by Robin Hardy
“Because I trust Olynn,” Gusta replied. He halted, taken by surprise. The tone she used implied a confidence based on intimacy—certainly a greater confidence than what she had in Troyce or his position.
The time had come; the future of Lystra was at stake. What must be done, must be done now. He drew out his dagger, urging, “Gusta, listen to me!” In the blackness she would never know what happened.
But from a tiny patch of moonlight that somehow found a straight path through the thick branches overhead, she caught the glint from his knife. Instantly she ran with the child. Troyce shot after her, and was lifting the dagger to her fleeing back when his foot caught neatly under the gnarled root of an old tree and he sprawled headlong. He quickly raised himself again, listening for her steps.
Silence, but for the wind in the trees. He turned his head to listen in the other direction. An owl hooted mournfully. She must have stopped to hide somewhere close by, hoping he would pass her over in the darkness.
He opened his mouth to advise her of the futility of escape, but then thought better of it. “Gusta, wait, my dear! I drew my knife because I fear the wolves in this forest! You know about the wolves, don’t you? Please, let me take you to a place of safety! You may walk behind me if it will ease your mind, but don’t expose the child to the dangers of the forest!”
He paused to listen. There was a rustle to his right. He went that way, leading with the dagger, but it was only a night creature scuttling away into the underbrush.
He tried again: “Gusta, you cannot go back to the palace. The first man you meet may be one of Basil’s hired assassins! And how will you send word to Olynn without Basil hearing of it? If you don’t trust me, Gusta, the Chatain will die at his hands!”
Troyce stopped to listen once more, but now what he heard was the sound of searchers penetrating the forest. “They are coming now to kill him!” he whispered urgently as a last shot before turning back toward the palace in frustration.
But now here was a problem. He could not get back in without being seen. How would he explain his presence in the forest, with the babe and nursemaid gone? The searchers were closing in.
He turned his dagger inward and ripped a hole through his coat and shirt. Then he clenched his teeth and gashed himself in the side—not deeply, but enough to bleed impressively. He lay down and propped the dagger through the tear, then waited for the searchers to find him.
They did, very soon. With torches and swords they came thrashing through the forest, almost stumbling over him: “What the—!” “It’s Lord Troyce! He’s been stabbed!” “Send a report to the Captain, quick—here, Seth, help me lift him. Easy, now.” They carried him moaning to the palace infirmary.
As the voices and footfalls faded, Gusta quietly rose from her hiding place and ran with the frightened child deeper into the woods. She had not been able to hear exactly what had made the soldiers take their torches and leave. Possibly, Troyce had been able to divert them away from her and the child—in which case, he had been telling her the truth.
She wavered in her flight while Ariel clung to her neck. What if he was right, and the Counselor was attempting to take power? Basil had seemed preoccupied with knowing the child’s whereabouts every moment. But surely Olynn could be trusted . . . couldn’t he?
Olynn and Basil had always been staunchly loyal to Surchatain Roman. Did two such men change overnight? Or were they only now showing what they had always been?
Gusta stood in the agony of making a blind decision on which their lives hung. One thing was clear: Someone was a traitor, and if she returned to the palace without knowing who, she would likely walk straight into a deathtrap.
But Troyce was right in that the forest was a perilous place to hide. Which was worse, to face wolves or traitors? In such a dilemma, Gusta at once did the most reasonable thing—she began to sob. Ariel whimpered, “Go home, Gussa. Pwease go home.” She silenced herself and stroked his head to comfort him.
Then she remembered dear Surchatain Galapos and the medallion he had bequeathed to the child before going to his death in Goerge. Galapos had said God delivered those who called to Him for help. She had heard many stories of such deliverance, of Outpost One and Roman’s travels in Corona. But those were other times, other people. Here, now, how could God help her?
She heard a stick crack behind her and she jumped. She could only gasp out, “God help me—” as she saw the shape of a large animal gathering to spring.
