“Your sister has done nothing to you,” Sergius railed, raising his bony hand, extending a finger of accusation.
“Oh, but she will if you have any say in it. Tell Ravan, Sergius. Tell him about my sister.”
Twenty-Nine
Leo and Jewd were on opposite sides of the road. Leo watched Jewd working rapidly, tying a near invisible line across two trees that flanked the road.
“That’s not going to achieve much.”
“It will when they’re galloping, trust me,” Jewd murmured. “How much time have we got?”
“I can’t see them yet,” Leo replied, rising in the saddle to stare down the slight gradient in the road. “But you know we’ve only won ourselves minutes.”
“Nearly there. Now, the best bit,” Jewd said, winking. He ran further down the road. Leo followed at his side. He’d never seen the trick that the outlaw band called witchflame. Kilt had once explained that they rarely used it, saving it only for times of extreme emergency. When one of our own is in trouble, he had counseled Leo when the king had first stumbled upon the stash of tiny blue paper packets, each formed into a small pyramid.
Jewd seemed to sense that Leo needed an explanation. He gave it as he worked. “We got these from our travels through the northernmost part of Cremond. Kilt and I were returning from a trip to Skardlag. We were still young, you know, and far too reckless for our own good. We came upon an old woman accused of poisoning the local livestock. The people were desperate. Their cattle and sheep were dying daily. They blamed this woman, Meg, because someone had seen her walking through a flock of sheep, and he claimed that three of them fell over and died in her wake. Meg looked like Kilt’s dear old mum so he decided we would save the old girl. It was madness; two of us against a mob. The mayor was a bad sort and had already determined that Meg should hang; we sensed he had a previous grudge with her and this was his revenge. I was terrified but Kilt just marched into the throng, found the mayor and persuaded him that Meg was nothing but a harmless herbalist.”
“And they just forgot about it, just like that?”
Jewd frowned as he put his final blue packet into place. “It was very strange. Kilt explained that it was probably the sheep’s food. Strange blue flowers—a weed—had begun spreading across the north, growing at an alarming rate across the fields and paddocks. Kilt suggested they should put their efforts into helping old Meg find a way to kill the flowers and make the grasses safe again, rather than killing her and watching their animals continue to die, and beggaring themselves.”
“What happened?”
Jewd grinned. “We watched them release Meg. Kilt had suffered the most vicious nosebleed and she offered to staunch it. That’s when we discovered her amazing fire-powder. She gave us a sackload of these packets in thanks for rescuing her. We never saw her again. There, we’re ready.”
“How do we light these things?” Leo asked. “There’s no time to start a fire or—”
Jewd grinned. “That’s the beauty of them. Look closely at the taper. Do you see the red end?”
“Yes.”
“When I give the signal, you scratch that. You’ll ignite a tiny flame that will then burn through the taper. Get out of the way as soon as you see it lit. Understand?”
“Right,” Leo said, enjoying himself immensely despite the danger of what they were about to do.
“Leo.” The king looked up, grinning, but hesitated at Jewd’s serious expression. “If anything goes wrong, you run, all right? No heroics, no settling old scores. We haven’t got you this far to lose you to some lowlife warrior’s blade, do you understand me? These are orders from your elder. King’s rank doesn’t count here.”
“I promise.” Leo glanced down the road as a flash of color caught his eye. “Jewd, they’re coming.”
His friend gave a thumbs-up and put his finger to his lips. “The horses are secured and hidden?” he murmured. Leo nodded. “When it all erupts, you make those arrows sink home. I don’t care if you can’t get a clear shot to kill but we don’t want those soldiers getting up. Remember, aim for the soldiers. The others are not fighters and less of a danger. As soon as you can, grab one of the horses. I’ll get Kilt. I’ll have no time for anything but picking him up. Got it?”
Again Leo nodded. Jewd looked worried but he still found a smile. “Good luck, your majesty. Have fun with your first real chance to strike back at the empire.”
