Lord of the White Hell Book 2

by Ginn Hale

  “Go now!” Javier shouted back into the chapel.

  Cadeleonian men and women in silks and jewels burst from the chapel. Kiram wove between them, catching glimpses of familiar faces and briefly meeting the terrified glances of strangers. Lady Grunito carried one of her young sons in her arms and Lord Grunito swept up another of the boys when he tripped. Kiram thought he saw Nestor and Riossa running side by side as he dodged through the chaos of fleeing wedding guests. He lurched out of the way of two beefy choirboys and sped through a gaggle of women in velvet gowns. At last he broke clear of the panicked crowd and reached Javier. He tossed him his sword.

  “Well done, Underclassman Kiram.” Javier gave him the briefest smile; then his attention returned to the grounds ahead of him.

  “Take this.” Kiram handed one of Majdi’s long fighting knives over to Elezar. “Your long sword is with your horse. They should—”

  Timoteo and several footmen sprinted past them, their arms loaded with gold chalices and jewel-studded books. They raced down across the lawn towards the house. Then Atreau and Morisio appeared at the doors.

  “Everyone’s out,” Morisio told Javier. His face looked clammy with sweat and Atreau was pallid as a corpse.

  Javier glanced to Kiram. “You were saying something about horses?”

  “They should be saddled and ready by now,” Kiram informed him. “I had weapons sent to the stables as well.”

  “Thank God for you, Kiram,” Atreau whispered. And even Elezar gave him a nod of acknowledgment.

  “There are other soldiers—” Kiram began to explain but Javier cut him off.

  “Tell me on the way to the stable.”

  Then all five of them bolted for the stables. Kiram shouted what he had overheard of the captain’s plans as they ran.

  “So if we can get past these two dozen soldiers we’ll still be trapped between the twelve mounted soldiers at the High Street and pikemen at the city gate.” Javier shook his head. “This is a hell of a day to have a hangover.”

  Atreau simply moaned in response. Morisio gave a strained laugh.

  In the stables Kiram found that Verano had been saddled for him to ride and that Nestor had saddled a roan gelding for himself. He looked oddly contradictory tightening a girth while dressed in a resplendent red brocade coat and dusted with gold powder.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Elezar demanded of Nestor.

  “Fighting beside my fellow Hellions,” Nestor responded.

  “You should be with your wife—” The rest of Elezar’s argument was drowned out by the loud sounds of Atreau vomiting into a feed pail.

  “You need all the help you can get,” Nestor said. “And you don’t have time to argue.”

  “He’s right. The more of us there are the better our chances of taking the city gates.” Javier swung up onto Lunaluz’s back. He frowned down at Atreau. “Can you do this?”

  “Certainly.” Atreau shoved his black hair back from his face. Just looking at them Kiram felt sure they wouldn’t last in a fight, certainly not against rested professional soldiers. Atreau looked dead already—his skin even more pale than Javier’s. And then an idea came to Kiram.

  “Javier, you and Atreau should change coats. And Atreau you should ride Morisio’s gray stallion.”

  “What?” Atreau asked.

  “Why?” Elezar demanded at the same moment.

  Realization lit Nestor’s face. “Brilliant! Atreau and Javier look enough alike that they could be mistaken for each other at a glance.”

  “Right,” Kiram said. “When we reach the High Street Atreau and Morisio will ride for the dock. At the fourth pier you’ll find a ship called the Red Witch. It’s my brother’s ship. Tell them Kiram sent you and he will see that you’re safe.”

  “So we’ll be drawing off the riders from the High Street?” Morisio asked.

  “They’ll have to split their numbers to pursue two parties,” Kiram responded.

  “I don’t like Atreau posing as me.” The concern in Javier’s voice was obvious to them all.

  “Honestly, it’ll do your reputation with the ladies some good,” Atreau responded with a wan smile, then swung up onto Morisio’s light gray stallion. “I want to do it, Javier. I may be in no shape to fight but I can stay on a horse’s back even in my sleep. I can be sick on a ship just as well as I can be sick on the road. And this way there will be fewer men after you when you take the city gates.”

