Allegiance (30 page)

“There,” I pronounced. “That will be much easier to care for, and it isn't even terribly short.”

She reached around and felt what I had done, still sniffling, simultaneously examining her reflection in the water. I waited for an opinion that did not come. Instead, she picked up the strawberry blond hair I had bunched together
for her and retreated to her bed in the corner, where she curled up, still clutching her precious locks, and lay still.

I monitored her for a time, feeling both regretful and sympathetic, then rinsed my head with the warm water. After combing through my hair with my fingers, I rumpled it agreeably. Though my neck felt exposed, the look was fresh and exciting, at least as much as anything could be in our current state. I felt as though cutting my tresses had freed me to be a different person from the pampered princess, then Queen, I'd been in Hytanica. Out here I could be capable, respected.

I sorted through the pieces of my hair, braiding and tying the least tangled before tucking them into the pocket of my breeches so I would not lose them. I was certain Miranna would do the same when she had recovered from her shock.

After a little while, I went to sit by my sister and managed to entice her into a conversation. We spoke only of happy times, for I was not confident what her mental state would allow, and because sad times were not worth remembering.

My attention was pulled from my sister by the sound of Steldor stirring, and I saw that he was turning his head restlessly from side to side. I went to him at once, reaching out a hand to touch his brow, but his eyes opened and he pulled slightly away.

I wasn't sure what to do, for he seemed more discontented than he had the last time he'd awakened. He was pushing at the quilts that covered him with his left arm, trying weakly to remove them.

“Steldor?” I said, checking for alertness.

“What?” There was a snap to his voice that assured me there was no issue with his mind. “Are you all right?”

“I'm too warm.”

He shifted to the extent his wounds would allow, unable
to find a comfortable position, and I worried that he had developed a fever.

“Let me get your father,” I said, then realized Cannan was already getting to his feet. He came over, taking up position on Steldor's other side and pressing the back of his hand to his son's brow.

“I'm too warm,” Steldor repeated, this time for Cannan's ears.

“You're perhaps too close to the fire,” the captain reasoned, doing away with the coverings Steldor no longer wanted. “But I can't move you on my own.”

“Where's Galen?”

As Steldor asked the question, I examined him, noting that he was not sweating; perhaps Cannan was right that he was simply too near the heat.

“Galen's fine,” Cannan answered, and Steldor's expression revealed that his question had not been posed because of his discomfort, but out of concern. “Just on guard duty.”

Steldor swallowed and nodded. “Everyone else?”

“The others made it here safely, but Davan doubled back to find us. He led the Cokyrians who were tracking us on a false trail.” Cannan paused, then finished, an edge to his voice. “He hasn't returned.”

Steldor nodded but did not speak further. The captain turned his attention to me, a quizzical expression crossing his face at sight of my sheared hair.

“Alera, bring some water for him to drink,” Cannan said, offering no comment on my appearance.

I hurried to the pool, snatching a cup on the way, relieved to have the captain in charge. As I filled it, he spoke again to his son.

“You didn't eat much before. Food is necessary for your recovery.”

“I know,” Steldor answered, sounding unusually vulnerable. “I'm just not…”

He trailed off, hurting and too tired to bother with excuses.

“Understandable,” Cannan acknowledged. “Still.” His tone indicated that Steldor was expected to get something of substance into his stomach.

“Do we have anything other than gruel?”

“Not a lot of choices. London has gone hunting, but until he returns, it's bread, gruel, a few dried fruits and hard tack. Take your pick.”

In addition to the cup, I filled a bucket with water, bringing both back to Cannan. For the second time, he hooked his son beneath the arms and lifted him toward a semi-sitting position, but Steldor cried out in pain and his breathing grew rough.

“Easy, boy,” Cannan said, right arm around his son's chest to steady him, left hand upon his forehead, disheveling his dark hair. “Easy now. You're all right.”

Steldor calmed at his father's reassuring tone, though his breathing remained uneven. I handed the cup to Cannan, and he assisted his overheated son to down all the water, then passed it back to me so I could fill it again from the bucket. After asking me to bring some dried fruit, gruel and a rag, he again helped Steldor to drink. When I returned, he dipped the cloth in the bucket and sponged the cold water onto his son's face and neck. Having better positioned Steldor, he coaxed him to eat, achieving greater success than had I. When he was satisfied with the amount consumed, the captain eased him back onto the animal hides so that he could drift into sleep once more.

