“You must stay for their trial, for you brought the accusation,” Chaddin countered.
“And when’ll that be? Long enough for all the men t’learn of it and learn t’hate me,” Harrys said.
“Even if your enlistment is over, I remain your Baroness, Harrys Ejilson,” Landen said. “It is not Lord Stillbright’s place to give you permission to leave when I have not.”
“Sir,” Allystaire corrected her. “Not Lord.”
Landen eyed Allystaire with a frown, then looked back to Harrys. “I mean to conduct an assize as swiftly as possible. This very day. Then if it is truly your wish, you may leave.”
“Give me back my arms,” Harrys said, addressing Allystaire and trying to ignore Landen. “Do that, at least, and let me see to m’horse, and I’ll give your Frozen evidence. Wi’out it, you’ll have t’kill me.”
Landen looked to Allystaire. “Would you release his arms?”
Allystaire shrugged. “I do not see why not. I do not feel threatened by cowards.”
“That’s the third time you’ve called me coward, you Frozen bastard,” Harrys said. “There won’t be a fourth wi’out blood.”
Allystaire ignored him, let the words roll off of him and nodded to Torvul. “Let him in the armory. We will be with him. And if you would, help Norbert pick out something fitting.”
Torvul eyed Allystaire warily, then grunted, tucked his cudgel under one arm and fished in a pouch for a key. “You know where the shortbows and spears are,” the dwarf muttered. “Find what suits while I look for armor.”
When the dwarf had the door open, Allystaire waved everyone else in ahead of him. He tried to keep his eyes everywhere at once—on Norbert eyeing a rack of spears, on Landen and Harrys looking through stacks of swords, on Torvul moving among the piles of mail.
Finally, Allystaire simply grabbed the blade he’d been practicing with, having left it leaning in easy reach, and walked outside, strapping it around him as he went. The mail shirt he’d put on that morning was still under his outer shirt, vest, and cloak, the weight of it having long since settled into a comforting burden. Should have brought my gloves, he thought, visualizing the pile of armor on a table in his room back at the Inn, both the gleaming plate Torvul had used to give him his new name, and the bits of rougher things—and iron banded leather cap, his iron knuckled gloves, heavy bracers.
Landen was the first to appear, having buckled on a swordbelt of green-dyed leather chased with silver and etched with the Delondeur Tower. The scabbard and hilt were worked in the same colors and motif, though the pommel and the crossguard were plainly made for use, and not for show. The Baroness stood a little taller, it seemed to Allystaire, with her weapon back on her hip.
Harrys stumbled out next, carrying a belt and two weapons: a falchion, a savage and practical blade, and a long-handled horseman’s axe with a loop for the wrist.
“I’ll be back for my armor,” the soldier grumbled, as he buckled the belt around himself and thrust the falchion through a frogged loop at his right and the axe through the same on his left. “If I can find it in there. Disgrace, it is, jumblin’ it altogether like that.”
“Most of the rotten iron you lot wore here was so inferior it’s not worth sorting out,” Torvul said as he emerged just ahead of Norbert. “If I want to make armor out of it I’ll need a furnace so I can melt it down. With enough of it, I might make some steel with a chance of stopping a table fork.” The dwarf sniffed.
Norbert came out with a long chain shirt pulled over his outer clothes, belted around his waist, its ends dangling to his knees. He carried an armful of weaponry and gear, set it down to strap an armguard over the inside of his left arm deftly. Almost as if he knows what he’s about, Allystaire thought.
Torvul eyed Norbert critically as the boy hooked a sheaf of arrows on his right hip, then picked up both spear and unstrung bow in one hand. “We’ll need to get you a bow case, boy,” the dwarf said. “Spear and bow do you no good clutched together like that. And I’ve some thoughts on how t’armor you a bit better, still keep your arms free t’draw. Give me some time.”
Norbert straightened up, shifted the bowstave into his left hand, shouldered the spear with his right and turned, with almost a military bearing, towards Allystaire.
