Dragon Tree (16 page)

It was while
she was in this ungainly position, with her rump hoisted and her
toes dangling inches above the parapet that she became aware of
someone else on the roof. She heard the drag of his robes first
before a soft footfall placed him directly behind her. With a sigh
she pushed back from the lip of stone and touched her feet flat
again, anticipating the look of disapproval on Marak’s face well
before she saw it.

“If you are
looking to fling yourself off the wall, I suggest you do it over
there,” he said, pointing to the diagonally opposite corner of the
roof. “Below are jagged rocks and boulders piled up at the base
which will ensure the task is done properly. Mind you," Marak
paused to lean forward and peer through the parapet, "the villagers
do tell a tale of a man who decided to end his days by leaping from
here. To his vast disappointment, he landed on a lackey and broke
nothing but his wrist. He did manage to kill the lackey so the act
did not go entirely without notice.”

Amie found it
difficult not to smile. In the faint dawn light, she realized his
hood was not pulled forward to shield his face. Their silhouettes
were painted the same blue gray of the mist and the stones, and the
silvery tops of the trees. She guessed the healer also favored this
time of day when he had no need to fear the harsh sunlight on his
skin.

“Roland told
me you saved Lord Tamberlane's life in the desert.”

The pale eyes
turned from the lake and found hers. “Roland wags his tongue
overmuch, especially in the presence of a lovely young woman.”

“Is it
true?”

“That he wags
his tongue, or that you are a beautiful young woman? Nay, do not
distress yourself over my early morning wit,” he held up his hand
and chuckled. “For the answer to both is yes. But I like to think
we each saved each other."

“I have not
heard of many priests who were excommunicated much less a Templar,
for surely such a strident sect of warriors are committed to God
unto death.”

“You envision
them as being holier than most?”

“Most Templar
knights believe they were born to wear the cloth, do they not?
Whereas most simple priests decide to take their vows only after
they have squandered their inheritances or witnessed their first
miracle.”

Marak laughed.
“He told me he feared you might take him to task for his heresy yet
your sarcasm hints of the same.”

“You mock me,
sirrah.”

“No, my lady.
On the contrary, I enjoy your
candor
. It grows proportionately with the return of
your strength.”

“My uncle
often banished me to my room in an attempt to curb my tongue.”

“Did his
efforts succeed?”

“Not all the
time.”

Marak laughed.
“Your eyes burn with questions, Little One. While it is not my
place to answer them all, I can try to ease the burden of a
few.”

“I wish only
to understand him," she said, "not to pry."

"Fair enough.
I will try to help where I may."

"Can you tell
me what sin was so grievous that Lord Tamberlane was cast out of
the Order?”

“Starting at
the top of the mountain, are you? Very well. He committed the sin
of compassion. He walked away when there was slaughter to be had
and he hacked off the arm of a brother Templar rather than
surrender an innocent woman and her newborn babe to the sword."

"Inaya and
Jibril?"

Marak nodded.
"To further compound his crime, he did not blame his lapse on
battle fever or sun stroke. Nor did he repent, or offer recompense
to the knight whose arm was left to rot in the desert sand. In
fact, he spoke out at length about the cruelty and inhumanity he
had witnessed and declared that he knew of no god who would
sanction such a thing and that surely massacres and slaughters
would reflect badly on the men who ordered them. Some attempted to
brand him as a coward, but they were quickly silenced by the steel
in his eyes and in his hands. He was trained to fight and to kill
enemies of God and if one were to stand before him with a sword or
mace, he would do so without a second thought.

"He did not
believe, however, that he was trained to disembowel a wounded man
for sport or cut off his manhood and feed it to the dogs. Nor was
he trained to tear babies from their mother's arms and smash them
up against a stone wall. All these things and more were done in
King Richard’s name, something Tamberlane warned would likely taint
the golden king's reputation far more than any glorious victories
that were fought."

“He took the
king to task?” she asked in an awed voice.

