Warprize (23 page)

Rafe was barely holding his own against his opponent. A big man, armed with an enormous club, was battering at his shield, striking it with heavy, powerful blows. Rafe took the blows, but each time, his shield went lower. Finally the giant struck with such force that Rafe’s shield came down, hitting Rate’s forehead. Sensing this weakness, Keir feinted a rushing attack on his remaining opponent. As the man stepped back, Keir turned and drove one blade deep into Rafe’s opponent. The man gave a grunt as it slid in easily. Keir’s attention focused back on his own enemy before the body fell from the blade.

There was a cry, a clatter, and another man emerged from the shadows, pulling a mace from his belt. He launched himself at Rafe.

I pressed against the wall, trying to stay small and out of the way. The Watch should have come running by now, but the street remained empty, with no sound of a hue and cry. The only sounds were those of clashing weapons, heavy breathing, and boots looking for purchase on the surface of the street.

With two down, the remaining attackers shifted their focus. Prest now had one opponent. Two pressed Keir. Rafe faced one as well.

It proved to be a mistake. Prest bashed at his opponent with his shield, driving the man back, ramming him hard enough to get him off-balance. With a step forward, Prest snaked his sword out around the edge of his shield and plunged it into his opponent’s ribs. As his man went down, I assumed Prest would aid Keir. But he stayed in position, scanning the street, keeping his place.

Keir needed no aid. He seemed to know his opponents’ moves before they were made, and blocked them with ease. His attackers were breathing heavily as fatigue set in. When one made the mistake of stepping back when his fellow shifted forward, Keir did not hesitate. In a moment, another man lay bleeding in the street, and two were left.

They broke and ran.

Rafe made to follow, but Keir barked a command. Rafe froze and kept position. Keir turned his head slightly. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” My voice sounded so shaky, it embarrassed me. I tried to rise, sliding a hand against the wall for support. The wood felt warm and rough against my trembling hand.

“Stay down.” Keir still scanned the street and rooftops, weapons at the ready.

It had happened so fast, my heart still raced in my chest. I concentrated on my breathing, trying to slow it down. For tense minutes, we stood there waiting to see if they would try again. After a lifetime, Keir relaxed. “It’s clear. Anyone hurt?” Prest and Rafe responded in the negative, as they both moved to check the fallen.

I pushed away from the wall. “Rafe, you’re cut.”

“Scraped myself on my shield rim.” Rafe turned his man over. “This one’s dead.”

I took a step forward, toward the other downed men.

“No.” Keir stopped me.

“Please, let me…” I pushed against him, trying to move past. I might as well have pushed the wall.

Rafe spoke up. “Doesn’t matter, Warprize. They’re all dead.” He was kneeling by one of the bodies, cleaning his sword. “Strange that they have no armor.”

“An ambush planned in haste.” Keir stood grim, scanning the market area, which remained strangely empty for the time of day. There was no sign of the Watch. “Warprize, do you recognize them?” Keir moved with me as I stepped forward to look at their faces.

They lay in their own blood, the smell of feces and death in the air. None of them looked familiar as Rafe rolled them onto their backs, and they wore nothing to identify themselves with any noble family. Even as I shook my head, Rafe pulled a belt pouch off one, and it spilled bright gold coins onto the cobblestones. More gold than a mere soldier might see in a lifetime.

Keir growled low in his throat. “Assassins. Xyian, all of them.”

“This isn’t.”

We turned to see Prest standing at the wall, holding the lance in his hands, the tip broken. Black shards lay on the ground at his feet. “Full-tipped when thrown.” Prest’s eyes gleamed as he displayed the feathering on the lance.

Rafe sucked in a breath with a hiss.

Keir’s lips tightened, then he glanced at Rafe. “Gather the horses.” The animals hadn’t wandered far and Rafe moved toward them, making soothing sounds. Keir turned back to Prest. “Wrap that and put it in my quiver. We’re returning to camp.”

“Camp?” I stepped back from the bodies, wrapping my cloak around my body. “But the ceremony…” I let my voice trail off as Keir ignored me, cleaning his swords on one of the dead. Prest was next to me, wrapping the lance in a cloth he’d pulled from his saddlebags. Hadn’t Atira said something about featherings? Their patterns?

It was my turn to suck in a breath. “Who made that lance?”

