Rise (2 page)

“Begging your mercy, my lord,” a quaking voice answered.

“Fitch?” Alistair peered at the hunched figure. “Is that you?”

“It is, Lord Hart!” Fitch gave a cry of relief.

Alistair kept his sword at the ready. “Why are you skulking in the stables?”

Fitch crept forward, grunting with the effort. In the dark, his body appeared wide and misshapen. When he walked, his feet scraped across the dirt—or so Alistair thought. A moment later, Fitch was close enough for Alistair to see why Fitch had been hiding.

He was dragging a body.

With a hiss of breath, Alistair jumped back. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Please, Lord Hart.” Fitch let the body go and dropped to his knees.

Alistair grunted in disgust to see a knight of Conatus groveling. He jerked away when Fitch reached as though to grasp Alistair’s tabard.

“What I’ve done was to serve Conatus. I swear!” Fitch shook his bloodied fists at Alistair. “They’ve gone mad. They’ll destroy us!”

Making sure his blade was between the cowering knight and himself, Alistair took a closer look at the unmoving man beside Fitch.

“Mercer.” Alistair breathed the knight’s name. Mercer’s face was bloodied, his flesh swelling as it took on violet and gray hues. It was well known that Mercer and Fitch had long been friends. What could have provoked Fitch to attack a fellow knight?

As if sensing Alistair’s scrutiny, Mercer groaned. Fitch lifted a hand to strike.

“No!” Alistair’s command stopped Fitch’s blow. They both watched Mercer, but the knight remained unconscious.

“You did this?” Alistair forced the tremor out of his voice.

“I had to.” Beads of sweat stood out on Fitch’s brow. “He’s a traitor, Alistair. They’re all traitors.”

Alistair didn’t know whether to take Fitch’s use of his familiar name as a good sign or not. But the word
traitor
made his knuckles whiten as he gripped his sword hilt tighter.

“Speak quickly, Fitch,” Alistair said. “Or I shall deal with you only as a cur who dishonors his companions with unprovoked violence.”

“Take me to Lady Eira,” Fitch pleaded. “She favors you. She’ll grant me an audience if you ask. When Mercer wakes, he can be questioned and my words will prove true.”

Alistair grimaced. “I’ll take your confession and pass it on to Lady Eira. I’d sooner see you wait in the barracks for her judgment.”

“No.” Fitch fell over in the dirt when Alistair took a menacing step toward him. Fitch lolled on the ground like a beaten dog showing its belly. “Begging your pardon, Lord Hart, but I fear that I might be implicated in this treachery. I only wish to tell Lady Eira myself so she can see my contrition and restore me to my station. I risked my life to overpower Mercer so I would have proof of this conspiracy against Conatus. Please consider that.”

Alistair found it difficult to feel anything but contempt for this man. Yet his bloodied hands and Mercer’s limp form promised an intriguing tale. And if this treachery he spoke of was true…

“Very well,” Alistair told him. “Lady Eira will hear your words. Now get up and stop shaming yourself with this pitiful display. I need your help to carry Mercer.”

Fitch scrambled to his feet, casting a fearful glance at Mercer as though the unconscious man might revive and grab him.

Alistair seized Fitch and gave him a rough shake. “Act like the Guard you’re supposed to be, Fitch. Take his feet and lead the way. I’ll carry him at the shoulders.”

Fitch turned away from Alistair and kicked Mercer’s legs apart. Tucking a calf on either side of his waist, Fitch lifted the unconscious man’s lower half while Alistair took care of his torso.

“That’s good,” Alistair told Fitch. “Head into the courtyard. And be quick about it.”

A man twitching and quavering the way Fitch did wasn’t someone Alistair wanted at his back. The two knights, one tall and wary, the other bent over as if on the verge of being sick, made their way across the courtyard.

“She’s likely in the great hall,” Alistair said, directing Fitch to the manor. “And if the Circle is with her, all the better. If traitors are in our midst, it’s a matter to be addressed without delay.”

