by Connie Ward
"That still doesn't explain my access to privileged castle strategies. How would a humble librarian know that Captain Fleurry's next assignment is to take his Tenth and establish an observation post in Pixley? Or that the mercenary captain Roche broke his hip falling dead drunk off his horse and was not wounded in action as claimed in the official report?"
"Is that true?” Sestus demanded.
"Why, yes. I saw it happen. Roche had been up all night drinking cheap wine with his cadre of hardcore hangers-on when—"
"No, no, no. Not that. About Fleurry."
I shrugged. “Hard to say, now. But that's what was said at the last briefing I attended."
"What was your next assignment?"
"I hadn't received new orders at that time. My troops were in barracks for a rest. But I still need a reason explaining why I left the castle."
"A leak was discovered. People began to point fingers at you. They suspected you may have overheard military secrets while dusting books in the next room and had sold them to the Crusaders. In fear for your life you fled, hoping to reach Glanshayda and distant relatives. But you only got as far as the highway, where you were attacked by a gang of bandits ... and you know the rest."
"Might not someone suspect I'm a spy?"
Sestus shook his head. “Not once I explain how I came across you."
It actually sounded as if it might work. “So, I have my disguise. But one other thing troubles me: Ginger. I might be able to fool everyone else but he's a mage. If he suspects I'm lying, he may have a method of extracting the truth from me."
"Ginger is not an easy man to fool, but I have seen no evidence that suggests he possesses that sort of power. Besides, he has bigger things than a fugitive librarian with which to concern himself."
"One other thing, Sestus. Is it possible Ginger may somehow sense my Teki powers, even dormant?"
"It's highly unlikely. You didn't detect my presence back on that hill, did you? And to me you appeared as any other hapless traveller fallen prey to brigands. Unless, of course, you release some tendril of magic. Deliberate or otherwise,” he added pointedly. “If you lose control, if you let it slip out, as you have before, upon the battlefield for instance, he'll catch wind of it and trace it back to you like a bloody Shouda."
"But that's just it, Sestus. I don't know if I can. I have no training, no instruction. I've been stumbling along on my own for so—” An idea occurred. “But you can help me. You can show me."
"What? Oh, no. No, way, little girl.” He started waving his hands back and forth, retreating from me. “I possess just enough magic to keep my sword sharp without the need for a whetstone. I am so not qualified to be your teacher. You need someone more learned in the art of telekinesis than I. I could inadvertently do more damage than good."
"Not a teacher, per se. But a mentor. Someone to guide me."
"No.” Sestus seemed unpleasantly adamant on that point. “I will, however, show you how to repress your powers, to not use them, and without the aid of drugs."
Well, that was better than nothing. Later, with the proper employment of guile and begging, I might get more out him.
"And no one can recognize you as the Gryphon Highlord?"
"None save you. Unless you have a spy in your midst or other ... turncoats,” I added, stumbling over the word.
My last public appearance had been at ten years of age, shortly before Mother's death. Claiming it was for my own protection, Uncle had confined me to the castle and its grounds until his reinstatement of the Gryphon Highlord. From that time on, I viewed the world from behind a helm, from horseback. No Crusader has seen me without full armour.
Sestus considered it. “I am aware of no Royalist deserters or sympathizers in this vicinity. As for spies, it's believed we eradicated them. There is, however, another matter we should address. Once news surfaces of the Gryphon Highlord's disappearance, your arrival here may seem a bit too coincidental for some people's liking."
I shrugged it off. “I don't think we need worry about that. It's my belief Uncle will cover up the entire business. If word got out that I was missing, it would only encourage the Crusaders to search for me. And that is a scenario Uncle will try to prevent at all costs. It would be to Uncle's advantage to let the outlaws and everyone else continue to believe the Gryphon Highlord is retired, but ready to be called into service at any time."
"True enough, Little Red. But often news of such magnitude is nearly impossible to keep under a lid."
We talked well into the night, refining my disguise. Ginger and his fellow Crusaders would have many questions and I could not permit a single slip-up, no matter how minute, for the slightest mistake would arouse suspicion.
