Rebel's Cage (Book 4) (34 page)

He put on his best smile. ‘I trained
her
from the moment she was weaned from the nest. I plan to breed from her next year. I’m sure her brood will be just as talented as she is.’ Kenrick paused only a moment before adding, ‘If you like her so much, I can send you one of her chicks, trained or not, depending on your wish.’

Ogiers squinted up at the birds now circling the field. The lines about his eyes grew deeper as he shook his head. ‘I think not. I would be unable to give such a creature sufficient work in Mayenne. I’m afraid we have grown out of the habit of sporting with animals. Thank you, however, for your kind and generous offer.’

Kenrick bit his tongue and turned away, his blood boiling. He could almost feel the man’s contempt oozing out of every pore, soaking the air between them.

It was always the same. Ogiers was Tirone’s most trusted Envoy – but the man did little more than spend his time making Kenrick feel inferior, uncivilised – and the last man likely to be chosen to wed the Princess.

Of course, once the Princess was heir to the throne, Tirone – and therefore Ogiers – might be singing a different tune.

But that required Nash to find the last Prince and see to his end.

As his eagles squawked above him once more, Kenrick’s attention strayed to where his courtiers watched the fight, along the edge of the field. It was a smaller court than he usually travelled with, because of the winter, and the cost of moving so many people this far from Marsay and keeping them all warm in winter pavilions. Even so, it was enough to keep him in state – even if a dozen of those men were Malachi, led by Nash’s ally, the Baron DeMassey. No matter where he went, Kenrick could hardly move or breathe without having his actions reported by the Baron. It was an open secret between them. Of course, DeMassey was also his bodyguard – and having a man of such talents watchful of his safety had to be considered an asset.

But right now, DeMassey was watching as Osbert chatted idly with other courtiers. Beneath his jacket, Kenrick could feel the leather pouch almost burning him with curiosity. He had but to hand it over to the Guilde Proctor for translation and he would have some answers. But was he ready to commit himself to such a dangerous venture? Osbert had once been Nash’s creature, ready to do his bidding. What was to stop him running to the old man with news of Kenrick’s betrayal?

He couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not until he’d had time to think about it more.

A violent screech from close by snagged his attention. He turned just in time to see the fighting birds swoop away from the trees, towards the field, heading straight for him.

No – heading straight for Ogiers. Instantly, Kenrick’s
defences rose, his hobbled power surging through him before he could stop it. Wings flapping wildly, screeches deafening, feathers bloody and fluttering, the birds came on. Ogiers tried to get out of the way, but it was too late. Even as he ducked, Kenrick’s power shot out. A burst of flame, meagre in reality, but stunning enough to incinerate both birds, left their dying carcasses spinning and tumbling to the ground before the Envoy.

A shocked silence followed, then Ogiers’ guard moved forward to assure themselves of his wellbeing. The court remained distant as always, and in that second Kenrick hated them.

‘Thank you, Sire, for your timely intervention,’ Ogiers gathered himself with frightening speed, his voice cold with disdain, even as his words were of gratitude. ‘Though I fear the destruction of your favourite bird hardly worth my ancient bones. I mourn too, the loss of her much vaunted brood. Do you have another to take her place?’

Kenrick met the man’s gaze, seeing far more there than he was supposed to. And if there hadn’t been so much depending on keeping this man alive, he would be dead by now – for his subtle taunts if nothing else. ‘Yes,’ he lied smoothly and efficiently. ‘I have a dozen such birds as talented as this. This one was nothing compared to your safety, my lord.’

As though he were accepting a genuine compliment, Ogiers bowed in his saddle. Quickly Kenrick gathered his reins together, the bubbling in his veins already warming him to the danger level. He would have to take care of it before he saw this man again, or there would be blood of a different kind spilled on the winter ground.

With a nod to Ogiers, he turned his horse and rode away, knowing his Malachi guard would follow.

It was time for some real sport.

*

With a shudder, DeMassey staggered into the passage, breathing hard and deep and trying to make it shallow. The stench …

He swallowed hard, forcing bitter fluid back into his tight
throat, his hand coming up to wipe the flash of sweat from his face.

In the name of the gods, what was that boy playing at?

