Gael struck the older man in the throat with her ash staff, drew back and beat him across the head. By now the crowd had seen what was going on and two men seized the spear wielder and wrestled him to the ground.
The danger was not over—the young man went lunging through the shrieking women and almost came to Knaar, who was dragged aside, at last, by his Eagle guards and his sons. Jehane had held on with the pursuit, and the younger assassin suddenly relinquished his attempt. He lifted his sword to heaven and came back; he uttered words in a strange tongue and went among those holding his companion. Incredibly, he was able to drag him away, and they both fled into a narrow street. The villagers gave chase, and Gael would have gone too, when her bridle was seized and two lances were crossed before her …
“Halt, girl!” ordered an ensign of the Sword Lilies. “Declare yourself!”
“Maddoc, of Coombe!” Gael gasped out. “They went down that alley—the assassins …”
“There!” cried the second Sword Lily, as big and hard faced and angry as her comrade. “Says assassin, dares to say assassin, does she! You’re a prisoner, now, let fall that staff …”
The villagers added to the confusion—an old woman with a big voice cried out that she had been pushed aside by the horses.
“Rode us down!” she shrieked.
A tall older man said: “No, good Mother, they were after the two armed men! The two men who went to attack the Lord Knaar!”
“Quiet!” roared the ensign. “Get back, all of you!”
“Ensign,” begged Jehane, drawing in closer. “I pray you, send one of your troops after those two bandits! I swear they tried to attack the lord …”
At last the ensign summoned two more Lilies from the bunch, and they pushed through the thickening crowd and sent their white horses hurtling down the alleyway.
“I still don’t know you gals,” she said angrily. “Where d’ye ride?”
“We are new recruits from Coombe,” said Gael. “We are training with Druda Strawn.”
“So that’s it,” said the ensign, still frowning. “Names?”
They gave their names and were ordered to turn their horses and get out of the way. The other kedran pointed with her lance and drew her dapple-grey skillfully aside. So Maddoc and Vey rode back to their old position. The barrier had been set upright, Lord Knaar and his closest followers had gone; the Eagles patrolled before the gates of Hackestell with lances at the ready. A young man on foot, wearing a striped yellow-and-grey tunic, came through the soldiers, together with a high-ranking guard officer. Gael noted the officer’s crown and star—an obrist of the guard.
“There!” said the young man in the stripes. It was Knaar’s younger son. “The two kedran wenches, the red and the black. They saw it all—went after those rogues!”
“Well, kedran!” said the obrist, staring up at them. “You heard Hem Duro—what shall we call you?”
They gave their names smartly, and the prince of Val’Nur smiled at them.
“Training with the Chyrian priest, I’ll be bound,” said the obrist, knowingly. “Aha, they’re all brave hearts in Coombe!”
“Kedran Maddoc, Kedran Vey,” said Duro of Val’Nur, “Obrist Wellach will have you brought into Hackestell. The duty officers will see to your horses and bring you to the private hearth beside the commander’s quarters. I will be there soon to
question certain witnesses about this attempt on my father’s life.”
They saluted and went round the barrier. The obrist called to another guardsman to lead them in and handed up to Jehane a duty pledge, a strap of leather with a silver badge on it, showing his own seal and marks of rank. So they rode through the wide gates into the outer wards and the guardsman pointed the way ahead across the inner bailey.
“Good Ensign,” said Gael, to the guardsman by the door, “we have been given this duty call—pray you bring word to Druda Strawn, the leader of the Coombe training muster, to say where his kedran have gone!”
“I’ll do that, sweetheart!” said the guard with a grin. “Just cut across to the lodge there, find the duty officer …”
They went slowly on their way, through hurrying crowds of soldiers and others—servants, market women, scullions, and cooks with their heads covered. Above them on all sides now were the towering walls of Hackestell central keep, built all of pinkish stone from the quarries northwest of Krail, with darker bands of greystone from the south by Rift Kyrie.
“Great Goddess!” breathed Jehane. She, as well as Gael, had heard tale of the fortress’s prison cells. “How have we come to this, Gael Maddoc?”
“A pity,” echoed Gael, speaking just as low, “a pity if we have such an adventure because some rogues attack the lord!”
They got down, trying not to be overawed, showed their token to a stableboy who led away their horses and pointed the way to the lodge. Inside there were more than a dozen members of the garrison; they kept up a little murmur of teasing talk until the duty officer saw the token. He waved it and gave them both a smart salute, said his name, Captain Treem, and summoned yet another ensign for their guide. There was silence as they went out and the young ensign led them into the keep under the great iron wargate.
“Godfire!” he said, on the stairs. “This is a terrible business—did you see the bastards?”
“We chased them!” admitted Gael. “Others went after them through the town—were they caught?”
“Not yet—we’ve heard all sorts of tales.” He chattered on,
said his name was Stivven, and asked their names. They kept on up the wide winding stair with its old wooden banisters, rising up on the left side of the keep within the thickness of its outer wall. Outside, through a narrow window, they saw the afternoon sunlight shining on the high ground and a wind moving the tops of the trees.
So they came to the private hearth, where witnesses were to be heard. Stivven left them at the door with a salute. It was surely not so for Jehane, but for Gael this was the finest room she had ever been in. There were rich hangings on the walls and a bank of fresh green leaves filling the hearth and the settles were padded with bright red leather. The room was empty—Jehane touched Gael’s arm and led her behind an arrangement of painted screens near the door. There was a place to wash, with mirrors and a privy, thickly curtained. They each took turns keeping watch while the other removed her tunic and made a soldier’s ablutions. Towels and vials of lavender water made Gael feel giddy with luxury. She combed up her hair, in its new short kedran cut. She a little regretted the loss of her thick red braids, but a quick look in one of the fine silver mirrors told her she was no plainer than before. Jehane would have to look fair for them both … They heard movement in the chamber and came out from behind the screens, carrying their riding caps.
