Howl of the Wolf (Heirs to the Throne Book 1) (19 page)

How can humans elude their enemies when they make so much noise?
  It took too long to reach the woman so Kriegen plunged ahead and stood guard over the female until Donovan arrived.  

Weak, shivering, and frightened, Chella whimpered when Donovan bent over and cut the ropes. 

Kriegen silently slipped away as the humans fussed over the female.  He heard Donovan’s,
Thank you, friend.

******

Back in their tower, Alex examined Chella.  He made her sip a bitter brew and sent her to bed.  “She suffers from exposure, lost a little blood from shallow wounds, but she’ll be fine.  She needs rest.  “Wait until tomorrow to interrogate her.”  He blocked the entrance to Chella’s doorway.  “I’ll stand guard and suggest you all get some sleep.”  

The tired group returned to their beds, inviting and warm after the excitement.  Krystal relieved Alex of “guard duty” before dawn.  He relented at her insistence.  “Don’t let her get up or talk.  She tossed and cried out all night.”

“I’ll keep her quiet.  Donovan doesn’t compete today so he should sleep late.”

She watched Chella sleep fitfully for hours.  As the morning light filtered through the window, Chella moaned.  Krystal gently stroked her hot skin with a cool hand.  Chella’s eyelids popped open.  “Krystal?”

“Shhh.  Don’t talk.”

“His name is Forshell!  Warn Donovan and the king.”

“Quiet, Chella.  It’s okay.”

“He plans to kill Donovan!  You must warn him!”  Chella tried to sit but Krystal gently pushed her back.  “Jarrack is with Forshell.  He kept them from killing me so he could interrogate me about Donovan.  I didn’t tell him anything, lord it was hard to block his mind, but he left me when the wolves got too close.  I knew he’d return and make me answer.”  Tears glistened on Chella’s eyelashes.  “He planned to force my mind—”

“Please, Chella.  Don’t—”

Chella grabbed the front of Krystal’s nightgown.  “Forshell is dangerous!  You must warn them about him.”

“I promise to tell everyone if you’ll rest.” 

“Good!  Alex wouldn’t let me talk, so I had to wait for you.”  Chella slumped into the bed, closed her eyes, and drifted into a peaceful slumber.

“Tell them what!”  Dr. Alexander loomed in the doorway.  “Krystal, I’m surprised at you!”

Krystal led Alex into the hallway.  “Chella woke.  She wouldn’t stay quiet until she told me about Forshell and Jarrack.”  Krystal recoiled at the heat of the doctor’s anger.  “When I promised to tell everyone, she settled down.  She’s sleeping now.”

The doctor shooed her away from Chella’s room. 

Krystal returned to her room.  “Where’ve you been?” Donovan asked sleepily.

“I gave Alex a break and sat with Chella.”  She snuggled next to Donovan’s warm body.

“Is she all right?” 

“She’s sleeping.” 
Should she tell Donovan now or wait to until Bryant arrived?  Would it really benefit them to worry about Forshell and Jarrack?

“What is it?”  Donovan sat up, combing fingers through tousled hair.

She sighed.  “I can’t keep anything from you.”

“It’s a good thing.  What did Chella tell you?”

“The man’s name is Forshell and Jarrack is with him.  She says Forshell plans to kill you.” 

Donovan rubbed sleep from his eyes.  “Now we can put a name to our enemy and we already know Jarrack hates us.  I smell breakfast,” he said, avoiding further discussion.  Krystal yielded to his instincts and remained quiet while they dressed.  Their sleepy-eyed friends soon assembled around a table filled with fresh-baked breads. 

“Looks like Maggie works out her stress by cooking.”  Donovan gazed at heaping plates of food.       

“Much to my pleasure,” Trenton mumbled through a mouthful of food.  “I’d almost consider fighting with her daily for wonderful treats like this, but Maggie’s anger is not worth risking for food.”

“It’s a good idea for all of us to keep busy,” Bryant said.  “We should spend some time with the rapier today.  That’s your next event.”

Donovan groaned.  “I prefer the solid stroke of a broadsword to the whipping action of a rapier.  Wait until I’ve had my breakfast.”

“Assuredly.”

Donovan glanced around the table.  “Chella will be fine,” he said, “but we don’t want to attract more danger.  Don’t let word of her return escape these rooms.  At no time should she be left alone.” 

