The Queen's Gambit (32 page)

She started for the steps, which were dimly illuminated by a shaft of waning moonlight, then hesitated and glanced back. The passageway led straight to her throne. If the enemy came here, found this passage . . . Pulling the iron key from her pocket, she went back to lock the door.

Resting her forehead a moment on the rough planks of the door, she felt as though she'd just cut off her own way of retreat.

But there was no going back, she told herself. She'd
known that from the moment she left the privy chamber. Whatever lay ahead of her now must be faced with courage.

She ascended the rickety steps slowly and cautiously, and at last emerged into the tangle of fallen beams and scattered rubble that comprised the ruined remains of the church. Only two walls and part of the tower still stood. She gazed around, fearful of shadows and starting at sounds, and listened to the terrible din of battle coming from the palace. Perhaps she hadn't waited as long as she thought. Talmor would be furious if he returned and found her gone. But the prospect of returning to that dark concealment in the Sebein lair daunted her. She hesitated, and found herself gazing instead at the forest. Talmor's plan, she recalled, had been to take refuge among the trees first until her company was assembled, then slip away under cover.

But if she went into the forest, how would he find her?

Fire suddenly blazed from an upper window of the palace, and she heard screaming war cries so wild and savage she took an involuntary step back.

With pounding heart, she knew she was hearing Vvordsmen. Another window shattered, and orange flames burst free. She stared in horror and rage, tears running down her face, and saw a band of men running atop the walls. Her guardsmen met them in a clash of swordplay. But the barbarians overwhelmed her valiant men. She saw a guard's body topple from the ramparts, and another, and tore her gaze away.

Fear drove her now. She saw another band of Vvordsmen running across the meadow between her and the palace walls. Although they were not headed in her direction, she knew they might decide to explore these ruins. Her hiding place was no longer safe.

Yet to venture away from the ruins into the open where anyone could see her was to court disaster. Forcing herself to remain calm, Pheresa thought hard and realized if she were careful and quick, she could keep the ruins between her and the invaders while she ran for the trees.

And if the woods were full of the enemy?
That thought nearly paralyzed her with fresh fear. She rallied herself,
refusing to delay as she picked her way out of the ruins. She must take the risk, she told herself, and trust to Thod to keep her unseen.

Stones and bits of rubble lay hidden in the tall grass. She tripped and stumbled, just managing not to fall. Breathing hard, she collected herself, then hurried onward. She wanted to run, but dared not take a chance with the uncertain footing. Holding her stomach cradled protectively with one arm, she glanced back at the palace, but the ruined tower blocked her view.

She hurried awkwardly toward the trees, supporting her stomach as best she could. It seemed an endless distance. Her feet rustled in the grass, and her breath came short and fast. It took all her willpower to resist looking back.

Hurry,
she told herself.
Hurry.

Finally, she reached the forest and stumbled into a trot. She looked back once, her braid bouncing on her shoulder, and saw a blaze of fire break through the palace roof. People were screaming and throwing possessions from the upper stories. In that moment, Pheresa forgot her own troubles.

“Dear Thod, in thy mercy,” she prayed aloud, “help them and keep them in thy hand tonight.”

Making the swift sign of the Circle, she hurried deeper into the forest. Branches grabbed at her face and sleeves, but she forced her way onward, pushing deeper into the undergrowth and inhaling the pungent scents of broken twigs, leaves, and the damp, rotting vegetation. She slowed to a walk, pressing on despite her weariness, until she could no longer see the palace or hear more than the faintest sounds of battle. She had escaped, but she felt no relief, no sense of triumph. Stumbling at last to a halt, she hugged a tree trunk, pressing her hot face against the rough bark, and wept.

The snap of a twig behind her, and the sound of running footsteps suddenly close, was all the warning she had.

She whirled around just as a shadow tackled her from the darkness. Her head slammed against the tree trunk with a painful thud, and a man's body pinned her there. She tried to cry out, but his hand closed over her mouth, muffling her sounds. She felt the links of his mail sleeve scrape her cheek, and understood that he was Mandrian. The barbarians, she'd been told, wore no armor.

Relief swept through her, and she stopped struggling. Her captor took his hand away, and she could breathe freely again. Still, she knew that although her captor was no boat raider, she remained in danger.

Steely fingers gripped her arms and pulled her away from the tree.

“Have you nothing to say?” said a rasping voice she recognized at once.

A tide of despair washed over her. “Sir Brillon.”

“Aye, majesty. I'm honored you know me, even in the dark.”

“You will unhand me, sir,” she said regally, trying to hide her fear. “You have no business accosting me this way.”

