Warcry

  Heath cursed.

  “There’s a rumor about, that Lara’s about to return, and she’s bearing. Any truth to that?” Detros asked.

  Heath frowned, glancing at Atira. “Tomorrow, Detros. She will be at the gates tomorrow, as pregnant as any could hope.” He paused. “There’s been no announcement?”

  “Well, that’s fine,” Detros said. “There’s been no word, only wonderin’. I’ll be placing a few wagers before this night’s done.” Something rumbled within the privy. “You might be wantin’ to get a move on, lad.”

  “Aye to that,” Heath said. “For fear of dying here and now.”

  “At my age, the pleasures are few, boy,” Detros said as he let loose with more gas. “Have some respect.”

  “HALT! WHO GOES THERE?” CAME THE CHALLENGE.

  Heath stepped into the light, throwing back his hood.

  “Heath!” Tec lowered his spear. “Praise the gods.”

  “Have you come to step in for your father, Heath?” Dustin asked eagerly. “Sure could use your skills now.”

  “Someone needs to,” Tec said. “Someone besides the Council and a few lords I could name. They’s up to no good.”

  “Come to check on my father,” Heath said quietly. “On the quiet for now.”

  “And the Queen?” Tec asked.

  Heath gave him a narrow look. “You’ve had no word?”

  “None,” Dustin said, holding open the gate for him and Atira. “Rumors, but not much more than that.”

  “Xylara will be at the gates tomorrow, returning with her Warlord and pregnant with an heir. Spread the word.” Heath paused. “Do me a favor, eh? Have a contingent ready at the gates. She’ll need an escort.”

  “And a cart,” Tec said. “My Bessa swelled up before she popped with our babe. A cart with a nice cushion. Maybe some ribbons, what with her being Queen and all.”

  “Well,” Heath flashed a grin at Atira. “It can’t hurt to have one ready.”

  Atira rolled her eyes.

  “I’m for the backstairs, then?” Heath asked softly as Tec secured the gate.

  “Aye, keep to the servants ways and none of the Council will see ya,” Dustin snorted. “But keep clear of the kitchen. Their men always seem to be in there, drinking the kavage and keeping an eye on your ma. The food’s not been right for a week.”

  Heath gave him a nod. “Thanks, Dustin. I’ll use my old way in, then.”

  Dustin chuckled. “We’ll be on duty until third watch. We’ll pass the word that you’ll need out if you’re later than that.”

  Heath took Atira’s hand and drew her down a dark path. Once out of the light of the gate torches, the night was thick within the garden. “Follow me,” Heath whispered.

  He led her down the paths around the rose briar and through the wide lawns. He knew these paths by heart, every turn and hedge. He and Lara had played here for years under his mother’s watchful eye.

  Atira was following as quiet as he could wish. Heath wasted no time; the Castle Guard was known to him, and he to them, but there might be others out this night that were not quite so friendly.

  He reached the edge of the kitchen gardens and paused for just a moment.

  There was smoke rising from the kitchen chimneys, which was not unusual. The ovens and hearths were busy night and day, feeding the denizens of the castle. That was his mother’s kingdom, and she ruled it with an iron hand.

  He could hear her voice, shouting some orders at the undercooks, no doubt. Out of nowhere, a wave of homesickness hit him. It wasn’t just that he wanted to be able to enter the kitchen and hug his mother. He wanted to be sure of his welcome there.

  Atira stepped to his side, clearly puzzled at his delay. He hadn’t introduced her to his mother, hadn’t dared.

  But they needed to keep moving.

  HEATH TUGGED AT HER HAND AND ATIRA ALLOWED him to lead her around the kitchen gardens to the back wall where the gardeners kept their tools. He pointed at the tree that grew there, its thick trunk at an angle to the ground. “Up there,” he said.

  Atira peered up through the branches. All she saw were leaves. She’d never climbed a tree before.

  “I’ll lead the way,” Heath said, grabbing a branch and hauling himself up.

  Atira hesitated.

  “What’s wrong?” The whisper floated down. “Are you scared?”

