Chapter Forty
The Black Hills
Ussin let Jerrold take the lead and kept his horse close to the goat cart as they headed down the road. At least the Sculptor and his lot were delivered. That much of the King’s command had been accomplished.
He hadn’t been too sure at first, what with the two old men fighting each other tooth and nail. But the Mayor had seemed confident enough, even if Orval had been dismayed.
Not one for using his fists to resolve disputes, was Orval.
The Mayor now, he had the look of a man who could handle himself. No armor, but a dagger at his side. And it didn’t escape Ussin that the Mayor’s horse was battle-trained. It hadn’t flicked an ear when the yelling started.
Of course, neither had the goats.
Now the Mayor was to join them for a meal, and wasn’t that something, that the folk of the Black Hills didn’t seem intent on killing them outright.
Ussin hadn’t considered Orval’s chances too good when he’d escorted the cripple and the others to the Keep.
But here he was, seemingly well-established.
As to his own mission, all well and good so far. Yet Ussin wasn’t too sure about the rest of his orders. He glanced back at his men again. All seemed well, but that itch still burned at the back of his neck. He faced forward, listening with half an ear to Orval’s rambling. Time to learn more.
And not about the history of marble quarrying. Ussin cleared his throat and moved his horse in closer to the cart. “Mistress Winter sends her greetings,” he said.
There was a pause, then Orval gave him a side-look and raised an eyebrow. “She’s forgiven you, then?”
Ussin grunted at that dagger thrust. One he deserved, most like.
“She fares well?” Orval continued
“She does,” Ussin said, not quite willing to share all the details of what was happening between him and the Lady. Especially when he wasn’t sure himself. “She was happy to hear from you, and wishes both you and the Lady High Baroness well.”
“Hmm,” Orval didn’t say anything else, he didn’t have to. Ussin doubted that he’d been forgiven for dumping Orval and his family here, but he wasn’t looking for forgiveness.
He’d had his orders.
“The King asked me to inquire,” Ussin rumbled. “If he sent to you for men, how many troops could you muster?”
“Troops?” Orval shook his head. “Doubtful I could send more than a quarter of the normal allotment. It would take skilled laborers from the quarries and the fields.” Orval gave him a sharp look. “What need is there for men? I thought Edenrich secure.”
“It is,” Ussin said stoutly. “It’s the other baronies that might be…difficult.”
“Hmmm,” Orval said. Ussin could almost hear his brain churning. “Swift’s Port? Summerfall? I can’t imagine a lot of opposition from Athelbryght, what with the birth of a Chosen.”
That started the questions coming, fast and furious and direct, and Ussin answered as best he could, mostly with grunts and shrugs.
It was uncomfortable; Orval’s questions about the murky dealings of the nobles showed Ussin his own ignorance.
He preferred to have clear orders that he could obey, not having to go around trying to figure out what people wanted him to do.
He also had a bad feeling that Orval learned more than Ussin himself did.
“The manor’s just ahead,” Orval finally announced. Ussin sighed with relief as the goats seemed to pick up the pace.
Except…the road opened up on clearly a farm house, with a wide courtyard and outbuildings. Two stories, and large, but this was no ‘manor’ to his way of thinking. No walls, no guards, no defenses that he could see. He heard the muttering from his men as they took it all in.
The Lord High Baron was guiding his cart over toward a barn where a young lad stood. Ussin recognized Yfin. The lad had filled out since last Ussin had dragged him from hiding along the way to the Black Hills, and he’d daggers at his side.
Ussin stopped his company behind the cart and gestured for them to dismount. There was an ever-so-slight hesitation before they obeyed. It made him grit his teeth.
Three people emerged from a doorway. Captain Roth, armed to the teeth, and Mistress Rosalind, looking grim. There was a younger girl behind her. Ussin gave her a long look as he dismounted. Sure as sunlight, that was Tarwain’s girl.
The girl’s gaze flickered back to the door they’d stepped from. More in the house, then.
Perhaps his King had been right. Perhaps the mage was here.
“Captain Ussin,” Rosalind’s voice was cold and hard and there was no real welcome in her eyes. “The Lady High Baroness Amari wishes me to welcome you to her hearth. We’ve bean soup with bacon, bread, and ale for you and your men.”
“Our thanks, Mistress Rosalind,” Ussin said. “It is good to see you well.”
“Is it,” Rosalind said flatly, her gaze flicking to his wyvern tabard. Roth, standing beside her, snorted.
Ussin gave an apologetic shrug and turned his horse to follow the goat cart closer to the stable.
There was the usual confusion as the horses were seen to. Yfin held the goats’ halters as Orval climbed down from the cart. The lad was wary and sharp-eyed but Ussin caught a flicker of a glance to the woods.
So there were watchers. Reasonable enough. Roth was no fool.
Orval was waiting. “No need to do more than loosen girths, and water them,” he told Yfin. “Captain Ussin and his men will not stay much past the nooning.”
Another, older man came out of the stable, a farmer type, sickle at his belt and a quarterstaff in his hands. Ussin eyed him as he leaned the staff against the stable wall but there was nothing hostile in his face.
“Four of you, help with the horses,” barked Wesnon, the one Tarwain had deemed Ussin’s second. Nothing out of the normal there, but Ussin’s neck prickled.
Orval started to limp toward the manor, Jerrold at his side.
Ussin summoned his second with a jerk of his head, and Wesnon stepped to Ussin’s shoulder.
Five more of Ussin’s men trailed behind, spreading out as if to cover the courtyard.
As if to cover the two warriors in view, Roth and Jerrold.
They started to advance past Ussin, pulling their weapons.
Ussin stopped. “What are you—”
“Queen’s command,” Wesnon shouted, pulling his sword. He lunged past Ussin, toward Orval’s back.
