Duty: a novel of Rhynan

by Rachel Rossano

  “I am sorry to hear that. Have you told Lord Dentin?”

  “When the sun rose. He mentioned a night battle. The men have been drilling extra hard today.”

  Tomas nodded as he scanned the men around us. “Did you receive the selection requirements for our point crew?”

  “Aye. Worand, Yerns, Polaner, and Eirianware will serve you well.” Lolanthen pointed out each as he said their name. I almost didn’t recognize Eirianware coated in mud from head to toe as he lunged at his opponent.

  “Tell them to be ready at dusk and meet us at the sentry point south of camp. We will leave from there.”

  Lolathen acknowledged the order with a half bow. “I understand you are including Sir Rathenridge and Lord Dentin in your party as well.” A tone of concern edged his voice, but it was subtle enough to be ignored should Tomas wish.

  “You don’t approve?”

  Lolathen tilted his head slightly to the side, eyes measuring Tomas’ expression with keen interest. “Their constant bickering is becoming the talk of the camp.”

  “Shame on you for listening to gossip.” The right corner of Tomas’ mouth twitched.

  The old man shrugged. “There is not much else I can do comfortably, my lord.” His grin sweetened the bitterness of the words.

  “I suppose there are worse things to gossip about.”

  “Indeed, the verbal war has distracted the worst gossips from dwelling on other things.” Lolathen’s sharp gaze flicked my way briefly. “Though, the general consensus among the men is the lady is innocent.”

  “I am glad to hear that.”

  Someone yelled an oath. All three of us turned to look in that direction. I didn’t recognize the man, but Lolathen tensed in disapproval.

  “Pardon me, my lord, I need to speak with one of the men.”

  Tomas dismissed him with a nod. After bowing to both of us, the old man hobbled swiftly away.

  “Now, let us see how skilled you are.” Tomas lifted my cloak from my shoulders and flung it onto the pile of others hanging from a nearby tree. “How much training have you had?”

  “Three years of study in my teens.” I drew and swung my weapon. It was lighter than my father’s old practice sword. The grip fit my hand better than the hilt of the old relic had.

  “Have you practiced since?”

  “Daily until three months ago.” I practiced some of the footwork my father had taught me.

  “Why did you stop?” The worry in his voice brought my attention to him.

  “We had to get the harvest in.”

  “And after that?” The creases between his eyebrows grew as he watched me.

  “Preoccupation with finding a solution to the coming hunger crisis.” I lowered my arm and glared at him. “I know I am not good.”

  “I could cut you down in moments.”

  I lifted my chin. At least he was being honest. “Then teach me so I can lengthen my life by a few more minutes at least.”

  The pain in his face took my breath away.

  “I need to do this, Tomas.”

  He drew in a shaky breath and donned his helmet. “First, keep your guard up.” He tapped my shield into place with his blade. “That shield is your best weapon. Use it.” He walked three steps away. Whirling in place, he faced me, his features set and hard. “This is your last moment to prepare yourself.”

  I lifted my sword, adjusted my shield, and nodded.

  The following minutes passed in a blur of adrenaline pumping reaction. He drove at me with a rain of thrusts, jabs, and lunges. I barely knocked aside most of them. At least thrice he missed my head so closely his sword whistled in my ear. Finally it glanced off my helmet, making my ears ring.

  “Have I dissuaded you yet?” he asked.

  I shook my head to dispel the ringing. “I gave my word to the king.”

  He strode over, discarded his helmet, and plucked my helmet from my head, releasing the crazy mess of sweaty hair beneath. “You can offer an alternative act of homage.”

  “I doubt he would accept it.” Staring up into his taut features, I could feel him willing me to back down. “I gave my word, Tomas. I would never ask you to go back on your word. Why do you keep asking me to do something which you would not do?”

  “Because I would rather you live.” Dropping his sword in the dust, he reached for me and then stopped mid motion. He pivoted on his heel and turned half away. “War isn’t orderly, Brielle. Battles are chaotic. No matter how I try, I cannot guarantee you will survive. I have lost good friends, men more deserving of living long lives than I. Cut down next to me, only a handsbreadth from me.”

