Too Many Princes (81 page)

Magic? Despite her intention to set a good example, Therula had to take a look herself. In the sorceress' calloused hands lay a twisted strand of some coarse, prickly-looking twine. It was dark, almost scorched. The strands curled in on themselves until you couldn't make out one end from the other.

Without thinking, Therula said,
“
If it's tangled, perhaps Jenne could help. She is a seamstress.
”

“
That's right,
”
Cliodora exclaimed. She turned to call out,
“
Auntie Jen, Auntie Jen!
”

“
Yes, I'm right here,
”
Jenne said. She and Frella were standing just on the other side of Casiana. Jenne had her sewing basket over her arm, as always.

“
Calm down,
”
Casiana scolded. Cliodora, of course, didn't listen.

“
Can you undo this?
”
she asked Jenne, gesturing toward Shaelen's knot.

“
Let me see it.
”

Therula stepped back, allowing Jenne to come closer. Jenne leaned forward to see what Shaelen held, fishing absently in her sewing basket. Meanwhile, Therula had the sudden feeling she had been distracted by something trivial. She glanced around sharply, relaxing only when she caught sight of Margura assisting some of the servants in spreading sheets on the temporary beds.

Then she turned, eyeing the small door that connected Alustra's chamber to Unferth's—now Oskar's chamber. It was ironic to be keeping Margura away when she longed to slip through herself. Therula wanted to talk to Oskar, to find out what had happened to him and how it affected Crutham's defense, but she was trapped here along with the others. Trapped by her own words.

* * *

Brastigan worked furiously, throwing saddle and bridle onto his Urulai horse, while an agitated groom prepared a spare mount for Lottres. Except for the jingle of harness and slither of feet over straw, the stable was very quiet. Lottres rubbed his ears, though it did little good. Ysislaw's spell, which blocked his clairvoyance, was stronger than before. He felt as if he had a head cold, with congestion turning his head to a solid block of wood.

The groom had told them the false king went out in a group with the other princes. Those were the ones Lottres needed to find. Habrok or Calitar must be warned of the treachery to come. Lottres longed for the pressure to ease, for his second sight to return. Without his clairvoyance, he had no idea where in the warring city they might be.

Frustrated, he broke his silence.
“
Where should we look first?
”
Lottres asked.

“
What?
”
Brastigan snapped, distracted.

“
Where should we look for Habrok?
”
Lottres amended.

“
You tell me,
”
Brastigan shrugged. When Lottres gave an irritated sigh, he said,
“
No, I mean it. You can find them.
”

“
I've been trying, but I can't,
”
Lottres confessed.
“
It's driving me mad.
”

The groom led Lottres's horse over to him. It was a knob-kneed bay with a white splotch down its nose. Left behind for good reason, Lottres thought. He took the reins anyway. It wasn't like he had his choice of horses.

“
Do what you can.
”
Brastigan led his gray mare past, and Lottres followed.
“
We'll search the whole city if we have to. Let's hope your bag o'bones can keep up with Shadow.
”

Outside the stables, weak daylight filtered through a layer of low clouds. Brastigan swung into the saddle. Lottres was about to do the same when he suddenly stumbled. Merciless pressure crushed his skull, as if he had put on a helmet that was too heavy for him. Then it stopped. Ysislaw's spell was gone!

“
What's wrong?
”
Brastigan demanded.

From the inner keep came Shaelen's exultant call:
“
We got it! One of your sisters' maids untied the knot. The spell is broken.
”

“
I felt that,
”
Lottres answered.

“
Pup?
”
Brastigan leaned over to shake his shoulder, but Lottres moved aside.

“
They broke the spell,
”
Lottres told Brastigan. He climbed into the saddle and told Shaelen,
“
We're just leaving the castle.
”

“
Good luck to you.
”
Shaelen broke contact.

“
So you can find Habrok?
”
Brastigan asked.

“
I think so.
”

Truth to tell, the sudden return of his clairvoyance left Lottres a little dizzy. He had been trying so hard, straining against Ysislaw's power. Now it was too much, too fast. Lottres urged his bay after Brastigan's gray and tried to sort through the din.

There was a roar of voices, coming and going like waves of the sea. It was broken now and then by horn calls, or the shrill cry of steel, or a lone man's voice. The darkness wasn't just clouds, Lottres sensed with growing dismay. Sheets of smoke drifted over the walls. Harburg was in flames, and magic was all around him, foul spells assaulting the walls. It seemed to come from everywhere.

“
Who goes there?
”
a man called from the wall above them. Lottres could hardly pick out his voice from the chaos.

“
It's us,
”
Brastigan yelled back.
“
Let us out!
”

“
The king has ordered these gates barred,
”
the man answered. That was Garican, Lottres realized. The newly made guard captain was trying to be a stickler for the rules, as if that could protect him from the approaching horror.

“
I just woke up,
”
Brastigan cried, making an effort at humor.
“
They left without me, and I don't want to miss any of the fun!
”

For once, Brastigan's reputation worked in his favor. Lottres saw men grinning above the gate. He chimed in,
“
Besides, Oskar said to keep the invaders out, right? He didn't say no one could leave. We're going to go fight at his side.
”

Garican frowned. Lottres heard him thinking,
“
Here they come again, all these
royal brats telling me how to do my job.
”
He caught an image of Therula in Garican's mind.

“
I'm the greatest swordsman in Crutham,
”
Brastigan boasted, but his voice held an edge of desperation.
“
You can't keep me here at a time like this. My place is with my brothers!
”

Remembering that Ymell had not compelled Johanz's cooperation, Lottres resisted the urge to force Garican's obedience. The captain relented on his own.

