Warcry

  “And the Warlord stayed with her? With how many men?”

  “Men and women, Lord,” the lad answered. “Not more than twenty.”

  Lord Durst nodded, listening carefully to the descriptions. “My thanks,” he said finally. “A few coins for your troubles.”

  The lad bobbed his head over the silver and darted out of the room.

  “Well, that didn’t work. It’s clear that they expect an attack as she makes her way through the city.” Lanfer spoke from the corner.

  Lord Durst eyed him. Lanfer’s face was awash in vivid bruises, centered on his nose. “Let them.” Durst looked off into the distance. “Let them expend their energies on wasted efforts. Sword to sword, we lose. Our attacks will be unsuspected and unseen, and all the more powerful as a result.”

  Beatrice, his sweet wife, seated herself in one of the chairs off to the side and reached for her sewing. Durst smiled at her head, bent over the white cloth that filled her lap. “We shall distract them from the real threat,” he continued. “No bastard of the Plains shall rule in Xy.”

  “Your plans risk being too subtle,” Lanfer said. “And Browdus—”

  “We will discuss that later,” Durst replied. “For now, let us go to the throne room and prepare to welcome Xylara home.”

  Lanfer snorted, then reached out a hand to help him stand.

  EVEN SEATED IN THE CART, LARA WAS STILL AN impressive figure. The cheers and flowers continued as they made their way to the gates of the castle.

  Heath increased the pace slightly, now that he was no longer leading a pregnant woman on foot. Lara had made her point; no reason she couldn’t travel the rest of the way in comfort.

  There were a few delays along the way. Someone had organized a chorus of singing children, dressed in their finest and piping a hymn to the Sun God. Heath stopped the procession so that Lara could listen and accept a tiny bouquet of mangled flowers from the smallest of them.

  Lara thanked them all, and Heath got the procession started again. The children ran behind the cart for a time, laughing and skipping. Heath feared they’d startle the pony. But Detros had the bridle firmly in his hands, and the animal was a steady goer. It just flicked an ear. The children scattered to their parents for praise and reassurance, and the procession continued on.

  There were other faces, familiar ones, in the crush of people. At one point Lara spotted Kalisa, the old cheesemaker, bent over next to her cart, selling her good cheese and crackers. Kalisa held her old crippled hands up, as if to show them to Lara. Lara laughed and waved back.

  Then there was the old bookseller, Remn—a short ball of a man, standing on the edge of the crowd, looking so very pleased. The Warlord pulled his horse over and leaned down in the saddle. The little man looked up with a smile, and they spoke for a moment or two before Keir urged his horse back into place in the procession.

  The gates of the castle were wide open when they arrived. The outer courtyard was crammed with people. The cheers and cries of welcome rang against the stone walls as Heath led them in. He watched carefully, making sure that the contingent of castle guards entered with them. No one blocked their entrance, and those blue uniforms melted into the crowd without any comment that he could hear.

  Keir dismounted and then offered his hand to assist Lara down from the cart. She took his hand, smiling and waving to the crowd, and then looked to Heath.

  Heath took the lead, walking through the open doors to the throne room beyond. The halls and rooms were lined with people, with a wide path for the procession. They knelt as Lara and Keir approached and rose as they passed by.

  Kendrick, Herald of Xy, stood at the doors, waiting for them. The old man was looking a bit tottery as he leaned on his staff, but he looked determined to do his duty. He straightened and pounded his staff three times on the floor. “Lord and ladies, all hail Keir, Warlord of the Plains, Overlord of Xy, and Xylara, Queen of Xy, Warprize . . . and Master Healer.”

  Lara choked off a laugh. The Herald’s face remained impassive, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

  Heath led the way, scanning the crowd as everyone knelt. There were the regular lords and ladies, and to his relief, Plains warriors as well. But the best sight was his mother, Lady Anna, in her best court dress, with a baby in her arms.