Kilt’s mind was in turmoil. This was the first time since they turned outlaw that he and Jewd had not been together on a task, and he was rueing the decision not to have Jewd at least tail him. He’d been bull-headed, his thoughts so blurred with fear for Lily and his pride so wounded, that he had lost his senses. Working alone like this was madness. It was little wonder he’d found himself in this perilous situation. He had no one to blame but himself for his petulant, arrogant behavior. He was no better than Gavriel de Vis had been long ago, when he’d stomped off away from the group in much the same mood and got himself not only injured but also imprisoned.
Kilt had privately never forgiven himself for losing the young man. In his heart he had admired de Vis for keeping his head through a situation that most well-trained men would have quailed at. Gavriel de Vis had witnessed his own father’s brutal death, had lost his twin brother to who knows what, had also had to live through the ghoulish murders of his king and queen—and all the while he had been responsible for keeping a twelve-anni-old calm and safe. Kilt had never underestimated what Gavriel de Vis had done for the crown; getting the boy-king away from the palace into the relative safety of the forest and then somehow navigating him to the security of Kilt’s camp was a real test of anyone’s mettle, let alone a seventeen anni old. And then you do something petulant and totally stupid, he thought. Over a woman!
Kilt felt an inner voice accuse him of hypocrisy. He felt a spike of humiliation. Not only had he taken the same petulant, stupid course of de Vis, running away from those who kept him safe, but he had also done so over a woman. The same woman! the inner voice reminded him.
“What are you grinning at so wryly, priest?” Stracker asked, interrupting his thoughts.
“Myself.”
“Why?”
“How stupid I’ve been to end up here…with you.” It didn’t sound like something a man of Lo might say but Kilt no longer cared. And it seemed neither did Stracker, who smiled back at him.
“Not enjoying the ride, eh?” Stracker baited.
“Not one bit of it, least of all the company.”
“Look at it this way, priest. Your mother’s probably dead by now so your sister’s presence is no longer essential. Plus, as you haven’t seen her in anni, it wouldn’t matter if she were dead too.” His green tatua moved on one side of his face as he lifted a lip in a cruel smirk.
Kilt stared at the general. “One day I’ll make you regret saying that.”
Stracker made a tutting sound. “Threats of violence. And from a man of Lo. Shame on you, priest.”
Kilt knew Stracker had probably seen through his disguise right away, but at least the general had no idea of his true identity. The problem was, he couldn’t use his advantage because none of his own men knew where he was. And on top of that, his secret was in danger of being discovered…he couldn’t risk that again, not yet. He was so out of practice, too; using his gift felt clumsy and cumbersome. He never thought he would have to consider its presence again, but now, in the space of a day, he had called on it twice. Would it ever leave again?
Kilt twisted in the saddle, trying to distance himself from the still sneering general, when a sound like a thousand thunderclaps exploded on his right, blue flames erupting from the trees. The horses screamed and reared. Kilt was aware of Vulpan falling off his horse, and an arrow striking a nearby soldier in the chest. He was struggling to wrestle his horse under control when a second explosion sounded to the left and this time all the horses panicked as one. Kilt definitely saw a second guard go down, an arrow pointing out of his chest, a
nd suddenly everything fell into place. Jewd was here! Lo bless his disobedient but loyal heart. And Jewd would need his horse.
Pandemonium ensued and he lost his sense of direction as the horse twisted beneath him, smoke all around them. As Kilt struggled to maintain his grip on the reins, Stracker’s ugly face leered out of the smoke. He was growling something unintelligible and then he was grabbing for Kilt’s reins. Kilt tried to fight him off but the general was much stronger and a far more able horse man, than he. Leaning forward, Straker slapped Kilt’s horse’s rump and the animal leaped forward in a freshly panicked gallop. Kilt could see Stracker in front of him as they cleared the smoke, the general dragging Kilt’s horse by its reins. It was all Kilt could do to keep his seat.
