Warcry

  Lara raised her chin imperiously. “I thank you for your message, Lanfer. You may return to the Council with my thanks for their care of me.”

  “Your Majesty,” Lanfer bowed to her. “The Council will wish to know when you will arrive at Water’s Fall.”

  “Tell them that the Warlord and I will arrive at the gates sometime tomorrow.” Lara reached out her hands, and both Keir and Marcus pulled her up off the stool. “Late afternoon, I would expect.”

  “Your Majesty,” Lanfer bowed again and started to back away, clearly heading for his horse.

  “Warprize.” Atira stepped forward, speaking in Xyian. “There is still the matter of the insult to my person.”

  Heath jerked his head around. Atira was standing there, one hand on her hip, the other on the hilt of her sword. Her blond hair gleamed in the sun as she gave Lanfer a considering look. With the brown of her leather armor and the shine of her weapons, she took Heath’s breath away.

  ATIRA ALLOWED HER GAZE TO LINGER AS SHE looked the blond city-dweller over. The man flushed up a bit, but met her look straight on.

  “Your pardon, Lady Atira.” Lanfer bowed his head slightly. “I meant no offense to you.”

  “I think you did.” Atira started around the man, giving him the once-over as if he were a piece of meat.

  Lanfer stiffened, but did nothing else as she walked a circle around him. “Shall I show you my teeth, Lady?”

  Atira gave him a slow smile as the warriors around them chuckled. “I am no Lady, Lanfer of Xy. I am a warrior of the Plains. There is an old saying of my people: ‘You can’t know the taste of the meat until you slay the deer.’ You are pleasing,” she stepped closer to the man. “Perhaps you should come to my tent and see for yourself if I am worth chasing?”

  Lanfer didn’t flinch as she’d half-expected. Instead, he studied her face, and quirked up an eyebrow. “You intrigue me, warrior. Alas, my duties press me to return to Water’s Fall. Perhaps another time?” He pressed his hand to his heart, and inclined his head.

  Atira laughed, and stepped aside to allow him to mount his horse. She watched as the Xyian lord and his escort rode off.

  But to Atira, the look of outrage on Heath’s face was even more satisfying.

  LANFER? SHE WAS FLIRTING WITH THAT POMPOUS, snot-nosed, stuck-up ass?

  The Warlord’s voice cut through Heath’s anger. “That was about what I expected,” Keir said. “Although I thought a warrior of the Plains would be the first to strike.”

  “Trust Heath to take the initiative,” Lara said, accepting a mug of kavage from Marcus. She ran her other hand through her hair with a sigh and gave Heath an amused look.

  The other warriors all chuckled.

  Heath ran his fingers through his own hair. “He deserved it,” he said. “Lanfer has always had a mouth on him.”

  “Which you should be used to,” Lara pointed out. She paused then, looking off toward the city. “Why do you suppose he of all people was sent with that message?”

  Heath shook his head. “I don’t know. But something is not right.”

  Keir gave him a questioning look.

  “The message was from Lara’s Council,” Heath said. “Not Lord Warren, not from my mother.”

  “All the prior messages were written,” Keir said. “That is also different.”

  Lara shook her head at that. “No, in an emergency they would send a spoken message. But there was nothing from Eln, or from Anna. Yet they know we are not that far away.”

  “If he left just after my father collapsed, they wouldn’t have any information for us,” Heath added. “But still . . . something is off.”

  “He didn’t even ask if you wanted to ride into the city with him, Heath.” Lara frowned. “Simple courtesy would require—”

  “Lanfer and I have never seen eye to eye.” Heath shrugged. “I wouldn’t expect him to make such an offer.”

  “If that’s known, could that be the reason why he was sent?” Keir asked. “And why is there no word from the warriors I left to secure Xy?”

  Heath shrugged again.

  “Poor Anna. She must be beside herself with worry.” Lara sighed, staring into her mug. “I wanted to make a formal entrance into the city, to let the people of Xy see that I have returned with my Warlord and an heir.” She turned a troubled face to Heath. “But maybe we should just ride to the castle as quickly as we can.”

