WinterofThorns (15 page)

Vindan snapped out his hand and slammed his
fist against Seyzon’s jaw. Before Seyzon could fall, the two men beside him
took hold of him—thinking their prince would hit him again—and twisted his arms
behind his back with a hard, upward shove that made him grunt. Instead of
hitting him, Vindan stepped forward and grabbed a handful of Seyzon’s hair and
pulled his head back, putting his face close to Seyzon’s, ignoring the thin
stream of blood flowing from the corner of Seyzon’s mouth.

“Well, you aren’t going to win this time,
either, you little son of a bitch,” he sneered.

“Fucking surprise that,” Seyzon replied
through his teeth.

“You know what you
are
going to do?
You, my man, are going to return to Lavenfeld and send my woman to me.”

“She’s not you—” Seyzon started to say but
Vindan wrenched his hair brutally, eliciting a yelp Seyzon managed to cut off
midway.

“You will send my woman to me else three
things are going to happen, Montyne,” Vindan said. “First is I will have your
mother evicted from Lavenfeld and second I will have her lands—your
birthright—confiscated.”

“You wouldn’t do that to her.”

Vindan’s eyes narrowed. “Try me.”

“Not to my mother. She’s been like a mo—”

“Stoneway!” the prince said to the man on
Seyzon’s left. “I want you to take three men with you to Lavenfeld and pick up
Lady Millicent Montyne. Don’t bring her here. Take her to Galrath instead.”

Seyzon felt as though Vindan had punched
him savagely in the gut. At the mention of the infamous nunnery he knew the
blood had drained from his face. The Serenian nunnery was the most revolting
place in the Cairghrian Galaxy. Women taken there were rarely rescued for those
who guarded the notorious convent were members of the Brotherhood of the
Domination, as ruthless and evil a sect of men as had ever been brought
together.

“And the third thing that will happen is I
will have you taken to Utuk Xul and left to rot!”

If having his mother sent to Galrath scared
him, being threatened with imprisonment in the vilest, most wretched maximum
security prison in the Megaverse put the fear of the goddess in him.

Vindan jerked Seyzon’s hair, twisting it
viciously. “Once you are in UX, I’ll make gods-be-damned sure your cellmates
have you every way there is to have a man and then some! By the time they are
through with you, you’ll be a jabbering idiot!” He pulled Seyzon’s head back so
far Seyzon thought his neck would break. “Are you hearing me, Montyne?”

Tears of pain formed in Seyzon’s eyes. He
dragged deep gulps of breath through his mouth as he fought the agony tearing
at his scalp.

“Are. You. Hearing. Me?” Vindan repeated.

“Aye,” Seyzon whispered.

Vindan tilted his head to one side. “I
didn’t hear you.”

“Aye, I heard you,” Seyzon managed to
croak.

“Aye, I heard you
what
?” Vindan
demanded.

“Aye, I heard you, milord,” Seyzon said and
mentally cursed himself as he felt a solitary tear drop down his cheek.

Vindan tugged once more—smiled at the groan
his action wrought—then let go of Seyzon’s hair. He patted his cheek. “Good
little son of a bitch,” he said. He patted his cheek again—hard enough to make
it sting. He nudged his chin at his men and they released Seyzon’s arms.

Stumbling back, Seyzon put a hand to his
upper left forearm for it was on fire from the wrench the guard had given it.
He knew his shoulder had been dislocated. Muscle spasms were rippling down his
arm all the way to his fingertips and the pain was making him nauseous and
lightheaded. He could feel sweat gathering on his upper lip and at his temples.

“You will return to Lavenfeld and send Jana
back to me. While she is en route, I will go before my council and have your
farce of a Joining annulled.”

If the pain in his arm was bad, the pain
those words brought was agonizing. He knew from the pitiless look on Vindan’s
face there would be no reasoning with the man. He’d seen that same look many,
many times as they’d grown up. Once his heels were dug in, there was no turning
Vindan from the course he’d chosen.

“Don’t do this,” he said, hating the
pleading he heard in his own voice.

“I want her here before sunset tomorrow,”
Vindan said.

