The Hollow Crown: A Novel of Crosspointe (30 page)

“Keros put them all asleep,” she reported. “They could wake at any moment. We must hurry.”

Within five minutes they’d saddled Nicholas’s two geldings. He found riding tack for the carriage horses and in another five minutes had two of them saddled—one for Cora and one for Geoffrey, who was sitting on an overturned bucket. He was as still as a puppet.

Cora eyed her mount with wide-eyed fear. “I’ve never ridden even a mule,” she said.

“Just hold on to the saddle. I’ll lead him,” Nicholas said. The rattle of the wind and rain on the roof tiles made it impossible to hear any sounds of pursuit. Certainly the bodies in the foyer must have been discovered and an alarm given. “We can’t wait. Let’s go.”

He hoisted a stiff Cora into the saddle and tossed Carston up on his own bay gelding while Ellyn mounted the gray. He ordered Geoffrey to mount, then tied his hands to the saddle horn and gave the lead rein to Ellyn.

Nicholas led them down to the far end of the barn and slid open the door a fraction. A crushed gravel drive circled away through a stand of trees, no doubt leading back to the main drive, allowing the carriage to drive in a circle without having to turn around.

He squinted through the rain. He thought he heard shouts and the clang of a bell. Off to the left was another expanse of lawn and beyond, open fields. That path would take them closer to the barracks than he liked, but with the alarm ringing at the house, hopefully the soldiers were converging there.

He started to push the door wider and Ellyn held up a hand. “Wait.”

She put her hand around her
illidre
, her eyes closing as her face set in furious concentration. Her gelding tossed his head and sidled in a circle as she stiffened. Nicholas put a hand on the bridle, holding him still. Grains trickled past. Nicholas wasn’t ready for what came next. A boom sounded and the walls of the barn shuddered. Tiles rattled down from the roof. The horses neighed. Cora’s horse backed away and gave a half-rear, then settled spraddle-legged. Geoffrey’s horse spun wildly and pranced away as Ellyn dropped the lead rein. The two geldings crow-hopped and slewed about, jouncing against each other.

Ellyn dropped her hands to the reins and patted her mount’s shoulder. She was shaking and her jaw was clenched tight. Cora clenched her saddle with white-knuckled fingers, her mouth open in a silent gasp of fear. Nicholas soothed the horses, proud of Carston, who sat the anxious gelding with loose ease. Nicholas retrieved Geoffrey’s horse and handed the lead rein to Ellyn again.

He shoved the door wide enough to let them out one at a time, then swung up in the saddle behind his son. He led the way, turning across the lawn toward the fields, leading Cora right behind. The night glowed orange and red.

Nicholas twisted around to look. The house was engulfed in flames and the rain did nothing to diminish the violent surge of the fire. Nicholas nodded satisfaction. That should put paid to any pursuit. Everyone would be too busy trying to get people out and save the house to worry about anything else. He turned back to the night, kneeing his gelding into a trot. Keros should have seen the fire too. He’d know they were coming.

They rode for a glass without speaking or slowing. Once he was certain they were not being pursued, Nicholas pulled up. “Tell me what you discovered,” he told Ellyn.

She glanced once at Cora. “We encountered a Jutras spell. Keros is certain that the regent has been working with the Jutras and that they have taken Margaret.”

“How many?”

She shrugged. “One is too many. Keros told me to get you and Carston free and send you back to Sylmont. He said to tell you that you should warn Prelate Ryland about what the regent has been up to and that you should work with him if you want Crosspointe to survive. I am to join him as soon as I can to help Margaret.”

Nicholas looked away, his jaw tightening as he considered. Keros was right. Except he didn’t know that there had been a majicar battle in the city and riots. It was possible Ryland hadn’t survived or that he had fled. He grimaced with acid humor. He knew better. The prince would not abandon Sylmont. He might be dead, but he hadn’t run away.

Nicolas had promised Margaret he’d come for her, no matter what. He didn’t care that she didn’t believe him. He kept his promises. He wasn’t a Rampling—Crosspointe didn’t run in his blood taking priority above all else. He glanced down at Carston, who had fallen asleep. Did he take his son and risk putting him into Jutras hands? But Sylmont was no safer.

“The trail leads toward Sylmont,” Ellyn said as if sensing his indecision. “At least for now.”

