The Dread Wyrm (Traitor Son Cycle) (67 page)

“Su-key!” came a roar, almost outside the wagon.

“Get a room!” came an angry call from the tent lines.

Blanche took her prize wardrobe and dropped off the wagon box to the ground. “Thanks!” she said.

“I’m right here, you great ox,” Sukey said.

“I brought you something,” Bad Tom said.

“A couple of your doxies to do my scut work?” Sukey shot back.

“Don’t be like that, woman,” he said.

Blanche covered her ears and giggled.

“Like what? Spiteful? Mad as a cat in water?” Sukey asked.

Tom laughed. “You’re jus’ play-acting.”

“Try me, Tom,” she said.

“You? Dare me?” Tom said, and roared his laugh.

Blanche lengthened her stride.

She ran far enough to escape the sounds, and stopped to catch her breath.

She’d come the wrong way—or perhaps not. As she spun, she gradually got her bearings—the captain’s banners, the pavilion, the cook fires near at hand.

She was ravenous. She came to the fire where so many had been gathered a quarter of an hour before. Now there were only a handful of men. Sister Amicia and her nuns were gone.

Toby was with the captain. “I’d need help to bed them all down,” Toby was saying.

Ser Gabriel shook his head. “I can’t order men out of their straw,” he said.

Blanche stepped up boldly. “There’s pages awake at the cook fires,” she said.

Toby shrugged. “They’ll be all the lackwits and awkward sods—”

Ser Gabriel put a hand on his shoulder. “You need me?” he asked.

Toby backed away hurriedly. “No—no, my lord. Go to bed.”

Ser Gabriel nodded to her.

“Can I help?” she asked.

“We captured horses at the tournament and more at the end of the fight today. They don’t belong to anyone yet, so they’re all just milling about at the end of the horse lines. Toby is too professional to leave them, and too tired to do anything about it.” He looked at her. “What do you have there?” he asked. He handed her his cup, which was full of sweet wine.

She drank it off before she thought about it.

“Damn, you did it again,” he said.

“I’m sorry, my lord. Sukey took care of me, and gave me a kirtle and some linen.” She paused. “Women’s prattle.”

“I like women,” he said. “I especially like Sukey, who gets more work out of fewer people than anyone I’ve ever known. Sukey has a list for every occasion.” He smiled. “Did Tom find her?”

“When she was ready for him,” Blanche said. Then she winced.

But Ser Gabriel laughed. His right hand found a bottle, and he re-filled
his cup. “I’m going to be un-gallant,” he said, “and have some of this before you get it.”

Blanche smiled at him. “You should go to bed, my lord,” she said.

He kicked his feet in front of him, sat with his back against his war saddle and handed her the cup. He indicated his cloak, a great red cloak she’d seen tied behind his saddle. “This is my bed,” he said, a little sharply. “Sukey gave my tent to the Queen and her baby, and now she’s off playing with Tom.”

“I have a tent,” Blanche said. She almost bit her lip in vexation.

The silence went on far too long—ten heartbeats or so.

“I’m not sure just how I want to answer that,” he said. But then, without further hesitation, he was kissing her. She never got clear in her mind how she came to be kneeling by him to be kissed.

Blanche had been kissed before, and she didn’t melt. But she was ashamed of all the things that went through her mind before she let it float away on the kiss. Some of them were very practical.

Then she had both of his hands and she was kissing
him.
It made her want to laugh.

A log popped in the fire, and Toby cleared his throat very softly.

“Gelfred, my lord,” he whispered. In one motion, he flipped the captain’s red cloak open and threw it over Blanche even as Ser Gabriel flowed to his feet.

Blanche lay smothered in red wool, her heart beating fast as the hooves of a galloping horse strummed the earth.

“Road’s clear all the way back to Second Bridge,” Ser Gelfred said. “We picked up a herald on the road, who claims he’s been sent to you from de Vrailly. I blindfolded him.”

“Nicely done. Send him to Lord Corcy in the morning, Gelfred. De Vrailly will want Du Corse.” He laughed. “Do you think they’re related? Du Corse, and Corcy?”

“Never gave it a thought,” Gelfred said. “I saw Alcaeus out by the gate. He’ll be wanting you, too.”