“Please, don’t do this. I’m begging you,
Vin—”

“Shut up!” the prince shouted. “You have
lost the right to call me by my given name! You wanted our friendship dead?
Well, dead it is. As
you
are dead to me!” He looked to Stoneway. “Get
him out of here!”

He had to do something—anything—and he did
the only thing he thought might work. He dropped to his knees.

“Please,” he said, striving not to pass out
for the jolt of his knees hitting the floor had jarred his injured shoulder so
badly he felt a trickle of urine run down his thigh. “I will do whatever you
want, just don’t take her away from me. Don’t do that, milord. Please!”

Vindan didn’t respond. He turned his back
on Seyzon and started to walk away.

“Please! Do whatever you like to me but not
this! Your Grace, please!” Seyzon called after him but Vindan never let on that
he heard. He left the room without a backward glance.

“Get the fuck up,” Stoneway said. “You’re
shaming yourself, man.” He grabbed Seyzon’s left arm to haul him up but the
scream that ripped from the younger man’s throat made him release him
immediately.

The blistering torment of having his
dislocated shoulder wrenched upward resulted in pitching Seyzon into
unconsciousness even as his scream still reverberated through the room. He
crumpled to the floor on his side—his injured shoulder to the floor. He never
heard the running footsteps of the prince who came rushing back into the room.

“What the hell did you do to him?” Vindan
barked.

“I think his shoulder is dislocated,”
Stoneway said, his face white. “I didn’t know. I tried to pull him to his feet
and—”

“Shit! Take him to the healer!” Vindan
shouted at the guard.

* * * * *

Much as Jana had at Lavenfeld, Vindan
watched the only friend he’d ever known ride away from Wicklow. Arm in a sling,
numbed by as much tenerse as the healer dared give him if he was to sit his
horse, Seyzon rode between four guards who had been given instructions directly
from their prince.

“He will try to run,” Vindan told Stoneway.
He dared not have Arbra take Seyzon back to Lavenfeld for the two were on much
too friendly terms. Stoneway had no love for the adjutant general and had been
very vocal with his opinion that Seyzon Montyne should have suffered the same
fate as Stoneway’s Shire lord, Sir Raymond deVille.

“
Montyne should have had his back beaten
to a pulp like my lord’s!
” Stoneway had told anyone who would listen.

“He will run,” Vindan repeated. “When he
does, shoot the horse from under him.”

“What then, Your Grace?” Stoneway asked. He
licked his lips in anticipation of the answer.

“Let him know he cannot, will not defy me
ever again without there being stringent repercussions.”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Stoneway agreed.

“When you are finished with him, take him
to Tunstead in the Ventura Province.”

“That’s very close to Reivers territory,
milord,” Stoneway said with a frown.

“Aye, it is. Leave him at the Pig and
Whistle Inn. The tavern owner is a Reivers sympathizer. Let it be known who
Seyzon is. The Selwyns will come for him. Stay close by and when they pick him
up, go then to Lavenfeld. Inform the Lady Millicent that her son was captured
on the way home.” He looked Stoneway up and down. “Tell her in his haste to
reach home he outdistanced you on that brute of a stallion he rides else she
will wonder why you were not injured trying to protect her precious baby boy.”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Stoneway said. His frown
was now a merry grin. “I can spin a lie with the best of them.”

“Don’t kill him, Stoneway,” Vindan ordered.
“If he is gravely injured I will hold you personally responsible. Is that
understood?”

“Aye, Your Grace!” Stoneway’s face darkened.
“But what if the Reivers hang him as they have threatened to do?”

“They won’t,” Vindan said. “Trust me, they
won’t. They need him alive in the hopes of using him to get to me. Little do
they know I want them to hold on to him.” He looked away. “A good long while.”

“I’ll see to it, milord.”

“The Lady Millicent will go into action as
soon as she knows Montyne has been taken. She will want to leave immediately
for Wicklow. Be sure—gods-be-damned sure—Lady Jana accompanies her. Warn the
women the Reivers may come for them, as well. Return here as though the hounds
of hell were nipping at your boot heels.”

“It will be as you ask, Your Grace!”

