Wren (The Romany Epistles) (20 page)

“Do you bring greetings from Enforcer Hawthorne?”

“Hardly,” Dardon muttered.

“No, my liege,” I said over him. Stepping forward from the
group so he couldn’t ignore me any longer, I knelt before him, right arm
extended wrist up before me. “I come to swear allegiance to you and claim my
family’s title.”

The following silence rang in my ears as no one moved. I
doubted Wren even breathed, she stood so still.

Finally he broke it. “That must have tasted bitter in your
mouth, Mynth.” He reached down and tapped my head. “Rise. I can’t bear
groveling.”

He waited until I gained my feet before demanding, “You know
what stands between us, Mynth. What makes you risk my wrath a second time?”

“Your sense of justice and love of country gave me hope.”

His eyebrows rose. “Enough that I would honor my son’s
killer? Did you bring this man to voice Hawthorne’s support of this plan?” He
jutted his chin toward Tyron.

“Nay, my king,” Tyron protested. “I am here to do the
opposite. I bring news of Enforcer Hawthorne’s deception and treason.”

“One of yours, Mynth?”

I shook my head. Lord, speak for me, for I have no words to
change his mind.

He frowned up at Tyron. “Very well, lad, speak!”

“Enforcer Hawthorne has hired a company of Tarins at least a
thousand strong. He intends to force you to give him title and valley should
his other means not persuade you.”

“Other means?”

“He plans a celebration of your ascent to the throne
culminating in the death of the foreigner Svhen, the traitor Mynth and his
rebels upon your arrival.”

“Yet Mynth stands before me and I assume at least one of his
rebels.” Orac eyed Dardon with amusement. “Who is standing in the mighty
Mynth’s stead?”

“The brother of Earl Philon Eryant, Lord of Eryant Valley,
Lord Hiller.”

I closed my eyes.
Foolish, Hiller, oh, so foolish.
When I opened my eyes I found Orac peering up at me.

“Does he speak truth, Mynth?”

Wren answered in my stead. “He speaks truth, sire. Hawthorne
plans all this and more.”

“How would you know, lady?”

Calm, golden eyes meeting his piercing silver, Wren rose in
my estimation even more. Orac’s presence overwhelmed me, and I towered over the
man. He had inches on Wren as well as twice her body weight in muscle, yet she
didn’t even flinch when he confronted her.

“I am Wren Romany, your majesty. Perhaps you have heard of
me.”

He nodded slightly. “There was news of a bounty hunter of
that name. According to Hawthorne, he knows you well.”

“Nay, he knows me not at all. However, I can attest to Tyron’s
testimony. Hawthorne intends to attain his goal no matter the means.”

“Surely he wouldn’t attack the crown giving him power.”

“Hawthorne knows no limits when lusting for power,” she
retorted. “I saw him kill men for less cause.”

“Is he so foolish?”

“No, but he is not wise, Sire.”

“Hmm…and you, man?” Orac turned to address Dardon. “Have you
nothing to add?”

Dardon met the king’s gaze without reservation. “I am
Mynth’s man, Sire.”

“Bodyguard?”

“Swordmate, but I can be a bodyguard should it be necessary.
Will it, Sire?”

Instead of answering, Orac turned away. Striding to the
chair, he lowered himself onto the seat. Lord Portan stepped to his side.

“You are a brazen bunch, I will give you credit for that.”
His gaze fell on me, studying me as though of two minds about whether to kill
me or not.
For Kat’s sake, please spare me, Deus,
I prayed.

Then abruptly, he snapped his fingers and tapped the table
top before him. Portan disappeared behind the canvas.

“This is what I shall do. Mynth, you have proven yourself
trustworthy to a point. I admire your real or assumed unwillingness to speak
against Hawthorne. You produced witnesses to plead your case for you. A wise
move.

“Lady Romany, you are right. Hawthorne did not speak
truthfully of you. He has lied to me, which counts against him. I suspected him
of lies before, but your appearance has been the first proof.

“Dardon, loyal swordmate of Mynth, keep at his side. He will
need you before this matter is settled.

“Portan, hurry!”

