To Darkness Fled (38 page)

Conflicting emotions pulled Vrell in two directions. She longed for warmth, but she did not relish seeing Lord Gershom again. All the times she had been blessed with his company, he had been irritable, insulting, and nearly insane. Her mother's uncle was a wanton man who gadded about as if he were forty years younger. The jest of Er'Retian court claimed that a girl truly came of age when Old Lord Gershom first proposed his undying affection.

Vrell shivered, recalling the slurred offer of marriage he'd made her when she was but thirteen. The chill in her bones prolonged her shiver, leaving her bones aching. She prayed Arman would get them to the stronghold before she froze.

The final leg of the journey seemed the longest. Despite the icy surroundings, Vrell caught the scent of salt in the cold air. They had reached the northwestern edge of Er'Rets.

The scratchy trees fell away and distant torchlight lit up their destination. Perched on an incline at the top of a cliff, Meribah Corner slowly took shape. The torches along the curtain wall formed a diamond, the wider side facing forward. Where the two walls met in the front corner, a gatehouse stood, half buried in a heaping snow drift.

The horses kept up their slow pace, unable to move faster on the steep slope. Why did Lord Gershom's men not clear the trail so close to the gate?

The curtain wall stood three levels high. A thick layer of snow edged the top and icicles draped over the sides like icing spilling over the edge of a cake. The torches on the sentry wall cast faint light over their party. The men's beards were covered in frost.

Sir Gavin reined his horse before the doors. "Lo! 'Tis Sir Gavin Lukos come to seek an audience with Lord Gershom." His deep voice echoed in the deathly quiet. The following silence sent a chill over Vrell's arms. After a long moment, Sir Gavin called again. "Hello! Is anyone there?"

Achan's voice filled Vrell's mind.
Hello. Hello. Hello. Is anyone there? There? There?

Vrell smiled. Always a boy first. It would be interesting to see this boy become king of Er'Rets.

"Surely they wouldn't leave their gatehouse unguarded," Sir Caleb said.

"It appears they have," Sir Gavin sniffed and released a breath that hid his face in a white cloud, "unless something has happened here."

"But the torches are being lit. And Poroo are not coming this far north."

Sir Gavin called out again, and again received no answer. "Have you a boarding hook, Caleb?"

"Aye." Sir Caleb dismounted and drew his pack off the side of his horse.

"What are you going to do?" Achan asked.

"I'm going over." Sir Caleb drew out a wad of leather and unrolled a coil of rope with a three-hooked rod attached to one end. He turned his gaze to the wall and pulled the rope through his hands, unwinding it from the tangle. "I suppose it would be best to go up here."

Sir Gavin dismounted and untethered their horses. He took the reins of Sir Caleb's horse and his horse and walked them downhill, away from the gatehouse. "Achan, bring your animal back a bit, will you?"

Achan nudged his mount back beside Sir Gavin's.

Sir Caleb dropped the hook and line at his feet and stretched his arms up over his head. "I'm nearly too old for this, you know, Gavin."

"Not as old as the rest of us."

"I'll go," Achan said, grinning. "I'll try, anyway. I've never used a...rope hook."

"A boarding hook," Sir Caleb said, "used to board ships from a smaller craft. And thank you, Your Highness, but a prince is never the first man to enter any stronghold."

Achan folded his arms. Vrell could guess the stubborn thoughts raging through his mind. She tried to send a sarcastic comment, but his shields were fortified more than ever.

Sir Caleb picked up his hook and line and backed up five paces, facing the doors. He gripped the hook by the shaft, raised it above his head, and backed up a few more paces in the knee-high snow. Then, in one motion, he lowered his arm and tossed the hook up toward the wall. The metal clanked against the frosty ledge and fell back, bringing shards of broken icicles with it. The hook thumped deep into the snowdrift along the curtain wall.

Vrell jumped, thankful the hook had not fallen on Sir Caleb's head.

"Sorry." Sir Caleb pulled the rope until the hook flipped out of the hole in the snow and slid toward him. "It's been a while."

He lobbed the hook skyward again. It landed in the snow on top of the wall, but when Sir Caleb tugged, the hook hadn't snagged and plopped back to the snow. He growled.

"Three is being a lucky number, Caleb," Inko said. "Try again."

Vrell pursed her lips at Inko's ridiculous superstitions.

Sir Caleb tossed the hook quickly. This time it sailed over the top. He jerked the rope, which cut a deep slice in the snow on the curtain wall and answered with a muffled clank.

"See," Inko said. "Three is being a good number."

Vrell rolled her eyes.

Sir Caleb waded through the snowdrift. The closer he got to the wall, the deeper the snow. When the snow reached his waist, he jumped and, hand over hand, pulled himself up. Once his feet cleared the snowdrift, he set them against the wall and walked up, his boots slipping every so often on the icy stone.

Vrell held her breath, praying he would not fall. He had almost reached the top when a soldier peeked over the crenellation. Men's muffled voices rose, steel struck stone, and Sir Caleb fell, straight down, as if jumping feet first into a lake. His arms flailed a moment before his entire body vanished into the deep snowdrift.

Vrell clapped a hand over her mouth. A soldier with a bow appeared beside the first and shot an arrow where Sir Caleb had fallen. The first threw Sir Caleb's hook down.

Sir Gavin lifted his shield over his head. "Retreat to the tree line! Take the horses!" He ran to the snowdrift and dug with his free hand.

Vrell urged her horse downhill as fast as she dared. She reached the forest first. Achan and Inko rode in behind her, each leading an extra mount. Achan dismounted.