“Baroness,” Allystaire said, inclining his head slightly, “we await you. A word first, if you please. My squire and I are here to defend the folk of the village, or anyone else, if matters turn violent. We are not at any command but my own.” It’s also possible I’ll have to explain to Garth why we’re coming armed into his camp, but let’s leave that be for now.
“Squire, is it?” Harrys spat again. “Thought he was just a village lad.”
Norbert bristled, but Allystaire raised a calming hand and the boy relaxed visibly. Turning to Harrys, Allystaire said, “What matter is it to you?”
“Enough of all this,” Landen said, snapping command into her voice. “Bannerman Ejilson, you will remain silent unless questioned or otherwise directed.” With that, the Baroness turned and set a quick pace back towards the Inn.
Torvul caught Allystaire’s eye. Shall I? The dwarf’s gruff, rumbling voice sounded in his head.
Allystaire thought, but for a moment. Gather Idgen Marte. And Gideon. Stay at a distance but keep an eye, if you would.
Torvul nodded and stomped off. Allystaire fell into step beside Norbert, with Landen ahead and Harrys ranging reluctantly between them, as if he didn’t want to come too close to any of them.
I may have botched this, Allystaire thought. Then, clearing his throat, he said, “Harrys. You need not leave as soon as all this. In this weather, traveling will be dangerous.”
“It’s just snow and wind,” the man grunted. “Won’t kill me. Stayin’ will.”
“We can defend you from any—”
“I can defend m’self.”
Allystaire frowned. “What of your horse? A bad snowstorm will mean her death.”
Harrys hunched his shoulders and ignored the question. Allystaire sighed as the Inn hove into view, with Chaddin and his men, all armed, waiting outside.
CHAPTER 15
Harrys’s Choice
It was a cold march to the Oyrwyn camp, made all the colder by the foreboding that grew in Allystaire’s stomach. As he’d expected, the sudden advent of armed men on its borders had the guardsmen stirring, weapons being shouldered, a runner sent towards the command tents at the center.
Dammit, Allystaire thought, I should have been down here more these past weeks. Get the feel of the place. Soldiers mislike staying in one place for so long.
In truth, though, with winter on, and no way to know where storms were raging or how much snow and ice they were bringing between here and anywhere else, there wasn’t anywhere for the Oyrwyn soldiers to go.
They’d gotten within a few dozen yards of the large prisoner’s tent when Garth came riding up on his black, a horse every bit the size of Ardent. The Lord of Highgate swung out of the saddle with practiced ease, carrying a long-handled, heavy-bladed axe as he walked.
“What is the meaning of this, Allystaire? Why do armed men come into my camp with no warning? Why do some of my prisoners go armed at all?”
“They are not your prisoners, Garth,” Allystaire replied.
“No? Then you are taking responsibility for their care and feeding, I take it.”
“As I recall, I already had to,” Allystaire shot back. “Now there is danger afoot here, and men who must be brought to justice. I ask that you move aside and let these people men conduct their business.”
“And if I do not?” Garth planted his longaxe in the snow and mud at his feet and stood up straighter.
Allystaire sighed. “Do not test me, Lord of Highgate,” he said quietly. “I will make my arguments eloquent, if I must.” Something about the inflection Allystaire put into “eloque
nt” caused the blond knight to start and narrow his eyes. Garth’s hand flexed around the haft of the axe, and he shook his head at Allystaire.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Lord of Highgate,” Landen butted in, stepping close to Garth—too close, Allystaire noted, for him to bring the longaxe into play, if it came to it—”I would like to take counsel with you later, if you’ve the time. There are conspirators among my men and they must be dealt with first. But I have important news, I hope, of the future, and I would speak to you as a representative of your Barony. Yet now, I would ask nothing more or less than to mete out the necessary discipline and justice among my own. Surely you understand that need.”
Garth’s face started to draw into a scowl. “You haven’t authority to treat with me as a representative of Barony Delondeur. You are a prisoner.”
Allystaire cleared his throat. “She is the Baroness Delondeur, by law and by custom. Nothing you say will change that fact.”
