Courage Of The Conquered (Book 3) (4 page)

BOOK: Courage Of The Conquered (Book 3)
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Lanrik ducked under the other man’s slash,
and now, too close to use the staff properly, he brought his elbow up into the
man’s groin. The dark figure reeled back, and Lanrik followed him, the tip of
the staff poking, stabbing and driving into flesh and bone. The man screamed
and fell.

Lanrik stood back. The three men lay on
the floor, one unconscious, the other two badly injured. They would not escape
the inn.

All around him he became aware of noise.
Doors slammed shut, others opened and wide-eyed faces poked out.

Suddenly, the serving maid was there. She
was a slim shadow in a white nightgown, pale as the moonlight, but he
recognized her.

“What happened?” she asked, staring at the
men on the floor.

“They attacked me.” He pointed with the
staff at Erlissa’s door, which opened at that moment. “But I don’t think
robbery was all that they had in mind.”

The girl looked from Erlissa’s face to the
men. There was no pity in her expression.

“They seemed a bad bunch from the moment
they came in,” she said, “but the captain is going to have words with you
anyway. There’s a lot of talk at the moment about banning weapons, and the last
time there was a fight he confiscated the man’s sword.”

Lanrik and Erlissa exchanged glances.
Neither of them was prepared to accept that.

“Why is the captain even here?” Lanrik
asked.

“He’s looking for Raithlin,” the girl
said. “Apparently, they used to come here sometimes, but it must have been
before I started.”

Lanrik thought quickly. This was no place
to be. He and Erlissa must leave the inn, and they must leave it now.

At that moment, boots clattered on the
stairs. Heavy boots, and many of them.

It could only be the guards. Lanrik
thanked the girl quickly, went into the room with Erlissa, and shut the door.

Behind them, in the hall, the boots
sounded loud and he tried desperately to think of something to do. There were
too many men to fight. That was a sure way to get captured or killed. He looked
around the room frantically, but he could see no alternative.

3. The Beating Heart

 

 

 Lanrik put his back to the door and
thought. It was locked, but the simple bolt would not withstand any force.

He heard the shuffle of boots and some
muted questions on the other side. The injured men would hold the attention of
the guards for mere moments, and then they would want to talk to him.

His gaze swept the room, but he saw no way
out except the window. He dismissed that immediately as they were on the second
story.

Urgent knocking rang against the door.

“Open up!”

It was Brinhain, and Lanrik knew their
time was nearly up.

Erlissa straightened, and then called out
in a voice with the perfect blend of obedience and vexation at the
circumstances.

“Just a moment, Captain! I’m getting
dressed.”

She was already dressed. All she had done
since Lanrik entered the room was swiftly pull on her boots, but her deception
would buy them a few more moments. And Lanrik was beginning to get an idea.

He strode to the window, careful not to
make noise and give Brinhain the impression that something was going on.

He found the window fastened shut. The
latch was stiff, but he jiggled it until it loosened and pushed it open with a
creak.

He looked down. It was still dark, but in
the predawn gray he could make out enough. It was a long drop; too long to be
sure of jumping safely. The last thing either of them could afford was an
injury. They could not hope to escape if they could not run, nor could they
fight properly if they were already hurt. Not that there was any chance of
overcoming so many guards.

And yet he saw something that gave him
hope. There was a knee-high mound below the window. A strong smell of manure
and straw rose up to him. It ought not to be there, for the stables should have
been cleaned every day and the muck carted out to enrich nearby fields, but the
neglect that he saw inside the inn obviously extended to the outside.

Beyond the mound was the long and low
building that served as the stables. He had been in them before, and there were
always horses there. If that was the case now he could not be sure, for the inn
was much less busy than it should be. Yet if there were few travelers, there
were at least many guards, and there was a fair chance that they had ridden
here from their barracks near the palace. He hoped so.

The banging on the door commenced again.

“Open up!” the captain shouted.

“Nearly ready,” Erlissa replied.

Lanrik raced to the bed. He picked up the
mattress, including all the bedclothes, and carried it to the window. It was
light, being nothing more than a coarsely woven sack filled with straw. But it
was thick and might just work with the mound of manure to cushion their fall,
for he was certain now that they must jump.

He struggled to get it out the window, but
when he did, he lined it up and let it drop on the mound of rotted manure.

“Quickly,” he said to Erlissa.

