Yesterday's Kings (17 page)

T
HEY REACHED THE EDGE OF THE WOODS
, with Kandar stretching out before them. They halted inside the forest and built a fire, spreading their bedrolls on the snow. Afranydyr and Gofylans sat together, discussing their strategy.

“The keep is there.” Afranydyr tapped the parchment his father had given him, drawn from Lofantyl’s raven-delivered instructions. “There are farms between here and there, and a village below the keep.”

“So we’ve little chance of approaching unobserved.”
Gofylans snorted laughter. “What do we do? Ride through the village and storm the walls? And then die?”

“No.” Afranydyr shook his head. “The girl aids us. Lofantyl promises that she’ll let us in when the moon is full.”

“And you trust a Garm?”

“What other choice?” Afranydyr sighed. “He’s my brother, no?”

“And I’m your friend,” said Gofylans, “but I doubt the wisdom of the venture.”

“It’s my father’s command,” Afranydyr replied. “And my brother in the prison. Honor demands I rescue him.”

“R
EMEMBER, THEY’LL COME
for me when the moon grows full.” Lofantyl clutched Abra’s hands through the bars. “You must open a gate for them.”

She shook her head. “How can I? You ask me to betray my father.”

“Then Per Fendur shall have me. He’ll rack me and then send me off to die. Do you want that?”

“No!”

“Then you must help me. Else I’m dead.” “I must think on it,” she said, and left him before any guards came.

She returned to her chambers and thought on all he asked—on what it must mean for her and her father. And wondered, torn between love and loyalty, what she should do.

“I
T SHALL SERVE YOU WELL
, that we’ve a Durrym to question.” Per Fendur raised his glass in toast. “He
might well give us information of their land, and make our conquest easier.”

“Under torture?” Lord Bartram shook his head. “A man racked will tell you anything.”

“Even so,” the priest returned, “we can learn. The rack gives answers.”

“But not necessarily the truth.”

“You dispute my methods?” The priest fixed the keep lord with an accusing stare.

Bartram nodded. “I do. I’ve no taste for torture.”

Fendur smiled, directing his gaze to Vanysse and Amadis. “A squeamish Border Lord?” He chuckled, taking the sting from his taunt. “I’d thought you hardier.”

“I’ll face any man in battle,” Bartram replied indignantly. “Or any Durrym. But I’ll not condone torture.”

Fendur’s smile evaporated, his eyes growing cold as frozen stones. “You’d defy the Church?”

Vanysse said, “Heed him, husband.” And Amadis nodded his approval.

But Lord Bartram shook his head and said, “I’ll not agree to torture.”

Fendur exaggerated a sigh. “Then I must send a message to my prelate, who will doubtless speak with Khoros, and …”—he let a breath go by—“you shall receive orders.”

“Perhaps,” Bartram said. “And does my king command, I must obey. But that shall take a while, no?” He gestured at the misted windows. “Traveling is hard out there, Per Fendur, and I wonder how long your message shall take. And until you’ve sent it, and I’ve a response, you’ll not touch the prisoner.”

Fendur glanced at Amadis, who shrugged and said, “Weeks, in such weather as this.”

“So be it.” Fendur nodded. “I shall compose a letter.” He looked to Amadis rather than Bartram. “You’ll see it sent?”

Amadis ducked his head.

“And meanwhile,” Fendur said with oily mildness, “I see fit to question your daughter, my lord.”

“No!” Bartram shouted.

“Why not?” Fendur asked. “If she is innocent, she’s nothing to fear.”

He fixed Abra with a smile, and she made her decision.

A
FRANYDYR HALTED HIS MOUNT
with Lyth in sight. The moon stood full above, painting the snow with silvery light, so that he could see the sleeping village clear as day. It was shuttered against the chill, and he grinned as he gave his instructions. Unlike his brother, he savored the prospect of combat.

“We’ll skirt around,” he told Gofylans, “and approach from the north. There should be a lantern to mark the gate.”

“And if there’s not?”

“Then we’ll do what we can, no?”

“Which is what?” Gofylans asked.

“Fight our way in and rescue my brother,” Afranydyr said.

T
HEY REACHED THE WALLS
and waited.

“They’re sleepy folk,” Afranydyr remarked, studying the ramparts. “We could easily take this place.”

Stretched flat against the frozen snow, Gofylans was in worse humor than his commander. “Until they wake up,” he said. “Then it might be different.”

Afranydyr chuckled. And then a light showed as a sallyport opened.

“Now!”

T
HEY RAN TOWARD
the lantern Abra held and swept her up in their charge. She opened her mouth to scream, startled by their onslaught, but a hand clamped firm over her mouth and she heard her captor whisper, “One sound and I slay you.”

His tone left her in no doubt, and she nodded as best she could against his hard, musky hand.

It went away and she looked up at a Durrym who seemed a larger, sterner version of Lofantyl.

“I am Afranydyr,” he whispered. “Lofantyl’s brother. Where is he?”

She saw that he held a sword made of no metal she had ever seen, perhaps no metal at all. It was against her neck, and his eyes told her he’d not hesitate to use it. She felt very afraid. “There.” She pointed toward the dungeon’s entrance, and Afranydyr took hold of her arm and urged her in that direction. His cohorts followed, moving silent as shadows across the frosted courtyard.

T
HE WIND BLEW
cold as Abra made her way to the dungeons. She wore a cloak, but even so the chill gripped her like panic, and she could hardly stop her teeth from rattling as she heard her feet crunch—loud—on the ice. Sentries manned the walls, but they were cold as she, and held mostly to their posts and, anyway, looked for assault from outside rather than within.

She found the entrance to the dungeons and took the great key from its hook. It chilled her fingers and she could not insert it in the lock for the trembling of her hands. Afranydyr took it from her, wincing as he touched the metal. Then he inserted key to lock and, with a grunt, turned it.

He shouldered the door open and Abra stared around, terrified that the grating sound it made should alert the guards. She stared at the walls, where the sentries were, and saw the night all still and cold, and heaved a sigh of relief when no alarum sounded.

“Show me where he is.”

Afranydyr’s blade rested on her shoulder and she led him down the damp steps to Lofantyl’s cell.

The turnkey was long gone to his bed, the dungeons lightless save for a single torch that spread long shadows over the miserable confines, rats and cockroaches scattering at their entrance. Afranydyr snorted his disgust.

“This is no way to imprison a son of Kash’ma Hall.”

“Nor my way,” Abra returned. She found Lofantyl’s older brother uncouth, not at all like her Durrym lover. But she set that thought aside as she took him and his men to Lofantyl’s cell.

“We honor our prisoners,” Afranydyr muttered. “We treat them well.”

Abra had no answer for that, so all she said was, “He’s here,” as she pointed at the barred gate.

Lofantyl rose, scattering his blanket of rats, and stared at the gate.

“Abra? I’d scarce dared hope …” He reached through the bars that he might touch her fingers. Then, “Afranydyr?”

“Our father ordered me.” Afranydyr studied the bars and the lock, and looked to Abra. “How do I open this thing?”

Abra shook her head helplessly. “I’ve only the outside key. Not those to the cell.”

“Garm,” Afranydyr muttered. Then: “Gofylans, bring up that axe.”

Gofylans stepped forward, hefting a sickle-bladed axe. Afranydyr pointed at the cell’s lock, and Gofylans swung his blade.

There was a clatter that Abra feared must alert the sentries, but the lock parted and the door swung free.

Lofantyl stepped out of the cell and kissed Abra. She kissed him back.

“Thank you. You saved my life.”