“The King needs your advice, Milord,” the guardsman said, and Tellian nodded curtly.
Dathgar turned without any instruction from his rider, picking his way through the armsmen between him and Markhos. The courser halted beside the King, and Tellian bowed from the saddle.
“Your Majesty?”
“I suppose we should be grateful,” Markhos said, his tone flat, “but we’ve had unpleasant surprises enough for one day. I can’t quite rid my mind of the thought that this might be another one.”
“I think there are too many of them for it to be Lord Trisu,” Tellian replied. “Which presents the question of who else it might be. It’s always remotely possible someone else realized what was happening and rode to your rescue, but it seems…unlikely, I’m afraid.”
“You think it may be whoever sent the assassins,” the King said, looking Tellian straight in the eye. “After all, whoever it might have been”-the unspoken name of the baron they both knew it had to be hovered between them-“wouldn’t want any inconvenient loose ends dangling about.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of, at any rate,” Tellian admitted.
“And I,” Sir Jerhas Macebearer put in from the King’s side. “But we might all be wrong. And even if we aren’t, how many men could…whoever is behind this have trusted with the truth?”
“That’s a good point,” Tellian said after a moment. “Dathgar”-he patted the courser’s neck-“thinks there are at least ‘several hundred’ horses out there. His ears are a lot better than mine, and I trust his judgment. But no one could have brought that many armsmen fully into his confidence about something like this without some hint of it leaking out. Or, at least, no one would take the risk that it might leak out. And whoever might command them, those are Sothoii out there, Your Majesty. They won’t take kindly to the notion of attacking the King.”
“Meaning what?” Markhos asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Meaning that someone has to go out there, find out who they are, and get a grip on the situation before there’s an…unfortunate accident.”
“And who did you have in mind?” Markhos demanded, then snorted harshly at Tellian’s expression. “That’s what I thought. And the answer, Milord, is that it isn’t going to be you.”
“But-”
“No,” the King said flatly. His nostrils flared. “First, I cannot and will not risk one of the Kingdom’s four barons at a time like this. And, second, Milord, if that should happen to be who both of us are afraid it might be, the last person we need to send out to talk to him is you.”
“But-”
“I’ll go, Your Majesty,” Hathan said quietly.
Tellian’s head snapped around. He hadn’t heard his wind brother approaching, nor had he realized Hathan had heard the conversation. He opened his mouth quickly, but Hathan shook his head.
“His Majesty’s right, Tellian. We can’t risk you, but it has to be someone whose word will carry weight not just with whoever their commander might be, but with those armsmen themselves. But neither Sir Jerhas nor any of the other of the King’s guests have armor, and even if that’s Trisu himself out there, accidents can happen. A hasty archer could put an arrow right through any of them if they were sent out as His Majesty’s envoy, and we need Sir Frahdar right where he is. I, on the other hand-”
He tapped his steel breastplate with a gauntleted fingertip, smiling thinly at his wind brother, and Tellian gritted his teeth.
“Dathgar and I are just as well armored as you are,” he pointed out bitterly.
“Yes, you are. But if that is Cassan,” Hathan smiled grimly as he finally said the name out loud, “seeing you is far more likely to push him over the edge. He wouldn’t be happy to see me, either, of course. But if you’re still in here with His Majesty, he’s going to be less tempted to try to arrange an ‘accident’ than he would if you came into reach. Especially if he hasn’t informed his men of what he’s really up to. And if he does do something hasty, Gayrhalan and I are well enough protected-and fast enough-to have a better chance of getting back here in one piece than anyone else you could send.”
Cassan watched Stoneblade reforming his armsmen and tried not to fidget.
The baron had hoped to carry straight on into the lodge, riding to the King’s rescue in the sort of confusion most likely to create a tragic accident which could be safely blamed on Tellian of Balthar after all the inconvenient witnesses were dead. But the collision with the mercenaries had disordered and slowed his armsmen, and Stoneblade was too good a field commander. He was only too well aware of what could happen in that sort of situation, and he had no intention of allowing it. He’d had his buglers sounding the recall almost before they’d hit the mercenaries, and Cassan’s teeth ground together as he watched his senior captain in action.
I should have told him what we’re really after, he thought grimly. Either that, or I should’ve left him the hell home!
Unfortunately, he hadn’t, and Horsemaster’s company had obeyed Stoneblade’s bugle calls without even thinking about it. The men were confused and anxious, and their horses were spooked by the smell of smoke and burning horseflesh. They were grateful for the promise of control and command those bugle calls offered.
Now how do I get them back into motion? Cassan wondered. There has to be a way, but I’ve got to be careful. I can’t afford -
“Milord!” Tarmahk Dirkson pointed suddenly, and Cassan looked up as a smoke-stained, soot-streaked wind rider rode slowly through the open gate. Cassan’s jaw tightened with a sudden burn of fury, but then he relaxed slightly. It wasn’t Tellian’s dark bay; it was that other bastard Hathan’s gray, and his mind worked feverishly as he watched the wind rider come to a halt twenty or thirty yards outside the gate.
“Sir Garman,” the baron said, turning to his captains. “Until we know more about the situation-especially the King’s situation-I want us prepared for any eventuality. You and Sir Kalanndros remain here and make certain you keep the men under control. I trust you to use your own judgment-and especially to see there aren’t any accidents until I get back here.”
Stoneblade looked at him for a moment, then nodded, obviously relieved by his baron’s determination to keep anything untoward from happening.
“Of course, Milord.”
“Very well, then. Tarmahk?” Cassan glanced at his personal armsman, and Dirkson nodded back, then gave his squad a stern look.
“On your toes, lads,” he said.
‹ Wonderful,› Gayrhalan growled as he and Hathan saw the crossed battleaxe and warhammer on the banner above the small, close-spaced cluster of horsemen walking their mounts towards them.
‹ It could be worse,› Hathan replied.
‹ Really? How?›
‹ Give me a day or two and I’ll think of something.›
Gayrhalan snorted, but there wasn’t time for another exchange before Cassan and half a dozen armsmen in his personal colors reached them.
“The King, Sir Hathan? Is the King all right?”
Hathan blinked at the raw fear in Cassan’s harsh, quick question. It certainly sounded sincere.
“The King is well…so far,” he replied after a moment, and watched Cassan sag in the saddle.
“Thank the gods!” The baron shook his head. “I was certain we were going to be too late. Thank the gods we got here in time after all!”
‹ Careful, Brother.› Gayrhalan said. ‹I think he’s lying-his lips are moving!›
“You did get here just in time, Milord.” Hathan kept any awareness of his companion’s comment out of his reply. “We’re grateful you did.”
“And you’re wondering how it happened.” Cassan’s expression turned grim, and he shook his head. “I don’t blame you. Tomanak knows there’s enough bad blood between me and Tellian to make anyone suspicious. I won’t pretend I’m sorry about that, or that I’m anything except his enemy, either. Or even that I wouldn’t do just about anything to get the better of him. And that spills over onto you, of course.” He met Hathan’s eyes levelly, his expression unflinching, then drew a deep breah and squared his shoulders. “But we serve the same King, however we feel about one another, and the last thing either of us needs is a return to the Time of Troubles.”