Wind whipped at the curtains, sending their hems fluttering over the bed. Andy-Andy pulled the covers aside.
"Well, well." He raised an eyebrow. "Andy, what do—"
"Shh." She shook her head slowly. "Don't say anything." She pulled her robes over her head, tossed them aside, and stood naked in front of him. "Your turn."
He returned her smile, pulled off his shirt, and stooped to unlace his sandals.
Ellegon's roar cut through the night. * . . . assassins,* his distant voice said. *With crossbows, dragonbane . . . *
Karl could barely hear the dragon. Where? he thought, trying to shout with his mind.
The mental voice cleared. *Better. Werthan's farm. They have taken the house, but they aren't planning on staying inside. I'll have to get closer to read them better.*
"You said they had dragonbane. Get the hell up in the sky. I want you on high sentry. Do not get within range of the bows. How many of them are there?" And what the hell was wrong with the wards? They should have picked up the assassins' healing draughts, even if they weren't carrying anything else magical.
*They don't have any healing draughts—and dragonbane isn't magical. It just interferes with the magical parts of my metabolism.*
Never mind that. How many of them are there?
*Three. I couldn't get much out of their minds, but they're headed this way.*
"Ihryk!" he shouted. "Unlock the guncase and get me two pistols. Move." He saw that Andy-Andy was already struggling back into her clothes. "Chak! To me!"
He turned to his wife. "We'll play it just like a drill, beautiful," he said, forcing a calm voice to come out of his throat. "You get the children into the cellar."
Andy-Andy was capable of giving him a hard time, but not in this sort of situation; she dashed for Jason's room.
Karl ran to the top of the stairs. "U'len, bring the maids; I'll send the stableboy and Pendrill."
Until and unless he knew better, Karl was going to assume that the assassins were after him; the first thing to do was to see to the safety of his family and servants.
At the bottom of the stairs, Chak had already retrieved Karl's saber as well as his own falchion. He tossed the scabbarded sword up to Karl, then gave a quick salute with his falchion. "You have a better second in mind?"
Karl was about to answer, but a shout from outside interrupted him.
"Karl! It's Ahira. I have Lou and Kirah with me."
Karl ran down the stairs and swung the door open. The three of them were half naked, although Ahira had his battleaxe clutched firmly in his hands.
"Get in here—move it. Kirah, help Andy get the kids to the cellar. Ahira and Lou, get down there. Chak, you go with them. I'm going to take Tennetty, if she's available, or go it alone."
"But—"
"My family comes first. I'm counting on you and Ahira to keep them safe for me. I need to worry about my own neck."
Chak opened his mouth to protest, then shrugged. "Yes, Karl. Nobody will get past me."
The dwarf nodded grimly. "Understood." Handing his battleaxe to Chak, he helped Andy and Kirah usher the three sleepy-eyed children down the stairs to the basement.
Karl paused to think. Reinforcements, that was the first order of business, but the New House was between where Ellegon reported the assassins were and where Daven's encampment was. Not good.
Ellegon—where's Tennetty?
*She'll be outside in a moment. She plans on having Carrot saddled for you.*
"Good. I want Daven's team surrounding this house. Light bonfires. Nothing and nobody gets inside until you sound the all-clear."
*On my way.* The dragon's mental voice began to fade in the distance.
"Wait—this all could be a feint. After you alert Daven, I want you to fly a spiral search pattern."
*Over the whole valley? That will take—*
"Just do it. Then back to high sentry over the assassins, but not until you're sure that we're clear."
*I believe that the three of them are alone—*
Ellegon—
*But I hear and obey. Luck.*
Ihryk arrived with two pistols from the downstairs weapons case, plus a beltpack containing powder, bullets, and swatches for bullet patches.
Karl nodded his thanks as he belted on his saber, tucking the pistols in his belt. He'd better get outside immediately and let his eyes begin to adjust to the dark. He glanced down at his naked chest, drawstring jeans, and open-toed sandals. Not a good idea. His scabbarded sword in his hand, he ran for the door and up the stairs to his bedroom.
