The Last Knight (19 page)

The flickering light concealed their faces, but I didn’t have to see their faces. I was fighting for my squire, myself, and for all the poor souls whose graves lay around me, whose murder these men had willingly ignored.

I was quite ready to bash someone. I waited until they were almost upon me, raised my shovel, and charged.

R
unning like a madman through the cursed, tripping darkness, I heard Sir Michael’s war cry. I tried to close my ears to the thuds, grunts, and shouts that followed, for he was right—the best way I could help him was to escape, and come back with a sheriff and a big gang of thugs.

Something, a fallen branch, a tree root, wrapped around my ankle and brought me down. This time I crashed into a tree when I fell. Lying there, stunned, with the dead leaves rattling past my face, I realized that if I continued to run around like a wounded moose, they’d be able to find me by sound alone once they’d finished with Michael. And hadn’t he said something about other men? Yes. Other men behind us. That was how he’d do it.

It was possible Lady Ceciel wasn’t that smart, but I wasn’t prepared to bet my life on it.

Two lives, really.

I shivered and crawled into the shadow of the great tree on which I’d almost brained myself. At this point, I wouldn’t bet a brass fract against Lady Ceciel. How, how,
how
did she always know where we were? The first few times I could understand it, but tonight?

I could no longer hear the fight, so either it was finished, or I’d passed out of hearing range. No matter. The only thing I could do for my stubborn employer now was to get out of here. I waited for several minutes but saw and heard nothing. Not that I could have heard anything short of a shout. With all these dry leaves, on a quiet night I wouldn’t have stood a chance.

Picking out another large tree, I waited for the next patch of clouds. In the ensuing darkness I hurried forward, tripped, fell flat, and crawled the rest of the way.

I hate woods.

I spent a lot of the next ten minutes on my hands and knees. The damp forest mold was soft, but there were scores of stones and branches buried in it, and I swear I crawled over every one of them. I was crouched by a thick clump of bushes, catching my breath and rubbing a bruised palm, when a shout came from behind me.

“Ho, the woods! We got one—did you get the other?”

“What other? We haven’t seen anyone.”

The answering shout came from a rock a hundred yards ahead of me, and my heart leapt into my throat. I’d planned to use that rock for cover.

“What do you mean, you haven’t seen him? He ran this way.”

The voice was coming nearer. With fervent thanks for the rushing wind, I burrowed into the bushes. My cloak was a sober brown. Surely on a dark night, in the midst of a clump of bushes, half buried in fallen leaves, I would be invisible…. Of course, the branches were bare. It would depend on whether or not my pursuers looked.

The man behind the rock emerged. “What do you mean, he went this way? I told you, we haven’t seen anyone.”

“Curse it, you must have missed him. How could you? She said it’s our jobs on the line if we let them get away!”

They were close enough now that they didn’t have to shout, and I could still hear them clearly. I kept my eyes shut, not for any sensible reason, but hoping like a child that if I couldn’t see them, they wouldn’t see me.

“I tell you, no one passed this perimeter.” I heard the footsteps of other men approaching and a rumble of agreement. “He must have circled back while you were fighting with the other one.”

“Could he have been that smart?”

I wished I had been. I’d have been on the road by now, instead of cowering in a pile of leaves. I also wished that someone would say something to indicate that Michael was all right.

“If he circled around he’s likely long gone, but we’d better try. Have everybody fan out and sweep toward the road.”

A long pause was followed by a sigh. “I guess. But we’d better make it fast—we’ve got a lot of digging to do tonight. Spread out, lads. Head for the road, and keep your eyes open.”

Luck is something I never trust, but I’ve never despised it either. The fact that they started their search on the other side of my bush was pure luck. I lay there for five minutes, listening to the search pass beyond me, breathing the scent of decaying leaves, before it hit me.

Digging.
Lots of digging, and they must have twenty men. She was going to dig up the graves, remove the bodies. Remove the only evidence that would confirm my story. I had to get to a sheriff—fast.

It wasn’t possible to run all the way to Cory Port, though I tried. It was probably a good thing I couldn’t—my brain only seemed to function when the stitch in my side forced me to walk. It was during one of those lucid periods that I realized that in a small town like Cory Port the sheriff would be appointed by the local baron. Which might mean that the Cory Port sheriff had belonged to Sir Herbert, and hated Ceciel. Or he might not care who paid him, in which case he now belonged to the lady.

