Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - WindTales 02 (50 page)

“What's wrong?” Patrick asked. His sixth sense had been nudging him all day and as they had crossed

under the Carbondale Gate, the unease he'd been experiencing had intensified.

“They took her, too, Milord,” Kerm said, realizing Patrick must be of a royal house for there was no

mistaking the tattoo of the Maze on the man's left wrist.

“The viper?” Weir questioned although his gut instinct had already told him what must have happened.

Kerm shook his head. “They arrested your sister, Saur. The priest signed the warrant for her,” Kerm

said softly, “naming her the Outlaw's concubine."

“They'll hang Genny, too,” Patrick said to no one in particular.

“How long ago?” Weir asked, his jaw set.

“Yesterday afternoon,” Kerm answered.

“Does Syni know?” Weir inquired, hoping against hope his brother-in-law was still dead to the world.

When Kerm Gill lowered his head, Patrick Kasella let out a roar of fury. “You let him go after her?” he

bellowed.

“What choice did I have, Milord?” Kerm returned. “She is his wife!"

“Where is he now?” Weir demanded.

Kerm shrugged. “I don't rightly know. He took Heil with him and a few others and was gonna try to

break her outta jail.” He locked gazes with Weir. “That was late last night and we ain't heard nothin’ from

him or the others since."

Patrick sawed on his mount's reins. “I'm going after him!"

“No!” Weir shouted. “Think before you go tearing off like a Diabolusian bull, man!"

“What is there to think about?” Patrick yelled back.

“There is safety in numbers and we've enough men to overrun Wixenstead, take our people and leave!”

Weir declared. “We can make it back through the Gate and be safe in Serenia before the Viragonians

can muster a troop to come after us."

“The McGregor has sent word to his father,” Kerm said. “He went into town to try to free the woman,

but the Viper put the noose right tight around the lady's throat."

“Why would she do that?” Weir barked.

“Pure spite,” Patrick told him. “If she's somehow found out Genny is Syn-Jern's wife, she'll think to

punish him by having his woman killed."

“Over my dead body,” Weir stated.

“Then we'd best be riding,” Patrick warned him. “There might be a trial held for Trace Sorn, but the

Tribunal has no such laws for a woman. They'll hang Genny outright.” He looked to the rising moon.

“Come daylight, she'll be swinging from the gibbet if we don't hurry!"

* * * *

Syn-Jern Sorn knew the laws of the Tribunal as well as Patrick did. He knew he had to rescue Genny

that night.

Lin Su cast a sidelong glance to the steely-eyed man hunkered down beside him and marveled that the

irrational fury that had driven Sorn to this spot now seemed to have dissipated. Even as he watched, he

could tell the intelligent, methodical part of the man was calming down, honing in on the problem at hand

and looking for a way to solve the dilemma.

“They're taking food in to her,” Heil whispered.

Syn-Jern nodded. He'd already seen the boy as he came out of the inn down the street. He had

momentarily entertained the notion of jumping the teenager and using one of his men to replace him, but

the Tribunal guards were being far more attentive than Syn-Jern wished for them to be. The guards were

following the boy's progress just as avidly as Syn-Jern was.

As heartsick as it made him to have his lady incarcerated, Syn-Jern knew the only wise thing to do was

wait. He refused to believe the gods would not send him a way to free Genny.

Even it meant turning himself in to gain her freedom.

* * * *

By orders of the McGregor, Sara and Drae Gill and Jobe had been sent under heavy guard to Serenia.

Tiernan wanted Weir Saur's lady safe as well as her brother and family friend. Those who had been

helping to care for Syn-Jern had also been ordered out of Virago and onto the safety of McGregor land.

Alone in the house with the treacherous slut who had turned Syn-Jern's wife into the Tribunal, the

Serenian Prince was of a mind to strangle the bitch.

“You have no idea what you've done,” Tiernan told her.

Rosa-Lynn did not reply. She refused to so much as look at him.

“He has gone after her."

The woman gave a slight shrug of disdain.

