WINDWEEPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "Not to my way of thinking. Had he stayed, these bastards might well have skewered him!" Hern shot back as the men began arriving who had been running after Conar.

  Legion threw up his hands. "You're a pigheaded fool, Arbra. I could have protected him."

  "He'll hang," one of the new arrivals told Legion. "If the King dies, your brother will hang."

  When Legion shot forward, taking exception to the man's words, Hern stepped between them. "Do you still think you could have protected him?" Hern quipped.

  Storm Jale shouted from the barbican, his mouth cupped with his hands. "Legion!"

  A'Lex looked up to Jale's strained face. "Aye?"

  "He's alive, but unconscious. Lord Saur sent me to get you."

  "Is he in with Papa?"

  "Aye, along with a roomful of guards! The Healer is with him, too."

  "I'll be right there." Legion gazed at Hern. "Find my brother, Arbra. Fetch him back before some fool puts an arrow in his back." Not giving the Master-at-Arms a chance to reply, he spun on his heels and hastened away, motioning for Sentian to follow.

  Brelan was waiting at the stairs leading to the King's chambers. His worried face was tight with concern.

  "How is he?" Legion asked.

  "He's awake. He asked me to find Conar."

  Legion glanced sideways at Brelan. "Do you think Papa believes Conar was responsible?"

  Saur shrugged. "The men who attacked Papa wore black hoods over their faces, but they were wearing the tunics of Conar's Elite. There were six of them. Two stabbed him while the others stood watch. They left their ceremonial daggers behind. The daggers Conar gives his men on being accepted into the Elite."

  "How seriously is he hurt?" Legion asked as he drew away from Brelan.

  Annoyed that he could barely keep up with Legion's long stride down the corridor, Brelan hurried forward. He stepped in front of his brother, halting Legion's entry into their father's room. "Nothing vital was hit. Those bastards knew exactly where to stab. Don't you find that odd?"

  "Tunics and daggers can be stolen, Saur," Legion growled. "Leaving behind the daggers, daggers such as those carried by an Elite, seems like planting evidence, don't you think?"

  Brelan shook his head, his mind not on Legion's question, but on questions of his own. "When Papa awoke he looked for Conar. Called his name. Cayn told him to lie quietly, not to move. He tried to get up. He said he wanted Conar before it was too late. He was worried someone would put steel through Conar's gut before he had a chance to speak to him." Brelan looked hard at Legion. "His exact words were…find your brother, Brelan; find him before they make him pay for what I've done."

  "So what does that tell you?" Legion snapped. "If Papa truly thought Conar was behind this, why did he send you to keep him safe?"

  Brelan couldn't answer that. He watched in confused silence as Legion went in to their father. He leaned against the wall and asked himself the same question.

  * * *

  Hern swung into his saddle, his crossbow and quarrels in hand. He eyed the Tribunal Guards who were already streaking across the drawbridge. He looked to Ward Summerall and Lin Dixon, two of Conar's best Elite warriors. "Get your asses in those saddles!"

  Lin glanced at the set, craggy face of the Master-at-Arms. "Do you think him guilty?"

  "I do not! This is not the brat's way. If he had wanted his father dead, he would've done it himself. A man says a lot of things when he's hurt, and the brat was only lashing out at what had hurt him. He would never do such a thing as this." He turned his fierce glare to Lin. "Do you think he's guilty?"

  Lin Dixon shook his head. "He wouldn't do this."

  "You sure?"

  Lin met the older man's gaze. "Aye, Sir Hern. I am sure."

  "I turned my back on him, too," Roy Matheny said miserably.

  "He'll understand and forgive you," Wesley Patrick said as he swung into his saddle.

  Hern jerked on his horses reins. "No matter how many times the boy is hurt, he always forgives. That is his way. Conar, above any other man I know, understands hurt." He kicked his gelding hard in the ribs and the big black horse shot forward with a whinny of protest.

  * * *

  By the same time the next day, no one had been able to find Conar McGregor. The trail he had made up into the mountains had been lost by a streambed. There were hoof prints down one shallow bank and heavy indentations in the rock bed, but though they searched every inch of the stream's banks, no sign of where Conar exited could be found.

