"I represent His Majesty Arian, no other, and I have a summons for you," Ragnar paused, "Sir Sullay."
Sullay's face reddened. "Just because the king chooses to drape a lowborn cur with the livery and chains of office doesn't make you magistrate. If the king really supported this travesty, he would have sent more men, led by a noble commander. I'll only accept a summons from a highborn hand, not the dirty paw of a peasant."
"Is that so?" I asked. Sullay backed away, several men around him fitting arrows to bowstrings. "Tell your men to put down their weapons."
"Why?" Sullay sneered. "Do they unsettle you?"
"Only for them. I'd hate for them to meet the same fate as their comrade Jestin," I said quietly. The men glanced at each other, one by one putting down their bows. I couldn't imagine they had enough loyalty to Sullay to risk their lives for him--most of them were peasants.
"Cowards!" Sullay yelled, and a few of the men reached for their bows again. "You don't lower your weapons until I say--any man who fails to raise his bow again and shoot when I say shoot will be thrown off the premises without pay."
They all obeyed, but I noticed they aimed their arrows far from Ragnar or me. I reached up, Ragnar handing me the summons as if we'd rehearsed this beforehand. "You said you would only accept this from the hand of a nobleman, so here you are," I said, stepping forward and holding out the scroll to Sullay.
He snatched it from me and promptly ripped it to shreds that fluttered to the ground. Then he spat upon them.
"I take it this is the response you wish me to deliver to His Majesty Arian?" Ragnar asked with admirable restraint.
Sullay glanced from Ragnar to me, his mouth twisted in a sneer over his yellowed teeth. I had always thought he resembled a vulture with his bald spot surrounded by a ring of hair straggles, but right now, he resembled a murderous rat, his eyes angry, narrow gleams as they met mine. He drew his forefinger across his neck then, the same gesture Peregrine had made at Esme's welcoming ceremony, and I knew then, my heart faltering, that Peregrine had set this up. He knew what he had said in the council chamber about Sullay only accepting the summons from a highborn hand would be an irresistible challenge to me. I had never been able to refrain from testing my own mettle, and it would be my downfall. Caught in the madness of rage, Sullay was Peregrine's tool to kill me.
"Shoot!" Sullay snarled. "I said shoot!" he roared when his men still hesitated.
Grabbing the back of the saddle, I scrambled up behind Ragnar. Ragnar leaned over the pommel, urging his horse into a gallop. I gripped the poor creature tightly between my knees and hung on for dear life as we careened past the outbuildings and house. The horse's flanks were slippery with sweat. The squeal of Sullay's fury reached my ears, and I glanced back. The men were lowering their bows and backing away from him as he ranted. Suddenly Sullay lunged and wrested the bow and arrow from the man standing nearest to him. Then he raised the bow and took aim . . .
I lurched against Ragnar's back and almost fell off the horse. My left arm tightened around his middle. My right arm felt strangely weak, almost limp. It was as if someone with fists the size of hams had punched my right shoulder from behind. Sharp pain stabbed me, and I glanced back to see the white-feathered fletching of an arrow shaft bobbing up and down.
"I'm hit," I tried to shout, but the words came out in a ragged whisper. I could barely breathe--the throbbing ache radiated through my chest, jarred to agony each time the horse's hooves hit the ground. I closed my eyes and leaned forward as if to escape the arrow, but moving just made it worse. I yelled then, a wordless scream. My mind could hold no thought beyond the scarlet flash of searing pain.
"God damn those fools," Ragnar cursed. I heard him dimly, as if over the roar of a waterfall. "Hang on, Merius."
My stomach clenched. I opened my eyes just enough to see where we were. The road was a brown blur under us. The sunlight fell through the foliage in painful bursts that made the scarlet in my head whirl like a pinwheel. Its shimmering movement filled my field of vision until all I could see was the color red, bright as heart's blood. I groaned and leaned against Ragnar's back--he and the horse seemed the only solid objects in this world of sickening red.