“And then
some. Luckily, Richard admires courage in a man, both in deed and
word, and while some may have questioned the Dragonslayer’s
actions, few were brave enough or stupid enough to question his
courage. Indeed, so many knights and soldiers stood behind Lord
Tamberlane to show their loyalty, there was a genuine risk of
revolt within the ranks of the king’s army. Richard wisely sent him
home.

“We arrived in
England some four months later only to find another scion of royal
breeding disabusing his powers, waging a war of taxes and greed
upon peasants and children who paid in blood that which they could
not pay in coin. Having had his fill of politics and intrigues,
Tamberlane considered his exile here, to Taniere, a blessing in
disguise. And while he will say to anyone who asks that he does not
miss the clashing of swords and horseflesh, there are days when he
trains as if the demon is in his own soul.”

“Certes there
are demons aplenty beyond these walls that he could throw himself
upon and put his sword to good use,” she murmured.

Marak smiled
grimly. “And now that your curiosity has been somewhat assuaged,
perhaps you would be amenable to returning the favor?"

Amie braced
herself, but nodded.

“You let slip
the other day that your husband is Odo de Langois?”

Amaranth felt
a clutch in her chest and bent over to scoop a stone off the
rooftop, hoping the action would buy her a moment’s delay. But when
she straightened again, Marak was still searching her face, waiting
for confirmation.

What he saw
reflected in her eyes must have removed the need for words. He
pursed his lips and blew forth a soft, soundless whisper. "I see
now why you might choose to keep such a thing close to your breast.
Even here in the heart of the deepest greenwood, the name Odo de
Langois is well known."

"Thus you can
understand why I must leave as soon as possible. Odo is not only a
threat and danger to anyone who stands in his way, he is a close
ally to the Prince Regent, who would have no qualms ordering the
demise of one of King Richard's most fearsome warriors."

“Lackland
would not weep to see an ally of his brother removed,” Marak agreed
dryly.

“He gathers
carrion-eaters around him like dung gathers flies and Odo is the
king of carrion-eaters. He threw his lot in with Prince John long
before King Richard left to go on Crusade. My marriage to him was
one of the rewards promised to him in exchange for his
loyalty."

Her voice
faltered and fell low, but the dam was breached and the flood could
not be held back.

“My uncle, who
was never one to count his pennies wisely, was unable to pay the
scutage demanded by the Prince to help raise the ransom for King
Richard. I suspect the amount was blistered higher than it should
have been to ensure his inability to pay, for Odo de Langois had
approached my uncle before and been flatly turned down."

She turned
away so that Marak found himself staring at a cloud of coppery red
hair. “The Prince became involved and said that if my uncle refused
the marriage, everything he owned—his home, his lands, his
title—would be stripped from him and his family cast out and
beggared. My marriage to Odo also insured that the vast holding of
The Three Benches would eventually fall into his hands."

Marak was
grateful that her face was averted and she could not see how her
words had startled him for a second time in as many minutes. The
Three Benches was the seat of Lord James Alderbury, and if he was
Amaranth’s uncle, that made her the daughter of Hugh FitzWalter.
And if she was FitzWalter’s daughter, it was no wonder Odo de
Langois had pressed for the marriage, for FitzWalter's late wife
was Henry Secund's favorite mistress, who had been married off to
give the child she bore him a respectable name. It must have spun
de Langois’ head in a circle to bind himself to a wife whose blood
flowed in the veins of kings.

“And so you
were pressed to accept the terms of the marriage?”

“I was given
no choice. I did try to convince myself that Odo was a handsome
man, young and vigorous—a much better fate than some old,
foul-smelling baron with black teeth and sagging skin. How foolish
I was. How very wrong." She turned and looked Marak squarely in the
eyes. “Not long after we were married, Odo’s brother Rolf tried to
rape me. When Odo came upon us, Rolf insisted that it was me who
lifted my skirts and lured him into the woods. Since I was not an
altogether willing bride, Odo chose to believe him. When he came
into the bedchamber that night, I knew he meant to punish me. Just
as I knew he would punish me every single day and night thereafter.
Some nights..." she paused and clenched her teeth a moment to stop
her chin from trembling. “death would have been far more welcomed.
And now the good people of that village have paid for my
foolishness and there is every good chance that you will too, all
of you. For even if you are able to defend your gates against an
attack, a word to Prince John and Lord Tamberlane’s quiet existence
will be at an end.”

