Lord of the Rose (38 page)

“His favorite disguise, once upon a time,” Dram admitted awkwardly. The dwarf had never probed his human friend for more details about that night—but he didn’t like to have to hear from Coryn that Jaymes was indeed at the scene of the crime.

“I watched him take off his tunic, that proud rose glowing red as blood. He threw it into the flames and stood there, watching, as the blaze surged around him. He was already burned on his shoulders and face, but I got the impression he wasn’t going to move, Finally I cast a spell, a cone of cold, and brought him out of the fire. He just followed me when I took his hand.”

“Why would you help a man who just killed your friend?” Dram asked bluntly.

Coryn looked at him for a long time, her expression enigmatic. The gnomes called out as they started back from the stream, and the dwarf wondered if she even heard his question. Perhaps it was impertinent, anyway.

Only then did he catch her words, barely whispered above the friendly wash of the mountain stream.

“I wouldn’t,” she said.

Jaymes was, as always at night, chained to a stout iron stake driven deep into the ground. He was almost getting used it, and—though he had watched carefully for any variance, any weakness in the diligence of his guards—he had seen not such much as a glimmer of a chance at escape. Even if the knights had not guarded him constantly, the stake was too strong, too deep

Right now he was trying to use his manacled hands to slurp from the usual bowl of gruel that served as his evening meal. A cry of challenge and answering password attracted his attention, and he watched idly as a Knight of Solamnia, wearing the emblem of the Rose, came riding on a lathered, blowing horse, into camp from the direction they were headed.

The newcomer dismounted and was directed to Sir Powell, who was having his meal nearby with Lady Selinda and several officers. The Rose knight was apparently a messenger, for he knelt respectfully and handed a scroll to Powell.

Selinda asked a question, and the knight captain shrugged, passing her the parchment.

“I don’t know why he didn’t just wait until we get to Palanthas to tell me that,” Powell said, loud enough for Jaymes to overhear. “But if he wants to transfer the Third Regiment to the coast, who am I to stop him?”

“Strange,” Selinda agreed, after scanning the message. “My father usually doesn’t concern himself with minor deployments.” She looked at the messenger, who still knelt before them. “Thank you for making the journey, Sir Dupuy. Please, help yourself to our trail fare. Do you need to return at once, or did my father give you other instructions?”

“If I may beg the indulgence of Your Ladyship and the captain’s approval, the Lord Regent suggested that I accompany your party on the ride over the pass and back to Palanthas. There
is some damage to the road, washouts caused by the spring rains. As I have just come over that route, I will at least be able to warn you when these obstacles are coming up.”

“By all means,” Sir Powell said, heartily. “Take up a bowl and join the men. We rise with the dawn and ride an hour later.”

“Thank you, sir. My lady,” the knight called Sir Dupuy said, rising to his feet. He looked around, apparently seeking the cook fire.

Jaymes would have sworn that the man’s eyes lingered far longer than necessary upon the chained prisoner.

Dram was awake as the first glimmers of dawn were brightening the sky over the eastern plains. His body ached, but he was looking forward to entering the good air of the mountains again.

The two gnomes were still slumbering, and he let them rest a little longer as he stirred the faded coals and rekindled the fire. He looked up to see that Coryn was already awake. Though she had slept on the ground, her white robe showed not the slightest stain of grass or mud. Not even the blackberries, of which they had all eaten plentifully the night before, had left a mark.

“The white moon was full last night, and Solinari favored me. I learned something that might be important to you,” she whispered. “There is a prisoner held by the lizardmen in the Brackens … a gnome. He has been kept there for more than a year.”

“A gnome?” Dram immediately understood. He nodded toward Carbo and Sulfie, who snored contentedly, arm in arm, beyond the fire. “You think it might be their brother, Pete?”

“It could very well be,” she said.

If Coryn had been off checking on the status of captured gnomes during the previous night, Dram had had no clue. He nodded, reflecting on the strange ways of wizards, and decided to take her at her word—he didn’t
want
any more details. Besides, there remained a more pressing concern: the rescue of Jaymes.

“Yes,” Coryn said grimly, as though she had been reading his mind. “You have to get Jaymes away from those knights as soon as possible. I meant what I told you last night. He is in danger—terrible and immediate danger.”

He grimaced, shaking his head. “What can I do?” he said. “I can’t even catch up to those riders, much less get him out of such a tight spot. Isn’t that your specialty?”