He glanced sharply at her. “Then for now we follow it.”

The groups set off again. Their progress was faster than had they gone on foot, but slower because of the two carriage horses on lead reins. Glass after glass passed and still they did not overtake Keros. Day broke and with it the rain. The trail led around the western edge of Lake Ferradon and then turned northeast up into the Cat’s Paw Mountains, following a charcoal-wagon track. The trail gave out at the kiln camp, where smoke billowed from the tall clay chimneys and the sounds of axes echoed in the forest. Mules brayed, men shouted, and dogs barked.

They found the tracks of Keros’s mare running wide of the camp and followed them higher into the mountains. He seemed no more inclined to stop than they were. Carston woke and asked for food and something to drink. They’d filled flasks at a mountain spring, but Nicholas had nothing to feed the boy.

From inside her coat, Ellyn produced an apple. “Here.”

Nicholas took it and gave it to Carston. “Thank you.”

“We’ll need to find something else soon. Need to rest the horses too.”

“How far away is Keros?”

“Farther than when we started. We are going slower than he is.”

He eyed her, wondering just how far he could trust her. She was an agent of Azaire. That much he knew. Which meant she had no loyalty to him, Crosspointe, Keros, or Margaret. She seemed intent on helping Margaret—she wanted something from the Ramplings and aiding Margaret might mean a reward for her cause. But was any of that enough of a reason to risk herself against the Jutras?

She caught his doubting glance and tipped her head slightly. “I despise the Jutras,” she said. “It would not serve Azaire to lose Crosspointe to the Empire.”

That much was true. He nodded. He didn’t have any choice but to accept her word. She’d helped him rescue Carston. That said something in her favor. Still, he didn’t intend to turn his back on her.

They found a meadow a little more than a glass later. Nicholas called a halt, removing the bits from the horses’ mouths so they could graze. Cora huddled with Carston beneath a traveler pine, both exhausted and sore. They tossed Geoffrey beneath another tree and Nicholas and Ellyn held the horses while they fed. They rested for a glass and then began again. Carston whimpered quietly as he straddled the saddle again, then bit back his pain and exhaustion. Nicholas bent and kissed his head.

“You’re a brave, strong boy, Carston. We’ll rest as soon as we can.”

He pushed harder, trying to gain more speed, but Cora turned white, bouncing from side to side as her horse jogged along, and soon he slowed the pace back to a swinging walk.

They crested a ridge at dusk to discover a narrow valley, at the end of which Nicholas could see the flicker of lights. He smelled woodsmoke and heard the bleat of goats.

“Let’s see if we can get some food here,” he said, his voice thick with exhaustion.

They zigzagged down the steep-sided valley and followed it up to where a cottage nestled above a frothing creek. A pen held a couple dozen goats; and from inside the small barn, Nicholas could hear the low of cattle.

They drew up outside the house and were instantly surrounded by barking dogs. The door of the cottage opened and a wedge of light fell out.

“What’s your business here?” a deep voice asked. The owner of the place carried a crossbow leveled at Nicholas’s heart, even as his glance took in the horses.

“We’re in need of food and a place to sleep,” Nicholas said. “We can pay you.”

“Who are you?”

He stepped forward so that the light illuminated his face. “My name is Nicholas Weverton.”

The man stared, his broad face ruddy and round. He glanced again at the horses. Nicholas Weverton was well-known to be one of the few men who could afford horses. He was also well known for traveling in high style and with a retinue of guards.

“You’re a fair distance from home,” he said finally, his crossbow still leveled on Nicholas’s chest.

“Aye. Will you give us food and a place to sleep? We’ll need fodder for the horses as well. No harm will come to you or your family.”

Another hesitation and then the crossbow dipped. “Name is Durmon—Peers Durmon. You’re welcome to bed down in the barn and put the horses in with the goats.”

Nicholas lifted Carston down and settled the boy on tottery feet. “Thank you.”

Durmon frowned at Carston, then turned. “Aggie. Bring some bread and cheese. Gotta a young’un out here.”

A slender woman pushed out from behind Durmon. She had a strong face with a definite nose and a stubborn chin. Her brown hair was braided in a crown around her head and she held a child against her shoulder. She looked at the visitors and then her gaze settled on Carston. She turned and handed the child on her shoulder to Durmon and came and swept Carston up in her arms.