Blanche writhed inwardly. Her mind was spinning. Drink? How much had he drunk? He couldn’t really want her. He’d want the Queen—that’s how these things played out. Like with like. Aristo with aristo.

But it had been a spectacular kiss.

Gabriel was acutely conscious of the young woman under his cloak ten feet away in the flickering firelight. He gave Toby a look.

Toby walked off.

What was I thinking? She’s hardly a light o’ love.

Is that what I want? Or is it just what Tom wants for me?

There was the unmistakable sound of horse’s hooves. Gelfred put a hand on his long sword hilt.

Gabriel knew the man by his seat—shorter stirrups, the Morean style. “Alcaeus!” he called. “I haven’t seen you in two days and it’s like being blind.”

The Morean knight—dressed in a simple cote and long boots, like any messenger—threw a leg over his light saddle and dropped to the ground. His little mare simply dropped her head and started eating. She was clearly done in.

Toby appeared with Nell, who looked as mad as a viper. Between them they were carrying a ghost—no, it was a stack of linen sheets.

“Make me fucking work in the middle of the night—” She was spitting when she saw her captain and stopped.

“You weren’t exactly working,” Toby shot back.

Alcaeus seized the proffered wine cup and drained it. “Some prefer a company of infantry, and some love the sight of ships, and some love a troops of horse,” he said in Archaic. “But the thing I love is good intelligence.”

“I don’t think that’s quite what Sappho had in mind,” Gabriel said, and laughed.

“You ready?” Alcaeus said. “It’s all gone to hell.”

To the Morean knight’s right, Toby and Nell put up a folding frame and began to drape it with sheets.

Alcaeus looked at them with interest. “Do they really do your laundry in the middle of the night?” he asked. “And how is the sweet lady laundress? What a beauty.”

“What a mouth,” Gabriel said, hoping to head him off.

Alcaeus laughed. “She has wit. I fancy her. Bah—at any rate. I have birds and birds—message on message. But first, from our dear friend in Harndon.”

He handed Gabriel a folded scrap of parchment, and Gabriel flipped it open and held it to the flames for light. It was Kronmir’s hand.

Gabriel sipped his wine. “You’ve read it,” he said.

“Ten times,” Alcaeus said. “You trust him?”

“Yes,” Gabriel said.

Alcaeus made a motion of the lips that suggested that his captain was naive, and perhaps shouldn’t be trusted out alone after dark.

Toby appeared. “It’s getting chilly,” he said, and laid the captain’s red cloak over his shoulders.

Gabriel got the message.
Boy, you are the finest squire who has ever lived,
he thought.

He breathed in, hoping her scent would be on his cloak, but in truth, he smelled only horse sweat and wood smoke.

I want her.

Mother would be so proud. Damn her.

The pang—he still forgot that she was dead for whole minutes at a time—came back like a fist in the stomach.

“What’s wrong?” Alcaeus asked.

Gabriel shrugged. “I trust him because I’ve given him scope to play a bigger game. The biggest.”

Alcaeus nodded. “You read men well,” he said.

“The Emperor?” Gabriel asked. He was very tired.

“The Emperor has left his daughter Irene at Liviapolis with a skeleton guard, and he and Ser Milus are marching past Middleburg.” Alcaeus took the cup from Gabriel and drank.

Not long ago, it was Blanche drinking from that cup.

Oh, Amicia, am I so fickle?

But you said no. So often.

I know you don’t mean it.

Or that you do.

“So—we can take Harndon behind de Vrailly.”

“I don’t think de Vrailly is in command,” Alcaeus said. Toby opened a folding stool behind him, and he sat. The ground by his side was empty, the sheets gone. Nell put a second stool behind Gelfred.

“I think the archbishop is now in command. De Vrailly is—not himself.” Alcaeus shrugged. “At any rate, the archbishop has summoned the levies of the whole of Jarsay, the Albin and the Brogat. He’s sitting at Second Bridge and fortifying his camp.”

Gelfred nodded. “That goes with what my people tell me. We picked up a deserter who says that he ordered Corcy’s sons hanged, but de Vrailly cancelled it.”

Gabriel’s pulse quickened. “Would de Vrailly change sides?”