  He heard Lara’s gasp of pleasure and smiled. The baby was Meara. Her parents had died of the Sweat, but Lara had managed to save her. Meara was babbling, her cheeks pink with excitement. The child was too young to understand the fuss, but her giggles were a joy to hear. The babe had been sent to Water’s Fall and placed in Anna’s care. Heath’s mother had been saddened by Lara’s departure, but she’d smiled when Meara had been placed in her arms.

  Keir extended his arm and Lara accepted his aid as she walked up the two steps to stand before the throne. Keir stood to one side, folding his arms over his chest, looking damned impressive.

  Heath took his position on Lara’s other side as she sat. Everyone in the crowd rose to their feet.

  “Our thanks to our people for such a welcome,” Lara began. “We rejoice to have returned to Xy after our travels.”

  Heath snorted to himself. It wasn’t clear if she was using the royal we or including Keir in her statements. Clearly the nobles weren’t sure. And Lara wasn’t about to clear their confusion.

  “We return to Xy to take up our duties and to bear our child in the Castle of Water’s Fall as time and tradition dictate.”

  “We extend our deepest gratitude to our Council and Lord Othur, for keeping our throne and people safe in our absence.” Lara frowned. “We understand that Lord Othur has taken ill recently. We miss his honest face and wise presence at our side.” Lara glanced at Heath, her eyes twinkling. He kept his face impassive, but that look usually meant she was up to something.

  “Within the next few days, we will reestablish our will and law on the land. We will reconvene the interrupted Justice to continue the work of our Warden. Any and all who have claims may bring them at that time.”

  Lara stifled a yawn that seemed to catch her by surprise. There was a murmur in the crowd as she blinked a bit sleepily at them. Heath thought it artfully done.

  “For now, we are pleased to have returned to our home. We—”

  She could not stifle the next yawn that caught her in mid-sentence. A definite chuckle ran through the crowd this time.

  Keir stood. “The Queen is weary after her journey. Lady Anna, have our chambers been prepared?”

  Heath’s mother stepped forward, beaming. “Yes, Overlord.”

  “If you would lead the way.” Keir looked at Lara, who was yawning yet again.

  Lara laughed. “I fear you are right, my Warlord.”

  Keir assisted her as she struggled up, and then held out his arm. Lara placed her hand on his wrist. They stood for a moment, a queen all in white, with her black-clad Warlord at her side. Lara looked out over the room. “One final thing. My condition, and the health of our Warden, cannot be allowed to delay the business of the Crown. Therefore, we appoint Heath, son of Othur, to serve as Seneschal until Othur’s health is restored. Look to him for answers, for he has our full confidence in all things.”

  With that Lara and Keir strode from the room, leaving Heath standing by the throne, unable to breathe. He felt as if the floor had suddenly disappeared beneath his feet. The entire room was as silent as the marble walls. Heath felt the impact as every eye regarded him, and he braced himself for an onslaught.

  But the Herald stepped forward and struck the floor with his staff. His voice might be a bit shaky, but it carried with it the weight of tradition.

  “This audience is at an end.” The Herald stood right in front of Heath, almost as if the older man was giving him a few minutes to collect his wits.

  Heath drew a breath as the room began to buzz with talk. He wasn’t quite sure where to begin, or how.

  Detros was over by the side door, looking his way. Heath caught his eye and lifted his chin.

&nbsp
; Detros nodded and disappeared for a moment. Heath watched as Detros sent a number of the Guard his way through the departing crowd.

  First things first.

  ATIRA HAD ACCOMPANIED THE WARPRIZE AND Warlord into the throne room. She’d hung back, staying in the crowd, watching as Lara made her announcement.

  She could understand the look on Heath’s face as he was thrust into a position of power and responsibility. But the stunned look disappeared fairly quickly as he summoned the Guard to his side. Atira knew that he would make the safety of the castle his prime concern. She would have liked to have aided him, but she’d been given a different duty.

  As the lords and their ladies began to leave from the throne room, Atira scanned the room, finally spotting some Plains warriors off to one side. She worked her way over to them, hailing one as she drew close. “Zann,” she addressed him quietly.