Tiernan's fury leapt up his throat and nearly choked him as he strode to Rosa-Lynn's chair and slapped

his palms on the arms. “Look at me, woman!” he shouted.

Very calmly, Rosa-Lynn met his angry glower. “Did he share her with you, McGregor?” she sneered.

“Is that why you're so upset?” She tilted her head to one side. “Was she good in bed?"

Tiernan could well understand why Trace Sorn felt the need to hit this woman on occasion. He itched to

slap the smug look from her face, himself. “Did you not hurt him enough when you stood in the dock and

swore his life away, Rosa-Lynn?” he mocked. “Did you need to do this to him, as well?"

“He probably doesn't even know she's been arrested,” Rosa-Lynn mocked. “You did not have time to

contact him and—"

“He's been living in the cave under this gods-be-damned manse, woman! He heard them arresting her

and broke the jaw of one of my men trying to get to her!” Tiernan threw at her. “It was all we could do

to keep him still!"

Rosa-Lynn flinched. Could it be true? Could Syn-Jern have been right under her nose the entire time?

From the arrogant, hateful look on the McGregor's face, it would seem that was exactly the case.

“They'll catch him,” Tiernan said, “and they'll hang him this time.” His lip lifted with contempt. “All

because of you."

“Mayhaps not,” she said, worried. It had never occurred to her that Syn-Jern would be caught. She had

suspected him to be the Outlaw for a good long while and had been silently cheering him on.

“He's ridden into town,” Tiernan informed her. “He'll risk his life to free her."

“She's a woman,” Rosa-Lynn commented. “We're a dime a dozen or haven't you heard? He'll find

another in no time.” Her look turned sly. “Maybe he'll come back to me."

“She is his wife!” Tiernan spat, his hands opening and closing in an effort to refrain from beating the

woman to a bloody pulp.

“Wife?” Rosa-Lynn repeated and knew from the expression on McGregor's face that it was the truth.

“Aye. Wife,” Tiernan snarled with disgust. Before he could attempt what he wanted more than anything

to do with Trace Sorn's vindictive whore, he stalked angrily from the room.

Rosa-Lynn sat very still, her eyes filling with tears. She'd lost him again, she told herself. Not only

because he had taken a wife—wives could be eliminated in one fashion or another—but because he

would know she was the one who had handed the tart over to the Tribunal. He would never forgive her.

She covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

* * * *

Demonicus lifted his head and sniffed. The smell of lavender was thick in the room. It was a noxious odor

that made him ill and brought with it a horrendous headache. He took a kerchief from the sleeve of his

robe and held it over his nose to filter the stench of the floral scent.

The woman was sitting on a cot, her arms around her knees. Her bare feet were dirty and her hair in

wild disarray. The sleeve of her gown was torn at one shoulder. She had not spoken since being brought

to the Tribunal Hall, but the resistance she'd put up as the guards had taken her into custody at Holy

Dale, as she tried to hide in the cellar, had left one man with a black eye and another with a decided limp.

“What is your name?” Demonicus demanded.

Genny Sorn ignored the priest. She was concentrating on a childhood memory in order to block her

thoughts from being intercepted.

“I only ask so we will know what to carve on your tombstone,” the priest said dryly.

A faint contemptuous smile tugged at Genny's lips. She knew enough about Tribunal policy and the fate

of a female prisoner condemned to death to know she'd end up in an unmarked grave in the unhallowed

portion of the village cemetery.

“You don't have to die, though,” Demonicus drawled. The lavender scent was suffocating him and he

longed to be outside in the cold, cleansing air. “Tell us where Syn-Jern is and I will set you free."

Genny kept very still. When the Tribunal arrested her, they accused her of being the Outlaw's whore. It

was soon apparent that these men thought Trace Sorn to be the man for whom they'd been searching all

these months. The thought had almost made her smile.

“You are his wife,” Demonicus stated and as the woman slowly turned her head to him, he smiled

brutally. “You might have been able to hide your thoughts from me, but the servant woman could not."

Sara, Genny thought with dismay and wondered if the servant had gotten away.

