Chapter Forty-One
The Farmstead in the Black Hills
It happened so fast all Halithe could do was scream.
One moment she was just behind Rosalind, the warmth of the kitchen still in her clothes, the scent of the bean soup and bread in the air, listening to Rosalind’s harsh tones, watching everyone’s faces. The next, there were brutal cries and flashing blades and the smell of blood and death.
She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She’d never been so close to danger before. Terror froze her in place.
Suddenly Ritathan was beside her, strong, silent, and grim. He’d been supposed to have remained hidden, but now he put himself between her and death. His warm hand went around her bracelet and she felt a force clamp down on her power, like a comforting weight.
Her power might be dampened, but Ritathan’s was not. The air shimmered as his power pulsed out, like a wave, flowing out from his hand, sending the attackers stumbling back.
That gave their people a moment, and that moment was all that was needed. Blades flashed again and the invaders’ bodies were scattered about while her loved ones stood, breathless, sweaty, and unharmed.
Halithe could breathe again. Ritathan was there, with all the power at his command and it was all right, it would be fine, they were safe.
He looked at her, then glanced toward the barn, where Aramal stood, bodies at his feet too, his quarterstaff in his hand.
“Stay with Rosalind,” her master commanded.
He strode across to stand over the wounded warrior that the others had gathered around.
Rosalind warped an arm around Halithe’s shoulders as the men talked.
Ussin, the remaining Wyvern, moved and the warrior on the ground stilled. Everyone seemed to relax then…
Ussin stood, mace in hand, and swung.
Ritathan collapsed, snuffed out in a single blow.
“No,” Halithe screamed, her throat raw and terrible.
Aramal charged, his quarterstaff out in front of him. He rammed into Ussin’s shield, staggering him back, away from Ritathan’s body.
Halithe pulled away from Rosalind, darting toward the crumpled heap.
Aramal pressed his attack. Ussin kept his feet, blocking the blows, but Aramal forced him back, raining hate and anger on the Wyvern. The others backed off, giving him space.
“Hold!” Orval’s voice was loud and clear. “Stand down,” he said, and it was a command.
“He killed Rye,” Aramal roared and swung again.
Halithe dropped to her knees next to Ritathan, not sure what to do or how to do it. He looked like he was asleep, almost, curled on his side, save for the blood running from his nose and ears.
Rosalind dropped to the ground beside Halithe and pressed her fingers to the mage’s neck.
Halithe held her breath.
“He’s alive,” Rosalind announced.
Aramal hesitated, his next blow arrested. Ussin took advantage and retreated a few steps, wary.
“Aramal,” Orval’s voice rang out. “You are of my Hearth. Ussin, I am Lord High Baron. Both of you. Stand. Down.”
Aramal took a step back but kept his weapon high. Ussin did the same, both men breathing hard.
“Shape he’s in, he won’t last,” Ussin’s voice was rough. “I know my trade.”
Aramal bristled, hands clenching on his staff.
Halithe’s eyes filled with tears. She tried to blink them away as the Lord High Baron moved forward, his dagger still in his hand. “Captain Ussin, explain yourself,” he rasped. “Striking an unarmed man with no warning?”
“No ‘unarmed’ man, that,” Ussin snorted, gesturing with his mace.
“That’s Ritathan, an unchained rogue mage, declared outcast by his Guildmaster and traitor by the King and Council.
I am commanded to return with him for justice or with proof of his death.
” Ussin stared at Orval. “I’ve warrants on my person that so command me.
As the Lord High Baron, sworn liegeman of the King, so too are you bound by the King’s command. ”
Halithe choked back a sob and those cruel eyes swung to her. “I’ve another warrant as well,” Ussin said, “to escort the Lady Halithe back to her father, Lord Marshal Tarwain.”
“No,” Aramal growled.
Roth and Jerrold also stepped forward, forming a line. “You can’t take us all,” Roth spat.
“Keep talking,” Rasfel said from nearby. “While we reload our crossbows.”
“Aye, do that,” Ussin snarled. “Strike me down and more will come. The King commands it.”
“Stop,” Orval demanded. “Ussin, you called your own men fools for attacking us, and now you think to take us all down?” He drew a breath. “You are surrounded by my people, Ussin, and outnumbered. Put down your weapon.”
“Your people?” Ussin asked, his gaze flickering over the men around him.
“His people,” Jerrold said. “You threaten our Lord High Baron, you threaten us.”
“I have no intention of harming the Lord High Baron, or his family,” Ussin snapped, clearly outraged at the idea. “Those are not the King’s orders. Ritathan or his head, and the girl.”
“I won’t allow that,” Orval said.
“Not seeing you have much choice,” Ussin said. “The King’s command, Lord High Baron.”
Halithe’s skin prickled. The wind picked up and for the briefest of moments she felt it touch her cheek.