Fitch muttered something unintelligible in response, but Alistair didn’t bother asking him to repeat himself. He was already questioning his decision to bring Fitch to Eira. What if the man had taken ill and the madness of fever had turned him on his friends?

Still proving his worth to Eira, Alistair detested the thought of raising alarm without reason. It was the cool touch of fear, light on his skin, that kept Alistair moving at a swift pace toward the great hall. No matter how unstable Fitch might appear, something real lay beneath his words. Something real and very wrong.

The corridors of the manor were still. The Guard would be occupied with their vigil, and the staff must have sought their beds for the night. All for the best, Alistair thought. Too many questions were bound to chase after a pair of knights carrying the broken body of one of their fellows. With Sorcha’s death raising alarm only a few hours earlier, further bad news could incite panic throughout the keep.

When they reached the thick double doors, Alistair pivoted to the side, bracing Mercer against him while he freed his other arm and pulled the door open. He took care to leave space only wide enough to carry the body inside.

“This is a private session!” Claudio’s shout stopped Alistair in the doorway, leaving Fitch and the other half of Mercer still in the hall.

Despite his many years as one of two Circle members hailing from craft, Claudio still bore the strength of years working with his hands. He strode toward Alistair.

“Peace, Claudio,” Lady Eira called to him. “Lord Hart is welcome here.”

Claudio hesitated, but didn’t counter Eira’s words, and Alistair quickly pulled the rest of Mercer, and Fitch along with him, into the room.

“What’s this?” Claudio gaped at Mercer.

Alistair glanced back at Fitch. “Let’s put him down. And then shut that door.”

They laid Mercer on the floor while the other occupants of the hall gathered around. Fionn, per his office as a cleric, carried a scroll in his hand. He gazed calmly at Mercer as though the unconscious man were a puzzle to be solved.

Lady Eira spoke first. “What happened to Mercer?”

Before Alistair could answer, Fitch blurted out, “Have mercy, my lady. I swear I’ll confess all.”

“What do you have to confess, Fitch?” Eira asked, her voice cool.

“I’ve done wrong. I thought to betray the cause. But I know I was misled now. I seek to make amends.” Fitch gulped, but when he opened his mouth to speak again, he suddenly yelped.

A hand had wrapped around Fitch’s ankle. Mercer’s eyes were open. With a jerk of his arm, Mercer pulled Fitch off balance. Fitch tumbled to the ground, and Mercer was on him, snarling like a wildcat.

Claudio shouted in surprise and backed away from the struggling pair. Fionn ran across the hall to take cover behind the sacred tree. Eira didn’t move, but neither did she try to interfere.

“Traitor,” Mercer spat as he struck Fitch. “I’ll see you in hell for this.”

“I’m no traitor.” Fitch grasped Mercer’s tabard, trying to shove Mercer off. “You’re mad for believing them. They’ll be the death of us.”

“Stop!” Cian’s clear voice rang out.

Alistair, who’d been about to grasp Mercer from behind and wrestle him away from Fitch, wheeled around. He hadn’t noticed Lady Eira’s sister in the hall. Cian leapt from the far corner of the room and closed the distance between herself and the tangled knights in a few long strides.

With a movement of such grace and strength that it stunned Alistair, Cian took hold of Mercer and Fitch—one in each hand—and threw them in opposite directions. Mercer rolled over once before jumping to his feet. He had no weapon to draw, but his fists were raised. Fitch, either reeling from Cian’s sudden intervention or still shocked that Mercer had regained consciousness, fell back onto his hands and heels.

Cian’s sword hissed out of its scabbard. “What is this talk of treachery?”

Mercer stared at her, and without breaking her gaze, he pointed at Fitch. “There is your traitor.”

When Cian glanced at Fitch, his eyes bulged. He began to crawl backward like a crab. “You… you—”

“Yes, traitor.” Cian moved toward Fitch. “You should fear me.”

When Alistair realized Cian’s intention, he rushed at her. “No! Wait!”

He didn’t reach her in time. Cian brought her blade down in a clean arc, and Fitch’s head toppled from his body.