“I’ll set up a schedule.”  Maggie volunteered.

“Keep servants away from her room.  There’s no use letting too many know about our trouble.”

Krystal wondered if Donovan would tell Bryant about Forshell—his decision.  She’d give her full attention to Chella’s recovery.

The next day Krystal sat in the box with Halder.  “Where are your friends?” he asked. 

Should I discuss Chella?  He seems disheartened.  I can feel his life force weakening.  I think it will lift his spirits to know
. “They’re taking turns guarding Chella,” she whispered.

“What?  No one told me.  How did you find her?”

“A friend found her.  She was held captive, nearly killed by a desert rider named Forshell.  He’s in league with an old enemy of ours named Jarrack.”

“Is Forshell the man who killed the priest?”  Halder’s face beamed with energy. 

“Yes.  Chella told me Forshell plans to kill Donovan.”  Krystal hoped Halder would call for Forshell’s arrest but he leaned back and closed his eyes.  A crooked smile played across his lips. 

“Forshell!  Now that we know who’s behind the murder plot, Donovan will be safe.  I guarantee it.” 

Halder meant what he said but Krystal felt a pang of uncertainty.  She sensed Halder’s hatred and knew he was planning something devious.

As Donovan entered the ring with his opponent, Krystal’s heart sank.  The sour face of Sir Hembly was unforgettable.  She remembered how bitterly he detested Donovan.  “Is Sir Hembly good with the rapier?” she asked.

“Adequate.”  Halder twisted his ring with a look of vengeance on his face.  He avoided further conversation.

Adequate!  How good is adequate?
  Dressed in a white shirt with a profusion of ruffles at the neck, Hembly’s wiry body was fitted tightly into a brocade waistcoat and velvet pants.  His white sleeves billowed as he brandished the thin blade of the rapier.  His skill appeared more than adequate to Krystal.

******

Donovan watched Hembly play to the crowd.  He analyzed Hembly’s stance and footing; the man knew how to use the rapier.  Bryant nodded and Donovan walked to the center of the ring.  The crowd murmured expectantly.  Assuming a ready stance, Hembly ignored Donovan’s salute and attacked.  His feet moved in short mincing glides.  Donovan retreated and parried with a circular flick of his blade, deflecting Hembly’s lunge. 

He fenced in competition during his early spans in the military, scoring points by touching his opponent with the dulled point of the foil, but this rapier had no protective button.  Hembly’s fierce determination made it plain that he intended to disable or kill Donovan.

Sir Hembly charged again.  Donovan executed a bind, pushing the narrow part of Hembly’s blade with the heavier section of his own.  The move opened a hole for a straight thrust by Donovan.  Hembly recovered by using a direct parry and retreated.

Hembly circled Donovan cautiously.  Sweat beaded on Hembly’s upper lip.  Donovan noticed that he moved toward the left while defending, a weakness in style.  Donovan initiated a series of short thrusts, closing in rapidly.  Hembly automatically veered to the left, his face red with anger.

Donovan assumed a ready position.  He watched Hembly’s eyes narrow, betraying an intended attack.  Donovan reacted by shifting position and met Hembly’s foil with successive parries that drove Hembly to the left.  Hembly’s blade whistled through empty air as Donovan suddenly shifted position again.

Off balance, Hembly left himself wide open.  Donovan performed a deadly thrust to the body.  Hembly’s over-confident expression vanished as he crumpled to the floor.  Donovan rested the tip of his foil on Sir Hembly’s ruffled collar.

“Do you concede?” Donovan asked.

“Yes!” Hembly hissed.  Donovan lowered his rapier and the crowd cheered.  Sir Hembly’s men carried him from the ring but Donovan felt shaken.  It was one thing to fire upon an enemy from a distance in space, it was quite another to look directly into your enemy’s hatred.  

Bryant met him with an enthusiastic hug.  “No one can dispute your win.  It was brilliant.”  Donovan presented the image of a cool, triumphant champion, eager to meet his next opponent, but he felt sick from the sight of Hembly’s blood.  His grayish skin betrayed him to King Halder. 

The king asked, “Is this the first time you’ve drawn blood in combat?”

