Destined for a King (20 page)

“I might ask you the same thing,” she whispered, in the same language, against her mother's hand.

“In here.” Mother dragged Calista into the small chamber where Papa's manservant usually slept. She turned Calista to face her. Sharp black eyes fixed on the wineskin in Calista's hand. “What are you planning? Certainly not a seduction.”

“No more than you.” It was too much to hope that Mother was lurking in this chamber for the same reason as Calista. Not when Mother had opened the gate to allow this man his victory.

“What is in the wineskin?”

Calista looked her mother straight in the eye. “Kingsbane.”

“Kingsbane?” Beneath her olive skin, Mother paled. “Where did you learn to make that?”

“You left your scrolls out.”

Snapping black eyes narrowed. “And you could read them?”

“I could.”

“How, when I never taught you? How, when your command of my language has been weak at best—until yesterday?”

“I don't know.” Not enough to explain to Mother, at any rate. Calista had her suspicions, but she didn't want to voice them with so many questions unanswered. But something must have happened in that small chamber when Brother Tancrid attacked her.

She shook that memory aside. “No matter. I've a job to do here.”

“No!” Mother cried. Too loud. Was that a hitch in the even rhythm of Hammerfell's breathing?

Calista glanced nervously toward the bedchamber. “Careful.”

“He won't wake. I gave him a sleeping draught.”

“So much the better. He won't feel a thing.” Calista shook off her mother's grip and turned for the main room.

“No.” Once more, Mother's fingers circled her arm.

“By the Three, why not?”

“You touch that man, and Magnus will take it as if you attacked the king himself. He will take this keep apart stone by stone to press upon our living bodies before he takes our heads.”

“Not if we get away first,” Calista grated.

“They hold your father still. His life is tied to the king's man. Escape with that barbarian you call a husband if you must, but do not touch the justiciar.”

“I came for the sword as well.”

“Too late.” Mother waved a hand toward the bedchamber. “He already sent it off to Magnus, along with his account of what happened here.”

“You seem to know quite a bit of his doings.” Calista followed the line of her mother's gesture and studied the hulk lying senseless on her father's mattress. Hammerfell's right arm lay atop the coverlet. Linen bands swathed his hand and disappeared beneath the sleeve of his tunic. “You've been seeing to his injuries.”

“As I was commanded, and since they hold your father…”

“Can you explain how Hammerfell came by his hurts, since you've seen their nature?”

“I do not know. His palm is blistered as if someone held it to a fire, and his arm has no strength. Some sort of enchantment is at work.”

Once more her mind replayed the scene. The arc of the blade's descent, the blinding light. Sorcery—or somehow the sword itself had acted.

Her mother eyed the bandage on her neck. “An enchantment. The same as with you.”

A shudder passed through Calista. No, she did not wish to think about it. “I must go. I've wasted too much time talking.”

Mother nodded toward the sleeping figure on the bed. “I daresay my draught will have bought you some of that time back.” Suddenly her sharp features melted into a semblance of understanding. She laid gentle fingers on Calista's cheek. “Go to him. I would have done the same for your father. I still would.”

A brief hug was all Calista would allow herself. Any more, and she might have to face a stark truth. More than any of the other choices she'd made over the past few sennights, the one before her now was the most irreparable. In helping Torch escape, she was essentially exiling herself from Blackbriar. She might never see her mother or father again.

And yet she did not need that voice in her head to tell her where her path lay. Onward. Onward.

“You were destined for a king,” her mother said sadly at the last.

“I still am.” Calista could not be any more certain.

On stealthy feet, she sneaked out of the bedchamber. Like a cat passing in the night, she hurried down the steps, past the hall, to the narrow staircase that led below. A sense of urgency drove her now. Soon. Soon, she'd have him free.

The torches lining the walls guttered in their sconces. Dawn was not far off, and with it the changing of the guards. She must open the dungeons before any new men came on duty and discovered the bodies Tamsin had left behind her.

The maid waited at the door to the dungeon, a feral sort of smile spread across her features. The front of her garments was stained with blood. A little farther along the passage, the slumped forms of two guardsmen lingered.

“What have you done?” Calista demanded. “Did the poison not work?”