His grip did not slacken. “Your majesty should have sought help in the catacombs. By now you'd be safely on your way upriver. But I'll protect you—”

“I have a protector—”

“What, that coward? He's run away,” Brillon told her with a gargling sort of chuckle. “He saw you as far as the ruins, did he not? Aye, I knew he had you stashed in the cellar.”

“How did you know?” she demanded. Since Talmor had been in her service, she'd seen no more of the Qanselmite and believed him transferred to another post far from Savroix. “How come you to be here now? Why have you followed me?”

“I have my orders,” he said, his tone queer. “All this time I have stayed nearby, waiting for my chance.”

She could feel his hot breath on her cheek. Rigid with disgust, she leaned as far away from him as she could. But he only pressed closer.

“I swore myself to serve the Lady of the Miracle,” he whispered hoarsely. “I can find you anywhere, in darkness or day. I sense your presence always, as clearly as though I see you. I have performed the rites necessary to be your most devoted acolyte.”

“Withdraw, sir!” she said, so repulsed she could barely speak. “Release me, and withdraw!”

His grip only tightened. “I am sworn to you. Since I was given charge of your safety on our journey back from Nether—”

“That was years past,” she said sharply, trying to recall him to sense. “And a temporary duty only.”

“You were holy then, purified by the Chalice, and so divine in your beauty that your radiance was almost unbearable for mortal men to view. How innocent, how perfect you were. And never had you any inkling of how I kept you from harm—”

“You are dreaming,” she broke in, wanting to stop this
tirade. “ 'Tis my protector, Sir Talmor, who guards the queen's safety.”

“The queen,” he said bitterly. “You could have been canonized, worshiped, adored by all who made pilgrimages to see you. You could have remained pure and holy and perfect.”

His hand slapped her prominent belly, not hard, but she flinched in startlement. “Now, see what you have become. You have debased yourself, allowed a man to defile you, in order to seize worldly goods and honors.”

Fury suddenly burned away her fear. She wrested her arm free and cradled her stomach protectively. “How dare you speak to me this way! My husband—”

“Husband?” he echoed harshly. “Nay, majesty, defiler! Know you how many lovers he has taken? Know you his drunkenness, his lewd acts, his—”

“Silence!” she screamed, forgetting the need for caution. “You go too far! The duc has remained behind, bravely risking his life to defend my palace, and you are not fit to—”

“He spoiled your purity,” Sir Brillon broke in. “Destroyed you, when you could have been forever our Lady of the Chalice. And now you defend him, defend his blasphemy.”

She took an involuntary step back, certain he was mad and knowing she could not run from him.

“I was never a saint,” she said desperately, trying to break through his delusions. “I was never what you believed me to be. You have woven a fantasy for yourself, Sir Brillon, and you must stop it. 'Tis the Chalice that is holy. I never was.”

He reached out and touched her face with his fingertips, making her shudder. “Such modesty,” he whispered sadly. “Despite all that has befallen you and changed you for ill, you retain that.”

“You must go,” she said. “The queen gives you permission to withdraw.”

He stepped closer, and again she backed away, her heart thudding faster.

“Sir Talmor will return at any moment,” she said, wishing desperately that it was true. “He will see to my safety. Your concern is unnecessary.”

Sir Brillon continued to advance. “Poor, misguided lady,” he said. “Defending your craven protector just as you defend your defiler of a husband. I will take you far from here and restore all that is good in you. I will give you back to the Chalice, and see you cleansed with rites of purification until you—”

“No!” she shouted.

Whirling around, she fled, but in two steps he caught her from behind. She struggled, terrified of him and worried that harm would come to her baby. She had no strength to match his. His arms held her fast, and although she kicked and fought him, he marched her through the forest toward an unknown destination. He muttered and chuckled to himself, truly mad, and she feared what he meant to do. In her mind, she prayed hard for courage and the chance to get away.
Oh, Sir Talmor,
she thought desperately,
what has become of you?

A branch whipped her face, and the stinging pain gave her strength to stomp hard on Sir Brillon's instep. For a second his grasp loosened. She stabbed hard with her small dagger, but the point glanced harmlessly off his mail. Growling something, he gripped her wrist with crushing strength. She flailed out with her other hand and smacked him across the face.

He struck back, his fist like a hammer. Pain shattered her face, and she went reeling back, lost in a cloud of agony and shock.

Vaguely she felt his arms catch her before she hit the ground. He scooped her up, and although she tried hard to swim back to full consciousness, she could not seem to escape that which pulled her down.

I must not faint,
she told herself desperately, certain that if she did, she would be this madman's prisoner forever.

And then she knew nothing at all.

Talmor, having succeeded in gathering his squire, servant, and the few members of the queen's household who were to accompany her, pushed Canae through the milling confusion. Courtiers ran in all directions, clutching bundles of
possessions too precious to leave behind. Wagons were still being loaded, and guardsmen hurried back and forth, shouting in vain efforts to organize the chaos. Talmor knew it was only a matter of time until the Vvordsmen sent a boat here to cut off the exodus at this river landing.

