Heartwood (49 page)

He looked down at where his knuckles were white on the reins of his horse. Like the burgeoning waters, panic threatened to rise up and overwhelm him. All was not lost, he told himself, trying to breathe deeply and slow his pounding heart. Surely not even the most educated theologian could say for certain they were doomed. They did not know yet how the other Quests had gone; if they had been successful, then maybe they could buy some time to sort out how to get the Pectoris back. He must not lose all hope. Not yet.

He turned in his seat to call to Procella, intending to convey his thoughts and try to lift her spirits too. However, as he looked over his shoulder, he saw with shock that about a dozen raiders on horseback were riding towards them at a furious rate; what with the roaring sound of the river and the fact that he had been so lost in his thoughts, he had not heard them approaching.

Cursing himself for his lack of attention, he pulled back on his rains sharply, and the palfrey reared and twisted in the air, turning to face the other way. “Attack!” he yelled, drawing his sword from the scabbard at his side as the others turned, startled, taking out their own weapons as they saw the approaching party.

Chonrad ripped at the fastenings of his cloak, undoing it and throwing it to the ground, knowing the heavy, sodden wool would hamper his movements. Immediately, the coldness of the heavy rain soaked through his mail into his jerkin. With alarm, he saw the raiding party were carrying spears. It was a weapon he used in battle, and could be extremely dangerous in experienced hands. He cursed that he hadn't thought to bring one with him, but truth was he hadn't expected to encounter so many Wulfians so far south of the border, and it was a cumbersome weapon, especially when riding long distances. Clearly, the retreat of the Exercitus was proving fatal to the Laxonian patrolling of the Wall, he thought, steadying himself in the saddle, sword lowered at his side.

Beside him, he saw Solum and Terreo stand in their stirrups, crossbows in hand, and both fired a shot, each bringing down one of the party. That left about ten compared to the seven of them, he thought. Normally, he would have fancied those odds; although the Wulfians rode well and had spears, five Heartwood knights and two trained Laxonians should have been more than enough to best them easily. However, they were all tired and dispirited, and he knew that the worst thing for a soldier to experience before going into battle was low morale.

Procella yelled at everyone to fan out, and automatically they did so, Hora, Fulco, Chonrad, Solum, Procella, Terreo and Nitesco forming a line, forcing the raiders to do the same. The raiders yelled, raising themselves up and throwing their spears, which came whistling towards them through the rain. Chonrad tensed in the saddle, then bent hurriedly to the right, feeling the whoosh of metal and wood by his ear. To his left, he saw someone fall from the saddle, but he did not know who it was. There was no time to look – the raiders were on them.

He raised his sword and met his opponent's with a clash as the horse thundered into him, and his own palfrey reared, hooves flying. Dropping down, the horse spun around, and he met his assailant's weapon with a parry, feeling the weight of the blow all the way up to his shoulder. He hammered blows onto the Wulfian, the warrior's parries weakening. His years of training and experience were beginning to show through. Seeing the raider lean back in the saddle on the verge of losing his balance, Chonrad whipped his sword around and it cut deeply into the raider's upper arm. The Wulfian screamed and dropped his sword to clutch the wounded limb. Chonrad kicked him from the saddle, then pulled hard on the palfrey's reins, causing him to rear again. The horse's hooves dropped down onto the grounded raider with a sickening crunch, and his screams ended abruptly.

Chonrad dashed the rain from his face and scanned the scene quickly. The first thing he saw was Procella; she had dismounted and was finishing off one of the raiders, who was clearly no match for her in her current mood. Chonrad could see clearly the anger on her face, and she was obviously taking out her frustration on the warrior. Chonrad felt almost sorry for him. However, as he looked across, he saw behind her another raider who had spotted she had her back turned, and evidently thought it an easy target; he was riding towards her, sword raised. Intent on defeating her victim, Procella had not seen him.