Portan appeared, parchment, ink, and pen in his hands.
Within moments only the sound of Orac’s pen scratching along the surface of a
scrap of parchment filled the space. Dardon slid the first inches of his sword
in and out of the scabbard under the watchful eyes of the guards. Portan shot
an irritated glance his way, but Dardon ignored it.

Keaton woke. Wren lifted a hand to signal he stay. He eyed
the situation with one bright eye and then another, tensing on her shoulder
like a hunter ready to strike. His restlessness was a strange contrast to the
cool profile Wren presented. She didn’t meet my curious glance. She stared
straight ahead; hands relaxed where they lay, one on Keaton and one at her
waist. Despite the casual stance, I was willing to bet she would attack at a
word if necessary. Her focus surpassed most of the warriors I encountered.

“Done,” Orac declared, pressing his signet ring into the
last wax seal. “Now, Portan, see the orders are carried out.”

“What about the visitors?” Lord Portan hesitated over his
choice of words.

Orac leaned back in his chair and regarded me over steepled
fingers. The expression in his eyes caused my gut to tense. Instinct demanded I
protect Wren. I almost opened my mouth to speak.

“They can share a tent. Let them catch a few hours rest
before we march.” Orac bounded to his feet and plowed back through the canvas
into the depths of the tent.

We all stood there, slightly stunned.

“You heard the king,” Lord Portan said to the guards behind
us. “Take them to a tent to sleep. Keep an honor guard on them for their own
safety.” Then he departed also.

“This way,” one of the guards instructed, heading out into
the night. We followed silently.

Tourth was wound like a spring. The muscles in his forearms
corded as his fists clenched. He paced the constrained interior of our
designated tent. Tyron watched his movements with obvious concern, but Dardon
dedicated more attention to sharpening his sword than his friend’s agitation.

“Ignore him,” he advised Tyron. “He does this before every
battle since Catrona. He fears the coming battle.”

I had seen that in some warriors, a fear of dying. However,
Tourth didn’t strike me as one of them. More likely he feared losing control.
In light of his recent struggles, he probably feared the moment of the kill. I could
relate to both fears.

Tyron lay down on the grass, saddle bags under his head, and
rolled to face the canvas.

“We need to sleep,” Dardon pointed out as he sheathed his
sword.

Tourth acknowledged the statement with a blunt nod and threw
himself down on the grass, back to the center support and the two men desiring
sleep. He remained tense and in motion, though, forearm muscles cording and
relaxing as he clenched and released his hands.

Dardon snuffed out the lantern, plunging us all into
darkness.

I remained where I was, sitting cross-legged, Keaton on my
shoulder, and waited for my eyes to adjust to the night. Gradually moonlight
crept under the edges of the canvas, glowing where the opening flaps parted.
Tourth’s features were still in shadow, but I made out his form, a black shadow
among the gloom.

I slipped across the distance between us, so I could speak
without anyone overhearing.

“I need to leave.”

He jumped slightly, instinct summoning hand to sword hilt. I
stopped him from drawing it with a touch.

“If Hawthorne sees me arrive with King Orac’s company, he
will be on the alert for betrayal. He knows I will thwart his plans if I
discover them.”

“I doubt Orac will allow you to leave.” He leaned forward,
resting elbows on knees, hands still moving.

“I don’t intend to ask him.”

“What do I tell him when he asks?” Amusement tinged his
voice. I could almost see his raised eyebrows in the darkness.

“Tell him I left.”

He chuckled. “I don’t know what he will do. He might blame
me.”

“I don’t know either, but I am certain he won’t kill you.

“I doubt he would pass up the opportunity.”

“Trust me. He doesn’t want to like you, but he respects your
integrity. The death of a son is a hard thing to get past.”

Tourth’s head lowered. I instantly regretted the reference.

“I don’t remember his son.” Tourth’s words hung heavy in the
air between us. “That is the worst of it. The madness took hold, blocking out
everything. I could have killed my own sister if she had been there. I was lost
to anger and bloodlust such that I cannot even recall his son’s face.” His
voice quavered and died.

I reached across and laid a hand on his arm. “It was war.
You were fighting for your king, and he for his. It doesn’t make it right or
good. But, it was a matter of his life or yours and I am thankful that Deus
spared yours.”

