Back | Next
Contents

XXXIV. Zhanedd’s Gambit



Three-quarters of the way to Laxton Castle and just as she was about to leave the King’s Way, Will Scathelock, Adam, and Maurin Payne caught up with Isabella Birkin. Adam pulled up alongside her while there was still room, but she barely acknowledged him. She was pushing her horse, focusing on or lost in her fury with his father. Adam had no doubt that this time, when she confronted him, she would kill him. He thought he would not stand in her way if she did.

Then they were on the path home, and he had to drop back. They rode the remaining distance single file. The forest oaks gave way to a rolling landscape and the view of the low curtain-walled estate through the trees. Then they broke through the trees onto the grassy slopes, and the full view of the three different enclosing walls, with the bailey perched on top of the motte at the far end. Beholding it should have brought some sort of joy of homecoming, but Adam felt nothing but darkness and unease. At the same time, he caught sight, above the main gate, of a bird or maybe a bat. But bats didn’t come out in daylight, did they? No, but they carried messages to the devil, and that made him think that his father must be home.

They rode through the first gate. The people working the land there paused to watch. A few removed their woven hats and waved them to Lady Isabella, but she acknowledged none of them. Adam did, in her place.

Through the second gate, and his mother barely slowed down until the last moment, then reined in suddenly and swung off her saddle, dropping to the ground. She must have been stiff after that hard ride, but she showed no sign of it.

Their old equerry came shuffling up to take the lathered horses, saying, “M’lady,” and handing each horse in turn off to the stableboy.

At the same time one of the serving girls came down through the motte gate. She carried a bucket and ladle. It was the tawny-haired one, Edme, who had recently turned fourteen and who Adam knew had been hand-fast betrothed to the smith’s son, who was a year younger than she.

She made a leg before Isabella and gave her the ladle, the first drink. Isabella paused to drink deeply of the well water. It must have calmed her a little. She turned to Adam and said, “Do not try to stop me.”

He, accepting the refreshed ladle, said, “Would you like my assistance?” He drank his fill. The water was cold and wonderful.

“What? Invite my son to commit patricide?” She took off her riding glove and touched his cheek. “It’s enough that you might have to watch me face execution later.” Then she turned and marched off.

Edme carried the water to Will and Maurin in turn while Adam waited. Then, refreshed, they all followed after her. Maurin asked, “Would she really kill him?”

“I believe this time she might,” he answered. “He’s intruded into the unspoiled part of mother’s life this time where he had no business.”

Adam thanked Edme, and the girl followed them up the motte steps to the tight inner courtyard with its main hall and adjoining buildings. Isabella had no doubt entered the hall—at least Adam thought so until Edme, coming up behind, said, “Lady Isabella went into her house. I’m sure I saw.”

“Thank you,” he said. No doubt his mother was selecting a weapon of choice, maybe loading a crossbow. “We’ll wait for her below, then,” he said, or tried to. His mouth was suddenly inflexible. His fingers did not want to unlatch the door. They slid off it, and he found he couldn’t raise them again. When he tried to turn around to view Will and Maurin, his legs gave out and he corkscrewed to the ground from where he watched the two Keepers topple after him.

Young Edme with her ladle was providing each of them another drink whether they wanted one or not. “Mustn’t have you waking up on your journey,” she said. And then it was his turn. He stared into her eyes and saw something there, an expression, a knowledge, that didn’t belong to the girl at all.

His head lolled back, and he thought, We’re all poisoned. He remembered nothing after that.


Thomas dodged back as a dragonfly-winged little fae hob came shooting around the bed curtains in Lady Isabella’s chamber. It grabbed at his face and he ducked. It swung in a wide circle, screeched, and dove straight for him again. Already gripping the Yvag sword, he hardly gestured his hand before the blade sprang out and bisected the creature. It stabbed a ceiling beam, too, and came snapping back in an instant. The halves of the creature plopped onto the carpet. It oozed and melted into a puddle of goop. The jellylike viscera of the little monster were absorbed into the nacreous blade.

He turned back to the bed and drew the curtain all the way open. Lady Isabella, Adam, Maurin, and Will Scathelock lay there side by side. He thought they were dead, but when he tugged on Will’s boot, the archer mumbled incoherently. They were alive.

He needed to get them away, but must first deal with Zhanedd.

Thomas grabbed hold of the bed curtain and tore it from its rings. After setting the sword aside, he took a dagger and ripped through the cloth, cutting three strips. He tied one around Zhanedd’s ankles, with a second bound her hands behind her. The third he tied around her throat and then to a bedpost. It was as close as he could come to the way they’d hobbled Little John.

Satisfied with his handiwork, he stood, then pulled Isabella across the bed to himself. He drew her up, folded her over his shoulder, picked up the sword, and carried her from the room. Down the stairs and then out of the building. No one was nearby. He entered the main hall, and hurried over to the nearest bench, laying Isabella down upon it. He set the Yvag sword on the floor beside her. Then he turned and ran.

Back in her chamber, he grabbed Adam and carried him across to a different bench. A third trip delivered Will Scathelock into one of the leather chairs. It was at that point he worried that he needed to check on Little John and D’Everingham. He ran up the steps to the upper floor and down the hall to his chamber. There Little John slept on unharmed.

Thomas drew a dagger and ran back along the hall. Even as he caught sight of D’Everingham’s door, a green light flickered beneath it.

Thomas charged, and flung the door open, ready to defend himself against Yvag knights. What he saw instead stunned him. The face of Zhanedd peered out from the remaining opening of an Yvag gate. Behind her was a wattle and daub wall—it might have been any house here or in a nearby settlement. She leered and said, “Thank you for our teind!” Then she sealed it the rest of the way up and was gone.

In terror, he ran back out and down the stairs.

Isabella, Adam, and Will all lay as he had left them on the benches there. What then . . . ? “Oh, Christ,” he said, “Maurin.” He snatched up the sword and ran back to Isabella’s house, taking the stairs two at a time. Her chamber door stood open. Inside was no one at all. The curtain that he’d torn up had been cut again, the pieces lying or dangling empty. He drew his ördstone and laid it on his palm, then slowly turned.

A blue line stretched out, and a ghostly circle formed in front of the large hearth. A ring had been opened in this chamber scant moments after he’d rescued the three Keepers.

He should have rejoiced that he’d rescued them, because there was no question but that the Yvags had entered the chamber for everyone. Zhanedd had gone to too much trouble for anything less. But he’d failed to get Maurin out, worried as he was about Little John. He couldn’t be everywhere at once, no matter how hard he tried.


Back | Next
Framed