WINDWEEPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "That for him?" Sadie MacCorkingdale asked as she sidled into the kitchen. The sun was just beginning to pink the horizon and the old woman was up to start the day's cooking. She thrust her chin toward the buttermilk. "Maybe he'd like ale instead."

  "I think not," Storm answered. "He's had too much ale lately."

  "Might be the last he'll get for a long, long time."

  Storm glanced at her as he placed the meal on a brass tray. "He doesn't need it, old woman."

  Sadie's face glowed in the shadows. "I know what he needs, Jale," she said as he started to leave. "He needs to be whipped like a dog!"

  Storm turned, began to say something, but instead shook his head. His footsteps were heavy as he walked into the courtyard.

  * * *

  Conar had long since lost his curiosity about the comings and goings within the courtyard. His morose thoughts were filled with despair, shame and hopelessness.

  It wasn't that he feared the lash; it wasn't that he really thought his father would require so many of those lashes to satisfy his bloodlust. It wasn't even the fear of being shamed before his people, of being exiled, that had him worried. It was Liza's uncertain future that filled him with such overwhelming dejection.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the gleam of metal in the flare of a torch and turned his head. Making out the tray of food, he was thankful to whoever was listening to his silent prayers that it had not been a sword or dagger coming his way.

  Not that it really mattered to him at that moment.

  He saw Storm's rigid face, his set mouth, and sighed.

  Your friends will turn their back on you! Tohre's words echoed through his numb mind.

  He looked from Storm to the silent form of his wife. He tried to smile at her, but his lips would not obey. He looked back at the tray of food before studying Storm's expressionless face.

  Storm saw the dejected slant of Conar's powerful shoulders, the pain-filled face. He stooped and placed the tray beside his Overlord, then turned to go. Conar's voice stopped him in his tracks.

  "Thank you, Storm."

  Storm didn't turn, but could feel the Prince's hurt gaze on his back. "Your lady-wife sent the food," he said woodenly, then started to walk away, but as an afterthought, out of respect for what the man had once been, he added, "Sire."

  Conar jerked his head away from the man who had once been his friend. Not looking at the retreating figure, he called pleadingly, "They may send me far from here or imprison me, Storm. If they do either, I doubt they will let my wife stay with me." His voice broke. "Please take care of her as you once did me." Snapping his head around to look at Storm's stiff back, he begged, "Please?"

  Hearing the anguish in the Prince's words, Storm Jale could only manage to nod in pledge. Not for the man, but for the lady who deserved it.

  * * *

  Five more days passed and still no word.

  Legion, Teal and Sentian had returned on the morning of the fourth day. Thom had come in an hour earlier. None of them had any news of the babe. No one but Sentian paid any attention to the red-eyed, weary man who pressed into the shadows of the guard tower where he spent his days and nights, hoping, watching for any sign that news had arrived.

  Grice Wynth came in that morning. Hern rode in at sunset and started walking toward Conar, only to be called back by the King. "Leave him alone, Arbra! That's an order!"

  Conar looked up at Hern. A fleeting smile touched his quivering lips. Hern shook his head, letting the young man know he had no news. Conar nodded and looked at the ground. As the others arrived, he looked up with expectation each time.

  The next morning found him sitting with his head against the stone wall, fitfully dozing.

  "Lord Legion, please!" Sentian Heil pleaded with the newest Commander of the Serenian Forces. "He can't go on like this!"

  Legion looked across the courtyard and saw flies buzzing about the tray of food someone had thoughtfully provided for his brother's breakfast.

  "Look at him!" Sentian demanded. "Do you really think he deserves this?"

  Legion hadn't spoken to Conar in more than five days. He scanned the figure sitting beside the turret wall and flinched. Conar looked terrible. His clothes were filthy, his face was unshaven and smeared with dried blood and flecks of dirt. He sat with his shoulders slumped, his hands lying palm up in his lap. He looked so helpless and lost.

  "If Papa catches us…" Legion began only to have Sentian's snort of derision stop him.

  "They can take an inch or two of hide off my back and it wouldn't matter to me! He is suffering. I can't stand it anymore!" He began to walk toward Conar. He wasn't surprised when Legion fell into stride beside him.