“Do you think he's all right?” I asked, wondering if Can
nan would share his true thoughts now that Steldor would not overhear.

“He cooled off faster than he should have if he were ill,” the captain replied, again checking for a fever. I averted my eyes as he pulled Steldor's shirt up to check how the injury was healing. “The wound itself may be mildly irritated, but there's no cause for alarm yet.”

I didn't comment on the captain's use of the word
yet
as he repositioned both the bandages and his son's clothing. He then nodded toward my sister where she sat on her bedding, staring into space.

“How is she?”

“She's…different. Changed.”

“She's dependent on you then?”

I made a noise of confirmation, at the same time confused by his somewhat odd question.

“I'm just trying to determine who could manage in a crisis without assistance,” he explained, reading my reaction, and my skin prickled.

“Do you expect a crisis?”

“Yes. It's the only way to be prepared for one. But no, I don't believe we'll be discovered here.”

Before I could respond, he stood and moved toward the bed he had made for himself.

“Steldor will sleep for quite a while. I'm going to try to do the same.” He considered me for a moment, and a smile played most unusually upon his features. “And, Alera, short hair is clearly not always a mark of shame.”

WHEN LONDON RETURNED HOURS LATER, HE was not alone. Galen had descended from his watch post to bring the meat—venison—into the cave, but when my former bodyguard stepped through the crevice, he had Lord Temerson in tow. The boy was exhausted and filthy, and the shredded remnants of his clothing hung on his body, covered halfheartedly with a dark cloak.

“I found him wandering the forest a ways off,” London told us, tugging him farther into our sanctuary. “He's not quite right,” the Elite Guard added, with a vague but significant gesture toward his own head.

Indeed, Temerson seemed as dazed as Miranna, but when his eyes fell upon her, his demeanor changed. He jerked free of London to stumble toward me and my sister, who had come to her feet and taken a couple of steps in his direction.

“Mira,” he murmured as he stopped in front of her, surprising me by his use of the nickname I had adopted for her. He bowed his head, cinnamon-brown bangs tumbling forward, but Miranna reached out her hand to brush them
back, drawing his eyes to hers. He looked near tears, and I could not conceive of what he had endured before London had stumbled upon him.

The men were spread throughout the cave—London at the center, Galen by the food stores and the captain, having awoken when the men entered, standing near his bed—and all were staring at the new arrival, trying to comprehend Temerson's presence. Steldor was asleep, more content now that he was no longer as heavily covered, and I surmised Cannan would make no effort to move him.

Miranna and Temerson stayed exactly as they were, not speaking, she touching his hair, he gazing into her eyes. I felt as though I were imposing, but there was no way in our present living conditions to give them privacy. After a few minutes, Miranna retreated into the corner with the young man who had been courting her, and Cannan approached London.

“What happened to him?” he muttered.

“I don't know. He never has been particularly talkative, and recent events have not persuaded him to be otherwise. I haven't tried to question him. I wanted to get him to safety first.”

“All we have is time right now,” Cannan replied. “We can afford to give him a little.”

“And Steldor?”

“He woke a couple of hours ago, complaining he was too warm.”

London's eyes met Cannan's, understanding the potential significance of this seemingly casual statement.

“He ate a little bit, not enough,” Cannan continued, “but he's resting peacefully now. Time will tell with him, too.”

“Shall I take the next turn on guard?”

“No, I will. It'll do me good to get out of the cave for a while. Just…”

“I know. I'll watch him.”

Cannan nodded, and London strode toward Galen to offer assistance in preparing the venison. I followed, needing something to do and wanting to give Temerson and Miranna some time alone. As I drew close, both men glanced at me with raised eyebrows, having noted the new length of my hair.

“Breeches, horseback riding, short hair…what next?” London asked, a tease in his voice.

“I hope the ability to cook more than gruel,” Galen responded.

The three of us laughed, greatly in need of a way to relieve stress. I looked at London, wondering what his true opinion might be, and he gave me an approving nod.

“Let's face it, Galen,” he said more seriously. “We can use all the warriors we can get. Now let's get some food in everyone's stomachs.”

 

Meat was like a miracle—I hadn't realized until it was in my mouth how much better it tasted than gruel and dried, hard foods. We congregated near the fire pit, using stones the men had gathered as stools, enjoying our feast. Cannan had forsaken his guard post to join us, his eyes sweeping occasionally toward his son's still form, but he did not wake him. Steldor could always eat later.

