Baroness of Blood r-10 Read online

  Dark shook his head, motioning Chardin to tell what she'd learned.

  "Are you certain?" Renze asked.

  Both Dark and Chardin nodded. "I heard the baron himself speak of it," Chardin added.

  "I'll cross the border and warn them," Renze said.

  Dark shook his head, pointed to himself, then leaned forward, hands extended and groping the air, implying that if caught he might be dismissed as having simply lost his way in the forest.

  "I understand," Renze said. "But you'll never make it alone."

  Dark pointed toward Renze, then held his hand closer to the ground. "Chardin?" Renze asked after a moment.

  Dark nodded. He felt the girl move close to him, and take his arm again.

  "He's right, Papa," she said. "If we're stopped, I can say I'm his daughter.

  Dark shook his head, pointed to his ears, then pushed his hand away.

  "All right," Chardin said. "If you hear the soldiers coming, I'll run and hide."

  "I see why you want her," Renze commented. "She understands you, and like all our children, she knows how to be invisible when necessary. We'll escort you as far as we dare, then leave you two to go on alone. But I'm not going to rely entirely on you. I'll try to make the mountain crossing to the south and send another party through Freeman's Pass. First rest a day longer. Go tomorrow night."

  Dark agreed. At night, his blindness would be less a handicap.

  A day later, Dark sat with his comrades for the evening meal. They sounded more hopeful than they had the previous night, and Dark knew his decision had been the right one. By leaving, he told them that no matter how defeated they were, they could still resist the Obour family. By leaving, he gave them hope.

  Two of Renze's band took Chardin and Dark as close to the border as they dared to go, then left them. Soon after, Dark heard horses galloping down the road; soldiers, no doubt, since commoners had no mounts and nobles would not be abroad during the uprising. Chardin pulled him into a stand of tall grasses and as they had agreed, hid some distance away from him. The soldiers went past, Chardin later reported to Dark, without even glancing in their direction. UA hopeful sign," she said.

  Dark only shrugged. The real danger would come soon, when they entered the border zone, where the baron's patrols watched for those trying to flee Kislova.

  Because of Dark's wounds, they'd chosen a dangerous spot for crossing-a high alpine meadow of tall grasses and low stands of rock that sloped gently down to the border. Their buff-colored cloaks would blend with the land. Falling flat before a patrol spotted them, they might pass for rocks or bare spots in the grass, or so they hoped. They also hoped that, by picking such an open spot for crossing, they might encounter fewer patrols.

  As Dark traveled, he considered Baron Janosk's last words to him. "Tell your men that they fought well, but the fighting is over. Tell them to go home to their families and their fields, or they'll starve this winter. Tell them that my soldiers will be in Pirie and Tygelt and throughout the lands around the villages to help them." The baron had chuckled and added, "Tell them as best you can. An ingenious man such as you will find a way."

  An ingenious man had found a way, Dark agreed with grim satisfaction. He would defeat the baron and his family, and bring them down together.

  Their journey went more smoothly than Dark had expected until the very end. Chardin had just whispered that she saw the border stakes, and they'd quickened their pace, very nearly running over a Kislovan soldier who'd fallen asleep at his post.

  As he lunged at Dark, Chardin took him from behind, sinking her knife deep into his back. He cried out a warning as he died.

  One of the mounted Sundell patrols had been riding through the high grasslands of the mountains when they saw a number of Kislova foot soldiers cross the border. Speeding up, they reached the soldiers just as they caught up with their quarry.

  Shaul, commanding his first border patrol, cursed his bad luck. Though the patrols had turned back countless refugees since the rebellion in Kislova had begun, this was the first violation of the border by Janosk's troops, and it placed him in an awkward position.

  "Let them have their prisoners," one of his comrades suggested. "Pretend it was all a mistake. Besides, I don't relish having to guard men such as those."

  Shaul was inclined to agree. Though the handful of invaders wore the blue-and-gold tunics of Kislova, they looked less like disciplined fighters than street thugs. They'd formed a circle around their prisoners. As Shaul rode closer, he saw what looked like an old man and a boy of twelve or thirteen…

  No, not a boy. No boy had features that fine, or hands that delicate. Nonetheless, the girl gripped a long dagger as though she knew how to use it, slashing at the soldiers who came too close. Shaul quickened his pace. Some of the Kislovan soldiers turned toward him, though the others were still intent on their prey.