As I stumbled down the rutted track, alert for the sound of pounding hooves behind me, it also occurred to me that he might care more about justice than getting paid, but I wouldn’t bet on it. A few months ago the thought would never have crossed my mind. Association with Michael was rotting my brain. I had to get away from him—as soon as I saved him. Thunder rumbled over the sea, and I rubbed my side and started running again.

I guessed it was about the sixth hour of the night when I stumbled into Cory Port, which left four hours till dawn. Most of the torches had blown out in the wind, but I found the largest inn without difficulty. The stable lad on gate duty roused after only a few shouted threats.

A sleepy groom was persuaded that he had the authority to rent me a horse, since we both knew his employer wouldn’t want to be awakened
or
miss the profit if I went down the street. Quite a large profit, since I couldn’t provide references or say how long I’d need it. Thank goodness I was the one who’d been carrying our purse.

The groom claimed the fidgety roan was the best horse for rent in the town. Looking at the beast, I had my doubts. But then, what did I know about horses?

As the groom saddled him for me, I brought the conversation around to the sheriff. And I did it casually enough to keep him from becoming suspicious, which isn’t easy when you’re trying to rent the fastest horse in town in the middle of the night. But I’m pretty good at that kind of thing. The groom was yawning when he told me that the old sheriff had been replaced, only a few weeks ago, by a new man.

Between thunderclaps, he mentioned other changes the new “lady baron” had made, such as decreasing the town’s taxes if they’d agree to drop their shipping fees. I tried not to shiver, although my blood was running cold in my veins. I would get no help from the law in this town.

Uddersfield was the nearest town big enough for the sheriff to answer to both Lord Gerald and a town council. Lord Gerald might want to keep Cory Port in his hands, but Uddersfield’s town council would resent another port’s competition. They’d probably be delighted to order the sheriff to arrest a baron who might lower the shipping rates…and they’d doubtless be outraged by the murders, too.

I would have set out for Uddersfield then, but as I led the roan toward the stable door a peal of thunder shook the building. Rain began to fall—a spatter of drops that soon became a sheet, a blanket, a mattress of rain. To set out in the dark, in a downpour, was suicide. Riding off a cliff wouldn’t help Michael—not to mention what it would do to me.

A chill that had nothing to do with the damp air settled into my guts, but there was no help for it. I bribed the groom to let me sleep in the loft, and wake me as soon as it was light enough to ride.

The roan had the roughest walk I’ve ever encountered, but he was a steady goer so I forgave him every jarring step. It’s a four-day ride from Cory Port to Uddersfield. I made it in three and a half, despite rain, mud, and being forced to stop when darkness fell.

Remembering my experience with Mistress Kara, I took the time to shave when I rose on the third morning. Little could be done for my travel-stained clothes, or the marks of strain and weariness on my face, but they lent credence to my story. Besides, I was telling the truth.

I handed the tired roan over to the sheriff’s man and climbed stiffly up the steps to the town hall. I was reporting a serious crime. I was on the same side as law and justice, no matter how strange that seemed, so of course they would help me.

Clearly, I was out of my mind—but at the time I felt nothing but exhausted relief as I approached the clerk and demanded to speak to the sheriff.

“You want us to assault Craggan Keep? Are you out of your mind?”

The sheriff was about my own height, but with an air of hard competence I’d never possess…though I might be able to fake it. Unfortunately his competent manner and craggy face concealed the mind of a guard dog. Lots of teeth; no imagination.

“I don’t want you to assault it,” I explained as patiently as I could. The impulse to pace back and forth on his carpet and rant at him was almost irresistible. “I want you to go in and demand Sir Michael’s release.”

“And suppose she says she hasn’t got him? Then what?”

“Then arrest her!” I waved my arms wildly. “Threaten her! Search the keep! How do I know—
you’re
the sheriff.”

“And you want me to do all that on nothing but your word? You’ve been very forthcoming, Master Fisk, about how you and your employer have been pursuing Lady Ceciel, but you haven’t told me why.”

