The Queen's Gambit (37 page)

The priest looked bemused, and with an impatient mutter Talmor strode out of the chapel. He knew he should not have left her, no matter what she ordered. It was his duty to stay near. Now she could be anywhere in the hold. He hoped she had decided to return to her chambers for breakfast.

She had not.

Lady Carolie and the countess exchanged alarmed looks, setting up a clamor of questions that he retreated from swiftly.

Outside in the passageway, he grabbed the shoulder of the first page he came to and sent the boy running to fetch his squire. By the time Pears caught up with him, an oily rag still in his hand, Talmor had checked the Hall, the kitchens, the solar room, the study, and the upper storerooms. No one had seen her.

“Sir?” Pears asked, puffing as he caught up with Talmor. “The boy said ye wanted me right away, but a damned fine time I've had in finding ye.”

“Where's Lutel?”

Pears frowned, folding his rag in on itself to protect its oily center and hitching up his belt. “Well, then, if it's him ye wanted why didn't ye—”

“Tell him to check the stables, quick and quiet,” Talmor ordered. Worry jabbed him so he could hardly speak.
Where could she have gone?
He met Pears's eyes. “The queen is missing.”

The squire's annoyance fell away. “Morde a day! What infamy is this?”

“Nothing but her own low spirits,” Talmor said, drawing a swift Circle. “At least I pray so. I must find her, but let no alarm be raised as yet.”

Pears raced away to do as he was bid. A moment later, however, he came back with Sir Bosquecel at his heels.

The tall, gray-haired commander nearly always wore a serious expression, but this morning he looked grave indeed. “Good morn, sir!” he said. “The gatehouse reports that a lady rode out of the hold an hour past without authorization. We fear the queen—”

Talmor swore. It was as he had suspected. She'd planned that sojourn in the chapel simply to rid herself of his company so that she could strike out alone to Thod knows where. Glaring at the commander, he demanded, “Why didn't you report this sooner? Why the delay?”

“I was just informed,” Sir Bosquecel said. “ 'Tis baking day, and most of the village is coming in and out—”

“Thod smite your baking day,” Talmor told him, and headed downstairs.

Sir Bosquecel followed on his heels. “Forgive me. The sentry says he thought at first it was the queen, but she had no escort and no protector, so he assumed she was one of the ladies in waiting sent to fetch the village midwife.”

Talmor paused halfway down the steps and scowled over his shoulder. “Sentries have no business thinking. No lady of the bedchamber would ride out herself.”

“Aye, that I know. I'll see the man is properly reprimanded when he comes off duty.”

Talmor hurried on, uncaring how Bosquecel disciplined his men. The guards at the gate never should have let Pheresa get past them. His worry grew, almost strangling him, and he quickened his pace as he made for the stables.

He found Pears ahead of him, with Lutel busy saddling Canae. Drawing on his gloves and taking cursory note of the snow now falling, Talmor cursed again beneath his breath and glared at Sir Bosquecel. “Was any notice taken of which direction she went?”

“We'll ask at the gate,” Sir Bosquecel said grimly, and turned to issue orders.

In minutes, he and Talmor were mounted, joined by a party of Thirst knights and the huntsman, an individual who wore a soft green cap and carried a horn slung across his shoulder.

“Fear not,” Sir Bosquecel said quickly, as Talmor frowned at the huntsman. “He's got a nose like a hound. He can track anything.”

“Her trail'll be fresh, sir,” the huntsman said.

Talmor took no assurance from what they said. He spurred Canae across the bailey, the cold wind cutting through him like blades of ice. Snow was falling rapidly now, beginning to whiten the ground. It would obliterate her tracks in minutes, he knew, and felt his heart lurch.

They paused at the gates to question the guards, who had little to add. Talmor opened his mouth to blister the sentry, then found his eye caught by Sir Bosquecel and held his tongue. With an effort he reminded himself that these men owed their primary allegiance to King Faldain, not Pheresa. Minding her was his responsibility, not theirs. He told himself
to be grateful they'd noticed her departure at all, especially since they didn't actually recognize her.

That thought stirred pity inside him. That the queen should be brought so low as to be abandoned by all who should have leaped to serve her, to pass unrecognized in a crowd of peasants. Thod's bones, but that dogsbody of a husband had much to answer for, and one day Talmor intended to see that he did. But right now, with her babe growing large in her and drawing down her strength, she needed friends and comfort around her now, not betrayal and calamity.

“Here's her tracks, sir!” the huntsman called out.

Talmor trotted over to join the man, who was eyeing the trampled ground expertly.

“See the track, sir? A dainty hoof and well shod.”