“You’re coming with me, priest!” Stracker howled.
Kilt could hear Vulpan’s high pitched-shrieks and hoped one of the arrows would hit home, into his throat, and end the vile man’s life. He could see nothing over his shoulder, bent low like this as he gripped the horse’s mane. Without reins he felt helpless. He looked toward the general and was surprised to see that Stracker was suddenly no longer in front of him. And then he too was falling.
Leo’s heart was hammering but he was proud that although internally he was churning, his arms and legs still obeyed him calmly. Jewd’s witchflame had been ignited first and Leo had counted dutifully to twenty before he ignited his own. Without pausing to watch its effects, he had emerged from behind the large tree and loosed his arrows with calm efficiency. The smoke had hampered his aim but he knew one guard had taken a shot high in his chest and would be unlikely to live to tell the tale. Another had got an arrow embedded in his leg and he hoped that the third might have been fatally wounded, though he couldn’t be sure.
He despised himself for not aiming for General Stracker—but he couldn’t see the general and Jewd had urged him to get as many soldiers out of contention as possible. Now he was running toward one of the loose horses. From the corner of his eye he saw two people bolting, and although one was definitely Stracker, he couldn’t tell if the other was Kilt.
He could hear his own breath, was aware of his steps thumping over the grass. He crashed through the low hedge-row and grasped for the panicked horse’s reins. Its eyes were wide and terrified.
Suddenly the Wikken stumbled through the clearing smoke, blinking and cursing. Without thinking, Leo dragged Faeroe from its scabbard and slashed the sword across the helpless man. The raised purple tatua on the man’s face twisted in a snarl of pain and disbelief as blood spurted, hitting Leo. He watched the man go down, threw Faeroe back into the scabbard and then fled, pulling the horse behind. He didn’t look back, didn’t dare glance at the carnage.
In the woodland, his and Jewd’s horses were waiting for him, dragging against their bindings, equally panicked. Leo sucked in gasps of air and finally turned, three beasts in tow, casting a prayer to Lo that Jewd was right behind him with Kilt.
Jewd had desperately wanted to finish off Stracker. The general was pinned beneath his horse, struggling and cursing; the line they’d tied across the road had worked perfectly. Jewd’s sword was ready, itching to hack at the prone man’s throat before he could release himself from the thrashing animal, but another man emerged from the smoke, running hard at him, ignoring the arrow sticking out of his leg, not even pausing to break it in half.
Jewd cursed the strength and resilience of the Steppes people but had no alternative but to deal with the wounded guard. He caught a glimpse of Leo in the background, leaping into the fray of men, horses and smoke, but had to give his attention to his own attacker. Kilt was somewhere on the ground near his feet, unmoving.
“Kill him!” Stracker screeched at his soldier. “Or I’ll kill you!”
Jewd had no intention to fight honorably—this was battle in the least noble sense. Kicking out with his long leg he connected expertly with the arrow sticking out of the man’s flesh and the guard predictably doubled in surprised pain.
“Brave but stupid!” Jewd roared and brought his sword down in a vicious hack, killing the man instantly.
He looked up and though he couldn’t see Leo he could see Vulpan emerging from the stinging smoke. Stracker had nearly pulled himself free of the dead or dying beast that lay on top of him. Jewd knew he had only seconds. “You’ll keep for another day, Stracker,” he warned, yanking Kilt’s body up and heaving it onto his shoulders.
“And I know you now, big man. Consider yourself marked!”
Vulpan had collapsed to his knees, coughing and spluttering. Jewd risked a solid kick to Stracker’s temple and felt satisfaction at the thud. Stracker’s eyes glazed over. Settling Kilt’s body into a better position across his shoulders, Jewd took off running toward the meeting place.
He caught sight of Leo’s back disappearing into the woodland and sent a quick thanks to Lo that the king had been spared; as it was, Kilt would be furious that he had put the king’s life in jeopardy. He couldn’t think about that now, though; not until he knew whether his best friend had survived.