He stripped quickly in the dim light of the overhead glowsteel, then dressed himself in black suede trousers and a black wool shirt, drew a black wool half-hood over his head, pulled on his steel-toed boots, belted on his sword, and ran down the stairs.
* * *
The barn was less than a hundred yards from the New House; Pirate, Tennetty's usual mount, stood properly ground-hitched in the light drizzle.
Despite everything, he almost laughed. Pirate was a snow-white mare, her sole marking a black patch over right eye—sort of a horsy equivalent of Tennetty, although Pirate's patch was only a marking.
He stepped inside the barn. Assisted by sleepy-eyed Pendrill and the stableboy, Tennetty had already bridled Carrot and slipped a horse blanket onto the chestnut mare's back.
Karl jerked his thumb toward the house. "Both of you, get into the cellar, and tell Ahira I said to bar the door. Run."
As Pendrill and the stableboy exited the barn at a trot, Karl took his western-style saddle down from the rail and saddled Carrot, matching his strength against the mare's as he pulled the cinch tight, then tucked the pistols into the top of his pants before he slipped his scabbarded sword into the boot and lashed it into place.
He felt very much alone. There were three of the others, and unless he wanted to wait for reinforcements, it would be only him and Tennetty facing them. Not that he despised Tennetty's or his own skills, but three against two was not good odds, not when the three could be waiting in the bushes for the two. Too bad Slovotsky wasn't here; this was definitely Walter's sort of party.
"Chak?" she asked.
"With the family."
"Good." Tennetty nodded. "I wish Slovotsky were here," she said, as though she were reading Karl's mind. "Do we wait and pick up some of Daven's crew?"
His first inclination was to say no, but he caught himself. "What do you think?"
She shook her head as he led Carrot out of the barn and onto the dirt of the yard. "I don't like working with new people. Daven's may be good, but we're not used to them. And in the dark? They'd just as likely shoot us as them. Besides," she said, patting her saddlebags, "if any of Werthan's family are still alive, they might need some healing draughts, and soon. I say go."
He pulled himself to Carrot's back and settled the reins in his left fist. "We go." He dug in his heels; Carrot cantered over to the back porch, where Ihryk stood, waving at him.
"Karl, you said to get into the cellar, but—"
"Your family." Karl nodded. "If Ahira can't handle things here, you won't matter much. Take one of the horses."
Tennetty kicked Pirate into a full gallop; Karl spurred Carrot to follow.
The east road led directly toward Werthan's farm; they galloped side by side down the muddy road, the drizzle soaking them down to the skin, rain and wind whispering through the cornfields.
No, he thought. This didn't make sense. An ambush wasn't a strategy Karl and his people had a patent on. If he was going to set up an ambush for someone moving between Werthan's farm and the New House, he'd set it up along the road. No guarantee that the assassins weren't at least that minimally clever.
"Wait," he called out, pulling Carrot to a halt. He wiped the rain from his face and shook his head to clear the water from his hair.
Tennetty braked Pirate fifteen yards ahead, then waited for him to catch up.
"We can't stay on the road—we're too vulnerable. This way." He urg
ed Carrot off the road and into the fields, Tennetty following. It would slow them down; the horses couldn't move as quickly between the rows of corn and across the wheat fields as they could on the road. But galloping full-speed into a hail of crossbow bolts would slow them down even more.
* * *
Less than fifteen minutes later, they were within sight of Werthan's one-room farmhouse.
Light still burned through the greased-parchment windows, but everything was deathly still. Even the normal night sounds were gone; all Karl could hear was the panting of the two horses and the thudding of his own heart.
He vaulted from Carrot's back, landing clumsily on the soft, wet ground.
Tennetty dismounted next to him. "Do you think they're still inside?" she asked in a low whisper. "Damn silly way to run an assassination."
"It won't be so damn silly if you and I are stupid enough to knock on the door and walk in. No chances; we'll assume they're inside, maybe with one hidden outside, on guard."