Chapter Thirteen--Mordric
Torana Province, Middle Cormalen
July, 3 years ago
"Something's wrong with Merius," Safire murmured as she stared out the coach window at the town of Holly Hedge, a large village in southeastern Torana Province on the banks of the Salom River. King Arian had moved the seat of the magistrate's headquarters here early in his reign so that it was less than a day's ride from court. There had been a fight in the council chamber at the time--magistrate headquarters traditionally were located in the middle of the provinces. We had only given in when Arian promised lower taxes. He wanted all his magistrates close, yet another sign of the monarchy trying to tighten its grip over the provinces. My fingers curled into fists. No, Cormalen would never become like Sarneth, not as long as I or Merius drew breath. No weak nobility and absolutist king for us.
After Safire had told me yesterday what Merius planned, I gathered together Selwyn, Randel, Lem Rivers, and Ebner. I asked Lem and Ebner to help Randel and Selwyn in my absence and made them aware that Merius had gone with Ragnar to deliver the magistrate summons to Sullay. I knew Lem would pass this information along to the other tenants, which hopefully would settle their unease and give them reason to trust us again, since they would see we backed our words with action. Of course, it was an action that could get that hothead Merius killed. I cursed softly and wished I had Sullay here so I could wring his skinny vulture neck. Damn him and his idiocy. Other estates might have restless tenants, small peasant uprisings even, but we Landers labored hard to keep our people's trust and good will, and for that blackguard to jeopardize it with his bloodthirsty greed . . .
"Something's wrong with Merius," Safire repeated as if I hadn't heard her the first time. She turned from the window, her hand over her belly.
"Of course something's wrong with Merius, the same thing that's always been wrong with him. The fool can't follow orders to save his life," I snapped. Then I regretted my hasty retort as Safire's head sagged. She started to cry.
"He's in pain--I can feel it," she hiccupped as she rubbed the back of her right shoulder.
"You're just tired, Safire. You should have stayed home."
She blew her nose. "I couldn't stay home. What if he's injured? You may need my talents."
Her shadowed eyes and pallid fragility bespoke a night of no sleep, and I cursed myself for agreeing to let her come along. Of course, I couldn't leave her. Knowing her, she would have slipped away on her own somehow and gotten in the middle of the fray. At least this way I could keep an eye on her. She was right in one respect--if Merius was injured, her skills might make the difference between life and death. The narrow scar over my heart gave a brief twinge, and I grimaced.
"So where is he right now?"
She pursed her lips and stared up at the ceiling of the coach for several minutes, seemingly in a trance. I recalled how I had awoken at dawn to find her muttering to herself, her eyes glassy in the grayish light. Then she had suddenly looked at me, and I couldn't help but jump a little, though I should have been used to the witch's antics by now. 'Merius and Ragnar are on the road to Sullay's estate, and I just lied to him,' she had announced. Then she frowned. 'I'm getting better at lying to him, even in our shared thoughts. I don't like it.' I had shaken my head. 'Get used to it. He's impossible sometimes unless you lie to him,' I had told her before I tried to doze off again.
Her gasp and then squeal jerked me back to the present. "What is it?" I demanded. Her face had gone white, and she clutched her shoulder, rocking back and forth in the seat.
"There's an arrow in his shoulder," she said through gritted teeth. "It feels like it's lodged against his collarbone, maybe even cracked it."
"Could be much worse," I said, thanking God it was in the shoulder and not the gut or
lung. "Where is he?"
"On the road near here, I think. His horse must have been hurt--he and Ragnar are on the same horse."
"Damn Sullay," I muttered. "Damn him to hell."
Safire gulped air and then leaned forward, coughing violently. "Here now, you have to block Merius," I said, reaching for her shoulder. "Damn it, Safire, do it for the babe if not yourself."
She straightened, then nodded, her hand fisted over her mouth. Finally, she exhaled. "I managed to take away some of his pain at least," she gasped. "How dare they shoot like that--Ragnar is only doing what his office demands of him."
"I don't know, sweet." I sighed. "Sullay pulled himself up by his bootstraps from the gutters and became one of the highest ranking merchants at court through underhanded means, so although he's always been a knave, he hasn't always been a fool. But I think he resents his humble origins to the point it's driven him a bit mad."
The coach rumbled to a stop then, and a moment later, the driver himself opened the door. "You said magistrate's quarters, sir?"
