Kingstown. It's magnificent.
It was still a fair distance away, though. Half a league, Christian estimated. Stretching from left to right in front of the wall was an army. To Christian, they looked like thousands of tiny black ants. They were noisy, though, and chanting in unison. A deep, guttural, chest-thumping chant: Huh, huh, huh, huh, haaaay; Huh, huh, huh, huh, haaaay. Even at this distance, Christian could tell the men were Savages from the north. Like the men that killed my mother.
“Men, line up,” someone nearby was shouting. “Two groups. Quickly, quickly.”
Christian got to his feet, but was left standing on his own as soldiers departed, some going left, some going right. He didn't know what to do, so he just stood there. I need a horse, he thought. It's too far to run, especially in the snow. His legs were wobbly with fear and the noise Volk's army was making made his testicles shrink up inside his body. I can't do this. I should've stayed in High Hunsley, safe and warm.
“The king will lead the charge to the left,” a voice was shouting. “Those on the right will follow Sir Arthur. We meet at the wall. A small group will attack the catapults. There are three; take them and burn them.”
The two armies departed left and right. War was about to unfold in front of him, and Stetland was in danger. He felt powerless. He was beginning to think he'd failed the Dark Rider when he saw the army had not departed completely. A handful of soldiers on horseback remained. Standing in front of those restless horses were Marcus Delorous and the young wizard Gladden.
“Christian?” Marcus said. “What the . . . You came with us? Stetland is going to be so cross with you.”
“Why wouldn't you stay in High Hunsley, Christian?” Gladden said. “It's safe there.”
“Come on,” a soldier atop a horse shouted. “We must go. We need to take those catapults down.”
“I had to come,” Christian said.
“Well . . . you should stay here,” Marcus said. “Until it's all over. If the wrong side wins, then run.”
“No.” The boy stepped forward. “I need to go with you.”
Marcus exchanged glances with Gladden, who only shrugged his shoulders.
“Stetland is going to kill me for this,” Marcus said. “Come on.” He waved the boy to him.
As Christian hurried towards the young soldier one of the catapults sent a rock hurtling through the air. When the rock hit the city wall it lit up the sky like a thousand fires burning in unison. It shook the ground too. Christian ducked, instinctively.
“What the hell was that?” Marcus said.
There was now a hole in the city wall and Volk’s men were clambering through it.
“Sorcery?” Gladden said. “Let's go put a stop to it.”
CHAPTER 36
The guard shut the cell door, banishing Gaillart Gregory to the darkness once more.
“Your Majesty,” the guard said. “Is everything all right?”
Her pale face and tearful eyes must have spooked him. “No. No it's not—”
A large rumble came from somewhere above. The castle shook causing Rose to stumble sideways. She put her hands on the cold, damp wall to steady herself. Dust fell from the ceiling, clouding the air in the torchlight.
“What was that?” the guard said. “An earthquake?”
Rose had lived through an earthquake when she was twelve years old. The noise then had been like a hundred horses galloping at once. “That was no earthquake. Go up to the castle. Take the other guard with you.”
“Yes, Ma'am.” The guard fumbled with the keys.
“I'll lock the cell,” Rose said, reaching for the large hoop in his hand with its many keys. The guard gave it up willingly enough and then ran down the passageway towards the other guard. When their footfalls on the staircase had all but diminished, Rose unlocked the cell door and pulled it open.
“What was that?” Gaillart said.
“I don't know, but you're free.”
The Grand Master stepped tentatively from the cell. Perhaps he fears another beating. She had never seen him so meek. She took his hand and pulled him to the gate at the end of the passageway. The guards had left it unlocked, but its hinges screamed just the same. They fled up the staircase like two lovers making for their bedchamber. At the top of the stairs they stood listening to the music drifting from the Great Hall.
“Mayhap they didn't hear the noise above the band?” Gaillart said.
“And they're all too drunk to feel the earth move, too. Go and see if everything is as it should be. There's somewhere I need to be.”
“Yes, Ma'am.”
“Before you go.” She took his hand and pulled him close, planting a light kiss on his cheek. “I love you, Gaillart. And I thank you for loving me.”
Before he could answer, she turned, her skirts twirling, and made for Bahlinger's bedchamber.
She found the servant girl standing topless in front of Bahlinger. The rumble that had shaken the earth must have interrupted them, as they were arguing about what it was.
“Child!” Rose said sharply. The servant girl turned towards the doorway where the queen was standing, her fiery red hair lifting as she spun. “Leave us.”
The servant girl put an arm across her ample breasts in a feeble attempt to cover them, bent to pick up her discarded bodice, and then left the room with her face burning as red as her hair.
Bahlinger was drunk, Rose saw. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes offered nothing more than a glassy stare.
“Nothing happened, dear,” Bahlinger said, holding up his hand.
“But it would have, wouldn't it?” Rose said. “If I hadn't walked in on you.”
Bahlinger ignored her last comment and made to stand. “Did you hear that noise? I think I need to investigate. I'll send some guards to the wall to take a look.”