I intended to give the Citizens Risen Up to Stand Against a Dread and Errant Regency everything they required to topple Uncle. But that did not mean my betrayal was complete. Come what may, I would not turn on Valleri. Where he was concerned, my lips were sealed. If Valleri honoured his oaths to me, the Crusaders need never know of his existence.
But before Sestus left, as his hand was poised on the door latch, I asked, broaching the subject with him for the first time, “About you and Biddy. I admit I don't know what's happened between you two, but I wonder ... is there no hope for a reconciliation?"
He did not turn around to answer me, saying under his breath, “No, Kathedra. No hope at all."
Hardly a Crusader mantra. But maybe I could fix that.
CHAPTER NINE
I rose swiftly the next morning, anxious to meet the two Crusader captains, and struggled into the clothes Sestus had brought. Tailored to fit the male body, the trousers were too tight in the hips and too baggy in the waist, the latter I fixed with a belt. The shirt I chose was no better, a huge, billowy garment overlong in the sleeves, ranging all the way down to my knees. I pulled on my boots, then stepped into the other room. Sestus awaited me at the table, a meagre breakfast before him.
He gestured me to sit. “You should eat something."
Complying, I helped myself to a pot of sticky oatmeal. “Any sign?"
"Scouts sighted Ginger's party an hour ago. He'll be here soon."
I wolfed down my tasteless breakfast, then reached for the kettle to pour myself a cup of tea, aware of his ardent stare. “What's the matter?"
He smiled. “You're far too pretty, Little Red. Even with a black eye and a bruised jaw. I fear Ginger and Repachea will have trouble believing your story. I would myself, if I had not been the one to come across you."
I do believe I blushed.
"Perhaps you should tie up your hair."
I shook my head so the mass of my hair fell along my purpled jawbone and shadowed my swollen eye. “I admit I'm a vain woman. I'd rather not emphasize my injuries. But maybe you'd like to slap me around some. You know, so I look a little ragged around the edges.” I was being facetious, of course. The next man who thought to brutalize me would soon be a dead one.
Sestus betrayed a crooked smile. “That won't be necessary. I have more than enough witnesses. But I warn you, Repachea has an eye for the ladies."
"And Ginger?"
"Put it this way. Ginger won't waste his time on a pretty face. He won't waste his time, period."
"He sounds like a barrel of fun."
"More like a barrel of determination with a bucket of petulance sitting on top."
"Ahh, I sense an interesting tale."
"Suffice it to say he has a personal grudge to settle with Bertrand. It's his sole purpose in life. He will allow nothing to divert him from that course."
I dropped the subject, unwilling to press Sestus at this time for details. In truth, I had suspected there was more to learn about Ginger, suspected Sestus withheld information. The man was Umagi. That was all I needed to know about him.
The drum of approaching hooves outside interrupted our conversation. A dozen horses, at least. Sestus shot to his feet. “Hurry, Kathedra ... I mean, Ruvie. Damn, I've got to work on that. Wait in the other ro
om. You're something I must tell them myself."
I gulped down my tea with such haste I scalded my tongue, allowing Sestus to push me into my room. I heard the muted sounds of men dismounting beyond the outer door just as mine slammed shut. Intending to eavesdrop, I hovered near.
The Crusaders made a noisy entrance, with much boot stomping and backslapping as everyone greeted one another. Then their voices lowered as they discussed their comrade's fall in Bolta. I strained to catch their words, my ear pressed up to the door, struggling to make sense of the dialogue.
It seemed hours passed before Sestus finally got around to explaining my arrival. A prolonged hush ensued, then the conversation heated up once more as the outlaw leaders uttered their protests. Unable to bear the suspense any longer, I cracked open the door just enough for me to poke my eyeball through. The Crusader nearest me was of medium height, with a slim build and a sweep of raven-dark hair. The other stood with his back to me, taller and a tad broader across the shoulders. Their clothing bore signs of recent battle and a hard, dusty ride.
