Warcry (5 page)

“You should have cleaned up before you entered the castle.” Browdus produced a handcloth from his sleeve.

“Why?” Lanfer rejected the offer with a gesture. “Everyone will assume that a Firelander hit me. No harm in that.”

“It wasn’t?” Durst asked sharply. “Who, then?”

Lanfer didn’t look at him.

“Heath,” Durst hissed. “You assaulted the Seneschal’s son?”

“He struck first,” Lanfer growled. “I—”

“Because your tongue was loose, I warrant.” Durst rolled his eyes. “Your temper will destroy us.”

“Look to your own,” Lanfer growled.

“Peace,” Browdus said softly. “We need one another if our plans are to succeed.”

Lanfer turned away from Durst and helped himself to the wine.

“So they are close?” Durst asked.

Lanfer nodded. “They will be here tomorrow.” He glanced at Durst. “She is pregnant. Huge, in fact.”

Beatrice’s hands stilled.

“The Archbishop is under control?” Durst asked Browdus.

“He sees our position,” Browdus said calmly. “And he agrees with it.”

“None of this would have been necessary if he hadn’t crowned Lara,” Durst spat. “If he’d refused—”

“But he didn’t,” Lanfer cut him off. “No need to remind us.”

Durst stared into his cup and wrestled his anger down. These men were not his first choice to aid him, but they had what he needed. Lanfer’s influence with the other nobles and their sons. Browdus’s influence within the church.

Beatrice’s needle caught his eye as she resumed sewing, carefully crafting small, tight stitches.

Durst relaxed. With careful planning . . .

He cleared his throat. “Let us review. When Lara and her escort arrive . . .”

CHAPTER 6

“WE WAIT HERE?” ATIRA WHISPERED.

“Yes,” Heath whispered back from the depths of his hood. Atira couldn’t see his face in the shadows, but she caught a sparkle of laughter in his eyes.

“By the privy,” Atira said.

“Yes,” Heath whispered again, but this time she felt his body shake with repressed laughter. “Hush now. We are waiting.”

Atira hushed.

They’d left their horses close to the walls, under some thick pines. Heath had gotten them past the walls and into the city by going ways Atira had never dreamed of. It seemed every walled city had large ways and small ways of going to and fro that weren’t obvious to an invader, but were easily accessed by a local. Heath had guided her down alleys, and through posterns and other words she’d never heard before until her head rang with it all.

In the end, she had just followed close, keeping her hood up and her mouth shut. This was Heath’s world. She’d been in the city at Eln’s while healing. But her knowledge didn’t go much further than that.

He’d brought them to a large building with the sign of an overflowing tankard over the door. The building brimmed with the glow of lanterns, the smell of food and beer, and the sound of voices. Laughter seemed to spill out of every window, with even more singing and talking. So many bodies crowded into such a small place . . . yet it seemed warm and welcoming.

But Heath had pulled her around to the back and pushed her into the shadows of the small house, pressing close to her so that they were hidden from view.

“Is this really necessary?” she whispered, pressing herself back against the wall.

“I think so.” Heath’s breath was warm on her ear as he leaned into her. “Besides, you smell good.”

“That’s the privy,” she growled.

“I doubt it,” Heath chuckled.

A burst of laughter came from the building. “Where are we?” she whispered.

“This is the Everflowing Tankard. It’s owned by Broar the Bold, an old and crafty fighter. It’s a favorite of the Castle Guard when we . . . they . . . are off duty.”

“So we wait for this Broar?”

“Hell, no. The old bastard would sell me out in a heartbeat. No, I’m waiting for—”

The door of the tavern flew open and light streamed into the yard. A figure stumbled out, clearly headed for where he thought the privy was.

Heath moved further into the shadows, squeezing Atira against the wall. “Not him,” he breathed quietly.

Atira licked her dry lips and closed her eyes. Heath’s body seemed to press against all the right places, and her heat was rising, even here. Next to a privy. Skies above, he could set her afire—

The drunken man finally found his way into the privy, fumbling with the door. His boots clattered as he threw open the door and started his business.

After a few minutes, Atira’s eyes grew wide. It seemed he’d never come to the end.

Heath’s body began to shake against her as the hiss of the stream continued. Horrified, Atira reached up and placed her fingertips over his lips, trying to shush his laughter.

Heath nodded, his eyes bright. Then his tongue darted out, and licked her skin. Atira jerked her hand back as if burned.

Heath’s eyes weren’t laughing anymore. They were white hot, piercing her, filled with—

The drunk banged out of the privy and swayed back against the yard and into the tavern.