He thought he was being subtle. Curse country gossip. I had no choice but to brazen it out.

“What do you mean, why? I told you, Sir Herbert’s brother found that Sir Herbert had been poisoned. She—”

“I don’t mean that, I mean why you? Why send a couple of”—he searched for a sufficiently offensive word and failed to find it—“outsiders to bring the lady back instead of appealing to Lord Gerald through the High Liege?” He paused again, to watch me squirm. “I know that Sir Michael is indebted, Master Fisk. And so are you, unless he’s pronounced on you in the last—”

“He did,” I lied without hesitation. “When I rescued him from the
Albatross
.” And so he should have, the ungrateful bastard.

Then a hideous thought crossed my mind: If Sir Michael died without pronouncing my debt repaid, I’d be permanently unredeemed. They’d tattoo broken circles on my wrists, and even the beggars wouldn’t have me…unless Sir Michael’s heirs set other terms. Sir Michael’s heir was his father. I tried to keep any trace of my reflections off my face.

I must have succeeded, for the sheriff pursed his lips and said, “All right. Since there’s no contrary evidence I’ll accept your word for that, but it does your cause no good. Sir Michael Sevenson is unredeemed. If you abuse the law, then you’re outside its protection until you’ve made restitution.”

“He’s in trouble
because
he’s trying to make restitution,” I snarled.

“Sorry.” The sheriff shook his craggy head. “I have no official interest in helping Sir Michael Sevenson. On the other hand…”

For once, I had the sense to hold my tongue.

“This talk of graves disturbs me. Even simple ones are entitled to justice.”

Another pause. My fingers began to cramp, and I unclenched my fists. Pounding his head into the desk wouldn’t speed his ponderous thought process, no matter how much I wanted to do it.

“Tell you what, Master Fisk. I’ll go to Lord Gerald and ask if I can take some men to look at that burying grove. Yes, I remember you said she planned to move the bodies, but I’d like to check it out. You can come with us. This may not result in a chance to free your Sir Michael—if she has him—but who knows what we’ll find once we start
digging
?”

He chuckled at the awful pun and I smiled. I felt so grateful I’d have kissed his feet—smiling at bad jokes was the least I could do. But Lord Gerald wanted to keep Cory Port.

“Sir, shouldn’t you bring this matter before the town council? If it concerns a rival port, surely it concerns them, too.” I’d told him about the shipping fees and taxes, and this was his town. So why was he shaking his head?

“I’ll certainly take it to them, but the council doesn’t meet for eight days. If Lord Gerald agrees, I can notify my deputies, and we’ll leave from the back courtyard at dawn tomorrow. Meet us there.”

“I will, but…dawn, sir? It’s been four days already, and you’re right about the need for haste. Couldn’t we—”

“Master Fisk, it’s late afternoon, and I still have to meet with Lord Gerald. There’s no point in riding through the night when you’d just have to rest your horses and sleep during the day. If Lord Gerald agrees, we’ll be in the courtyard tomorrow at dawn. And if he doesn’t, I advise you to tell Lord Dorian to go through the proper process next time!”

“But—”

“Good day, Master Fisk.”

I spent the rest of the day seeking out an inn that had a stable to care for the weary roan, and was cheap enough that I could afford it. Old rough-gait had been expensive, and our purse was almost empty.
Again.
When we got out of this, I was going to have a word with my employer about our finances. When we got out of this…

I was almost as tired as the roan, but I woke several hours before dawn, dressed, and stole softly down the inn’s creaking stair. A sleepy stableboy helped me saddle up, and I was waiting in the back courtyard of the town hall when the eastern stars first began to dim.

The black sky faded to charcoal. Steam puffed from the roan’s nostrils, and I clutched my cloak around me. It was very quiet; not even the birds were awake. The only sound was a distant chiming from some tower clock.

Sir Michael had been in Lady Ceciel’s hands for four days now, but, knowing I’d escaped, she would wait to see if I brought help. And she’d know it would take time. If I were in her shoes, I’d give it a month before I did anything…rash.

I shivered and pulled my cloak tighter. The sky paled. A rooster crowed, not too far off. Colors appeared in the hall’s stained-glass windows. The sun slipped over the horizon.