David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

The two men lay in the center of the room, their throats slit, dark blood pooling around their heads.

“Demons and fire,” the duke muttered.

He squatted beside them to take a closer look, noting that the blood on their necks was already dry. They’d been dead for some time.

“I guess they got what was coming to them,” the captain said. “Question is, from who?” He glanced at Sertio. “I suppose the duchess will want to know. Shall I-?”

Instantly Sertio was up and striding to the door, his heart battering his breastbone like a siege engine. The duchess. “Bring your men, Captain! We have to get back to the castle!”

He ran down the corridor and nearly fell rushing down the stairs. Bursting through the door, he crossed to the innkeeper and gripped her arm.

“The other man who stayed the night! What did he look like?”

She blinked, looking confused.

“Quickly, woman!” he said, shaking her.

“Tall, like the others. Yellow hair, pleasant face.”

“What else? A mustache? A beard?”

“No.” She shook her head, as if groping for an image of the man. “He had a small scar by the side of his mouth, like from a fight.”

“Good.” He released her and started running toward the village gate, heedless of the stares that followed him. “See to it that she’s paid for her trouble,” he called over his shoulder to the captain, who had emerged from the inn. “Leave a few men to clean up the mess and bring the rest with me!”

He was too old for this. He should never have left his mount with the baroness’s men.

He heard footsteps, and looking back once more, saw the captain just behind him. “Where are we going, my lord?”

“Back to the castle, you fool! The man who killed those archers will be after the duchess next!”

Diani awoke to the sound of knocking at her door. She felt lightheaded and confused for several moments until she moved, wincing at the pain in her shoulder and leg. Of course. The herbmaster’s tonic. Damn his potions.

The knock came again.

She rose carefully from her bed and crossed on unsteady legs to where her robe hung. She shivered slightly as she shrugged it onto her shoulders. There was warm water in her basin and a bright fire in her hearth. It seemed she had slept through a good deal.

Whoever had come rapped on her door a third time.

“Yes, enter!” she called, belatedly passing a hand through her tangled hair.

The door swung open revealing a guard, who looked uncertain and just a bit frightened. He glanced first at her bed before seeing her at the wardrobe.

“What is it? Why do you disturb me?”

“Forgive me, my lady. But a soldier has come from Kretsaal bearing news from the barony. He says it pertains to the attempt on your life.”

“Have him speak with my father. The duke is looking into this matter.”

“The duke rode southward during the night, my lady. He received word that the men had been seen near the barony.”

Diani frowned and shook her head, still trying to clear her mind. “Father rode to the barony?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And yet this man comes from Kretsaal?”

“He does, my lady. He bears the barony’s colors. He and your father must have passed each other in the darkness without either of them knowing it.”

She nodded, though she found all of it rather puzzling. Why would her father leave, without telling her, particularly with assassins abroad? And what news could a man of Kretsaal have that her own soldiers did not?

“Tell this soldier that I’ll speak with him shortly. I want my breakfast served first, in here. And I want the herbmaster told that I’m awake.”

“Of course, my lady,” the man said, bowing and withdrawing from the chamber.

Diani splashed some water on her face and then sat at her writing table, staring at the fire. The next thing she knew, yet another knock had pulled her from her dazed musings.

“Come.” She pulled her robe tighter around her shoulders.

The herbmaster entered the chamber, bearing a tray that held a full breakfast and a pot of some steaming broth.

“I didn’t know you were working in the kitchens now, herbmaster. It seems a waste of your talents.”

He smiled. “Some would say it’s the best use of them anyone’s found yet.”

“None who had tasted your brews.”

He placed the tray on her table and regarded her closely, his brow creased. “You don’t look well.”

“It’s your bloody tonic. It’s left my mind fogged.”

“Don’t blame the tonic. You were supposed to rest. Had you slept as late as I wanted, your mind would be clear. How are your wounds?”

“They hurt still.” She allowed him to examine her shoulder and then her leg.

“I expected that,” he said absently, looking closely at her injuries. They were still discolored, though less so than they had been the night before. After some time he straightened and nodded. “They appear to be healing nicely.”

“Good.”

“But you still need rest. I don’t want you doing anything today beyond sleeping, eating, and drinking more of my brew.”

“You should have told my father that. He’s ridden south, and there’s a soldier come from Kretsaal with news of the assassins. I have no choice but to speak with him.”

The herbmaster twisted his mouth sourly. “Fine, then. Nothing more after you’ve seen him.”

“Yes, herbmaster. Thank you.”

He sketched a quick bow and left her. Diani glanced at her breakfast. Bread and butter, smoked meat, stewed sour fruit from Macharzo, and, of course, the herbmaster’s sweet-smelling brew. Her head had started to clear, but her appetite had not yet returned and she decided to speak with the baroness’s man before eating.

“Guard!” she called.

One of her men opened the door.

“Have the soldier from Kretsaal brought to me at once.”

He had made his way out of the village as soon as the inn grew quiet, leaving by way of the gate nearest the tavern shortly before the ringing of the midnight bells and the closing of the village gates. He circled quickly to the north gate and waited within sight of it, just off the road, until the bells tolled. He stayed low in the grasses, so as not to be seen in the dim moonlight. If Kretsaal barony was like nearly every other court in the Forelands, the guards would change at midnight.

It was, and they did. No sooner had the last echo of the bells died away than the replacements appeared in the lane that led from the modest castle to the gate.

Immediately, before the replacements could get too close, he stood, calling out, “Hold the gate!” and then, “My wares are a bit heavy. Can one of you help me with these sacks? It’ll get me into the city faster.”

Two of the guards had already begun to close the gate and now they stopped, peering out into the darkness. He heard one spit a curse and the other begin to laugh. This second man turned and started walking toward the center of the village, but the first man stepped beyond the walls, still trying to spot him. He noticed that the guard unsheathed his sword.

“Where are you?” the guard called, walking slowly along the worn lane that led into the city.

“Over here.” He made his voice sound strained, as if he were struggling with heavy satchels. He had chosen a place near a cluster of stones, and he bent over them now, as if they were his sacks.

“Don’t you have a horse and cart?” The soldier had adjusted his approach at the sound of his voice and was coming directly toward him.

“The cart threw a wheel back on the moor. Snapped the rim. I left the horse and most of my wares there, but needed to bring some with me. I’ll have to sell most of this tomorrow to be able to pay a wheelwright to come with me and fix it.”