The Baron's Ring

by Mary C. Findley

  Chapter Fifteen

  For wickedness burneth as the fire: it shall devour the briers and thorns, and shall kindle in the thickets of the forest, and they shall mount up like the lifting up of smoke.

  Isaiah 9:18

  “I’m telling you I smell smoke,” Tristan insisted to Captain Agman. “Perhaps there’s a forest fire.”

  “Baron, I have sent men, just as I did all the other times you told me you heard strange sounds or smelled smoke. A road is definitely under construction. Footprints have been found, and campfires, but my men tracked them to the border of Tarraskida, as near as they could determine it, and no one remains in our territory. Possibly they are just trying to be sure of their border. I can’t send soldiers into your brother’s domain without cause. There’s no question that the forest is drying up. Apparently they have succeeded in damming the river. But according to my reports there is no danger to Larcondale or your vineyards, Baron.”

  “I think it’s a blessing that your brother is doing all that work in the forest,” Mayra said one evening as she and Alex and Tristan walked in the woods near the main house. Alex had appointed himself Tristan’s personal bodyguard in the evenings after his now part-time work at the forge was done. He and Tristan still sparred from time to time in spite of Mayra’s protests. Tristan had set some of the off-duty soldiers and his own men to clearing the underbrush and making some paths in the forest. He remembered only dimly what it had been like when he had been spit out by the Lahina and wandered to the edge of Larcondale five years ago.

  Vancus had given his amen to Tristan’s feeling that the decades-old underbrush ought to be cleared and the forest managed. He worried about the danger of brush fires attacking the vineyard possibly more than Tristan, even though his nose wasn’t as keen to smell the burning that still assailed Tristan at odd times and seemed to come from the north. They had even begun a lumbering project since Vancus had declared a good many of the trees to be valuable for building and for trade.

  Now the forest seemed like a civilized backyard to Tristan. He knew a great deal of labor had gone into making it so open and easily-traversed, a project extending several miles past the edge of the estate. It was clear now that Dunstan’s workers had cut a road almost all the way to Larcondale, because the loggers and brush-cutters had met it and it was now open, though they found no one in the area. Tristan and his two favorite retainers had walked two or three miles into the woods and Tristan could still feel an openness and lightness about him in the late summer twilight. Suddenly Mayra jerked on his arm and gasped. Tristan caught her up at once.

  “Twisted your ankle, did you, my lady?” Alex tut-tutted. “Here, Baron, as little weight as my lady is for you, I’m sure it’ll be better if I carry her back.”

  “Are you all right, Mayra?” Tristan asked. He felt her ankle and was relieved to find no evidence of a break.

  “Oh, of course,” Mayra gritted. “I just feel so foolish stepping into that burrow. And we were having such a lovely walk.”

  “Do you mind if I continue on a little way?” Tristan asked casually. “I thought I heard voices up ahead, and there’s that cursed smell of smoke again.”

  “All the more reason you should come back with us,” Alex said firmly. “None of your men are out here at this time of day. I can’t pretend to hear what you’re talking about, or smell it either, but if there is someone out there I don’t want you here alone.”

  Tristan drew the sword he always carried when he left the estate, again, in spite of Mayra’s protests. “Alex, men are coming this way. I have no idea how many, but it sounds like at least twenty. They’re still a mile or two off. As you say, they aren’t ours, but I do hear sounds like armor and swords clashing. I need you to take the Lady Mayra back to the house and bring some of our men as quickly as you can.”

  “I can’t leave you here!” Alex cried.

  “I can’t run,” Tristan said desperately. “I can try to hide, and I will, but I have to know that you’re taking Mayra to safety.”

  “I won’t leave without you!” Mayra stormed. “If they’re that far away we have time for Alex to lead you.”

  “My love, if I can hear them, it won’t be long before they can hear us,” Tristan grated. “Perhaps they already can. Have mercy on me, and don’t torture me any further by lingering here. If they’re friends, I’ll bring them back to the estate and you can mother them. Alex, take her and go.”