“Here!” Leo yelled as they approached, holding out the reins. “Thank Lo you got him.”
“After all that, he can’t even sit a horse! Get on your saddle and ride!” Jewd yelled, slinging Kilt across his own horse. He climbed up behind him and urged his beast on its way. “We go as high as we can on horse back, Leo, then on foot. They’ll never catch us if we can make it deep into the forest.”
He could hear voices shouting in the distance.
“Ride, your majesty! Just go north. Don’t look back!”
Thirty
Loethar galloped up and leaped off his horse as soon as he could make out the prone bodies in the distance. As he arrived he counted three soldiers dead alongside Shorgan. His fury rose. Ahead, Vulpan and Stracker sat at the side of the road. Loethar almost wished that whomever was responsible for this killing had included his half-brother in the body count.
Vulpan struggled to his feet and then bowed. Stracker sighed. “What are you doing here, brother?”
“Lucky for you I am. What occurred?”
“An ambush,” Stracker growled. “They were after the priest.”
“Get up, Vulpan,” Loethar said. “Are you injured?”
“My eyes sting and I’ve hurt a shoulder,” the Vested replied.
“How about you, Stracker?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve just got a sore head from a giant’s boot. I’ll see his big body swing from the gallows soon.”
“Tell me what occurred,” Loethar said, reaching for his water bag and offering it. “How long ago?”
“Long enough,” Stracker said, gulping water, “that it’s pointless giving chase.”
“Where are your horses?”
“Bolted, my lord,” Vulpan replied, clearly desperate to be part of the dialogue. He looked longingly at the water bag that Stracker hogged. “The explosions caused them to panic.”
“Explosions?”
Stracker nodded. “Our attackers set off fire and loud noise on either side of the road, causing lots of stinging smoke. An archer took out the soldiers. I presume the same man killed Shorgan, though he died from a sword cut. I managed to get away with the prisoner but only as far as here. See the twine over there?” he asked, pointing.
Loethar squinted at the tree. “Another old trick.”
“I was pinned beneath my horse long enough that they could get the priest. I hope he’s dead. He certainly looked to be.”
“Who is this priest? Who would set up an ambush to retrieve him from you?”
“I’m asking myself the same thing,” Stracker growled. “There were only two of them by my reckoning but they were good. Fast, ruthless. These were not peasants trying to rescue a priest. These were well-trained men, adept at ambush. They headed straight for the woods, even though it would have been much faster for them to ride straight down here and lose themselves at the next parting of the roads.”
“But they chose the harder,
slower route. Because it could hide them, presumably,” Loethar finished.
“One of them is carrying a man on his back. Granted, he was a big fellow but he’s going to be moving slowly all the same once they get off those horses. The animals won’t be able to go very much higher.”
Loethar looked up, his gaze narrowing. “Tell me about the priest.”
“Vulpan knows him better than I do.”
Vulpan straightened. Rubbing gingerly at his shoulder he told his emperor all he knew of Pastor Jeves.
“A man of magic?” Loethar queried.
“That’s what I tasted, my lord,” Vulpan replied, slightly defensively.
“So he is Vested, chasing his sister who is Vested, who is married to the man we know as Kirin, who is also Vested and just happened to be traveling with Freath, who is now dead.”
“That’s the sum of it, brother,” Stracker said, hauling himself shakily to his feet. “We have to find the horses. Bah, but my head hurts.”
Loethar began to pace. Vulpan licked his parched lips, reaching for the cast-aside water sack, while Stracker ignored them both.
“This was no priest,” Loethar said.
Stracker laughed. “Why do you think I was taking him north? I didn’t trust him for a moment.”
Vulpan suddenly spat out water.
Both men turned. “What’s got into you?” Stracker demanded.
“Oh, Lo! My lord, forgive me.”
Loethar frowned. “Well, speak up, man. What’s wrong?”
“I…” Vulpan hesitated, wide-eyed and clearly frightened.
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