Cursing beneath his breath, he thought of the queen left behind in her dark hiding place.
Thod keep her safe for a few minutes more,
he prayed, and pointed his little group toward the eastern road. “Follow it if you can to the first crossing,” he said to Pears, “then take the north turning. If Thod is with me, I'll rejoin you soon.”

“But, sir—”

Lifting his hand, Talmor spurred his horse away, heading back to the Sebein ruin. Galloping through the trees away from the curve of the river, he leaned low over Canae's whipping mane, aware he'd left the queen too long. If only Pears and Lutel could keep their horses and the wagon from being stolen, all might yet be managed.

At that moment a Vvordsman war cry sounded, and a group of them leaped from the bushes into his path. Canae reared in fright, and Talmor barely had time to count five of the savages as he drew his sword and met their attack.

They were naked to the waist, their eyes glowing orange and yellow-green in the darkness. Howling and brandishing their spiked clubs and curved swords, they came at him, but Talmor's weapon was quick and sure. He struck off a head, and swung his sword around just as a hand gripped his cloak. Twisting in the saddle, Talmor cut off the man's arm. Screaming, the Vvordsman fell back, his blood splattering in a wet arc. One tried to spring at Talmor from behind, but Canae kicked him away. Another lunged at the horse, trying to cut Canae's throat, but Talmor leaned forward recklessly in the saddle and struck him down. Wheeling the furious charger, he spurred Canae toward the remaining man, who tried to attack. Talmor rode him down, letting Canae trample him, then with a leap, horse and rider were back on their way.

He fended off two more such ambushes before he was able to veer out across the meadow. He no longer bothered to stick
to cover. The main brunt of fighting was at the palace, and from the sounds of battle and the fire blazing from some of the windows, the barbarians had managed to storm the walls successfully. Part of Talmor was enraged and wanted to go back to fight the enemy, but the rest of him knew he belonged with the queen.

Worry about her drove him to spur Canae faster. He hoped she'd stayed where he left her. Surely she had sense enough to do that.

But when he dismounted at the ruins and went hurrying down the swaying steps into the dark cellar, he came to an uncertain halt and listened intently.

All was still and silent. He knew at once that she'd gone. He felt no sense of her presence anywhere nearby.

Alarmed, he found the passageway door locked, and although he called out softly to her, hoping she remained on the other side of it, there came no answer.

Cursing, he forced down his worry and wondered if she had gone back into the palace. Nay, surely she would not be that foolish. If she had, he could not help her, for he could not get through the door.

But if she had left the ruins . . .

Turning around, he stared at the steps leading up into the open air. How long had she waited before she emerged? A part of him admired her for such courage, but the rest of him wanted to break her neck. Thod take the woman. Couldn't she stay put for an hour?

He found himself prey to all sorts of fears and imaginings about the many possible ways she could come to harm.

Ruthlessly he suppressed them and forced himself to clear his mind.
Sanude, help me now,
he thought and closed his eyes. The lady had her faults, like any living creature, but she did not lack for valor. If she believed herself abandoned, she would not cower here in hiding indefinitely. She would take action, and she would go . . . outside.

He opened his eyes, feeling the pull of some instinct now. Swiftly he went back up the steps and glanced around, trying to see the ruins, meadow, and forest through her eyes. They
had talked of taking refuge in the forest until she could be reunited with her household. That's where she had surely gone.

Swinging back into the saddle, Talmor headed into the forest. He soon slowed, for the undergrowth was thick, and in the darkness he could find no trail.

He tried to determine how far a frightened, pregnant woman could go. Every few minutes he halted Canae to listen. The forest lay still, its denizens hiding tonight. Behind him came the sounds of battle, fierce and distracting, and with a frown he focused his senses forward.

The next time he reined up to listen, he heard a woman cry out.

It was Pheresa's voice, and the sound of her in trouble pierced him like a knife blade. He spurred his charger, his sword already in hand, and came bursting into a small clearing lit by the fading moonlight. There, he saw an armed man carrying the unconscious queen.

“Hold!” Talmor shouted.

The man—garbed in a white surcoat—turned, letting the queen slip to the ground, and drew his sword. “Give way!” he shouted back. “She's mine now.”

Blazing fury took possession of Talmor. He heard nothing, cared about nothing, except saving her from the clutches of this abductor. Swiftly he jumped from the saddle and ran across the clearing to meet the other man's charge.

Their swords clanged through the forest, a grunt springing from Talmor's lips at the force of their exchanged blows. The church knight tried to lock swords and force his down, but Talmor disengaged and with a swift swing of his wrists, sent his blade flashing at the man's head.