Atira pushed at Heath, and he eased back. “We can’t stay here all night,” she growled.

“It does seem an odd place for a seduction, I admit,” Heath said softly. “But it was working, wasn’t it?”

“It wasn’t,” Atira snapped.

“It was,” Heath laughed softly.

The door to the tavern opened once again. “I’ll be back, lads,” a voice roared out. “I’m just off to make room for more.”

A roar of laughter greeted his words, only to be cut off when he closed the door and strode toward the privy. Atira could hear a faint humming, but the steps heading their way sounded odd.

“That’s him,” Heath whispered.

Atira risked a quick glance around him to see a portly man with a bald head stumping in their direction.

Heath said nothing, but pressed her back into the shadows as the man eased into the privy, still humming to himself. Atira heard him fuss with his trous and then settle himself over the hole.

She blinked as he let rip a mighty fart.

“Ah, that’s better now,” the man sighed, and continued humming.

“Detros?” Heath said, his voice cracking with laughter. “Detros, can you hear me?”

The humming stopped. “Eh? Who’s out there? Best be upwind, whoever you are.”

“Aye to that, you old dog,” Heath said.

Detros’s voice dropped, becoming serious. “Heath, lad . . . Is that you?”

“It is, Detros,” Heath said. “I’ve come for answers and information.”

“It’s good to hear your voice, but you’ve picked a poor time. The cooking up at the castle has been a bit . . . heavy of late.” Another fart rumbled through the night air.

Atira laughed in spite of herself.

Heath pressed his hand over her mouth, his own body shaking.

“Gods, don’t tell me that’s Lara with you,” Detros pleaded.

“No,” Heath whispered. “It’s Atira.”

“Your lady friend? Well, there’s a nice thing, to introduce me in such state.”

“No choice,” Heath whispered.

“Aye to that, lad,” Detros said sadly. “’Tis a terrible thing, what with your da taking ill and all.”

“What can you tell me?” Heath said.

“Not much. I wasn’t in the throne room when the ruckus started during the Justice.”

“When my father collapsed?”

“Nay, the ruckus before that one,” Detros explained. “The room full of angry nobles and Plains warriors—we could hear the shouting going on something fierce. Then your da up and sprawls on the floor. I know Eln was called, but most of the Guard has been pulled from the castle. We’re on the walls and doing patrols.”

Atira felt Heath go rigid against her. “What?” Heath asked. “When did that happen? Did Lord Warren—”

“Warren left the city about five days ago, taking a small force. Seems bandits have been hitting some of the villages, and he and that Plains warrior Lord Simus left here to ride out and track ’em,” Detros said.

“So? How does that—”

“After your da collapsed, the Council started throwing its weight around, ordering their own men into the castle and us to the outside,” Detros growled. “I’ve no word of what’s happening within.”

“I have to get in there,” Heath said. “Who is on the garden gate duty?”

The door of the tavern opened, with the light pouring out. “Detros, get a move on. I need to piss,” came a voice.

“Piss up a rope,” Detros shouted back. “I’m sittin’ for a time.”

The voice muttered a curse, and the door slammed shut.

“Dustin and Tec are on the garden gate,” Detros continued. “But don’t be going to see your ma. They’re watchin’ her.”

Heath cursed.

“There’s a rumor about, that Lara’s about to return, and she’s bearing. Any truth to that?” Detros asked.

Heath frowned, glancing at Atira. “Tomorrow, Detros. She will be at the gates tomorrow, as pregnant as any could hope.” He paused. “There’s been no announcement?”

“Well, that’s fine,” Detros said. “There’s been no word, only wonderin’. I’ll be placing a few wagers before this night’s done.” Something rumbled within the privy. “You might be wantin’ to get a move on, lad.”

“Aye to that,” Heath said. “For fear of dying here and now.”

“At my age, the pleasures are few, boy,” Detros said as he let loose with more gas. “Have some respect.”

“HALT! WHO GOES THERE?” CAME THE CHALLENGE.

Heath stepped into the light, throwing back his hood.

“Heath!” Tec lowered his spear. “Praise the gods.”

“Have you come to step in for your father, Heath?” Dustin asked eagerly. “Sure could use your skills now.”

“Someone needs to,” Tec said. “Someone besides the Council and a few lords I could name. They’s up to no good.”

“Come to check on my father,” Heath said quietly. “On the quiet for now.”

“And the Queen?” Tec asked.

Heath gave him a narrow look. “You’ve had no word?”

