WindSeeker (13 page)

to the movement beyond the keep to the south. "Du Mer? See if that’s Grice Wynth, Liza’s brother,

leading that troop. If so, bring him to me as soon as he can get free."

A booted foot crunched gravel and Conar glanced up to see his third in command striding toward him.

Marsh Edan’s face was set and hard.

"How are you holding up, Commander?" When the prince didn’t answer, Marsh glanced at Legion, who

shrugged. He cleared his throat. "What do you want me to do, Commander?" Marsh asked, running his

hand over his wet beard. He had taken on the responsibility as Conar’s personal valet, taking on the duty

even before they had left Boreas, for he had emptied many a chamber pot at the keep since that first day.

It was not a task he relished, but rather performed grimly.

Conar looked at him. He had unmercifully teased Edan while he had been ill, punishing the stalwart Elite

for having had the temerity to titter at Conar’s adherence to Liza’s demand of how to use a chamber pot.

The two men had become chess partners during Conar’s convalescence and had developed a strong

admiration for the other’s talent with the game.

"I have a special project for you, Marsh," Conar said, draping his arm around Edan’s shoulder. "Will

you see that I have a spare chamber pot in my tent? With all this rain, I just might need to pee more than

usual."

Marsh rolled his eyes and ducked under the arm resting heavily on him. "Aye, right!" He sent his

Overlord a withering look as he stalked off, water squishing beneath his boots.

"Don’t get pissed off, Edan!" Conar shouted and snorted when Marsh waved a hand in dismissal.

"That’s no respectful way to treat your Prince!"

Legion glanced at Thom as they walked toward the main body of the troop. "At least he’s been able to

hold on to his humor."

Standing in the now-pouring rain, Conar’s eyes went to the dark silhouettes of the men standing on the

high walls of Norus Keep. A few torches still burned stubbornly, but he knew even those would soon be

extinguished as the rain soaked the pitch. It was barely dawn and soon there would be need for torchlight

anyway.

In the encroaching glow of the morning sky, the keep looked worse than when Conar had seen it last

some four years before. Rot pitted the eighteen-inch-thick walls. Fallen-away chunks of mortar and stone

lay scattered in the brackish moat, while pieces of the crenellations and turret blocks had crumbled and

lay on the edge of the moat like toys of some ancient giant’s offspring.

Withered vines grew up the moisture-encased walls and ran into the moat where vines ended in

waterlogged stumps. The giant drawbridge showed gaps in the planking, the chains so rusted, dark lines

scored the pale gray wood.

Yet, despite the outward signs of rot and decay and the overpowering stench, Conar knew the keep

was almost impenetrable. From the long-snouted reptiles in the brackish water to the archers with their

long bows and javelins on the battlements, Norus Keep was deadly serious in its defense. And he had

held no hope of Kaileel Tohre having been left out in the plans for the siege. The bastard would have

conjured well for this.

Blood would run dark and thick before the keep surrendered. It could be taken, he was sure, but it

would be a long siege that could last for many months. Months he didn’t have.

Conar felt the reins being eased from his hand and he glanced behind him to find Sentian Heil. The

handsome, brown-haired young man was drenched to the bone, but his lips were drawn back in a warm

smile. He blinked rapidly as rain fell from his long lashes and he raked his strong fingers through the crop

of hair to see better.

"Are you all right, Commander?" he asked, not yet comfortable with calling the prince by his given name.

He saw Conar’s lips quirk and made a mental note to practice saying the name until he could actually

speak it to his Overlord.

"I’m fine." Conar clapped Sentian on his back. "No need to worry about me, Master Heil." He grinned

when Sentian ducked his head.

A much-worn cambric tunic stretched far too tightly over Sentian Heil’s well-developed chest, and

although the cord breeches he wore had seen better days and were several inches too short for his

six-foot frame, they weren’t shabby. A loving hand had kept them well-mended. His boots, however,

were without heels and the leather was cracked, one bare toe already peeking through the hole. Conar

chided himself for not having had Hern outfit the boy in the Elite uniform.

"We need to get you a dry tunic, Senti," Conar remarked. "And some dry boots."