  “My lady, he’s right. Baron, this is a fine climbing tree right here.” Alex put Tristan’s hand on a large fir. “Scoot yourself up, and you can get twenty feet into the air. There’s thick cover up there. God guard you.”

  Tristan scrambled up the tree, praying for sturdy branches. He stopped for a moment to listen for the sound of Alex’s heavy tread fading in the distance, and those others he dreaded coming nearer every moment. He went farther up the tree, bumping his head, scratching his hands, scraping skin off his knees. He was trying to fight dizziness, feel for cover and a safe perch. He had little idea how high he had actually climbed. Then he stopped, listened, and froze.

  “There were people here just a few moments ago,” a strange voice, heavily accented, said, just below him. “Three of them. But only one set of tracks goes away.”

  “Somebody waiting to ambush us?” growled another man’s voice, and there was an uneasy stirring below Tristan. It was definitely a party of men dressed for battle, hardly an army, but also hardly his own men or men of Lord Drokken’s force.

  “No, it was two men and a woman,” snorted the man who had spoken first. “Just out for an evening stroll. Something must have happened, the woman was hurt, had to be carried back.”

  “But what happened to the other man?” a new voice demanded.

  “Walked off in a different direction,” someone suggested.

  “Don’t see any marks,” a voice contradicted. “But the ground’s like iron. Nice of them to clear this last bit out for us, eh, My Lord?”

  “The vineyard is just up ahead,” the foreign-accented voice said. “Our scouts said they have a private guard, and a garrison of soldiers down the valley.”

  “Why would they have so much soldiery?” someone asked. “There’s never been any threat to this valley.”

  “Maybe somebody warned them we were coming,” a man sneered.

  “We’re not here to fight a war,” the foreign man snapped. “We just want one man. We’ve got to find a way to take him by stealth, or make them give him up.”

  “He’s there every day, at the vineyards,” a man said. “Surrounded by a flock of children. Apparently he’s still the teacher, but why does he come here to teach?”

  “Whoever’s the baron now gave him leave to do it here,” responded another man. “What’s it matter? It’ll be easier to get to him here than down in the middle of the town. The scouts never got a glimpse of him down there.”

  “Someone comes,” the foreign man’s voice snapped. “Soldiers. Get back into the rough country, quickly.”

  Tristan did not move until the sound of the soldiers who had approached from the estate was right beneath him.

  “Baron? You all right?” Alex’s very anxious voice called out.

  “I’m fine,” Tristan said, but he shook badly as he climbed down. Alex’s strong arms lifted him bodily off the tree when he still had no idea how far he was from the ground and set him on his rubbery legs. He gratefully leaned on Alex and walked back to the estate while the soldiers took off after the intruders.

  “Who were those men?” Alex demanded.

  “I think they’re from my brother Dunstan,” Tristan said. He sat down on the padded bench on the terrace, where Mayra had her foot propped on pillows, and got her hand tightly clasped in his. “And they’re here for me.”

  “Explain,” Mayra said.

  “I can’t,” Tristan said. He related what he had heard from up in the tree. “Is it possible my brother would dig a path through the woods for five years just to drag me back to
his court? Should I just give myself up to them?”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Alex cried. “From what you told us, those men aren’t just here to escort you to a happy family reunion. They sound to me as if they’d be just as happy to take home your head.”

  Mayra shuddered at Tristan’s side. “My love, go inside,” he said, embracing her. “I have to wait for the men to return, but you need rest.” One of the servants had stood ready to render assistance to his mistress and Tristan listened to Mayra hobble off on his arm.

  “Sorry for upsetting my lady, Baron, but you’ll not be surrendering,” Alex growled.

  “Alex, you should go home, Tristan sighed. “You must be tired. We have plenty of guards. But spread the word, school holiday tomorrow, and until further notice, and please ask Thomas to come to see me. I need to talk to him. Take some of the private guard with you, and send an escort with him. I know it’s only half a mile, but take care of him.”