  “Atira,” Zann greeted her with a curt nod. “Seems there is news of the Plains, and not all of it good. Would you share your truths with us?”

  Atira nodded. “I would do so, if you can guide me to Elois of the Horse. I was told she’d sheltered a Xyian child. The Warlord has sent me to learn her truth in the matter.”

  “Aye.” Zann looked about. “Come. I will take you to her.”

  Atira followed, as did a few of the others.

  “It is said that Keir is no longer Warlord,” one of them asked softly as they walked.

  “It is a truth,” Atira replied. “Before it was sundered, the Council of Elders faulted the Warlord for events beyond his ability to control. But the details must be told under the bells.”

  “So, that on top of the rest. It has not been easy,” Zann growled under his breath. “Living in stone tents, dealing with the food, the snow, and the ways of these people.”

  “Especially after what Simus of the Hawk did,” another said, rolling her eyes.

  “What did Simus do?” Atira asked, although she knew Simus and could only imagine.

  “That can wait until we are under the bells,” Zann said. “But to learn that Keir has lost his status . . . that is not well, Atira.”

  “Wait, Zann,” Atira said softly as they started to climb a set of stairs that wound around it. “The Warlord’s truths should come directly from him, not me.”

  “As you say.” Zann shrugged, but nodded as the door swung open.

  There, in a bright circular room, was a small girl dressed in a chain shirt, lunging at a Plains warrior with a sharp dagger, her teeth bared in defiance.

  CHAPTER 12

  HEATH TOOK LONGER MAKING THE SECURITY arrangements than he’d planned, but it was done and he was satisfied. The Castle Guard was once again in control of the castle and its walls. He’d had to “discuss” the matter with a few of the members of Lord Durst’s force, but they’d withdrawn their objections.

  He hadn’t even needed to knock heads together.

  Of course, the fact that he’d had five of the Guard standing behind him at the time had been persuasive.

  Once his task was finished, he was free to seek out his father and talk. Lara had probably headed to Othur’s room as soon as she’d woken from her nap.

  Heath strode through the hallways toward his father’s chambers. There were other worries. He knew of at least one way into the castle that wasn’t secure—the tree outside his room. He should have it cut down, but he hated the idea. The tree was as old as the castle itself. He’d climbed up and down its branches for as long as he could remember. It offered cool shade in the summers, and Anna made jellies from its fruit. Maybe they could trim it back. Or place a double bar on the shutters. Or simply post a guard within, although that seemed—

  The whisper of leather on stone was his only warning.

  Heath jerked to the side, drawing his sword and dagger. His ear stung, warm blood flowing down his neck. He ignored it as he pressed his back to the stone wall.

  There were three of them, masked, coming out of the darkness, all with drawn daggers and glittering eyes. They were fast, moving to surround him.

  “Assassins!” Heath called out as he lunged to the left, feinting with his dagger, and stabbing down with his sword at the attacker’s foot. His sword cut through the leather and into the flesh beneath.

  The attacker hissed as his leg wobbled beneath him.

  Heath pulled his blade clear, and brought it up to slash at the center man, following up with a dagger-thrust to his belly.

  But the man blocked both with his weapons, and the third attacker darted in to strike at Heath’s exposed side. His blade scored against Heath’s chain with a ringing sound.

  Heath swore, pressing back against the wall. “Guards! Guards!” he cried out, raising the alarm.

  Blood oozed from the one’s boot, but he hadn’t done any real damage. Still, their anger at his tactics was palpable as they closed in.

  A war cry sounded from down the corridor.

  Heath caught sight of Atira running toward them, her sword and shield out and her eyes ablaze. The center one turned to face her as the other two continued to attack him. Heath concentrated on his own defense, exchanging a flurry of blows with the other two.

  Atira rammed her opponent with her shield, knocking him off balance. At the same time, she slashed at the buttocks of the fool that had ignored her. Her sword sliced through his leather trous; Heath saw crimson in the tip of her blade.

  “Bragnects,” she hissed as she brought her shield into position before her, her sword held low, ready to stab into her foe’s groin. “I’ll cut your—”

  Shouts came down the hall as castle guards came running.

