of the tent illuminated the men as they instinctively lunged for their swords.

  Automatically, Ian's men countered and easily overwhelmed their sleep-befuddled senses. While they were being summarily disarmed, Ian and Arain hunted through the tent and checked the entrance for guards. Finding nothing, they returned to face the enemy officers who stood with huntsmen on either side of them.

  "Where is the Lady Idris being held?" Ian demanded perfunctorily.

  "Find her yourself!" one of the men spat. A dagger's point was thrust into the skin of his neck and the thin trickle of blood seeped out.

  "I have neither the time nor the patience to play games with you. Speak or you'll have no need to ever speak again!" Ian barked at both men.

  The first man continued to glare at his captors, the line of blood staining his shirtfront, but his companion fidgeted nervously. Ian's threat apparently had more of an effect on him. "Take him away and dispose of him," Ian ordered curtly, pointing to the first man.

  The huntsman holding him, nodded impassively and began to drag the officer across the tent. In an attempt to alert his men outside of the tent, the man started to yell but was efficiently silenced by a stunning blow delivered to the side of his head. His body was dropped and the huntsman bent to examine him. With a shrug, he stood back up. "No need to take him any further," was his assessment.

  Grimly, Ian looked the remaining officer up and down. "If you place any value in a future, you are advised to speak now."

  The officer, Ian's age if not younger, drew back fearfully only to find the solid chest of Gwalt blocking his exit. He was the younger son of a small landowner near the border between Morna and the Inner Ward. Until last summer he had helped in his father's fields and hoped to stay on after his father died, when his brother would inherit. However, when, soldiers, wearing the insignia of the Earl of the Inner Ward, had ridden through his father's holdings, he had followed them back to their barracks with a warrior's dreams in his head. His father's allowance to him had bought a commission, and he had ridden proudly with the earl's men when they crossed the border, invading Langstraad's vassal-state of Morna. There were things that he did not want to remember about his first battle, but they had been victorious and his flagging spirits had soared with pride at the accomplishment. Now he found himself face to face with, not the glorious death of a warrior, but the mean death of a murder victim. All at once his bravado evaporated and he found himself pleading for his life.

  "She and the children are in the small tent behind Lord Brescom's," he stammered. "Please don't kill me!"

  Ian looked with pity at the man's trembling chin and ordered two of his men to remain behind a few minutes to gag and bind the prisoner. Then, with Arain and the other men behind him, he slipped back out of the tent.

  Awakened by the howl of the wind and soldiers shouting incomprehensibly to one another, a groggy Blaise pitched himself out of bed and rubbed at his eyes.
Lurching forward to a table upon which a bowl and ewer of water were placed, he slopped a measure of cold water into the bowl and proceeded to shock himself into wakefulness by splashing copious amounts on his face. His mind, sharpened and focused, suddenly grasped what the unnatural windstorm portended. Hurriedly pulling on a pair of breeches, he grabbed his sword and stumbled barefoot out of his tent.

  "To me!" he bellowed above the shriek of the wind. A group of soldiers standing in bewilderment nearby heard him and ran to him.

  "It's a trick to rescue the hostages," he screamed. "Go get the woman and her brats, and bring them to my tent. It's worth your life if they are taken!" As the soldiers raced off in the direction of the hostage's tent, Blaise forced his way against the drive of the wind towards the earl's tent, swearing steadily the entire time.

  Before he made it to his destination, he espied the bulky figure of Brescom coming towards him. The older man was fully dressed and clutching a flapping cloak to him. Four guards accompanied him. Seeing Blaise, he stopped and waited until the duke reached him.

  "It's that witch in the castle!" Brescom's voice rose to combat the wind.

  "Damn the girl! They're after the hostages," Blaise yelled back.

  The earl's face went blank and then he was running back in the direction from which he had come, with Blaise and the guards a step behind him. They reached the small tent set well back and behind Lord Brescom's own. As they arrived, two men wearing the red stag of Tuenth were exiting from the tent, joining another group of soldiers milling in front.

  "They're gone, your grace," reported one of the men, his face white in the light cast by the lantern he held. "The back of the tent has been slit open and she and the children are gone."

  For a moment Blaise was rigid with anger. "Find them," he snarled, and turned to scan the nearest portion of the camp.

  Not ten yards from where the two commanders stood and swore, Ian crouched in the shadows and listened to Blaise's curses. Dumbfounded, Ian's brain seemed to freeze as he realized that the objects of the rescue were no longer here.

  As he watched Blaise and Brescom move off in the direction of the duke's tent, Ian felt a slight pressure on his arm. Turning, he saw the huntsman called Gwalt gesturing for him to return to where the remainder of his men waited. Cautiously they slithered back, trusting the wind to mask any sounds they might accidentally make. When enemy soldiers ran past, carrying wildly flaring torches, they lay flat, hoping not to be seen. The others waited, spread out to take advantage of what hiding places there were. Around them, they could see and hear soldiers, no longer panic-stricken, joining together, reinstating a sense of order. It was then that Ian noticed the wind's intensity lessening rapidly.

  "We have to retreat," he whispered to Gwalt and signaled to the others to begin withdrawing from the area. Arain was nowhere that he could see. With great stealth, each man fled from shadow to shadow in the general direction from which they had entered the camp. Now and again, they would freeze as soldiers passed by, waiting until they could move undetected once more.

  They had painstakingly made their way to the fringes of the camp when the wind abruptly died. An anticipatory silence followed, to be broken by voices giving and responding to orders and a dim sense of light heralding the coming of dawn. Turning to flee back into the forest, Ian was startled to see Arain flanked by Idris, her children peeping fearfully from behind the pair. Ian made to speak but the huntsman raised a warning hand and indicated that they must seek true safety before any questions might be asked or answered. Three of Ian's men came forward and the children were boosted onto their backs. As the tramp of feet from soldiers now hunting for them was heard at their backs, the rescue party sought the cover of the forests.