“
On your own heads be it.
”
Garican turned away, irritably gesturing for men to raise the portcullis.
“
One less worry for me.
”

Lottres tried not to hold that sour sentiment against Garican as they urged their horses forward. On the opposite side of the gate, Brastigan turned Shadow to face its towers.

“
No, it will be on their heads!
”
he shouted back up at the walls. He gave a jaunty wave.

While Brastigan was strutting, Lottres looked out over beleaguered Harburg. Outside the keep, the overcast was even more oppressive. The very heavens seemed to press down like the lid over a boiling pot. Through veils of smoke, Lottres picked out the thick belt of walls. Beyond the battlements, the Silletsian army covered the fields like a dark, moving quilt. So many of them, Lottres thought with alarm. Even in the best of times, he didn't think Harburg's defenders equaled those numbers.

“
What's burning?
”
Brastigan checked his horse beside Lottres.

“
I think it's the harbor,
”
Lottres replied, for the smoke over Harburg was moving on a brisk sea wind.

Indeed, there was movement on the sea walls. The battle had been joined. Black smoke billowed up where ships burned at the piers. Others had shoved off, trying for safety. Lottres could hear the frantic slap of their oars. But dozens of long, lean galleys cruised the choppy water of the great bay, like sharks waiting to feed. There would be no escape from Harburg by sea.

“
Where do we go?
”
Brastigan asked.

“
I'm trying to figure that out,
”
Lottres answered.

Lottres didn't think Habrok would be at the harbor. He would have sent some of their brothers, perhaps Sebbelon and Eskelon. Habrok himself would be at the king's side, at one of the two gates—but which?

Then Lottres felt a surge of malevolent power. It was centered on the south gate. A queer glow lit the haze of battle. There was a rippling in the air. Then came a sucking gasp. One of the gate's towers sagged. At the gate, a commander was screaming orders. The voice might have been Axenar's.

“
What's going on?
”
Brastigan demanded.

“
They're turning it to sand,
”
was Lottres's grim reply.

Brastigan cursed. Lottres's stomach churned. Then the whole gate collapsed. Men screamed as they were swallowed in a tide of debris. Lottres felt as if he were being dragged down, too, into the cacophony of war.

“
We can't stay here,
”
Brastigan growled.

Lottres clung to his brother's voice for stability.
“
I can't...
”
he gasped.
“
It's too much. I can't tell!
”

“
Steady up!
”
Brastigan shook Lottres's shoulder.
“
We'll have to make a guess.
”

Strangely, his words helped. If it came down to logic, Lottres was good at that.

“
What do you bet,
”
Lottres said,
“
Ysislaw has Habrok with him? He'll want to be sure what happens. Keep him in reach, just in case.
”

“
I'd take that bet,
”
Brastigan said.
“
Where's he, then?
”

Lottres looked over the town again, feeling for the dull horror of his enemy's presence. Unlike Habrok, Ysislaw was easy to find.

“
Bloody Square,
”
Lottres said.

“
Naturally.
”
Brastigan urged Shadow forward. Lottres followed.

* * *

The peculiar cord Jenne had untied slowly burned to ash in the fireplace. Shaelen sat and watched it blaze for so long that even Cliodora got bored and drifted away. Suddenly, Shaelen stood up.

“
They are coming,
”
she announced.

Therula practically felt the chill in the room at the portent of Shaelen's words.

“
That can't be,
”
cried Agiatta from the window overlooking the inner courtyard. She babbled in her fear,
“
There's no one out there at the gate. We're safe, aren't we?
”

Calm and purposeful, Shaelen strung her bow. Therula glanced at her, and then moved to lay a comforting arm over Agiatta's shoulder.

“
It's best not to take chances,
”
Therula said.

“
But...
”
Agiatta began to argue.

“
What's the point of having a sorceress, if we don't listen to her?
”
Diona snapped. Shaelen walked toward the door, and Diona called,
“
Let her through, there!
”

“
It's all right,
”
Therula said.
“
Sergeant Pikarus and Lady Shaelen are here to protect us. We'll be quite safe.
”

Hoping to cut off the discussion, Therula turned to look out the window. The sky outside remained just as gloomy as the atmosphere of fear in the queen's chambers. In the uncertain light, Therula saw a group of soldiers emerge from the arched portal that led up toward Eben's tower.

“
Here they come,
”
Agiatta murmured fearfully.

With military precision, the soldiers jogged over to form ranks before the gate to the outer courtyard. Therula counted thirty men, including their officers. She tried to draw comfort from the familiar black surcoats with their tower device clearly visible. Thirty men wasn't a great number, but over a hundred more were positioned on the outer wall. Even if they took losses in combat, the remaining soldiers would retreat to the keep, bolstering the force within.

The soldiers' leader stood before them briefly. He must have been speaking, but Therula couldn't hear through the closed window. At his curt gesture, a handful of men trotted into the gate towers. The rest began to move toward the ground entrance to the keep. This brought them almost directly under the window where Therula and Agiatta stood.

“
Those are our troops,
”
Agiatta muttered irritably.
“
Some sorceress. Huh!
”

Something about their grim faces and the way they hefted their shields made Therula anxious. Then she heard a faint, rhythmic clicking. The iron bars of the portcullis began to drop toward the ground.

Why was the gate closing? The men outside wouldn't be able to retreat. Therula's heartbeat quickened as a terrible idea sprang into her mind.