“I merely made certain no one would play any nasty tricks on us.” Tamsin thrust a set of keys at Calista. “I've collected as many weapons as I could as well. You'll be needing them, I think.”

“Yes, good thinking.” She took the keys, inserted one into the lock. Turned.

The door swung open, releasing the heavy stink of the slops jar overlain with the sharpness of sweat and fear. A moment passed, before the clink of chains heralded a surge of men pressing forward.

Torch stood at the forefront, wrists raised, ready to bash her with his shackles. At the last instant, he withheld the blow. An expression of utter scorn took over his features. “I suppose you've come to finish us off.”

She came for you.

Torch pushed that small, hopeful—and in the end, highly irritating—voice to the back of his mind. He knew nothing of the kind. Best he remember that.

Illuminated by the flickering sconces outside the cell, Calista's expression passed through any number of emotions from surprise to shock before settling into annoyance. “This is no time for games.” The keys rattled in her hand as she crossed the threshold. “Come.”

She came for you. Not even the stench holds her back.

“So Hammerfell can finish me? Did he send you down here to lure me with the promise of escape?”

“If you don't stop this nonsense, your chance to escape will be gone.” She stooped at his feet, trying key after key until the chains about his ankles fell into the dirty straw on the floor. In the next moment, the heavy weight of the shackles dropped from his wrists. She pressed a dagger into his hand. “Take this as a gauge of my earnestness, if you need one, but we must hurry.”

She came for you.

She had. He stared after her, while the other men pressed forward, eager to be released from their bonds. Chains clanked against the floor, a counterpoint to the steady hammering rhythm that echoed from the back of the cell. Ever since Torch had relinquished his Stone, Brother Tancrid had been pounding away at it, the gods only knew why.

Not that it mattered. Torch no longer cared what happened to that useless bit of rock. It had done nothing but steer him wrong since he embarked in his quest to retake his throne. It had led him to Calista, convinced him she was his destined bride. And she'd betrayed him. Or so he'd thought until a few moments ago.

Now he no longer knew what to think.

A choked sob broke through the din. Not Calista, though. That was not her voice.

“Oh, what have those brutes done to you?” Near the door, Tamsin knelt next to Owl's prostrate form, brushing lank strands of hair off his forehead.

“What are we going to do about the lad?” Hawk stood nearby, rubbing his newly unbound wrists. “If we need stealth and speed, he'll only be a hindrance.”

“We cannot leave him here. We must find a way.” Somehow. Not that Torch had any notion what sorts of obstacles stood between his Brothers and freedom.

“What's happened to him?” Calista asked. She'd crouched next to her maid to lay a gentle hand on Owl's beardless cheek.

So young. Too young to die. Your fault if he does. You should have reacted faster.

“Head wound,” Torch told her. “He hasn't woken since.”

The shadows hid her expression, but her tone, when she replied, was grave. “He is in no condition to take into hiding. He needs quiet until he comes out of this state on his own.”

“She's right,” Hawk concurred. “He'll only slow us down.”

Damn it all, Torch knew they were right. “I won't leave him in enemy hands.”

“Please, sir.” Tamsin stood, shaking soiled straw from her skirts. “Leave him to me. I'll dress him in Blackbriar livery, and if anyone asks, I'll say he's a stable boy who's taken ill. A horse could have kicked him.”

Torch narrowed his gaze on Calista. “What about your mother? Will she betray him to the king's men?”

“No, I don't believe she would.”

“Why?” Torch couldn't leave it at that mild dismissal of his concerns. “Why would you say that when she's shown herself to be nothing but loyal to Magnus?”

“Because whatever she thinks of Magnus, she is more loyal to my father. Since Owl poses no threat to him, she ought to ignore the boy.”

Loyal to her husband, indeed. How admirable. He opened his mouth to remark on what a becoming trait that was in a wife, but the voice in his head stopped him.

She came for you.

Perhaps, but that did not negate one fact. She'd committed a far worse sin when she'd denied their marriage. In doing so, she'd denied
him,
damn it, and all he claimed to be. She'd all but called him a bastard.

But if she wished to hand him the means to escape, he would take it, and by the same token be quit of a mistake. “So be it.”