"And if that's not the way it is?"
"If they're not, we'll work out what to do next. Right now I want your cooperation, not your temperament."
He untied his scabbard and slipped it out of the saddle boot. "Keep your blade sheathed—got to watch out for light flashes." He'd hold his scabbarded sword in his left hand, a pistol in his right. If necessary, he could fire the pistol, drop it, then draw his sword in little more than a second, tossing the scabbard aside. Much faster than the time it would take to draw a sword by reaching across his waist.
Tennetty went to Pirate and took saddlebags down. She slung them over her shoulder, lashing them tightly against her chest with leather thongs.
Karl dropped Carrot's reins carefully to the ground and stepped on them. "Stay, girl," he said, then beckoned at Tennetty to follow as he walked away in a half-stoop, dropping to his belly and crawling when he reached the edge of the fields.
They worked their way around to the back of the house, and waited there, crouched silently on the hard dirt, listening.
Werthan didn't have a proper barn, just a smaller shack that served as a toolshed and chicken coop. Whatever had happened in the house hadn't left the chickens awake.
Tennetty pressed her lips against his ear. "Do you know the layout inside?"
"No. Do you?"
She shook her head. "Sorry."
"Then I'll take it." He handed her both of his pistols and slipped his saber from its scabbard, laying the scabbard gently on the ground. In the cramped quarters of the shack, a sword would be a better weapon than a pistol. The pistols would be more useful in Tennetty's hands.
"Work your way around to the front, then make some noise—nothing too obvious. I'll move when you do. If I need your help, I'll call out—otherwise, stay outside. But if I kick anyone out the front door or window, he's yours."
She nodded and started to rise.
He grasped her shoulder. "Watch your back—they may not be inside."
Tennetty shook his hand off. "You do your job, I'll do mine."
* * *
Karl stood next to the rear window, waiting. The shack could easily be a trap, but so what? Let it; let the trappers become the trapped.
Tennetty was taking her own sweet time. She should be making some—
Crack!
The snap of a twig sent him into action; he kicked open the rear door and then moved to one side and dove through the greased-parchment window.
He landed on his shoulder on the dirt floor and bounced to his feet, his sword at the ready.
All his precautions were unnecessary. Nobody was in the shack.
Nobody living. The room stank of death.
Karl forced himself to look at the three bodies clinically. Werthan lay on his back, staring blindly at the ceiling, the fletching of a crossbow bolt projecting from the left side of his chest. His wife and daughter lay on their sides, their limbs and clothing in disarray, the pools of blood from their slit throats already congealing on the floor.
It wasn't hard to reconstruct what had happened. Werthan must have heard a noise outside and gone to investigate, expecting that perhaps a weasel had gotten in with the chickens. The assassins had killed him, then murdered his wife and daughter to prevent them from raising an alarm. Scratches on Werthan's heels showed that they had dragged him inside the shack.
He couldn't bear to look closely at the little girl. She was only about three.
I won't let myself get angry, he thought, willing his pulse to stop pounding in his ears, failing thoroughly. Anger leads to reaction, not thought. My anger is their ally, not mine. I won't be angry.
"Tennetty," he said quietly. "I'm coming out." He walked to the front door, opened it, and stepped through, closing it gently behind him. The rain had stopped; the damp night air clung to him.
"Well?"
"Dead. Werthan, his wife, and his daughter."
*I have them pinpointed, Karl.*
He tilted his head back. High in the sky, Ellegon's dark form slid across the stars. "Where are the bastards?"
*Alongside the road, a quarter-mile from here, just beyond that old oak.*
Karl nodded. He could barely see the tree in the dark.
*They've spotted the glow from the bonfires around the New House and are trying to decide what to do next. The leader suspects that somebody may have raised an alarm, but he isn't sure. And they are after you, in case you were curious. You ought—*
"Weapons?"
*Two crossbows, plus swords, knives. Karl, I can get one of Daven's squads, and—*
"No." He stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. "They're mine."