“No!” Ussin bellowed, clamping his hand hard on the man’s shoulder and throwing him back, away from his target. Ussin stepped in front of Orval, mace and shield at the ready. “What is this?” he bellowed again as combat erupted around him.
Two on Roth, two on Jerrold, the women pressing back toward the wall, sounds of fighting from the stable, the horses moving restlessly.
Two of his own men faced him as well. Wesnon grinned at Ussin over his shield, eyes gleaming with battle-lust. “The Lord High Baron and all in his line are to die,” he said, lifting his sword and shield. “Queen’s command.”
Ussin snarled. “Not the King’s command,” he lunged, striking hard at Wesnon, who danced back, Ussin followed up—
Which left the other man free to dart behind him, heading toward Orval. Ussin glanced, to see Orval, white-faced, dagger in one hand, scarf in the other, flicking the cloth at the face of his attacker.
The soldier flinched back, blinking, but only for a moment. Enough that Ussin could once again get in front of the Lord High Baron. He scored a hit on the soldier, but Wesnon was faster and younger.
And looked to be enjoying his work.
Roth had one down, Jerrold was retreating, slashing at his two with his dagger, pulling them away. A delaying tactic at best. They’d have no hope of—
“Fire,” Jerrold shouted.
Crossbow bolts flew from the woods, striking Jerrold’s opponents. One punched through leather, into the man’s knee. He collapsed to the ground.
The other took a bolt in the eye.
Ussin turned back to his own fight, not daring to lose focus.
Wesnon and the other fellow parted, coming at him from two sides.
Now it was Ussin’s turn to grin and enjoy.
He ignored Wesnon, moving to strike the other with his mace, hitting his ribs and crushing his chest. Wenon saw an opening and moved to strike but Ussin was waiting.
Ussin’s mace fended off Wesnon’s sword. Ussin’s shield edge cut up, into the man’s cheek, slicing it open. Blood dripped as Wesnon backed away, eyes wide.
Not so smug now, eh?
Movement caught Ussin’s eye. A man stepped through the door of the manor, tall, long black hair streaked with grey, bushy eyebrows, expression furious.
Ritathan.
Even without the robes and chains, Ussin knew him.
“Not the King’s command,” he shouted, more to protect himself than out of hope of obedience from his men. “Stand down, damn you,” he bellowed again, even as he struck at Wesnon.
Ritathan shoved the girl behind him and raised a hand.
Something passed over Ussin, like the pressure of a storm. It hit all the attackers, staggering them back.
Ussin grinned in fury and followed up, ramming Wesnon with his shield and bringing his mace up and into the man’s teeth. Blood gushed as Wenon collapsed.
He’d give no quarter to men who turned on their own.
Jerrold stood over his two, breathing hard. Roth was on his remaining foe, stabbing him in the throat. Yfin and the farmer-type came running, weapons bloodied, both looking grim. It seemed clear that they had taken down their attackers.
They were all focused on Ussin. He raised his shield and held his mace ready.
“Hold!” Orval’s voice rang through the courtyard. “Enough,” he said, his voice somehow strong and yet shaken. He looked like he was going to be ill.
Ussin looked around. His men…no, Tarwain’s men…were all down, even the four by the stable. He alone stood.
Orval stepped forward, his chin raised. “Explain this,” Orval said, his eyes boring into Ussin.
“Lord High Baron,” Ussin stepped back, lowering his shield and weapon. “I cannot. This was not the King’s command.”
“Queen’s command,” Rosalind reminded them, putting her arm around the girl. “They said ‘Queen’s command.’”
“Satia,” Ritathan growled.
Orval glanced at Roth, then gave him a nod. Roth nodded back. “Clear,” Roth announced.
Ussin lowered his shield, shifting his stance and relaxing slightly. From the woods around the courtyard, men with crossbows were emerging, their bolts all shot.
All of the attackers were down, and from the looks of them, all dead or near enough. Roth kicked his with a grunt.
“Still some life in this one,” Jerrold called from where he stood over the man he’d fought.
Ussin gave Roth a questioning glance and jerked his head toward the downed man.
Roth nodded, lowering his weapon but not sheathing it. They walked over together, with Ritathan following close behind.
The warrior’s face was a grimace of agony, clutching at his knee where a bolt protruded. He cried out, “My knee, someone—”
“Enough of your caterwauling,” Ussin said. “Who gave this command?”
“Lord Marshal Tarwain said it’d be easy enough, and you’d not get in the way and if ya did, to take you down as well.” The man’s face was pale and sweating as he gasped out the words. “Kill the Lord High Baron and all in his line. Wife, babes, servants, all that could be found.”
“Stupid,” Ussin said. “With battle trained fighters all around, and watchers?”
“My knee,” the man groaned. “A healer. I need—” he begged.
Roth made a move, but Ussin stopped him. “My man,” he said as he set his mace aside. “My problem.” He continued as he gripped the bolt.
“The Queen—” the man started then screamed as Ussin pulled the bolt from the wound. It came out clean, the head still intact and sharp.
“I’ll never walk again,” the man moaned.
“Not a worry,” Ussin said and plunged the bolt into his throat.
The man’s eyes went wide as he gurgled his last.
Ussin looked up at men clustered around him. “This,” he nodded around the courtyard, “was not my doing. I obey only the King’s commands.”
They nodded, stepping back and relaxing. Ritathan also nodded, glancing toward the farmer-type.
Ussin reached for his mace and shield. He rose in one smooth move. Throwing his weight into the blow, he turned and struck Ritathan full in the head.
There was a crack and the mage collapsed, blood streaming from his nose and ears.
“That was the King’s command,” Ussin said, bringing up his shield and bracing for attack.