“You have no guards to send to the wall, remember? You're a foolish old man, Bahlinger, with no respect for me or your people. Now sit down.” She pushed him in the chest and he flopped back to the bed. “I’ve been thinking about the things you've made me do over so many sad years. In particular, what we did – what you did – to Cassandra's lover.”
“It had to be done.” The king slurred.
Rose felt like slapping him across the face. “She was in love, can you even remember how that feels? Or did you think that was love?” She pointed to the doorway by which the topless servant girl had left. Bahlinger sat like a naughty child, shoulders slouched, his ample belly hanging over his belt. “How you made me go along with it, I really don't know. I was foolish. Weak.”
Rose had witnessed Cassandra crying on several occasions following Tristan Adley's death. Of course, Cassandra was unaware that anyone knew about their illicit affair and so mourned in secret. But Rose heard the girl crying, sometimes as she passed her chambers, sometimes when she was out in the garden. And in the dead of the night, I felt her grief the most.
“I will never forgive myself. Never. And then there's Stetland, your half-brother, Bahlinger. What you did to him . . . But I was not party to that. That girl's blood, and the child that grew inside her, is on your hands.”
“I did what needed to be done—”
This time she did slap him. The sound was gratifying, but even more so was the sight of the red mark her hand left on his left cheek. “To save your poisoned bloodline. You fool, you absolute fool. Everlyn will make a great queen, but I'm not sure she can fully right the wrongs you've made during your sad, miserable reign.” Bahlinger rubbed his cheek where Rose's hand print glowed like a sunset. “What did she want from you, that servant girl?”
“Nothing. She found me attractive.”
Rose scoffed. “How could that be? A young beautiful girl like that. No, she wanted something from you. What was it, Bahlinger? Tell me.”
The king sighed. “She wanted a place for her family in the royal servants' quarter and a wage rise,” he conceded. “She came up with some story about having several needy brothers and sisters and another st
ory about her mother and father being ill. Just stories, dear.”
“No. She had honour. She was prepared to give herself away so that her family was safe and comfortable. But to give herself away to a beast like you, she must have been really desperate.” Those last words hurt him, she knew. She could see it in his sad eyes. “The night before last, when Cassandra was taken, Gaillart was in my bedchamber.”
“In your bedchamber? Why? Was he going to steal you along with the wizard bearer?”
“Maybe. But not in the way you think. He would have stolen my heart if I'd let him.”
“I don't understand.”
“He loved me. The only person for a very long time to love me, but I turned him away. My loyalty to you was too great. And this . . . this frolic with a servant girl is how you repay me.”
“Gaillart Gregory?” the king said, as if disbelieving.
“Is it so hard for you to understand that someone might love me, Bahlinger? That someone might show me the respect I deserve?”
Bahlinger scoffed at that. “He might've told you he loved you, but he just fancied a royal fuck, that's all, and to get one over on me at the same time.”
Rose thought about Gaillart. The Grand Master acted tough, he had to, in order to command the respect of his soldiers, but underneath he was a gentle and loving man. And he wanted me.
The queen looked at her husband with pure hate. He's below contempt. She thought about all the years wasted, all the bad things she had done just to please her king.
She took a step backwards and without looking down picked up the bread knife from next to the bowl of soup. Bahlinger didn't seemed to notice, he was still talking at her: “I never did anything with the servant girl. Nothing at all. But you, you talk about love, you foolish woman. He would have fucked you over the side of the bed and then laughed behind your back. It's you who should be ashamed, having the Grand Master in your bedchamber at such a late hour. And that doesn't acquit him over the taking of the wizard bearer. In fact, it makes me even more suspicious of him. The sneaky bastard—”
Rose stabbed the king in the chest with the breadknife. It didn't go in as deep as she had hoped, so she pulled it free and stabbed him again. The empty hole in the king's tunic oozed blood, like red wine spilling from a bottle neck. Bahlinger's eyes were wide with disbelief, but she didn't see pain in them, not yet. So she pulled the knife free and stabbed him again . . . and again . . . and again. With each stab she felt warm blood on her face, even in her mouth. The knife's handle was becoming slippery, too. Eventually, it slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. It was then that she stepped back to observe what she had done. The disbelief had gone from the king's eyes. In fact, everything had left the king's eyes, including life. The only sound was his blood dripping onto the stone floor. Then the king flopped backwards onto the bed. She put her bloodied hands to her face, smearing her cheeks. The metallic smell of blood turned her stomach.
“What have I done?” she whispered.
The distant sound of the band playing had ceased; it had been replaced by screaming and shouting. Do they know? Do they know what I've done?
In a daze, she walked to the window. Fire was raging somewhere near the city wall, grabbing at the sky with yellow-orange fingers. There were people down below too and the sound of clashing swords. She climbed onto the window ledge. Stilling herself, she stood there for a moment, the wind whipping at her dress. Slowly she leaned forward, feeling the air on her face, cleansing her sins. Then the wind was rushing past her ears, blowing through her hair, grabbing at her clothes. Soon after, she hit the ground. The snow was no more a cushion than a stone slab. She felt her neck break before dark clouds crept into her vision. Peace, she thought. Peace at last.
