Artesans of Albia: 01 - King's Envoy (51 page)

They were inside the enemy’s lair now and needed all their wits.

The vast area was seething with men, horses, gear and weapons. Momentarily overawed by the sheer numbers around them, they came to a halt to get their bearings.

“Get out of the way, you idiots,” yelled someone behind them. “Get those horses to the stables and sort yourselves out. You part-timers are more trouble than you’re worth.”

To avoid further confrontation, they quickly found a space by the wall of the stables. Most of the men around them seemed to be from Marik’s province, judging by the lack of black-and-silver uniforms. Marik’s people wore ordinary combat leathers if they were trained fighters, or an assortment of whatever they had on hand if they were of peasant origin. Being only a count, Marik didn’t have the funds to outfit a dedicated fighting force and clearly relied on mercenaries and a few of his landholders to supply men when he needed them. This was very convenient, thought Taran, as it wouldn’t seem odd if no one knew them.

As Robin had predicted, the atmosphere in the compound was one of seething chaos and no one gave the newcomers a second glance. Their disguises were holding, so Robin accosted a passing swordsman and asked for the Quartermaster. Beckoning to Taran, he followed the directions he was given and they eventually located the man. There were many others clamoring for the Quartermaster’s attention but Robin pushed through them, rudely demanding stabling for their horses.

He asked where the training ground was and who was in charge of supplies and feeding. His overbearing manner seemed to be having the desired effect as the Quartermaster, an older, harassed-looking man with an irritable air, eyed them distastefully.

“No one’s in charge of much here, mate,” he said. “Welcome to the arse-end of warfare. No one’s going to bother with you ’til the Duke’s generals form the regulars up tomorrow. Then you’ll be divided up among the existing companies. You’re arrow-fodder and nothing more. You ought to be grateful his Grace is giving you the opportunity to prove yourselves. If I had my way, you’d all be lined up and shot. So if you didn’t bring your own supplies like you were told, you’ll have to go without.”

Taran heard Robin chuckle under his breath as they returned to the others. “It couldn’t be better, so far,” the Captain said. “No one knows anyone else, no one’s in charge, and no routine’s been set up. They’re all too busy with the regulars to worry about a worthless bunch of peasants, which is why we’ve all been penned up in here. This could work in our favor, Bull. If we go for a stroll now and then, no one will notice. We only need to make sure our horses and gear are safe and that we can get out when we need to.”

“And how are we going to do that with guards on the gates?” asked Cal. “Aren’t we trapped in here? Someone will definitely notice if we go thundering out in the night, especially if we’ve got the Major with us.”

“We’ll think of something,” stated Robin. “At least we’re in. Rykan’s not here and we’ve a few hours, by the sounds of it, before he returns. Bull, are you alright with the disguises?” The big man nodded. “Good, I think it’s best if you wait here with Cal and Rienne in case there’s trouble. Taran and I will take a look round. Rienne, keep out of sight as much as possible, pretend to be asleep or something. We’ll be as quick as we can.”

Taran followed him into the throng of men, trying to look as if he had every right to be there. Robin was a veteran of many campaigns and knew the workings of military camps. The grumbles and grudges of soldiers, he told Taran, were much the same wherever you went. By a judicious remark here, and keeping their ears open there, they learned much about the situation and what might happen tomorrow. No one, though, could tell them much about the Major, why she was so necessary to Rykan’s plans, or where she might be held. Like the patrol in the forest, though, they were happy to make bawdy comments, most of which were highly unpleasant. Robin’s face grew tighter and tighter as he held himself in and his lips were gray by the time he and Taran made their way back to the others.

Bull and Cal had made their little corner as comfortable as possible and had lit a campfire, like many others had done. It was fully dark now and the seethe in the compound had settled. Bull broke open their supplies and they made a quick supper while Robin told them what he and Taran had heard.

“What do we do now?” Bull asked when Robin had finished.

“We’ll have to do some exploring. The servants’ quarters are over there and I’m sure we could get into the palace that way and have a look around. By the smell of things, there’s a kitchen in there, too, and soldiers are always hungry. It’ll look natural for us to be sniffing around the kitchens, especially with food in short supply. Taran and I will go, the rest of you wait here. Bull, I’ll contact you if we find anything useful.”

He watched the compound a while longer, noting the movements of the servants by the kitchens. They were coming and going fairly frequently and Robin wondered whether there was a feast of some sort going on inside. “If I’m right,” he said, “it’ll mean less chance of encountering nobles strolling through the palace.”

“I wouldn’t mind betting it’s in anticipation of the Duke’s return from his challenge to the Hierarch,” said Bull. “With any luck, they will be so far in their cups and so preoccupied with back slapping, they won’t have time for anything else.”

Robin agreed. “Let’s not forget what that patrol said, though. Rykan’s got unfinished business and it’s likely he’ll pay Sullyan a visit when he returns. We have to get her out before then.”

“Better get on with it, lad. You won’t learn anything sitting here.”

Leaving Bull, Cal and Rienne huddled by the fire, Robin and Taran rose, making their way around to the servants’ quarters. As Robin had thought, there were plenty of swordsmen hanging around, hoping for scraps from the kitchen. He and Taran moved among them with familiar camaraderie, joking about being starved.

Slowly, they edged farther in, past the great, steaming ovens and roaring spit-fires with their carcasses of cows, sheep and swine turning and crackling over the heat. Pot boys in greasy aprons, cooks in striped livery, all manner of serving men thronged the place, carrying food, wine, ale, empty plates and silverware. In the general melee, it was easy for Taran and Robin to slip out into the corridor.

