Crown Duel

  As I emerged onto a lovely brick-patterned street I heard the faint strains of music. I turned my steps that way, and found an inn, its windows bright with golden light, its doors wide open. Music! As always it lightened my heart, and the weight of tiredness in my body diminished. This was good music, too, not the awkward plunkings and tweetings that suggested the right melody for enthusiastic but untrained singers, as I was used to in Tlanth. It had been a very long while since a minstrel, much less wandering players, had dared our mountain heights. Though we did love entertainment, the word had probably spread down-mountain that about all they’d get from us for their pains would be loud applause and a bit of plain food.

  But this inn seemed to have no such problem. Stepping inside, I counted six different instruments, all played well. The chatter, laughter, and clatter of dishes—noises of people having a good time—rose, nearly smothering the music, so I pressed between merrymakers, trying to get closer to the musicians.

  Someone moved this way, someone else shifted that way, and I slipped between them until I found myself wedged against a table set at a wall—a high table with ironwork chairs, instead of the usual low tables and cushions. The metal frame of the table dug into my hip, but at least no one could push me away, and I had a reasonably good view of the musicians.

  And so I stood for a time, swaying and nodding with the complicated rhythms. People got up and danced, something I longed to do. I told myself it was as well that I did not know any of the latest steps, for the last thing I needed was to risk drawing attention to myself—especially if my ankle twinged and made me stumble.

  It did ache, throbbing steadily as I stood there, and my stomach growled and rumbled. But it was so good to be warm, and to feel safe, and to listen to—

  A player faltered; the musicians stopped. The voices altered from loud and jovial to questioning as tension darted through the room like a frightened bird. Faces turned toward the door. Terror leaped behind my ribs. I shifted my shoulder a little, then peeked under the arm of the man next to me.

  Baron Debegri stood at the entrance. He negligently waved a gloved hand toward the table he wanted—a central table, with the best view of the musicians. Two stone-faced warriors motioned to the people already seated there.

  No word had been spoken. The people at the table picked up their dishes and glasses and disappeared silently into the crowd. Debegri sat down, fists on thighs, looking well pleased with himself.

  I stared at him, astounded by my rotten timing. But of course he wouldn’t search at night. And of course he’d quarter himself in the best place available, and if this were indeed a resort town, the inns would be the best.

  I couldn’t stop sneaking peeks at him as he was served a substantial meal and a bottle of what had to be the very best bluewine. No one sat with him, but one of his personal guards stood at the doorway, another behind his chair, silent, watchful, awaiting his command. He didn’t offer them anything to eat, just sat there and gorged himself.

  As I watched, my fear slowly turned into anger, and then to rage. Heady with hunger, I struggled within myself. I felt if I didn’t do something, make some kind of gesture, I would be a coward forever.

  The rich smell of wine-braised onions met my nose, making me swallow. A harassed waiter set down a bowl of some kind of stew for the two men whose table I was wedged against. A flagon of mead and plate of fresh-sliced kresp were next. I met the eyes of the man seated adjacent. He met my gaze incuriously, then looked away with an air of slight annoyance. The other man paid me not the slightest heed as he piled kresp onto his plate and then ladled savory-smelling fish stew over it.

  “Ungh,” I groaned. But the sound was lost in the voices, which had risen again.

  The music started up, a merry rhythm that made people clap in counterpoint. Dancers appeared, at first staying well away from Debegri’s table. However, after four or five songs, the crowd was thicker than ever, and slowly, surely, the dancers moved closer, until the flash of embroidered sleeves and the whirl of skirts flickered between me and the king’s commander. For a time my attention was divided between the two men beside me, who never glanced up from their meal before it was all gone, and the baron, whose table was loaded with goodies, some of which he didn’t even touch.

  Dancers moving unheeded around him. An idea formed, a reckless, useless, stupid idea, but one that promised such fun I could almost hear Bran’s laughter.