  Tristan still hadn’t moved when criers announced the approach of Thomas. That had been one of Brinarra’s ideas, to have people announce any arrival loudly enough so that visitors would not surprise the baron. Tristan felt the minister sit down beside him, but still didn’t speak for a few moments.

  “You had no trouble coming here?” Tristan inquired anxiously.

  “No, Alex made sure I had four of his picked guards. I never felt safer walking across the compound, though I felt very small. They told me what’s happened.” Alex seemed to prefer men as close to his own size as possible.

  “There’s hardly ever been a time when I needed counsel more, Thomas,” Tristan said. “Even if the captain captures the men I heard tonight, there may be more. They seemed to be well-armed and well-trained. Maybe they don’t want a war, but they seem ready to kill.”

  “You think you ought to give yourself up,” Thomas said without hesitation.

  “Those men have got to be primed for action, ready to take any chance to capture me,” Tristan said. “They’ve eluded our men this long, so they’re well-prepared. Everyone’s in danger as long as I hide from them. And these aren’t Drokken’s bored soldiers. They could be murderers and rapists for all we know.”

  “That doesn’t exactly incline me to agree to your idea of giving yourself up,” Thomas grunted. “Do you feel sure these men came from your brother, and that he wishes to harm you?”

  “They must have come from Dunstan,” Tristan argued. “Why else would they have come here, and come for me? And I think their words made it clear they haven’t got plans for my happiness. If they were here for honorable reasons, they’d just come peaceably to the gates and ask for me, wouldn’t they?”

  “What you told me about your brother doesn’t make me think he’d do a thing like this,” Thomas said incredulously. “You said he looked horrified when you fell into the river. He knew what happened was an accident, and you were trying to help him, whatever nonsense he spouted, and he probably concluded it was his fault you fell in. He’d have felt guilt, and searched for you, but not with any thought of harming you. At worst he’d want to force you to come back and help him as you meant to do before.”

  “I would have thought so too,” Tristan muttered. “I can’t understand this. No one else would come through that forest but someone from Parangor. And if they’re looking for me, Dunstan had to have sent them. Apparently he’s had some kind of insane rage over my ‘desertion’ of him festering in his craw for five years and now he’s going to make me pay.”

  “I can only pray for God to give you wisdom and guard you, my friend,” Thomas said.

  “That’s what I need most,” Tristan replied. “Good night, Thomas.”

  “Baron, here are the strangers from the woods,” Captain Agman’s voice called out a few moments after Thomas had departed. Tristan rose quickly as a large group approached him. “There are five here, My Lord, and my men are pursuing more. Allow me to question them in your presence. Who is your leader? Someone tell me your business, and who sent you.”

  “I am the chief advisor to the king of Parangor,” the man with the foreign accent spoke up. “I am called Lord Catarain. My business is justice.”

  “What does Parangor justice have to do with Larcondale in Tarraskida?” Captain Agman demanded.

  “If there is to be peace between our people, this man must surrender himself to us,” the one called Catarain responded. “He must accompany us to Kenborana without delay.”

  “No one is going anywhere with strangers who have to be dug out of the woods and won’t come openly to our baron to state their business,” Captain Agman thundered. “If there is to be peace between us it will begin with openness and explanations that aren’t riddles and nonsense. This is our baron, and he hasn’t been in Kenborana for five years.”

  “The man we seek was described to me,” Catarain said. “He wore a ring of bronze, with the image you see on our armor, the image of King Dunstan’s army of Parangor. He was known as a teacher at that time, and seems still to be one, though it appears he is a great deal more.”

  “Do you make a charge against him?” Captain Agman demanded.

  “He is charged with assault,” Catarain. “She who accuses him did not know his name. The man I seek is tall, and, I am told, handsome.”