Miranna and Temerson sat close together like two broken-winged birds sharing the same perch, bolstering each other without sound. He had washed and changed clothes, improving his appearance, but not his mental state.

As we finished the meal, Temerson's eyes darted between the three fit men, knowing they would soon start asking
things of him. He seemed resigned to this, however, entwining his fingers with Miranna's for security and courage.

“Do you want to tell us how you came to be lost in the woods?” Cannan asked, his voice free of expectation and pressure. Scaring the boy was not the way to proceed.

Temerson sat motionless for a long time, staring only at Miranna's hand in his, and no one tried to spur him. Finally, he raised his head, his countenance unexpectedly hard.

“I ran away,” he told the captain, his trademark stutter oddly absent. “The Overlord—he came to Hytanica, just as everyone said he would.”

At our dreaded enemy's name, Miranna gave a small whimper, and Temerson clasped her hand tighter. My blood pounded in my temples, for I was eager and yet terrified to hear Temerson's story.

“Narian was at his side as he demanded that the King and Queen come before him to negotiate our surrender. King Adrik and Lady Elissia came to the Grand Entry to speak for us when the Overlord's soldiers forced the door.

“He was horrifying, like the devil. Tall, broad, dressed all in black. Anyone who got in his way he knocked aside with some invisible power from his hands. King Adrik tried to speak with him, but the Overlord was furious. He said that he had been ‘looking forward to breaking our boy-King' and that His Majesty's absence, his cowardice, did not invite his compassion. Then he asked King Adrik how much we would be brave enough to sacrifice. The King told him anything would be given for the sparing of innocent lives.

“The Overlord for some reason looked at Narian before he answered the King. ‘I have already sworn to protect the innocent,' he said. Then he told the King to call forth every officer in our military. He said their lives were forfeit, or he would not be so merciful with our troops.”

Everyone in the cave seemed to have stopped breathing. The rank of officer included every Elite Guard, every battalion commander, every soldier no less than a lieutenant. While the Overlord's pledge to protect the innocent had no doubt been extracted by Narian, he had probably not anticipated how his master would treat the soldiers who had surrendered.

Temerson's posture had gone tense, and something like anger was building within him.

“We were completely at his mercy. King Adrik had no choice but to send for all the officers in the palace and at the Military Complex, and each one of them came. The Overlord allowed the King to meet privately with the men. As he did so, the rest of us who had taken refuge in the palace were called into the courtyard. When the officers filed out of the Throne Room, they were resolute, reconciled. My father caught me and told me…”

He faltered, but his expression betrayed no weakness. He was determined to continue without giving in to his feelings.

“He told me to know that King Adrik had given permission for any man among them to escape if he could, that they would not be cowards for it. My father said for me to remember, even if no one else did, that not one of them chose to flee. They chose instead to die for their kingdom, to protect the people and their men.

“The officers were marched to the military training field and we were herded along behind. The training field was overflowing with Hytanican citizens who had been forced to assemble. The Overlord charged the officers to stand side by side in an execution line at the top of the hill overlooking the field, where all could see. We were made to watch—
wives, children, sisters, brothers, parents.
I
watched. My father was the seventeenth to die.”

Speech was impossible; the horror was too great. The Overlord's cruelty was legend, but never had any of us imagined that he would be so heartless after his victory was complete, when we could no longer put up a fight. And the way Temerson spoke of his father's murder, which he had witnessed, so matter-of-factly—it was haunting, inexpressible. Clearing his throat, the young man pressed on.

“Before he started, he searched for you—all of you. He knew the King and Queen were gone, but he wanted the captain, the Sergeant at Arms, London, to torture especially. When none of you were there, he realized you must be with the royal family. So he called for the royal family's bodyguards to come forward, those who would know the location of your hideaway, or he would kill everyone as slowly and painfully as possible.

“After he'd slowly tormented the first two officers to death, Halias, Destari and Casimir gave themselves up for interrogation, in exchange for the quick deaths of their comrades. They were taken away, back to the palace.”

In the midst of this gruesome tale, I recognized that the deputy captains had handed themselves over when Narian could easily have identified at least two of them. He had told me he would save as many lives as he could, extend what mercy he could, and I tried to convince myself he was being true to his word, despite the welling anger that insisted he should have tried harder to stop his master from performing these atrocities.

