Arrow's Fall (25 page)

“Fine,” Talia replied nervously. “I’m going to sneak up to the second floor and the minstrel’s gallery. I ought to learn something there; with luck I may be able to pick up something from one of Ancar’s toadies, and I’ll definitely be able to probe Alessandar and find out if he knows what his son is up to. I won’t take long, if I can help it.”

“If the worst happens, and you have to run for it, tell Rolan, and I’ll pick you up on the run in the courtyard.” Kris gave her a tight grin, and she returned it.

Talia took her substitute by the elbow; Kris did the same with his. Together they led them as far as the doors to the suite; then Talia released their minds and gave hers a little
 
push. The young woman blinked once, then her implanted personality took over. She took the young man’s arm; he opened the door, and led her toward the banquet hall. Kris and Talia followed behind them long enough to be certain that the ruse would work, then separated.

Thanks to the Prince’s enforced tour they were both familiar with the layout of the entire Palace. Kris made for one of the servants’ stairs that led to the stables; once she saw him safely on his way, Talia headed for the gallery that overlooked the banquet hall.

She dropped all her shielding and slipped from shadow to shadow along the corridor, taking another of the servants’ stairs to the second floor. The activity in the banquet hall aided her; the servants hadn’t yet had time to light more than a few of the candles meant to illuminate the maze of corridors. She detected no one as she moved to the wall that backed the gallery.

She sensed the presence of many men as she paused there, hiding herself in the folds of drapery along the wall. This was very wrong. There were to be no minstrels playing in the gallery until much later this evening; at the moment they were playing from behind a screen on the floor of the hall. There should be no one at all in the gallery at this time.

She closed her eyes and carefully extended her other sense past the wall, hoping that one of them might be nervous enough to let her read what he was seeing, carried on the wind of his emotions.

It was easy—too easy. The images came charging into her mind—she knew who and what they were, and what their intent was, and her heart leapt into her throat with terror.

Ranged at about three-foot intervals around the gallery, which ran the entire circumference of the hall, were crossbowmen. Their weapons were loaded and ready, and each had a full quiver of bolts beside him. These were not members of Alessandar’s guard, nor soldiers from his army; these were ruthless killers recruited personally by Ancar.

The Prince was impatient, and no longer prepared to wait for his father’s natural death to bring him to the seat of power. He was also ambitious, and not content with the prospect of ruling only one kingdom. Here in one room sat his lather and everyone who might be opposed to Ancar’s rule, as well as the two Heralds who might have warned their Queen of his intent. The opportunity was far too tempting for him to pass by. Once the banquet was well underway, the doors would be locked—and all who might oppose Ancar’s desires would die.

With the exception of the Heralds; Ancar’s orders concerning
them
were to disable, not kill. And if anything, that frightened Talia even more.

Ancar must have had this whole scheme planned for months, and had only waited for the perfect moment to pot it in motion. The six days’ warning he’d had when they crossed the Border was sufficient for him to mobilize what was already prepared.

When the slaughter was over he would ride with his own army to the Border, overwhelm the Queen and her escort as soon as they’d crossed it, kill her, seize Elspeth, and present himself as Vaidemar’s ruler by fait accompli.

Talia longed for Kyril’s ability to Farspeak; even at this distance she would have been able to get some kind of warning back to the Heralds near the Border. And she would have been able to Mindcall Kris, and warn him as well. All she could do was to Mindcall to Rolan, carrying her message on a burst of purest fear, and hope he could convey the whole to Kris through Tantris.

She slipped back to the staircase as silently and carefully as she had come, and made her way down to the lower floor.

The hall here was lighted well, and Talia feared to set foot in it; feared it doubly when she sensed the presence of more of Ancar’s men standing at intervals along it, presumably to take care of any stragglers. She clung, half paralyzed with terror, to the inside of the door, and tried to think. Was there any other way out?

Then she recalled the smaller rooms of state, meant for receptions and the like, that faced the forecourt on the second floor. Many of them had balconies, and windows or doors that opened out onto the balconies. For the second time she climbed the staircase, heart pounding, her Empathic-sense extended to the utmost.

She moved along the wall, between it and the musty draperies lining it, until she came to the door of one of those rooms. Mercifully it was unoccupied and unlocked; not even a single candle was lit within. She crept out from behind the drape, ignoring the itch of dust in her eyes and nose, and slipped inside.

There was only the gleam of torchlight and moonlight through the windows, but that was enough to show her a room with a polished-wood floor empty of all furniture. She edged around the walls, grudging the time, but not wanting to silhouette herself against those windows for anyone passing by the hall door.

The door to the balcony was locked, but from the inside. Talia realized this after an instant of panic-stricken struggle with it. The catch was stiff, but finally gave. She eased the door open and stepped out onto the balcony, crouched low so as to be below the balustrade. A moment’s surveillance of the courtyard showed no eyes to be watching it; she slipped over the balustrade and was about to drop to the court, when the killing began.

With her Empathic senses extended as they were, that nearly killed
her
along with the rest. She felt the deaths of dozens of people in her own flesh; she lost her grip on the railing and dropped to the cobblestones below. Shock, pain, and fear drove any other thoughts out of her, she could not even move to save herself. She was falling— and couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but
react
—react to the agony, the terror—and the anguished guilt of Alessandar’s guards seeing him pinned to his throne by dozens of crossbow bolts before they themselves were cut down—

But Alberich had foreseen the day when something like this might happen; he had drilled her until some reactions had become instinctive. Though her mind might be helpless beneath that onslaught, her body wasn’t—

She twisted in midair, rolled into a limp ball—hit the pavement feet-first, and turned the impact into a tumble that left her sprawled and bruised, but otherwise unharmed.