“None,” Dustin said, holding open the gate for him and Atira. “Rumors, but not much more than that.”

“Xylara will be at the gates tomorrow, returning with her Warlord and pregnant with an heir. Spread the word.” Heath paused. “Do me a favor, eh? Have a contingent ready at the gates. She’ll need an escort.”

“And a cart,” Tec said. “My Bessa swelled up before she popped with our babe. A cart with a nice cushion. Maybe some ribbons, what with her being Queen and all.”

“Well,” Heath flashed a grin at Atira. “It can’t hurt to have one ready.”

Atira rolled her eyes.

“I’m for the backstairs, then?” Heath asked softly as Tec secured the gate.

“Aye, keep to the servants ways and none of the Council will see ya,” Dustin snorted. “But keep clear of the kitchen. Their men always seem to be in there, drinking the kavage and keeping an eye on your ma. The food’s not been right for a week.”

Heath gave him a nod. “Thanks, Dustin. I’ll use my old way in, then.”

Dustin chuckled. “We’ll be on duty until third watch. We’ll pass the word that you’ll need out if you’re later than that.”

Heath took Atira’s hand and drew her down a dark path. Once out of the light of the gate torches, the night was thick within the garden. “Follow me,” Heath whispered.

He led her down the paths around the rose briar and through the wide lawns. He knew these paths by heart, every turn and hedge. He and Lara had played here for years under his mother’s watchful eye.

Atira was following as quiet as he could wish. Heath wasted no time; the Castle Guard was known to him, and he to them, but there might be others out this night that were not quite so friendly.

He reached the edge of the kitchen gardens and paused for just a moment.

There was smoke rising from the kitchen chimneys, which was not unusual. The ovens and hearths were busy night and day, feeding the denizens of the castle. That was his mother’s kingdom, and she ruled it with an iron hand.

He could hear her voice, shouting some orders at the undercooks, no doubt. Out of nowhere, a wave of homesickness hit him. It wasn’t just that he wanted to be able to enter the kitchen and hug his mother. He wanted to be sure of his welcome there.

Atira stepped to his side, clearly puzzled at his delay. He hadn’t introduced her to his mother, hadn’t dared.

But they needed to keep moving.

HEATH TUGGED AT HER HAND AND ATIRA ALLOWED him to lead her around the kitchen gardens to the back wall where the gardeners kept their tools. He pointed at the tree that grew there, its thick trunk at an angle to the ground. “Up there,” he said.

Atira peered up through the branches. All she saw were leaves. She’d never climbed a tree before.

“I’ll lead the way,” Heath said, grabbing a branch and hauling himself up.

Atira hesitated.

“What’s wrong?” The whisper floated down. “Are you scared?”

With a glare, Atira reached out and heaved herself into the tree. She concentrated on not looking down. Instead, she watched where Heath placed his hands and feet and copied his every move. Faster than she thought possible, she was up the tree and on a slanted roof.

Heath led the way again and she followed, having a care at this angle. The last thing she wanted was a fall.

One roof led to another, then another still, until Heath leaped for an open window. He gestured for her to follow. Atira didn’t let herself think about it. She just jumped. Heath helped her in and over the windowsill.

“My old room,” he breathed in her ear.

She stood there, breathing hard, as Heath padded across the room, and she watched as he eased the door open. He looked back, a shadow in the darkness. “Make sure you keep up.”

Atira growled softly, but Heath just slid out the door.

She followed him through a bewildering array of rooms, halls, and doors. She caught glimpses of wide corridors lit with torches and hung with colorful tapestries. But Heath always chose the smaller ways, dark and narrow.

Atira had never been in a building this large, and it seemed to her that the walls were never ending, closing in on her, getting closer and closer all the time. But she reminded herself that she’d felt this way at Eln’s as well and had managed to survive that.

She focused on Heath’s back, and on breathing. The rest was in the hands of the elements.

Heath stopped, finally, in front of two large double doors. He knocked twice and waited.

Inside, a bolt was drawn, and a slice of light grew as Eln appeared in the doorway, looking as calm as he always did. But his eyes went wide as he saw the two of them. “Heath? Atira?”

Heath pushed through gently. Atira followed as Eln moved back into the room, then shut the door and bolted it. “My father,” Heath asked. “How—”

A groan issued from beyond.

Heath’s face went white. Eln shook his head. “Heath, he’s—”

Heath ignored the man, crossing the wide room for another door on the other side. Atira saw a large lump of a man under blankets, one pale hand on that broad chest. Another moan filled the air.

Heath walked to the bedside, his face etched with pain. “Papa?”