  "Leave us in peace!" the girl cried. "Haven't you done enough to him?"

  Shaul took a closer look at the old man, saw the bandages on his eyes and hands, the way his mouth moved, trying to speak. Possibly the man had been mutilated as punishment for some crime-more likely for taking part in the rebellion. But if the man's crimes were so terrible, he should have been killed outright, not made to suffer like this.

  "Back off!" Shaul ordered. "You are in violation of Sundell lands. Whoever is in charge, come forward!"

  A man with long greasy strands of hair and a dark stubble on his face looked up at him. "You're mistaken," he said insolently, as if the Sundell riders weren't better armed and didn't outnumber his own troops two to one.

  "There are the markers." Shaul pointed at the red-and-yellow stakes farther up the hill. "Let those people go." He pulled out his sword to emphasize his resolve.

  "These prisoners escaped," the Kislova soldier said. "We would honor your laws in such a matter."

  Shaul looked at the blind man, exhausted, defiant; at the girl, panting with fear. Whatever thoughts he'd had of compromise ended at the sight of their helplessness. "Leave them and go," he ordered.

  The Kislovan commander shrugged and grinned. 'As you command," he said. As he motioned his men away, his hand fell to a dagger beneath his cloak. Before the Sundell soldiers could react, he let it fly toward the helpless man.

  The girl struck out with her arm, deflecting the knife. She received only a small wound, but the cut was enough. She fell to her knees, clawing at her throat, trying to force breath into lungs that no longer worked.

  Shaul struck, the force of his blow beheading the Kislovan commander. His men joined him in the fight, but though two were cut, only the commander's blade had been poisoned. The battle ended in minutes, with six of the Kislovan band dead. The seventh and last, only a little older than the dying girl, threw down his sword and surrendered.

  By then the girl had lost consciousness and lay across her companion's knees. As Shaul watched helplessly, her body stiffened, then relaxed into death.

  "Lord Jorani's poison," the Kislovan soldier whispered.

  Shaul looked from the girl's face with its blue lips and^open, reddened eyes to the man holding her. His body shook with grief, though he was incapable of tears.

  "Were you in the rebellion?" Shaul asked.

  The man nodded. He pulled back a corner of the girl's cloak and motioned for Shaul to reach into a pocket. Shaul did, drawing from it a small scrap of parchment. On it was scrawled a single word-Invade.

  "Janosk?" Shaul asked.

  The man nodded again.

  Shaul reached down and grabbed the man's arm. "Ride with me," he said, pulling the man up behind him.

  "One of you bring the soldier to the castle," Shaul ordered. "And one other the body of the girl, as well. Perhaps our healers can determine the nature of the poison that killed her."

  "What about the other bodies?" someone asked.

  "Leave them for the cats," Shaul said. "Hold on to me," he whispered to the man sitting behind him, then made off at a gallop for Shadow Castle in t
he center of the great forest of Sundell.

  FOUR

  Four days after Ilsabet had visited her father's camp, Baron Janosk summoned the family to an early breakfast. Marishka, never an early riser, wore a robe over her nightdress, and had her long auburn hair tied back with a scarf. Lady Lorena looked pale in her simple blue gown, but her eyes were, thankfully, clear, her expression stoic. As always she was perfectly groomed.

  Ilsabet had also dressed with care. "I see that someone else gives your father the respect that is his due," Lorena said, not even glancing at Marishka, though her remark was certainly directed at the girl.

  Marishka stifled a yawn. "Where is father?" she asked. "It would seem to me that if he wanted to dine at this odd hour he would…" Her voice trailed off as Baron Janosk entered the room. He was dressed for battle in a thick leather doublet. Mihael, who walked a few steps behind him, was similarly clothed.

  "I present my new second in command," Janosk said, moving aside so the boy could walk in front of him to the table.

  Lorena frowned. "Do we learn of your plans now, my lord, or must we wait until after the battle is over?"