The dark-haired man had much to say, things like what were they to do with a woman and having an extra mouth to feed, all the while insisting he commiserated with my plight. Sestus countered by pointing out my usefulness, trying to persuade him I was a risk worth taking. As he continued to debate the issue with the first Crusader, the second grew ever more restless yet contributed little to the discussion. Patience deserted me. I yanked open the door.
"Enough."
All three men jumped at my unexpected entrance, then froze, save for the taller man, whose hand flew to his sword hilt as he spun round. My gaze travelled up the length of his arm to his face, where it met the baleful stare of piercing, steel-grey eyes—mage eyes. But that wasn't the worst of it. Long, mink-coloured hair framed angular features, the flesh of which at some previous time had suffered the passage of flame. Patches of red, tautened skin spattered the left side of his face, from cheekbone to chin. Though this disfigurement detracted little from a certain masculine beauty, it came as a shock just the same.
His gaze sharpened at my startled gasp, turned challenging, daring me to look away. But I held my bold stare, unflinching, until his companion spoke.
"Ruvie, I presume?"
I tore my gaze from Ginger to fix it on the speaker. “You presume right."
Repachea leaned against the table, crossed his legs at the ankles, and lifted a hand, stained with dried blood, to rub his tired eyes. “Oh, Sestus. I swear I'm in no mood for this. It's one damned thing after another."
"Bad timing is all,” Sestus sighed.
I glanced at Ginger, still glaring, still clutching his sword hilt, then said to Repachea, “Never mind, captain. I'll make it easy for you. I know when I'm not welcome. Loan me a horse and I'll be on my way. Forget who I am and what I can give you. Perhaps that will improve your mood."
I brushed past him, ignoring his look of astonishment. A transparent bluff, however one I intended to push. For a moment I thought Repachea would call me on it. But just as I reached the door a sword scraped from its scabbard, and Ginger's blade barred my path.
Taking my elbow, Sestus pulled me beyond reach of the mage's sword arm. “Then you're in agreement, Ginger?” he asked.
The mage sheathed his blade with a curt nod.
Sestus turned back to Repachea. “You know we can't cut her loose. If she falls back into Bertrand's hands she can lead him right to us."
Repachea allowed a wan smile. “And why is that, Sestus? Because you can't resist bringing home stray puppies. You know this is a monumental breach of the rules."
"You would have done the same. I know you too well. She can give us information. Give us the edge we need. We'd be fools to dismiss such an opportunity."
"All right. You twisted my arm.” Repachea pushed himself away from the table. “If Ginger agrees, how can I object? But first, we have another matter in need of our attention. Belvemar wants to see you."
Sestus was startled. “Belvemar? You brought him here?"
"We had no choice. The doctor in Bolta could do nothing for him. Our only hope is Biddy. Her herb-lore is his last chance.” He gestured to me and headed for the door. “Bring her."
By the time we reached the tiny infirmary, located in an older section of Idyll's former barracks, Biddy was already there, crouched by a pallet where the injured commander lay. Our entrance did not disturb her, so intent was she in her work. We huddled in the doorway while Sestus and Repachea conversed in hushed tones.
"How bad is he?"
"He should be dead,” Repachea said. “I thought the ride here would kill him. In fact, it would have been a blessing if it had."
"How long does he have?"
"Hard to say. It's an ugly leg wound. He may linger for a week or two if his heart doesn't give out. He lost a lot of blood and infection has set in.” Repachea shrugged. “Like I said, he should be dead. Ginger can do nothing more for him except numb the pain. It's up to Biddy to heal him now. If she can."
"Repachea?” came a shaky voice from the pallet. “Is that an angel you've brought for me?"
"Uh ... not exactly, Belvemar."
"Come. Let me see her for myself."
Glancing my way, Repachea said, “I hope you have a strong stomach."
I thought that was a stupid thing for him to say to me. “I know what horrible things men can do to each other, sir,” I sniffed. “I also know what horrible things they can do to women."
Repachea had the decency to look abashed.
