“Remember their faces,” the woman said, her voice distant. “For if you disobey me, you will come to know them better.”
Graymon’s breath came in short in-and-out gasps, dampening the blanket in front of his mouth and making his head feel light. The wind tugged a second longer then died away, but he didn’t emerge from his cocoon for minutes after. When he pulled the cover off his face, the woman was gone and the wagon’s canvas back in place. Tears rolled down his cheeks; he sniffed and gasped, not caring if the beasts outside heard him over the clatter of the wagon.
She didn’t say I couldn’t cry.
After a while, his tears waned. He wiped his nose on the itchy blanket, smearing snot across his cheek. His eyelids drooped, his head sagged, but he fought against the sleep his body craved, afraid of what he might see in his dreams, perhaps more afraid of what he’d see when he woke. He hoped sleep would bring the white tyger that visited him in his dreams once before, but more likely it would be the ugly-beautiful woman or her dead men. He didn’t want to see any more of them. Never again.
As the numbness of sleep overtook Graymon’s limbs, he realized he couldn’t stay in the wagon and be taken to a far away palace. The woman had lied to him: neither he nor his father were safe from her or her monsters. If they both did exactly as she said, she’d kill them. Of this, Graymon felt certain. Escape was his best hope.
His head nodded, chin bouncing against his chest. He snorted and opened his eyes once more, but they didn’t stay open long.
After I have some sleep.
Chapter Twenty
Therrador strode across the courtyard, the others trailing close behind. He scratched at the bandage wound around his right hand, trying to relieve the itch of the healing flesh beneath.
“It’s been more than a week, Hanh,” he said over his shoulder. “We should have heard from someone by now.”
“Whispers sometimes take more time than horsemen, my Liege.”
“I never trusted whispers,” Sir Alton added.
“This isn’t a matter of trust,” Therrador said. “It’s a matter of saving our kingdom. If the whispers are not effective, then I’ll do it myself.”
They approached the white stone building with the arched windows-the fortress’ main stables. A thousand stalls lined the walls of the long, narrow building, each of them filled with horses prancing restlessly, waiting for when they’d be called upon to carry their knights into battle. Therrador shook his head as they neared the doorway.
They’d already have done what they were bred for if not for me.
“What will you do, Your Highness?” Perdaro asked.
“I’ll go to Achtindel. Not all of the king’s army resides in the fortress. After that-”
“But what about the Archon?” Hu Dondon interrupted.
“Tell her I had urgent business at the capital.”
Emon Turesti nodded. “A kingdom has many issues requiring the king’s attention, especially during times of war,” he said, his long fingers fiddling with the clasp of his ankle-length green cape. “I’m sure I could find a convincing task to take you to the capital. At the very least, disbursement of the crops must be handled.”
“She’ll see through such an excuse,” Perdaro insisted. “Remember the plan: do as you’re told.”
Therrador stopped short of the stable entrance and faced the others.
“I may have made a horrible mistake, Hanh,” Therrador said, his mouth pulled down in a frown, “but I am the king. The kingdom is at risk and my son is being taken to Kanos, if he still lives. I won’t sit back and wait for your whispers to take hold, all the while shivering in fear of a woman. If I’m discovered, I’ll live or die with the consequences. If I’m not, then maybe Erechania will have a chance.”
Sir Alton and Emon Turesti nodded while Perdaro and Hu Dondon remained pensive. Therrador entered the stables with its smell of manure and hay, a familiar odor that brought calmness to him like it did any career soldier. Dozens of stable hands moved about, feeding and grooming horses and swamping out stalls. Therrador went to the closest stall reserved for the king’s steed and called to the nearest stable hand, a boy of about twelve years.
“Ready my horse, boy. I leave as soon as possible.”
“Yes, my king.”
The stable hand bowed and dropped his shovel, nearly tripping over his feet as he rushed to do the king’s bidding. Therrador stood back while the youth swung the gate open and went to work saddling the big bay.
“I should go with you,” Sir Alton said. “The king doesn’t travel alone. It would raise suspicion. You should-”
“He’s right, your Highness,” Dondon agreed. “The king does not travel without a guard.”
“Just so. But not you, Sir Alton. It’s your job to command the fortress in my absence.”
“I’ll collect a guard for you, my Liege,” Emon Turesti said.
“We should tell the Archon you’re going,” Perdaro said. “Perhaps there would be fewer repercussions if we gain her agreement.”
“No. The excuses can be made after I’m gone.” Therrador turned to Turesti. “Gather ten men. We leave within the hour.”
Three of the men turned to leave, but Hanh Perdaro hesitated, looking like he wanted to say more on the subject. Therrador shook his head, letting the Voice of the People know the conversation was finished before he parted his lips again. Perdaro bowed his head in deference and Therrador watched him leave while he waited for the stable hand to finish saddling his horse.
What will she do when she finds I’ve left?
His hand throbbed, reminding him of her ruthlessness. He ignored it and stroked his horse’s muzzle as the stable hand threw the saddle over its wide back.
***
How I’ve missed that sound.
Reins jingled and leather creaked as the group of men made their way down the avenue toward the main gate. Two men rode ahead of Therrador, two on each side, and the other four close behind. People watched from windows and doorways, clearing the street as they passed, but no one genuflected before the king. Instead, they stared, many of them glowering with displeasure at him for what had come to pass. Therrador shifted uneasily in his saddle.
Can’t blame them.
Horseshoes clopped on flagstones, echoing off the walls of the close-set buildings; none of the men spoke. Therrador knew many of them were happy to be headed for the capital, but they kept their comments to themselves. An air of suppression had hung over the huge fortress since the Kanosee entered as unwelcome guests in the eyes of the soldiers manning the stronghold and the civilians there providing services. He also knew about the grumblings among the men. Soldiers would always keep their opinions from their commanding officers, but happily shared them around the dinner table or over a game of cards, and none of them understood why he’d allowed the enemy into the fortress. If Turesti hadn’t chosen Sir Matte Eliden to lead the escort, Therrador might have been worried for his safety, but Sir Matte was trustworthy to a fault.
They rounded a curve in the avenue and the lead riders slowed. Therrador stood in his stirrups to see over the men. At the end of the street, where the buildings stopped and the flagstones ended at the fortress gate, a group of mounted soldiers milled about. Even from this distance, he easily picked out the woman with long blond hair in their midst. The lead rider looked back at Therrador questioningly.
“Keep going,” Therrador said and the soldier urged his horse on. Sir Matte guided his steed to Therrador’s side.
“Are you sure, my Liege?” the old knight asked. “We can go back.”
“It would do no good. Better to deal with her now than later.”