“Oh, we will find her,” Demonicus answered the wayward thought. He moved closer to Genny's cell.

“I've no particular desire to see you hang. Tell me where he is and I will sign the papers to free you within

the hour."

Genny lowered her feet to the cold stone floor, stood, and walked to the bars. She wrapped her hands

around the metal and stared hatefully at her tormentor. “Would you like me to tell you where you can go

and what you can do with your offer when you get there, priest?” she asked sweetly.

Demonicus stiffened. His eyes narrowed into two thin malevolent slits. “So be it,” he said, spinning on his

heel.

The door to her cell clanged loudly, shutting out what little light there had been from the interrogation

room beyond. For the last two hours, she'd been hearing horrible screams coming from that room and

knew without having to be told the screamer was her husband's half-brother. Even as that thought flitted

through her mind, another pitiful scream echoed.

Genny walked to the cot and sat. Pulling her knees into the safety of her arms once more, she eyed the

rat in the corner of the cell. “Are you one of his minions?’ she asked with a snort. The rat lifted a paw

and scrubbed at its whiskers, then scuttled through an opening in the stone.

Genny sighed, then rested her head on the damp wall behind her. The screams were reverberating and

growing shriller as time passed. Not that she cared one way or the other what Demonicus did to Trace

Sorn, or why, but the man had been gentle with her after the attack. A part of her did feel a twinge of pity

at his predicament, but not enough to lose sleep over.

If she could sleep.

“Where are you, my love?” she whispered.

By now, he would know her fate and would be beside himself with fear. She hoped and prayed cooler

heads would prevail and keep her husband from trying to rescue her.

* * * *

The bloody mess that had been Trace Sorn was thrown onto the trundle cart. The driver clicked the reins

of his dray horse and set the cart into motion. The clip-clop of the hooves caught the attention of a few

passersby, but most simply looked the other way as it passed. Traveling the track up to the Bone Yard,

as the punishment square was called, the cart rumbled along with one wheel creaking and the other

wobbling as though it would fall off the axle.

“What happened, Tully?” someone called out.

“Heart attack,” the driver replied in a bored voice. He'd been looking forward to the hanging; had been

eagerly anticipating seeing Duke Sorn dangling from the scaffold, gasping for breath. Now, all they had

was a crippled body to hoist up as a reminder of the evils of going against the Tribunal.

Sometimes, life just wasn't fair, the driver thought.

From the shadows of the building across from the Tribunal Hall, Syn-Jern Sorn watched the changing of

the guards. It was close to dawn and already ribbons of light were showing in the East. He had spied the

captain of the guard going into the Hall a few minutes before and wondered how many men were inside

the building. He'd counted five outside the Hall, including the two at the entrance. Since there was no

back entrance and no windows or doors on any of the three other sides, the only way into and out of the

building was through the two black doors flanked by the fresh armed guards.

When the trundle cart had pulled up in front of the Hall, Syn-Jern had known a moment of sheer panic.

When he, himself, had been a prisoner in that vile place, a man had died while being interrogated and

they had sent for the cart. Outside the triple-thick stone walls lined with sheets of lead to prevent sorcery

from either escaping or entering, no one had heard the man's piteous screams. Syn-Jern knew first hand

the horrors visited upon those who had been incarcerated in the Tribunal Hall. Though he did think

Demonicus would torture Genny, he didn't know that for sure. If the priest thought she had information he

could use, the bastard was not above abusing her in any manner he chose.

That, more than anything, tore at Syn-Jern Sorn's heart and set his nerves on end.

“They're bringing a body out,” Heil reported from his advantage point a few feet away.

Syn-Jern closed his eyes, praying to whatever Pantheon might be listening that it not be his beloved

whose broken body was tossed like so much garbage upon the rickety cart.

“It's Sorn,” Heil said, letting out the breath he'd been holding for he knew if the body had been that of a

woman, he'd have been hard pressed to keep Syni from shrieking like a madman as he ran pell-mell to

the cart.

Syn-Jern opened his eyes and flinched as the cart rolled beneath the flare of the torchlight high on the