"I forgot to thank you last night for the coins you sent my wife before we left. It will help buy some land

for the horse farm I would like to start." Sentian’s gaze shifted away from the startled look on the

prince’s wet face.

"You put the coins aside to buy a plot of land?" Conar asked in astonishment. "I meant for your wife to

use that to buy provisions for your family."

Sentian was afraid he had insulted the prince. "She is frugal, Commander. She always puts money aside

for our horse farm."

"When we have my wife back safely in Boreas, I will see that you have your farm, Sentian."

Sentian was hurt. "I ask no reward for loyalty, Sire."

"And you have received none. The coins I sent were for your family. You are now a registered Elite and

that money was your first month’s pay. As for the land, that, too, is part of your service contract, Sentian.

Every Elite is a landowner, as is every palace guard and every one of my father’s personal guards. Each

man is given acreage in appreciation of the service they give the McGregors." Conar shook his head as

Sentian tried to protest. "I understand your honor, Sentian, but if you are one with me, then you are one

with my honor, as well." He put his hand on Sentian’s shoulder. "What good is wealth if you can not

reward your friends because they are—friends?"

Sentian couldn’t tell if the moisture running down his face was from the rain or the tears choking him.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"Conar!" the Prince corrected. "Unfortunately, my friends call me many things. I believe ‘shithead’ is a

particularly fond nickname they have for me; but I prefer Conar." He spotted Thom and whistled, gaining

the captain’s attention. "Come get ’Yearner, Thommy!"

"Let me, Your…" Sentian blushed at the cocked brow turned his way. He swallowed hard, as though he

were in great pain. "…Conar," he ended, feeling giddy with the name on his tongue.

"See? That wasn’t so bad, now, was it? Thommy can see to my steed. I want you with me." He turned

his gaze to the wall above and a frown puckered his lips.

"There’s not a man here that wouldn’t die for you or your lady," Thom said as he took the horse’s reins

from Sentian.

"Let’s hope no man has to," remarked Legion, pulling his cloak about his shoulders.

"How are you doing, Commander?" Thom asked.

"He’s gonna catch cold," Legion snapped. "Your tent is up, brat. You need to get yourself inside before

you’re flat on your back." He eyed his brother’s tired face. "How are you really, Coni?"

"He says he’s fine," Sentian answered for his Overlord when Conar just stared at Legion.

Legion shook his head. "You’ll find he has the tendency to need baby-sitting, Heil."

"And the Vice-Commander often needs his ears boxed," Conar snapped.

"Not by you, brat." Legion grinned. "I made setting up the tents a priority. From the looks of that black

cloud speeding this way, we may be in for a true drenching."

"Did you expect this to be easy?" Conar inquired. "Galen would have seen to the weather."

"Do you think that slimy little snake of a brother of yours is behind this rain?" Legion snarled. "If I get my

hands on Jah-Ma-El, I’ll wring his scrawny neck!"

Conar couldn’t help but smile at Legion’s refusal to acknowledge Jah-Ma-El as
his
brother.

"I know Galen isn’t trying to work magic. He never finished his training at the Temple and he’s never

finished anything he’s ever started." He glanced over his shoulder at the keep as he walked toward the

tent Legion had indicated. "Not until now, at any rate."

Thunder rolled heavily across the steel-gray sky. The rain started coming down in a torrent of blinding,

stinging pelts. Nothing could be accomplished in the downpour, so the men ran for the dry comfort of

Conar’s huge tent.

Drawing aside the flap for his Overlord, Sentian would have waited outside, but Conar pushed the man

ahead of him and into the tent.

"I wondered how long you were planning on taking a bath, Conar," Teal said as the men entered. He

took a long draft of his warmed brandy. "Grice’ll be along in a few minutes. He’s seeing to his troops. I

liked him right off. Looks a lot like Liza." He eyed Conar. "Are you all right?"

Running his hands through his sopping wet hair, Conar nodded and then shook rain onto Teal’s upturned

face.

"The devil take you, McGregor!" Teal sniffed.

"Have a care, du Mer, before you find yourself outside instead of in."