"What are you whistling for?" Her eyes wide, Tennetty snatched his hand away from his mouth. "They're not that far away; they'll hear you."
"That's the idea." He pulled off his shirt. "And they'll see me, too." He raised his voice. "Did you hear that? Can you hear me?"
No answer.
"You're crazy, Karl, we can't—"
"No." He stopped the back of his hand a scant inch from her face. "They're all mine," he said quietly. "Each and every one."
"At least take your pistols—"
"No." He shook his head slowly. "I want to feel them die. I want—" He stopped himself. Save the feeling for later. When they're dead.
He raised his sword over his head and waved it as he ran down the road toward the old oak.
"My name is Karl Cullinane," he shouted. "I've heard you're looking for me, you bastards. I'm waiting for you. If you want me, come and get me."
As he neared the tree, a dark shape rose between two rows of cornstalks; Karl hit the ground and rolled as a bolt whizzed overhead.
Karl sprinted for the man. But the assassin didn't simply wait for him; he ducked back down in the corn and ran. He was in too much of a hurry. Karl could plot his progress by the rustling of the stalks. He leaped through a row of corn and crashed into the assassin, both his sword and the assassin's crossbow tumbling away somewhere into the night.
It didn't matter; he was half Karl's size. As they rolled around on the ground, Karl kneed the other in the crotch, then slammed the edge of his hand down on the assassin's throat, crumpling his windpipe.
The assassin lurched away, gagging with a liquid awfulness as he died.
One down.
Karl rolled a few feet away before rising to a crouch and looking around, the skin over his ears tightening.
Nothing. No sound. The other two weren't stupid enough to flail around in the cornfield in a panic.
And Karl was unarmed, his sword lost somewhere in the darkness.
Not good. He regretted his stupidity in charging blindly into the field and ordering Tennetty to stay away, but there was nothing he could do about it now. If he raised a voice to call for help, all that would do would be to pinpoint his position for the two remaining assassins, one of them still armed with a crossbow.
*Then again, you might want to use me, no?*
Right. I'm missing two—where's the
nearest one?
For a moment, Karl felt as though distant fingers stroked his brain.
*I can't go deep enough, not without getting closer. I can't tell which way you're facing. Where is the bonfire in relation to you?*
Karl raised his head momentarily above the cornstalks. Down the road, a distant glow proclaimed that the bonfires surrounding the New House were still going.
*Got it. The one with the crossbow is two rows behind you, just about halfway between you and the road. But he's looking in your direction, and you're not going to be able to sneak up on him.*
And the other one?
*You're not going to like this. He's running alongside the road, about halfway between here and the New House. No crossbow, but he's carrying more throwing knives than Walter does, and I think one or two of them may be dragonbane-tipped.*
He's Tennetty's—you spot for her. I'll take care of things here.
The dragon swooped low over the cornfields toward the house.
Karl cursed himself silently. His temper could yet be the death of him. Kill the slavers—hell, yes—but letting his anger instead of his intellect control the means was something that he should have outgrown.
The first thing to do was to find his sword.
He searched around the soft ground, finding nothing but weeds and dirt. Come daylight, finding it would be no problem, but daylight was hours away.
Let's test his nerve a bit. Karl lifted a dirtclod and pitched it off into the night, aiming roughly where Ellegon had said the assassin was.
It whipped through the cornstalks, and then . . .
Silence. Nothing, dammit. This one knew his business; if he'd fired blindly, Karl would have been able to attack before he reloaded his crossbow.
On the other hand . . .
Karl walked back to the dead assassin and relieved the man of his beltknife. Not a bad weapon; it was a full-sized dagger, with almost the heft of a Homemade bowie.
He hoisted the corpse to his shoulder, then walked opposite to where Ellegon had said the remaining assassin was and crashed through one row of cornstalks, propelling the body ahead of him through the next row.
The bowstring twanged.
Karl stepped through the stalks, the knife held out in front of him.
The Silver Crown Page 9