Prest looked at me, then flicked his eyes to Keir. Rafe came up with the beasts and Keir took the reins. With a nod, he had Rafe stripping the corpses of gold and weapons. With an equally quick movement he motioned for me to mount. “Up, Warprize.”

“You know who made it.”

Keir’s eyes rested on mine for a moment, softening slightly. He spoke, but not to answer my question. “Mount. We ride for camp.”

I just stood there, trying to think past the rapid beating of my heart. “The ceremony…”

Keir drilled me with a glare. “Ceremony be damned.”

I went to the horse, and clung to the saddle, trying to will strength into my legs. Trembling, I mounted. “What does it say if the Warlord runs to camp and hides when attacked by six men?”

Rafe chimed in. “Six men who weren’t very good.”

Prest snorted, but kept his eyes on the street.

Keir didn’t glance at Rafe. “So speaks the man who will be practicing his shield work for the next week.”

Rafe shut his mouth.

Keir grabbed his own horse and swung into the saddle. “It says that the Warlord is no fool.” Prest and Rafe mounted up as well.

“We are not hurt.” I swallowed hard, and fought down my fear. “There are many people gathered for the ceremony. What will they say when the Warlord does not appear?” I moved my horse in the direction of the castle.

Keir grabbed my reins as I passed, bringing my horse to a halt. “Then I will go alone. Prest and Rafe will escort you to camp.”

I shook my head. “That leaves you alone and a target. If we all go, then we will have the escort of all the men who are attending on the way back.” I caught his eye. “Besides, my people are expecting me. What rumors will start when I do not appear?”

Keir stared at me, his jaw working. I could see a small vein pulsing on his neck, but I didn’t drop my gaze. Finally, he took in a deep breath and let it out very, very slowly. He released the reins, and turned his horse in the direction of the castle.

“What about them?” Rafe jerked his head back at the pile of dead.

“Leave them to rot.”

The streets remained empty as we rode to the castle. Buildings that had once been friendly and familiar now held deep shadows where danger lurked. My reins grew damp from my sweaty hands, my shoulders tight with every step. Fear gripped me hard.

Rafe rode beside me, with bow and arrow in hand. His horse responded to knees and feet alone, the reins lay knotted in front of Rafe’s saddle. Prest rode in the same manner, but slightly behind us. They both scanned the surroundings constantly, focused on catching the slightest hint of an attack.

Keir rode in front, his swords sheathed, looking outwardly relaxed, but with his head moving from side to side, watching the buildings around us as we passed.

I cleared my throat to ask about the lance again, but Keir gestured for silence without even looking back at me. I bit my lip as my throat went even drier, and fought the urge to hunch in my saddle.

The horses sensed our tension and shifted restlessly under us. But Keir held our pace to a walk. It was only when the castle gates appeared in the distance, ablaze with lights and people, that he urged his horse to a trot. We sped up to follow him the final distance into the main courtyard.

People, both Xyian and Firelander, were clustered about, and palace guards moved forward for our horses. The sun still filled the area with light, causing my dress to glow like a bright flame. I tried to look confident and relaxed, but my stomach cramped as the Xyians around me reacted to the dress.

Keir, Prest and Rafe were still on guard, keeping an eye on the crowd. Keir swung down first, and gave me a concerned look as he helped me dismount, as if he sensed the strain. Rafe and Prest joined us, and they surrounded me as we entered the castle proper.

Othur appeared before us. “Warlord.” He bowed. When his head came up, his eyes sought mine, filled with concern. I risked a small smile. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he continued. “Allow me to show you to the antechamber.” He guided us into the same chamber where I had waited for the submission ceremony. It had only been days ago, but it felt like a lifetime. As we entered, my shoulders relaxed, now that we were out from under prying eyes.

Othur stood in the doorway behind us, and bowed again. “I will inform the King of your arrival. He will join you shortly.”

Keir held up his hand. “We will delay for a few moments. I will send for Xymund when I am ready.”

Keir moved further into the room, threw his cloak over one of the chairs, and started to pace. The light of the fire and the lamps played over his face, making his blue eyes dark and forbidding.

“Who were they?” he asked.

“Not one of us.” Prest answered firmly.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

Prest shrugged. “They missed.”

“He’s right.” Keir continued his prowl. “Had one of my people thrown the lance, you would have been hit.”

