by Sara Bell
"Not sorry, exactly, but—” Alric shook his head. “Forgive me, Gareth. I fear the prospect of being left behind in Drystan while you and Tristam go charging off has made me a touch melancholy."
"Alric, you must understand—"
With his free hand, Alric reached forward and pressed his finger to Gareth's lips. “Hush, now. I understand the reasons behind your decision, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.” He took a deep breath. “I meant what I said earlier, about my feelings for you. After all that Denmar did to me, I never believed myself capable of falling in love again. The thought of losing you now, after only having just found you—"
"That isn't going to happen.” Gareth let go of Alric's hand only to take him by the shoulders and pull him in close. Cradling Alric against the warmth of his chest, Gareth said, “I swear to you I'll do nothing so foolish as to endanger my life and jeopardize our future together.” He placed a soft kiss on the top of Alric's head. “I'm coming home to you, pet. On that you have my word."
"You can't make a promise such as that."
"I can and I will.” Gareth stroked Alric's back with sure, comforting fingertips. “I'll return ere you even miss me, and when I do, Denmar will be out of our lives once and for all."
Alric sank deeper into Gareth's heat. “I pray you're right."
Gareth said nothing, only continued to comfort Alric the only way he could. Gareth knew he and his soldiers would win the day. They must, for the alternative was too unthinkable to ponder.
Chapter Fourteen
Gareth stood on the far side of the lake bordering Denmar's keep, watching silently as the flickering flames reflected off the crystalline surface of the water. There was a certain irony in watching Denmar's home burn—devoured by the same kind of fire the rotten sack of dung had tried to steal from Alric—but Gareth felt little satisfaction as the bright orange tongues lapped at the charred stone structure.
The sharp rustle of crisp summer grass alerted Gareth to the presence of someone behind him, but he didn't bother to turn. Gareth knew who it was, and he knew the news wouldn't be good.
"Stop hesitating and just say it, Tristam."
Tristam came to stand beside him at the water's edge. “My soldiers searched the entire keep ere they torched the place.” He sighed. “There was no sign of Denmar, or anyone else for that matter. Indeed, the castle was empty."
"You sound surprised.” Gareth turned to Tristam with a dark scowl. “I told you Denmar was too smart to allow himself to be caught in his own lair.” Gareth spat onto the ground. “All this time, wasted on a fool's chase."
"You make it sound as if we've accomplished nothing in the six months since we set out from Kray.” Tristam returned Gareth's scowl two-fold. “How can you even think such? Denmar's forces are scattered, his allies defeated, and his strongholds plundered.” He wiped sweat from his eyes with sooty fingers. “With the evidence our messengers delivered to the High Council, Denmar has been publicly marked a traitor. He'll find sanctuary nowhere in Orielle."
Gareth wasn't certain of that, not knowing the full wealth of Denmar's cunning, but he didn't say so. He chose instead to focus on the crux of his discontent.
"We almost had him at Tretok, but my own miscalculation cost us time, and the whoreson got away.” Gareth ground his teeth. “I haven't spent the last six months braving winter snows and spring rains simply to deplete Denmar's resources and slaughter his armies.” His voice fell to a low growl. “I want to destroy the man himself—to rend the flesh from his bones with my bare hands.” He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging hard. “Damn it all, vengeance should have been mine this day."
Tristam tilted his head to the side, studying Gareth's face. “Vengeance I understand, but there's something more driving you. I can feel it."
Tristam was right. From the moment they'd started this quest to rid the world of Denmar's miserable existence, Gareth had been nursing a feeling of urgency he couldn't explain. He felt that if they didn't find Denmar soon, something was going to happen, something earthshaking that Gareth would be powerless to stop.
Standing there in the dazzling light of the noonday sun, he was unable to put his fears into words. Rather, he settled on an excuse. “Forgive me, Tristam. I fear the time away from home has made me savage."
"You? Think how I feel.” Tristam's lips twisted into a deep frown. “My child must be nigh on three months old now, and never have I seen his face."
Gareth arched a brow. “His face? Are you so sure the babe will be a boy?"
Tristam shrugged. “A man needs sons to run a kingdom."
"And if ‘tis a daughter you have?"