Flat noises echoed along the slimy stone walls of a ruined and abandoned abbey. The building had stood solid for a handful of centuries until the Guilde had taken over hospice work from the Church, appropriating large swathes of land along with it. This place had been empty for ten years, stripped clean of materials by a desperate people unable to afford the luxury of keeping a sacred building intact.

Kenrick had seen the ruin in the distance, something fit to be used for his …

Could he honestly call
that
entertainment?

The gorge rose in him again, his stomach churning as his mind pictured again what he’d seen in the small room behind him, a room that a decade ago had housed a pious monk. He bit his lip hard, forcing the pain to make him concentrate, to draw his thoughts from that poor …

He couldn’t even tell if it was a man or woman!

He took two steps further along the passage, drawing in thin, cold night air, hoping it would be enough to steady him. He’d been around Kenrick a long time, seen too many of these … incidents – but this was by far the worst. This went beyond the bounds of anything DeMassey ever wanted to see again.

It was his job to get rid of it, he knew that. He also knew that he would rather do almost anything than go back into that cell.

He closed his mouth, moistening it, tasting the bitterness and the vileness that was Kenrick. Then he straightened up. Deliberately, he brought forth a memory of Valena, her bright eyes, her glowing beauty as he’d last seen her, just a few weeks before. He kept it before him as he turned back to the doorway, held it as the beacon he needed while he gathered a fistful of power and unleashed it, setting all in the room on fire.

Barely blinking then, he turned and strode down the passage. Away.

*

‘Are you sure this is going to be safe?’ Helen leaned forward a
little further, hoping to see more of the village from the safety of the wood in which they were hidden. The afternoon sun was glistening down on the snow-scattered field. A muddy road ran close by, leading into the village, and the spires of both Church and Guildehall were clearly visible.

Unfortunately, also clearly visible, were a grave number of mounted soldiers, idly wandering through the village, or riding in squads around the outskirts, as though on patrol for some desperate enemy.

‘I don’t know where they’ve all come from,’ Liam frowned alongside her, using his body to shield her close to the tree. ‘I hadn’t expected these numbers – not here, so far from the cities in the north. I thought if we headed south, nobody would notice us.’

‘Well, there’s no reason anyone
will
notice us,’ Helen replied, opting for a smile of encouragement. ‘I mean, how can they tell what we are?’

‘Without a Bresail, they can’t.’

‘But you still don’t think it’s going to be safe?’

Again Liam frowned, then looked back up the road, as though he could guess what lay beyond the hills. ‘I don’t Sense any Malachi nearby. Do you?’

‘No. Should I?’

He looked at her and she laughed in response. ‘Well, what do you want to do? Chance it – or move on and find somewhere quieter to buy supplies?’

Helen shrugged, turning back to the village. ‘I think we should chance it. After all, who’s to say other villages in the area aren’t equally thick with soldiers? And not only that, but they would assume Salti wouldn’t go anywhere near them, wouldn’t they?’

Liam was already chuckling. ‘So we bluff our way in?’

‘Unless you don’t want to …’

Liam turned for his horse – and froze. Helen looked behind them and her heart leaped into her throat. A dozen soldiers, mounted, swords drawn, were eyeing them with amusement and open hunger.

‘So, boy,’ the leader spoke roughly, ‘I’m eager to know what
this bluff is all about. Planning to steal something, were you? Or maybe you have already. This one’s a little young for you, isn’t she? Nothing more than a child. I wonder what her parents would say if they found her out in the woods with you, eh? Eh?’ He gestured to his men. ‘Take them.’

‘No! Wait!’ Helen surged forward, to put herself between Liam and the soldiers, but he pushed her behind him, his hands already going into position to combat with his powers. But to do so would guarantee their deaths. Frantic, Helen turned to him, ‘No, Liam, don’t! You can’t or we’ll …’

He twisted away from her, bending enough to careen into a soldier approaching. The man tipped backwards and Liam grabbed the sword from him. Helen rushed to help, but she was snatched from behind, something cold and sharp pressed against her throat. A clash of steel rang out through the wood as Liam tried to fight off their attackers. Tall and strong, Liam had learned all her father had tried to teach him. He held the men at bay for precious moments, but soon it wasn’t enough, their greater numbers overwhelmed him.