Teal snorted, suspiciously eyeing Sentian as the young villager awkwardly stood a few feet inside the

tent. "You wouldn’t dare turn me out."

"Don’t be so sure," Conar snorted.

Teal glowered at Sentian. "You want some brandy?"

Sentian smiled."I would appreciate something to warm me, Lord Teal."

Teal smirked, regarding the villager with caution. "I had forgotten you know who I am. My reputation

does proceed me."

"Isn’t that the truth?" Thom snorted as he ducked into the tent. " ’Yearner’s taken care of." He shot his

eyes to Sentian’s strained face. "Pay no attention to du Mer. He’s a cunning bastard, this du Mer

brother, but harmless."

"Harmless?" Teal growled. "Not likely. Cunning? Aye, and diverse of talent, as well."

"And loud of mouth," Legion snapped.

"And slow of wit," Conar added as he stretched out on a carpet.

"And he cheats at cards," Storm Jale amended as he, too, joined the men inside. He looked at Conar.

"How are you holding up, Commander?"

"Beware of du Mer, Heil," Marsh agreed as he pushed Storm aside to get in from out of the rain. "He’s

a neighbor of yours."

Teal glanced up at the villager. "You are?"

"My wife’s family farm’s near your southern pasture."

Teal’s smirk faded rapidly and his voice was short and quick. "What does your wife look like?" He

hoped he hadn’t messed with her.

"Sit down, Sentian," Conar commanded, then watched the anticipation on Teal’s face as Sentian took a

cup of hot brandy from Legion and sat on the carpet next to Thom.

"My wife is one of Felias Spiel’s daughters, Lord du Mer." He took a sip of the brandy, warming his

hands around the hot mug.

Teal swallowed. How many of them had he fooled with? He tried to remember. There were seven. Five

of them were maids at his manner house, and all five had warmed his bed within the last month. And all

were married.

"Are
you
all right, Teal?" Conar asked and grinned.

"You know my wife, Lord du Mer. She’s Felias’ youngest. You and she used to play dominoes together

when her mother was your father’s chatelaine."

Teal’s eyes grew wide in astonishment. "Your wife is Sherind?"

"The one and the same."

"You won Sherind’s hand?" Teal asked with a low whistle, his opinion of the man changing.

"It took me awhile, but I did." Sentian laughed.

Teal pictured the red-haired beauty. He had been a bit in love with her since he was a boy, but Sherind

would have nothing to do with him in that way. Her heart, she had declared, would go to the man worthy

to carry on her father’s farm.

"She’s a good woman," Teal said with an emphatic nod. If Sherind had married this man, he was as

good a man as they came.

"She’s one of the best, Lord du Mer."

"Call me Teal." He smiled at Sentian for the first time and held out his hand in greeting.

Rain pelted the tent as the men sat about with their brandy and ale. Storm brought the news that the

cook tent was up and food was being prepared. The sounds of hundreds of men making camp was

deafening and he had to shout to be heard.

By noon, the weather turned even nastier. A gust of water poured through the tent flap as Prince Grice

Wynth, Liza’s eldest brother, hurried inside.

"You look like a drowned cat, Wynth!" Legion joked.

"Damned foul weather to be doing anything in, eh?" He took off his rain gear, handing it to Marsh,

nodding his thanks to the Elite, and eagerly snatched the mug of spiced ale Teal extended toward him. He

nodded to the men he didn’t know until his eyes rested on Conar, whom he had seen only twice in the

three years since his sister’s marriage to the Serenian Prince.

"Are you all right?" he asked, sipping his ale.

Conar stood, annoyed with the way the men seemed to be pampering him. "Why does everyone keep

asking
me that? I am fine! Just fine!"

Grice chuckled, reaching out his hand to Conar. "And in a very good mood, I can tell."

"What took you so long?" Conar asked. "I expected you several hours ago."

Grice shook his head in exasperation. "Would you believe the old demon-salts who’ve been with the

Oceanian Forces longer than I’ve been alive have forgotten how to pitch a tent? They thought I should

show them, as if I knew!" He sat near Legion. "That’s what comes of not having had to fight in over a