She climbed up with his help until she
squatted precariously on the windowsill.

“Hold on tight,” he said. “Hang down by
your arms first, so that your feet are as low as they can go before you let
go.”

She did as he said. He was glad that she
was stronger than her lithe frame looked, for she held herself easily until she
was positioned just right, and then with a gasp she dropped.

He watched her fall. It was a long way
down, but she managed to land on her feet before slipping off the mattress and
tumbling to the side.

For a moment he was worried, but she stood
quickly and looked up at him.

He tossed down the staff, and she caught
it deftly. Dogs began to bark, and the rooster crowed once more. It seemed
louder now that the window was open, but was drowned out by a furious banging
on the door. It was no longer just knocking, but an attempt to break it down.

Lanrik clambered up onto the sill. Both
his feet were on it, and he had turned around so that he could hang down by his
arms as Erlissa had, when the door crashed inward and timber from the
splintered doorjamb flew into the room.

Brinhain stood framed in the doorway. He
held his sword high. His face, just visible in the dim light, appeared twisted
by emotion.

Lanrik had the sudden feeling that the
captain was angry, not only because Erlissa had delayed his entry, but because
he had conspired with the three robbers out of spite at what had happened
during the afternoon, and that plan had failed. It made sense, for the robbers
were too bold, and their chances of escape too slim with so many guards staying
at the inn
 
– unless they
knew beforehand that any chase would be slow to start.

For a moment he stared straight into
Brinhain’s eyes. Hatred flashed in both directions. And, suddenly, there was
something else too. Brinhain’s expression altered. There was now recognition
and understanding. He realized why Lanrik and Erlissa were trying to flee
instead of seek help from the guards, as would have been normal. For a moment
longer their gaze held, and then Lanrik dropped.

The ground sped up to meet him. Just like
Erlissa, he landed on his feet, but then he slid and toppled sideways. Rolling,
he stood up again and grabbed the mattress. Swiftly, he cast it aside so that
the guards could not use it. Not that they needed to, for it would only take
them moments to race down the stairs come around the yard to the back of the
inn.

“Run!” he said. As always, Erlissa wasted
no time asking questions. She knew he had a plan, and trusted him.

He raced to the stables and flung open the
door. There were many stalls inside, one after another along a narrow corridor
at their front. They made for the two closest stalls, opened them, and led the
horses out. They were quiet animals, which was just as well. Lanrik knew his
luck was good tonight, but it could not last much longer.

They were fine horses, and obviously
belonged to the Royal Guard, for they were of a quality that ordinary citizens
rarely rode except the nobility or those who raced in the Haranast.

They did not wait, but mounted them
straight away. Lanrik led, easing his into a canter through the stable doorway.
They were just in time. The guards were in the yard. He guided his mount around
to face them, kicked it forward and charged them with a wild yell.

The guards scattered, leaping and diving,
though one tried to grab his leg and pull him off. Lanrik looped his arms
around the horse’s neck and kicked out hard.

He got through, leaving the guards behind
him, and glanced back to see that Erlissa was following close in his wake.

Once again they were riding barebacked,
using nothing but headstalls and reins, but this would not be a long race.
Either they lost any pursuit quickly, or they would likely be caught.

They came to the front of the inn. To
their right was the bridge, and a path into the wild where his skill as a
Raithlin would serve him well. To their left, the road led into the city, which
he guessed the guards knew better than he did.

He did not hesitate. He kicked his horse
into a gallop and Erlissa followed close behind. The hooves of the horses
thudded loud along the empty road, and the cool dawn air rushed past.

It was still and peaceful all around them,
but they raced with frantic purpose along the road. And they headed toward the
city, for Lanrik was not willing to abandon his quest. With luck, they would
have a momentary lead, for likely the guards, not used to riding bareback,
would saddle their horses before they began their pursuit.

The road followed a long and gentle rise
toward Gold Gate, the northern entry into Esgallien. To their left, the sun
crested the horizon; a fiery ball that shot yellow-gold rays over the city.
Towers glinted, stained-glass windows sparked to life and tiled roofs glowed
with warm light. But the road remained gray beneath them as they bent low over
the necks of their straining horses.

He could see the gate clearly now. It
remained closed, but the soldiers who guarded it should open it at any moment.
To either side ran the wall that encircled Esgallien.