She barely heard his stunted cry as he stumbled to the ground. She could hardly see him between them. But she could smell the blood, saw how it soaked into the snow, trickling towards her.

‘Liam!’ She struggled, uncaring of the blade against her throat or of the threats made against her for the same dire fate. She needed to see him, to know he was going to be …

The soldiers stepped back, regaining their horses. Even as she was dragged away, she saw him, lying on the ground, two huge wounds in his chest, his heart no longer beating, his eyes gazing at the sky, unblinking and still. So very still.

‘Liam!’ Helen screamed once into the deadly silence, and then again. After that, a dirty rag was stuffed into her mouth and her sobs were drowned out by the pain inside.

Sayre wasn’t too good at many things, but he could keep time better than anybody. He knew exactly when the hour was up, knew exactly when another had expired and Liam had still not returned. Of course, by then both Neil and Zea were restless, tossing bare-peeled sticks into the fire they’d carefully built.

Fearful and resolute, he got to his feet. ‘I think something’s wrong.’

‘How in Serin’s name can you know that?’ Neil asked, standing. ‘You can suddenly mindspeak? Is that it?’

‘No. But they’ve been gone two hours now and it’s going to be dark soon. If we don’t try looking for them now, it will be too late.’

‘Fine! Go and look for them! You know as well as I do what they’re probably doing!’

‘Neil!’ Zea thumped his shoulder for that. ‘Unlike some people, Liam is a lot more honourable than that. Helen’s only thirteen. Not everybody has thoughts as disgusting as yours.’

Sayre stopped listening after a moment. Usually he didn’t much care for their incessant bickering, but right now he was worried. He turned for his horse, tightened the girth strap and swung up into the saddle. ‘Are you coming?’

‘Yes,’ Zea replied immediately. She mounted up without looking at her twin. Only when they were about to leave did Neil finally give in. He kicked snow over the fire, paused long enough to watch it melt a little on the coals, then climbed onto his horse, all the while showing his utter boredom for the whole search idea.

Sayre ignored him. Instead, he headed through the sheltering woods. He took out his
ayarn,
held it in his left hand and tried Seeking – but he’d never been very good at it, and Zea and Neil were even worse. Still, he followed the trail through the snow, hoofprints left by two horses.

Glimpses of the village showed through the trees, and he could hear horses on the road ahead. But then something else caught his eye. The dark stain of red blood against white snow.

‘Liam!’ He fell from his horse and scrambled between the brush to land beside the still body of his friend. He reached out to touch, but Liam was colder than the winter.

‘Where’s Helen?’ Zea turned and turned, looking in the growing shadows. Neil stayed on his horse, his expression empty in shock.

‘The horses are gone as well,’ Zea added, coming to a halt beside Sayre. ‘Come on, we can’t stay here. They might come back.’

‘Who?’ Sayre stood, swallowing hard, unable to absorb the horror, still struggling with the terror. ‘You think … they’d come back for us?’

‘I don’t know!’

‘But what about Helen? We can’t just leave her. We don’t know who’s got her, or why? We’re in this together, aren’t we?’

‘Don’t be an idiot, Sayre,’ Neil suddenly joined in the argument, pulling his reins up ready to leave. ‘You go into that village and you’ll end up like Liam, bet on it.’

‘I hate you!’ Sayre spat. ‘You’re a vicious coward, that’s what you are! You don’t give a damn that your best friend’s lying there dead. You only care for your own safety. Well, fine! Go ahead and run away. But I’m going to help Helen.’

‘How? By getting yourself killed?’

‘No,’ Sayre looked once more at Liam’s stiff body, then swung back into his saddle. ‘I’m going to get some help.’

*

Helen tried to keep track of where she was taken, tried to count each horse pace into the village and beyond, tried to measure each turn, each new direction, but she could hardly see a thing from the horse, her vision blinkered by the arms of the soldier who held her. Her hands were bound behind her back, her feet at the ankles. She couldn’t begin to think about what they wanted from her. She’d heard enough in their ribald comments about getting her back to their barracks, about sharing
her and what they would charge for her, and the only good thing about it was that they obviously didn’t suspect her of being a sorcerer.