Her face twisted with agony as she struggled to her feet and staggered toward the entrance to the stable area, trying to shut her shields down and the pain out. It seemed like an eternity between each stumbling step, yet she had hardly taken half a dozen when she heard the pounding of hooves on stone and saw a white form surging toward her.

It was Rolan—unsaddled. He did not pause as he passed her, knowing that she would not be able to mount unless he came to a dead stop. Hard on his heels came Tantris carrying Kris—who was leaning over as far as he dared, one hand wrapped in Tantris’ mane, the other extended toward her, his legs clenched so tightly she could almost feel the muscles ache. As Companion and rider passed her, Talia caught him, hands catching forearms, as she leaped and krish pulled her up in front of him. Tantris had had to slow a trifle, and Rolan was ahead of him, but they’d not had to stop.

But there was one last obstacle to pass—the narrow passage between the inner and outer walls that led to the portcullis and the outer gate. And Talia had succeeded in shielding herself once again—so the had no warning that the walls were manned.

They galloped straight inot a hail of arrows.

It was over in seconds. Fire lanced through Talia’s shoulder—just as Tantris screamed in agony, shuddered, and crashed to the ground. She was thrown forward and hit the ground stunned, with the impact breaking off the shaft of the arrow and driving the head deeper. But more agonizing than her own pain was what Krish was enduring.

Rolan paused in his headlong flight—the markmen had let the unburdened beast go by. There was one thought only in Talia’s mind besides the agony of pain—that
one
of them must escape.

“Rolan—
run!
” she screamed with voice, heart, and mind.

He hesitated no longer, but shot throught the gate just as the porcullis came crashing down, so close that she felt the sharp pain and his surge of fear as it actually carried away a few hairs from his tail.

Krish lay crumpled beside th emotionless body of Tantris, so racked with agony that he could not even cry out. She tried to rise, and half-stumbled, half-dragged herself to his side. She took his pain-tortured body into her arms, desperately trying to think of
anything
that would help him. He was transfixed by arrows so that he looked like a straw target—but a target that bled; it had been his body and Tantris’ that had shielded her. Even in the flickering torchlight she could see that his Whites were dyed in creeping scarlet blotches that spread while she held him. She groped mindlessly for the Healing energy Kerithwyn had used; not sure what she could do with it, but driven beyond sanity with the overwhelming need to take the burder of his torment from him. She felt a kind of pressure building within her, as it had in those past times when desperation had driven her to pass the bounds of what she knew. It built past the point where she was conscious of anything outside of herself, conscious even of the agony lancing her own shoulder—

Then it found sudden release.

She opened her eyes to find Kris’ own eyes holding hers; free from pain and feverishly clear. Although she could feel his pain still, he could not. She had somehow come to stand between it and him.

But he was dying, and they both knew it.

She looked around, expecting to see soldiers surrounding them.

“No.”

Kris’ hoarse whisper brought her attention back to him. “Hey—it is a maze. While I live, they will not come.”

She understood. His Gift had shown him that there was a maze of stairs and corridors to traverse before the soldiers reached an entrance to this area. But it had also shown him how little time he had left.

“Kris—” She couldn’t get anything more past the tears that rose and choked off her words.

“No, little love, little bird. Weep for yourself, not for me.”

She nearly fell to pieces with grief at his words.

“I don’t fear Death; gladly, willingly would I seek the Havens, if I but knew my Companion waits for me there— but to leave you—how can I leave you with all my burden and yours as well?” He coughed, and blood showed at the comer of his mouth. Somehow he managed to raise one hand to touch her cheek; she seized it with her own and wept into it.

“It isn’t fair—to leave you alone—but warn them, heartsister. Somehow warn them. I cannot carry the task to the end, so it ends with you.”

She nodded, so choked with tears she could not speak.

“Oh, little bird, I love you—” He seemed to be trying to say more when another spate of coughing shook him. He looked up again, but plainly did not see her; his eyes brightened and gladdened as if he were seeing something wonderful and unexpected. “So bright! T—”

For one fleeting moment Talia sensed—joy; joy and the touch of awe and a strange glory that was like nothing she’d ever sensed before. Then his body shuddered once in her arms, and the light and life left his eyes. He went limp within her embrace—and then there was nothing but the empty husk she held.

The soldiers came then, tore them apart, and took her away; she was too numb with shock and grief to resist.

Her guards were anything but gentle.

They bound her hands behind her and kicked and shoved her down countless rock-faced corridors and a flight of rough stone stairs; when she stumbled they kicked her until she rose, when she faltered they sent her onward with blows. They gave her a final push that sent her sprawling into the center of a bare room. There they put her in the custody of three hulking brutes, creatures who looked more beast than man.

These three stripped her to the skin, indifferent to the agony of her shoulder, and brutally searched her. Then one by one, they raped her with the same brutality and indifference. By that time, she was nearly senseless with shock and pain, and it hardly seemed to matter. It was just one more torture. She couldn’t even concentrate enough to use her Gift to defend herself, and when she’d tried feebly to fight back, the one using her had knocked her head against the stone floor so hard she was barely conscious.

When they had finished with her they hauled her to her feet by one arm, and threw her into a dirt-floored, stone-walled cell, then tossed what was left of her bloodstained clothing in behind her. It was the cold that finally roused her, cold that chilled her and made her shake uncontrollably, and awoke her lacerated shoulder to new pain. She roused enough then to crawl to where they’d tossed her things and pull them on over her abused flesh.

Not surprisingly, nothing had been done about the wound in her shoulder, which continued to bleed sluggishly.