“Poor little thing. You must be cold and hungry. Come on in and sit by the fire. Do you want some milk? That’s a good boy . . .” She swept back into the house.

Durmon smiled at Nicholas. “That’s Aggie. No child is a stranger.”

“I thank you.” He held out his hand to the goat farmer, who set the crossbow down and shook it, still cradling his little girl against his shoulder. She peered out at Nicholas, her thumb tucked firmly in her mouth as she nestled against Durmon’s chest.

“Come this way,” he said and soon they had rubbed the horses down, fed them a mash of grain and warm water, and then put them in the corral with the goats.

Durmon kept an eye on them, his gaze falling frequently on Geoffrey, who sat stiffly against the wall, still wearing the guise of Sophia Dedlok. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked at last, his expression drawing down with sharp suspicion.

“She is ill,” Ellyn answered. “She is the boy’s nursemaid and they were kidnapped. They gave her a drug or majicked her—we are not certain. But we are taking her to Sylmont to get help.”

It was her turn to suffer Durmon’s scrutiny. “And who are you?” he asked at last.

“I find things,” she said. “This time I found the boy.”

“And her?” he jerked his chin at Cora. The red rawness of from her collar was visible around her neck.

“She helped us,” Nicholas said. “So we are helping her. Is that a problem?”

“I don’t have much truck with slavery,” the goat farmer said, scowling at Cora.

“Neither do we.”

Durmon nodded slowly. “Come inside then. Aggie will have some supper for you.”

The cottage was larger than Nicholas expected. Carston was sitting in a small chair before the fire. He had a slice of bread covered in toasted cheese in one hand and a cup of milk in the other. His cheeks were stuffed full as he chewed. There was a loft above with beds covered in brightly colored quilts; a lean-to for making cheese on the back, fully as large at the house; and a small kitchen and a roughly hewn table large enough to seat ten people. Pegs on the wall held several crossbows, long bows, and snares as well as quivers of arrows and crossbow bolts. As he sat at the table, Nicholas’s gaze snagged on the sword hanging above the door. It was standard Crown Shield issue. The scabbard was plain leather and the hilt was wrapped in a black and red cord. Durmon caught him looking.

“Was a Crown Shield, once upon a time. Left three seasons ago to marry Aggie and take over the goat farm when my da died. Honorably discharged,” he added pointedly as he lifted his daughter and settled with her on his lap. He held her gently. “Don’t care much for what’s happened to the Ramplings lately,” he said with a long look at Nicholas.

“Now, Peers, no politics at the table,” Aggie admonished as she bustled about, setting cups and a pitcher of milk on the table. She returned with a wheel of cheese, knives, several warm, crusty loaves of bread, butter, and berry preserves. “It isn’t much, but it’s filling,” she said.

“It’s a bounty, thank you,” Nicholas said and they fell to eating. Peers continued to watch Nicholas with a heavy eye.

They each ate until they could eat no more. Carston sagged asleep in his chair and Aggie made a bed for him in front of the fire. Soon Cora joined him. Aggie covered her with a quilt, casting an angry glance at Nicholas as she, too, noticed the red ring around Cora’s neck. Aggie set about clearing the table with quick violence, her disapproval evident in every motion.

Peers caught one of her hands and pulled it to his cheek. “He says he took the collar off her.”

She leaned her hip into her husband and glared at Nicholas. “Is that so?”

He nodded.

“Good, then. That slavery business is wrong and the Ramplings deserve better. The regent—” She broke off, shaking her head meaningfully. “That one is going to tear the heart out of Crosspointe if he hasn’t already. Making slaves of the Ramplings when they’ve given this country their blood, sweat, and tears—their very lives! And to be repaid this way. It’s depraved, that’s what it is; and Chayos willing, he’ll get his comeuppance. It can’t ever be as bad as what he’s done to the Ramplings.”

Nicholas looked at Geoffrey, who had begun eating, mechanically, once Ellyn had ordered him to do so. “I think he’ll pay for what he’s done.”

Aggie brought a pot of tea and poured it out. Soon Ellyn yawned and pulled the regent to his feet. “We’ll go get situated in the barn.” A short time later, Aggie followed suit, taking her sleeping daughter from Peers and carrying her up to the loft.