  It’s been too long since I heard him laugh, I thought grimly. I was gloriously angry at the whole world—at the commander sitting there at his ease, at his numerous warriors all looking for my dockside-rat self, at the Marquis of Shevraeth for scorning us and our ideals, at people like Ara’s father for not caring that Bran had worn himself tired and grim on their behalf when he should have been laughing and moving right along with all these dancers.

  The dancers had been a brightly colored mass, but now I watched individuals. One in particular drew my eye: a big bull of a man, obviously half-drunk. His partner could hardly stop laughing when he lurched and staggered as the others twirled and stamped. I watched the figures of the dance, learning the pattern. The observers seemed to know it well, for when the stomping and clapping occurred, those who wished to cross the room threaded their way among the dancers; then when the couples did hands-high, the floor cleared for the resulting whirls and partner trades.

  The drunk man was starting to look tired. He’d want to stop soon, I knew. I’d have to move now, or not at all.

  My heart clumped in counterpoint to the music as I slipped through the crowd around the perimeter of the room and then, as the clap-stamp-clap-stamp commenced, eased my way out among the dancers, ducking a tray here and a swinging arm there. My basket handle was over my elbow, so both hands were free.

  When the horns signaled the next hands-high, I remembered my lessons from Khesot on Using Your Opponent’s Weight Against Him. Steadying my hand against the drunken man’s shoulder, I hooked my good foot around his ankle and yanked, pushing his shoulder at the same time.

  He spun, bellowing, his fingers clutching at air, and fell—right across the commander’s table. His partner shrieked, waving her arms. I dodged between her and Debegri, who had leaped up, cursing, as he mopped at the wine splashed down his front. With one hand I nipped a chicken pie and with the other a cup of mulled dessert wine a heartbeat before the table crashed over on its side, flinging the food everywhere. People screamed and shouted, pushing and shoving to get away from the mess. I ducked between two dancers and backed toward the door, laughing breathlessly,.

  The drunken man was yelling, “Where is she? Where is she? Where’s the little snipe that tripped me?”

  “Calm yourself, sir,” Debegri grated, his voice harsh, familiar from the horrible night of the trap. “Guards! Right this table…”

  Trying to smother my laughter, I saw another chance. A single warrior stood holding the reins of the beautiful white horse. The warrior stifled a yawn as she glanced through the door at the two guards busy with Debegri’s table.

  I flung the mulled wine right into her face, then jumped up across the horse’s back. As it bucked and sidled, I clapped my heels to its ribs and it leaped forward.

  The reins went flying. I grabbed at them with my free hand and thrust the meat pie into my mouth with the other.

  The warrior sprang to stop me but the horse was too fast. I dashed my basket against the warrior’s head and slapped the reins on the horse’s white neck.

  A spear whizzed past my shoulder, then something sharp pricked my neck. Ducking as low as I could, I clung desperately to the reins. The horse stretched its legs into a gallop as somewhere behind me, a horn blared a summons.

  The chase was on!

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I knew it had been a stupid thing to do—and worse, dangerous. But I simply could not stop laughing. Half of my meat pie fell away in my struggle to get and keep my balance. What little I did manage to hang on to tasted wonderful—and woke up my app
etite like some kind of ravening beast.

  I crouched low, for the white horse was astonishingly fast and I was afraid to fall. I was also afraid of spears, or worse; remembering the sharp prick at my neck, I touched my skin cautiously and found the slime of blood and a long rent in my kerchief. That warrior had recovered pretty fast from the mulled wine in the face. If her aim had been a fraction better, Debegri would have had a head all ready for the king’s gatepost.

  But for now my horse was faster than the pursuers’. My new problem? I had no idea where I was going. Every curve frightened me—I braced to ride straight into that second patrol, and I scanned the hilltops fearfully.

  Despite my lengthening lead—and maybe because of it—the pursuers stayed hot to task.

  I remembered the forest. Where was it? As we rounded a likely curve in the stone road I yanked the reins to the side. The horse leaped to obey, and with a heave and a snort started plunging crosswise up the hill.