  With a glare, Atira reached out and heaved herself into the tree. She concentrated on not looking down. Instead, she watched where Heath placed his hands and feet and copied his every move. Faster than she thought possible, she was up the tree and on a slanted roof.

  Heath led the way again and she followed, having a care at this angle. The last thing she wanted was a fall.

  One roof led to another, then another still, until Heath leaped for an open window. He gestured for her to follow. Atira didn’t let herself think about it. She just jumped. Heath helped her in and over the windowsill.

  “My old room,” he breathed in her ear.

  She stood there, breathing hard, as Heath padded across the room, and she watched as he eased the door open. He looked back, a shadow in the darkness. “Make sure you keep up.”

  Atira growled softly, but Heath just slid out the door.

  She followed him through a bewildering array of rooms, halls, and doors. She caught glimpses of wide corridors lit with torches and hung with colorful tapestries. But Heath always chose the smaller ways, dark and narrow.

  Atira had never been in a building this large, and it seemed to her that the walls were never ending, closing in on her, getting closer and closer all the time. But she reminded herself that she’d felt this way at Eln’s as well and had managed to survive that.

  She focused on Heath’s back, and on breathing. The rest was in the hands of the elements.

  Heath stopped, finally, in front of two large double doors. He knocked twice and waited.

  Inside, a bolt was drawn, and a slice of light grew as Eln appeared in the doorway, looking as calm as he always did. But his eyes went wide as he saw the two of them. “Heath? Atira?”

  Heath pushed through gently. Atira followed as Eln moved back into the room, then shut the door and bolted it. “My father,” Heath asked. “How—”

  A groan issued from beyond.

  Heath’s face went white. Eln shook his head. “Heath, he’s—”

  Heath ignored the man, crossing the wide room for another door on the other side. Atira saw a large lump of a man under blankets, one pale hand on that broad chest. Another moan filled the air.

  Heath walked to the bedside, his face etched with pain. “Papa?”

  CHAPTER 7

  “HEATH.” ELN’S REASSURING VOICE DID NOTHING to ease the pain in Heath’s heart as he advanced into the room. “He’s just—”

  Othur jerked up in bed. “Heath?” To Heath’s astonishment, Othur threw back the blankets, leapt to his feet, and caught Heath up in his arms.

  “—overacting,” Eln finished, his tone as dry as always.

  “Papa.” Heath hugged his father hard, and tears filled his eyes as relief flooded through him. “Papa, you are well?”

  “My son, my son.” Othur grabbed Heath’s shoulders and took a step back. “Let me look at you!”

  “Keep your voices down,” Eln said sharply. “Or the entire castle will be in here to look at him. And you.”

  “Returned from the Plains and the better for it.” Othur beamed at Heath, and pulled him into another hug.

  OTHUR WAS A NAME ATIRA HAD HEARD. SHE KNEW he was Heath’s father and had been Lara’s thea as she had grown up. He was also the man Lara had named as warder, to hold the kingdom while Lara had gone to the Plains. He was a big-chested man and his thin wisps of brown hair were standing up all over his head.

  What struck her was the joy in their reunion. Othur was in tears as he clasped Heath’s face in both his hands. Heath was tearful as well. The relationship seemed stronger, deeper than any she had with her theas.

  ??
?I take it he is not going to the snows,” Atira asked Eln softly as she watched the two men.

  “He is not.” Eln took up a taper from a table and started to light candles. “It is good to see you, Atira of the Bear. How does your leg?”

  “Well, Master Healer,” Atira responded, tearing her gaze from father and son to look at the tall, thin man.

  “And Lara?” Elan asked.

  “She’s good, elder,” Atira replied. “As big as an ehat.”

  “Whatever an ehat is,” Eln said with a wry smile. “I’ve yet to see one.”

  “I’m fine, fine.” Othur’s voice drew her attention back to the two men. Othur was reaching for a robe at the foot of the bed and pulling it on. “But tell me, how did you come here? Did anyone see you? And where are Lara and Keir?”

  “Lara and Keir will be here on the morrow,” Heath said. “And a few of the Guard know that I am here, and they are ones I trust.”