Tristam sniffed. “A daughter isn't the same as a son, but I suppose I'll make do with what The Creator has given us."
"Make do, will you?” Gareth couldn't contain his grin, knowing a whopping falsehood when he heard one. “Ten pieces of gold says if ‘tis a daughter you have, the wee princess will have you wrapped around her tiny finger the moment you set eyes upon her."
"'Tis one wager I'm smart enough not to take.” Tristam leaned over and elbowed Gareth lightly in the ribs. “Come. Let us gather the men and leave this place.” He cast a dark glance at the ruined castle. “We've done what we came for, and besides,” he continued in a lighter tone, “your Alric is probably languishing without you."
Gareth swallowed as they turned from the reedy bank and started up the slope to the hill where their soldiers were camped. “Sending Alric off to Drystan wasn't the best way to kindle his affections.” His stomach burned. “He barely looked at me when last we parted."
"Upset as he might have been, there's no doubt the man loves you, Gareth.” Tristam whacked him on the back as they crested a small rise. “'Tis my turn to make a wager."
"Oh?"
"I'll wager twenty pieces of silver that Alric is even now waiting with baited breath for your return."
Gareth only nodded as the two of them went together to brief the men. Deep inside, he prayed Tristam was right.
* * * *
The journey from Denmar's holding to Drystan should have taken only a fortnight, and would have, had not the weather and a surprise visitor hampered their progress. The first hindrance came in the form of flood-raising storms that forced Gareth and the rest of his damp, miserable company to seek shelter in the nearby Wexlan Mountains.
For a solid week, they were forced to wait out the storms. Just when Gareth thought sure he would go mad with the inactivity if it all, the sky cleared and the lot of them were able to depart. Gareth was beginning to believe they'd have a clear course on to Drystan when, on the third day of their renewed journey, the second hindrance presented itself in a way Gareth never expected.
He was riding beside Tristam, pushing Merrick hard, when one of Drystan's sentries approached. Gareth took one look at the red-faced, breathless young man and said, “What is it?"
"Riders, Sire.” The soldier pointed to a spot not far ahead of them. “At least fifty, by my count. They're coming hard and fast."
Tristam steadied his mount. “Did you recognize their colors?"
"No, but one of the sentries from Kray believes the riders to be from The House of Winthrop."
Gareth swore. “Ride back to the front,” he told the sentry, “and ready the men for a coming battle. Instruct them to arm themselves but to do nothing ere I give the signal."
As the lad left to do his bidding, Gareth curled Merrick's reins in his fist and turned the horse. To Tristam he said, “I'll alert the back if you'll seek out Wycaster. He's dealt with Winthrop before."
Tristam gave a tight nod, and the two of them went to work. In little time, their full contingent had been alerted, and Gareth, Tristam, and Wycaster were sitting astride their horses at the front line, waiting for Winthrop's approach.
They didn't have to wait long. Within the hour, a lone rider separated himself from Winthrop's writhing thong, coming to a stop mere feet from Gareth and the others.
Dismounting
from his horse, the rider dropped the animal's reins and closed the distance between them on foot. When the man was only a stone's throw from Merrick's feet, he fell to the ground in homage.
"Rise and deliver your master's message ere my patience wears thin.” Not swayed by the show of fealty, Gareth's command came out a harsh bark.
The soldier was on his feet in seconds. “'Tis not a message I bring you, Sire, but a request to King Gareth of Kray from his most noble Highness of Winthrop, Thaddeus the King."
Gareth cast a glimpse to his left at Wycaster, who only shrugged, and then to his right at Tristam who said, “At least listen to the request."
Gareth turned back to the envoy with a single nod. “I am Kray. State your request."
"King Thaddeus requests an audience with you, Sire. Indeed, he asks that you meet him at high noon on neutral ground, halfway between your camp and ours.” The envoy bowed his dark head and awaited Gareth's response.
"I'm not sure I like this,” Tristam said. “Given Winthrop's hatred of Kray, this could be a ruse to seek you out and run you through."
"If I may, Sire,” Wycaster said, “I propose that you amend Winthrop's terms so that each of you is allowed one guard to accompany you for the meeting. As it happens, I would be most honored to escort you."