Gusta wheeled to run, powered by a surge of terror. In the denseness of the night she ran blindly, one hand outstretched to warn of trees. She ignored branches slapping her face and briars catching her nightdress. She lost her slippers to twigs and roots but ran on unslowed, heedless to anything but saving the child. At every step she felt the animal pouncing behind her, barely a body length behind, chasing her to exhaustion.
She struck one foot on a sharp rock and almost tumbled down. The beast took that opportunity to spring, and she veered to the left to escape. Pressing Ariel’s head tightly to her shoulder, she continued to run sightlessly through the treacherous woods.
Stop. At the silent command, she did, very suddenly, in time to slip feet first down the steep bank of an unseen ravine. She slid rudely on her rear, clutching Ariel to her chest, until she landed upright at the bottom. Overhead, she glimpsed a black shape leap across the ravine in misguided pursuit.
Gusta shook in exhaustion and relief, leaning against the side of the ravine. Ariel raised his little head and calmly requested, “Do again.” She laughed and cried weakly, kissing his face.
Something moved beside her and she leaped up with a startled cry. When a hand grasped her arm, she was too weak to struggle. An old voice crackled, “Come with me.”
Gusta twisted her arm free to feel a wrinkled, bony hand. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”
“I am a widow. When I heard the noise around my house, I came out to see what it was.” This gentle voice did not seem too dangerous, so Gusta allowed the widow to lead her a few paces through the ravine. It sloped upward as they walked, and then abruptly came to an end. But the lady reached out and opened a door. Gusta stood blinking into a little candlelit room with a table, a chair, a bed, and even a cozy fire. A window opened up the ceiling of the room, which was latticed with roots supporting it and descending downward along the walls.
The nursemaid entered in a stupor, then turned to look at the woman who shut the door behind her. She carefully removed her cloak, asking, “Are you in need, child?”
“I—I am running for my life and the life of this babe!” Gusta blurted as if the widow should have known. In her agitation, Gusta never thought to explain the situation at the palace which put them in the forest at midnight.
“What do you require, child?” the old woman asked serenely.
“Help!” Gusta exclaimed.
“In what form?” the woman asked.
“Why are you questioning me like this?” Gusta cried. “Are you going to help me, or must I beg for it?” Part of her frustration lay in not knowing what to ask the woman to do for her.
The widow studied the distraught nursemaid with unruffled detachment. “It appears to me you need to be given shelter for the night and taken to safety in the morning.”
“Do you know Lord Troyce?” Gusta asked on a sudden thought.
“I know him, but he does not know me,” the widow replied, and Gusta was somehow relieved. Meanwhile, the woman was turning down the modest bed and plumping the straw pillow. “Sleep out the night, and I will go make arrangements,” she said.
Gusta watched hesitantly as the old woman donned her cloak again and stepped back out. Then, because it seemed the most logical thing to do, the muddled nursemaid climbed wearily into bed with Ariel already asleep in her arms.
At the palace, Troyce had been laid in an infirmary bed and a physician called to tend him. Some of the soldiers stood by as the physician dressed the wound, then Basil stalked into the infirmary, Olynn
and Sevter at his sides. “Where did you find him?” Basil asked a soldier.
“At the edge of the forest, Counselor. Lying wounded on the ground.”
Basil asked the physician tightly, “How is he?”
“Not badly injured, Counselor. It appears to be just a glancing strike,” he answered, straightening.
Then Basil looked down on the patient and demanded, “Where is the Chatain, Troyce?”
“You tell me, Counselor!” Troyce spat sarcastically. To the soldier by the bed, Troyce said, “I saw the good Counselor here trying to sneak the child and the nursemaid out of the palace. I followed him and accosted him in the forest, whereupon he turned and attacked me.” The soldier raised his face in disbelief.
Basil went livid. “You are lying!”
Olynn coolly interrupted, speaking to Troyce: “That is not possible. The Counselor summoned me from his chambers to find you gone and the Chatain gone.”
“Of course he planned it to look as if I did it! Don’t you realize he is trying to usurp the Surchatain?” exclaimed Troyce.
“Traitor! How dare you accuse me?” sputtered Basil.
“Who besides you is in a better position to take control, with the Surchatain gone?” Troyce suggested bitterly. The soldiers began looking dubiously at the Counselor.