  “Excellent.” Othur drew Heath closer to the hearth, away from the door. “You must take word to Lara. There is so much she doesn’t know—and we don’t have much time.”

  OTHUR’S JOY KNEW NO BOUNDS. HIS SON HAD RETURNED to Xy—fit and strong by the looks of him, and no worse the wear for his adventures on the Plains.

  And just in time, to Othur’s way of thinking. Othur pulled his son closer to the fire and reached for the poker.

  “I’ll do that, Father.” Heath took the poker and stirred the coals.

  Othur sank into the closest chair with a sigh. Eln ghosted up next to him and dropped a blanket into his lap. “You need to look the part if anyone comes.”

  The woman with Heath moved then, throwing back her cloak to take wood from the firebox. She was blond and strong, with a good figure. And she was armored, carrying a sword at her belt. This had to be the Plains warrior who had won his son’s heart. Suddenly, matters of state seemed less important. Othur cleared his throat to give his son a chance to do the right thing. He loved his boy, but there were times he could be a bit thick. “And this would be?”

  She looked at him then, with clear, brown eyes, a sharp gaze. There was intelligence there. That was good.

  “Father, this is Atira of the Tribe of the Bear.” Heath finished with the fire and added a log.

  “Welcome, Atira,” Othur said. He wished he could say more, ask more. But there wasn’t time. “Sit, sit. There is much to tell you.”

  Heath pulled Atira down to sit on the hearth. Eln settled in the chair opposite Othur.

  “Xylara and Keir are walking into a hornet’s nest.” Othur took a deep breath. “And I cannot determine if it was planned or just bad happenstance.”

  “What happened, Father?”

  “It hasn’t been easy, since Xylara and the Warlord left the city. We’ve been walking a careful path, balancing the ways of the Plains with the ways of Xy.” Othur spread the blanket over his legs. “Lord Simus and I worked well together, for the most part. Although he managed to offend my ladywife fairly quickly.”

  Eln snorted. “He only did that once.”

  Heath and Atira looked puzzled, but Othur shrugged. “That’s a tale for another day. Suffice it to say that when Lord Simus and you both left for the Plains, we were at an uneasy peace. The Plains warriors that remained were careful, and I always tried to take their ways into consideration.”

  “It worked well,” Eln added. “And Warren’s friendship with Wilsa of the Lark didn’t hurt.”

  Othur chuckled. “They do ‘communicate’ well. Everything was working fine until word came that Xylara would return to Xy to bear her child and heir to the throne.”

  Eln nodded. “Tension began to rise at that point.”

  “It rose to a boil just a few days ago,” Othur said. “I was in the throne room, holding a Queen’s Justice.” He looked at Atira. “Do you know what that is?”

  “You make decisions about disputes. As an elder does for the tribes.”

  Othur gave her a smile. “Yes. We were in the middle of a border dispute. One of the tenant farmers was testifying to me how the border stream had shifted, when the doors opened with a bang. The City Watch escorted in a writhing mass of Plains warriors and Xyian nobles, and dumped them in my lap to deal with.”

  “What happened?” Heath asked.

  “It took a while to sort out, let me tell you.” Othur shook his head. “A bridal party headed for the Temple of the Sun God was accosted by a group of Plains warriors. Seems one of the merchant families was marrying off a daughter to Lord Korvis’s son. The marriage sealed property and trade agreements, the usual thing,” Othur said, taking a deep breath, “except the daughter is barely of an age to marry. And Careth is at least six years older.”

  Heath raised his eyebrows, but of more interest to Othur was Atira’s reaction. Her face was filled with fury. “A forced bonding?”

  “Aye.” Othur ran his hand over his thinning hair. “Atira, please know that this is our tradition. The physical aspect of the marriage is delayed. Usually.”

  Heath shook his head. “There have been stories about Careth, Father. Spoiled. Arrogant.”

  “Aye,” Othur said. “I know, lad. But even the Crown would not interfere in a private matter.”

  “Regardless of whether it should or not,” Eln said softly.