Talmor saw the tracks, and gave thanks that despite the snow the ground was not yet frozen. She had headed for the marshes, and the river. A dreadful, nameless fear swarmed up through him, but he clamped it down, refusing to give way.

“Let's hurry!” he said, and spurred Canae forward.

They followed her trail until it ended in marshy ground. Splashing Canae impatiently through the reeds and water, Talmor let the huntsman search for the broken trail while he stood tall in his stirrups and squinted at the horizon. The river lay ahead beyond this finger of marshland. Spurring his horse up atop a levee, he found himself on a stone-paved road leading to a bridge.

“Ho, there!” he shouted, waving at the guards on duty there. “Has a lady ridden this way?”

“No, sir,” the guard replied crisply, his gaze shifting past Talmor's shoulder to Sir Bosquecel. “We've had merchants and travelers, anxious to get ahead of the snow, but no womenfolk.”

“Damne,” Sir Bosquecel said. “Where to now?”

Talmor began to feel more than worry, more than dread. Something ominous tingled along his spine, bringing a rushing sense of urgency and the conviction that he must find her at once. He stared past the river at the forest of Nold, telling
himself that despite her depressed spirits, she would not venture there and put herself and her unborn child in such danger.

“She doubled back!” came a shout.

In relief, Talmor spun his horse around. Down the side of the levee he went, Canae snorting as he slipped and lurched, then galloped through the mud in the direction the huntsman was pointing. The man held aloft a broken reed and a snippet of velvet cloth.

Talmor grabbed it. “ 'Tis hers.”

Back and forth they cast in the marsh, with no sight of her. Talmor kept shutting away images of her body floating in the water among the reeds, and tried to still his worried thoughts in order to catch some sense of where she might have gone.

His gaze kept returning to the forest. “Is there any other way across the river besides the bridge?”

“Aye, there's an old fording point,” Sir Bosquecel said with a frown. “But why would her majesty go that way? She knows better than to venture into the Dark Forest.”

“In truth, sir, I know not what she would do this day,” Talmor said frankly. “After the council—”

“Aye,” Sir Bosquecel said quietly, his eyes knowing. “That was a bad business.”

“So's this,” Talmor said, staring at the trees once more. He felt uneasy every time he looked in that direction. Hesitating, he turned his mount toward the ford, where the river ran shallow over gravel. “I mean to look on the other side.”

“You'll be trespassing in clan territory,” Sir Bosquecel warned him. “The dwarves don't like it, and they'll—”

A scream rose in the air, a woman's scream. Although distant, it had a piercing quality that lifted the hair on the back of Talmor's neck. He recognized it immediately as Pheresa's voice. The fear and horror in it were all too clear. When it fell silent, he felt as though a javelin had gone through his chest.

“Thod's blood!” Sir Bosquecel said. “Is that her?”

Talmor drew his sword. “To the queen!” he shouted, waving at the men. “Make haste!”

Canae galloped across the ford, sending up a spray of water. Urging him up the bank, Talmor went hurtling into the trees only to slow down as he encountered dense thicket like nothing he'd ever seen before. The men with him rode fast and close, weapons ready. Talmor noticed how they watched all directions, even from above. That sent a chill through him, for he had not considered attack from the sky. These Nonkind monsters must be horrible indeed, and if one had caught Pheresa . . . he scowled and ducked beneath a branch, refusing to think about it.

The forest closed in around them, walling them off with foliage of bright crimson and gold hues. Angered at having to slow down, Talmor hacked at bushes and vines with his sword, trying to cut a way through.

“Hold, sir,” Bosquecel said softly. “You can't force yourself through the forest. Look for the trails.”

“We must get straight to her,” Talmor said. His keen ears caught the faint sounds of shouting, and he thought he heard
the clash of weaponry. In fresh alarm, he kicked Canae forward.

The horse reared, nearly entangling him in vines snaking among tree branches, and a moment later the huntsman came up beside him. “Easy, sir,” he whispered, holding out his hand. “Crashing through the undergrowth will warn them sure. What hear you?”

“Fighting,” Talmor said grimly. His heartbeat was like thunder in his ears. He felt heat coiling through him, and for an instant he longed to burn the forest down. Yet he knew he must master himself. Emotions clouded the mind and created errors of action or judgment that could be fatal. Struggling to distance himself from his worry, he pointed in the direction they must go. “That way.”

The men of Thirst spread out in loose formation until he lost sight of many of them. They trotted through the trees, ducking low branches and finding ways around the densest undergrowth. Talmor had never been in a forest like this, so choked with saplings and thicket, so nearly impenetrable he could not see any distance. Focusing on the sounds of fighting ahead of him, growing steadily louder, he kept going grimly in Pheresa's direction.

