Passion Play (47 page)

That decided her. “I’ll go,” she said. Her voice came out thick and uncertain. She swallowed hard and tried again. “I’ll go after Lord Dedrick. If nothing else, I can delay him until Lord Kosenmark’s guards fetch him to safety.”

She ran to the practice courtyard. Ault took in her urgent manner with a single intent glance. “Trouble?” he asked. “I heard you sent out the guards.”

“More than trouble,” she said, pulling out a knife at random.

Ault laid a hand over her wrist. “Not that one. Not for what you’re doing.”

She stared at him. “You know?”

“No. And I don’t want to know. But I can guess any number of reasons why you sent out the guards. And why Lord Dedrick was shouting. And why both Ferenz and Gerrit were cursing him roundly. Here, let me help you.”

Under his swift attendance, Ilse soon found herself wearing wrist guards and a mail vest. He strapped one knife sheath around her arm. A second sheath slid into her boots. The knives were longer than she used for practice, and their blades were steel, not wood. Ault nodded when she had done. “Remember your drills,” he said softly.

Ilse took off at a fast run. After all her errands this past winter and spring, she knew the fastest route to Hansenau Square. She hoped she didn’t have to run that far. Just far enough to overtake Lord Dedrick. Just fast enough that she could delay him long enough for the guards to reach Lord Kosenmark first.

Six routes to any room in the pleasure house. With the city, you multiplied that number by a thousand. Her one hope was that only two main streets opened into Hansenau Square. One came from the city’s southeast quadrant. One avenue led directly from the bridge that connected the north and south halves. There might be dozens of alleys, but most ended in courtyards or the back walls of another building.

She sped through the market square, where vendors were closing their stalls. Past the Little University, called that because so many failed scholars lived in the neighborhood. Down a shadowy alleyway and its smelly taverns and wine shops. Someone hailed her, but Ilse did not stop. She slowed only when she came into view of the city patrols at the next square. They might question why she was running, why she had so many weapons about her person.

She ducked down to the footpath beside the river and ran as fast as she could. A stitch burned in her side before she reached the bridge. There ahead, she saw Lord Dedrick, just crossing over. She pounded after him, ignoring the stitch in her side.

He saw her then and took off at a run. Cursing, Ilse chased after him. They led a game through the next mile, he dodging and hiding, she trying to circle around him. But Lord Dedrick was not nearly as winded as she, and he kept ahead of her. The light was failing by this time. If she didn’t overtake him soon, she might lose him in the twilight.

They had come into the counting house district, a few neighborhoods away from Hansenau Square. Tall faceless buildings lined both sides of the empty streets. Ilse slowed, wary and nervous in the silence. Where had Dedrick disappeared?

Then she heard a noise that sent a chill through her.

Metal crashing against metal. A loud voice—the guard captain’s—calling out orders.

The next moment, Dedrick came stumbling around the corner. He sighted Ilse and dragged her back until they were pressed into a narrow alcove beside one doorway. “How many guards did Raul take with him?”

“A squad,” she said.

His face went ashen. “Not enough.”

“Why? Did you see how many Khandarr sent?”

“Twenty. Thirty. It was hard to count.”

“What about the two squads we sent?” That would make twenty guards.

But Dedrick was shaking his head. “I only saw one, and they were on foot.”

Dear gods. It would be a slaughter. “Come with me,” she said. “We have to find the watch.”

“There’s no time,” Dedrick said. “I have a better idea.”

He darted across the street to the next building, where an open stairway climbed its walls to the roof. Ilse hesitated, then climbed after him, wondering what he meant to do. When she reached the roof, she saw that he had sprinted ahead to the building’s edge. There, a walkway led over the streets to the next building.

Dedrick crossed over, with Ilse a few steps behind him. She gave one glance to the skirmish directly below—a seething noisy mass of people that seemed more of a mob than two sets of fighters—then ran to catch up with Dedrick. “That was the main group,” he said in a low voice. “There have to be more. Khandarr wouldn’t leave things to chance.”

