Besieged (51 page)

They both stared at the half-blood as he passed.

‘Give me a day with him,’ Harosel muttered, voice thick with anger. ‘I’ll get everything he knows out of him.’

‘Give me a few moments. I’ll break his walls,’ Graelen said. ‘He won’t be sacrificing any more Malaunje after that. He won’t be much good for anything.’

Chapter Forty

S
ORNE STUDIED THE
stronghold. A solid stone structure, built on the hilltop above a bend of a river, it was not a castle he would want to be laying siege to. From where he sat, astride his horse, he could see people scurrying about in the small, walled township clustered around the base of the hill. Having spent the last eight years at Charald’s side, Sorne was skilled in assessing defences and planning attack strategies. ‘The gate to the township is open, as is the gate to the castle itself. They know we’re here, so–’

‘It’s hard to march two hundred men across the countryside without the locals noticing,’ Nitzane said. He’d been furious when King Charald sent the Warrior’s-voice with him, and he hadn’t missed a chance to snipe at Sorne. He didn’t know that Sorne had been sent to discover if Charald’s second wife had died, and kill her if she hadn’t. Had Nitzane given his mother a moment’s thought, these last eight years?

Idan shifted in his saddle, irritably. The Khitite prince had sworn the holy-sword’s oath when they had arrived in port and had been a faithful companion ever since.

The captain of the men-at-arms said nothing. He was a veteran and had served Nitzane’s older brother, who now ruled Navarone. Sorne gathered that he’d fled with the brothers when they were banished, and now he wanted to return home; probably had family on Nitzane’s estate.

‘I think the baron who held his estate under Matxin has fled,’ Sorne said. ‘He will have taken his family and faithful retainers. What we can see are probably the original farmers, townsfolk and retainers, who served your grandfather and would no doubt welcome you back.’

‘I don’t see why we had to come here first,’ Nitzane said. ‘This isn’t my home. I would rather have reclaimed my father’s estate.’

Sorne urged his horse closer to Nitzane. ‘If you look west to the sea, and follow the curve of the river, you will see the Mother’s abbey.’

Nitzane frowned and glanced quickly to Sorne, who nodded once. Sorne did not particularly like Nitzane, but he thought the man deserved to know what Charald had in mind for his mother.

‘You two stay here, I want to get a closer look,’ Nitzane said. ‘Come with me, Warrior’s-voice.’

They rode on a little until they were out of hearing, then Nitzane brought his horse around to face Sorne. ‘I knew my mother retired to one of the Mother’s abbeys. It’s this one, isn’t it? Charald has sent you to find out if she still lives.’

‘He’s sent me to make sure she’s dead.’

Nitzane grimaced. ‘Go ahead. You have my blessing.’

Sorne was shocked.

‘What do I care for the mother who abandoned my brother and me to marry King Charald? I swear my father’s body was still warm the day she married the king!’

‘It’s not like she had much choice. Your grandfather had her husband murdered. He held you two boys as surety of her good behaviour–’

Nitzane’s riding crop flashed out. ‘You lie!’

‘I had it from Oskane.’ Sorne felt a sting and blood trickled down his cheek.

‘He lied.’

‘I read it in his journal, his private journal.’

‘Ha! I have you now.’ Nitzane urged his horse back towards the others, calling over his shoulder. ‘Charald gave me Oskane’s journals. The Father’s-voice has had them all these years, and Oskane left them to the king.’

Sorne’s horse caught up with Nitzane’s. ‘Why would the king give you–’

‘Because he can’t be bothered reading them. According to Oskane, no True-man knew more about the Wyrds than he did. The king thinks there might be something useful in them. I have them on the supply cart, so you can show me the passage and prove your allegations.’

When they joined the others, Idan and Ballendin stared at Sorne’s bleeding cheek, but said nothing.

‘What’s your assessment of the keep, Captain Ballendin?’ Nitzane asked. ‘Should we just ride in?’

‘We have two hundred men. You’d be lucky if there’s four hundred people in the town and castle, and most of them will be old folks, women and children. The gates are open and no one’s going to stop us.’

So they rode right up to the township’s wall, through the gate and up the rise towards the castle. Sorne cast an assessing eye over the buildings. Some were of a reasonable size, but they had been allowed to fall into disrepair. The baron who’d taken this estate had milked it dry.

Thin-faced, nervous people watched from doorways; women held skinny children at their sides. They whispered and pointed to the banner, which incorporated their old lord’s standard.