“He went down the line then,” Temerson said, “making each man scream and fall to his knees, slaughtering them with no visible weapon. He was fast with most. They died
within seconds, merely part of the demonstration. The only one he…”

Temerson's brown eyes briefly met the captain's, and behind his implacable deportment, Cannan knew what the boy would say.

“He recognized your brother, sir. He thought for a moment Lord Baelic was you. Narian corrected him, said he was mistaken, but the relation was obvious, and…”

“And he took his time,” Cannan finished, his face stony. His eyes, however, were strange, blazing with a fury unlike any I had seen. His brother had been viciously punished because of an unlucky family resemblance, because of the position Cannan held, because Cannan had not been there himself to accept retribution. Rage was first and foremost in the captain's gaze, but guilt burned there also, and grief, betrayed in no other way. How did he manage such control?

My hand was over my mouth, and tears trickled down my cheeks as I grappled with this horrible truth.

“Not Baelic,” I choked out. “It's wrong, not Baelic, he can't…he can't be…”

My uncle of only a few months could not be dead. Envisioning his lifeless body was absurd; surely nothing could have taken away that perpetual grin, his love for his family, his hopeless affection for the horses Lania scarcely tolerated. What would Lania and the children do without him? Someone so needed could not pass away. But the Overlord had given it no thought, none at all. He didn't give a care for the family he had destroyed, for the wonderful man whose life he had unjustly taken.

Galen, whom Baelic had treated as a nephew right along with Steldor, had blanched, and his jaw was tight. He looked to Cannan, struggling to match the incredible fortitude of the captain. I could tell it was his instinct to back out of
our circle, to find solitude, but he resisted, drawing from Cannan's example and fighting back his emotions.

“I—I ran, once it was done,” Temerson said, glancing to the back of the cavern, wanting to be dismissed. “The Overlord saw me but laughed and told his soldiers to let me go, I was only a boy. The next I remember, London found me.”

Finished with his tale, Temerson stood, and when no one tried to stop him, he led Miranna by the hand, and the two of them stumbled toward the corner of the cave.

“Get him some bedding,” Cannan said huskily to Galen, shrugging in Temerson's direction. Somehow I knew this was done to remind the Sergeant at Arms of our circumstances, of the necessity of discipline; it was a strange sort of comfort.

Galen seized the excuse to escape, but I was afraid to be alone. Faces were flashing through my mind, each and every person now gone, making this nightmare all too real: Baelic, of course; Baron Rapheth, Tiersia's father; Temerson's father, Lieutenant Garrek; Tadark and all the other Elite Guards. And the three who had surrendered themselves for interrogation—Halias, carefree and devoted; Destari, stoic and trustworthy, London's best friend; and Casimir, undyingly loyal, even with a difficult charge. All were suffering for naught; none of them would betray our location. And perhaps the most terrible aspect of it all was that several days had already passed since the Overlord's day of execution, several days in which families would have endured unspeakable sorrow, and countless other horrors could have been perpetrated, including the deaths of the men who had escaped the execution line to be dealt a worse fate.

I needed comfort. I needed someone to make me believe that Temerson's tale was only the invention of a con
fused and frightened boy. I longed for my parents, who, if I had interpreted Temerson correctly, were still alive. More than for my mother and father, however, I yearned to crawl around the fire and sink into London's secure arms. He was safety, he always had been. He could make all of this disappear. But London's hand had fallen on the shoulder of his captain, for despite the power struggle in which the men often engaged, he was extending Cannan his support, sympathy and admiration.

I scanned the room in the aftermath of Temerson's revelations, bleary-eyed and lost, but my skin went cold when I studied Steldor for the first time since we'd sat down to eat. Peaceful sleep eluded him; he tossed and turned to the extent he could, never lying still. Even from a slight distance, I could make out his flushed skin tone and see his frustration at having no blankets to discard and thereby dispel the heat that had set upon his body.

“No,” I murmured, pulled from my grief-stricken trance. I staggered toward him, repeating that one word, while Cannan and London reacted just as quickly.

Waking Steldor was the captain's first objective. He lightly but urgently slapped his son's cheeks, calling his name again and again, each time a little louder. At last Steldor made a soft noise, and his eyes flickered opened.