  “I’ll make sure he’s safe,” Morisio added.

  They didn’t have time to argue, Javier had to know that. He didn’t look happy but he exchanged his formal black and silver coat for Atreau’s amber one.

  “All right.” Javier’s spoke coolly, his expression hard. “We go into the woods and draw the bishop’s men from the front gate. Once they’re amidst the trees, we circle back and make for the street.”

  Suddenly the crashing noise in the distance went silent. The front gate of the Grunito house had fallen.

  There were no questions; they simply rode as Javier commanded, racing to reach the wooded cover of the Grunitos’ private hunting grounds.

  Kiram’s pulse surged as the thunder of the horses charging from behind rolled over him. A rider shouted for them to halt and invoked the name of the royal bishop. Javier responded with an obscene gesture and then they all swept into the shadows of the woods.

  Only a few yards in, Javier reined Lunaluz off the dirt path and into the thickest trees. Kiram and the rest of the Hellions followed. First Atreau and then Morisio surged past Kiram. The terrifing awareness that he was falling behind gripped him. Branches brushed past his face as he veered between trees. Wild birds startled into flight and still he knew he wasn’t riding fast enough. Already he’d lost sight of Javier. Then Nestor swept in beside him.

  “I think we’ve got them all in the woods now!” Nestor shouted over the thunder of horses’ hooves.

  A glance back assured Kiram that they had. A wall of men in leather armor riding huge warhorses charged down upon them. Sunlight flashed on the naked blades of their swords.

  Kiram clenched his reins and despite his fear of falling he urged his mount ahead faster.

  Behind him the royal bishop’s men fanned out as the density of trees forced them apart. Ahead Kiram glimpsed a white stallion flashing between the dark trunks of the old oaks.

  “Right!” Elezar shouted, his eyes on Nestor. Kiram realized that they had to break clear of the bishop’s men now and make for the gate.

  Kiram turned his mount to the right, demanding all of the horse’s speed for the charge out of the woods. Beneath him, Verano responded with more power than Kiram was prepared for. He nearly slipped from his seat as they suddenly catapulted ahead. Branches slapped his arms and legs. His heart hammered in his throat. The dark shadows of trees blurred as Kiram flashed past them.

  And then he was in the open, racing across Lady Grunito’s gardens, then out past the ruined front gate and into the open street. Javier and Atreau rode nearly abreast. Morisio charged just behind them. Nestor rode only a few feet to Kiram’s right and Elezar came up on his left.

  Ahead of them all on High Street, twelve mounted soldiers formed a dark, still line in the midst of bustling carts and carriages.

  In an instant they charged Javier and Atreau. Men and women on the street cried out. Cart drivers veered out of the way as best they could. The street became a riot and in the wave of panic, Atreau and Morisio both drove their mounts left towards the docks while Javier rode right into the busy road leading to the city gate.

  Kiram followed Javier, as did Nestor and Elezar. Glancing back Kiram saw two of the bishop’s men light out after Atreau and Morisio but the rest followed Kiram in his pursuit of Javier.

  Ahead of him, Kiram could see why so few of the soldiers had mistaken Atreau for Javier. Mounted on Lunaluz, Javier seemed to fly through the crowded street. They soared over a goat cart as if lifted by magic. They veered and bounded through the press of carriages and str
eet vendors like light skipping across a lake. Even terrified as they were, bystanders stared in awe as Javier passed them. No one else could have been the lord of the white hell.

  Kiram’s own passage was in no way so easy or majestic. Peddlers and beggars seemed to veer out at him. Wine barrels and oxen appeared in the middle of his path. It took all of his concentration to keep Verano from charging straight into a Mirogoth man and his dog.

  Kiram could hear the bishop’s men gaining ground behind him and suddenly he remembered the race through Zancoda. He’d done this before, he told himself. He could do it again.

  But the women up on the balconies of the buildings weren’t throwing down flowers but instead emptying chamber pots, and the riders behind Kiram weren’t just after some ribbon. The chaos choking the street seemed impossible to navigate.

  Then up ahead of him Kiram saw an opening. He charged forward and found a lane that must have opened in Javier’s wake. Kiram thought he could see Nestor’s and Elezar’s brilliant brocade coats shining ahead of him.