I nodded and handed him a pouch of silver as I stepped down to the cobbles. "Thank you for your speed." Instead of using the Landers coach and taking away Ebner when the estate needed him, I had hired a crossroads coach and four yesterday afternoon. The man had been as good as his word and stopped three times to exchange the team for fresh horses at the various coach stations, a great expense but the only way to insure we reached here this morning instead of this evening or even tomorrow. "I'll require your services for the return journey," I continued to the driver as I helped Safire down from the coach.
"Of course, sir. I'll get a fresh team and meet you back here in two hours."
Safire and I walked through the gate and into the courtyard of the headquarters. A guardsman, a tall, bearded man perhaps in his mid-thirties, limped forward. "May I ask your business here?"
I showed him my seal ring. "When did my son and Ragnar leave?"
He squinted at the sun, just now peeping over the edge of high wall. "Let's see, sir. If it's about nine o'clock now, maybe five hours ago?"
"They should be back anytime then. Do you have a horse I could borrow?" Given Safire's certainty that Merius was injured, I wanted to ride out to meet him and Ragnar on the road.
The guardsman shook his head. "Sir Merius's steward and the other guards needed the horses to escort Ragnar's family to Landers Hall. Sir Sullay's made some threats, you see . . ."
"I understand." I noticed Safire swaying a bit, as if she felt faint. "Do you have provisions? We haven't had breakfast. If they're not here in a half hour, I can hire a horse."
"Follow me, sir, my lady." He tipped his head in Safire's direction.
"Thank you."
We heard the uneven clatter of hooves on the cobbles about twenty minutes later, just as I ate my fourth sausage and Safire started on her second cup of tea and honey. The saucer almost shattered as she slammed the cup down and raced for the doorway.
I quickly followed. Ragnar and the guard who had greeted us stood in the courtyard, their arms raised as they tried to help Merius dismount. "Ragnar, stop. Leave him be," I said as I strode past Safire. She had her head bowed, one hand clutched to her right shoulder, the other over her face. Any onlookers would think she was either praying or crying, but I knew she was likely trying to ease Merius's pain somehow.
Ragnar heard my command, his hands poised in midair as he looked at me. "We have to help him--he's been injured."
"I can see that." I glanced at the arrow protruding from Merius's shoulder. Blood had stained the white feathers of the fletching red, indicating the arrow was at a slight downward slant. Someone on the ground must have shot him while he and Ragnar rode away. I shook my head. "I'll see Sullay hang for this," I muttered. Louder, I said, "How close is the nearest blacksmith?"
"Not far--near the stables on High Street."
Merius angled his droopy head in my direction, his eyes half-lidded and bleary, the appearance of someone either drunk or in a great deal of pain. "Good morn, Father." Then his gaze lit on Safire, his eyes widening. "What the hell? She's supposed to be at home. Get over here, wife." Safire choked a sob and pushed between Ragnar and the guard, who both stepped aside as she reached up, her fingers closing around Merius's hand.
"Can your horse make it to the blacksmith?" I looked critically at the gelding's brown coat, turned black in spots with the sheen of sweat, the spots of foam near his mouth and bit, the way he kept lifting his back hoof as if it pained him. "He looks like you rode him lame."
"Sullay's men shot Merius's horse out from under him, and then when his men refused to follow his orders, Sullay went mad and shot at us himself. We had to get out of there in a hurry," Ragnar said. The guard had gone to the small pump in the middle of the courtyard and returned with a bucket of water. The horse lowered his head and began to drink. Merius swayed a little at the movement and gripped the pommel with his left hand. "I think the horse could make it--it's not far," Ragnar finished, watching as Safire touched her lips to Merius's knuckles.
"All right then--do you have linen to dress a wound, a sheet we can rip to make a sling, an unopened bottle of whiskey? The blacksmith may not have those things, and we'll need them."
Ragnar nodded, understanding now what I intended. "Of course." He trotted off toward the doorway, his guard following him. I stepped toward the horse, and Merius raised his head, our eyes meeting.
"Don't say it, Father, at least not yet," he mumbled.
I folded my arms across my chest. "I'm never saying it again. There's no point. I've warned you time and again not to be so reckless, and you never heed me. Now you have an arrow in your back that barely missed puncturing your lung or heart, and you won't heed that either, I'll warrant."