  They crossed the courtyard, observing the shunning of Conar by those milling about: the searchers coming in for a brief rest, servants hovering about with food and drink for guards and searchers without thought to the hungry prince, guards who kept a close silent watch over Conar.

  "You better leave him alone, Heil!" a guard warned Sentian. "The King's made a decree about talking to him."

  "That man is your Prince!" Sentian shot back and took a step toward the guard only to have Legion put a restraining hand on his arm.

  "For the love of Alel!" Legion hissed. "Don't call attention to the fact that we're breaking Papa's order!"

  Sentian turned, furious, consigning the guard to the pit and beyond for his condemnation of Conar. "I'll get you, Lambert!"

  Conar was dozing off, his tired and worried mind having temporarily shut down so his body could rest. He didn't hear his brother approaching until Legion's words brought him awake.

  "You should eat," Legion said hoarsely, eyeing the insect-infested tray of food.

  Conar looked up at his brother. "What?"

  "I said you should eat." Legion nudged the tray with his boot.

  The blank look on Legion's face hurt him. "I wasn't hungry," Conar answered and let his gaze slide away.

  "We will find her," Sentian told him, his heart aching for the man.

  "I know," Conar whispered, savoring the only words of warmth he had heard in nearly a week.

  "The Tribunal is meeting this morning to deal with you, Conar," Legion warned. "They have refused to put off making a decision any longer. You had better prepare yourself—" Legion stopped speaking as Conar raised his eyes. For a moment, A'Lex couldn't finish. Even to his own ears, his voice had been hateful, waspish, and smug—condemning. He tore his gaze from Conar. "Just be prepared for the worst, that's all."

  "Conar!"

  Liza's scream from the battlements stilled all activity in the bailey. Everyone looked up at her. She stood rigid, her trembling finger pointing to the south.

  Standing, Conar looked out the opening of the drawbridge. A dust cloud swirled behind a lone horseman astride a white steed. The man seemed to be in no hurry as he wound his way up the curving road, although the strong sea breeze buffeted him and his horse as he walked the beast over the natural stone arch leading to the keep's lower redoubt. Something in the way the rider sat his horse told those who watched that he would like to prolong his journey for as long as he could.

  "Conar! He has our daughter!" Liza screamed.

  Conar saw Liza struggling with her brother Grice, trying to free herself from his grasp. He felt his chest twisting, felt her pain, her agony. She knew something, something he was just then beginning to sense as well.

  His gaze returned to the lone rider. Sweat broke out on his forehead, under his arms, in his palms. He heard the hard tattoo of his heart inside his ribcage. Every nerve ending came alive with sharp agony and he strained to make out the rider's identity.

  "He is carrying something in his arms," Sentian said as he looked at Legion.

  "It's Lord Saur, Commander," one of the tower guards called down to A'Lex.

  "Aye," Legion answered, for he had recognized his brother Brelan Saur, too. His mind was on the rider, but his ears were all too aware of Liza's cries as she strove to break free
of Grice's hold.

  No one even thought to stop Conar as he crossed the inner drawbridge of the bailey and headed for the larger drawbridge that lay across a sea channel of the North Boreal. No one dared to speak to him as he left the drawbridge, crossed the moat, and stood at the foot of the earthworks, even though a dozen men followed.

  Conar's entire body trembled as he stared up at Brelan's closed face. He couldn't bring himself to lower his gaze to the white bundle in his brother's arm. He knew what it was.

  Brelan glanced up at the far battlements, and even though he couldn't see Liza from his place on the roadway, he could hear her shouts. Her cries, unintelligible from this distance, rent his already aching heart. He let his gaze slowly lower to his brother.

  "Brelan?" Conar's voice broke.

  Saur's hard stare made Conar flinch.

  "Is it Nadia?" Legion asked.

  Brelan shifted in the saddle, ignored Legion's question, and bent over, extended the bundle toward Conar. When Conar reached out his trembling arms, the amount of hatred he saw in Saur's dark eyes stunned him.

  Never taking his glare from Conar, Brelan spoke. "If I thought I hated you before, I hate you even more now."