Every jolt of his horse’s hooves was an
excruciating agony to Seyzon but he had to escape. The only way he could do
that would be to give Killean its head and let the steed race away, leaving the
other mounts in the dust. There was no doubt in his mind the horse could outrun
the guards’ nags. Killean was a thoroughbred Rysalian with the temper of a
Diabolusian warthog and the cunning of an An Iodálian whoremaster. It was one
of the best jumpers in Meiraman and Ventura as well. Allowing the steed to take
the bit was a dangerous ploy but at the moment he had no other choice. All he
could do was try to stay in the saddle.

“Are you still with us, milord?” the one
called Stoneway quipped. He was riding on Seyzon’s right side—easily within
range to snatch Killean’s reins should it be necessary.

“Aye,” Seyzon mumbled. His chin was on his
chest, eyes half-closed for the pain was eating him alive. Every mile they rode
added to the torture.

“Don’t go falling off your pony on us,”
Stoneway said then laughed, the other three men joining in.

“Mayhap we should tie him in the saddle,”
one of the men suggested.

“Mayhap we should,” Stoneway agreed. He
reached down to stroke the rope hanging on his saddle.

They were on a straightway with the dirt
road stretching as far as the eye could see ahead of them. To the left were a
long undulation of rolling hills. To the right was a meandering stream that cut
under the road at a wooden bridge six hundred yards away. Seyzon knew the
stream was shallow near the bridge but it was laden with jagged rocks that
could damage a horse’s leg.

He cut his eyes to the left. The hills were
his best bet. Killean not only had a powerful stride, the beast was surefooted
and could climb a gently sloping hill with ease. The hills he was gauging did
not have gentle rises. They would be a challenge to the horse but he had faith
in his mount. What he feared was that his body would be forced backward as the
steed climbed—making it imperative he have a tight grip on the reins to keep
from tumbling backward. With only one good arm, holding on was going to be
difficult at best.

Impossible at the very worst.

He looked to the stream. Ahead about a
hundred yards or so, the stream narrowed into what looked to be a
fourteen-foot-wide channel. Killean had been trained to maintain a twelve-foot
stride and his jumping skills were excellent. He could easily clear a
sixteen-foot span if Seyzon could get him close enough to the near bank. Even
though he was hurting so bad he could barely move, Seyzon knew he had to sit
deep in the saddle and ride what he had, careful not to take off too far back
because then it would be nearly impossible to clear the stream. Should the
steed’s hooves hit the far bank at the wrong angle, tendon damage was almost a
certainty but that was not the only concern Seyzon had. If he couldn’t hang on,
he’d go ass over tea kettle and most likely break something of his own.

Then there was another possibility. If he
over-rode the stream, it might unnerve Killean—making it hard for him to get
back control of the animal. Having a runaway horse when you had two good arms with
which to rein him in was one thing. Having only one arm capable of doing so
wasn’t in his favor.

And he didn’t need the animal to look down
as he flew over the stream. That could also spell disaster.

The lesser of two evils…

Either hills or stream.

Both had dangers lurking.

But the biggest danger was allowing the men
guarding him to take Jana away from him. As long as he drew breath, that wasn’t
going to happen. Surreptitiously, he began to shorten his reins then dropped
his heels, leaning forward as though to relieve the pain in his shoulder. Out
of the corner of his eye he saw Stoneway watching him.

The man knew.

Gods-be-damn it, he
knew
and he was
tensing for what he expected to come.

Before the guard could react, Seyzon
clamped his thighs tightly to the beast twice, giving Killean permission to
run. The beast shot forward like greased lightning. Pulling on the reins,
Seyzon aimed the animal for the stream. Behind him he heard shouts and the
thunder of hooves following him off the dirt road and onto the rock-strewn
scrabble that led at a soft incline to the streams near bank.

He did not hear the laser rifle skirling to
life but he heard Killean’s keening cry as the beast was hit. The steed
stumbled, sidestepped like a drunken man then began to topple to the left. His
arm useless in the sling, he could not move his body as he wanted to so could
not twist away or fling himself from the saddle. He went down with his
mount—his left foot still in the stirrup. Killean crashed to the ground and
landed on Seyzon’s leg. Despite the pounding hooves racing toward him he heard
the bone break in his leg just as his injured shoulder hit the rocky earth. A
scream tore from his throat and darkness skittering at the periphery of his
vision. The stallion lifted its head and whinnied, its own scream mirroring
Seyzon’s second as the horse’s weight pressed down on his broken leg. The last
thing he heard was another scream ripped from him before unconsciousness washed
over him like a wet blanket.

