The bandit drooled. Two of the women were wearing cheap jewelry that glittered in the light. They were young and pretty. What with the smell of the well-cooked food, the glitter of gold, and the women, he was entranced. He finally forced himself away. A series of hoarse whispers apprised his fellows of the plunder. They could see only three men. Taking this family would be like robbing baby birds in a low nest. They failed to see that the family all ate along the far side of their table. Or that behind them a door stood open.
Nor did they know that with ample start, Jontar’s daughter was even now pulling up at the Keep. She screamed an alarm as she hauled the horse to a plunging halt.
Hanion came running anxiously. “What is it, are the children hurt?”
“Bandits in the upper valley. Lord Trovagh and his lady brought the alarm. I’ve a message for Lord Tarnoor.”
His master arrived before Hanion could send for him.
“Trovagh? Ciara?”
“Safe, Lord. Your son said I was to tell you that bandits have invaded from the mountains. There appear to be around twelve of them. They plan to attack our garth, butcher my family.” She had no need to explain why. Tamoor knew bandits. “Your son plans an ambush using the people. He asks that you send reinforcements as soon as they can be got to him.”
“Is that all, lass?”
She came close so those arriving could not hear. “He and the lady said this, too, my lord. It’s their job to help us, you taught them that. And—they both love you.”
Tarnoor went white. He spun grabbing Hanion by the shoulder. “Call out the guard. I want half of them to ride, just in case this is some trick to lure us away from the gates. Pick the men who can best manage hard riding in moonlight. I want them ready to ride in ten minutes.” He left an orderly confusion to race for the stairs. Back in his room he shuffled into chain mail, sheathed his sword, and dived for the stairs once more. A just-woken Elanor pattered behind wailing loudly for an explanation. He commended her to Jontar’s daughter, vaunted to his saddle, and while Elanor still wailed, he was gone, his men trailing him.
Elanor stood glaring after him. He wouldn’t be taking half the guard if one of the children had merely fallen. She turned to the girl drooping near her.
“You’re Ami, aren’t you?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Elanor gathered her dignity, a touch difficult when one wore only a long ruffled nightgown with feet bare beneath. “Come with me, girl. I want to hear all about this.”
After she had heard she dispatched the girl to a meal and a bed. Then she sat for a long time in her chair. She prayed for a girl and boy out there in the dark. Doing what they did for love of their people. Then she prayed for Tarnoor, that he wouldn’t break his neck on this wild night gallop—and that he wouldn’t have apoplexy thinking about what was happening before he could arrive. Lastly she prayed for the people themselves. Then she sat silent, waiting for day to come.
Down the long straight road Tarnoor pounded. He kept the beast to a steady canter, though it went much against the grain. Still, it would do no good to push on so fast he left half his men injured from falls behind him. The moonlight lit the road to some extent. The horses knew the trail well, but potholes lurked in shadows, ruts in light and shade. If Trovagh had any sense he’d have sent someone down the road to wait for them, someone else to stand back and watch. That way if the plans went awry there’d be one waiting to say how and what. A chance for Tarnoor to act as rescuer. He only hoped the boy had been able to keep Ciara out of it. He doubted that, he thought with grim humor. But the girl had sense. If fortune favored Aiskeep, it would be the bandits only who suffered.
Behind him in the dark there was a sudden cry and a thrashing. Someone down. He ignored the sounds. If the man was dead there was nothing he could do. If he lived they’d see to him on their return. If he was so badly hurt as to require immediate aid, he’d die anyhow. He hated having to think that way but he’d been a soldier. If he must, he was capable of putting emotions aside. He snarled to himself. He’d give that pair emotion when he arrived. If they got themselves killed, he’d murder both of them. He found he was grinning savagely at the paradox. He glanced up at the sky.
Ami had said the outlaws planned to attack at dusk. It had been just after that when she arrived. With this cursed dark it would take longer to return, maybe twice as long. Three hours? He winced as he thought what could be happening to the upper valley in that time. This might even be an advance thrust against his defenses. All had been quiet recently. He’d expected that to change after winter. Had some cunning enemy decided to damage Aiskeep and allow winter to make that worse? He shivered. The Gods damn that fool Yvian and thrice-cursed Estcarp. All he’d ever wanted to do was care for his people and his Keep as his father had before him. Raise a son, see grandchildren, and be laid in the end in an honored grave.
None of which was looking all that likely right now. When he caught up with that pair, he wouldn’t know whether to kiss them or murder them. “Their job is to help their people. I taught them that indeed,” Tarnoor muttered ferociously to himself. By Cup and Flame but he’d teach them something else once he had them safe. Underneath he was conscious of a glow of pride. The blood of Aiskeep wasn’t thinning into weakling cowards at least. But if those bandits laid a finger, just one finger on either child…
He glanced up again at the sky. Halfway. Gods, keep them safe, he prayed. Just keep them safe.
6
Trovagh craned carefully over the roof edge. He could hear the hoarse whispers quite easily, as below the bandits readied for their attack. The boy smiled as he slipped backward to where the mortared stone chimney lifted above him. He dropped the waiting piece of stone into the opening, hearing it rattle downward. There, that was the warning to Jontar that the bandits were about to attack.
He could only hope that his plans could work. He and Cee had done their best,drawing on everything they’d ever heard or learned. But Trovagh could remember Hanion telling him that plans never did work out the way they were supposed to. Something always went wrong. You just had to pray it was nothing serious.
Outside, the outlaw leader had tried the door. Nothing held it against them. He turned to smirk with a gap-toothed leer to his followers. Then he thrust his weight against the wooden planking.
With a crash the door slammed open and the bandits poured in. The leader was amused to see the women rise screaming, fleeing through the door behind them. Women always did that. He’d sent a couple of his men around to the back of the building. They would take any women attempting to leave through rear exits of any kind.
He had no way of knowing that his men now reposed in peaceful unconsciousness where they had first stood in expectation. Trovagh had thought of that. Ciara led those who waited for them. Both men had been taken in silence by women who knew every inch of their ground—and wielded massive iron skillets. Ciara had seen to the binding and gagging herself. She leaned against the wall, a wide grin hidden by the darkness. If this was war it didn’t seem to be anything she couldn’t handle. She just hoped Tro would be careful. Uncle Nethyn would skin both of them if either came to harm.
Inside the house all of the garthspeople had been ready. The sound of the stone rattling down the chimney had warned them. Even as the door crashed open, the women had jumped for the entrance behind them. There they had slid through the opened window. The men—Jontar, one of his sons, and a son-in-law—had also jumped for the rear door. The table had been overturned with a quick heave before them as they spun to face the intruders. To reach them or the women they believed within their grasp, the bandits had to attack.