Paladin's Prize (Age of Heroes, Book 1) (10 page)

Laying hold of all the faith she possessed, she took a cautious step into the one-room cottage, ready as she’d ever be to face the infant’s shattered mother.

The hollow-eyed woman, her bandaged wrists tied to her bedposts for her own safety, took one look at her and turned her face away in despair. “Get out. You’re not welcome here.”

“Oh, Britheva—”

“Get out, I said! Your god has abandoned me! I curse him! He’s a liar, and he doesn’t care…”

Wrynne went over to her anyway, made sure there was nothing on hand that she could use to harm herself, and untied her. “I am so sorry,” she whispered.

Britheva crumbled. Wrynne embraced her and wept with her, begging her not to hurt herself.

“But why?” the woman wailed. “Why did Ilios do this to me? To punish me? To teach me something? What kind of a lesson could there possibly be in—”

“Ilios didn’t do this! No, Bri. Listen to me. You must never think that! It was evil that did this to your child. Don’t let it destroy you, too.”

“It already has.”

“You’ve got to fight.”

“How? Who? With what? I have nothing.”

“Defy the darkness with Light. Conquer evil with love. That is the only way.” She gripped her hands, both women in tears. “All is not lost. Sunny is with Him now, safe in His care. And you still have five more children and a husband who need you. Love them with all your heart, even if it’s broken. That is how you win,” she whispered, trembling. “That is how you hold up your daughter’s precious little light. You don’t give up—ever.”

“I miss her so much.”

Wrynne held her as she worked the
Comfort the Sorrowing
spell to grant the woman some relief in the still-raw shock of her unspeakable loss.

She left Britheva sleeping peacefully when she stepped outside, but she herself was in tears once again and feeling wholly inadequate.

Thaydor was waiting outside the cottage for her, and looked taken aback when he saw her face. A few more people asked for healings for small cuts and bruises, but he waved them off.

“Lady Wrynne has had enough for one day. She’s done all she can do. She’ll be back in a few days, perhaps. Good luck to you all now. We must be going.”

* * *

Thaydor knew it was time to get her out of there, now. To him, Wrynne looked lost, drained, and utterly wrung out. These people would use her up until there was nothing left of her, and he could not allow that to happen. He had come to collect her anyway, but had not realized she had saved the most painful task for last.

Though her tears had stopped, she was pale and quiet as he lifted her up onto Avalanche’s withers and then swung up into the saddle behind her. He secured her with his arm around her waist as she settled into place, seated sideways across his lap.

The people waved goodbye as he hurried his horse out of the village at a fast walk, heading north on a green path between two fields.

They rode in silence that was only broken when Wrynne had to tell him to turn right at this path, and left at that huge old oak tree, and then cross through those woods. Other than that, they were too drained to talk. Their physical contact was enough. Indeed, if he had been wearing his armor, he would never have been so attuned to her softness.

But on that sunny afternoon, riding through the dappled woods, there was no safe casing of steel to separate their bodies. He could feel every line of her and she of him.

After a time, she laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, seeming to take as much comfort from their close embrace as he did. To be sure, the warm, supple yielding of her body was something more potent than poetry for drowning out his anguish.

He savored it, seeing no need to discuss the practicalities he’d seen to in her absence. He had convinced some of the men from Buckby to go burn the Urm bodies. It needed to be done, plus, he had a feeling it would make them feel better—some small measure of revenge to put the filthy creatures in the ground.

They would be keeping an eye out for his other horse, too. Actually, he had a sneaking suspicion that somebody had already tried to claim Polly as the no-longer-needed property of the deceased. Now that they knew Thaydor was looking for the horse, he was confident that whoever had taken the bay mare would bring her back.

He had also asked if anyone had heard anything about how the Urms had got through the gates. The villagers had no information on that point, but they did say that Reynulf had been there with half a dozen soldiers asking if anyone had seen him. They had told the Bloodletter about his arrival three nights ago and his mighty battle against the invaders, but given that no one had seen Thaydor since, they had nothing more to tell.