“I suspect
part of him would welcome it if that were true. Another three years
of living this half life and he may well be the one dashing himself
onto the rocks below.” The pale eyes shifted away from hers and for
a long moment remained fixed and staring at some distant point on
shore “In the meantime, however, I would beg you not to judge all
men based on the few you have encountered. Some live with
nightmares as terrible and haunting as your own."

"I am sure
they do," she said softly. "And I am sure they find it just as
difficult to trust or to believe they can ever find peace
again."

"Do you trust
me?"

The question
was not entirely unexpected, and it conjured images of the hours he
had spent bathing her fevered skin, listening to her rambles,
knowing she was not who she said she was yet keeping that secret to
himself.

"I trust you
as much as I hope I can," she said.

"I am glad to
hear it. So if I were to ask you to very slowly step behind me and
keep your face turned away from the castle wall, you would do it
without asking why?"

Amie's trust
was not yet implicit and she reacted instinctively to the sudden
tension in his face. She did step behind him, but she could not
refrain from glancing over his shoulder and following his stare to
where the dawn light was streaking across the sky, giving the
shadows and shapes on shore more substance.

Close to the
water’s edge were six mounted knights. They were perhaps a hundred
long paces from the gatehouse and drawbridge, seemingly intent upon
studying the island on which Taniere stood. The horses were
well-trained beasts and did not twitch so much as a muscle. To
judge by the undisturbed threads of mist clinging to their
fetlocks, they had been there for some time, unobserved until the
watery light revealed their presence.

The knights
were sworded and fully armored, with shields slung across their
backs. The largest of the six wore a surcoat emblazoned with a red
boar rampant against a dark green field.

“Dear sweet
Jesu,” Amaranth whispered from behind Marak's shoulder. “He has
found me.”

CHAPTER TEN

Tamberlane’s
eyes narrowed against the flaring sunlight. He had been in the
stable when a guard brought news of men on the far shore. He had
taken the stone stairs to the top of the battlements two by two,
joining the rest of the sentries in staring out over the stillness
of the lake. The six knights had not moved from their original
position on shore. The sky was pewter-colored; the mist still
formed a pale shifting layer over the water and where it began to
grow thinner, the moss appeared so green beneath the horses’ hooves
it looked like a velvet carpet.

“It would
appear as though we have visitors,” Tamberlane murmured to no one
in particular.

One of the
sentries scowled. “An odd way for visitors to approach, my lord.
Shall I trumpet forth the rest of the guard?”

Tamberlane
shook his head. “Do it quietly, without fanfare. Thus far we have
no reason to believe they are anything but weary travelers seeking
nothing more than a place to rest their heads, fill their bellies,
and share a jug of ale before moving on.”

“Do you
believe that, sire?”

“Not for the
length of a plover's heartbeat.” Tamberlane smiled tightly. “But we
should give them the appearance that we do.”

The sentry
left to pass the order but had to stand aside as Marak and Amaranth
approached along the wall-walk. The haste with which they had
descended the roof of the keep and hurried through the wards was
reflected in the two bright spots of color on Amie’s cheeks. The
rest of her face was gray, her lips completely bloodless, making
her eyes stand out as two prominent circles of clearest
violet-blue.

“We saw from
the roof,” Marak said by way of answering the frown that appeared
on Tamberlane’s face. “None of the sentries noticed or heard them
before now? What of the guards in the gatehouse?”

The question
only deepened the scowl on the knight's face and he turned to look
at Amaranth. “Why have you come out into the chill? You should have
remained back at the keep. And what the devil are you wearing?”