A few muttered orders sent two of his men to pick up Owl's form and steal off down the passage with instructions to rendezvous at the postern gate. Fingering the hilt of his dagger, Torch turned back to Calista. “How can I be sure they won't be caught?”

“You can't, no more than any of us can be certain of making it out of here.” As well he knew, but he'd asked to assuage his own misgivings. Calista swept an arm toward what looked like a bundle of rags on the flagstoned passage—an utterly still, man-sized bundle of rags to be certain. “But there is this.”

Closer inspection revealed one of the guards, a dark cloak hiding his mail and arms. The hood had been pulled up to conceal his face. Torch raised a brow at her.

“Tamsin's handiwork, not mine. Although I gave her the means.” Calista patted a wineskin hanging from her belt, and her gaze hardened. “And I have means of my own should the need arise.” The glitter in her eye left him with no doubt she'd like to subject him to the contents of that pouch.

“How many others can I hope she's dispatched?”

Tap, tap, tap.
As they spoke, the steady beat rang from deep in the cell.

“That I cannot say for certain.”

With a nod, Torch turned to the others. “We'll leave in pairs. Quiet as thieves and one pair at a time. Rouse no cry but kill any guards you come across. We'll rally in the woods beyond the postern and ride…” He hesitated, not wanting to voice too many secrets in front of Calista, not to mention the Blackbriar men among them, imprisoned for defending their own home.

Tap, tap, tap.

“Who will see about our mounts?” Hawk asked, effectively covering the moment.

Tap, tap, tap.

“I shall,” Torch replied. “Now, two of you go, and quickly. The next after a count of fifty.”

Tap, tap, tap.

Blasted Acolyte. Had he even heeded their plans? “Brother Tancrid.”

Calista's breath expelled on a sharp hiss.

Tap, tap.

Torch approached the back of the cell, where Brother Tancrid crouched on the floor, knocking at the Stone with the shackle about his wrist. “We must go.”

Tap.
“But I'm nearly there.”
Tap.

Had anyone even bothered to release him from those cursed shackles? “We must go. Now.”

Tap, tap, tap.

Reining back his desire to throttle someone—and the Acolyte posed the nearest target—Torch turned to Calista. “Release him.”

She remained hovering in the doorway, but the cant of her body clearly pointed toward the stairs. Had she reached the limit of her daring? Worse, had she heard evidence of their discovery?

He crossed to her, pushing past his fellow inmates, eagerly awaiting their turn to leave. “Is someone coming?”

“What?” Distraction tinged the reply. “No.” Still she remained motionless.

“Hand me the key.”

She obeyed, the ring of keys clanking with the slight tremor of her fingers. He reined in yet another desire—to lay a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. To squeeze. To gather her in his arms for an all-too-brief moment. Not now. Not until he was sure.

Torch returned to Brother Tancrid's side, yanked at his robe until he stood, and unlocked his shackles. Stooping, the Acolyte swept the Stone from the floor and clenched it in his fist.

“Hawk,” Torch called. “Take this man with you, and make certain he follows. In fact, both of you, go now.”

It was over. All but the waiting, as the cell emptied like the slow drip of melting ice. He joined Calista on the threshold as the shadows of the corridor swallowed the last of his men.

“And how will they escape, truly?” Calista asked in the ensuing silence. “They're all on foot.”

“That will be our job. To bring them mounts.” He swung the cell door shut behind him, leaving it devoid of all but one. Rand still lay in that pile of filthy straw, unconscious, perhaps dead. What the others had done to him, Torch cared not. “Come.”

He clasped her hand, and climbed the steps to freedom, taking them two at a time.

The air in the bailey was heavy with anticipation. The deep black of the sky was lightening to the east. With every passing moment that light would grow, increasing their chances of someone spotting them and raising an alarm.

Torch's fingers curled about the hilt of his dagger, the metal solid beneath his grip. Too long, it seemed, he'd been defenseless. His hand had missed the weight of a weapon.

It still did. This was not his sword.

He eyed the keep, a black bulk against the night sky. Hammerfell, he had no doubt, had taken the lord's chamber the same as he'd taken the lord's seat in the hall. The justiciar would place a priceless relic of the Vandal family under close guard.