“The fletching was Iften’s.” Rafe’s voice was soft.

“Iften’s?” I stared at Keir.

“Full-tipped.” Prest added.

“What does that mean?” I asked, frustrated by the cryptic comments.

Keir sighed. “The tip was whole when the lance was thrown. Lance tips are meant to break when they hit. A scavenged lance wouldn’t be whole.”

“It’s possible that one wouldn’t break.” My argument sounded weak, even in my ears.

“Unlikely,” Prest observed.

“Horses get captured with quivers full.” He shrugged. “But the fletching is Iften’s and he’s not lost a horse that I know of.” Rafe paused, not looking at anyone in particular. “And Iften has been in the city.”

I put my hand over my mouth. “Remn said that Iften met with Xymund alone.” Or had he? I tried to remember what he’d said, but it slipped away from me.

Keir interrupted my thoughts, and I focused on him. “Yet those scum were paid well. That speaks of Xyians.”

“My people would not risk the peace.” I responded firmly. “One of your people could have hired them just as easily.”

Keir shook his head. “My people are just learning about coinage and money. More like it was a Xyian.” He hesitated. “Or a Xyian King.”

I glared at him. “Xymund has sworn. He will not risk his crown or break his word.”

“Risk to his head, I believe,” Keir retorted. “I’m not so certain of his oath.” Keir moved closer to me. “Not certain that he understands that if you die there is no peace.”

“And if you die, Warlord?” I asked softly. “Would the peace hold? You were attacked as well, they even doubled up on you.” The memory flashed before my eyes, and suddenly my stomach dropped. I had a flash of vision, of a wounded and dying Keir. Dearest Goddess. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard.

A warm hand on my shoulder pressed me into one of the chairs by the fireplace. I opened my eyes to find Keir kneeling in front of me. “I am sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be. You did well.” Then that little-boy-mischievous look sparkled in his eyes. “For a healer.”

Prest and Rafe snorted, a kind of nervous chuckle. I sat up straighter and tried to appear offended. “If you think that Xymund is behind this, confront him. Ask him—”

“No.” Keir grew serious. “His actions tell me more than words. Say nothing about the attack to anyone. Let our enemy speculate as to what occurred.” Prest and Rafe nodded. I did as well, all too willing to drop the subject. Keir stood, and gestured Rafe to the door.

When the door to the antechamber opened Xymund entered, followed by Lord Marshall Warren and the members of the Council. I moved to stand, but Keir’s hand on my shoulder pressed me down. I looked up, puzzled, but Keir’s gaze fixed on Xymund.

Xymund bowed his head to Keir. “Warlord.”

“Xymund.” Keir’s voice sounded cold to my ears.

There wasn’t time for more, for Othur had moved to the large double-doors. “Honored Lords, the Herald is ready to commence the ceremony. Please take your places.” Keir moved to the doors as well, and everyone in the room started to adjust their position for the entrance into the throne room. I rose from the chair unsure of where to stand. As I did, my cloak fell open, and there were harsh intakes of breath around the room. Xymund, standing behind Keir, turned his head. His eyes widened as he took in the scarlet on both the dress and my cheeks. While his face remained impassive, his eyes danced.

Determined to retain some dignity, I spotted Prest and Rafe toward the back and moved in their direction.

“Warprize.” Keir’s voice cut through the sounds in the room.

I turned. “Warlord?”

His eyes flickered over to Xymund standing behind him. “Your place is here, beside me.”

I gaped at him. The rest of the room quieted, recognizing a power struggle when they saw one. That blue-eyed gaze stayed calm and confident. My eyes darted to Xymund, who was clearly struggling with his temper.

“Here.” Keir spoke again, indicating the place beside him.

I moved, to Keir’s side. “Yes, Warlord.” He looked down at me, scrutinizing me closely. I could feel Xymund’s eyes like daggers on my back.

Othur had been watching the action, and had maintained a neutral face. Keir gestured for him to open the double doors. He did so and stepped out into the throne room. The Herald, standing there in full uniform, pounded the floor with his staff three times. “Lord and Ladies, all hail Keir, Warlord of the Firelanders—”

“No.” Keir’s voice rang out over that of the Herald’s, causing a stir in the throne room.

The poor man’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Warlord?”