“Wren.” He whispered my name as though seeking reassurance.
“I don’t want the madness to return. The darkness waits, hungry for my anger,
and I fear I will slip into it again. This time my actions might stand between
me and Deus forever.”

My hand found his bent head, fingers slipping through his
hair. “Deus is greater than the madness. He can master your anger.”

He sighed, a labored effort as though something pressed
against his chest. “Pray for me, Wren.”

“I will.” Although it was the perfect opportunity to leave,
something held me back.

He lifted his head, catching my falling hand with his own.
Instead of letting go, he held it.

“Take care, Wren.” He turned it over, stroking the palm with
a calloused thumb. A pleasant shiver climbed my spine before settling in my
belly. “I will pray for your safety.”

“And I yours.” I savored his touch a moment more before
finally murmuring, “I must go.”

“Aye, and I must sleep.” He released my hand.

I rose before I had a chance to change my mind and strode
soundlessly toward the opening. After listening long enough to place the
position of the guards, I slipped between the flaps and into the moonlit night.

~~~~~

Retrieving Brone proved simple. Trader raised a ruckus among
the horses, picking a fight with another stallion as I approached the hitching
stakes. Brone was hitched on the other end of the row. I slipped Brone’s reins
from the farther ring and led him off without a challenge.

Leaving camp was more difficult. The outlying sentries
rotated on circuits three deep. I waited for three passes from each before
being reasonably sure of my path. Then, one of them changed his route and I
barely made it around him without gaining his notice.

From there, we were free to keep to the paths. Keaton,
revived from his rest, followed from above as Brone and I traveled as fast as
possible along the well-trod routes down the slopes of the mountain. By the
first haze of dawn, when the sky lightened and the moist fog lifted off the
slopes behind us, we gained our first views of Hawthorne’s folly. I left Brone
at the tree line. Slipping him free of his bridle, I sent him off. He would
find his way back to our new “home” without my help.

Proving my earlier assessment of Hawthorne’s fortress, I
found a blind spot on the wall within an hour. Climbing the uneven wooden wall
took even less time.

I slipped between the merlons and behind a pacing sentry.
Before he noticed my presence, I bolted for the tower door, making it before
the man turned to march back. Whispering a prayer of thanks for the empty
stairwell, I sidled out the door at the base and into a mix of stable hands
observing a wrestling match. Swearing, yelling, and completely focused on cheering
their favorite contender, they barely noticed my appearance among them. I was
jostled among the pack, swallowed from sight among a sea of naked chests and
waving arms. The stench of body odor, sweat, and manure overwhelmed. I held my
breath and scanned the courtyard for either Hawthorne or Keilvey. I couldn’t
risk being spotted.

“Mistress.”

A hand caught my left elbow and my heart jumped into my
throat. With a flick of my wrist, a dagger jumped into my right hand from the
trick sheath beneath my sleeve. I twisted and the point pressed against my
accoster’s middle.

“Roulf, Wren. It is I, Roulf, the shopkeeper.”

My brain caught up with instinct. My heartbeat thundered in
my ears for a different reason. I had almost drawn blood. I sucked in a
steadying breath and lowered my blade.

“Sorry.”

“Understandable under the circumstances. You do know that
the enforcer has issued a warrant for your arrest, right?”

“No. All the more reason to stay out of sight.” I continued
to scan the courtyard.

“Agreed.” He tightened his grip on my arm. “This way.”

He pulled me in the direction of the stables behind us. Once
inside, he guided me to the back, past the mostly empty stalls, and up a
narrow, twisting stair in the back corner.

“We should be safe here.”

He released my arm to cross to the windows overlooking the
courtyard. The room was a large area spanning the length of the stables, rows
of beds and trunks marked off each stable hand’s personal space. Roulf plunged
the room into half-light by closing part of the shutters along outer wall.

“Why are you here?” he asked, suddenly turning to study me.
Weary lines bracketed his mouth and dark circles ringed his eyes. “I hope you
aren’t foolish enough to believe you are capable of rescuing Tourth all by
yourself.”

I frowned at him. “Tourth isn’t here. At least not yet.”