  “This is not a battle.”

  He frowned. “The same rules apply.”

  “Nothing you say will change my mind, Tomas. I have to do this.”

  “Not even my order?”

  I closed my eyes. If he ordered me to stay behind, I would. But, I didn’t believe he would. I looked up at him again. “You won’t order me.”

  Our gazes locked. I refused to look away even as my aching stomach continued to tighten and my heart thundered in my ears. I wanted to give in yet I couldn’t. It wasn’t pride. If I thought it would work, I would plead on my face in the dirt at Mendal’s feet.

  The turmoil in Tomas’ face tore at my resolve. Maybe he was right. There was another way. There had to be another way to earn Mendal’s trust.

  “My lord?”

  Tomas’ head snapped around. The soldier recoiled, but recovered enough to deliver his message. “Lord Dentin sent me to fetch you. We just received more details from your steward.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Lord Dentin?”

  Tomas raised an eyebrow.

  “His tent, my lord.” The poor man’s face pinked.

  “Tell him we are on our way.”

  The man bowed quickly and ran back toward the camp.

  “We will finish this later.”

  Tomas fetched my cloak while I claimed our discarded helmets. We met again in the middle. Tomas settled the heavy fur and fabric around my shoulders. Instead of claiming his helmet that I offered, he claimed my head. Hands in my hair, he kissed me fiercely and quickly. Withdrawing as swiftly as he came, he claimed his headgear from my lax fingers.

  He strode five steps before I realized he was leaving. I ran to catch up.

  *~*~*~*~*~*~*

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  We never finished our argument. Dentin kept Tomas planning until midafternoon. Then he sent me to bed so that I would be fresh for our assault. He woke me at dusk, mere minutes before we were to rendezvous with the rest of the team. I scrambled into my gear. Tomas produced two oilskin capes. They didn’t offer much protection from the cold, but they would keep rain off.

  Once he checked to make sure I had all the armor and weapons I was supposed to, he led me out into the deepening darkness. The sky hung almost black in the east, and the gray-yellow glow of an overcast sunset faded slowly in the west. It wasn’t raining yet. A frigid wind whipped through the camp from the north. As my teeth started chattering, I hoped the sacrificed insulation was worth it.

  I shouldn’t have wondered. True to Lolathen’s prediction, the rain arrived as a fire circle marking the sentry point came into view. The random drops of water spit and hissed in the flames. Eirianware stepped out of the gloom and bowed.

  “How many have arrived?” Tomas asked.

  “Worand, Yerns, and Polaner checked in, my lord.”

  “Sir Rathenridge show yet?”

  Before Eirianware could speak, the man himself stepped out of the gloom. “Just waiting for you to arrive.”

  “Dentin?” Tomas asked.

  “Coming. You should have time to make introductions, assign roles, and clarify orders before he shows.”

  Tomas turned to Eirianware in time to watch Worand, Yerns and Polaner join us in the light of the smoking fire.

  “Men, this is my wife, Lady Irvaine. You may refer to her for the duration of this mission by
the name Rell. We don’t want them to know who she is. Upon completion of our mission that permission is revoked.”

  The men nodded.

  “Brielle.” Tomas checked that I was attending. “Captains Worand, Yerns, and Polaner will make up the rest of our party. They respond best by their last names, just like Eirianware, whom you already met.”

  Each man dipped their head in turn as their name was mentioned. I couldn’t get a good view of Worand because he stood on the edge of the light, head tilted so his face fell mostly in shadow. His one obvious feature was a shaggy mane of medium brown hair.

  Yerns was a thin man, wiry and lean, with alert eyes and still hands. I expected him to be a fidgety type with that intent gaze, but his hands rested on his weapons, relaxed and ready.

  Polaner stooped and hunched to one side. Holding his left shoulder higher than his right, he appeared to be hiding his face like a shy boy when he nodded my way. He moved deliberately, as though thinking about each gesture. I wondered how he would handle himself in a fight.

  I smiled at Eirianware. A familar face among these new strangers calmed my nerves a bit. After a startled blink, his features relaxed into an answering smile.