  In the full light of morning Ian and his men, with their rescuees, sat beneath the towering conifer trees on the side of the mountain and rested. They had marched continuously for over three hours, taking turns with the children and two men dropping behind to obscure signs of their passage. They had marched without talking, at first out of fear of being overheard by those who might be pursuing them, and later because they were too busy trying to pick a trail through the rocks and underbrush as they began the steep climb back up the mountain. Now, they sat breathing deeply and regarding one another with satisfied grins. No one had been killed and only minor wounds were sported by two of the men.

  Idris looked drawn and tired. She had lost weight since Ian had seen her last summer and her face wore new lines. Nearby, Arain sat and offered her water from his waterskin. The children rested on the ground in the sunlight that found its way to the forest floor, eating the dried fruit that their human packers had offered them and looking at their mother as she sat talking quietly with Ian.

  "When I heard the commotion that was taking place outside of the tent, I woke the children and helped them to dress. At first we thought that the army was being attacked. When I realized that it was a storm that was making all of the noise, I checked the front of the tent where the guards were stationed and saw that they had walked away from the tent to see what the trouble was. I wrapped a shard of glass I had found earlier with piece of cloth and used it to slit a hole in the back of the tent. Once we had climbed out, we ran away from Brescom's tent. There was a great deal of confusion but, when we got close to the line of trees, two soldiers saw us and began to chase us. One of them grabbed Edwin, and I stopped to strike him with my piece of glass," she paused, lifting her hand to her eyes. After a moment she continued.

  "When I looked up, this man was standing beside us and the soldier was dead at our feet." A brief, warm smile touched her lips as she glanced at her rescuer. Arain returned an easy smile of his own. "I grabbed Donal and he put Edwin on his back and carried Emma in his arms, then led us away from that place."

  "We had quite a shock when we heard that the tent you had been kept prisoner in was empty," Ian said with a laugh. "Blaise and Brescom were most upset by it."

  Her dark eyebrows pulled together in a frown. "You saw them?"

  "Theyarrived shortly after we found your tent. Fortunately, they did not discover our whereabouts. Blaise's mood, when he was told that you were gone, was not one of his better ones."

  Idris' grey-green eyes became troubled. "I only met him once in camp, but his arrogance was unbelievable."

  Ian was about to continue the conversation when the two men who had been masking their trail came through the trees and Ian decided that further discussions would best be carried on in the safety and comfort of the castle. Before Ian finished getting to his feet, Arain was up and offering Idris his hand, exhibiting a proprietary interest in those he had first led to safety. If Idris saw anything impudent in his action she showed no sign, as she took his hand and went to help distribute her children among the rest of the men. Eagerly they resumed their march upwards.

  Chapter 24

  It was well past the noon hour when a weary Ian turned around and with Alaric's aid closed and sealed the iron bound door in the depths of Castle Lir's keep. The company of men waited stolidly in the hallway, their young charges asleep in their arms. Idris leaned against the wall, her eyes closed, with Arain still at her side. He had helped her climb the last mile of the mountain to the secret entrance and then supported much of her weight on his arm as they began the long descent to the bottom of the keep.

  "You look as though you need a good night's rest," Alaric remarked to Ian, as he led them through the subterranean passageways.

  "Not a bad idea." Ian stifled a yawn.

  When they came to the top of the last flight of stairs, Edwinna was seen bearing down on them from the other end of a long hallway. "Thank all the gods that you're back and safe!" She began clucking to them while she ushered them back into the habited parts of the castle. "We have been dreadfully worried about you, my lady, and the children, poor dears! Come, I have beds waiting for you, you look as if you need them."

  "Thank you,” Idris said, mustering a tired smile.

  Servan
ts came forward to take the drowsy children from the huntsmen. Owain was with them, full of praise and questions. In answer to Ian's own questions, Owain reported that all was safe and secure within the castle walls and that there had been no new assault by the enemy. With a wave, Ian then sent him away, promising that a long and full account of their adventures could be rendered after everyone had been allowed to rest and refresh themselves.

  Edwinna began to conduct Idris to her rooms, but before quitting their company Lady Idris faced the men who were responsible for her rescue. "On behalf of myself and my children, I want to thank each of you for your help, without which I am afraid that we would still be prisoners. It is good to breathe freely again." With a weary smile of gratitude she finally acceded to Edwinna's wishes and was marshaled down the hallway, her children carried in her wake. The keen eyes of the blond huntsman who now relaxed against a doorjamb followed her until she was out of sight.

  "Arain," Ian said, redirecting the man's attention. "Take your men to their quarters and let them get the rest that they deserve. Like the lady, I too appreciate your efforts. I wish you all to join us at our table for the evening meal tonight."

  Pushing himself upright, Arain bowed to Ian and, with a friendly salute, took his men in search of food and a place to lie down. Well used to the rigors of living in the mountains, they were not unduly in need. The invitation to dine with his lordship brought grins to their faces, both for the honour it conferred and the anticipated savouriness of the food.

  On his way to his own rooms with Alaric still in tow, Ian inquired of Angharad and how she had fared with her activities. "Her ladyship did all that she was asked, according to Griswold, until she collapsed, apparently from fatigue. He escorted her to the wall and, when she fainted, he carried her back to her rooms." An expression of alarm passed over Ian's face until Alaric reassured him with the information that Drimnor had been called and had taken care of her.