“You are out of line, Troyce,” Olynn said coldly. “As acting Commander, I have had opportunity to observe both you and the Counselor in the Surchatain’s absence. Only your actions have been suspicious and irregular.”
Troyce turned his eyes to the Captain. “Of course,” he posed, “Basil cannot take power by himself. He must have the help of the army.”
Now Olynn went red and drew his sword. “I should kill you for suggesting I would betray Surchatain Roman!”
But a soldier put a restraining hand on his chest. “There’ll be no killing—yet,” he said in a commanding tone. Olynn gazed at his fellow in surprise at the suspicion.
“Wait,” urged Basil. “Wait. Do you see what he is doing? He is dividing us against ourselves. Let’s not touch him, then. Our first concern is to find the Chatain, then when the Surchatain returns, he will hear and decide between us.”
“Well, that sounds fair, Counselor,” said another soldier, “but suppose only you know where the Chatain is?” All the soldiers looked at Basil now.
Then Sevter spoke up with calm, earnest restraint. “Hold, now. Shea was standing guard at the Counselor’s door. You all know he is honest and reliable. Let’s ask him if the Counselor ever had opportunity tonight to do as Troyce suggests. Or if any of the guards saw him leave with the Chatain and the nursemaid.”
Troyce smiled, glad that he had strategically engaged the guards along their escape route in other apparently pressing duties. And none of those men was standing in this room now. “If the good Counselor cannot arrange to get out of the palace unseen—or deliberately unnoticed—he’s not very smart, for a counselor.”
The soldiers stirred visibly. Sevter, Olynn, and Basil stared at each other in rising desperation. One fellow looked down at Troyce and drawled, “You’re full of accusations, Lord Troyce. Have you any proof of what you say?”
“You ask for proof, when the child’s life is in danger!” exclaimed Troyce.
“Listen, men!” ordered Olynn. They turned to him coolly. “Before he left, Surchatain Roman gave the Counselor command of the palace. Don’t you know the Surchatain has the utmost faith in him to leave him with that responsibility? If we’re to obey the Surchatain’s final command, we must listen to the Counselor.”
This time Troyce was shrewdly silent. A soldier observed, “Anyone can turn traitor.”
“Yes,” Olynn said quietly. “But if you condemn the wrong man, the Surchatain will have your head.”
“If he returns,” a man muttered. One soldier slipped out of the tension-filled room and went to locate Captain Reuel.
Basil suddenly announced, “I will voluntarily hand over power to Troyce on one condition: that we unite first to find the Chatain. If Troyce is loyal as he says he is, surely he will not refuse to do that.”
The soldiers turned back to Troyce, some nodding. He stretched in the bed, wincing to emphasize that he was wounded, and countered, “You can say that because you have already killed the Chatain.”
“No!” exploded Basil.
“Then produce him!” challenged Troyce.
“I cannot, unless you tell me where you have taken him!” shouted Basil.
“It’s a test of power, then,” interposed one soldier. “Choose who you’ll go with, men.” He himself stood by Troyce’s bed. Others joined him, but one came to stand by Basil and the room quickly divided.
“No!” cried Basil. “No! We must not allow ourselves to be pitted against each other—” But swords were already drawn and clashing.
Chapter 16
Gusta awakened from pleasant slumber as morning light came dancing down through the skylight. She blinked a moment, lost at first. When she remembered their midnight flight, she snapped her head around to her side. Ariel was sleeping, eyes closed tightly, forefinger in his mouth.
She sighed in gratitude, and then recalled that she had begun to ask God for help when they were attacked by that beast, whatever it was. Well, almost attacked. Chased to death, nearly. Chased . . . straight to this ravine and safe shelter.
The door opened and in came the widow woman, still wearing the black cloak. As she hung it neatly in its place beside the door, Gusta wondered if she had been out the whole night. The woman put an old, chipped flagon and one cracked cup on the table.
Gusta rose from the bed as the widow poured the cup full from the flagon and held it out to her. She drank down clear, sweet spring water, then roused Ariel enough to make him drink some before his head bobbed down to his chest.