  “The mission is simple in concept. Infiltrate the vargar and capture Sir Jorndar and Lord Wisten. The execution will be a bit more complex. The king has demanded that Lady Irvaine–“

  “Rell,” Rathenridge prompted.

  Tomas glared at him before continuing. “Rell is coming with us. Your primary goal is to protect her.”

  All three men lifted their faces. I glimpsed Worand’s heavy features and narrowed eyes before he hid his face in the shadows again. At least I had some idea what he looked like.

  “Not the mission?” Polaner asked.

  “Let Dentin, Rathenridge, and me worry about the mission. Her safety is of utmost importance, understood?”

  The four acknowledged the order.

  “Good, now for the details. We enter the city by the postern gate hidden on the south wall. Our escort will lead us into the vargar via an entrance prepared by our inside informant. From there, it is our task to find the two men. Questions?”

  “How many armed men inside?” Yerns’ eyes darted to the others as though counting our number.

  “Ten armed guards, Lord Wisten, Sir Jorndar, and the lady, Rolendis.”

  “What should we do if we encounter the lady?” Polaner asked.

  “Subdue, but do not harm. She isn’t our focus.”

  “I am not happy with the plan, sir.” Yern’s sharp gaze studied Tomas’ face without diffidence or guile. “A cornered animal is more dangerous than one with a way out.”

  “Sir Landry and the king’s men will storm the vargar in five hours. We have until then to get inside, open the gates, find the men, and subdue them.”

  “Not kill them?” Worand hadn’t moved, but his gravelly voice drew all of our attention.

  “If possible.”

  “If not?” Yerns asked.

  “You won’t be reprimanded if they die once we have a confession,” Dentin clarified.

  All four men avoided glancing at me. Though from the awkward shifts in their gaze, I knew they understood the significance of the clarification.

  “Ready to move out?” Dentin asked.

  Everyone double-checked their weapons. Once Dentin received acknowledgement from each man, he signaled for us to fall into formation.

  Dentin and Rathenridge took point, Tomas and I claimed second position, Eirianware and Polaner fell into third, while Worand and Yerns brought up the tail. Hoods up and heads down, we plowed through muddied fields.

  The rain remained gentle until we approached the city walls. Out of the darkness a wave of pouring rain washed over us with a roar. The seething cold cut through the oilskin. I halted, my heart pounding frantically and my lungs straining for air. Eirianware plowed into me, driving me into Tomas, who caught me.

  “Sorry,” I whispered as I scrambled to find my balance.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” He squeezed my upper arms gently as he set me on my feet again.

  We tramped to the wall. Dentin turned sharply to the left, away from the gate, and picked up the pace. The rest of us fell into a single file. Tomas walked behind me. I focused on trotting to keep up with Rathenridge’s rain-glossy figure. Not sliding down the slick grassy mound while climbing it took more skill than I suspected.

  About the time I wondered if Dentin truly knew where the opening was, Rathenridge stopped abruptly. I managed to follow suit. Tomas steadied himself on my shoulders when those behind him didn’t stop in time. After a few moments of almost silent scuffling, and a muttered oath or two, they sorted themselves out.

  A crack of pale gray light appeared in the blackness of the wall. Dentin and the man beyond exchanged murmured words. Then the crack widened to become a door and we filed through into the town.

  “Horacian?” Tomas’ whispered exclamation brought my attention to our contact’s face. It was him. Armed, soaked, and looking more worn, he bowed elegantly despite his bedraggled appearance.

  “I seemed the obvious choice. Besides, I wanted to plead on my daughter’s behalf when the time comes.”

  “I am not sure what you will be able to say to stay her punishment.” Rathenridge shook his cloak slightly so it fell correctly. “She has acted against her liege lord’s better interests and colluded with enemies of the crown.”

  “Back to the issue at hand.” Dentin broke in before Horacian could answer. “Which way is the vargar entrance?”