  "First we eat," he replied.

  Lorena rang the servants' bell, and the food was carried in-trays of fruit and fresh bread, quail eggs poached in wine and glazed with butter, and a plate of trout pulled fresh from the river that morning.

  Only the men seemed able to eat-her father voraciously, Mihael out of necessity. Ilsabet picked at the fish and nibbled a bit of bread and jam, waiting expectantly to hear the news.

  After the table was cleared, Janosk ordered the servants to leave. Then, in low tones, he made his announcement. "Today we ride west to annex Sundell," he said.

  "Sundell!" Lady Lorena exclaimed. "Janosk, this is madness."

  "I will give the jewel of Sundell to my loyal subjects," Janosk said. "I do it as much for Mihael as for myself."

  Lorena continued to object. "But Sundell has so much wealth, and the troops…"

  "Silence!" he bellowed. "The decision is made. We attack tonight."

  Lorena normally respected her husband's temper. Not now. "Tonight! Have you gone to the mountains and consulted Sagesse?" she asked.

  "The Seer?" Janosk sneered. "Allied with rebels from the beginning. Why would I trust her advice?"

  Ilsabet said nothing then. Jorani had undoubtedly prepared the troops well. Later however, Ilsabet went looking for Jorani. She found him downstairs with the troops, overseeing the loading of burlap bags.

  Drawing him aside, she asked, "Does Lady Lorena have reason to be concerned?"

  "In battle, there are always reasons, but now more than ever," he replied. "The troops are tired, many are wounded and cannot go with us. We should have a full force for this expedition. Your father, however, sees things differently. He thinks time would give the rebels a chance to regroup, and give Sundell a chance to learn of our plans."

  "Is he right?" Ilsabet asked.

  "I see the wisdom of his decision. A surprise attack should be successful." He pointed to the bags in the wagon and added, "I've done what I could. If things go as we hope, we'll win easily."

  Soldiers were preparing their mounts. Servants filled the courtyard, bringing out fresh bread and dried meat.

  "Someone so small could get trampled here," Jorani told her. "Go up to my chamber and pray for us."

  An hour later, she stood in Jorani's tower room and watched the troops assemble and ride, their blue-and-gold banners waving in the morning breeze. She stood at the window, looking west until even the dust raised by the horses was no longer visible. Though news of the victory would not come for two days, she vowed to remain in the tower, watching and praying until her father returned.

  But no potion of Jorani's could compensate for the trap Baron Peto's soldiers had laid. Even nature seemed to oppose the invasion. The wind had blown steadily from the west, making any use of Jorani's gasses and poison dust impossible. Of the thousand soldiers who had ridden west so confidently, less than two hundred returned. Many were wounded. All were exhausted, no match for the Sundell troops following closely on their heels.

  Ilsabet reached the courtyard just as Jorani came riding in, her father strapped in front of him on Jorani's black stallion. "Close the gates," the baron whispered, and Jorani repeated the order loud enough for all to hear.

  Mihael, who rode beside his father, protested, "There are stragglers behind us. Wait a bit."

  "If they'd fought with greater valor, we'd be riding into Shadow Castle now," Baron Janosk mumbled.

  The gates swung closed. The soldiers carrying out the order moved slowly, allowing another handful of men and the lesser lords and officers who had commanded them to retreat inside.

  No sooner had they done so than they heard the huge war drums of their enemy, and saw their riders carrying the Sundell banners, black with huge gold suns centered on them.

  "A thousand… no, more!" one of the soldiers on the battlement called down.

  His men carried Baron Janosk into the great hall. While Lorena and the castle servants tended him, Jorani and Mihael went to survey the condition of their defenses.

  As soon as the men had left, Ilsabet moved to her father's side, staying close to him while the servants removed his battle armor, gripping his hand while the healer examined his wound.

  Even to Ilsabet's untrained eye, it was a dangerous one. A lance had pierced his side just below his ribs. Though the bleeding had stopped, the wound appeared deep and dirty.

  "If I try to clean it now, it will only start to bleed again," the healer said. "I can't risk that. You've lost too much blood already."

  "And if you leave it?" Janosk asked.