  Then a tiny form darted out into the road—a little girl, running for her mother across the street. Kiram jerked Verano back and nearly flew off the horse. He dug into his saddle as Verano turned aside and tossed his head. He steeled himself for a blow from the soldiers pursuing him.

  But the bishop’s men took no pause. They sped past Kiram into the open road. The little girl froze in terror and then fell beneath the soldiers’ horses. Her single pathetic cry crushed to silence in a moment.

  Kiram jerked his eyes away from the bloody dress and broken limbs. He heard a woman screaming but couldn’t bring himself to look at her. The cold, terrible reality of just what these men would do rushed over Kiram.

  At Kiram’s urging, Verano leapt clear of the child’s remains and surged after the bishop’s men. One of them bore down on Elezar and a second shot after Nestor. The remaining eight tore after Javier. Kiram only wondered briefly why he had been of no interest to them. The bishop’s men were expecting to hunt down well-dressed Cadeleonian noblemen fleeing from a wedding, not some Haldiim boy wearing traveler’s leathers. He was nothing to them, just as that child had been.

  The clash of blades rang out as one of the bishop’s men swung his sword and Elezar parried the blow and then struck back with such force that the other man tumbled from his horse. Kiram glimpsed Elezar’s expression then. He looked terrified. Following his glance, Kiram saw why.

  The man pursuing Nestor was almost on top of him and Nestor didn’t even know it. Elezar rode for his brother, but Kiram could see that he wouldn’t arrive before the soldier’s naked blade drove through Nestor’s back.

  Kiram’s heart felt like it was ripping apart in his chest. Fury and frustration at his own helplessness coursed through him. And then Kiram realized that there was something he could do, must do. The thought terrified him—but not so much as watching his friend die.

  He urged Verano ahead and gave him free rein, trusting the horse’s training and instincts. In a quick shrug he swung his bow from his shoulder and drew an arrow. Kiram concentrated on the man riding down on Nestor as if he were just another of so many targets Kiram had struck. The chaos of the street, Elezar’s wild howls of rage, even his own pounding heartbeat seemed to fade.

  He released the arrow. It punched through the man’s neck. The rider jerked. Then his sword dropped from his hand and he fell beneath his own horse. Only as the horse whinnied and veered to the side did Nestor see it. His face was ashen as he peered through his gold spectacles.

  Kiram met Elezar’s gaze for just an instant and Elezar nodded to him. Then Elezar closed the distance between himself and his brother. Kiram concentrated on the men pursuing Javier.

  Kiram had eleven arrows left and ahead of him rode eight men. No, eight targets. He couldn’t think of them as men with faces and families. They were things, things that would kill Javier if they weren’t stopped.

  Kiram shot two men down before a third turned back from his pursuit of Javier. When the solider laid eyes on Kiram and saw the bow in his hand, his wary expression turned to rage and he charged. Kiram loosed an arrow. But he missed the exposed gap at the man’s throat and instead his arrow punched into the thick leather protecting the man’s chest. The strike only seemed to enrage the soldier more.

  “Haldiim coward!” the soldier screamed. He was close enough that Kiram could see his pale face clearly. Kiram fired a second arrow and this time it drove deep into the soldier’s mount, burying up to the fletching in the animal’s unprotected leg. The horse fell, throwing its rider like a rag doll into the flagstones of the street. The soldier didn’t move again, though the horse struggled piteously to rise.

  Kiram felt sick but raced on. The street curved and as Kiram rode past abandoned carriages and overturned flower carts, he saw the bloody bodies of two more of the bishop’s men. Just ahead of him, the bishop’s three remaining men closed in on Javier.

  Javier wheeled Lunaluz around and met the nearest of the soldiers head on. Their blades crashed and rang as they passed and circled each other. Then the other two soldiers attacked Javier’s back.

  Kiram screamed a warning but still one of the soldiers landed a blow across Javier’s shoulder. Kiram buried a black arrow in the man’s skull. The remaining two soldiers were already on Javier and he parried their blows with a blinding speed. But Kiram saw Javier’s blood spill across Lunaluz’s white hide.