  Tristan’s head spun, though he could feel the men around him relax, even hear them chuckle under their breaths at the absurdity of their baron assaulting a woman. He could not imagine the basis for such a charge. Dunstan would have begun his forest reclamation project knowing that if his brother had survived he must be downriver. Someone somehow had brought word three years ago that a man answering Tristan’s description was a teacher in Larcondale. Dunstan had redoubled his efforts to cut a path to his brother, justifying spending his kingdom’s lifeblood trying to reach a molester of women and possibly even a man who had murdered his brother and stolen his royal ring. And if Dunstan wanted some sort of perverted revenge on him, discovering that Tristan himself was the guilty party was a charge that might not be laughed off in Parangor.

  No one would believe his five years’ absence was not of his choice. They would think he had fled because of this assault. He must go back and clear himself. Catarain’s voice cut in on his wildly tumbling thoughts. Footsteps strode toward Tristan. He flinched but silently waved his soldiers back and stepped off the porch. The man approached Tristan.

  “Surely this face must once have been handsome,” the man observed, very close to Tristan. “You have been burned, my tall friend. This is the one we seek.”

  What? Tristan almost said it out loud. What did the scars from Gregor’s wife’s attack have to do with this accusation? He didn’t have time to try to answer that question.

  “This is the Baron of Larcondale,” Captain Agman said. “Draw back, sir, and respect his person. Your charge is ridiculous. This man has lived in this place five years and done nothing but good.”

  “But I am the one you seek,” Tristan said abruptly. “I’m also Prince Tristan of Parangor. King Dunstan is my brother. He’ll reward you handsomely for finding me.”

  Tristan could have sworn the man started. Every buckle rattled in his harness. “You are the lost brother he spoke of so often?” the man did not even try to conceal the astonishment in his voice. “Oh, indeed, we were curious about who wore the ring of Parangor, but never did we expect that it would actually be Prince Tristan returned from the dead,” laughed the man.

  Confused, Tristan hesitated only a moment. Something strange was happening if even this man didn’t know it was Tristan he sought, yet he could not let a charge of this gravity go unanswered. “I will go with you, and answer this charge,” Tristan said. “We will leave at first light. Captain Agman, Lord Catarain’s men can be quartered in your barracks for the night, can they not?”

  “Certainly, My Lord Baron,” Agman responded.

  “Lord Catarain, the hospitality of my home is at your disposal,” Tristan said.

  “It is good of the baron to offer,
but I am content to quarter with my men,” Catarain answered stiffly.

  After he had gone Tristan sent for Vancus. “I’m going to Parangor in the morning, my father-in-law,” Tristan said.

  “Yes, Baron,” Vancus replied. “God protect you. Mayra has my wife in your chambers, and they’re having a good cry together. She’ll be strong when you need her to be, though.”

  “Has my mother-in-law seen to her ankle?” Tristan asked.

  “It’s just a slight strain,” Vancus assured him. “She’ll probably be all right tomorrow.”

  “Could you manage the estate if I don’t return, Vancus?” Tristan asked soberly.

  “Don’t say such a thing,” Vancus begged.

  “Answer me,” Tristan demanded. “Manage the estate, take care of my wife, be the Baron of Larcondale, if it comes to that?”

  “May God not ask it of me,” Vancus said, almost weeping. “But yes, I can, of course.”

  “Good.” Tristan clasped his hand. “I’m sorry to interrupt your wife and my wife in their cry, but I need to speak to Josena as well. To both of you together.”

  Josena came, sniffling just a little. “Sit down my mother-in-law,” Tristan said. “Mayra is not too much hurt, then?”

  “No, it’s nothing,” Josena assured him.

  “And the baby?”

  Josena gasped. Tristan laughed wryly. “I know. She doesn’t want me to know yet, because she’s afraid something will go wrong, and we’ve waited so long. I’m blind, but I’m not stupid, my mother-in-law. Either my dainty little wife is getting fat or she’s with child.”