  "It will most likely infect. Lord Jorani may know something to combat an infection so deep. I don't."

  Jorani had always been ready with potions for strength and protection, but Ilsabet had never seen him tend the wounded. If the healer could not help him, no one could. She adopted the proud stand she thought meant Obour. After years of hiding her emotions, she would not let her father see tears. She held her head high and fought back all signs of her despair.

  Ilsabet kept that regal stance even when her brother and Jorani returned with the worst possible news. The civil war had drained the castle's resources so there was no way they could wait out a siege for more than a few weeks. Worse, should Sundell attack, the castle would fall within hours.

  The baron shut his eyes a moment, trying to accept what had to be done. When he opened them, all signs of weakness had vanished, replaced with new resolve. "Bring a potion to give me strength," her father said to Jorani.

  "To fight?" the healer asked. "I must advise you that it's too dangerous."

  "I only want to look as if I could fight," the baron replied.

  Ilsabet understood what he planned to do. She shook her head and said to him, "They haven't won yet."

  "They've won the battle. I must see to it that our family survives the war."

  While Jorani went for the potion, Janosk wrote an offer to surrender and sent it Baron Peto's camp, requesting an immediate reply.

  Lady Lorena cried openly, burying her face in her hands. Marishka, who had kept her distance, moved close and hugged the woman, sobbing with her.

  Baron Janosk eyed their grief with distaste. "I release you from your pledge," he whispered to his concubine. "I spare your life."

  She looked sadly at him. "Is that really why you believe I weep?" she asked.

  "If there are other reasons, your devotion is somewhat belated," he replied. He might have said something to Marishka, but her grief had made her deaf to any advice he would have given. Ilsabet saw him looking at her sister, undoubtedly recalling through her his wife's beauty. He turned to his son. "Mihael, pledge allegiance to Peto and serve him well, then wait for the opportunity to regain what is ours."

  Mihael nodded respectfully, yet Ilsabet could see that, though he longed to rule, he was already uncomfortable with the duplicity his father de
manded. Poor Mihael, she thought, cursed with both ambition and conscience.

  Her father had just turned his attention to her when Jorani returned carrying a carved wooden box. He knelt beside the baron and pulled a glass vial from inside. "I see that Peto and his men are at the bridge," he said. "You'd best drink this now."

  The baron did, gagging from the cloying sweetness of it. He lay still a moment as the potion did its work, then took a deep cleansing breath and looked at Ilsabet standing beside Jorani, her expression as stoic as her teacher's, her father's. "Learn from Jorani," he said. "And never forget what is done here, until the day you can avenge my death. Now help me sit up."

  Ilsabet did, and watched as the servants brought his formal dress-the white tunic and blue cape, both woven of Kislovan wool and trimmed in gold from Tygelt. Even the small exertion of washing and dressing caused the wound to begin bleeding again, and extra bandages were needed to cover it. With his cape arranged to hide any blood that might seep onto the tunic, Baron Janosk stood, and flanked by his family, went to greet the victor.

  They stopped midway down the wide stone steps leading from the private rooms to the great tunnel, then waited as the lesser nobles of Kislova assembled behind their lord.

  His subjects said that Baron Peto Casse of Sundell had been raised with all the indulgence that wealth and a doting mother could provide. He had his father's expressive brown eyes, unruly red hair, and muscular build; his mother's fine nose and golden complexion, and her volatility. Though easily frustrated, given to bouts of temper and impulsiveness, he would have made an admirable ruler in time.

  But he'd had no time. His father died when Peto was only seventeen. Reluctantly, he found himself in charge of a kingdom so well managed that his guidance was unnecessary.

  Though his intentions were good, he was likewise impulsive, and early in his rule had often acted without thinking matters through. Intending to make his mark on his kingdom, he dismissed his father's advisors and chose his own from among equally inexperienced friends. A series of disasters, both military and civil, had brought hardship to his land. The carnage of the battlefield and, worse, the sight of small children starving in their mothers' arms, made him realize the importance of prudence. Now, after a decade of seasoning, he eagerly consulted his father's advisors on all important matters, carefully choosing what was best for all his people.