* * * * *

“We got something you might be interested
in,” Stoneway told the tavern owner of the Pig and Whistle.

“I ain’t lookin’ to take on no more new
whores,” the man said around the obstruction of a stinking cigar clamped
between his teeth. He turned to walk away.

“It’s someone the border lord will pay you
good money to get,” Stoneway called out. “I was told you are his man here in
Tunstead.”

The tavern owner looked around, frowned
then came back to Stoneway and the burly guard standing beside him. “Keep your
voice down! There are two Ventura militiamen drinking at the bar! I don’t need
them suspecting me of trafficking with the Reivers!”

Stoneway glanced at the men standing at the
bar. There were five of them and they all looked deep in their cups. With the
tinny music coming from the vid-player and the coarse laughter and clink of the
roulette wheel in the corner, the militiamen couldn’t have heard him.
Nevertheless, he lowered his voice.

“Give us a thousand credits and we’ll turn
our surprise over to you to hand off to the border lord,” he told the tavern
owner.

“Fuck off!” the tavern owner said. “I
wouldn’t pay you a thousand credits if it was Lord Montyne himself you were
offering me!”

“Is that right?” Stoneway narrowed his
eyes. “You sure about that?”

Taking the cigar slowly from his mouth, the
tavern owner cut his eyes toward the door. “Are you telling me you have him?
Here?
”

“Out behind the tavern,” Stoneway said.
“He’s a bit worse for wear but alive and breathing.”

“If you’re lying…” the tavern owner began
then jammed the cigar between his teeth again. “Show me!” He motioned for a
burly man standing at the far end of the room to accompany them through the
door to the right of the bar.

The four of them left the taproom, walked
down a long corridor that smelled of urine, spent body fluids, unwashed bodies
and stale smoke. It was a relief when the tavern owner opened a door at the end
of the corridor and fresh evening air flowed over them.

Stoneway had left the other two guards with
their prisoner. He led the tavern keeper and his bouncer over to a horse upon
which a blanket-wrapped body was draped, the blanket wound with a rope to keep
it in place.

“He dead?” the bouncer asked. “I don’t like
handling dead people.”

“Ain’t dead. Knocked out,” the guard who
had gone into the tavern with Stoneway answered. “Had to shoot him up with
tenerse to keep him from screaming his fucking head off.”

“What happened to him?”

“Got a broke leg and busted-up arm,” the
guard replied. He chuckled. “Didn’t take kindly to being dangled over the nag
and jostled like a bag of oats.”

Leading the tavern owner around the horse,
Stoneway reached down to draw the blanket from the unconscious man’s face.

“Mother of the goddess!” The tavern keeper
removed his cigar. His eyes were like saucers in his head. “That really is
him!”

“A thousand credits and he’s yours,”
Stoneway said. “What you do with him is your business but if I was a betting
man, I’d say the border lord will pay you a helluva lot more than a thousand to
get his hands on this one.”

The tavern owner tossed the cigar away and
licked his lips. “Indeed he will,” the man agreed. He stuck out his hands. “A
thousand it is, friend!”

Stoneway gripped the sweaty palm of the
other man. “He needs a healer to set that arm and leg so I’d keep him in
dreamland until the Reivers can come for him if’n I was you.”

“Aye,” the tavern owner said. “Most
definitely.” He turned to the bouncer. “Take him upstairs to Sarah’s room. Tell
her she can have the rest of the night off then fetch Doc Needham.” He slapped
an arm around Stoneway’s shoulder. “And you come with me and I’ll get you your
money.”

Drifting in and out of consciousness, his
body mercifully numb from the high dosage of tenerse they’d given him, Seyzon
could only moan as he felt himself being dragged from the back of the horse.
His belly was bruised from the bouncing gait of the animal and he was relieved
to be able to breathe more naturally. He had only a momentary respite, however,
for he found himself slung over a bony shoulder. His head swam brutally as
whoever was holding him swung around and started walking. Grateful he couldn’t feel
anything in his extremities, he did feel the impact his head made on something
solid.