“What I say has nothing to do with it,” Garth answered frostily. “What I do could change quite a lot. Hard to rule a Barony as a prisoner.”
Allystaire let out a long breath. “This woman is not your prisoner, and you know it, Garth.”
“Do I? Seems as though my Lord Baron Gilrayan Oyrwyn might beg to differ.”
“It does not become a good man to seek the favor of Gilrayan Oyrwyn.”
“There’s something to be said for avoiding his wrath,” Garth replied, though he half swallowed the words as he spoke them.
Allystaire tilted his head slightly, narrowed his eyes. “I have known you from a boy, Lord of Highgate. You are a good man, or at least you were. A brave man. I am going to ask you to risk your Baron’s wrath.”
“Stop talking in circles,” Garth said, suddenly flustered. “Cold, Ally, you only left a few months ago. Do you know what it’s like, suddenly being looked at to take your place?” The words came in a sudden outburst. “The men who followed you now look to me. The Baron expects me to lead his campaigns, come spring. The older men wait for me to fail and the younger assume I’ll be another great man, Coldbourne’s protégé,” he spat. “Have you any idea how much I’ve risked simply to come here? And I sit here waiting for what, exactly?”
“You sit because it is the deep of winter and there is nothing else you can do,” Allystaire replied softly. “I was never great,” he added. “But if I can ask you to trust me—”
“How can I? I spent my life trusting you, from the time I was eight summers old to a few months ago. And my trust, all of our trust, was thrown aside when you simply walked away from us.”
“I deserve your anger, even your scorn, Garth. I know that. With your help, we can do something so much greater than any campaign, any battle we ever fought.”
Garth turned a half step to the side, holding up a hand. “Go. Do what you must. Explain it to me later. I’m tired of trying to think how I’ll live up to you. Just answer me one question,” he said, adjusting his grip on the axe and looking back to Allystaire. “In my position, right now, with the numbers and the prisoners under my nose—what would the great Lord Coldbourne have done?”
“Taken them back to Wind’s Jaw,” Allystaire said, “to await the orders of my Baron.”
“And you ask me to do the opposite?”
“Yes,” Allystaire said. “I do. I told you, Garth, you ought to forget most of what you ever heard that man tell you. It is not Allystaire Coldbourne that stands before you. I am Allystaire Stillbright, and I serve no Baron, no Lord, and no King. I will fight no wars to elevate one man over another, or to raise a banner over a few miles more of scorched and salted earth. You can be a better man than I was, Garth. I think you already are.”
With a sigh, the Lord of Highgate turned. “Go. Do whatever it is you must. I need to begin thinking about striking my camp.”
Allystaire nodded, then took a step to the side and looked to Landen, who once again took the lead of their little procession.
A few yards shy of the tent, Allystaire put a hand out to stop Norbert. Landen saw him, gave him a questioning look.
“We are not here to do the work for you.”
Landen nodded, then asked, “How would you do it?”
“Quickly, and with less talking.”
Landen nodded, then conferred quietly with Chaddin for a moment. The Lord Magistrate barked quick orders to his men. Weapons were drawn, and they rushed into the tent all at once.
From outside, they heard muffled shouts, a few thuds, saw the tent shake. Harrys muttered nervously, stamped his feet as if they were cold.
It took only a few moments for Chaddin’s men to appear, working in pairs to drag out two men. Allystaire recognized neither, but he turned to Harrys, raising a brow.
“Sir Donals Brinden, Sir Mathis Averyn,” the man muttered, nodding. “How long till this Freezin’ trial?”
“I am not the man to ask,” Allystaire replied.
“Stop yer pretendin’,” Harrys spat back. “You’re pullin’ all the strings here. Maybe those two Freezin’ traitor knights are right after all.”
“You do not believe that, or you would never have come to me.”
Harrys had no answer for that, so they sat silently as Chaddin’s men worked to bind the conspirators with lengths of rope. When they’d been dragged from the tent the two knights seemed too stunned to resist but one of them, a barrel chested, bandy-legged man suddenly found his feet and thrust off one of his captors, then drove his fist straight into the eye of the second. The renegade went for the dirk on the belt of the second man, who reeled away, one hand pressed to his eye.