  Keir’s smile flashed in the light. “We would have to ride. You just don’t move that fast, my love.”

  Lara made a face at him.

  “My mother may not write all that well, but she uses clerks,” Heath said slowly. “And she would have sent for me, if nothing else. Something is not right. We don’t have enough information.” He faced Keir. “I should go ahead to Water’s Fall tonight.”

  “A concerned son in search of answers about his father?” Lara asked.

  Heath shook his head. “Not just that. I know the castle. I can get in and out quickly without raising an alarm. I can bring back word.” He stood, brushing off his trous. “I am sure my father is well. He’s in Eln’s hands if he isn’t.”

  Lara smiled. “Eln is the best.”

  “I can be there and back by dawn, if not before,” Heath said. “I will find you along the road, or in camp.”

  “Alone? You’d go alone? I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Atira said.

  “Worried about me?” Heath asked.

  Atira glared at him. “What if he fails to return with the information? Another should go with him. One who is used to the city, and who knows the Xyian tongue.”

  “And that would be you, eh?” Marcus growled.

  “Well—” Atira said.

  “Enough,” Keir growled. All conversation stopped. “Heath, the idea is a good one. We need information. Take Atira with you, for she is correct, as well. We will camp here this night and leave in the morning.”

  “Those two?” Marcus snorted. “Is that the best idea?”

  “It is my command,” Keir growled.

  Atira bowed her head, then turned toward the horses. Heath followed.

  “Heath,” Lara called.

  Heath looked back at Lara.

  “Bring me news, Heath,” Lara said, her eyes bright with tears.

  Heath smiled with as much reassurance as he could muster. “I will, little bird.”

  But the uncertainty burned in his gut as he turned to go.

  LORD DURST OF XY EASED HIMSELF INTO HIS CHAIR by the fire and settled back to try to warm himself. His wife didn’t look up from her sewing, the white cloth covering her lap.

  The heat helped. For a moment he almost felt healthy and strong again, but then he took a breath, and the ache was enough to remind him.

  They’d brought him to these chambers in the Castle of Water’s Fall after he’d been brutally attacked by the cursed Firelander, Keir of the Cat. Brought him here and waited to see if he’d live or die. They’d given him the best of the chambers provided for members of the Council.

  Durst hated every inch of its rooms.

  He’d fought for his life even as the whore had forced the Council to see her crowned Queen. She’d tossed her crown in the Seneschal’s lap and chased after the Warlord like a two-copper whore, bare of foot, with her hair down.

  Shameless bitch.

  Oh yes, the best chambers. And Master Healer Eln had labored on his behalf. He’d lived, despite the unprovoked and unwarranted assault on his person. Oh, he’d survived, but he’d never regain his strength, never regain all that he’d lost.

  Othur had extended the courtesy of the chambers for as long as Durst wished to remain in Water’s Fall.

  Durst curled his lip in a silent snarl, then caught himself. “Wine, my dear.”

  Beatrice put her sewing aside and rose without a word. She walked slowly to one of the side tables and poured a goblet for him.

  Durst sighed as he watched her soft steps. Beatrice was a ghost of herself since their sons had died. The eld
est in the war with the Firelanders, then Degnan’s death in a foolish attempt to—

  Durst’s throat closed as he fought off his grief.

  Beatrice came to his side, her soft scent filling the air. She handed him his cup, then settled back down, arranging the white cloth in her lap as she returned to her work.

  A knock at the door saved Durst from his tears. “Come,” he called out, his voice cracking. He took a sip of wine to ease his throat.

  Deacon Browdus entered, followed by Lanfer.

  Lord Durst used the cup to hide his distaste. Browdus looked his usual oily self, dressed in his clerical robes. Lanfer wore his fancy doublet and trous, but his face—

  “Idiot.” Durst’s rage surged up, replacing his sorrow. “You were supposed to deliver the message, not get into a fight.”

  “I did deliver the message,” Lanfer said, coming to stand by the fire. His nose was red and swollen, still crusted with blood. The bruises were starting to come out. His doublet had dried blood on it.