The three of us approached the sickbed with all the enthusiasm of going to the gallows. Ginger hung back, less eager than the rest of us. A man lay on a blood-soaked cot, his face ravaged by lines of pain. He was a big, strong-looking fellow, his hair and beard streaked grey. A little older than Sestus, he was probably fifty-something. Biddy had finished dressing the wound and now applied compresses to his fevered brow. But at our approach he thrust her hand away with surprising strength and offered us a jovial smile, his eyes alive with a not yet failing light.
Lifting an arm, he beckoned me to his side. A conspiratorial smile touched his mouth as his gaze flickered from Sestus to Repachea. “Now, which of you virile, young bucks has been keeping so delicious a secret from old Belvemar, and with good reason?"
Both men chose to overlook the remark. Sestus said, “Her name is Ruvie. She's a refugee from Castle Gryphon."
Belvemar looked at me sidelong, noting my black eye and purple jaw. His expression darkened. “Ruvie's agreed to help us,” Repachea spoke up, forestalling an inquiry. “She has intimate knowledge of the castle and the Royalist offensive strategy."
"She will serve you well, I think. She has ... trustworthy eyes.” He managed a feeble grin. “Of course, that is the opinion of a dying man, delirious with pain and fatigue."
"Don't talk like that,” Sestus chided. “You're not going to die."
Belvemar reached out a hand and Sestus took it in a firm clasp. “Oh, Sestus. I am glad I lived to see you again. It is good to die in the company of my most treasured friends."
Though Sestus struggled for composure in the face of his friend's imminent demise, he could not prevent himself from blurting, “You stupid, old ox. I told you not to go. I begged you. We should leave this to the youngsters, to Repachea and Ginger."
"No.” Letting his hand fall, Belvemar turned his face away with a grimace that could have been one of disdain or pain. “If it is truly my time to die I intend to go out fighting. So I'm a little older, a little slower, but I never wanted to take my last breath in a rocking chair. I deserve a warrior's death."
Biddy returned the compress to his forehead and flashed Repachea a weighty glare, having until now maintained an unusual silence. “I think you should leave now. My patient needs rest."
No one argued, not even Belvemar. Once Sestus and Repachea had made their farewells we retreated, leaving Ginger and Biddy to their tasks.
A sombre trio, we retired to Repachea's qua
rters, just across a breezeway from the hole in the wall I shared with Sestus, where the outlaw leader rummaged through a chest, discarding pieces of clothing until a pile lay at his feet. Sestus and I exchanged a dubious glance. Finally, Repachea found that which he sought and spun around to face us, holding aloft a vintage of wine not seen since my mother's reign.
"I was saving it for a special celebration,” he murmured, caressing the jar. “To share with Belvemar upon our victory. But it seems that is not to be."
He set three goblets on the table and began to pour. He offered the first to me, but at my polite refusal gave it to Sestus. I had yet to be interrogated and I did not need the influence of wine to fuddle my mind.
We sat at the table in silence, waiting, I gathered, for Ginger to rejoin us. I became conscious of Repachea's marvellous blue eyes on me, not so much studious as appreciative. Already his lusty male mind swarmed with ideas. I thought if I appeared cold and indifferent he'd be discouraged.
My aloofness, however, served only to arouse his curiosity. “So, Ruvie? Are you married?"
"Not yet,” I replied, the irony lost on him.
"Ahh, wise girl,” he tsked. “A fate worse than death, I can tell you. I've been married three times myself."
"I hardly think you take marriage seriously then."
He fashioned a grin obviously meant to dazzle me. “Seriously enough to consider a fourth time."
The arrival of the mage spared me further drivel. Sestus asked, “How is he?"
Ginger's only response was a shrug and a tired-sounding grunt.
By way of comfort, Sestus said, “It is enough you can ease his pain."
Repachea threw off his dusty coat and raked a hand through his hair. “Right, then. Let's get this over with."
I had expected a formal and rigorous interrogation, but it was more of a debriefing, as if I were a scout returned from a routine mission. The atmosphere was intimate, relaxed, and might even have been comfortable if not for Ginger's oppressive silence. Repachea did all the talking. His questions, mostly of a personal nature, were endless, referring to my family background and social station in Castle Gryphon, all of which I answered just as Sestus and I had rehearsed.