  That evening, the King, once more unconscious and pale, lay in his bed with Legion and Brelan at his side. Brelan had not gone looking for Conar as his father requested. Instead, he had kept vigil along with Legion and both were tired and ill at ease with one another.

  Legion frowned. Brelan was sitting with his hands tightly clasped between his knees, staring intently at their father's still face. His shirt was crusted with his niece's dried blood and his unshaven cheeks were dust-covered from his ride to Boreas.

  "At least take a bath." Legion's nose quivered with Brelan's smell. "You need sleep, too."

  "I'll sleep when Papa wakes up. If you don't like the way I smell, get the hell out of here!"

  Legion met Brelan's hard stare. "What are you waiting for?"

  "Nothing of any import!" Brelan practically shouted. "I have to know if he thinks Conar might have been responsible for this attack."

  "And if he does?"

  "I'll go after the bastard. There'll be no need to arrest him. I'll bring back his bloody corpse!"

  Legion shook his head at his brother's stubbornness. "Even though you know damned well that isn't what Papa would want." He got up from his chair and stretched, then walked to the window and pushed aside the drapes. He caught sight of a milling throng of Temple Guards who had just ridden into the inner bailey. He looked over his shoulder. "Do you really think Conar is such a coward that he would have other men do his dirty work?"

  "He's capable of anything."

  "Is that your jealousy speaking?"

  Brelan impaled Legion with a hot, angry look. "I'm not jealous of him!"

  "We all are. Who do you think you're fooling?"

  "I'm not jealous of him," Brelan mumbled.

  Legion snorted and turned his attention back to the riders. "Why didn't you go after him?"

  "I told you, I wanted to be near Papa—"

  "Is that the only reason?"

  "What other reason would I have had?"

  Legion didn't need to turn around to know Brelan was glowering at him. He could feel the intent stare. "My guess is you don't want him found."

  "I'm just giving the bastard the benefit of the doubt, else I'd be on his trail right now!"

  "What I'm hearing from you is that you think Conar could very well be innocent."

  "Those are your words," Brelan snapped.

  "Aye, but they're your thoughts."

  Brelan stood and hunched his shoulders as he dug his hands into the pockets of his breeches. "It must be nice to be so damned sure of what other people feel, A'Lex!"

  Legion turned and smiled. "It's easy when the knowledge is blazing in their faces, Saur."

  "One of us should check on Elizabeth." Brelan headed for the door.

  "Be careful what you say to her."

  Saur closed his father's door with more force than he had intended. He skipped down the short flight of stairs from the royal chambers to the second floor where Conar's room was located. He barely glanced at the guards flanking Liza's door, jumping as one of the men reached out a hand to stop him. He turned hostile eyes to the Elite who he thought was trying to bar his way.

  "I am Ward Summerall, Lord Saur," the young man said. "I just wanted you to know that none of us has done this thing." He looked at the man standing guard beside him, who nodded. "Prince Conar would have never asked it of us nor would he have done it himself. There is not a man in this unit, including those arrested yesterday, who carries the burden of guilt."

 
Six men, all high-ranking members of Conar's guard, men whose daggers with their initials had been found in the King's chambers, had been dragged from their homes and questioned by the Tribunal's interrogators.

  Screams of pain could be heard filtering up from the inquisition room that had not been used for nearly fifty years. Throughout the long night and into the next, the men had denied any part in the attack. When shown their daggers, each man had sworn on the lives of their families that he had never before used the ceremonial dagger. The black, rune-carved blades were not weapons of defense, but special insignias of honor, given to them on the day they were initiated into the Elite.

  Brelan stared hard, his eyes boring into the young man's soul. "Then who's responsible?"

  "Those who wish the Prince harm. He has many enemies, Lord Saur. I am told even you are numbered among them." His gaze didn't waver as Brelan sucked in a shocked breath.

  "You think I had a hand in this?"

  "No more so than the Prince."

  Brelan shrugged. "You may be right."