“He don’t need a concussion to go with them
broken limbs,” he heard Stoneway say. “Be careful with him. That’s precious
cargo you’re hauling.”

“Aye,” someone else agreed. “And worth a
lot more than I pay you in ten years’ time.”

If the man carrying paid any attention to
his boss’s words, Seyzon couldn’t tell. Twice more he felt his head slam into
what was most likely a wall before he was unceremoniously dumped onto a lumpy
mattress that smelled of things he didn’t want to contemplate.

“What the fuck is this?” a woman demanded
indignantly. “Is that a body?”

“Mercer said to take the rest of the night
off,” came the answer.

“I don’t want no dead body on my bed,
Kriegel! I got to make a living on that fucking bed!”

“He ain’t dead,” the man told her.

“Then why’s he wrapped up like that?”

“He’s gift wrapped,” the man said with a
chuckle. “A present for the border lord.”

“Present?” she repeated.

“Worth a lot of credits too. You watch him
’til I get back with the healer. Leave him wrapped up.”

“Like I’m going to touch him,” the woman
said with a snort.

The bouncer left her, staring angrily at
the man lying in the middle of her bed. She was still glaring at the unwanted
body when the healer arrived.

“He’d better not be dead,” she warned.
“If’n he is, Mercer’s gonna buy me a new mattress!” She flounced down in the
room’s only chair, crossed her arms and glowered at the healer.

“Get the blanket off him,” Doc Needham
ordered, ignoring the whore.

Kriegel made quick work of unwrapping
Seyzon then stepped back. “Whatcha think of that, Doc?”

The healer glanced his patient’s face but
did not recognize him. His professional eyes went to the strange alignment of
the man’s shoulder then moved down to his leg.

“What happened to this man?” he asked.

“Don’t know,” Kriegel said. “Don’t you know
who he is?”

“I don’t care who he is. The less I know,
the better.”

“Best put a shackle ’round his ankle when
you get his leg set,” Kriegel advised.

“There’s no need for that. He isn’t going
anywhere with a broken leg and arm,” the healer snapped.

“Just saying,” Kriegel grumbled. “Don’t
want him escaping ’fore the Reivers get here.”

“They’d best hurry or I’m gonna toss him
out on his handsome ass,” the woman stated.

“No chance of him escaping,” the healer
said. He glanced at the woman. “I’m going to need your help.”

“I ain’t doing nothing,” she said with a
sniff. “I got the night off.” She cocked her chin toward Kriegel. “Get asswipe
to help you.”

“Fuck you,” Kriegel threw at her.

“In your dreams,” she returned.

“Knock it off, the both of you!” the healer
said. “Kriegel, get your ass over here and help me! I need you to hold his
chest down while I cut these clothes off him. Sarah, you need to come hold his
other leg down. I don’t want him kicking me in the face!”

Grumbling, the woman shot up from the chair
and stomped over to the foot of the bed. One look at the man lying in her bed
and she blinked. Her mouth dropped open.

“Fuck me with a rotting stump!” she
exclaimed. “That’s Lord Montyne!” She turned wide eyes to the healer. “I’d know
him anywhere. That’s the Lord of Lavenfeld, the prince’s friend!”

Frowning sharply, the healer shrugging.
“Then you’d best put your back into it, girl, and help me patch him up. The
border lord will want him all in one piece when they hang him!”

* * * * *

He sensed hands on him but was so immersed
in the heady grip of the narcotic he couldn’t force his eyes open to see who
was touching where they shouldn’t have been touching him. That he was naked
beneath the ministrations of whoever was with him was of no import at the
moment. He couldn’t even dredge up much concern for the way the cold hands were
fondling him.

“He’s hung like a fucking stallion,” some
woman said.

“I’m half a mind to get this hard and ride
him like one!” The one holding him ran a hand down his length, tugged then
cupped his balls.

“A cock like that. Shame to let it go to
waste,” a third female voice spoke up.