  “Some of the female warriors of the Plains were in the street, watching the procession. The girl threw herself at them, crying for help.” Othur grimaced. “They knew just enough Xyian to understand, and they interfered—drew their swords, and dared the wedding party to take the girl back.” Othur looked at Heath. “Can you imagine Lord Korvis’s face?”

  Heath grinned back. “Wish I’d seen it.”

  “Anna will be here soon, to spoon broth into you,” Eln reminded Othur.

  “Broth again?” Othur grimaced.

  “A loss of weight is to be expected in a man that has been ill,” Eln replied.

  “Father,” Heath prompted.

  Othur nodded and hunched forward, keeping his voice down. “The Watch was summoned, and the Captain saw it for the mess it was. So they were all brought to the throne room. Crying women bedecked in flowers and ribbons, the outraged groom and his family, and the defiant girl-child standing between the Plains warriors who were bristling with blades. It was a nightmare.”

  “Who were the warriors?” Atira asked.

  “Three women, the chief of which is Elois of the Horse,” Othur said.

  “I know her,” Atira said. “She is a powerful warrior. Strong in arm and opinion.”

  “And a voice that cuts like a shard of glass. She well and truly made her thoughts known.”

  “What did you do?” Heath asked.

  “I did what any smart man would do. I clutched my chest, wheezed, and slumped in my chair.”

  Heath started to laugh weakly.

  Othur grinned. “What else could I do, lad? Lord Korvis would insist that the wedding go forward. And those Plains women were willing to gut the groom where he stood to stop it.”

  “I’ve permitted no one to see him except Anna,” Eln said. “Due to the grave nature of his illness.”

  “Anna knows the truth,” Othur said. “But we haven’t been able to get word out.”

  “Where is the girl now?” Heath asked.

  “Aurora? She is in the east tower, with the Plains women. They have locked themselves in one of the chambers there, with food and drink.”

  “I’ve checked on them,” Eln said. “They are fine, and are teaching the girl to use a dagger.”

  Othur rolled his eyes.

  “As well they should,” Atira said. “A girl who is not yet come into her courses, married to a man who would force himself on her? Who would allow—”

  “That’s what Lara is stepping into, Heath,” Othur said. “You need to warn her that they will press for her decision before she’s been in the castle an hour. Tell her to have a care, and that delay—a legitimate delay—is her best weapon.”

  “I will, Father,” He
ath said. “But what of the Guard?”

  “Guard?” Othur frowned. “I’ve heard nothing.”

  Heath explained what he’d been told of the placement of the Guard. Othur listened with growing horror. “Son, this may go deeper than I thought. Embarrass Lara, force her to make decisions against the way of the Plains—yes, that I can see. But this? Is this a plan to harm her?”

  “I don’t know,” Heath said, “but I will find out.”

  “Lord Durst has been vocal about his opposition to the Firelanders,” Eln said.

  “The more I think, the less I like this,” Othur growled. “With Warren and Wilsa off fighting bandits, there aren’t that many Plains warriors here. If Keir no longer has an army . . .”

  “The force with him is loyal but small,” Atira said.

  “This does not bode well,” Othur said. “I think—”

  Knuckles rapped on the wooden door.

  “That’s your mother,” Othur sighed. “Let Eln get the door. Don’t want her dropping the tray.”

  “No escaping this,” Heath said. He stood and faced the door.

  “True enough,” Othur responded, standing as well. He put his hand on Heath’s shoulder. “Just remember, son. She does love you very much.”

  ATIRA WATCHED, PUZZLED, AS HEATH STOOD AND faced the door. From the sounds of it, both Heath and his father were about to face an enemy, yet it was his mother that was outside the door. One of his theas.

  Yet Atira remembered all too well that a thea’s disapproval could cut deep. Heath had not spoken of his mother much, but clearly all was not well.

  She moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with Heath. He gave her a grateful glance.

  Together they faced the door as Eln threw back the bolt.

  CHAPTER 8

  HEATH CAUGHT HIS BREATH AS THE DOOR OPENED and his mother came into the room. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her until she stood there, tray in hand, with an apron over her dress.

  “I’ve brought more broth, Master Healer,” Anna said as she entered. She hadn’t seen Heath yet. “How does my lord husband?”