Stronghold Page 24

  “For the duration—on my order,” Chay growled. “I was watching. When you loosed your horse, I thought you’d gone down.”

  Maarken laughed in genuine amusement as they climbed the inner stairs. “Your son? You not only insult me, you insult yourself!”

  They gained an inner chamber and Chay left him in Sioned’s care. She looked ghastly pale, but her fingers were sure and steady as she tended Maarken’s wounds. “You didn’t happen to see that imbecile I’m married to, did you?” she asked as she worked.

  “Rohan’s out there?”

  “He and your father were protecting each other’s backs. Then Chay saw your horse running free—and making free with his hooves along the way, I might add. How do you train those brutes, Maarken? Set them to knocking down inconvenient trees?”

  A well-trained horse could take a man’s head off with its hooves as surely as a whetted blade in a strong warrior’s hand. Radzyn horses were very well-trained. Sioned knew that as well as anyone. She was talking to hide her fear.

  “Father must be back with him by now.” He flexed his wrist, which had been wrapped in cold cloths, and hid a wince behind a grin. “He’s pretty quick for an old man.”

  “Say that to his face, you impudent child.” She tightened the bandage on his thigh until he yelped. “There. It’ll heal up just fine. But you’re through for the day. Let’s go see what’s brewing outside.”

  She gave him a slim wooden stick to lean on and accompanied him across the courtyard. Horses crowded there thick as ripening grain, for every animal not needed to carry a soldier had been herded within the walls. The courtyard, big enough to encircle Maarken’s whole house at Whitecliff, seemed shrunken. Once atop the walls, they looked down on the battle in silence for some time. At last Maarken swallowed hard around the lump in his throat.

  “We’ve killed a lot of them, Sioned. But—”

  She nodded slowly. “But they have killed many of us. If it stops at dusk, it will only begin again tomorrow at dawn. And it will continue until—”

  “We’re going to lose this, aren’t we?” he whispered.

  “You’re the warrior. You tell me.”

  He turned blind eyes to the carnage below.

  “We have two choices. Three. We can stay and fight—and die. We can stay and lock ourselves in and wait for help—and starve. Or we can leave.”

  “No,” he said. “This is my home. My inheritance.”

  “To inherit a place, it is necessary to be alive.”

  “If we leave, there won’t be anything left to inherit!”

  “There will be no help,” she said quietly. “The Faolain is theirs. Tilal and Kostas can’t raise their armies in a day. Ships can’t get past the enemy along the southern coast. Graypearl is ashes.”

  “Remagev—”

  “—is three days’ march across the Long Sand. Walvis’ little army is there, but . . . .”

  When she said no more, he faced her again. Her green eyes lit with an unholy glow.

  “The Long Sand,” she repeated.

  “What are you thinking?” he demanded.

  “The Goddess is good to us, Maarken. Never doubt that she is very good to us.” Before he could question further, she ran to the stairwell and vanished.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sioned watched as Rohan paced the tapestry-hung foyer, where they were miraculously alone for a few moments. Time enough to gulp down bracing wine, to talk without having to shout to be heard—or having to be careful that no one overheard.

  “They’re nearly at the walls,” she said. “Choose soon, before the choices are gone.”

  Rohan wiped sweat from his forehead with one gauntleted hand, leaving behind a smear of dirt and blood. He had acquitted himself well, fighting beside Chay. But when battle fever overtook him, he had despaired to recognize how easily he became the accomplished barbarian again. He flexed the shoulder injured over half his lifetime ago and schooled his features against a flinch of pain. Much too old for this sort of thing . . . .

  “Rohan—”

  He faced her and frowned. “I don’t much like the choices you present.”

  “Whatever we do, it must be done quickly, before we lose the chance.”

  “I can’t give orders without consulting Chay.”

  “At least let us make ready. It must be decided soon.”

  “No. It must be now.” He drained off what was left of the wine in his goblet. His gaze swept the length of the hall. “The first time I ever set foot here was—good Goddess, forty-four years ago. Maarken and Jahni had just been born, and old cousin Hadaan gave me permission to leave Remagev. My parents were here, too . . . .” He cleared his throat. “I thought this the finest castle and Chay the finest man in the world. I’ve never changed my opinion of either.”