Five orderlies were bringing in food and arranging it on a long trestle that had been set up along the western wall. There was an older man, one of the lord’s servants, and again the young ensign, Stivven. He said their names as witnesses, and the older man looked at them keenly and pointed to a settle, with a table before it.
“Fetch yourselves food and ale,” he said gently. “Sit there.”
They went to the food table and were served with hot meat, buttered bread, salad greens, and a cloth each to wipe their hands. Did they each have knives? Yes. The boy would bring them their ale. So they took their places and ate as daintily as they might. Presently two civilians were shown in, and Gael recognized the tall old man who had spoken up for them outside the fortress. He stood about with the men and drank a goblet of wine. After a moment he caught sight of them and exclaimed:
“Yes, by heaven! There they are! The two young kedran—they saw it all!”
He came across to their table and bowed and bade them not to get up.
“Mentle,” he said, “I am Huw Mentle, Reeve of Hackestell Village. I’m glad they brought you here to bear witness!”
“Good Sir,” asked Gael, “were the men captured after they went down that alley?”
“No, they were not!” he said. “Not even the Sword Lilies could find them! And there was something strange in that …”
The doors were opened, and Obrist Wellach led in Duro of Val’Nur, along with a pale, striking fellow in a black scholar’s gown. They were followed by two Sword Lilies. Jehane nudged Gael, recognizing the pair who had halted them. Then there came a notably handsome young man, finely dressed in blue—Gael took him for one of the courtiers who had walked with Lord Knaar and his sons. There were some others, servants of Val’Nur and soldiers of the garrison.
There was movement at once as the room was rearranged for the hearing. The obrist spoke up, saying what would be done.
“Master de Reece, head scribe of the house of Val’Nur, will be the questioner. This is not a court-martial, but all witnesses are asked to speak up plainly. There will be no penalties, no name taking, and no rewards.
“The good Master is a lay justice in Krail. We are fortunate indeed to have one so close at hand who knows how to conduct such a hearing.”
Behind, while Obrist Wellach spoke, Hem Duro was instructing two kerns where to place his chair, before the food table, facing the room. Despite his words outside the fort, it seemed, at least for now, that he was there to listen rather than to speak.
Two lesser scribes, one a young woman, settled at a special table to write down the proceedings. Then the obrist held up his hand for silence. Master de Reece stepped forward and spoke in clear ringing tones.
“We will not have the witnesses sworn just at first,” he said easily. “I will begin with the person who was closest to Lord Knaar—first gentleman of the bedchamber, Valent Harrad.”
The handsome young fellow in blue stood up and answered
to his name. Yes, it was just as the procession turned to make the approach to the fortress. He was behind Lord Knaar, who turned aside to receive flowers from some country wives and their children. No, he had seen nothing amiss until two kedran came riding from the barriers and pushed into the crowd just beyond the women. And then? Yes, indeed, said young Harrad, tossing his long scented locks. He saw the attackers, two men in dark clothes, perhaps hunting dress. He saw that one had a great spear and came at the Lord Knaar, although the kedran would have prevented it.
“So the red-haired one struck him down!” he finished.
“Do you see this kedran?” inquired Master de Reece.
The young man’s gaze flicked over those present in the wide sunny room, and he pointed eagerly, smiled and nodded.
“There she is, Master de Reece, and her companion too …”
Gael held up her head and prayed for strength.
“Kedran?”
Master de Reece made a gesture; she stood up, saluted, and gave her name.
“Gael Maddoc, kedran recruit from Coombe village!”
She was echoed by Jehane springing up at her side:
“Jehane Vey, kedran recruit from Veyna!”
De Reece nodded to Huw Mentle, including him in the group of witnesses.
“Yes, Master Scribe,” said the old man, “I first saw the danger when these two brave kedran came through and held the two brigands. Some of our citizens from the garrison village came to their aid and took hold of one of the men. The younger of the two, in a close-fitting hood, held up his sword to heaven and made some incantation. Then the pair of them made off, and two of the lord’s escort, two Sword Lilies, came amongst us and ordered the kedran to declare themselves!”
Only one of the Sword Lilies, a fierce old captain called Lockie, told the tale from their side.
“Yes, Master de Reece,” she said in her hoarse voice, “we had not seen anything of an attack or an attacker. We did not recognize these two recruits.”
She gave Gael and Jehane a curt nod—it was recognition at last, and they acknowledged it thankfully.
“Now, was there a pursuit of these two men?” asked de Reece.
“There was,” said Captain Lockie. “Two of our troop went after them and some citizens before. They had taken to a narrow alley called Oldwall that leads to the fields. The men were not found.”
“They had hidden themselves? Reached the fields?”
The captain was already embarrassed by the questions. Reeve Mentle signed to de Reece and spoke up seriously, looking at Hem Duro.
“I know that our noble Lord Knaar is no friend of such talk, but it must be said. That short street, Oldwall, is bare of any doorway or possible hiding place. The younger fugitive was heard speaking strange words. Hem Duro—your father’s attackers escaped with the help of magic!”
Duro gave a short laugh and shook his head.
“Yes,” he said. To everyone’s relief, he had taken no offense at the reeve’s uncomfortable disclosure. “My father does not encourage magicians. But magic is used all throughout the lands of Hylor. Two enemies of Val’Nur might be just the fellows to fight against us with such tricks!”
As he spoke, the trumpet call sounded below, and bells were rung. The obrist whispered something to the prince.
“What? Changing of the guard? Yes, of course, any with duty may leave. If Captain Lockie or her ensign could stay back a moment—I think we are come to the most important part of this whole affair: who were these men, to set themselves against my father?”