It was then she realized that none of the fighters were mounted. “I sent two squads, one mounted. What happened to them?”

“Don’t know. But I have an idea. Quick. Come with me.”

They crossed six more streets. Ahead lay an open area—Hansenau Square. Dedrick swung over the edge and started down a ladder.

“Where are you going now?” she whispered.

“We passed another group. I’m going to lead them away. You go ahead and warn Raul.”

“But you don’t know—”

Ignoring her, Dedrick scrambled down the ladder and landed with a soft thud on the packed dirt of the alley. Twilight made it difficult to see, but Ilse could just make out a dozen figures moving along the street. Dedrick straightened up, as though he had just spotted them. A pause, then he darted down the nearest alley. The shadows swarmed after him.

He might do it,
Ilse thought. He was nearly as tall as Lord Kosenmark, nearly the same build. If only he could run fast enough.

She waited until the lane was empty, then crawled down the ladder, hugging the rails as close as she could. The ladder ended a few feet from the street. Ilse dropped down lightly. The moment she did, someone came up behind her and efficiently captured her. “Who are you?” said a man’s voice.

It was Herrick, one of the senior guards. “I’m Mistress Ilse,” she said. “I’ve come to warn Lord Kosenmark.”

Herrick muttered a curse. “I thought so. Come with me.”

He took her at a run down the lane and into Hansenau Square. At once, several other guards appeared. Herrick gave a password, and one guard pointed to an arched doorway across the square, where a tall figure was pacing back and forth. Even from this distance, Ilse could recognize Raul Kosenmark.

Raul came forward to meet them. “What is it? Why are you here?”

“My lord, we expect trouble,” Herrick said.

“More trouble, you mean,” Raul said. “But I take your point. Come with me, Mistress Ilse. Out of the middle of things.”

They left the middle of the square and squeezed into a recessed entryway, while Herrick and another guard took positions outside. “Now tell me, quickly, what has happened,” Raul said.

Ilse told him about Lord Dedrick and the murdered courier. “Khandarr, or whoever it is, sent at least three groups, maybe more. I sent two squads, just as you said, but one has disappeared. I don’t know where. The second squad engaged with one group a few streets away. Lord Dedrick led another group away.”

Raul swore under his breath. “You could not stop him?”

“I tried, but I—”

“My lord,” said Herrick. “We have more visitors.”

Raul drew his knife from his belt sheath. “Then we make ready. Ilse, stay behind me, please.”

A half dozen guards appeared from various points around the square. Six, Ilse thought with rising panic. That was not even half a squad. She jerked her gaze to Raul. “Why only six?”

Raul grimaced. “I did not wish to attract too much attention. Yes, I was wrong.”

He drew a second knife from his boot. Herrick and a guard named Klaus took positions to either side of Raul. They made an effective wall, but Ilse knew that one man down meant the wall would be breached. She took the knife from her boot and hefted it once. The hilt settled into her palm, but did not settle her nerves. She bit her lip and tried to remember her drills.

Fluid shadows swarmed from all three entries into the square. Within moments, the fight was joined, everyone moving too swiftly for Ilse to keep track of. Two of Raul’s guards went down within moments, but managed to take out three of their opponents before they fell. Herrick faced three at once. Raul and Klaus fought shoulder to shoulder against five heavily armed men, dressed in rough patched clothing. They looked like brigands; they moved like warriors.

Herrick went down, bleeding and jerking. One man he’d faced was on his knees, bleeding. Another was dead, but the third one went for Raul’s undefended side. Ilse threw herself at the man, slashing wildly with her knife.

The man spun around, parried her next stroke, and aimed at her face. Without thinking, Ilse flung up her arm. The leather guard split. Fire burned the length of her arm. Dodging another blow, she realized she was no longer by Raul’s side. She had no time to worry about that. The man lunged at her. She spun away and nearly skidded on something slippery. Blood. Her blood.