  I didn’t really think this would fool the pursuers, and sure enough, after a short time I saw their outlines against the uneasy dark of the sky. And moments after that, a cold sweep of wind brought the first spattering of another rainstorm.

  It would slow me, but it would also slow the others. The forest line neared…neared…much faster to reach now than it had been to leave by foot. I’d made it—but what now? Try to lose them? That wouldn’t last long, not with a great white horse crashing and smashing through the dun-colored undergrowth.

  And…I thought of the handsome saddle equipage on the animal’s back. What if Debegri had one of those summons-stones? All they’d have to do was follow along and pounce when it was convenient.

  Yet if I somehow managed to ditch the horse in the forest and it emerged without me, they’d have a most conveniently narrow perimeter in which to search.

  But if they thought I was still on its back…

  The trees were closer together. Unseen branches whipped at my face and head. I let the animal slow as I fumbled the basket off my arm and hooked the handle over the pommel. How to keep it there? I thought of the kerchief. With a pang of regret I pulled it off. I wouldn’t be able to wear it anymore anyway, not with that great rent in it, and no doubt splashes of gore from where the warrior’s knife had nicked my skin.

  Tying one end around the basket handle and the pommel, I let the other end flap in the breeze. Would that fool them into thinking I was still on the horse? I’d have to try.

  The rain was now coming down in earnest, roaring through the trees. I could not see or hear the pursuit, but that meant nothing. Slowing the white horse as much as I dared, I pulled my legs up, readying. Ahead I saw open space. I had to make my move.

  So I guided the horse to a tree with a nice low branch, stood on the saddle…reached…gripped rough bark…and with my right foot gave the horse’s flank a good smack. “Run!” I yelled, scrambling up onto the branch.

  My braid came loose, its coils catching round my neck and nearly strangling me, but I ignored it as I fought my way up into the tree and then held on tightly. The wet, slick branches swayed with the wind, and rain stung my face.

  I scarcely had time to get a good grip. A frighteningly short interval passed before I heard crashing noises above the roar of rain, and through the tossing branches saw a weird reddish glow bobbing crazily below. Torches! The pursuit passed right below me, following the trail of smashed grass and small bushes that the white horse had made.

  If I’d been a little slower, they would have seen me.

  Instinct was strong. I wanted to hug that tree tight and stay there for the duration, but that would be a mistake. I had to get out of that forest, and fast, for I couldn’t count on my basket decoy lasting too long.

  So, slipping and grunting, I climbed down and then stumbled along the trail the plunging horses had made.

  It wound around a bit, certainly more than I had been aware of when on horseback. Trying to decide whether this was bad or good, I toiled on, gasping for breath and looking frequently behind me.

  When I emerged from the forest, I wondered, What now?

  The town. Why not? Surely Debegri wouldn’t expect me to go back.

  And so, as exhaustion slowed my steps, I made my way for the second time to the town, stopping once to drink from a cold, fresh-running stream.

  I kept well away from the inn. The streets were mostly clear. Occasional pairs of warriors clopped by on horseback, bearing torches and spears. By then I was too tired to react much beyond ducking into the shadows.

  I found a garden with little open-air gazebos placed at intervals along a path, and a very pretty bathhouse on a stream. These were a temptation, but I avoided them. They’d be the first thing I would check if I were searching.

  So, once again, I found a thick ferny plant to crawl under, and there I passed the night.

  oOo

  Despite my discomfort I slept heavily, but I woke feeling like I needed a week more of sleep. My face, hands, and legs below my knees hurt as though they’d been stung by a thousand nettles. My skin was cross-hatched by red welts from the branches and twigs of my forest dash.

  My ankle throbbed warningly. Two of the healing scabs had been ripped off and the whole thing was fairly messy again—though not nearly as bad as it had been. I looked longingly at the bathhouse, from which I could hear congenial voices echoing. How long had it been, aside from the one day at Ara’s? Never again will I complain about our old bathhouse, I thought grimly as I flexed my foot. I knew I wasn’t going to be walking any great distances that day. So I had to find a ride.

