The Mercenary's Marriage (11 page)

Brice was helping Joyla clear the table after
dinner while Karyn heated the dishwater when there was suddenly a
loud banging on the front door. “I will get it.” Lysa jumped up
from playing with her little sister on the floor. Crossing the room
at a run, the child eagerly reached for the latch. Brice glanced
over to see Karyn wiping her damp hands on her apron and starting
to move toward the door. A crease had appeared between her
eyebrows. It must be unusual to have callers at this time of the
evening. Suddenly the door opened with a loud bang as it bounced
off the wall and shook the house.

Brice turned in time to see Lysa dangling
from a large stranger’s arm, her small face white against the dark
red of her hair. “Don’t move or I kill the brat.” An evil looking
blade lifted to hover threatening close to the girl’s throat. Brice
felt the familiar burst of fear in her center. As it spread into
numbness of shock, she tore her eyes up to the face of the man.
Cold black eyes looked back at her and she almost shivered. This
man was ice.

“Which one is Darius’?” He demanded. Three
men had entered from behind him and were now surveying the
room.

“The dark one.” One of them pointed at her.
Brice’s eyes flew to his face and her heart sunk. It was the cook
Darius had introduced as Hameal in camp only a few days ago.
What is going on?

Instantly the other two moved to restrain
her. The leader then addressed Karyn who still stood as if bolted
to the floor. The only life in her face was the emotion in her
eyes. They glared at the stranger who held her child. “We are going
to take both of them. Tell Darius that if he wishes to see his wife
alive again, he needs to only follow. I will be waiting.”

Jerking his head toward the open doorway, he
signaled for the others to leave. Brice found her arms being forced
behind her. Something coarse was tightly wrapped around her wrists.
One of the men shoved her forward so forcefully, she stumbled and
wrenched her shoulder. Biting her lip to distract herself from the
tears burning her eyes, she struggled to recover her balance.
Somehow, she made it over the threshold into the falling night.

The leader, as she saw the cold one was, came
out last and immediately threw Lysa in Hameal’s direction. “Watch
the brat,” he growled. “She is almost as valuable as the wench.” He
strode off down the empty street. Her keeper, an older man, jabbed
her hard in her still tender ribs to get her to follow. Obediently
she turned and started walking, but her attention was on Lysa. The
child was surprisingly silent. As they moved, Brice worriedly
glanced over at her. Pale face staring woodenly before her, the
child walked as if in a dream, a nightmare of the worst kind.

“This way,” Darius said as he and Jarn
hurried along. The familiar street of neat houses ended in a dead
end. The towering outer wall of the castle grounds loomed. Darius
ignored it and headed along to the left. There, as he expected, was
the hidden door into Ewian’s backyard. Pulling out the key, he made
quick work of the lock and pushed the door inward. Ducking to
enter, he turned immediately to allow Jarn to follow. Closing the
door behind them and locking it again, he turned to find Jarn
surveying the darkening garden.

“Is this your place?” Jarn asked as they
stepped from beneath the shadow that the moon cast. The leaves
still remaining on the vegetables in the garden outlined shaky
rows. A child’s wooden toy horse lay on its side in one of the
beds.

“Ewian’s,” Darius replied. Avoiding another
toy on his way down the main path, he led the way toward the rather
small building opposite the gate. “The only way onto the street is
through the house.” Jarn did not reply, but Darius heard his
following footfalls. Turning his attention to the building, Darius
had an overwhelming sensation that something was not right. Then he
heard the cry. Covering the remaining distance at the run, he
reached the back door and forced it open. The latch flew free of
the doorframe at his first assault and skidded across the floor
with a clatter and stopped a few feet into the room.

It took him only a moment to register the
tear stained faces of Karyn and Ewian’s eldest child, Joyla. Karyn
was protectively rising to place herself between her daughter and
the door. The youngest was at her feet. The baby must have been the
one who had cried out, because she was now regarding Darius with an
upset startled look and her face was red.

“What happened?” Darius demanded.