  Softly, Sioned replied, “You first brought me here when Andry and Sorin were born. I’d just lost our first baby. Chay took me for long walks on the beach, sometimes talking, sometimes not.” She smiled fleetingly. “I adored him only fractionally less than I adored you. And I’ve never changed in that, either.”

  “This is going to kill him, Sioned,” he murmured. “It’s killing me right now.”

  “Here, within these walls, you’re trapped. You need the Desert, azhrei. And the Desert will provide.”

  Rohan turned in a slow circle, memorizing a place he knew as well as his own Stronghold. It hurt to breathe; his heart suddenly seemed too large for his chest, throbbing painfully against the cage of bones like a frantic hawk. His left arm went numb, then tingled.

  “Beloved? What is it?”

  “I’m a coward,” he said softly, trying to steady himself. “I’m going to leave it to you to tell Tobin. I couldn’t bear it.”

  “As if telling Chay will be any easier,” she murmured.

  But neither the Lord nor the Lady of Radzyn Keep needed telling. Tobin, seated by her bedchamber window with Betheyn and Tobren beside her, had followed the battle by sunlight. When Sioned stepped into the pool of rose-gold afternoon glow, her voice was borne on colors darkened by grief and rage.

  We can’t hold Radzyn. We must leave, Sioned.

  Kneeling before her, she rested her cheek on Tobin’s useless left hand. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  It’s not your fault sorcery failed. But I suppose Rohan thinks it’s his fault that after thirty years of peace, we don’t keep enough troops anymore to battle an army.

  I think you’re right, and Rohan does believe he’s failed—as a prince and as a man.

  My noble fool of a brother! Who could have foreseen this? We’ll have to talk some sense into him once we’re safe at Stronghold.

  Not Stronghold, Tobin. Remagev. We’ll lead them deep into the Long Sand.

  Sioned looked up and saw the warrior princess in Tobin’s black eyes. Ah! she said. Excellent! We won’t have to kill them—the Desert will do it for us!

  Sioned felt energy race through Tobin’s slight frame. For a moment it seemed she would throw off her disability like an ill-fitting cloak, spring to her feet, and start shouting orders. Only her hands moved. The reality of her physical infirmity sagged her back into her chair. But in another instant she squared her shoulders. Damn it to all Hells—I’m as useful as a newborn foal. Worse—I can’t even walk. What a time to start getting old.

  You? Never. Sioned smiled, then got to her feet and told Betheyn to pack saddlebags for herself, Tobren, Maarken, and Hollis. “Clothes, jewels, anything you especially treasure. I’ll take care of Tobin’s things. The squires can do for me and Rohan and Pol.”

  Tobren’s blue eyes almost started from her head. “Are we leaving? But we can’t! What about the horses? We have to save them.”

  Clever girl! Tobin’s colors shimmered on sunlight again. We can’t let them have the horses, Sioned. That’s probably why they attacked to begin with.

  “Your grandmother commends your quick thinking, Tobren,” she told the child. “We should have thought of that
ourselves. Beth, Dannar can do the packing. Send Daniv to tell Chay about the horses.”

  When they had gone, Sioned asked Tobin, “What besides your wedding necklets do you want to take?”

  How frivolously romantic—and how like you, Tobin chided. A change of clothes and a warm cloak. That’s all. I take the most important things with me in my heart.

  And you call me romantic! Sioned went to the huge wardrobe, sorting through Tobin’s dainty silk gowns and Chay’s jewel-toned tunics and shirts; rich fabrics, elegantly cut and finely embroidered, so many recalling times both joyous and grim. The wealth of colors and textures crumpled suddenly in her clenched fists and tears sprang to her eyes. Stupid—why was she crying over shirts and dresses?

  “Sion-ned?”

  Tobin’s halting voice alerted her. She wiped her cheeks on a blue lace veil and said over her shoulder, “You and Chay must account for half the silk trade all by yourselves.”

  There was no reply, and she didn’t dare look at Tobin. She dragged out a few changes of clothes—not silk or velvet but sturdy leather and wool, durable garments that would hold up under hard riding and keep the wearer warm during brutal Desert winter nights.