Pears rode near his flank, muttering curses and prayers under his breath. Talmor glanced at him. “Mind you keep yourself back from the fighting, for you've no armor.”

Pears cast him an unreadable look, his eyes worried. “Bless ye, sir. How many years have ye given me that same warning?” But he nodded his obedience just the same.

Another scream rang out, and the way ahead opened into a clearing. Talmor saw a band of dwarves surrounding Pheresa, and his heart leaped to his mouth. The filthy dwarves, armed with knives and javelins, were of various heights and ages, some no taller than her stirrup. With shrill cries, they swarmed her on all sides, some of them climbing up her stirrup and tugging at her long skirts as though to pull her from the saddle. Screaming and shouting back curses of her own, Pheresa slapped at their hands and clung to reins and saddle, kicking some of them away as she struggled to stay mounted. Her
little mare reared up, nearly unseating her, and with a roar of fury Talmor charged forward.

“For the queen!” he shouted, waving his sword.

Canae thundered from the trees in full charge, sweeping through the outer cluster of dwarves in a single swath that trampled some to the ground and knocked others off their feet.

The men of Thirst poured into the clearing from all sides, shouting, “Thirst, Thirst, Thirst!”

Talmor's sword sliced off a dwarf's head, sending it rolling like a ball, and a moment later he reached the queen.

She was bedraggled and wet from the rain, her hair falling in her eyes. A long scratch bled on her cheek. Wild-eyed, she stared at him as though he were an apparition, and shouted something in a voice so choked with fear he didn't understand her.

He leaned over, reaching out to put an arm around her so that he could pull her onto his horse, but she fended him off.

“No, no! Don't kill them. They're—” Then her eyes flared wide, and she screamed, “Talmor! Behind you!”

Something hit him from the side, nearly knocking him from the saddle. As he reeled and fought to keep his balance, he smelled an overwhelming stench of death and decay. Twisting about in a desperate effort to bring up his sword, he found himself staring into a gaping maw filled with enormous fangs. It belonged to a creature from a nightmare—a dog; nay, a wolf; nay, larger than that with black-scaled, glistening hide instead of fur. Its red eyes glowed into his, and he felt frozen as though time itself had stopped. He had never seen anything more hideous, more terrifying, but in that instant he knew exactly what it was.

“Hurlhound,” he whispered.

His body felt boneless. His fingers had gone numb, and only by the grace of Thod did he keep his grip on his sword. He was staring straight into the dripping fangs of death, or something infinitely worse, and a lesser man coming face-to-face with a Nonkind monster for the very first time might have stayed frozen until it slaughtered him. But Talmor had never lacked courage. He rallied his wits in a split second
before the monster sprang at his throat. Talmor dodged. The beast's head struck him hard in the ribs without doing any true harm. With a grunt, Talmor swung his sword around and hit the beast with a one-handed blow. His blade skidded harmlessly across the hurlhound's flank. Astonished, for his sword should have broken the creature's spine, Talmor recovered swiftly and jabbed the creature's throat with his elbow, knocking it back as he struck again with greater force.

He put the strength of his body behind the sword this time and managed to cut the animal. It bled, with blood that splattered and hissed on the wet leaves underfoot. The dwarves, shouting in their incomprehensible tongue, attacked it from behind, jabbing it with their javelins until it turned on them.

Talmor spurred Canae hard, reining the horse around. The war horse reared, screaming fury, and struck the hurlhound with his forefeet. Talmor heard a snap and crunch as Canae broke the hurlhound's back. Howling, the beast fell to the ground, then snarled and snapped at the dwarves who surrounded it. While they pinned down its thrashing forequarters with their javelins, one of the dwarves thrust a slim bar of eldin silver into the creature's snarling jaws, saying words of incantation at the same time. A dreadful howl erupted from the monster as it thrashed even harder, then it exploded into bits of ash and smoke.

Astonished, Talmor saw another hurlhound lying pinned on the opposite side of the clearing. The knights of Thirst were circling a third beast, which snarled and turned to face them before they grimly hacked it to pieces.

In that moment of respite, Talmor turned anxiously to the queen. She was gasping for breath, her face bone white. She held her salt purse in her right hand, and her entire body was shaking, but he saw no wounds. A tremendous sense of relief swept through him, and he felt as though a stone had been lifted from his chest. With a swift little prayer of thanksgiving, Talmor found his voice.

“Majesty,” he said. “Are you—”

“You attacked the dwarves,” she said, still gasping for air.
She sagged a little, bracing herself on her mare's neck with her hands. “Not enemies. They tried to help me.”

With a frown, Talmor looked over at the grubby band. The dwarves had edged away from the Thirst knights. At their feet lay the bodies of those Talmor and others had struck down. Aghast at his mistake, he shot the small, feral individuals a look of apology. “I thought they were abducting your majesty.”

