Ghosts in the Snow (41 page)

They lifted him, wrenching him around and tearing gashes in his clothes and flesh. Rianne, always the butt of jokes and torture, leered at him, snatching at his scalp and peeling strips of his face away.

"What magic is this?" Beckwith screamed. "What demons have you set upon me?" He crashed and stumbled, tossed around the room like a child's toy.

"You set them upon
me
," Dubric muttered. He staggered around the bed despite the pain from his injuries and the weakness threatening his legs. "But you are welcome to them."

Lars knelt with Nella and he looked up. "I think she'll be all right, sir," he said. "Her breathing's strong and I've got most of her wounds bound. Maybe she just hit her head."

"Let us hope so." Putting his sword away, Dubric knelt beside Lars. "Nella?" he said, patting her face. "Wake up. I need to get you out of here."

She batted him away, squealing. "No. No!"

"Shh," he said, trying to catch her hands. Behind him the chaos continued, punctuated by screams and crashes. "It is all right, Miss Nella. We need to get you to safety."

Panting, she braved a glance. "Dubric? Lars? Goddess, you're hurt!" Pushing his hands aside, she leaned forward to help. Just starting to examine Lars's belly, she glanced up and screamed.

Hot, wet fingers encircled Dubric's throat, pulling him backward. He struggled, his lungs starved for air, and tried to reach for his sword.

Lars stood, protecting Nella. "Let him go!"

"I'm taking one of you with me," Beckwith said, and Dubric felt hot breath and hot blood on his cheek. "I'll rip his throat out with my teeth, if I have to."

Dubric struggled to see Beckwith, but saw only raw meat and dripping skin. From the corner of his eye he saw a flash of white, then he and his captor tumbled backward, onto the bed. Beckwith's fingers clenched into his throat and Dubric's vision wavered, turning gray and black. He blinked, struggling for a breath. Lars stood above him, pulling his sword from the thrashing beast beneath.

"Die, you bastard," Lars said, slicing downward.

One last heave and clench, then the vise at Dubric's throat lessened and fell away. He slid down from the bed to his knees, gasping through his crushed throat while his head swam with sudden lightness. The pounding ache behind his eyes had disappeared.

Nella scrambled to him, calling his name and catching him as he fell into her arms.
They are gone
, he thought, slipping into the empty void.
The ghosts found their justice. Praise the King
.

* * *

"You're sure he's dead?" Nella asked.

"I'm sure," Lars replied, bandaging Dubric's injuries. "I cleaved his chest open. What was left of it, anyway."

Nella held Dubric in her arms and rocked him while tears rolled down her cheeks. "How can I ever repay you both? All you've given for me."

Lars cut off the ends of the makeshift bandage before tearing another strip off the bedsheet. He flexed his fingers, trying to shake away the tingle he had felt when holding Risley's sword. "Marry Risley and have half a dozen kids or so. Name one after Dubric. He'll be thrilled."

She smiled sadly and stroked Dubric's bald head. "I think I can do that." Still comforting the unconscious man in her arms, she asked, "What happened? How can I explain what I saw?"

Lars frowned, tossing answers through his mind. "I don't think you need to explain it, Miss Nella. Beckwith got what he deserved. We lived. He died. Justice is served."

"But something tore him apart, something angry and vicious. For Goddess's sake, his face has been ripped away, leaving only blood and mess and one eye! How can I be sure whatever did that is gone?"

Lars smiled. "Because justice has been served, Miss Nella, and she's a harsh mistress. Beckwith didn't realize it until it was too late, but her scales are balanced again. I promise."

A crash filled the air and Lars stood, drawing his sword, then sagged with relief as Risley burst through the door.

Bruises and welts marked his skin, his clothes hung in tatters, and he only wore one shoe, but he scrambled over broken furniture without heed to his injuries. "Oh, Goddess," he croaked, stumbling. "Nella!"

"She's right here, Ris," Lars said. "She'll be all right."

"Risley!"

"I'm here, love," he coughed out, rounding the foot of the bed. "Are you all right? What happened?" He winced as he spoke and his voice cracked.

Putting his sword away, Lars stepped aside to make room.

They embraced over Dubric and Risley looked at the man bleeding on her lap, then the man bleeding on the bed. "Who is he?" he coughed, kneeling beside Nella and holding her close as he checked her injuries.

"Beckwith," Lars sighed.