  Beatrice lifted her head and watched him, easing the white material away from Lanfer.

  “You should have cleaned up before you entered the castle.” Browdus produced a handcloth from his sleeve.

  “Why?” Lanfer rejected the offer with a gesture. “Everyone will assume that a Firelander hit me. No harm in that.”

  “It wasn’t?” Durst asked sharply. “Who, then?”

  Lanfer didn’t look at him.

  “Heath,” Durst hissed. “You assaulted the Seneschal’s son?”

  “He struck first,” Lanfer growled. “I—”

  “Because your tongue was loose, I warrant.” Durst rolled his eyes. “Your temper will destroy us.”

  “Look to your own,” Lanfer growled.

  “Peace,” Browdus said softly. “We need one another if our plans are to succeed.”

  Lanfer turned away from Durst and helped himself to the wine.

  “So they are close?” Durst asked.

  Lanfer nodded. “They will be here tomorrow.” He glanced at Durst. “She is pregnant. Huge, in fact.”

  Beatrice’s hands stilled.

  “The Archbishop is under control?” Durst asked Browdus.

  “He sees our position,” Browdus said calmly. “And he agrees with it.”

  “None of this would have been necessary if he hadn’t crowned Lara,” Durst spat. “If he’d refused—”

  “But he didn’t,” Lanfer cut him off. “No need to remind us.”

  Durst stared into his cup and wrestled his anger down. These men were not his first choice to aid him, but they had what he needed. Lanfer’s influence with the other nobles and their sons. Browdus’s influence within the church.

  Beatrice’s needle caught his eye as she resumed sewing, carefully crafting small, tight stitches.

  Durst relaxed. With careful planning . . .

  He cleared his throat. “Let us review. When Lara and her escort arrive . . .”

  CHAPTER 6

  “WE WAIT HERE?” ATIRA WHISPERED.

  “Yes,” Heath whispered back from the depths of his hood. Atira couldn’t see his face in the shadows, but she caught a sparkle of laughter in his eyes.

  “By the privy,” Atira said.

  “Yes,” Heath whispered again, but this time she felt his body shake with repressed laughter. “Hush now. We are waiting.”

  Atira hushed.

  They’d left their horses close to the walls, under some thick pines. Heath had gotten them past the walls and into the city by going ways Atira had never dreamed of. It seemed every walled city had large ways and small ways of going to and fro that weren’t obvious to an invader, but were easily accessed by a local. Heath had guided her down alleys, and through posterns and other words she’d never heard before until her head rang with it all.

  In the end, she had just followed close, keeping her hood up and her mouth shut. This was Heath’s world. She’d been in the city at Eln’s while healing. But her knowledge didn’t go much further than that.

  He’d brought them to a large building with the sign of an overflowing tankard over the door. The building brimmed with the glow of lanterns, the smell of food and beer, and the sound of voices. Laughter seemed to spill out of every window, with even more singing and talking. So many bodies crowded into such a small place . . . yet it seemed warm and welcoming.

  But Heath had pulled her around to the back and pushed her into the shadows of the small house, pressing close to her so that they were hidden from view.

  “Is this really necessary?” she whispered, pressing herself back against the wall.

  “I think so.” Heath’s breath was warm on her ear as he leaned into her. “Besides, you smell good.”

  “That’s the privy,” she growled.

  “I doubt it,” Heath chuckled.

  A burst of laughter came from the building. “Where are we?” she whispered.

  “This is the Everflowing Tankard. It’s owned by Broar the Bold, an old and crafty fighter. It’s a favorite of the Castle Guard when we . . . they . . . are off duty.”

  “So we wait for this Broar?”

  “Hell, no. The old bastard would sell me out in a heartbeat. No, I’m waiting for—”

  The door of the tavern flew open and light streamed into the yard. A figure stumbled out, clearly headed for where he thought the privy was.

  Heath moved further into the shadows, squeezing Atira against the wall. “Not him,” he breathed quietly.