They had agreed not to mention his visit to Buckby if Reynulf came back. The men had nodded with knowing looks in their eyes. Since Thaydor had shown up at the village with Wrynne, they had accepted him, but he had seen for himself that she was right. It was not their way to open up to outsiders.

That should work in his favor, anyway.

As they passed through a small, picturesque stretch of woods, Wrynne finally seemed to be perking up.

“What a day,” she said, letting out a sigh. “I’ll definitely be weeding my garden tonight.”

He looked at her curiously. “Haven’t you already done enough work?”

“That’s not work. Tending my garden is how I stay sane.”

“Ah, I see.”

She looked up at him. “You can help if you want. It really works.”

“I have my own preferred method, but thank you,” he said. “I’ll tell you if you promise not to laugh.”

“I would never laugh at you.”

“Very well.” Smiling, he reached into his gambeson and handed her his book of poetry. “Here. It’s easier than weeding, anyway.”

She looked at it, then at him, as if she thought it was adorable. He shrugged and felt a little foolish.

She smiled, studying him. “You know, you were wonderful back there.”

“So were you,” he countered, pausing to guide Avalanche across a small brook. Then he glanced at her again. “You would have gone and faced all that by yourself days ago if you hadn’t been looking after me. Am I right?”

She nodded. “But I’m glad you were there. It made the whole thing a lot easier. And everybody loved you.”

I only care what you think about me.
The stray thought surprised even him.

When he glanced at her again, he found her watching him and got distracted when he noticed that her eyes matched the soft gray of the forest shadows around them.

“You’re very beautiful, Wrynne,” he blurted out. “That is— I mean— You are a credit to your order.”

He frowned, and she smiled at his awkward botch of a compliment and gave him another look that said,
Adorable
.

He glanced away self-consciously and mumbled, “I read the poems, I don’t write them.”

She laughed softly and tucked the book back into his vest for him, her hand grazing his chest.

“What happened at that last house?” he asked at length. “I could tell it really hurt you. If it helps, you can talk to me about it.”

“Oh, Thaydor.” She shook her head sorrowfully. “The Urms killed that woman’s baby. A beautiful, healthy girl, only three months old. I delivered her myself. And they bashed her little life out against a wall like she was nothing.”

A fiery gust of rage poured through him to hear of this new low of Urmugoth barbarity, but he tamped it down. He had already killed them. What more could he do? Besides, it would only upset her if he let his fury loose. “I see.”

“That poor woman. You don’t recover from something like that,” she remarked. “Not really. What do you say to a grieving mother?”

He glanced at her in misery. “You tell me. I must write a letter to Eadric’s mother tonight.”

With a soft sound of sympathy, she curled her fingers in the back of his hair where her hand was draped around his neck. He shook his head, met her gaze, and then nuzzled her face tenderly with his own, for there were no words.

He held her a little tighter as they rode on, but hatred coursed through his veins, not just for the Urmugoth rot, who were too stupid half the time to know what they were doing, but for the Silver Sage, who might just be the true source of all this.

Let him come here and look into the faces we saw today
, he thought bitterly.
Then he can teach his followers that evil is just an illusion.

Fortunately, the North Gate and its towers were in sight when they emerged from the woods. He urged Avalanche into a smooth canter and crossed the grassy field approaching the walls. He hailed the current sentries from below, calling up to them. He told them who they were and received permission to come up and talk to the guards on duty.

Given his fame, the soldiers were all too happy to meet him and very willing to tell him what they knew. Indeed, they seemed relieved to have a seasoned, authoritative warrior to talk to about the distressing events in the province of late.

First, however, Thaydor decided that his fair companion had heard enough talk of murder and mayhem for one day and asked her to wait a short distance away. She seemed glad to escape the guards’ bloody descriptions of how they had found their companions on the night the Urmugoths had first got in.