  She went to Tobin’s dressing table and picked through the jewel coffers, aware of that sharp gaze following her every movement. The wedding necklets, a few rings with particularly large stones, a carved sand-jade bracelet left by the Isulk’im in teasing apology for stealing a prize stud, a ruby pendant with diamonds that had been Chay’s present on the births of Maarken and Jahni—once again her eyes clouded.

  “Not to mention you seem to have most of the gold and gems mined in all thirteen princedoms,” she said, cursing her unsteady voice. She stuffed the jewels into a velvet pouch and tied the laces. “Anything else? Letters you want to save, souvenirs—”

  “Stop,” Tobin whispered. “Sunlight . . . must t-talk . . .”

  She dreaded it, but did as so laboriously asked. I’m here.

  I know what you’re thinking. How can I leave this place where my sons were born, where my whole life is? If I think about it, I’ll start screaming and never stop. So I won’t think. Neither will you. Just do what has to be done. There’s always time for grieving, Sioned.

  I’m so afraid, Tobin—

  I know. So am I.

  • • •

  Chay needed no one to tell him, either. He had been wise in the ways of war before Rohan knew how to wield a sword; battles against the Merida at Zehava’s side had taught him reality early. He knew an untenable position when he saw it.

  All he said was, “We’ll wait for dark, then ride out in small groups. The faradh’im can discourage pursuit with a few bonfires—it might bend their oaths a little, but no serious breakage, I trust.”

  But when it came time to leave, and the first riders shot through the postern gate like arrows from a bow, and the Sunrunners had dappled the darkening battlefield with Fire, he gazed up at the eight towers of his keep with moisture gathering in his eyes. He caught Rohan’s anguished look a moment later, cleared his throat, scrubbed a hand over his face, and said, “I’ll go hurry the others.”

  Horses within the courtyard were tied securely together and led out in bunches of ten to twenty, accompanied by the grooms and trainers they knew best. But even though the enemy would be denied these animals, they could pick and choose among those it had been impossible to bring inside, horses in far pastures and at Whitecliff. Chay couldn’t decide whether the loss of Radzyn or his blooded darlings hurt worse. But when he reached his wife’s chamber, he knew he’d gladly hand over everything he possessed if only Tobin could be safe.

  Hollis had dressed Tobin in leather trousers and vest, a warm shirt, and a cloak. Her hair was braided tightly around her head. She sat straight-backed and calmly waiting for him. He paused in the doorway, knowing he should not glance around the room. All the nights, all the mornings . . . . The gleam of candlelight on silver at her dressing table caught his eye: her brushes and combs. The thought of enemy fingers touching them—he knew it was ridiculous, but he crammed them in his pockets anyway. When he faced her again, she was smiling, and the angle of the light spared him the ruined side of her face.

  “I’ll take your things downstairs,” Hollis said, and tactfully vanished.

  Chay knelt beside his wife. “Beloved, I know you’re strong enough.”

  “When . . . was I . . . not?”

  He gathered her in his arms. She weighed even less than the girl he had first carried into this room long ago—both of them laughing at the scandal they caused by leaving their own wedding feast. All the nights, all the mornings . . . . He kissed her hair and hurried down to the courtyard.

  The chaos of frightened people infuriated him—not because his people were afraid, but because he could do nothing to ease their fear. Rohan waited at the bottom of the steps with Chay’s favorite stallion. He held his sister while Chay mounted, then lifted her up to the saddle.

  “Can you put your arms around me?”

  She tried and failed, black eyes fiery with rage at her helplessness. Then her gaze shifted to the courtyard and fury became grief. This castle had been their life and their pride. By dawn it would be empty of them and all they had accomplished, befouled by the presence of enemies.

  “Damn them all,” he heard Tobin whisper.

  Holding her tighter in his right arm, he kicked his horse through the low, narrow postern gate and into a headlong gallop across the fields. Rohan, Sioned, and Daniv rode with him, and three grooms leading a score of horses. There was no pursuit; the Sunrunners had done their work well, and the enemy was too busy avoiding Fire to send more than a token force after them. Besides, soon they would have what they wanted: Radzyn Keep.