She sighed. “I can’t afford to take the chance of being identified—it was risky enough in Caergoth, and I fear that I was spotted. But I might be able to help you with this potion.”

She reached into a pocket of her robe and came out with three small bottles. “I have become rather good at brewing such helpful magics, if I say so myself. Of course, I have the benefit of being able to roam about Jenna’s laboratory while she is in Wayreth. I think you might find these useful.”

Coryn extended her hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, Dram opened his own burly paw and let her drop the bottles onto his calloused palm. He looked at the potions reluctantly. “Magic makes my skin break out, you know,” he said.

She smiled sympathetically. “You might have to put up with some blemishes, then, if you’re going to help your friend. I suggest you leave the gnomes here—have them camp out of sight somewhere and wait for you. They’ll only slow you down.”

“Aye, I’m sorry to say, but I’d been thinking along the same lines myself,” Dram admitted. He scowled at the small bottles, each of which seemed to hold only a shot or two of clear liquid.

“This blue bottle is a potion of haste,” the enchantress explained. “Use just enough so that you feel a little tingle. You’ll be able to cover twice as much distance today as the knights can ride.”

“Haste, huh?” Dram held up that bottle, which was the largest of the three, and inspected the liquid sloshing inside. “All right,” he said. “So I might catch up to them. What then?”

She explained about the other two potions.

J
aymes shifted uncomfortably for seemingly the hundredth time of the night. Sleeping with his hands manacled at his waist allowed him precious little room to maneuver. His wrists were raw.

He stared up at the sky, the white moon near zenith. Since that moon had risen at sunset, he knew it was not much later than midnight.

At least the evenings gave some respite to the pain of riding a horse all day. His legs cramped so much he was unable to stand when they finally allowed him to dismount at the end of the day. Though the other knights took breaks, including a midday meal, climbing down from their saddles to stretch, they didn’t go to the trouble—or risk—of letting their prisoner do the same.

Wriggling around, he tried to ease a kink that had formed in the muscles of his back. He couldn’t do much about it. Cursing softly, the prisoner was on the verge on closing his eyes when he spotted a cloaked figure moving stealthily through the darkness.

This figure, though bent low, moved more like a human than a dwarf. Immediately the warrior thought of the lone knight, Sir Dupuy, who had arrived bearing a message from Lord Regent du Chagne. The man had been watching Jaymes surreptitiously all evening. Sitting around a fire with several
fellows, the stranger’s cold, hard eyes had frequently shifted over to the chained man.

Now the prisoner stared at the cloaked figure as it scuttled towards him, evidently on his hands and knees. Jaymes closed his eyes to narrow slits so the other man wouldn’t guess he was awake and pondered what to do. The menacing knight was perhaps ten paces away, his eyes fixed upon the prisoner. Jaymes felt helpless. The chains binding his hands were so tight, he would have little ability to defend himself.

“Say there, friend,” Jaymes suddenly called out, opening his eyes and sitting up straight. He made a great show of trying to stretch. His voice rang out in the slumbering camp, and several knights grunted in their sleep or shifted and opened their eyes. “How about helping a thirsty man with a drink of water?”

He was not surprised when the cloaked man—indeed Sir Dupuy—rose smoothly, letting his cape fall to the ground. The man looked around, saw that a sleepy sentry was staring at them and other knights were stirring. Several watched as Sir Dupuy came up to Jaymes, extending his canteen.

“Just a quick sip,” the man said gruffly. “And then be still!”

The prisoner took the proffered vessel, drank, then handed it back. He replied loudly. “Thank you kindly, good sir knight.”

The hilt of a dagger protruded from the man’s belt. Without another word Sir Dupuy turned to walk away, stopping to pick up his cloak as if he had just happened to spot it lying on the ground. He went over to his bedroll and lay down, but his eyes, glittering with fury and frustration, remained fixed upon Jaymes.

Wrestling himself around to a sitting position, the warrior met the stranger’s glare. Cramps froze his muscles, pain rippled through his legs, hips, and back, but he had to remain awake, and he watched the knight, watched and waited patiently as the moon, with excruciating slowness, crept through the western sky.

He maintained his vigil until dawn brightened the sky and the camp began to wake up around him. Only when there were a dozen knights up, kindling fires, putting kettles on to warm, did he allow himself to close his eyes for a few precious minutes. He
woke when they came with the crowbar to pull his stake out of the ground and prod him into the saddle of a horse.