Donovan nodded.  “I often killed from a distance.  When my blade sank into his chest, it felt different.”

“He wasn’t badly injured, but this afternoon you’ll meet a real enemy. Forshell and his broadsword will not be deflected as easily as a wispy rapier.  Do you wish to die and endanger your friends?”

“No.”

King Halder handed Donovan his ring.  “The ring of truth is the symbol of my power.  I don’t want a murderer to wear it.  Forshell killed my family so don’t let him win!  Promise you won’t balk if it becomes necessary to kill.” 

Transfixed by Halder’s gaze, Donovan took the ring.  He said, “He won’t get this ring from my living hand, but if I can disable him to win, I will.  I won’t deliberately kill, not even for you.”

Halder’s tired eyes gazed into the sky.  “I long for Forshell’s death, but you’re not a hired assassin.  Do as your conscience guides.”

Relieved, Donovan slid the ring onto his finger.  It glinted in the sunlight with a steady white light.  Relaxing to enjoy the minstrel’s tunes, he felt troubled. 
The judges haven’t announced the results of the semi-finals, but Halder knows Forshell will be my opponent.  How?  Why did I promise to die fighting?
  Cold fear gripped his heart. 
Can I kill a man face to face?

King Halder was right.  The finalists were Forshell and Donovan.  When Forshell sauntered into the ring dressed in black, he looked deadly.  Donovan gripped the hilt of his broadsword, the king’s own sword.  He felt his fingers tingle.  Forshell drew his blade and whipped it ominously.  He glowered at Donovan.

The crowd parted suddenly. 

Dressed in a sleek silver uniform, Chella marched toward the ring, her piercing gaze fixed on Forshell.  Taller than most men with ebony skin, severely short haircut, and half-lidded glare. Chella looked formidable.  The crowd hushed at the sight of her companion—Kriegen glided at Chella’s side.  His glossy black coat and glowing amber eyes struck fear into the crowd.  Stationing herself at Donovan’s corner with arms folded across her chest, she glared at Jarrack, who stood in Forshell’s corner across the ring.

Forshell flicked a sour glance at Jarrack.  His expression promised future pain and Jarrack melted into the crowd. Peld followed him.  

Kriegen yawned, his long tongue rimmed by sharp glistening teeth.  Ignoring the crowd, the wolf’s gaze fixed on Donovan. 
We come to give you warning.  The female you call Chella offered to bring us to you.

Donovan stroked Kriegen’s muzzle—a gesture that caused the crowd to buzz with excitement. 
Thank you friend.  What warning do you offer?

Kriegen tilted his head with ears erect. 
The human you fight schemes with the evil one called Jarrack.  They plan to kill you by some trick we cannot understand.  Use caution.  We block Jarrack’s mind from harming you but you are still in danger.

Donovan grinned. 
I welcome your help.
He turned and saluted Forshell with his blade. 
It is my duty to fight this man and win fairly but I will watch for trickery.

Forshell raised his sword in readiness. 

A weapon designed for cutting with finely honed edges, the broadsword also possessed a sharp point that could kill with a thrust.  Donovan stood with his feet firmly planted and watched Forshell.  The fighters stared at each other, neither committing to make the first move. 

Donovan’s clear green eyes coolly met the fierce heat of Forshell’s malevolent glare.  Donovan clinically analyzed the man’s stance, noting the slight slope of Forshell’s right shoulder, his balance, his footing.  Small details betrayed habit, perhaps weakness.

Donovan moved, altering his own stance as he circled Forshell like a predator stalking its prey.  Forshell countered, testing the swing of his blade.  Deliberately Donovan distorted his natural body language sending false signals to the enemy.

The crowd murmured as the men performed their dance of death with long graceful strides.  Tense moments passed between thrust, block, and retreat, performed in perfect unison, neither man giving purchase to the other.  Omitting the deadly expressions of the combatants, this could have been a specially choreographed exhibition.                         

Donovan’s heart pounded. 

He pressed forward, cutting and thrusting, then retreated to the beat of an internal rhythm.  He couldn’t afford to lose this game.  Sensing Forshell’s raging emotions, he noticed a flush face, choppy thrusts, and tentative attacks.  Donovan felt mildly pleased.  He respected Forshell’s skill but felt confident he could win by executing controlled assaults.