Seeing the merit in Wycaster's plan, Gareth turned to the envoy. “Tell you master I will meet him only if I am allowed a one-man escort. If Winthrop agrees to the terms, he may signal by turning his standard on its side and waving it high."
"As you wish, Sire.” With a final bow, the envoy took his leave.
A tense wait followed in which the soldiers set a makeshift camp while Gareth, Tristam, and Wycaster stood watch on the front line. A solid hour passed before the Winthrop standard made a sideways trek back and forth across the enemy's first rank. For better or worse, the meeting was set.
As Gareth had expected, Tristam was none too happy when the sun at last reached its zenith. “I'm still not certain this is the wisest course to take."
"Maybe not but there's little to be done about it now.” Gareth unstrapped his sword and handed it to Tristam. “Wouldn't do to greet Winthrop armed, now would it?” He attempted a smile but could tell it fell flat by the look on Tristam's face.
Clapping Tristam on the back, Gareth said, “All will be well. You'll see.” Without waiting for Tristam to reply, he started for the place between the camps with Wycaster by his side.
"You should have removed your sword,” Gareth said as they walked. “Makes you seem hostile to greet Winthrop and his guard fully armed."
"In case you haven't noticed, I am hostile.” Wycaster set his jaw. “I don't trust this varlet."
Neither did Gareth, but rather than fueling Wycaster's worry by saying so, he opted to keep the feelings to himself. Thus the two of them went on in silence until they reached the meeting place.
As soon as they got there, Gareth could see a lone man coming towards them. Wycaster must have seen him at the same instant for he turned to Gareth and said, “Surely that isn't Thaddeus, coming out to meet us alone?"
"I don't know, but we're soon to find out.” Gareth adopted as relaxed a stance as he could manage and then watched the man as he approached.
After a moment's study, Gareth had no doubt it was indeed the King of Winthrop coming toward them. He wore the rich clothes of aristocracy and held himself with the unmistakable arrogance of a royal. His graying head was held high and his long-legged steps were sure and quick. He stopped directly in front of Gareth and spoke with a deep, confident tone of authority.
"King Gareth of Kray, I presume.” A pair of dark, sharp eyes watched Gareth, waiting for his answer.
"I am.” Gareth crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you want with me, Winthrop?"
Instead of answering, Winthrop glanced at Wycaster. “Tell your man to fall away. What I have to say is for you and you alone."
Wycaster opened his mouth to protest, but Gareth held up his hand. “Do as he says, Wycaster. I'll be fine."
Wycaster's expression made it plain he didn't like it, but he fell back several paces—far enough to be out of ear shot but close enough that he could offer Gareth assistance if needed.
Once Wycaster was in place, Gareth turned back to Winthrop. “Again I ask, what is it you want from me?"
"You're rather trusting, to send your guard away as you did.” Winthrop's eyes gleamed under the high sun. “What would you do, I wonder, if I attacked you just now? After all, you have neither sword nor dirk to protect yourself with."
"I suppose I'd have to settle for killing you with my bare hands.” Gareth shrugged. “Dispatching an old man wouldn't be one of my more pleasurable kills, but we all do what we must.” Another shrug. “Besides, I owe you a reckoning for sending your men after Alric that day in the valley.” His fingers knotted into fists. “I could kill you for that alone."
Winthrop threw back his head and laughed. “No wonder Declan chose you for his son's mate. You've got spirit.” He grinned. “I wouldn't be as easily defeated as you think, but I admire any man who has the stones to take me on."
"As I'm pretty sure you didn't seek me out for hand to hand combat, I'm thinking the issue of who would triumph over who is moot."
"That it is.” Winthrop sniffed, his long nose wrinkling in the center. “The King of Stiles paid me a visit some three months past."
"Oh?"
Winthrop nodded. “He had an interesting tale to spin me regarding his son Holden and Lucien of Denmar."
Gareth said nothing, only waited for Winthrop to finish.
"I'd already received Alric's delivery, of course.” A murderous sparkle lit Winthrop's gaze. “Your husband will be glad to know Bertrand has been dealt with in a most painful way."