  The combat was too close for Kiram to dare release another arrow. He raced to reach Javier’s side.

  Javier swore in Cadeleonian and Haldiim. Lunaluz reared back, striking at the other horses. Then Javier plunged his sword into one of the soldier’s chests. The man rocked back and toppled from his saddle. Javier spun his blade back, parrying a blow from his one remaining attacker. The soldier thrust for Javier’s thigh but Javier moved faster, driving his sword up through the man’s leather armor and severing his neck.

  The soldier’s head struck the ground a moment before his body. The flagstones of the street were slick and red with blood.

  When Kiram reached Javier’s side he could see that Javier had received at least two deep slashes, one across his right shoulder and another just above his left knee.

  “I’m fine,” Javier said before Kiram could ask.

  “Their swords were poisoned.”

  “That would explain the familiar tingling.” Javier flashed a hard smile, all teeth and bravado. “Honestly, I’m beginning to find muerate poison a little passé.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I know. But let’s not frighten the children. We’ve still got a city gate to get past.” Javier pointed and Kiram turned back to see Elezar and Nestor round the corner. All semblance of gold dust was long gone from their faces and Elezar’s coat front was spattered with blood, though as far as Kiram could see he looked unhurt. They drew to a halt beside Kiram and Javier.

  “How bad?” Elezar asked, taking in Javier’s injuries.

  “I’ll live. You two?”

  “Safe and whole, thanks to Kiram,” Nestor responded. “Good shooting.”

  Kiram just nodded. He was glad to have saved Nestor and Javier, but the fact that he’d murdered five men wasn’t something he was ready to feel proud of.

  “The two soldiers who went after Atreau and Morisio apparently lost them and came back for you,” Elezar informed Javier. “They’ve been dealt with.”

  That explained the blood on Elezar’s coat. Nestor looked a little queasy.

  In the relative quiet Kiram could hear alarm bells ringing. People watched them warily from balconies and the doorways of shops.

  “The men we lost at the Grunito house will probably have regrouped by now. They’ll follow us up from High Street, I’ll bet,” Kiram commented.

  Javier nodded his agreement almost absently. He scanned the discarded and abandoned carts, wagons and barrels that littered the street around them.

  “Any thoughts about the city gates?” Elezar asked Javier.

&
nbsp; “One.” Javier offered them all a smug smile. “What do you say to dazzling them with a little hellfire?”

  Kiram knew better than to point out that the ‘hellfire’ hadn’t been all that dependable or that Javier didn’t seem to be in any condition to control the shajdi even if he could summon it. Javier gave him a glance as if expecting an objection.

  “Hellfire sounds good as anything else at this point,” Elezar replied. Nestor nodded his agreement.

  “All right. Then we need those jars of oil.” Javier pointed to the red clay jars in a cart. He glanced at Kiram. “You don’t by chance remember the name of that lieutenant who’s waiting for us with his pikemen, do you?”

  “Montaval,” Kiram supplied.

  “Good. Then I think we’re ready to depart Anacleto.”

  The huge northern gates of Anacleto stood open, but a slow moving sea of merchant’s wagons, farm carts and carriages filled the wide street. Herders directed flocks of goats, sheep, and even geese around their fellow travelers. Ahead Kiram recognized the purple crosses and gold bars on the uniforms of the bishop’s men. The city guards stood aside, looking annoyed, while the bishop’s men harassed traders, travelers and beggars alike in their search for Javier.

  When a Mirogoth musician attempted to ride past, he and his horse were nearly impaled on the long pikes that the bishop’s men held ready. Even at a distance Kiram could see that the musician was simply drunk. Still the bishop’s men knocked him to the ground and searched him for coins and trinkets before allowing him to pass.

  Kiram took a deep breath and gauged the route he would ride between carriages and wagons one last time. Nestor, Elezar and Javier would be charging down behind him and he knew he wouldn’t have the luxury to pause or slow his ride.

  “In the name of the royal bishop, make way!” Kiram shouted. He urged Verano down the slight hill and between two black lacquered carriages.