CHAPTER
12
HEATH TOOK LONGER
MAKING THE SECURITY arrangements than he’d planned, but it was done
and he was satisfied. The Castle Guard was once again in control of
the castle and its walls. He’d had to “discuss” the matter with a
few of the members of Lord Durst’s force, but they’d withdrawn
their objections.
He hadn’t even needed
to knock heads together.
Of course, the fact
that he’d had five of the Guard standing behind him at the time had
been persuasive.
Once his task was
finished, he was free to seek out his father and talk. Lara had
probably headed to Othur’s room as soon as she’d woken from her
nap.
Heath strode through
the hallways toward his father’s chambers. There were other
worries. He knew of at least one way into the castle that wasn’t
secure—the tree outside his room. He should have it cut down, but
he hated the idea. The tree was as old as the castle itself. He’d
climbed up and down its branches for as long as he could remember.
It offered cool shade in the summers, and Anna made jellies from
its fruit. Maybe they could trim it back. Or place a double bar on
the shutters. Or simply post a guard within, although that
seemed—
The whisper of
leather on stone was his only warning.
Heath jerked to the
side, drawing his sword and dagger. His ear stung, warm blood
flowing down his neck. He ignored it as he pressed his back to the
stone wall.
There were three of
them, masked, coming out of the darkness, all with drawn daggers
and glittering eyes. They were fast, moving to surround
him.
“Assassins!” Heath
called out as he lunged to the left, feinting with his dagger, and
stabbing down with his sword at the attacker’s foot. His sword cut
through the leather and into the flesh beneath.
The attacker hissed
as his leg wobbled beneath him.
Heath pulled his
blade clear, and brought it up to slash at the center man,
following up with a dagger-thrust to his belly.
But the man blocked
both with his weapons, and the third attacker darted in to strike
at Heath’s exposed side. His blade scored against Heath’s chain
with a ringing sound.
Heath swore, pressing
back against the wall. “Guards! Guards!” he cried out, raising the
alarm.
Blood oozed from the
one’s boot, but he hadn’t done any real damage. Still, their anger
at his tactics was palpable as they closed in.
A war cry sounded
from down the corridor.
Heath caught sight of
Atira running toward them, her sword and shield out and her eyes
ablaze. The center one turned to face her as the other two
continued to attack him. Heath concentrated on his own defense,
exchanging a flurry of blows with the other two.
Atira rammed her
opponent with her shield, knocking him off balance. At the same
time, she slashed at the buttocks of the fool that had ignored her.
Her sword sliced through his leather trous; Heath saw crimson in
the tip of her blade.
“Bragnects,” she hissed as she brought her shield
into position before her, her sword held low, ready to stab into
her foe’s groin. “I’ll cut your—”
Shouts came down the
hall as castle guards came running.
The men broke and
fled, disappearing into the darkness in the opposite
direction.
Atira stepped to
Heath’s side, scanning for other threats. “Are you
hurt?”
“No,” Heath growled,
keeping his own weapons high.
His men came pounding
up, weapons and torches in hand. “There were three of them,” Heath
started.
“There is a blood
trail,” Atira said. “We could—”
“No,” Heath said.
“You men, follow that trail. Search the castle. But have a care. No
man goes it alone. It could be a trap.”
The guards nodded
grimly, and headed off down the corridor, torches
high.
Atira’s face was
flushed with excitement, her eyes bright with bloodlust as she came
to stand at his side.
Gods, she was
beautiful, and his body responded to her nearness. He
wanted—
“You let them
surprise you.” Atira glowered at him, but then her look turned to
concern. “You’re bleeding.”
“I was distracted,”
Heath replied, ignoring the warmth trickling down his neck. “I
didn’t think the lords would try for me.”
“I’m not sure they—”
Atira paused. “We need to report to the Warlord.”
“My father first.”
Heath started down the hall. He expected an argument, but Atira
followed without a word, focused on watching their
backs.
ATIRA WOULD HAVE RUN,
BUT HEATH KEPT THE pace at a fast walk. No sense attracting other
predators.
Atira scanned the
shadows around them but sensed no threat. The sight of Prest and
Rafe at the door to Othur’s chambers told her that Heath wasn’t the
only one turning to his father for answers.
Prest stiffened as
they approached, his gaze on the blood on Heath’s
neck.
“Skies above,” Rafe
said softly. “What happened to you?”
“Ambush,” Atira
said.
Heath sheathed his
weapons. “Who’s within?”
“The Warprize and the
Warlord, the healer Eln, Lady Anna, and the babe. And your father,”
Rafe said as he raised his hand to rap on the door.
“Wait,” Heath said.
“Let me clean this up before Lara sees—”
Atira reached over
his shoulder and rapped the door. “Learn the cost of being
distracted.”