  The first thing I thought of was all those wagons I’d seen on every road. But I was certain there were warriors stopping every cart. And the less-used side paths were too narrow for wagons.

  The bells for first-gold rang. Dawn. I gazed in dismay at the once-pretty blue skirt. It was splotched with mud and striped with grass and leaf stains. The fewer people who saw me the better

  I thrust my braid down the inside of my underdress to hide its length, smoothed my bodice and skirt as best as I could, and made certain no one was around before I crawled out from beneath my fern.

  It seemed strange not to have the basket on my arm. I missed its comforting weight, even though it had been empty for too long.

  I miss Ara’s clean bed, and her pretty garden, and that hot food…

  I shook my head, ignoring the pangs through my temples. No use in regrets—I had to keep my spirits up.

  I crossed the garden, staying near the hedgerow borders until the pathway debouched onto one of the lovely brick streets. A quick glance down the street revealed scarcely any traffic—but way up at the other end were two tall, armed individuals wearing blue and black-and-white livery.

  Oh, joy. The marquis was somewhere around.

  For a moment I indulged in a brief but satisfying daydream of scoring off him as I had off the baron the night before. But amusing as the daydream was, I was not about to go searching him out.

  First of all, while I didn’t look like I had before, the dress wasn’t much of a disguise; and second…I frowned. Despite his reputation as a fop and a gamester, I wasn’t all that certain he would react as slowly as Debegri had.

  I retreated to the garden to think out my next step. Mist was falling, promising ill weather for the remainder of the day. My stomach felt as if it had been permanently pressed against my spine.

  I pulled the laces of the bodice tighter, hoping that would help, then sat on a rock and propped my elbows on my knees, wishing I didn’t feel so light-headed.

  “Are you lost?”

  The voice, a quiet one, made me start violently. My shoulders came up defensively as I turned to face an elderly man. He was elegantly dressed, wearing a fine hat in the latest fashion, and carried no weapons.

  “Oh no. I was supposed to meet someone here, and…” I shrugged, thinking wildly. “A—a flirt,” I added, I don’t know why. “I guess he changed his mind.” I got to my feet again.

  The ma
n smiled a little. “It happens more frequently than not when one is young, if you’ll forgive my saying so.”

  “Oh, I know.” I waved my hands as I backed up one step, then another. “They smile, and dance, and then go off with someone else. But I’ll find someone better. So I’ll be on my way,” I babbled.

  He nodded politely, almost a bow, and I whirled around and scurried down the path.

  Even more intensely than before, I felt that crawling sensation down my back, so I dropped off the path and circled around. I was slightly reassured when I saw the old man making his way slowly along the path as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened; but my relief was very short lived.

  Two equerries in Renselaeus livery strode along the path, overtook the man, and addressed him. I watched with my heart thumping like a drum as the man spoke at some length, brushed his fingers against his face—the scratches from the trees!—and then gestured in the direction I had gone.

  Expecting the two equerries to immediately take off after me, I braced for a run. Why had I babbled so much? Why didn’t I just say “No’’ and leave?

  The equerries walked swiftly in the direction they’d come, and the old man continued on his way.

  What does that mean?

  The answer was not long in coming: They were going back to report.

  That meant a whole lot of them searching. And soon.

  Yes, I’d really widened my perimeter, I thought furiously, cursing the baron, music, inns, resorts, food, and the baron again, throwing in Galdran Merindar and the Marquis of Shevraeth for good measure. I slipped through the garden to the street. Spotting an alley behind a row of houses, I ducked into that.

  And when I heard the thunder of approaching horses’ hooves, I dove toward the first door, which was miraculously open. Slipping inside, a sickly smile on my face, I concocted a wild story about deliveries and the wrong address as I looked about for inhabitants angered at my intrusion.