‘It’s Baron Nitzel’s grandson come home,’ Captain Ballendin announced. ‘Baron Nitzane.’

Nitzane smiled. By the time the party reached the castle gate, the locals were cheering.

‘I don’t think there’ll be a feast tonight unless we supply the food,’ Captain Ballendin told Nitzane.

‘Go ahead, organise it. There’s something else I must do.’ Once they were in the castle courtyard, Nitzane dismounted. A skinny boy ran forward to take his horse.

Nitzane beckoned Sorne, and together they pulled the old chest off the cart. When Sorne saw the elaborately carved chest, he recalled climbing into Oskane’s bedchamber to read the scholar’s journals and his agents’ messages.

They carried the chest into the castle, where the wife of the original castle-keep greeted them. She showed them to the baron’s private chambers, which had been stripped of everything that could be loaded onto a cart.

Sorne and Nitzane placed the chest in front of the empty fireplace. Sorne opened the shutters, letting in a shaft of sunlight.

‘There.’ Nitzane opened the chest with a flourish. It gave a terrible creak. ‘I swear this has not been opened since the day Oskane died. Now prove you speak the truth. If you’ve been lying to me, I’ll have my men hang you from the rafters.’

Sorne spotted the journals under a pile of scrolls. ‘Who would have thought the old scholar had so many scrolls?’

‘You’re saying you can’t find it?’

‘Nothing of the kind.’ Sorne removed the scrolls by the handful. As he did so, he read the tags. For the most part they were treatises on the Wyrds, dating from before King Charald the Peace-maker’s time. He’d often seen Oskane going through these scrolls and questioning the she-Wyrd, making careful notes from her responses.

Below the scrolls he found the journals. Maybe they would tell him why Izteben had died. But first he had to satisfy Nitzane.

Sorne found the relevant journal and flicked through the pages. His mother’s name leapt out at him. He and Nitzane had a lot in common; both Sorne’s mother and Nitzane’s father had been killed so that Charald could take Nitzane’s mother for his second wife. Now Charald wanted to do away with this wife so he could marry again.

‘Have you found it?’ Nitzane asked.

‘Did you know, Charald ordered my mother killed, so he could marry yours?’

‘That... that would make you Queen Sorna’s son.’ Nitzane’s eyes widened. He grimaced. ‘You were a newborn, I was less than two years old. How can we ever know the truth? You tell me my own grandfather ordered my father’s murder, so my mother could marry Charald. Prove it.’

‘Here it is.’Sorne read the passage. ‘
Then I will tell him the truth, most importantly Nitzel’s part in his mother’s murder. If Nitzel hadn’t had his own son-in-law murdered, his daughter would not have been free to marry Charald. Sorne needs to know who his enemies are.’

Nitzane turned away abruptly and went over to the window. He stood looking down into the courtyard, three floors below. Sorne could hear the shouts of the men as they unloaded the carts.

‘Oskane wrote this just before I turned seventeen,’ Sorne said. ‘He planned to use me to take vengeance on your grandfather. We both lost our mothers because of Charald’s need for an heir and Nitzel’s ambition for his grandson to be the next king.’

‘I couldn’t stand Cedon. Only met him twice, but both times he was a spoilt brat,’ Nitzane admitted, his voice raw.

Sorne closed the journal and repacked the chest. ‘Do you want me to look after these? There’s dozens of dry dusty scrolls–’

‘Seven save me, yes. Take them away.’

Sorne shut the chest and came to his feet, dusting off his hands. ‘I have to ride out to the abbey tomorrow. See if your mother still lives. It has been eight years and no one’s heard from her. Do you want to come with me?’

Nitzane swung around to face him. ‘Why are you doing this?’

Sorne shrugged. ‘You can see your mother. I can’t.

Nitzane’s brows drew together and he strode towards Sorne. ‘I won’t let you–’

‘If I meant to kill her, would I have told you?’

The chamber door flew open and they turned as Captain Ballendin entered, Idan in his arms. For a moment Sorne could not make sense of what he was seeing. Why was the front of Idan’s chest wet? Why was there blood on his lips?

‘The Khitite prince is dying,’ Ballendin gasped, out of breath.

‘No!’ Sorne had known the youth since he was a boy of seven. ‘Have you called the saw-bones?’

‘Aye, he’s on his way. But Idan was asking for you.’

‘How did it happen?’ Nitzane demanded.