Lanrik did not know if the gate would be
open when they reached it. But if not, he had a plan. He always had a plan,
although his inspiration had run to a low ebb in Erlissa’s room with Brinhain
hammering at the door. He did not like the feeling, and he hoped not to
experience it again.

The wall loomed close. It was an ancient
though solid structure, built of plastered brick. It rose thirty feet high and
ten deep. It was less impressive than the one that surrounded Cardoroth, and
the comparison brought home to him how fragile was the safety of the city that
he loved.

The gate was still closed. He could see
the soldiers who manned it milling around. Nearby, tall towers guarded either side
of the entrance. Fifty-foot images of Conhain were carved in high relief on
each one.

Esgallien’s first king was clad in war
raiment, helm and chain mail carefully depicted. In his hand he held a naked
sword, ready to strike, the tip of each blade touching above the middle of the
gate. It was a warning to enemy armies that breaching the walls would not be
easy.

Sunlight lit the king’s carved gaze, but
his mighty feet were still in shadow.
Conhain!
Thought Lanrik. Dead a
thousand years, yet still the beating heart of Esgallien society. In the nation
of people that once he ruled, there must yet be those with the boldness to
resist Ebona. She had conquered them by stealth rather than sword, but their
courage would kindle one day, and then woe to her and Murhain.

They neared the gate. The soldiers opened
it, but too late Lanrik and Erlissa slowed down. Their galloping was
suspicious, and the men stood at the entry to the tunnel and barred their way.

Lanrik glanced back. Guards were on the
road behind them. They had saddled their horses; a mistake they would regret,
if only he and Erlissa could get inside the city.

He thought about trying to charge through,
but in the narrow confines of the tunnel, where there was nowhere to go but
forward, they would be at risk of sword strokes. He would not take that chance
with Erlissa. Not unless talking his way through failed.

They pulled the horses up before the men.

One of the soldiers stepped forward. He
was young, but Lanrik did not think he looked stupid. Even worse, he did not
look gullible.

The man’s hand was on the hilt of his
sword.

“What’s the hurry?”

“Why else would we hurry?” Lanrik said.
“We’re in need of haste.” He glanced at Erlissa. “Tamril is a healer, and she’s
needed urgently in the city.”

The soldier gazed at her carefully. All
the while Lanrik knew their pursuers were galloping up the road behind them,
but he resisted the urge to look. That would only serve to highlight his fear.

“You’re in
so
much of a hurry that
you’re riding bareback?”

“Yes. It
is
that urgent.” Lanrik
thought quickly. He needed something more here, and he needed it fast.

“Her uncle is Faramond,” he added.

“Faramond? As in the horse trainer?”

“How many other Faramonds do you know?
Yes. It’s
that
Faramond. The famous one. The one who trains the best
horses to ever race in the Haranast.” He leaned forward and spoke earnestly.
“Word reached her during the night that he collapsed. He needs her help. He’s
an old man, you know.”

The soldier looked hesitant. Faramond was
a beloved horse trainer. And few liked going to the Haranast to watch the
races, and drink, better than young soldiers.

The man seemed inclined to let them
through, but one of his companions raised an arm and pointed over their heads.

“It looks to me like they’re being chased,”
the soldier said.

Everyone’s eyes narrowed and looked back
down the road. The Royal Guard were getting nearer, and they were not sparing
their horses.

The young man looked at them hard. His
hand was still on the sword hilt.

“Have you stolen these horses? Is that why
you’re riding bareback?”

“Look at them man!” Lanrik said heatedly.
“They’re quality horses. They’re some of the finest you’ll ever see. That
should be proof enough that Tamril lives with her uncle, and that he needs her.
Needs her now! And that’s no pursuit. The Royal Guard don’t chase horse
thieves. They’re our escort, but their horses aren’t as fast as ours.”

The soldier wavered.

Erlissa leaned forward. A single tear ran
down her cheek, and her face took on an expression of frustration and fury.

“If my uncle dies, I’ll tell the whole
city that it was the guards at the gate who stopped me from getting to him in
time. Let us through!”

The young man paled. It was a dangerous
time in Esgallien. Trouble always made the races more popular as people sought
a distraction. No one would want to be held responsible for the death of the
most respected trainer in the last hundred years. But would that be enough?
Lanrik could not tell, and in the distance the pursuit was catching up.

BOOK: Courage Of The Conquered (Book 3)
7.38Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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