  "I know I am."

  "I hope for Conar's sake you are."

  "One other thing I know, Lord Saur. Whoever is responsible will pay dearly for having caused His Grace such pain."

  Brelan inclined his head. Conar's men had always been loyal despite his moments of stupidity.

  Grice glanced up as Brelan was admitted into the room. He nodded to his friend. Chand Wynth sat beside the fireplace, his ears intent on a scratching sound coming from the armoire. Getting up, he opened the door and poked among the dresses and shoes, a look of relief on his face when he found nothing inside the cabinet.

  "What ails you, Chandling?" Brelan called.

  "Sound like rats," he said, closing the door with a snap. "Better have someone check it out." He returned to his chair and his head jerked toward the armoire as the scratching sound came again.

  Grice frowned. He'd never cared for rodents. His gaze swept the floor around the armoire, hoping against hope that nothing gray and bewhiskered came scuttling across the carpet. His arms tightened around his sister as Liza sat with her head on his shoulder, her hand clasped tightly in his.

  She looked up as Brelan sat on the bed at her feet. "They won't let me see my baby, Bre," she protested in a flat, thin voice.

  Brelan glanced at Grice. "You shouldn't just yet, Elizabeth."

  "I want my baby," she pleaded, tears welling in her eyes. "I want my husband."

  Flinching, Brelan looked away from her tearful face and his gaze settled on Chand. "How about taking your brother out of here, Chandling, before something jumps out at him. I'll stay with your sister."

  Easing Liza out of his arms, knowing Brelan wanted to be alone with Liza and wanting that also, Grice stood. He jerked his head toward the door and was relieved when Chand nodded.

  When the door closed behind the Wynth brothers, Brelan moved sat at the head of the bed, taking Liza in his arms and cradling her against his chest. One slim hand entwined its fingers with his and he rested his chin on her head.

  "Thank you for finding her for me, Bre."

  "I wish to the gods it had not been me," he said honestly.

  "Where?" She had to know.

  He saw no reason not to tell her. "At a place called the Hound and Stag Inn near Iomal. The innkeeper found her in the loft there."

  Brelan could not have known how bitterly that knowledge hurt the woman he held, could not have known the significance of the babe being found where her parents had first met. He was stunned when Liza turned her head into his chest and wailed, sounding as if her heart shattered. Her body trembled with such violence Brelan became alarmed.

  Unable to quiet her uncontrollable sobbing, her shudders of agony, afraid for her state of mind, he called for one of the guards to find Cayn.

  When no answer came after the second and third calls, he cursed softly, easing her down to lie on the bed in a ball of grief, and stalked rapidly to the door, throwing open the portal with an angry snap.

  Just as he opened his mouth to chastise the men for not paying better attention, all light suddenly disappeared from his world and he sank slowly to the floor in a heap.

  Chapter 12

  * * *

  Liza felt strong arms around her, closing her in, protecting her, and she pressed her body into their warmth. She heard the solid beat of his heart, smelled the sweet cinnamon odor of his body and her head came up, her tears ceasing on a hitch of breath.

  Her eyes widened as she looked into the troubled blue gaze of her husband. Her world tilted back into prospective. She clutched him to her in a frenzy of need, burying her face against his shirt.

  Conar knew it would be only a matter of minutes before Brelan's body would be found outside the door. It might take a little longer until Ward's and Drummond's unconscious bodies were found in the linen closet down the hall. He had locked his bedroom door behind him, but he knew the lock wouldn't keep anyone truly intent on gaining entrance out for long.

  "Listen to me, love," Conar said urgently, raising her tear-stained face to meet his. "Will you leave with me?"

  "Of course," she answered, her voice tiny and lost.

  "We shall have to leave her behind."

  There was only a slight hesitation. "Where you go, I go, Milord. It is you who is in danger here."

  Standing, he pulled her to her feet, and gathered her robe from the chair. "There are clothes in the skiff. We must hurry."

  A muffled curse came from outside the door, then a bump, another curse, a jiggle of the door handle. Brelan's angry voice demanded the portal be opened. Something hard hit the oaken panel and Brelan's voice raised in alarm.