“I thought so, too, at first, but they were trying to get me to safety. I didn't want to get off my horse. I feel—” She broke off and clutched her belly, grimacing with pain.

Believing she might swoon, Talmor jumped down and sheathed his sword, running to her side to catch her as she began to sag from the saddle. His arms went around her, and he felt her body stiffen with pain. A different kind of fear gripped him, for he believed she was about to give birth.

“No,” he whispered. “Majesty, 'tis too soon.”

She opened her eyes as he carried her a short distance away from the uneasy horses and knelt with her still in his arms. Pears came running over and spread his cloak across the wet ground beneath her. Again she arched in pain, her hands gripping Talmor's hard.

“Talmor,” she gasped, looking at him in panic. “You must help me.”

He knew nothing of midwifery and found himself praying beneath his breath. Somehow he managed to smile reassurance at her. “Aye, majesty,” he said, holding her icy hands in his. “I am here for you, as always.”

“I'm afraid,” she whispered. “Afraid. The hurlhounds—”

“The danger has passed. When you've rested a moment, we'll get you back to the hold.”

She shook her head urgently. “No, I fear—they run in pairs. Pairs, Talmor!” Again, she choked off a cry.

Talmor held her shoulders, brushing her tangled hair back from her face. He shot Pears a glance of appeal.

His squire looked as worried as he. “If the babe's coming, there's naught we can do but let it.”

“Damne, is that all you can say?” Talmor asked him. “ 'Tis
too early, you fool! Can we not quieten her, ease her in some way?”

Pears shook his head. “I don't know of—”

Sir Bosquecel came running over to kneel beside Talmor. “What's amiss? Is she hurt? Did one of the Nonkind get to her?”

“Nay,” Talmor replied grimly. “The babe's coming.”

Sir Bosquecel turned pale. He scrambled upright, shouting to his men. In seconds, one of them was saying something to the dwarves, gesturing violently.

The tallest dwarf, clad in a ragged jerkin and wearing a cap pulled down nearly to his hostile eyes, shuffled up. Glaring at Talmor as though he expected to be attacked, he pulled out a small leather pouch and threw it on the ground, then retreated, shaking his fist.

Talmor picked up the pouch and sniffed the contents. The pungent smell of mingled herbs filled his nostrils, and he jerked back with a grimace. “What in Thod's name is this?”

The knight who spoke rudimentary dwarf came over. “They say it's hurtsickle, cowslip, and burdock, sir. Give her some in water, best if it's brewed, and that should ease her rightly.”

Talmor hesitated, fearful that the dwarves intended to poison her.

The queen whimpered, clutching his hand even tighter. “Save my child, Talmor. Save my child!”

Her need of him, her fear, were almost more than he could bear. He nodded soothingly to her, determined that she, who had lost so much recently, would lose nothing else.

He handed the herb pouch to Pears. “Brew it. Quick, man!”

The squire's eyes were wide as they met Talmor's. He gulped, then nodded and ran to fetch water.

Sir Bosquecel was shaking his head grimly. “This is no place for her. Thod's mercy, how can we get her safely home?”

“I'll carry her, if necessary,” Talmor said, never taking his gaze from her face.

It seemed to take an eternity for Pears to kindle a small fire. He warmed the water in a bark cup and sprinkled some of the herbs in it. The men watched in doubtful silence. The dwarves had retreated to the edge of the trees. When the brew was ready, Talmor took the cup from Pears's shaking hand and sipped it.

The taste was foul. It took all his willpower not to grimace. He waited a few moments, frowning, but it held no poison.

Propping her up gently in the crook of his arm, he put the cup to her lips and coaxed her to drink. She whimpered, tears running down her face, but he persevered until she sipped a little.

“Drink it all, majesty,” he whispered as her head lolled against her shoulder. “Drink it for the baby.”

She lifted her fearful eyes to his, then nodded and drank as obediently as a child. Her trust made him ache inside. Handing off the empty cup to Pears, Talmor longed to hold her close and murmur soft words into her blond hair. Silently he promised he would never lose his temper with her again, would never lower his vigilance again, would never let her flee into danger from a sense of despair again. He held her while she wept with pain and shuddered, and imagined a different life for them. If only she were a lady of the court instead of queen, he might have aspired to her hand. And if she'd never married Lervan, he, Talmor, would have taught her what it meant to be truly cherished by a man. He would have shared with her honest, simple love, and good friendship, and the kind of companionship that lasts a lifetime. This child would have been his, and they would not be lost refugees in these dangerous woods, but instead snug at home before a warm fire and its comforts.