  The men broke and fled, disappearing into the darkness in the opposite direction.

  Atira stepped to Heath’s side, scanning for other threats. “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” Heath growled, keeping his own weapons high.

  His men came pounding up, weapons and torches in hand. “There were three of them,” Heath started.

  “There is a blood trail,” Atira said. “We could—”

  “No,” Heath said. “You men, follow that trail. Search the castle. But have a care. No man goes it alone. It could be a trap.”

  The guards nodded grimly, and headed off down the corridor, torches high.

  Atira’s face was flushed with excitement, her eyes bright with bloodlust as she came to stand at his side.

  Gods, she was beautiful, and his body responded to her nearness. He wanted—

  “You let them surprise you.” Atira glowered at him, but then her look turned to concern. “You’re bleeding.”

  “I was distracted,” Heath replied, ignoring the warmth trickling down his neck. “I didn’t think the lords would try for me.”

  “I’m not sure they—” Atira paused. “We need to report to the Warlord.”

  “My father first.” Heath started down the hall. He expected an argument, but Atira followed without a word, focused on watching their backs.

  ATIRA WOULD HAVE RUN, BUT HEATH KEPT THE pace at a fast walk. No sense attracting other predators.

  Atira scanned the shadows around them but sensed no threat. The sight of Prest and Rafe at the door to Othur’s chambers told her that Heath wasn’t the only one turning to his father for answers.

  Prest stiffened as they approached, his gaze on the blood on Heath’s neck.

  “Skies above,” Rafe said softly. “What happened to you?”

  “Ambush,” Atira said.

  Heath sheathed his weapons. “Who’s within?”

  “The Warprize and the Warlord, the healer Eln, Lady Anna, and the babe. And your father,” Rafe said as he raised his hand to rap on the door.

  “Wait,” Heath said. “Let me clean this up before Lara sees—”

  Atira reached over his shoulder and rapped the door. “Learn the cost of being distracted.”

  Heath sighed as they heard the bolt slide back and the door begin to open. “There’s going to be two of the Guard here shortly,” he said. “And others will
come, with reports.”

  “Wise,” Prest observed.

  Heath slipped inside. Atira paused in the doorway. “Prest, you might tell them that Heath was attacked. He might forget to mention it.”

  “City-dwellers.” Prest flashed his grin at her. “So forgetful.”

  “We’ll see to it,” Rafe assured her.

  Atira gave them a nod of thanks, and went through the door, sheathing her weapons as she entered the room.

  HEATH SLIPPED PAST THE DOOR, GREETING ELN with a nod. The cut was on his other side—with any luck the healer wouldn’t see it.

  Othur was seated in a chair by the fire, a blanket over his legs, ready to play the invalid if necessary.

  Lara and Anna were standing near him, still in each other’s arms. Meara was crawling on the floor, tugging on Anna’s skirts. Heath was relieved to see that Lara had changed into a traditional Xyian gown with a high waist. Yet she’d added a touch of the Plains; she’d slung a belt over her shoulder, with her sheathed dagger at her side.

  Anna had her broad hand spread out on Lara’s belly. “A boy, that’s certain.”

  “Only to you,” Lara laughed. “The theas can’t seem to make up their minds.”

  Keir was standing by the fireplace, his eyes hooded, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked oddly vulnerable, almost pensive, as he watched Lara.

  “Healthy is all that matters,” Eln said. Heath wasn’t sure, but it seemed he was responding to the look on Keir’s face.

  But then Keir’s head turned, and his nostrils flared. “Is that blood?”

  Heath sighed and started to explain. A voice from behind cut him off. “He was ambushed,” Atira said as she slipped into the room. “He allowed himself to be surprised.”

  Lara and Anna both exclaimed, but Eln was at Heath’s side first. He placed his cool fingers on Heath’s chin and gently turned his head. “A nick, that’s all. More mess than anything else.” Eln took Heath’s arm then, and turned him to the table where his healing supplies were laid out. “I’ll see to it.”