  "Elizabeth?" he shouted as the door shook with the force of his weight. "Open the door!"

  Conar jerked his wife toward the armoire and shoved her clothes to one side. He ran his hand along the back of the cabinet, cursing.

  "What are you doing?" she whispered, turning with fear to the door.

  "A hidden passageway," he mumbled as he flipped up a lock and the back of the armoire opened into a dark hallway.

  "What?" she gasped.

  He swung her into the narrow corridor. He nudged her to one side, then moved the panel back in place, shutting out all light.

  He slid his hand along the panel until he found the latch. He threw the bolt, then fumbled for her hand in the pitch-black darkness. "Trust me," he said and began to pull her down the corridor.

  Behind them, a splintering noise echoed through the corridor. His bedroom had been breached. They faintly heard angry shouts and curses.

  Pulling his wife down the long corridor, Conar felt sweat trickling down his back. Unable to see, feeling the air being driven out of his lungs from the suffocating grip of the enclosed space, he had to make himself keep walking. He was already gasping for air in the confines of the hallway. The claustrophobic agony of being squeezed to death left him weak and panting.

  By the time Liza realized his plight, she put a steadying, calming arm around his waist. She could smell the fresh air ahead and pushed past him, wedging him to one side so she could lead the way. A faint halo of light beckoned to her and she guided him to an arrow slit.

  Leaning his hot forehead against the cool sea breeze pouring in through the slit, Conar willed his knees not to buckle and his hands to stop shaking. He was quivering all over and his gasps for air were labored and painful to hear. With his face pressed to the slight strip of light, he took huge gulps of the fresh air and realized his heart was beating faster than he ever knew it could.

  "Conar," Liza whispered and heard a slight whimper escape his throat. She took him in her arms, unable to understand the extent of his terror, but perceptive enough to know he was going through a hell on earth. She smoothed back a lock of damp hair that fell into his eyes. "I am here with you, Beloved."

  Clutching her tightly to him, he drew on her strength until he was sure he could lead them out of the corridor. Knowing Brelan would remember the secret wall i
nside the armoire, he realized they didn't have that much time before someone crashed through the false back.

  "I'm all right," he managed to say and drew out of her arms. He took a deep breath and walked on trembling legs to the next arrow slit, bent and pried open the trap door he left unlocked earlier that afternoon.

  He stepped onto the stairs leading into the far reaches of the wine cellar. Cool drafts of musky air swirled around the stone steps as, with Liza's hand now gripped in his, he descended. Once he had his wife at the bottom, he hastily climbed the stairs and bolted the trapdoor.

  "Where does this lead?" Liza asked as he joined her. She looked at wine casks and stone walls and a single door at the farthest end of the room that she assumed must lead to the kitchens.

  "There's a secret passageway behind this cask. I hope to the gods I'm the only one who remembers how to get out of here." He gripped the round front of a three-foot-wide cask. It swung outward on rusty hinges. "It goes into the Grotto." He motioned her ahead of him.

  Liza stepped into the opening and felt a chill wind lapping through the small antechamber. When he closed the hatchway behind him, she turned. "Who else knows about this passage?"

  "Brelan, but we should have enough time to make it to the skiff before he gets here." He began leading her toward a milky light. "I came up through that way, leaving plenty of evidence of my passing. I would have come to you sooner, but the damned catch on the inside of the armoire was thrown and I couldn't pry it loose."

  Her face blanched. "That was you? Chand thought there were mice in there and even opened the door to see. My god, Conar. He could have seen you!"

  "I'd have worried if that had happened."

  There was a flood of bright light. Cobwebs stretched across a low archway. Conar knocked them away before reaching his hand to Liza. Once she was through the archway, he shouldered what appeared to be a slab of heavy rock back into its niche.

  "Almost there." He pulled her down a short tunnel and into a small section of a stalactite-laden chamber, and then into the vast opening of the Widow's Grotto. They crossed the cavern, but as they neared the archway that jutted back into the mountain, he realized his luck had run out.