Zandru's Forge (73 page)

She walked with him through the camp. The first rays of sunrise cast a gentle glow over the ancient city and glittered on the battle standards. Men led horses into position to the jingling of harness rings. They stood at attention as he passed.

Suddenly, a clamor erupted from beyond the gates, dogs yammering, birds screeching, and alarm bells ringing wildly.

“Look!” Alderic hurried up. “Look there, by the gate!”

Carolin strained to make out three figures racing away from one of the side entrances to the city. He recognized Romilly, her hair tied back under a dark scarf, her face smeared with soot, holding the hand of a fair-haired boy in a white nightshirt ... and on her heels, Orain. Rough bandages covered one side of his head and one hand, and he limped badly.

With an inarticulate sob, Carolin ran forward and caught Orain in his arms. Orain reeked of blood and filth, but he was alive. He hugged Carolin back with fervor.

Carolin heard Romilly crying, “We’re safe—we’re safe! Oh, Caryl, we could never have done it without you!” He turned his head to see Lyondri’s little son, his own namesake. The boy’s tear-streaked face glimmered in the faint dawnlight. Carolin, in a single motion, enclosed Caryl and Romilly along with Orain in his embrace.

“Listen,” Orain said, pulling away. His body shook with uncontrollable tremors. A second, even more frantic alarm burst from the city. “They know I am gone—”

“Our army is here to guard you,” Carolin said. “They shall not touch you again, my brother. Now, I think, they will have no choice but to surrender, as they will have few supporters left in the city and nothing left to bargain with.”

Orain flinched as Carolin, embracing him once more, brushed against his bandaged ear. In short order, Carolin took Orain back to his tent, where Jandria took charge of him.

Romilly again refused any reward, saying that she hoped Orain knew that even though she was a girl, she had no less courage. Something of her proud independence softened and she allowed Orain to rock her like a child, both of them weeping.

Orain reached out his free hand to Alderic. “I heard you had offered to exchange yourself for me. I know not what I have done to deserve it, for I have never been a good father to you.”

Alderic was silent for a moment. “You gave me life, sir, and you left me free to follow my own path. I owe you for that, at least.”

“You are all here and safe,” Carolin said. “That is enough.” To Lyondri’s little son, he said, “Whatever your father has done, you are safe with me. I will raise you as one of my own sons, and I will not kill Lyondri if I can help it. He may leave me no choice, for I dare not trust him; but if I can, I will offer him a life in exile.”

The boy replied, his voice shaking, “I know you will do what is honorable, Uncle.”

Romilly got to her feet and took Caryl’s hand. “My lord, may I take your little kinsman to the tent of the Swordswomen and find him some decent breeches?”

“Please, Uncle,” the boy said, “for I cannot show myself to the army in a nightgown.”

Carolin laughed, and it seemed a great weight had lifted from his heart. “Do as you wish, my hawkmistress. You have been faithful to me, and to those I love.”

He caught Maura’s smile. “I pledged to you that we would celebrate our Midsummer Festival at Hali, and indeed we shall. But first, I must take back my city.”

Carolin rode with his army to the main gate. Maura and his other leronyn came with him, and Jandria at the head of her Swordswomen, but not Romilly or Orain. They remained in the safety of the camp, having suffered too much already.

It would not be difficult to breach the walls or batter down the wooden gates. Rakhal’s fortifications had been hasty, more for show than determined defense. Carolin preferred not to ruin the city he would rule, or shed the blood of his people if it could be helped. His herald cried out that the lawful king had returned, and bid the inhabitants cease resistance and welcome him. Again, Carolin promised that he would not harm any man who did not offer violence against him.

For a time, there was no response. The gates remained shut and silent. The first sign of surrender was the sudden falling away of the
laran
spells. Then came the sounds of fighting behind the gates.

“Rakhal’s
leronyn
have deserted him,” Maura said, “and his remaining men are at odds with one another.” Her eyes had a slightly glassy look of inward concentration, and Carolin knew she had been searching outward with the Sight. “Look now to the side gate, the one Romilly came through. Those who wish surrender and reconciliation will try to open it.”

Even as she spoke, the smaller gate swung open. Carolin’s vanguard pressed through. At first, they encountered resistance, but the defenders were also fighting against their own divided forces. Soon, Carolin’s men were able to win free and open the main gate, allowing his army to enter.

As Carolin’s forces penetrated deeper into the city, ordinary people emerged from their houses. They stood on balconies and ventured into the streets. From their balconies, a few ladies waved brightly colored scarves.

“It’s Carolin!” some cried, cheering. “King Carolin!”

Others responded. “Our rightful king! The king has returned!”

The most determined opposition came from small groups of men veering Lyondri’s badge. They fought desperately, without hope of mercy, for they had given none. With the defeat of their master, they would surely be called to account for their brutalities. Ordinary men joined Carolin’s soldiers and newly-loyal City Guards in the attack. One by one, faced with overwhelming force in a city just awakening to its liberation, Lyondri’s men succumbed or threw down their weapons.

Maura pointed to a massive gray hulk of a house, more fortress than dwelling. “Yonder is Lyondri’s stronghold, where he kept Orain captive.”