Alcaeus shook his head. “If Kronmir could do it in person—perhaps. It would take a delicate touch and a great deal of—how do Albans put it?—sugar. The man is a monster. But no. Not where we are now.” He held up a hand. “It is the north to which we must see.”

He and Gelfred held the corners of a map—more a sketch.

“Pardon me, that I must speak of hard things.” Alcaeus put a hand—very tentatively—on his captain’s arm.

Gabriel nodded.

“The sorcerer has taken Ticondaga. His forces increase every day—the northern Wild is flocking to him.” He shrugged. “Ser John Crayford and Ser Ricar have the northern army at Broadalbin north of Albinkirk. They have some survivors from Ticondaga, including your brother Aneas. I am to tell you that the duchess and earl both died in the taking.” Alcaeus paused. “I’m sorry.”

“I already knew. But Gavin will have to be told in the morning. I told him—I felt it in the
aethereal
. He will be glad Aneas is alive.” Gabriel tried to smile, but nothing came. “I will be glad, too, when I have some gladness in me.”

“I have an imperial messenger from Ser John. He has four hundred lances and he’s ordering out the shire troops, but he will not attempt to make a stand in the wilderness. He wants us to know he’s been fighting every day.”

Gabriel tried to see it. If Thorn was at Ticondaga and all the creatures of the Wild were with him…

“Where is Ser John?” he asked.

“Broadalbin, north of Albinkirk. His messenger bird reported that he fears for Dorling.” Alcaeus paused. “I thought that we believed Dorling unassailable, because of our… friend.”

Gabriel stroked his beard. “I’ve made a number of mistakes in the last few weeks, Alcaeus. The greatest of them was assuming that Thorn was less gifted than I am. He’s not. He’s as willing to take risks. Suddenly he’s daring. He may risk Dorling. He may even be right to.”

“There’s more,” Alcaeus said. “Harcourt on the west wall fell to the Faery Knight yesterday. I didn’t hear—the message went to Albinkirk by bird and I only have it from Ser John. Another army crossed the Great River just east of N’pano over a week ago, from the north.”

“Oh, sweet Christ,” Gelfred said. The man who never swore.

Alcaeus nodded. “One must assume that the Faery Knight and the sorcerer have come to some accommodation. The Faery Knight has an army—or he wouldn’t have taken Harcourt.” Alcaeus hesitated. “I’m sorry to say that Harmodius was said to be with the Faery Knight.”

Gabriel took a deep steadying breath. “Ahh,” he said.

Gelfred spat. “First Towbray and now Harmodius,” he said. “I knew the magus was black-hearted, but this—”

“Judge not rashly,” Gabriel said. He drank another sip of wine. “Toby, are you there?”

Toby appeared at his side.

“All officers at first light.” He nodded. “Another busy day.”

“May I make a recommendation now, in private?” Alcaeus asked.

“Of course,” Gabriel said. The Morean was solemn—he put a hand out and rested it on Gabriel’s shoulder.

“If you think we can trust Kronmir, then I say—take Harndon. Now. Destroy this upstart archbishop, crush him against the city walls, finish the rebellion.” Alcaeus waved his hands.

“I like that, as right now the archbishop thinks we’re the rebels.” Gabriel managed a wry smile.

“And then hold Harndon.” Alcaeus shrugged.

“Against the Wild?” Gabriel asked.

Alcaeus nodded. “We have a saying—when the tide rises, climb a big rock. Harndon is the biggest rock. And my reading of the ancients is that this has happened before—all of it. The big invasions, the sudden welling forth of the Wild. Places like Liviapolis and Harndon are built to withstand—exactly this.” He paused. “I have this, too. It is an imperial message. But then you are still, I hope, an imperial officer.”

He handed over a thin piece of the nearly transparent paper that the messenger birds—the big imperial ones—carried.

Gabriel spread the map out and stuck his green-hilted dagger through one corner and his eating knife through the opposite.

“That’s for another day,” he said.
Oh, Mr. Smythe, for an hour of your time. I think we’re losing.

“We’re five days from Albinkirk, moving fast,” he said. He nodded to himself. “Dorling’s about the same from Albinkirk—shorter as the crow flies, but the road is dreadful.”

Gelfred and Alcaeus both agreed.

Gabriel thought a moment. “If we lose Dorling, we can’t link up with the Emperor.”