The ass shook his head and actually chuckled before he groaned--apparently shaking his head made his shoulder hurt more. "Dear heart, we need to get you down from there so I can help you," Safire said.
Merius looked at her in an unblinking way that made me shift my weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable. I had hoped their little separation would make them less star struck and more practical with each other, but no such luck. Both of them were impossible.
Then Merius opened his mouth, his words an utter shock to my cynical sensibilities. "Love, you can't heal me. Not this time, not unless it's necessary to save my life. I have to show my wounds to the king and council as evidence of Sullay's criminal arrogance."
Had I heard him right? I knew him capable of political cunning when he put his mind to it, but it hadn't even occurred to me yet to use his injury in such a calculating way at court. What had happened to him? He used to be so impractical, almost as bad as Safire. He still had his moments--that glider for one--but I realized suddenly that he had matured far more than I had given him credit for over the last year. I looked at Safire then, the pregnant swell of her middle, her large, spooky eyes, her slightly crazed wildness, and then it dawned on me. She had done it to him. He'd had to become more practical so he could look out for her. I had dreaded many outcomes from their union--mayhem, witch children, the downfall of the Landers--but I had never foreseen this.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The blacksmith turned out to be a huge bear of a man who grunted "Tad" when I asked him his name. I uncorked Ragnar's whiskey and set it near the furnace. I let Merius drain the contents of my hip flask before we helped him strip off his ruined doublet and shirt. Then, wincing with every movement, he lay facedown on a long trestle table near the blacksmith's roaring furnace, his left arm clasped tightly around the edge of the table, a linen wrapped piece of wood clenched between his teeth. His right arm hung limply over the edge.
"My lady Safire, shouldn't you wait outside?" Ragnar suggested, his brow furrowing.
Safire lifted her chin, white-lipped. "No, though thanks for your concern." She rested her hand on Merius's shoulder and crouched so that she could whisper in his ear.
"Tad, you're by far the strongest--you'd bette
r pull it out," I said. "The shaft is pointing slightly downwards, so if you stand on this side by his waist, that should put you at the correct angle."
"Shouldn't we cut the shaft and push it through?" Ragnar asked. "That's what I've seen done. If Tad gets the angle even slightly wrong . . ."
I shook my head. "The tip seems to have lodged against his collarbone."
"Oh--I see what you mean."
I put on my gauntlets, hoping the leather was thick enough to protect my palms from the heat. "After Tad pulls it out, I'll handle the next part."
The blacksmith's two journeymen and the magistrate's guards circled the table with Tad, Ragnar, and me. Ragnar and the other men pressed down on Merius's legs and back. Tad drew a deep breath and gripped the arrow shaft with surprising gentleness, considering his profession and size. I forced myself to keep my eyes open as he yanked the arrow out. Merius bucked, his scream muffled by the piece of wood in his mouth. Blood spurted from the wound, and I could only pray the arrow had missed his major vessels. It would be a miracle if he ever recovered full use of his right arm--he'd already broken it twice, and now this . . . Tad stepped back, and I took his place. It was best to let the wound bleed a minute in the hope that the flow would carry out any dirt or cloth from Merius's shirt. Merius's whole body shook, his shoulders heaving as he sucked air through his nose. I picked up the open bottle then, poured whiskey over the wound, and flinched as Merius yelled again.
Then, bracing myself, I reached for thin iron rod resting in heat of the forge. Sweat ran down my forehead and into my eyes, and cursing, I swiped my hand over my brow. I found myself trembling and quickly imagined the rod in my hand was a sword, that I was in a fight for Merius's life and had to aim the blade tip in just the right place and at just the proper angle to kill my opponent. The trembling stilled, and I took a deep breath. I had to do this--I didn't trust anyone else's muscles to remain as steady as mine. The men's arms strained as they tightened their grip on my son. I carefully poised the red hot rod over the wound and eased it in. Merius groaned and then went limp in a dead faint. The wood fell out of his mouth and clattered to the floor. The sweet charred stench of sizzling blood and flesh filled the chamber, and dimly, I heard Safire gagging.
Phoenix Ashes (The Landers Saga Book 3) Page 29