“What are you contemplating?” Calista breathed against his neck. “We must be gone before we lose the cover of darkness.”

To the east, the first stars were fading. He strained his ears for any hint of sound. Nothing. Empty. This place was almost like a crypt.

“I want
my
sword.”

“I meant to bring it to you.” Her breath wafted in a warm stream against his flesh. “But it's already been sent to Magnus.”

He turned to her, her face pale in the shadow of the wall. “How do you know this?”

She cast a wary glance about the silent bailey. “There's no time now. I'll tell you once we're safe.”

He almost laughed at the innocence driving that statement. “When you live as I do, you are never safe.”

They crept nearer their goal. The stables lay in the lee of the wall, hard against the back of the keep. Torch put out a hand to warn Calista back. If any trouble loomed in that direction, he'd face it first. His eyes strove to pierce the darkness; his ears strained, listening for any hint of noise.

Then he saw it—a dark form slumped on the ground like a forgotten bundle in front of the stables. Man-sized. Very like to the guards at the entrance to the dungeon. A body. A scent of copper wafted through the air.

Torch cut a look in Calista's direction, but she merely shrugged. “The horses.”

They stole into the wooden structure to find it defended. A round-eyed boy brandished a pitchfork. In the glow of a lantern, freckles stood out in contrast to the chalkiness of his skin. “My…my lady.”

“Aimery,” Calista replied gently, “who else is with you?”

“It's just me. The others ran when they saw what happened to the sentry.”

“Where did they go?” Torch was already moving toward the first stall, where the bony head of an enormous blood bay poked over the door. “To raise an alarm?”

“I don't know.”

“Listen.” Calista placed a hand on his thin shoulder. “You must heed me as your lady. You will let us go and tell no one who you saw.”

“I can't do that, beggin' yer pardon. Them Stronghold lords would have my hide.”

Torch led the destrier from the stall, and passed to the next. “Come with us, then, if you're willing to take your chances in the wild.” He was already leading a goodly contingent of men out of here. Another boy could hardly make a difference. “I'll do you no harm, at least.”

“Would you teach me to fight?”

Torch sized up the lad. Younger than Owl and scrawny. His summers could number no greater than twelve. “You're likely to learn whether or not I train you.”

Calista moved to the box where her palfrey stood blinking at them with liquid eyes. The mare nosed at her skirts. She opened the gate and reached for the tack stored close at hand.

In the middle of tripping the latch on the next stall, Torch froze. “What do you think you're about?”

Her fingers gripped the bridle. “I thought it obvious. I'm coming with you.”

“No.”

“You're willing to take along a stable boy you don't even know, but you'll leave me to my fate?”

“I need to disappear into the wild and regroup. There will be danger aplenty and no place for a gently bred lady.”

“Once your escape is noted, where do you think the blame will fall? You would leave me to Magnus's tender mercies?”

Damn it all. “No, I cannot do that, either.”

“Then let me prove my worth to you.”

Prove her worth. As if she hadn't already. She'd gotten his men out of the dungeon. Gods willing, she'd get them out of this keep without taking further damage.
She came for you. She got you out. She didn't betray you.

A cry from beyond the stable stopped his thoughts cold. Another shout. Another. A spike of pure energy jolted through him.
Act. Now.

But his gaze snapped to Calista, struggling to saddle her mare.

He sprinted to her. “No time for that now.”

Wrapping his arms about her waist, he hauled her bodily onto the palfrey's back. Then he grabbed Aimery and tossed the lad in front of Calista. “Ride hard for the postern. Do not look back.”

The next moment, he was off, a plan clear in his mind. One after the other, he popped open stalls.

“What are you doing?” Calista's confused question broke in on his focus.

Shite. He had to get her out, before he unleashed hell in here. Torch ran back and slapped the mare on the haunch. “
Go!
I need you to lead the charge. The others will follow. Do not worry about me.”

Calista's mount snorted and, with a half rear, broke for the open door. Torch's relief was fleeting as he cast about for the source of light. There. A glass-domed lantern hung from a hook. He grabbed it, hating what he was about to do, but seeing no choice. He needed chaos, and several tons of thundering horseflesh would give him that. He had to give his Brothers this chance.