Beside him, out of the corner of his eye, Chonrad saw Fulco move to stop him, anticipating what he was going to do, but Chonrad ignored him and kicked his heels into his palfrey's sides. The horse leapt forward and covered the distance in a flash, flanks bunching and heaving, shiny with rain. But it was going to be too late, too late…

Chonrad saw the raider start to bring down his sword; he could picture it biting into Procella's skull, cleaving skin from bone. He let out a roar and swung his legs up behind him and over the saddle, holding tight to the front and bringing his body up, feet first, between the raider and the oblivious Dux. The raider's sword came down and glanced off his body armour, cutting instead into his thigh. Then they clashed; Chonrad's weight slammed into the Wulfian, and together they crashed to the ground. Pain lanced through his leg as if it had been seared with a hot rod of iron, but he ignored it and rolled to his feet. He could put his weight on the leg, so he knew it couldn't be too bad.

Next to him, Procella had spun at the crash and now fell on the raider, pinning him to the ground. Smoothly, she drew her dagger and pushed it up under his chin. The raider shuddered, blood spilled from his mouth and he went limp.

She got to her feet, wiping the blade on the dead raider and sheathing it at her side. Then she turned to Chonrad. If he had expected to see a thank-you on her lips, he was to be disappointed. She glared at him. “What are you doing? You idiot!”

He gave a quick glance around to confirm there was no more immediate threat and then stared at her, confused at her anger. “I saved your life!” he snapped.

“And what is the point of that when it nearly cost you yours?” she yelled.

Chonrad said nothing. He knew he had transgressed the unwritten law of battle that you were never to risk your own life to save another's, but still, he had expected some small display of gratitude for the fact that his act meant she lived to see another day. The rain hammered down between them, cold in the gash in his leg. He knew what the problem was. He had saved her, and now she was in his debt. And she would never forgive him for that.

She glanced past him, and her expression changed. He turned and cold rose up to engulf him. All the raiders were dead – but two of their own were on the ground. Hora lay motionless, the spear that had killed her still sticking out of her ribcage at an angle. She had been an honourable knight, and he felt sad she would no longer fight another battle.

But it was the sight of Fulco lying in the mud, and the huge sword wound in his stomach, that made his blood turn truly cold.

He ran over to his bodyguard and knelt by his side. His thigh throbbed, but he hardly noticed it. Solum had already pulled up Fulco's jerkin so he could see the wound, and Chonrad saw now it was irreparable, a gaping hole that could not be mended even by the most skilled surgeon in the land. Solum had tears in his eyes, and when he spoke his voice was hoarse. “He saved you, Lord Barle. You did not see the raider coming at you from the side, and he got in his way and took the sword for you.”

So Chonrad had saved Procella's life, and Fulco had saved Chonrad's. Chonrad gripped his friend's hand tightly. Fulco's face had taken on the greenish-grey shade of near-death, but he still managed a small smile.
Last battle
, he signed weakly.
Waste
.

“There is nothing ignominious about this death,” said Chonrad fiercely. “Your name shall be remembered, my friend. You fought bravely and with honour. I shall see your family does not suffer.”

Fulco coughed, and blood flecked his lips. His head fell back. His eyes met Chonrad's, and it seemed to Chonrad their light was slowly fading, like the sun setting after a brilliant day.
Arbor
, Fulco signed.
You are the key
. Then his eyes dulled, his hand fell to his side and his body went limp.

 

III

Teague's insides turned to water as he looked at the sharp end of Beata's dagger. Even if his hands hadn't been shackled and pinned to the ground, after watching her make short shrift of the other Komis, he knew he would never have been able to match her in combat.

“I did not do it,” he said immediately, knowing he had to convince her he was not responsible for Peritus's death.

She turned the knife in her hand, kneeling down before him, far enough away so he couldn't touch her, but close enough for him to see the sheen of sweat lying on her forehead after her battle. “Do what?”

“Kill Peritus.” He did not miss the flinch she gave at the mention of her dead companion. “They took me by surprise; you have got to believe me.”

“Have I?” For the first time she showed emotion: her blue-grey eyes blazed like lightning flashing across a stormy sky. “And how can I believe anything you say after what you did to me?”