  He kicked his horse. The steed bolted forward, digging its massive hind legs into the oyster-shell pathway, and left the men standing in a haze of dust.

  Conar cradled the bundle to his chest and looked at Legion.

  Legion would have taken the babe out of Conar's arms, but Conar clutched the white bunting tighter to him. Taking a deep breath, Legion made to lift away the material, but Conar pulled the babe out of his reach.

  "She's sleeping. You'll wake her, Legion."

  Legion glanced at Sentian, whose eyes were moist. Both men were aware of the stillness of the object in Conar's arms.

  Legion held out his hands. "Let me have her, now."

  "No." Conar planted a tender kiss on the bunting.

  "We need to take her to her mama. Let me take her to Liza."

  Conar shifted the bundle to his shoulder, and patted it as though he were soothing the babe. His hand slid up and down the material. "I'll take her to her mama."

  Legion had to clear his throat before he could speak. "Papa's guards won't let you inside the keep. You know that. Let me have her, Conar. She probably needs feeding."

  Conar shook his head.

  "It's cold out here, Milord," Sentian said, tears falling down his cheeks. "Let your brother take the babe inside." Conar shifted his gaze to Sentian's. "She probably needs her diaper changed, too, and you know how you don't like doing that." Sentian tried to smile.

  Conar's voice was soft. "I don't mind so much."

  Legion could see the tremor in Conar's hands. The man was about to shatter. He put his hand on Conar's rigid arm and tugged. "Give her to me, little brother."

  Conar brought the bundle higher, nuzzled it against his cheek, then lowered it toward Legion. "Be careful of her."

  Legion could only nod as he took the wrapped bundle. As Conar handed his burden to his brother, the corner of the fabric covering the babe's face fell away. Legion stared at the small form of his niece. A silent no formed on his trembling lips; his gaze snapped up to Conar's.

  The young Prince had kept close watch on Legion's face all the while, taking in every facial expression, every breath. Seeing the horror now stamped on Legion's face, Conar's brows drew together in confusion, he tightened his hold on the bundle, and he began to lower his gaze.

  A keening whimper dredged up from the depths of his soul. His face began to crumble; his body shook uncontrollably; he thought his knees were going to buckle. Apparently Sentian did, too, for the man grabbed him under his arms.

  "Take it away!" Sentian shouted, grunting as Conar's limp weight hung in his hands.

  With his chin quivering, Conar felt a scream rising up within him. All sound was blocked out of his hearing; all sight, save for the grisly one that stared back at him, left his line of vision. The sky around him grew red, then dark, then a brilliant white glare, and he threw back his head and howled his anguish to the heavens and the merciless gods who dwelt there.

  High on the crenellations, Liza lay unconscious in her brother's arms. At the exact moment Conar had beheld the sight of their dead child, she had slumped in Grice's arms.

  Thom and Teal came running from the courtyard, closely followed by Hern Arbra and Chand Wynth. The men could see the struggle taking place in the dust of the roadway. Legion was trying desperately to take the babe from Conar, for the Prince's fingers were tangled in the fabric.

  Teal was the first to reach them. "What's happened?" There was a catch in his voice. He knew already from the looks on their faces that the babe was dead.

  "Help me take the child away, Teal!" Legion ground out. "He shouldn't be seeing this!"

  Teal stepped forward, wresting the bundle from Conar's fierce grip as Hern and Sentian pulled away the Prince's hands, restrained his arms, kept him from coming at du Mer.

  "Let go of me!" he shouted. "Let me have my daughter!"

  Teal glanced at the bundle now resting in his own arms. He felt bile rising in his chest. "Oh, god!" he breathed, speaking without thinking. "Her throat's been cut!"

  Hern jerked violently. He took Conar into his arms. The young man tried to pull free, but Hern gathered Conar to him and forced the head into the crook of his shoulder to blot out the sight.

  "Take the babe inside, du Mer!" Hern shouted.

  Teal started to back away, the tiny bundle held as far away from his body as he could get it. His face was filled with revulsion and he could feel hot, bitter fluid flooding his mouth.