Her hair and cloak blowing around her, Wrynne wandered off down the windy rampart to wait for him. As she leaned on the crenellated battlements, gazing out at the view, Thaydor did his best to ignore the curve of her backside, which was thrust out a bit in her idle pose.

He strove to focus on his questions for the men. They were locals and not terribly well trained in fighting. Their skill level was usually sufficient, for the miles of high walls that had been built around the borders of Veraidel decades ago kept the barbarians out most of the time.

Thaydor gathered the sentries around and questioned them together. As he had suspected, not a man on duty had been left alive on the night of the breach to tell how it all had happened.

The men explained how the fourth watch had arrived for duty at three a.m. as usual, only to find the horrifying sight of the gates wide open and their companions of the third watch dead, their throats cut. Two had even been tossed out over the wall.

A few seemed to have had time to put up a fight, but they had clearly lost.

“Were there any teeth marks on the bodies?” he asked.

“Only on the two poor bastards who were thrown over the wall,” the sergeant said. “They gnawed ’em good.”

“But not the men up here?”

“Right.”

“Hmm,” said Thaydor. “And you say they had their throats cut?”

“Yes, sir.”

Not the Urms’ preferred method of dispatching their victims. If the typical Urm could get close enough to cut a man’s throat, they’d just as soon twist his neck. The deft use of a knife required more dexterity than the ogre descendants possessed.

The guards answered everything Thaydor could think to ask, and even offered their best guess on how it had played out. They theorized that the twenty Urms must have somehow got their big, gray hands on some grappling hooks and ropes strong enough to support their heavy weight. A few must have climbed the walls in an unguarded spot and then come up here to open the gates for their friends.

“I think it would be wise to see if you lads can find the spot where this might have happened,” he suggested. “I’d start by going along the walls and checking the parapets for any fresh gashes or scratches that could have been made by grappling hooks. If this is how they got in, it would be good to confirm it. Did you find any footprints of Urm size inside the gatehouse?”

“No, only out on the road,” the sergeant said.

“Sir, you don’t think more will try it, do you?” one asked.

Thaydor glanced around at them, realizing in surprise that the men looked nearly as shaken as the children had at the prospect of it happening again.

He smiled and gave them the same reassuring promise—that he’d write immediately to the warrior monks of the nearest monastery of Ilios to come out and reinforce them.

They thanked him profusely, then admitted that a quarter of their garrison had stopped reporting for duty. The cowards had fled rather than risk meeting a similar fate.

Apparently, the usually dull job of sentry did not pay well enough for that.

He asked to see the rest of the gatehouse, and they showed him around, but he found no useful clues.

Upon returning to Wrynne on the ramparts, he joined her in gazing out at the bleak beauty of the wastelands. Little grew out on those boggy moors but sphagnum moss, heather, and sedge. An occasional craggy-limbed, blighted-looking tree stood here and there, but in the pink light of the setting sun, the lonely landscape held a certain wistful allure—at least when it was empty.

No Urmugoths were in sight, but it would be dark soon.

“What did you find out?” Wrynne murmured.

He shrugged, at a loss. “Not a whole lot.”

She turned to him, her gray eyes troubled. “Thaydor? If I’m right about the king, what will you do?”

He shook his head wearily. “I don’t know yet. I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

She took his hand. “Come. At least you’ll be safe at my place tonight.”

He glanced hungrily at her, pondering the night ahead.
But will you be safe with me?

Chapter 5

Glow

A
valanche carried them up the mountain path to Wrynne’s bower, with two hours of daylight left before dusk.

When they arrived, she could already hear the fairies bickering in the rafters, and wondered aloud what to make for supper as Thaydor reined in.

“It will be nice to have a guest for once.”

“Don’t go to any trouble on my account,” he said as he dismounted.

“Nonsense, we’ve got to eat! You must be starved. It’s a late meal as it is.”

“Can I help?” he offered as he helped her down and set her on her feet. “I could make the fire for you.”