  Atira licked her dry lips and closed her eyes. Heath’s body seemed to press against all the right places, and her heat was rising, even here. Next to a privy. Skies above, he could set her afire—

  The drunken man finally found his way into the privy, fumbling with the door. His boots clattered as he threw open the door and started his business.

  After a few minutes, Atira’s eyes grew wide. It seemed he’d never come to the end.

  Heath’s body began to shake against her as the hiss of the stream continued. Horrified, Atira reached up and placed her fingertips over his lips, trying to shush his laughter.

  Heath nodded, his eyes bright. Then his tongue darted out, and licked her skin. Atira jerked her hand back as if burned.

  Heath’s eyes weren’t laughing anymore. They were white hot, piercing her, filled with—

  The drunk banged out of the privy and swayed back against the yard and into the tavern.

  Atira pushed at Heath, and he eased back. “We can’t stay here all night,” she growled.

  “It does seem an odd place for a seduction, I admit,” Heath said softly. “But it was working, wasn’t it?”

  “It wasn’t,” Atira snapped.

  “It was,” Heath laughed softly.

  The door to the tavern opened once again. “I’ll be back, lads,” a voice roared out. “I’m just off to make room for more.”

  A roar of laughter greeted his words, only to be cut off when he closed the door and strode toward the privy. Atira could hear a faint humming, but the steps heading their way sounded odd.

  “That’s him,” Heath whispered.

  Atira risked a quick glance around him to see a portly man with a bald head stumping in their direction.

  Heath said nothing, but pressed her back into the shadows as the man eased into the privy, still humming to himself. Atira heard him fuss with his trous and then settle himself over the hole.

  She blinked as he let rip a mighty fart.

  “Ah, that’s better now,” the man sighed, and continued humming.

  “Detros?” Heath said, his voice cracking with laughter. “Detros, can you hear me?”

  The humming stopped. “Eh? Who’s out there? Best be upwind, whoever you are.”

  “Aye to that, you old dog,” Heath said.

  Detros’s voice dropped, becoming serious. “Heath, lad . . . Is that you?”

  “It is, Detros,” Heath said. “I’ve come for answers and information.”

  “It’s good to hear your voice, but y
ou’ve picked a poor time. The cooking up at the castle has been a bit . . . heavy of late.” Another fart rumbled through the night air.

  Atira laughed in spite of herself.

  Heath pressed his hand over her mouth, his own body shaking.

  “Gods, don’t tell me that’s Lara with you,” Detros pleaded.

  “No,” Heath whispered. “It’s Atira.”

  “Your lady friend? Well, there’s a nice thing, to introduce me in such state.”

  “No choice,” Heath whispered.

  “Aye to that, lad,” Detros said sadly. “’Tis a terrible thing, what with your da taking ill and all.”

  “What can you tell me?” Heath said.

  “Not much. I wasn’t in the throne room when the ruckus started during the Justice.”

  “When my father collapsed?”

  “Nay, the ruckus before that one,” Detros explained. “The room full of angry nobles and Plains warriors—we could hear the shouting going on something fierce. Then your da up and sprawls on the floor. I know Eln was called, but most of the Guard has been pulled from the castle. We’re on the walls and doing patrols.”

  Atira felt Heath go rigid against her. “What?” Heath asked. “When did that happen? Did Lord Warren—”

  “Warren left the city about five days ago, taking a small force. Seems bandits have been hitting some of the villages, and he and that Plains warrior Lord Simus left here to ride out and track ’em,” Detros said.

  “So? How does that—”

  “After your da collapsed, the Council started throwing its weight around, ordering their own men into the castle and us to the outside,” Detros growled. “I’ve no word of what’s happening within.”

  “I have to get in there,” Heath said. “Who is on the garden gate duty?”

  The door of the tavern opened, with the light pouring out. “Detros, get a move on. I need to piss,” came a voice.

  “Piss up a rope,” Detros shouted back. “I’m sittin’ for a time.”

  The voice muttered a curse, and the door slammed shut.

  “Dustin and Tec are on the garden gate,” Detros continued. “But don’t be going to see your ma. They’re watchin’ her.”