Heath sighed as they
heard the bolt slide back and the door begin to open. “There’s
going to be two of the Guard here shortly,” he said. “And others
will come, with reports.”
“Wise,” Prest
observed.
Heath slipped inside.
Atira paused in the doorway. “Prest, you might tell them that Heath
was attacked. He might forget to mention it.”
“City-dwellers.”
Prest flashed his grin at her. “So forgetful.”
“We’ll see to it,”
Rafe assured her.
Atira gave them a nod
of thanks, and went through the door, sheathing her weapons as she
entered the room.
HEATH SLIPPED PAST
THE DOOR, GREETING ELN with a nod. The cut was on his other
side—with any luck the healer wouldn’t see it.
Othur was seated in a
chair by the fire, a blanket over his legs, ready to play the
invalid if necessary.
Lara and Anna were
standing near him, still in each other’s arms. Meara was crawling
on the floor, tugging on Anna’s skirts. Heath was relieved to see
that Lara had changed into a traditional Xyian gown with a high
waist. Yet she’d added a touch of the Plains; she’d slung a belt
over her shoulder, with her sheathed dagger at her
side.
Anna had her broad
hand spread out on Lara’s belly. “A boy, that’s
certain.”
“Only to you,” Lara
laughed. “The theas can’t seem to make up their
minds.”
Keir was standing by
the fireplace, his eyes hooded, his arms crossed over his chest. He
looked oddly vulnerable, almost pensive, as he watched
Lara.
“Healthy is all that
matters,” Eln said. Heath wasn’t sure, but it seemed he was
responding to the look on Keir’s face.
But then Keir’s head
turned, and his nostrils flared. “Is that blood?”
Heath sighed and
started to explain. A voice from behind cut him off. “He was
ambushed,” Atira said as she slipped into the room. “He allowed
himself to be surprised.”
Lara and Anna both
exclaimed, but Eln was at Heath’s side first. He placed his cool
fingers on Heath’s chin and gently turned his head. “A nick, that’s
all. More mess than anything else.” Eln took Heath’s arm then, and
turned him to the table where his healing supplies were laid out.
“I’ll see to it.”
“Who?” Lara
demanded.
“Someone I’d angered,
maybe.” Heath settled on a stool and flinched as Eln used something
cold and wet. “Or who wasn’t pleased with my recent appointment.”
He glared at Lara. “You might have warned me.”
Lara gave him an
impish smile. “Had I thought of it beforehand, I would have. But
standing there, before all of them, it seemed necessary. Just in
case.”
Meara had pulled
herself up with the aid of Anna’s skirts and was babbling. Anna
bent over and lifted her into her arms.
“It was smart,” Othur
said. “Heath knows the workings of this castle better than any. And
it probably confused those idiots for a while. Long enough to let
us put our heads together.”
“Lara’s had but a
short nap,” Anna protested. “She needs her sleep, she does, for the
ordeal before her.”
Keir
flinched.
Heath frowned, but
the look was gone from Keir’s face in an instant.
But Lara must have
seen it. She reached out and grasped Keir’s hand in her own.
“Nonsense, Anna. I am well and healthy, and Eln will be in
attendance. Beside, rest assured that Lord Durst is not
napping.”
“And there is much we
need to know,” Keir said. “Heath, what of the castle?”
Heath took a deep
breath. “I’ve reestablished the Castle Guard within the castle as
well as on the walls.” Pain flared at his ear, and he jerked his
head away from Eln. “That hurt!”
“Don’t be such a
baby,” Eln said. “Pressure will stop the bleeding.”
Heath sighed before
continuing. “It went fairly smoothly, although I had to drive the
point home with a few of Lord Durst’s men that their presence was
not necessary—that they were welcome to provide their lord with
their services, but that I had charge over the Guard. I’ve men
searching for my attackers. Someone took offense, that’s
all.”
“I am not so sure,”
Atira said.
ATIRA SAW THE
SURPRISE ON HEATH’S FACE. HE couldn’t turn to face her, since Eln
had a grip on his ear, but he rolled his eyes in her direction.
“What?”
“They may have been
of the Plains,” Atira explained.
Keir stirred.
“Explain, warrior.”
Atira faced him.
“Warlord, I have spoken with Elois of the Horse, as you ordered. I
would ask for your token.”
Lara stiffened, but
Othur just nodded.
Keir raised an
eyebrow. “You feel the need?”
Atira spread her
hands. “Better to ask than to offend.”
“Stop squirming,” Eln
said to Heath. “You don’t need to see to hear.”
Atira took pity on
the man and moved to where he could see her without moving more
than his eyes.
Keir reached into
Lara’s satchel and took out a small jar. He threw it to Atira, who
caught it easily. “You hold my token, Atira. What truths would you
voice?”