There were many reactions all at once, and Allystaire saw, felt, and even heard them. Harrys drew out his falchion and charged forward, the wide, heavy blade steady in his hand. Chaddin’s men drew weapons, but none of them reacted quickly enough to do anything beyond filling their hands. Landen drew her own sword, as did Chaddin, but both were too far away to bring their blades to play.
Allystaire realized later, with some small pride, that the first sound he’d heard in all the rush, even if he hadn’t recognized it right away, was the distinct creak of a drawn bowstring just behind him and to his right.
While all the armed men around him stood still, the renegade knight seized the dirk, drove the pommel into the face of the man he’d already punched, and then dragged the man towards him, pressing the edge of the blade to the unprotected throat, while his other arm, thick beneath his coat, wrapped beneath the man’s arm and behind his head.
Meanwhile, a forward-thinking member of Chaddin’s party punched the second conspirator in the back of the head with the pommel of his sword, sending the man insensate to his knees, then kicked him over to the snow and planted a foot in his back.
“Brinden!” Landen shouted, leveling her blade at the hostage-taker. “This is beneath you, man. You plotted and were found out. Accept your fate with something resembling courage.”
Allystaire turned to see Norbert with an arrow drawn, the fletching to his cheek. The shortbow in his hands bent with the tension of his draw, but the lad himself was still and silent.
Harrys had reached the knot of men ringing the hostage taker, and spat as he shouldered them out of his way none too gently.
“Donals, ya withered stump of a Frozen cock,” Harrys spat. “Ya know yourself guilty and yer actions prove it.”
“That is Sir Donals or Lord Brinden to such as you, Bannerman,” the man shot back, momentarily pointing his dirk at Harrys. “Speak not of what you don’t understand.”
“I understand plenty, you arrogant shit,” Harrys growled. “I know you’re lookin’ t’cut a man’s throat ‘cause yer frighted o’losin’ yer license t’do as y’please.”
“Bannerman,” Landen began, but Harrys thrust out his hand, palm up, towards the Baroness.
“I’ve got this,” he muttere
d, then remembered to add, “m’lady” without bothering to look at Landen.
Allystaire, meanwhile, muttered to Norbert, “Move to your right. Try to circle around him.”
“I can always shoot the man he’s threatenin’.” Norbert’s muttered reply was almost inaudible, spoken out of the side of his mouth, his lips barely moving. “I’the foot or the leg, I mean. And then…”
“I heal him,” Allystaire replied, startled at the brutal but sensible calculus of Norbert’s suggestion. “I see it, but let this play out a bit longer. If he moves to cut the man, shoot him if you can.”
Meanwhile, Harrys and Donals eyed each other warily, and none of Chaddin or Landen’s men moved in on him.
“Donals,” Landen’s voice rang out. “You’ve proven your guilt. Let the Lord Magistrate’s man go and you’ll be granted a merciful end.”
“Oh, is it Lord Magistrate now? That his idea?” The dirk suddenly pointed at Allystaire, though Donals kept his eyes on Harrys and the dark point of the falchion a few feet away. “You’ve sold out your father and now you make deals with his murderer, elevate bastards over good and loyal men.” Sir Donals’ eyes were wide in a bluff face with a curly red beard, his words half-yelled and half-spat.
“Good n’loyal men don’t go tryin’ t’cut throats when they’re found out,” Harrys said.
“As if you’ve never cut a throat, peasant,” Donals said.
“ENOUGH,” Landen tried to roar, but her voice was a tad too hoarse for it. “Let the man go.”
The rangy, lightly-armored man with two bruised eyes chose that moment to struggle against the arm that levered behind his head, only to get the point of the dagger probing behind his neck.
“Be sensible, Sir Donals,” Chaddin began. “There is no way out that ends well for you.”
“Base-born traitor,” Donals spat back, backpedaling, dragging Chaddin’s soldier with him. “I’ll hear nothing from you, nor from the sorcerer who calls himself a paladin.”
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