  Chay never looked back. After a dozen measures he slowed the stallion to let the others catch up. Tobin’s slight weight made no difference to the horse at all.

  “Maarken?” she asked. “Pol?”

  “Waiting farther on.” She shifted in his arms, trying to turn, and he pulled her head gently to his chest. “No. We’ll see it again soon enough.” Pressing his lips to her hair, he added, “I’ll get it back for you, beloved. I swear I’ll win it back.”

  • • •

  Chayla’s fist closed around her pen as if it was the hilt of the knife, and candles lit earlier with Sunrunner’s Fire flared in response to her emotion. The home of her ancestors had been in enemy hands a full day now, her family was fleeing across the Desert, yet here she sat with a medical text before her and orders to make detailed notes by morning. Remagev’s faradhi, Relnaya, had decreed that no matter what, her education must continue.

  It was an old trick and not a very subtle one. Chayla knew she was being kept busy so she wouldn’t think too much. Absurd, of course—and the assignment itself was the wrong one to give, rife with descriptions of complications that might ensue after a serious wound. The treatments she was supposed to be memorizing were even now being used in earnest. Physicians sliced away fevered flesh with thin curving knives, applied steaming poultices, kept careful watch on dangerously deep gouges in case they festered. It was all too easy to imagine faces she knew and loved tightening with pain.

  Perhaps Relnaya was more clever than she gave him credit for. Goddess knew this book was appropriate to the circumstances. She might have to use these techniques herself very soon.

  Always supposing the wounded survived long enough to let her work on them.

  Rage sparked the candles again, and the pen broke in her fist. She flung the pieces across the room, tempted to send the inkpot after them just to hear the crash. Her even-tempered parents deplored her explosive anger, even while ruefully admitting she came by it honestly. Her grandmother’s furies were legendary.

  Thought of Tobin brought a surge of fear even stronger than anger. No one in her condition should be moved—and certainly not in a flight for life across the Desert. Not that Chayla could bring herself to believe that her indomitable grandmother was ill, l
et alone that Radzyn had been abandoned. Relnaya had forbidden her to share the sun with him today, and she hadn’t enough knowledge to attempt it on her own. Distraction had been easy enough to come by during the light—readying a keep for war took every pair of hands. By rights she ought to be too exhausted to think. No use telling that to her frantic brain. It was night and she could do nothing but wait for two more days—and then her parents and family would be here. At least tomorrow Relnaya would ride the light to New Raetia, where Chayla’s twin brother Rohannon was, so she could know him safe. Perhaps she could go along and learn enough to go Sunrunning on her own, and not be dependent on him. But she knew Relnaya; not a chance.

  “Damn!”

  Her own voice startled her. The candle flames jumped and quivered perilously near the curtains. Chayla doused Fire with a single thought and got up so fast her chair overturned. She couldn’t stay in this room another instant.

  But at the staircase she paused, irresolute. Had this been almost any other place, she could have lost her troubles in the scent of flowers and the sound of water. Remagev had no pleasure garden. Whatever miracles Walvis and Feylin had wrought here, roses were not among them. There were plots of kitchen herbs and medicinal herbs, and an arrangement of occasionally flowering cacti planted years ago by Sionell. But Remagev was an enclosed desert; its spring allowed it to live, but it was a desert just the same. There was no place where water ran free, and green growing things could shelter an angry, frightened, frustrated fifteen-year-old girl.

  Well, if sand she was compelled to look at, then she might as well do it right. Reversing direction, she took the upper stairs two at a time. Perhaps sight of the moons bathing the Desert in silver would soothe her. Perhaps she could imagine she gazed out on the sea from the heights of Whitecliff—the sea that was alive with dragon-headed ships.

  Emerging into the night, she swung the heavy door shut behind her and nodded to the sentry on duty. He bowed his respects in silence and continued pacing the broad stones. Chayla looked out over the battlements to the stark landscape. The Long Sand was awash in moonglow, but not even her active imagination could portray the rolling dunes as the sea. To wander in a garden was to breathe in rhythm with life itself. To forget everything in the sound of the pounding sea was to hear the world’s heartbeat. But if she lost herself in the bleak and barren plain before her, she might never find her way back.