Inko caught him by the hood of his fur cape. "Be holding here, Your Highness." Inko drew his bow and pulled an arrow from the quiver hanging from his saddlebag. He did not let loose his arrow, however, but waited.

The guards looked down on Sir Gavin.

Vrell prayed.
Arman, please let him be well, please, oh, please.

Inko kept his bow ready. "We're coming in peace," he shouted. "We are Kingsguard knights who are seeking an audience with Lord Gershom."

"Lord Gershom isn't interested in your business," the guard yelled back.

Vrell's mouth gaped. Of all the rude and cruel things to say to visitors...

"He'll be seeing us if you'll only be asking," Inko called.

"Lord Gershom don't like Barthians," the guard yelled. "Neither do I."

"I'm being but one servant of the crown of Er'Rets and being the only Barthian in our party. We're coming to be seeking shelter in the name of the king."

"There is no king!"

Sir Gavin had managed to dig out Sir Caleb and helped the knight to his feet. He held the shield above their heads like a sunshade. Vrell continued to pray, asking that they would make it to the trees unscathed.

"If you'll be relaying our message to your lordship, I'm assuring you he'll be changing his mind. We're having with us Prince Oren's signet ring."

The guard answered with his bow. The first arrow stuck the edge of Sir Gavin's shield. The second brought a cry from Sir Caleb.

"Oh!" Vrell dismounted. She dug her satchel out of her saddlebag so she would be ready to assist Sir Caleb.

Inko let his arrow fly. It struck the bowman's shoulder and the man collapsed out of sight.

"Nice shot," Achan said.

Sir Gavin arrived with Sir Caleb. "Help me, Achan."

Achan and Sir Gavin lowered Sir Caleb into the snow behind a wide tree trunk. Vrell knelt beside him. "Where are you hurt, Sir Caleb?"

Sir Caleb groaned. "I'm fine, just sore."

"And the arrow?"

"Nicked my shin. I'll live."

Vrell examined Sir Caleb's wound. A small tear on his pant leg revealed the scrape beneath. It could wait.

"What of these gatemen?" Sir Caleb asked. "Why attack after a declaration of peace?"

"Maybe they thought you were lying since you tried to scale the wall," Achan said.

"But why not answer in the first place? Why hide?"

"We cannot continue without aid." Sir Gavin tugged on his beard. "We had enough supplies to make it to Tsaftown, but this detour will leave us lacking."

"We can hunt and melt snow," Sir Caleb said. "We can make it."

"That's wide of the point. Lord Gershom should be an ally. Refusing us is to side against us." Sir Gavin picked up his shield. "Stay here. I'll make one more attempt at diplomacy."

Inko and Achan helped Sir Caleb stand.

Sir Gavin walked toward the gatehouse, holding the shield out to protect himself. "Lo! I'm Sir Gavin Lukos, Kingsguard commander to the Crown Prince. We stand outside your gates in peace with a message from the prince for your lord. Will you grant us entry?"

Sir Gavin's voice echoed in the silence. Then a series of arrows bit into the snow around him. At least three plunked into his shield.

Sir Gavin backpedaled, mumbling to himself. He reached the safety of the trees, slid onto his backside, and pulled the arrows from his shield one by one.

"What will we do now, Sir Gavin?" Achan asked. "Shall we go on to Tsaftown?"

"No, Achan. I'm going to seek out a mind inside. One I can get a message to who might report to Lord Gershom. I don't doubt the old man told his guards to turn away all visitors, but I also know that man, if in his right mind, would answer to a call from the prince." Sir Gavin closed his eyes.

Achan turned his concerned expression to Vrell. His voice barged into her mind.
Some welcome for the prince, huh? Not nearly as nice as Berland, but at least you don't have to fly.

Must you always jest when the situation is dire?

Jesting is better than worrying. At least I don't give myself a stomachache and a sour expression on a daily basis.

Sir Gavin's eyes opened. He handed the arrows to Inko. "We'll wait here a moment longer."

"You were successful?" Achan asked.

"Aye. I found someone I know."

Vrell swelled with joy. "Really? Who?"

Sir Gavin shot Sir Caleb a knowing look. "An old friend."

A man's voice called out, "Sir Gavin?"

Sir Gavin stood but remained behind the shield. "Aye?"

"Stand by for the gates to open," the man said. "I'll meet you below."

That was all? "What assurances do they give that they will not attack us once we enter? Why should we trust them now?"

"It was a misunderstanding, Vrell. Do not fear."

Easy for Sir Gavin to say. If he would share who he spoke with, it might ease Vrell's apprehension.

Blessed Achan asked that very question. "Who was that?"

Sir Gavin slid his shield strap over his arm and grabbed his horse's reins. "Carmack is a young man from Tsaftown. I should like to know why he's here."

The name Carmack was familiar, though Vrell could not recall why.

Wood cracked as if a branch had been ripped from a tree. The right gatehouse door drew in, leaving a drift of snow between them and the bailey. Vrell took up her horse's reins and followed the men. By the time they reached the gate, three soldiers were shoveling the snow where it had caved in on the doorway. Sir Caleb went to retrieve his boarding hook.

Once the path was clear, Sir Gavin led the way, followed by Sir Caleb, Achan, and Inko. Vrell entered last. Snow covered the ground inside the bailey. Deep trenches crisscrossed one another like a spider's web, leading from dozens of wooden dwellings on the left of the keep to the larger outbuildings on the right.

The keep stood in the center, a dark shadow dotted with golden light gleaming from within through arrow loops and cracks in shutters. Windows also lit up each tiny wooden cottage. The scene reminded Vrell of a winter night in Carmine. A man's hearty voice drew Vrell's attention away from her surroundings. She'd heard that voice before.