There was no time for her to be sick. The man was circling her, grinning. Her heart was banging against her ribs. Ilse forced down her terror. She gripped her knife, angling it upward as Maester Ault had taught her, and edged around to keep facing him.
If I must die, I will die with a fight.

The man feinted left. But Ilse saw his weight shift in the other direction. When he hefted the knife to his other hand and brought it down, she sidestepped the blow and ducked under his arm. Her hand closed around his wrist, just long enough to deflect the blow and steady herself. She kicked out hard. He grunted and twisted around, but by then she had moved behind his attack. Using all the force she could muster, Ilse thrust her knife under his arm. The man dropped with a gurgling cry.

Ilse stared, sick and shocked.
I did it. I stabbed him. I killed him.

She had no time to think more. A heavy arm flung itself around her throat. Ilse tried to twist free, but her attacker’s grip was too strong. She threw herself backwards. The man staggered. Ilse choked down a breath, kicked and hammered at the man’s shins. The man went down, with Ilse on top, and they rolled over and over, kicking and punching. One hard blow stunned Ilse. She fell back against the paving stones, cracking her head. Before she could recover, the man gripped her throat with both hands. Fighting for breath, she scrabbled at the hands with her nails, but her vision was already going dark.

Abruptly the hands fell away. A heavy thud sounded next to her. A dreadful gurgling sound. Then someone lifted her head from the hard stones. “Ilse? Ilse, can you breathe?”

She tried to talk. Sharp pain lanced through her throat. She retched and then choked on her vomit. Raul turned her onto her side and held her while she heaved blood and bile onto the stones. Gently he laid her head on his lap and ran fingers over her throat. Through the roaring in her head, she heard his fluting voice murmuring in Old Erythandran. A kiss of air upon her face. The sharp scent of green. She drew a long breath, less painful than before. Swallowing still hurt.

“Who? What?”

“Hush. Do not speak. You are badly hurt.”

She heard a ripping sound. He was doing something with her arm now. It occurred to her that she heard nothing else. No fighting. No other voices. “Herrick?”

“Dead. So are Klaus and all the others. So nearly were you. Come. We must try to walk away from here.”

Raul helped her to stand. Vaguely, she realized that he was injured, too, but how much she could not tell, nor could she think clearly enough to worry about it. He urged her to walk, holding her upright though he was grunting in pain. What followed was an agonizing stumbling journey through dark streets and back alleys. The water salt scent receded. Ilse was aware of climbing uphill a distance, then back down toward a dimly lit row of shops and taverns. Raul guided her along a cramped and muddy lane, to a low door sunk into the stone wall.

He knocked once and fell against the doorframe, still holding on to Ilse with his one arm. “Call me Stefan,” he whispered in her ear. “And I shall call you Anike.”

She didn’t have time to wonder why. The door flung open and a stocky man in a dirty apron demanded what they wanted. In a gruff voice, Raul demanded a room.

“You look a mess,” the man said. “I won’t have any brawlers here.”

“Don’t want to fight,” Raul grunted. “Did that. Want wine. Lots of wine. And sleep.”

“And whatever else you can get, eh?” The man leered at Ilse. “She looks too bloody to fuck.”

“Like ’em that way.”

“So I see. Well, come with me, rough boy. I wants two silver denier for the room. Two more for the wine, and that’s cheap. Sheets are extra.”

Raul shoved coins into the man’s waiting hand. “Lots of sheets. Lots of wine.”

The man peered at him curiously. “What’s wrong with your voice?”

Ilse roused herself. “Nothing’s wrong with his voice. Not to me.”

“Oh I see. You’re both strange. Well, go inside. I’ll send a girl with the wine and the sheets.”

He gave Raul a candle and warned them against setting fire to the place. Raul helped Ilse into the room and lowered her onto the bed. A mattress, really. Moldy straw. A dirty cover. She tried to take in her surroundings, but the candle cast only a little light, and her vision had gone blurry again.