“Damn your impatience!” Alistair watched blood pour out of Fitch’s severed neck. “He was the one who came to me seeking aid. Why would you kill him?”

Unruffled by Alistair’s fury, Cian said, “Your companion claimed he had a confession to make. One must sin to require confession. Fitch’s face spoke to me plainly of his guilt. I’ve no doubt that his sins were great.”

Alistair was shaking with outrage when she walked away from him.

Mercer stood still, face pale and fists raised. His expression was resigned, as though he expected to meet the same end by Cian’s sword.

“You’ve seen how we deal with traitors.” Cian spoke slowly to Mercer, holding his gaze. “Perhaps you would like a chance to confess, and if your contrition proves genuine, you’ll be shown mercy.”

Drawing a sharp breath, Mercer said quietly, “You cut him down like a common thief. I desire none of your mercy, and I have nothing to confess.”

“Very well.” Cian raised her sword.

“Put down your sword, Cian,” Eira commanded. “When did my sister become a barbarian?”

Cian paused, glancing at Eira. “Death is the penalty for traitors.”

“Of course it is,” Eira answered. “But we’ve yet to learn the cause of these accusations.”

“Lord Hart brought the men.” Cian turned to Alistair. “I assume he has the answers we need.”

Alistair jumped forward, speaking as quickly as he could. “I found Fitch in the stables. He’d beaten Mercer senseless and claimed there was a conspiracy against Conatus.”

“Is there any truth to his story?” Eira asked him.

Alistair looked with regret at Fitch’s headless body before he answered. “I don’t know, my lady. Fitch desired to make a full confession to you personally. That’s why I brought him here.”

“You shouldn’t have killed him,” Eira told Cian. “It was reckless.”

Cian returned Eira’s stare without flinching. “To my mind, they’re both traitors. The only difference between the two is that Fitch was clearly the coward. I took his head to make a point. A necessary one.”

“You let your temper get the best of you, and you dishonor yourself by making excuses for it.” Eira regarded her sister coolly. “Go with Alistair and take Mercer to the stockade. Secure him there until we know the truth of this.”

Cian pursed her lips and then said to Alistair, “Wait here. I’ll bring irons to bind him before we go to the stockade.”

Alistair nodded. The chaos in the room gave way to an uneasy quiet. Alistair heard Fionn retching behind the tree.

Claudio approached them cautiously. He eyed Mercer, gauging whether any threat remained.

Mercer stared blankly ahead, giving no sign of worry that Alistair stood close by with his sword drawn in case of any trouble.

“You’re going to question him, then?” Claudio asked Eira.

“I know one more suited to the task than I,” Eira answered. “I’ll ask Lord Mar to join us shortly.”

Eira walked in a slow circle around Mercer, looking the knight up and down. Her smile made Alistair shiver.

STEAM ROSE FROM THE
horses’ bodies, mirroring the mists that veiled the hillsides. The sun wouldn’t show her face today, Ember thought. Though it was still night, Ember could almost feel the weight of low clouds pressing down upon them.

Leaning into Caber’s strides, Ember tried to gather her wits. The stallion’s hooves threw clods of damp soil into the air with each strike against the earth. Though the wind brought tears to her eyes, Ember had a hard time shaking the sense that she was caught in a dream. This breakneck flight from the Conatus keep of Tearmunn was too wild and frightening to be real.

But it was that fear, churning beneath her ribs, that made Ember all too aware that this midnight ride was not the stuff of dreams. Glancing over at her companion, Ember tried to muster courage. She could barely make out Barrow’s features in the dark, but she could see well enough to take in his unusually rigid pose astride Toshach. He kept his eyes on the path ahead, urging Toshach to an even faster pace. As she watched Barrow, conflicting impulses wrestled within her. Barrow seemed incapable of fear. He led them into the night without hesitation. Ember trusted him. In brief moments when the terror of what she’d done released her from its grip, she reveled in the knowledge that she was riding abreast of the man whose company, whose touch, she’d come to believe was something she would never have. No matter how much she wanted it.