He tried to push himself to a sitting position, fell, and tried again. He felt weak lying beneath her, and although he was no fighter, he didn't want to make her think he was totally at her mercy. “I did nothing to you except love you,” he said imploringly.

Beata laughed, although there was no humour in it. “Love me? Love me! I do not think you know the meaning of the word!”

He gazed into her eyes, trying to see inside them some of the woman he had slept with that night, but there was no sign of her. All that was left was this bitter knight. He gestured angrily to his shackles. “Would I be bound like this if I had left voluntarily?”

She looked at the shackles as if seeing them for the first time. She shrugged. “So your friends turned on you? What a surprise!”

“They are not my friends!” he insisted furiously. “I have never seen them before. I was sleeping with you that night, looking out over Henton Bay, and the next thing I knew, someone had put their hand over my mouth. I struggled, and I saw Peritus in the distance, fighting furiously, and I tried to fight back, but someone knocked me on the head and I blacked out. When I came to, I was tied to the back of a horse somewhere in the hills of Dorle.”

For a moment, she said nothing. The knife turned again and again in her hands. The fire had almost died and she was completely in shadow except for the slight glint of the dying glow on the blade. “Even if what you say is true,” she said eventually, “I was still a fool to trust you and let you make love to me.”

“Yes,” he said honestly. “You were. You are a Heartwood knight, who revealed her emotions and slept with someone you had only just met. It was irrational and foolish.” The blade turned, glinted. He continued hurriedly, “But you cannot deny there is – was – an attraction between us.”

“You took advantage of me,” she said flatly.

“Maybe, maybe not. I do not recall you pushing me away.”

Suddenly, she stood, walking off and disappearing into the darkness. Teague tried to peer through the blackness to see where she had gone. She had completely vanished. He moved his hands around in the shackles tiredly, wondering if she had left him to be eaten by whatever animals roamed in the forest. Closing his eyes, he stretched out with his senses again, feeling for her. No, she was still there, somewhere in the bushes. Thinking. He wondered if she were planning how to kill him.

He sighed and lay down. He was tired and fed up with playing her game. If she was going to kill him, there was nothing he could do about it. He might as well get some sleep before it happened.

It was still raining, but the trees provided a little protection, and the ground wasn't too wet. He dozed off quickly, and when he awoke, he was surprised to see the sky was beginning to lighten. He pushed himself upright, his arms stiff where they were still bound, and looked around the glade. The dead Komis had all been removed. Beata was there, sitting on a fallen tree, watching him. He wondered if she had stayed awake all night.

“You have not killed me, then,” he said.

She said nothing. Her eyes were still slices of frozen blue, her face expressionless.

He sighed. “If you are still going to kill me, please get on with it. I am tired of waiting, and I am stiff as a plank of wood. And not in a good way.”

She pushed herself off the tree and came to kneel beside him. Then, bending, she pulled out the hook that had bound his shackles to the ground. “I am not going to kill you,” she said calmly.

He looked up at her face, unnerved by being so close to her. He could remember the soft touch of her lips beneath his own, and the feel of her hair under his hands. She had looked so different in the dress, with her hair down. He could not reconcile the two Beatas: the sensual, passionate woman and the hardened, accomplished knight.

“Are you going to let me go?” he asked hoarsely.

She smiled. “No. You are going to return to Heartwood with me.”

His heart sank. “Heartwood?”

“That is why I was originally sent to find you.”

“I thought you were sent to
ask
me if I would return with you.”

She tipped her head, and for the first time there was real humour in her eyes. “Actually, the Imperator told me to get you back any way I could – even if I had to drag you there.”

Teague sighed. He knew she meant what she said. He flexed his fingers, the shackles tight on his wrists. “Can you at least take these things off?”

She studied him for a moment, then pulled out a small iron key. “I found it on one of the Komis guards. I will undo them. But be assured, if you try to escape, I will come after you. And I will not be as forgiving the next time.” She unlocked the iron links around his hands.