Atira pulled in a
breath before speaking. “Warlord,” she said in the language of the
Plains. “When you—”
Keir’s frown
deepened. “Speak Xyian.”
“There may be truth
in my words that you do not wish them to hear,” Atira said
simply.
“No secrets,” Lara
said. “They need to know.”
Atira bowed her head,
then started again. “Warlord, when you departed Xy, you left behind
a force of warriors under the command of Simus of the Hawk. That
force was pledged to remain and hold Xy in your name for the winter
season.
“After your
departure, word came of the troubles you encountered with the
Council of Elders. Simus left for the Plains, along with myself and
Heath, in order to stand at your side during that
time.”
“It was well that he
did,” Lara commented. “We needed him more than we
knew.”
“Simus left Wilsa of
the Lark in charge of the remaining warriors. Elois of the Horse
was to be her second. All was well, until the messenger from the
Council of Elders appeared with word that you had been . . .” Atira
hesitated, glancing at Othur. “That your status had
changed.”
“What?” Othur asked
Keir sharply. “What is this?”
“The message was not
shared with the Xyians, apparently,” Keir said dryly.
“Wilsa thought it
best not to share this truth with the Xyians,” Atira
said.
“What does that mean,
exactly?” Othur said with a growl. The invalid was gone, and the
statesman had emerged.
“Othur,” Lara
started, but Keir interrupted.
“The Council of the
Elders stripped me of my position as Warlord, as punishment for the
deaths under my command.” Keir’s voice was calm, but Atira saw a
muscle twitch in his jaw.
“Deaths from
illness,” Lara said hotly. “The Council was wrong to—”
“Right or wrong, it
was done.” Keir put his hand on her shoulder. He looked over at
Atira. “Wilsa shared this truth with all of the warriors,
eh?”
“Yes,” Atira said.
“And this truth was not well received.”
Meara started to
fuss, so Anna put her back down on the floor. She cooed with
delight and started to crawl around Lara’s skirts.
“That explains it,”
Othur said, rubbing his jaw. “After Simus left, after that
messenger arrived, I noticed . . .” His voice trailed off. “Wilsa
was fine, but the others . . . there was a coolness. As if they
were offended. I thought they were having trouble adapting to our
ways.”
“That was part of it,
Lord Othur,” Atira said. “They were upset, but they had pledged to
Keir that they would stay the winter, and stay they did. They spent
the winter dealing with city-folk and uncertain as to their
status.”
“Their status?” Eln
asked. He patted Heath on the shoulder. “The bleeding’s
stopped.”
“The status of a
Plains warrior is a reflection of those they serve,” Keir
explained. “My loss is their loss.”
“Not all are
dissatisfied,” Atira offered. “Some support Keir in all things and
mistrust the decision of the Council. Others wait to hear your
truths for themselves to decide. Others were deeply unsettled at
the news of the deaths and wish to be released from their pledge.”
Atira drew a breath. “The Xyian child’s appeal over a forced
bonding was the final blow for many. They could not stand by and
see that done.”
“I do not fault them
in that,” Keir said. “But to wear masks? Attack in ambush? That is
not our way.”
“New ways can be
learned, Warlord. I do not say it is certain; I only raise the
possibility. That is my truth.” Atira returned the jar to
Keir.
“And I thank you for
your truth,” Keir said.
“What does this mean,
your loss of status?” Othur asked. “If you are not a warlord, will
that allow another warlord with an army the freedom to attack
Xy?”
“That will have to
wait until morning,” Eln said. “This visit to an invalid has gone
too long as is. And Lara needs her rest.”
“True enough,” Othur
said. “Although Lara’s visit has restored my life to
me.”
“Let’s not be that
obvious,” Eln said.
Meara had found
Keir’s black boots and was pulling herself up by his trous. Keir
looked down and smiled, swinging her up into his arms. The little
girl chortled and reached over his shoulder for the hilt of his
sword.
“Not yet, little
one,” Keir said. “Wooden ones first, and only at first teeth.” He
tickled her tummy.
Meara chortled,
grabbing his fingers.
“Her tattoos have
worn off.” Lara smiled.
“The idea,” Anna
snorted. “Marking a baby.” She stood. “Eln has the right of it.
It’s long past time Meara was in bed, and you need
to—”
“No,” Lara said. She
tugged Anna back down to the bench. “There’s one matter that needs
dealing with now.” She put her hands on her belly. “Here, with
those that are my family.”
She shifted on the
bench. “Keir, come here next to me.”
Keir handed Meara to
Othur and knelt on the floor by Lara’s side.
Othur clucked at the
little girl and rubbed her tummy. She settled into his arms, cooing
and patting his face with her hand.
Lara took Keir’s
hand. “We need to face your fears, my brave Warlord. We need to
make plans if I should die in childbirth.”