Gareth knew Alric would find no pleasure in Bertrand's death, but he didn't say so. Instead, he asked what to him was an obvious question. “Does this mean you believed Alric when he wrote to you of Bertrand's guilt?"
"No. Leastwise, not at first. When I learned of your plans to wage war against Denmar, I assumed you'd fabricated the story against Bertrand to keep me from casting my lot with Denmar's. Indeed, I was all set to back the man when Stiles came to me, seeking audience.” Winthrop scratched at the gray stubble marking his jaw. “Let us say I was most intrigued by the story he spun.” He sighed. “Until that moment, I'd been treating Bertrand as something of a guest in my home. How is it the saying goes? The enemy of mine enemy is my friend?"
Gareth curled his lip. “Bertrand was no man's friend save his own. The only reason he allied himself with Denmar to begin with was to pay Declan back for the slights he imagined the man had visited on him."
"'Twas what I realized after speaking with Stiles.” Though Winthrop kept his head high, his shoulders sagged ever so slightly. “I won't apologize for the attack on the two of you that day. ‘Twould be a hollow sentiment. The only excuse I offer is that I believed myself to be avenging my daughter's death.” He let free a heavy rush of breath. “All this time, blaming Alric of Kray for Adela's murder when Bertrand was at fault."
Gareth felt for Winthrop and all he'd lost, but he wasn't going to allow the man to gloss over the truth. “Adela played her part. She wouldn't have been in that tower to begin with had she not betrayed Alric to Denmar and tried to take her own husband's life."
"Do you think me such a fool that I don't know it?” Anger flashed across Winthrop's flushed face. “Creator knows my daughter was no saint, but to die that way...” He swiped at his brow with two fingers. “She deserved better."
Gareth believed Adela had gotten exactly what she deserved, but he kept that opinion to himself in deference to Winthrop's grief. “You still haven't explained why you sought me out."
"Word has it you've conceded your birthright to your brother, Nadar of Vale.” Winthrop said the words as if he thought Gareth daft. “Indeed, I understand that you now consider yourself as being in Vale's service. Is this true?"
"I
t is."
Winthrop's thin gray brows disappeared into his hairline. “Even after Nadar kidnapped your husband in a plot to kill you?"
"Nadar holds certain information that could be damaging to Alric.” Gareth saw no reason to lie, not when Winthrop probably knew the truth already. “'Twas either pledge myself to my brother's service in a bid to keep him quiet, or kill Nadar for fear he'd spread the truth if I didn't. I consider myself a hard man, but not even I have the stomach for slaughtering my own kin."
"Then Denmar's allegations were true. Your husband really does wield the power of the flame."
Gareth nodded. “I'm surprised Denmar told you. I assumed he'd keep Alric's secrets for fear you'd want to harness Alric's powers yourself."
"Letting free with the truth about your husband's abilities was a key part of Denmar's plan to build an alliance with me. He wanted me to believe Alric was responsible for Adela's death so I'd turn against Kray and throw in with him. Denmar led me to believe Alric murdered Adela because she threatened to expose him.” Winthrop sighed. “Like an idiot, I fell for it."
"If you know of Alric's powers then you know why I ceded Lachlan to my brother and pledged myself to Nadar's service. If word of Alric's gift spreads to all of Orielle, I'll be hard pressed to keep my husband safe.” Gareth's stomach gave a hard turn at the thought of someone taking Alric from him again. “Alric says he no longer cares whether the world learns of his gift or not, but I'm unwilling to risk his safety. If I have to lick Nadar's boots to protect my mate then so be it."
A look crossed Winthrop's craggy face that might have been admiration. “Which brings us to the reason I sought you out. I will never get over the loss of my only child,” he flinched as if in pain, “but I am man enough to admit the part I played in Adela's demise. If I hadn't forced her on Declan as I did—” he broke off and looked away, though not before Gareth noticed the sheen of moisture in his eyes.
Winthrop took a short moment to compose himself and then turned back to Gareth with renewed fire. “Because of my own foolish pride, I failed to keep my daughter safe, but you've a chance yet to protect your Alric. Denmar sent me a missive as soon as he learned of your plans against him. He knows you've sent the information Stiles provided you to the High King, but he isn't overly worried because he has strong connections with the Council."