They turned away from the route taken by the serving men; there was nothing to be gained by heading toward the banquet. The hallways leading away were deserted and they prowled along, senses alert, ready to leap into one of the unoccupied rooms if necessary.

Listening at various doors and opening them once convinced of their vacancy, they found themselves among the nobles’ private suites. Desperate to hear something that might direct his search for the Major, Robin hunted for signs of life. The halls were only faintly lit by torches which cast long and useful shadows around door lintels and statue niches. It was cold; no heat from the kitchen fires reached this far and the individual suites had their own fireplaces to warm them. The floor was flagged, giving ample warning of approaching feet, so when they finally did hear someone coming their way, it was simple to slip into a deep doorway and become lost in the velvety shadows.

There were two people approaching, thought Taran, judging by the voices. The stone floor and plaster walls made sound echo and jump; there were no hangings to soften it. Despite this distortion, both he and Robin stiffened.

One of the voices was familiar.

From where he was concealed, Taran couldn’t yet see the two men. Nevertheless, he could tell they were walking slowly, ambling almost, and they were talking quietly about the forthcoming war. The owner of the unfamiliar voice, his tone oily but reasonable, was saying, “I understand your concern, but if your men make a good showing, you stand a better chance of reinstating yourself with the Duke. I know your people aren’t regulars but that doesn’t mean they can’t fight. All you need to do is be a good general, direct them well and be seen doing so. His Grace always rewards good service. Who knows? You might even win your manor back.”

“Do you really think so, my Lord?”

Taran and Robin exchanged a look. The familiar, weary voice belonged to Count Marik. Taran thought he sounded gloomy and dispirited.

“After my last interview with his Grace I got the distinct impression he’s hoping I’ll lose my life in this campaign. It would save him the trouble of taking it later.”

Carefully cocking his head around the lintel, Taran watched the two men around a curve of the hallway. Head lowered, Count Marik studied the floor as he walked, his dark mantle of maroon velvet dragging at his long legs. His companion, a much shorter and fatter man, was watching him narrowly. The faint torchlight flickered over the heavy gold chain circling his neck. His black robe with silver and pale-blue trim proclaimed him one of Rykan’s higher-ranking nobles.

Taran saw him smile at Marik’s morose tone, although his pale-green eyes held no warmth.

“My dear Count,” he said smoothly, “you only need make yourself useful and his Grace will be generous. He doesn’t throw away the lives of loyal subjects. He is unsure of you and your men, that’s all. Just prove yourself in the coming weeks, aid him in his bid for the Hierarchy, and your future will be guaranteed. No one who serves him well goes unrewarded, I assure you.”

“Well, you’ve done alright for yourself, Sonten,” said Marik.

Taran and Robin drew back as the men came abreast of their hiding place but neither glanced toward the doorway’s shadowy depths. They continued on and Robin indicated that Taran move to the other side of the door to remain out of sight in case either man turned around.

Marik’s steps were faltering. “Do you know,” came his depressed tone, “I really don’t feel like feasting tonight. You go on, Sonten. I think I’ll go check on my men and maybe change some of my strategies. I want to be sure they’re well-prepared for tomorrow.”

Sonten’s chuckle sounded nasty. “You do that, Count. Make sure your men are first in the battle lines. Impress my Lord the Duke. But if I were you,” his lowered voice was malevolent, “I’d not be absent from the Hall when he returns tonight. He just might misconstrue your absence.”

Taran heard him saunter off, still chuckling under his breath.

Marik clearly didn’t move for a moment but then the sound of his footsteps grew louder. Taran risked a swift glance. The Count was totally preoccupied, twisting his long-fingered hands together, muttering to himself. Striding back up the corridor, he glanced nervously behind him every few seconds and soon passed the Albians’ hiding place. He didn’t see Robin, or his dagger, until it was too late, until the Captain’s strong arm was about his chest, the sharp blade pressed high under his ear.

Marik gave a startled squeak and Robin hissed for silence. Taran opened the door behind them and Robin shoved his captive into the empty suite.

The Count’s face was a picture of terror, which told Taran just how safe he felt here in Rykan’s palace. Robin spun him to face them.

“What’s the meaning of this? How dare you!”

The Count’s indignation trailed away as Robin’s knife pricked his throat. His gaze flicked between his captors, a wary look coming into his pale gray eyes. “Do I know you?”

“We have met,” said Robin, momentarily letting the disguise drop.

Relief flooded Marik’s lean face. “Captain Tamsen. And … and … ?”

“Taran Elijah,” said Taran.

Robin, the knife still held tightly against Marik’s corded throat, growled, “You’re not going to do anything we’ll regret if I remove my knife, are you?”

“Gods, it’s far too late for that,” hissed the Count. “I’ve already done too many things I regret. But if you mean am I going to give you away, then of course I’m bloody not! Where have you been? We’ve been waiting days for you to get here. What the hell took you so long?”

Plainly taken aback, Robin said, “We?”

“Sullyan and me,” snapped the Count. “Tonight’s her last chance. If we don’t get her away in the next couple of hours, it’ll be too late. Rykan’s issued his formal challenge and time’s running out. He’ll kill her for sure if he doesn’t get what he wants, but I think he probably will. She can’t possibly resist him any longer. Either way she’ll die, if she isn’t dead already. Are you alone?”