  “This way, my lords.” Horacian pulled his hood over his helmet and strode off into the dark and rain soaked streets. We fell into pursuit, dodging heaps of muck and plowing through puddles of slush that soaked through my boot seams and into my socks beneath. By the time we reached the outer bailey wall, I could no longer feel my toes and the sock beneath my foot was a solid lump of compressed ice. The temperature continued to drop, converting the rain to sleet.

  Horacian led us straight to a postern door. Hidden behind a rough-edged buttress, it blended in with the wall of the tower above it and was only visible from one direction. We had to squeeze past a strategically placed copse of bushes and stunted trees to get to it.

  “Who else knows of this door?” Dentin asked as Horacian fumbled with the key.

  “The late Lord Irvaine showed it to me when I took on the duties of steward. He impressed upon me that no one else knew of its existence.”

  Rathenridge groaned. “Rolendis could have known.”

  “And told Jorndar.” Tomas’ gloved hand closed around my shoulder. He leaned down, nudging the hood aside so his breath traced eddies of warmth across my cold cheek. “Enter behind me.”

  I nodded.

  The door finally jerked open with a groan that echoed somewhere beyond. Horacian struggled to pull the key from the lock as Dentin and Rathenridge pushed past him into the dark gap inside. Reappearing, Rathenridge waved the rest of us past him.

  Beyond the door was a space barely wide enough for two men to stand abreast and four to stand together. To the right a stone stair rose twisting and steep, crowding out the ceiling. Tomas, sword already drawn, took the stairs at a sideways run with the confidence of a man with experience in tight and curving spaces.

  I didn’t even attempt his speed. My lungs burned. Panic rose. What if I stumbled? Eirianware and the others breathed heavily in the darkness behind me. I could not turn back. As though underscoring the finality of our course, the door below closed with a solid thump.

  After an eternity of steps too narrow for my full foot, a shout from above sent my heart into my throat. I scrambled. Thomas needed help. I was in the way.

  The top of the stairwell opened up into the center of a bastion. I tripped over the last stair and rolled out across the wooden floor. Crawling to the wall I climbed to my feet, dragged out my sword, and looked for the fight.

  Eirianware engaged a swordsman
. Beyond the open arches, I glimpsed Dentin and Tomas fighting two others on the wall walks. Distantly, a third man, ran madly through the rain. Yells from below turned my stomach cold.

  “So much for surprise.” Dentin stepped back into the shelter of the bastion as he wiped his sword with a piece of his dead opponent’s shirt. “There were more than ten men running across the bailey toward the keep.”

  “You aren’t going to faint on us, my lady, are you?” Worand’s heavy-lidded eyes watched my face.

  Mouth dry, I shook my head.

  “Good, because there is going to be a lot more of that before the night is through.”

  I nodded again, not trusting my voice.

  Spotting Tomas, my gaze shied away from his weapon. Instead I sought his face. He grimaced, but only in concentration.

  “I suggest we split up. We can cover more ground that way.” Dentin consulted Tomas. “Any idea where they would hole up once alerted?”

  “Jorndar will run. He isn’t one to stick around if he is losing. Horacian, best routes of escape?”

  “Three. A hidden passage from the noble’s bedchamber to a tunnel beneath the walls, the postern we just used, and the main gate.”

  “There was a tunnel?” Rathenridge’s face tightened in anger. “Why didn’t you mention this sooner?”

  “Later.” Dentin’s sharp retort silenced even the murmuring between Yerns and Polaner behind me.

  Horacian squirmed beneath Dentin’s glare. “The access in the woods to the west is locked by a key only Kolbent carried. I couldn’t get you in that way. Jorndar can only get out that way if my daughter has the key and gave it to him.”

  “Fine. So the chances are even he will try any of the three exits. How certain are you that those are the only exits?”

  “They are the only three Kolbent told me about when I attained my position.”

  “Where is the tunnel entrance?”

  Horacian glanced at Tomas as though asking permission.

  “Just tell him.”

  “The second tapestry to the left of the fireplace covers the door.”

  Dentin accepted this with a sharp nod. “Eirianware, Polaner, and Worand take the front gate. Rathenridge, Horacian, and Yerns stay here. Tomas and Rell with me.”