Over by the stables, the ugly barn cat emerged from the shadows, picking its way around a pool of blood by the bodies. It paused and looked at her with those watery green eyes.
A sick feeling rose in her throat. These seasons, these weeks, it had all been too good, too perfect. Nothing ever lasted, not for her. Aramal was still focused on Ussin, but his glance strayed to Ritathan crumpled on the ground. The pain in his eyes…
“I’ll go,” Halithe choked out the words, rising to her feet, breaking the silence that held them all. “If you leave him be.”
“No,” Aramal protested. “Leeda, no—” He gripped his staff, but his eyes dropped once again to her Papa.
“You sure, girl?” Ussin asked. “He’s not long for it, a head wound like that.”
“Let them see to him,” she said, nodding, “and I will go with you.”
“Leeda,” Orval said, gently, “there are other ways. We could—”
“No,” Ussin said. “Him, or his head, and the girl. Those are my orders.”
Halithe felt cold and numb. Then she lifted her chin. “His chains,” she said, “and the Ring of Xy. He has them.”
She heard Rosalind gasp and saw the Lord High Baron blanch. Everyone else was staring, wide-eyed.
“The Ring?” Ussin gaped at her. “King Xyrath has searched high and low for that Ring. Wants it more than even an atira blade.” Ussin narrowed his eyes and jerked his head toward Ritathan. “How did he get it?”
“Does that matter?” Halithe said. “But that is the bargain. The chains, the Ring, and myself.” She swallowed hard. “That or—”
“Your death,” Orval said. “Here and now.”
Ussin’s eyebrows jerked up at that, but the Lord High Baron’s face was set and firm. Halithe breathed out; she hadn’t been sure he’d support her. She looked around, then, and saw that the other men were just as grim-faced.
“I don’t know,” Ussin said slowly, looking at the scattered dead. He was breathing heavily, his weapon still up, his shield still raised.
Halithe opened her mouth—to beg, to argue, she wasn’t sure—but Roth was the first to move.
“What a pity,” Roth said slowly, as he knelt and wiped his sword on the dead warrior’s trous, “that the mage took your men out before you took him down.”
There was a pause, then Orval spoke, shaky but firm. “What a shame that Ritathan used his magic to make me think he was a scribe.”
Ussin frowned, giving them all long, considering looks.
Orval sheathed his dagger, nodding to the bodies. “The Queen will not want her commands known, will she? Better that she thinks they failed.”
“True.” Ussin grimaced.
“You’d be under more threat there than here,” Roth said as he rose and sheathed his sword. “If the Queen thought her plans were known.”
Ussin eased his stance slightly. “Unless the mage took them out before they could act,” he said, musingly. “Never seen anything like it, the way he turned their own weapons on them. Poor bastards never had a chance.”
Aramal still glared, still held his staff as if to attack.
Ussin focused on Halithe. “Only way this works is if you stick to the tale.”
“You leave him here, as he is, and I will,” Halithe said. “I swear it.”
“Even after he’s dead?” Ussin asked.
“Until the sun fails to rise,” Halithe said. “No one will ever hear different from me.”
“No,” Aramal stepped forward, raising his staff ever so slightly. “I won’t allow—”
“Da,” Halithe said, her heart bursting. “Da, Papa needs you.”
Ussin stepped back a pace. “So be it,” he said.
Aramal glared at Ussin, but stepped back, dropped his staff, and went to Ritathan.
“Let’s get him into the house,” Orval ordered, and men started to move, even as Ussin lowered his shield and mace. Aramal cradled his head, and the others gently lifted him from the ground and headed toward the door.
“Yfin,” Jerrold called. “Take my horse. Fetch the healer.”
Yfin sheathed his daggers and in the next instant was up on the horse and galloping down the road.
“Come,” Rosalind put an arm around Halithe’s shoulder. Her touch was warm against Halithe’s cold numbness.
“The girl stays here,” Ussin growled.
“She needs to get cleaned up, and get her things,” Rosalind snapped.
“I stand as surety,” Orval said. “You need to be dealing with your dead.”
“Aye.” Ussin hooked his mace to his belt and shouldered his shield. “I’ll need a hand, heaving them up and tying them to saddles.”
“You’ll have it,” Roth said.
“Under watchful eyes,” Rasfel said, his crossbow cocked and ready. “You’re too fast with that mace for trust. No offense.”
Rosalind escorted Halithe toward the manor.
“Don’t forget his chains, and that Ring,” Ussin called as the door closed behind them.
As if she could.
The kitchen was oddly the same, the smell of the soup, the warmth of the fire. Nothing had changed.
Everything had changed.
Rosalind hustled her through the room and up the stairs. “Quickly,” she said. “Wash your face and hands and see to your hair.”