“Darius.” Karyn gasped at the same moment and
then broke down in sobs. As her mother sank to her knees wailing
into her apron, Joyla ran up to Darius and flung herself at him.
Instinctively Darius caught her and picked her up. Just then, Jarn
arrived behind him.

“Karyn, you must calm yourself.” Darius
crossed to the woman. “I need to know what happened. Where is
Lysa?”

Karyn lifted her face and put a great deal of
effort into suppressing her sobs. “Strange men appeared and took
Brice…and…” A shudder shook her. “Lysa,” she whispered.

“Which way did they go?” Darius asked.

“They turned left,” Joyla answered with a
hiccup. “Are you going to get them?”

“I will try,” Darius replied as Karyn
attempted to wipe her eyes on her already damp skirts. “How long
ago was this?”

“Ten minutes at most.” She sniffed.

“Jarn.” Darius began untangling the child’s
arms from around his neck.

“Here,” Jarn replied from near the back
door.

“Let’s go,” Darius declared. He handed Joyla
to her mother and started for the front door.

The path that passed beneath Brice’s feet
changed from cobblestones to fine gravel. When it narrowed, she
looked around to find them walking along a manicured garden path
bordered by hedges. Her keeper had noticed her gaze and jabbed her
in the ribs again. She gasped at the pain and almost doubled over.
The man’s grip on her bound hands propelled her forward. “Move
wench,” he hissed. “Or I will bruise your pretty face too.” He
snickered. “Ogert might do that anyway, just to annoy Darius.”

“What did Darius do to him?” She asked as
soon as she could manage.

“Silence!” Something hard struck her across
her shoulders bringing her to her knees on the gravel. A cold metal
edge pressed against her chin lifting it and the leader’s icy eyes
bore into hers. “Hostages speak only when asked a direct question.”
His voice made her want to shiver, but if she did, the blade would
cut her. Clenching the muscles of her back, she prayed for
strength.

Apparently satisfied that she understood, the
leader withdrew the blade and started again to stride down the
path. Brice had a brief glimpse of the large fortress they were
approaching before being dragged to her feet again. The prodding
and gloating of her keeper continued until she stumbled up wide
stone steps. They passed through a large door, which Ogert barred
behind them and Brice was allowed to sink to her knees once more.
The cold of the entrance hall tiled floor instantly began to seep
into her legs. Lysa was shoved down a short ways away and the
moment the men’s back were turned, she moved to Brice’s side and
leaned against her. Brice had not the heart to tell child that her
weight was hurting her ribs. As much as she strained her ears, she
could not hear the men’s conversation.

After the brief whispered conference among
the four, the leader strode off down one of the main halls and
disappeared. Hameal ordered her and Lysa to their feet. Obediently
they struggled up, but they both received a jab for good
measure.

The men herded them down a long sub-corridor
and up three long flights of steep stairs. Just when Brice was
certain her legs were going to give out if she saw another stair,
they turned off into another wider passage. Stopping before a set
of great double doors, Hameal pushed in front, produced an ornate
key from the purse at his waist, and opened the doors. Brice caught
a glimpse of light on metal and then the cord binding her hands
fell away. “Inside,” he ordered before shoving Brice hard between
the shoulders. Unable to keep her balance, she was propelled into
the dark room and landed face first on a surprisingly soft carpet.
With a cry, Lysa landed a few feet to her right. The doors were
closed firmly and the latch caught. Then, with a loud hollow clunk,
the bolt slid home.

Not waiting to see if Jarn followed or not,
Darius started to run. Each footfall jarred his wounded arm, but he
ignored it. Catching up with the kidnappers was more important. He
spotted them in the Kiylin gardens. Moving from shadow to shadow he
kept them in his sight only dimly aware that Jarn was following on
his heels. He was surprised when they stopped abruptly and Ogert
turned around. He struck Brice across the shoulders with the flat
of his sword. A violent anger rose in Darius as she fell to her
knees under the blow. Realizing he could do nothing without
destroying any chance of rescuing her later, Darius held himself in
check. “Ogert is going to pay for that,” he muttered as he watched
helplessly. The traitor was forcing her to raise her eyes to his
face and saying something to her. Just the thought of the sharp
edge of the man’s sword so close to her throat was making his heart
race.