  Conar jerked his head from Hern's shoulders, took one look at Teal's face, at the way the man was holding his child, and his heart shattered into a million pieces. "For the love of Alel, du Mer! Don't take your hate for me out on my child!" Hard, wracking sobs shook his body and he slumped in Hern's grip. "Don't take it out on my baby!"

  Hern looked at Sentian and nodded. They released Conar, who went to his knees in the dirt. He doubled over, his arms clutched around his middle. He sobbed, whimpering so heartbrokenly the others could only stand with bent heads and listen.

  A cry went out from the guard tower. "The King has been attacked! He is sorely wounded!" Pointing a finger at Conar, the speaker shouted. " 'Twas his Elite that done it! Arrest him! He has bargained for the King's death!"

  Chapter 11

  * * *

  All around them, voices lifted in anger, in confusion. A cacophony of sound spun throughout the courtyard, over the drawbridge, drowning out Legion's call for quiet. A group of men, swords drawn, their faces filled with murderous intent, headed for Conar.

  Conar pleaded with Legion. "I had no part in it," he sobbed. "I give you my word. I haven't…" His voice broke as he lifted his hands in supplication. "I haven't done anything."

  The sight of the powerful warrior fallen to his knees, his face a mask of agony, his hands up in pleading, made some in the bailey question his guilt.

  "Look at him, now! Does he look like he had a hand in this?" they cried, but the opposition voices were louder.

  "Arrest him!" those loyal to the Tribunal shouted as they rushed headlong toward the Conar. "Don't let him get away!"

  "Get up, Your Grace!" Thom warned, drawing his sword. "Get up, now!"

  Conar came unsteadily to his feet, helped by Sentian's hands. He stood still, the news of his father's attack still ringing in his ears. The sight of his daughter lying in death clouded his vision of the men running toward him from the keep's outer bailey.

  "Run, boy!" Hern whispered, his hand going to the dagger at his thigh. "Get away while you can!"

  "No!" Legion shouted, fixing Hern with a fierce scowl. "If he does that…"

  When the hard rumble of hoof beats echoed over the courtyard, Conar looked up, his face crinkled with confusion. He sucked in his breath, for a black streak of thundering horseflesh bolted toward him, careening past the running men, knocki
ng some down, scattering the others. His warhorse, Seayearner, was racing toward him, riderless, without saddle or bridle. The massive forelegs dug deep into the planking of the drawbridge, the wood booming, silver sparks flying from 'Yearner's hooves as the steed flew at breakneck speed toward its master.

  "Go!" Hern bellowed, pushing aside Legion.

  Looking toward the men drawing near, Conar saw only one way out of his predicament. He cast one quick look at Sentian, who nodded, and then he sprinted away.

  "Conar, no!" Legion yelled, trying to get past Hern and Sentian to stop his brother. "Don't do this!"

  Seayearner's hind legs locked. The beast skidded almost to a stop as it reached Conar. The horse's sides quivered, his black tail swished wildly in the breeze as it slowed. Conar grabbed a handful of its mane and swing himself on the steed's back. The horse reared high as Conar settled, then bolted forward, its hooves crashing on the ground with a mighty thud.

  Conar heard the whistle of an arrow as it hit the ground behind him, felt another graze his left wrist. He kicked Seayearner into a faster gallop, and horse flew down the switchback road, leapt the auxiliary moat and disappeared around the bend leading into the high Serenian Mountains.

  "Damn it," Legion hollered. "Come back!"

  "Do we follow him?" Thom asked, looking at Hern's smug face, not at all sure the Master-at-Arms had been right in sending the Prince fleeing. The Commander's next words echoed Thom's feelings exactly.

  "Aye, we follow him, Loure!" Legion snarled. "And we find his ass before that angry mob does!" He turned his furious face to Hern Arbra. "What the hell were you thinking, man?"

  "He isn't guilty of anything but a bad temper and a loud mouth!" Hern said, his thick chin raised. "If someone has attacked the King, it sure as hell wasn't done on the boy's orders and you damned well know it!"

  "That's beside the point, Arbra!" Legion snapped. "His running away makes him look as guilty as sin!"