Risley cleared his throat, rubbing it, before speaking to Nella. "What happened to you?" He swallowed, wincing as he rubbed his throat again. "You're bleeding. Are you all right?" Shaking his head and struggling to breathe, he coughed then forced out, "And what in the seven hells happened to him? For Goddess's sake, he's shredded."

"Justice is a harsh mistress," Nella whispered, still stroking Dubric's brow. "And I'll be fine." Her fingers paused and she gasped. "What happened to your neck? Oh, Risley!"

He coughed, nearly choking. "They tried to hang me, but Bostra cut the rope, and Dien…" Risley swallowed, grimacing, then cleared his throat "… he opened a path through the mob. The archers and some other men there were trying to help. The crowd wanted to kill me! But all I could think about was getting back to you." He coughed again, his face reddening for a moment as he choked. His eyes watered as he sucked in a breath, then another, panting and leaning his forehead against Nella's shoulder. "Thank the Goddess you're all right."

While Nella worried over Risley, Dubric's eyes flickered and he shuddered awake, looking at his three companions as if he'd never seen such miracles before. "They're gone?"

Lars nodded and helped him stand. "Yes, sir, I do believe so." Once Dubric was on his feet, Lars smoothed his bloody shirt and bowed slightly. "The murderer is dead, sir. The lady is saved. What would you have me do?"

Dubric laughed. "Get me out of here and find someone to clean this mess up." He paused, looking Lars over. "And get that gash stitched. I do not need to purchase you yet another uniform."

"Of course, sir," he said.

Supporting one another as best they could, the four stumbled from Dubric's suite, leaving death behind.

* * *

The moon had risen, shining its slender grin among the sparkling stars, as Dubric followed Risley and Nella from the castle. The wound through his bicep ached, but the shallow gash on his side itched. He struggled not to bump his broken nose when he covered a yawn with his hand.

Bostra stood beside a carriage, the bandage on his head gleaming in the moonlight. He bowed as they approached. "Your carriage awaits, milord, milady," he said, opening the door. "And we have a long ride ahead."

Nella looked from Risley to the grand horses to Risley again, then she turned to smile upon Dubric and his men coming down the steps behind him. For a brief moment she looked so beautiful, like his beloved Oriana had in moonlight, that his heart clenched.

"How can I ever repay you?" she asked. "You saved our lives."

"We have no life debt here, Miss Nella," Dubric said. "Surely you know that."

She smiled, nodding, her hand leaving Risley's. "I know." She hugged him, kissing his scarred cheek. "Thank you, Dubric. Thank you."

He blustered and Nella slipped away to hug Lars.

Dubric's heart had barely settled before Risley said his good-byes and helped Nella into the carriage. Bostra lingered a moment before following the couple and closing the door behind him. The driver clucked to the horses and the carriage rolled away, shimmering in the moonlight like reflections on water.

"And there they go," Dubric sighed. "May they have a happy life together."

Lars scratched his belly. "I think they will, sir."

"Sir?" Otlee asked. "Shall we start clearing the mess and begin preliminary paperwork?"

Dien laughed, turning and holding his lantern to illuminate the stairs. "It'll wait till morning, lad. Never you worry. We've finished what we need to and now it's time for an ale."

Dubric yawned. "Followed by a full night of sleep. Paperwork can wait until the morrow."

The others started up the stairs but Dubric paused, squinting at a patch of snow along the southern wall. A tiny crocus peeked through, its petals reaching upward. By morning it would be in full bloom. He knelt beside it, pushing snow away from the blossom.

"What do you see, sir?" Lars asked, coming back down the stairs.

"Spring," he said, standing. His head felt light and clear, as did his heart. The ghosts had found justice and spring's harbingers had come. Praise the King. The dying days of winter had finally ended.

Lars looked at the flower and chuckled, shaking his head. "Aye to that, sir. I'm ready for a little warmth."

As
am I
. Dubric draped his arm over his page's shoulders. "Let us get that ale, shall we?"

"Yes, sir!"

Together they walked into the castle, leaving the night to the moon and the coming spring.

Tamara Siler Jones lives in a refurbished farmhouse in her native Iowa, USA, with her husband, daughter, and menagerie of pets. A creator by nature, Tamara worked as a graphic designer until Dubric's ghosts forced her to chronicle their demises. She enjoys making quilts, watching horror flicks, and baking sweet concoctions whenever possible. Visit her website at
www.tarnarasilerjones.com
for more information and slave monkeys.