“Is he going to kill her?” Jarn’s voice
asked.

“No,” Darius answered in a rough voice. “If
he did, he would have nothing to hurt me with. Ogert knows me too
well to do that.”

“You know that man?” The surprise in Jarn’s
voice was unmistakable.

“Yes,” Darius admitted. Beyond them, Brice
was forced to her feet again. Darius gripped his sword as they
moved forward undercover of twilight and shadows. The man was going
to wish he had never touched his wife.

They followed until the group disappeared
inside the castle. Then all they could do was watch and wait.

“How do you know the man?” Jarn asked softly
so his voice could not carry.

“Three years ago there was an attempt on the
king’s life and he was the assassin that Lord Frehim hired for the
job. I prevented him from fulfilling his mission and thus
humiliated him. Before he escaped last time, he swore he would have
revenge.” Darius frowned. “He means to bait me by taking my
wife.”

Brice lay where she had fallen for a few
moments. Her ribs were throbbing and her shoulders ached. Soft sobs
came from the crumpled heap, which was all she could see of Lysa in
the moonlight.

Something creaked off to the left and out of
Brice’s sight and a block of light cut across the room. “Who are
you?” A shaky voice asked in hushed tones.

With great effort, Brice lifted herself from
the floor and looked up. A painfully thin woman stood in the
doorway. The room behind her was bright with candlelight and the
lamp in her right hand bathed her in light. Her hair hung in limp
strands over her shoulders and her clothes were crumpled like she
had been living in them several days. Clutched in her left hand was
a rumpled handkerchief and her eyes were puffy. She shrunk back
pulling the door with her as if it would protect her from Brice’s
gaze. “Who are you?” She repeated timidly, “What do you want?”

Aware that Lysa had stopped her noise and was
paying attention to the new arrival, Brice tried to smile. “My name
is Brice.” Pushing herself carefully into a sitting position, she
said, “As to what I want, I want to get out of here.” She looked up
just in time see fresh tears welling in the strange woman’s eyes.
She stepped forward and held out the lamp so it lit more of the
room.

“Who is she?” The woman waved toward
Lysa.

“Her name is Lysa,” Brice answered. Lysa sat
up slowly, watching the woman with great interest.

Suddenly she pointed at the stranger and
declared, “You are the queen.”

The woman visibly tried to straighten her
back and appear regal, but she suddenly sank to the floor instead.
“I wish I were not,” she wailed.

Then it all made sense to Brice. “They have
been holding you as a hostage.”

The queen nodded, set the lamp on the floor,
and blew her nose on the already well-used cloth in her hand. “I
have been in these rooms for almost three months now. I am almost
ready to try to jump out the window, but I am afraid of what they
will do if I can’t walk afterwards.”

“They have not locked the windows?” Gaining
her feet and then almost tumbling back onto the carpet again, Brice
finally managed to make it the nearest window. The glass panes
gleamed in the lamplight. Fumbling with the latch, Brice pulled at
the sash. All the bruised muscles of her back screamed, but she
ignored them. The window opened and immediately, Brice stuck her
head out and looked down. Her heart sank. The ground, black and
hazy in the night, was a very long three stories down, much too far
to jump. Stepping back, Brice mentally chided herself for her
stupidity.
Of course, how could you forget those three long
steep stretches of stairs?

“Besides I cannot leave.” The queen crossed
to Brice and Lysa followed. The child leaned against Brice as she
had in the hall below. Brice slipped her arm around the girl’s thin
shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. Considering how much she
had been through, the little one was holding up well.

“Why can’t you?”

“They have my sons in the dungeon and will
kill them if I leave.” Tears made her eyes glimmer in the
lamplight

Somehow, this did not seem true. Why would
Ogert take her and Lysa to keep Darius and Ewian at bay and then
kill off the hostages that remained to keep the king from
attacking? “Have you seen them?”

The Queen nodded and dabbed at her eyes.
“When they first took the castle, I was taken into the dungeons and
they let me see them. They were in this dark and damp cell
together. Maler was wounded and feverish.”