‘We were setting up the hall for the feast. He was joking around and sat in the baron’s chair,
your
chair. It had been rigged. His weight triggered a crossbow. The bolt–’

Nitzane cursed.

‘Warrior’s-voice?’ Idan’s eyes opened and he reached for Sorne.

‘I’m here.’ Sorne took his hand.

‘The king has my gold,’ Idan said, between gasps. Blood ran from the side of his mouth. ‘I want my sister to have it. You’ll give it to her?’

‘I will,’ Sorne said.

‘Tell my mother...’ His body jerked in a spasm; blood frothed from his lips. In another heartbeat, he was dead.

‘By the Mother,’ Nitzane whispered. He picked up his cloak and swung it over his shoulders. ‘I’m going to the abbey.’

‘Now?’ Captain Ballendin asked. ‘It’ll be dark by the time you get there.’

Nitzane walked out.

Ballendin tried to pass Idan’s body to Sorne.

‘No, I have to go to the abbey too.’ Before Nitzane could warn his mother and complicate Sorne’s plan.

‘What’s at the...’ Ballendin asked, then his eyes widened. ‘The queen still lives?’

‘We don’t know. Are you loyal to Nitzane?’ Sorne asked.

‘I followed him and his brother across the Secluded Sea because I promised their mother I’d look after them.’

‘Then come with us.’

‘What about...’ Ballendin glanced down to the youth in his arms.

For a moment Sorne didn’t know what to do. Then he had an idea. ‘Bring him.’

They went down to the stables, where Nitzane was waiting for his mount to be saddled. The horse had been ridden all day and was reluctant to leave its warm stall.

‘Harness a cart,’ Sorne said. He caught Nitzane’s eye, hoping the baron would play along. ‘We’re taking the Khitite prince’s body to the Mother’s abbey, to lay him to rest. The queen is buried there. Royalty should be buried with royalty.’

He’d committed himself now. He hoped the abbess would cooperate.

It was dark by the time they reached the gates of the abbey. Sorne jumped down and rang the bell. He glanced back to the cart. Captain Ballendin held the reins, while Nitzane stared fixedly ahead.

A slot opened in the gate. ‘We’re closed, come back tomorrow.’

‘Since when does the Mother turn her sons away?’ Sorne asked.

‘Since her sons rode in here eight years ago, took all the young pretty novices and rode off with them.’

Sorne raised the lantern so she could see mulberry eyes. ‘I’m the Warrior’s-voice. Open up.’

‘We don’t accept Wyrds here.’

‘I’m King Charald’s advisor. Open in the name of the king.’

The slot closed and they heard worried whispers, then scurrying steps. Sorne was about to ring the bell again when the gate finally opened. He walked in ahead of the cart.

Four women in priestly white stood in the entrance to the courtyard. Looking around, Sorne had an impression of decay. Weeds grew in the cracks between the paving stones, and creepers crawled over the buildings.

‘Who else is here?’ he asked.

‘There are just the five of us,’ the gate-keeper said, coming up behind him. ‘The baron taxed the abbey until we could no longer afford to feed ourselves, let alone anyone else.’

‘Who is in charge?’ Sorne asked.

‘I’m the abbess,’ the smallest and oldest of the women said. ‘We heard King Charald had returned, but–’

Looking grim and determined, Nitzane jumped down from the cart. ‘I’m looking for the queen.’

‘King Charald’s second wife died two winters ago,’ the abbess said.

Nitzane groaned and sank to sit on the mounting block. Sorne put a hand on his shoulder.

‘You keep telling them that,’ Captain Ballendin climbed down from the cart. ‘We’ll all be safe and happy.’

‘Ballendin?’ The gate-keeper sounded stunned. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Reporting on your sons, my lady. Charald rewarded your eldest son with the kingdom of Navarone. And Nitzane, here, has had his father’s title and estates returned, along with his grandfather’s. He’s now the most powerful baron in Chalcedonia.’

The gate-keeper turned to Nitzane. ‘Is really you, my little Zane?’

Sorne grinned as Nitzane jumped to his feet.

Leaving the three of them together, he went over to the old abbess. ‘Do you have a nun who was buried in the last eight years?’

‘We have several, why?’

‘King Charald wishes to remarry, so the queen must be dead. We need to establish a royal crypt here. Baron Nitzane will make a generous donation to ensure there is a suitable stone carved. And’ – Sorne gestured to the cart – ‘I have the body of Idan, prince of Khitan. Royalty should be buried with royalty.’

‘We don’t lay foreigners to rest in our sacred grounds.’