Their hostess put half a loaf of days-old bread on the table and said, “This is all I have.” It was not an apology, just a statement of fact. Gusta knew better than to offend her by refusing it, so she ate a decent amount. But she could not wake Ariel sufficiently to feed much to him.
Gusta promised the woman, “You’ll be repaid for your kindness to us.”
The widow merely said, “Take the child and come.” Gusta lifted the sleeping Ariel and followed her.
They went out the little shelter into the ravine, lit by spots of morning light filtered through the trees. They climbed up natural rock steps leading out to level ground, and Gusta looked around curiously as they walked across the roof of the room. It appeared to be normal, solid ground on the edge of the ravine. She even had difficulty locating the skylight, but finally decided it was somewhere among the roots of an old oak tree.
The widow took her in a straight path through the woods without any word of explanation. Gusta had no notion of where they were going, or even where they were now, but it seemed pointless to question the woman after her unforced hospitality. If she had meant to do them any harm, she surely would have done it while they were sleeping.
Gusta went with her through crackling leaves and fragrant undergrowth until they came out of the trees to intercept the paved northbound market road. Gusta blinked, realizing they had never been far from the palace. The widow stopped and looked southward down the road expectantly.
Some moments later a peasant farmer driving a creaking, one-horse cart came within view. He pulled up beside them and nodded to the widow, then reached out to help Gusta climb up with Ariel. As she sat, somewhat baffled, the peasant clucked to the horse to start up again, waving to the widow as if confirming something understood between them.
Gusta stared at him, then wrenched around to say goodbye to the poor widow and assure her again of reward. But the woman was gone. So the nursemaid turned back to assess the peasant. He seemed to be a simple man, with an air of honesty and casual goodwill. “Where are we going?” Gusta asked him.
“Ya don’t know?” he asked, bushy grey brows creeping up in surprise. “The widder paid me well to take ya to Outpost
One.”
Outpost One? Of course! Whatever was happening at the palace, she knew Captain Clatus and his men would die if necessary in defense of the Chatain. And the Captain would know better than anyone how to reach the Surchatain. Then Gusta startled, “The widow paid you? With what?”
“What this here was full of,” he answered, showing her a fine leather money bag with an imprint of a shield bearing a cross and a lion. “I’m a man o’ my word. Since I been paid in advance, I got to get ya directly to the outpost, so ya just sit back and ride easy till we get there.”
As that very morning broke with splendor over the palace of Corona, Roman, Deirdre, Nihl and Izana saddled their animals in the rear courtyard, preparing to leave. Although any number of servants could be found to perform this task, it was a familiar ritual that Roman preferred doing himself. Colin stood by, unhappily shifting from foot to foot.
Kam came out of the palace with a puckered grin. “Surchatain, they’ve got a nice little pile out front ready to be lit. Servants are cleaning up the place and posting notices about the change in rulers. Folks are coming back from nowhere.”
Roman nodded, smoothing the horse blanket. “Any sign of Graydon’s family?”
“Not that I’ve seen,” Kam replied.
As Roman pulled tight the cinch, Fidelis raised a rear hoof threateningly. Roman slapped a warning on the haunches and the hoof went down. Continuing to Kam: “If they come back, you’ll have to escort them out of Corona also. We mustn’t leave any temptation for Graydon to break his banishment. But they’re not our main concern. I’m leaving you here to supervise Titan, and see that he doesn’t get carried away with his new power. Stay in the background, though—if matters get out of hand, I want you able to get out. If I have to, I will come back. But if I do, it will be with an army and I will annex Seleca.”
Roman broke off to lift Deirdre onto her saddle, and she appreciatively stroked his freshly shaven face. He never forgot that she preferred him cleanshaven.
As he swung up on the prancing Fidelis, he added, “Colin, I want you to supervise the army—what remains of it. I want you to concentrate on changing their attitude from being Bloods to that of a disciplined standing army. As I told Kam, you’re to do this from the position of an informal advisor. If they won’t heed you, come back to the outpost. I will send Nihl and enough of his men to convince them to change.”