CHAPTER 37
Amy made her way back to the Great Hall, putting on her bodice as she went. What the hell have I done? she thought. I'll be hanged for this. As she descended the stairs she heard raised voices from the Great Hall. At first she stopped, alarmed by the noise. But then she remembered how raucous royal gatherings could sometimes be. Once, at a king's banquet, everyone had got so drunk they had stood on chairs singing at the top of their voices. But when one of the lords took it upon himself to squeeze a lady's rear, all hell had broken loose. The lady in question's husband had swung for the lord knocking him off the chair onto three knights enjoying their ale. Amy had taken shelter in the kitchen as every drunken fool in the hall began hitting each other with chairs and plates.
She quickened her step again, eager to get back to work and to try and forget what had happened in the king's bedchamber. She crossed the hall, checking first that her bodice was in place. Tongues will wag if I'm not dressed properly, she thought. When she was happy with the way she looked she pushed on the double doors and stepped into the Great Hall. The sight that greeted her stopped her in her tracks. It was carnage. A pile of bodies made up of lords and ladies, some she recognised, lay before her like some crudely assembled wall. Most of them had limbs missing. A man sandwiched in the middle of the pile was still alive; he held a bloodied hand out to her. On his face was a look of expectancy, but Amy could do nothing for him. To her left, a lady dressed in the most extravagant of silks was bent over a table. Behind her stood a stunted man with a large bushy beard. He had the hem of the lady's dress bunched in his left hand. With his right hand he held the lady's head against the table top, cheek down. Her silk dress was torn, Amy noticed, and her left breast exposed. He's raping her, she thought with horror. Elsewhere, more stunted, bearded men – Men of the North – were hacking at lords with glinting axes and blades. Other ladies were being raped too, some on the floor, some on table tops. One, though, was not a lady – it was Alice Bele, Amy saw. She made a move to enter the room to help her friend, when a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the hallway.
“Don't,” a man's voice said. She turned to see Gaillart Gregory, his face bruised. “There's nothing you can do for them. The city is breached. I'm going upstairs to take the king and queen to the keep. Are you coming?”
“Yes,” she said. She felt in a daze. Is this some lucid dream? “But I doubt the queen will want me there.”
“Why ever not?” Gaillart gently closed the hall doors, being careful not to make a sound. “You can't stay here. If the Savages find you, you'll get the same treatment as the other women in there. Now come.”
He took her hand and pulled her towards the stairs. Amy let him lead her to the first floor and then down the corridor to the king's chambers. The noise from the Great Hall was quieter here. It was easy for her to believe that everything was normal again. In fact, she wished she could wake up in her bed, ready to start this day afresh.
As they reached the doorway to the king's bedchamber, she braced herself for a slap in the face from the queen. Before they could enter the room, though, Princess Everlyn came walking out backwards with her hand across her mouth.
“Everlyn,” Gaillart said, “whatever is it?”
Everlyn pointed. Amy broke free of Gaillart's hand and walked into the room. On the bed was the king. Stab wounds peppered his chest.
“What happened here?” Amy said, turning to Everlyn. “Where's your mother?”
“She . . .” Everlyn said.
“Everlyn, we haven't much time,” Gaillart said. “Where's the queen?”
“She . . . she jumped out of the window.”
A gust of wind ruffled the curtains as if to say it were true.
“Out of the window?” Gaillart said. “Why? Why would she do that?”
Amy stepped further into the room, keeping her distance from the bed on which the king's dead body cooled. Just a few short moments ago those dead hands were exploring my body. She shuddered and turned her attention to the window. One of the shutters banged against the wall in the brisk wind like a war drum. She placed her hands on the sill and looked out. As Gaillart had said, the city was breached. Men were clashing swords in the streets below. A fire raged somewhere close to the wall.
But it wasn't there she should be looking, she knew. Anticipating with dread what she might see, she forced her sight down to the snow-covered courtyard below. There lay the queen, sprawled ungainly, a pool of red bleeding into the snow around her head. As Amy stepped away, Gaillart appeared at her side to take a look for himself.
“Rose!” he said as his face turned pale. “What happened here? Did someone push her? And what about the king. Who killed him? Was it Rose or someone else?”
Amy looked to the discarded bread knife on the floor. I know what happened here, she thought. And I know why she did it, too. She killed her husband for cheating on her with a cheap servant girl. It's all my fault. I even provided the murder weapon. Then, in her grief, the queen jumped from the window.
“We must go,” Gaillart said to Amy. Then, to the princess: “Everlyn, you are the queen of Elt, now. We must get you to safety.”
And now Stetland is second in line to the throne, Amy thought. But no one knows that but me.
They made for the door, Gaillart leading the way. Everlyn looks in no fit state to go anywhere. Her eyes were glazed, Amy saw, and her skin pasty.
Amy took Everlyn's hand. Gaillart was standing in the corridor, blade in hand. He held his left arm awkwardly, she saw, as if he’d injured it. There were footsteps coming from the staircase.
Battle for Elt: The Taking of the Wizard Bearer Page 29