“Will he surrender? Will he fight?” Carolin asked her.

She shook her head, swaying in her saddle. “The Sight shows many things, but not the hearts of men.”

“And Rakhal?”

“In the palace. I think he is fled to the upper chambers—the room where we used to play at seeking—on rainy days—”

“Enough,” he said gently. “You have given me what I need. No man could ask more. Return now to the safety of the camp.”

Maura asked to remain instead with the other
leronyn,
though she agreed not to use the Sight further unless there was dire need. She argued that she was safer in the midst of Carolin’s army than anywhere else.

“Let me come with you,” Jandria said to Carolin. “For the sake of little Caryl, who aided Orain’s escape, and for the love we once shared, I would not see Lyondri die needlessly.”

The last of Lyondri’s men waited just inside the barricaded doors. As Carolin’s force broke through, the fiercest fighting erupted. Some wore soldiers’ gear, but not all, and Carolin wondered if Orain’s torturer were among them. These men were not cowards; they fought with grim determination. Jandria and her Swordswomen engaged them at close quarters, pressing them back.

They took the central hall and entrances to the corridors and stairways leading upward. With each passing minute, fewer defenders remained. Their blood spattered the threshold of a chamber which reeked of pain and despair. This must have been where Orain had been held, where—Carolin wrenched his attention back to the moment, to the clash of steel, the weight of the sword in his hand, the shouting of the men around him. The last of Lyondri’s men, four of them still on their feet and a fifth down with a spurting gash on one thigh, took up positions before the door of an inner room.

“Hold!” Carolin shouted. “You cannot win. Surrender now and I will spare your lives.”

“Never!” one of the men cried. He held his stance, sword raised, eyes lit with desperation. “We’ll go down in glory!”

“It is over.” The door swung open and Lyondri stood there, his shoulder sagging as if under an unendurable weight. He stepped forward and the light etched deep lines into his face. His eyes, gray under pale lashes, widened as he saw Jandria in her red vest, standing behind Carolin.

“It is over,” he repeated, as if to convince himself. Then he raised his voice. “Surrender to King Carolin, even as I do. It is my final order to you.” Though he spoke quietly, the men lowered their weapons.

Lyondri came forward and made as if to kneel before Carolin. Carolin bid him remain standing, but ordered his men to search Lyondri and bind his hands.

“You will not leave me even a little dagger, with which to take my own life?” Lyondri said with a bitter smile. “It must be, then, that you reserve that pleasure for yourself.”

“You do not know King Carolin, or you would not say such a thing.” Jandria said.

“Have you, too, come to gloat over me in defeat?” Lyondri snarled.

“No,” she replied with a touch of sadness, “only to see if there was anything left of the friend I once loved.”

“You speak as you think, expecting the same treatment you have meted out to so many others,” Carolin said. “For Orain’s sake, I should flay you alive and pour salt into each bleeding strip. But then I would become like you, Lyondri, and your evil would have triumphed. For my own sake, and that of your innocent son, I offer you your life, to do with what you will, so long as you never step foot across my borders again.”

Lyondri hesitated. “Caryl is with you, then? I thought as much when he was not in his bed. I have no choice but to agree to your terms. You hold my only son as hostage against me.”

“I will keep Caryl with me, yes,” Carolin said, “but not as a prisoner, nor will I punish him for your crimes. Your own conscience, if you still have one, must do that.”

Disgusted, Carolin turned his back on one cousin he had once loved, and went to deal with the other.

Carolin left a small force surrounding Lyondri’s headquarters and pressed on to the castle. Some of the guards moved to block his progress through the outer courtyard, but when they saw how little chance they had, and heard his offer of clemency, most lost heart and surrendered to him, so there was little real fighting in the castle itself.

Just as Maura had Seen, Rakhal had barricaded himself in one of the upper towers. Carolin climbed the last range of steps at the head of a dozen of his best men. Every stone evoked memories of who he once was, living here in innocence and trust. Yet every breath now also carried the tang of freshly-shed blood. The muscles of his shoulders ached from the weight of his sword. His lips shaped the names of those who were gone forever, men he had loved, men who had died in his service, even the stallion Sunstar, all because of the greed and ambition of the man in the room above.

The latch moved freely under his hand. When they had played here as children, it had never been locked.

Watery daylight filled the little circular chamber, so that a gray film seemed to lie upon each stone, each curve of wood, and cushion. The windows had been opened fully. Rakhal stood beside one of them, his features backlit in silhouette, holding his fur-trimmed robes close against his body.

For a moment, Carolin thought he was looking into the past, seeing a ghost. Gone was the bloated, wine-soaked figure, the lecherous sneer, the habitually narrowed gaze. When Rakhal moved and the light shifted, he seemed not youthful but shriveled, as if consumed from within.

Two of Rakhal’s men remained, placed defensively in front of their lord, swords drawn. Carolin sensed a third, lying in ambush behind the opened door.

“So it has come to this,” Rakhal said. “The fool presents himself to claim his throne.” He swung his arms wide, sending the full sleeves of his robe flapping like the wings of a misshapen bird. “You are doomed! The day of fire is coming, and you cannot hold it back!”