Hearts in Cups (20 page)
With a sigh, he sank to
his knees before her. The action startled Celia into dropping her thread and
she had to hunt about her feet for it. The duchess' eyes widened perceptibly,
but she said and did nothing as he said, "I would take it as a boon from
your grace to be allowed to accompany you on your journey. I know that much
evil has been spoken about me in recent days, but I swear to you that I am
honest and that I will serve you in such manner."
"You need make no
promises of fealty to me Daffyd ap Blewyns. I am not your liege," she
reminded him gently.
"Please your
grace, the man that I came hence to follow is not here. Allow me to offer my
services to you, though I ride with the men of House Treves." There was
such a resolute and purposeful quality to his voice and face that the duchess
paused before responding.
Hollin's lips tightened
she searched the man's face, judging what she read there and trying to
understand the motive that drove him to make this unnecessary offer. Through
the auspices of the viscount, he was under no obligation to make such a
personal submission. Perhaps he felt the need of such a badge of protection
and, when she remembered Lord Gerard's conservative nature, it might well be
warranted. If she accepted his offer, he would be safe from any summary
dismissal or punishment that someone with a grudge or a reactionary sentiment
might attempt to inflict on him. It was reason enough for her and she answered
accordingly.
"In the name of
Prince Brian ap Gryffyd, for whose return this expedition was formed, I accept
your pledge of loyalty." It was not exactly what he had asked for, but he
bowed from where he kneeled and an expression of calm settled on his features
as he rose to leave.
When he had gone, Celia
ventured to remark that he seemed a very well-mannered young man, not at all
what she would have expected from the gossip that had gone around the palace.
Hollin simply shrugged in a noncommittal fashion and asked if dinner was to be
ready soon.
Gerard, as the duchess
had foreseen, was much less forbearing than Celia about the newest member of
his company when he stormed into the duchess' tent after sunset. His bullish
head was pushed forward as he sputtered indignantly. "Your grace must
forgive me, but I cannot tolerate having such a creature made a member of this
illustrious embassy!"
Hollin glanced up
coolly from the book that she had been reading. She sat on her low camp chair,
wrapped in a fur robe with her feet close to the warmth of the brazier. A table
was positioned at her elbow with a lamp and a cup of some hot beverage that
smelled sweetly herbal.
"I don't see why
not," she replied, placing the book face down on her lap. "He has
been freed and declared not guilty by Lord Percamber himself. The Viscount of
Treves asked that he be allowed to join the escort and I have approved. Why
should you make a fuss over it?"
"Because it's not
right," he hissed in return. "Begging your grace's pardon, but the
Duke of Creon hasn't exonerated him, and there are men of his in this camp that
would be more than happy to break this man's neck for their lord if they knew
that he was here."
"Then they must
not be informed that he is here." Her reply was short. "He is here
because I have given my consent to it. Do you wish to challenge me,
Gerard?" She fixed her haughtiest look on him as her fingers drummed a
restless beat on the cover of her book.
Before the steely
adamant gleam in her eyes, he dropped his own. "I beg your grace's pardon,
but I have been given the task of protecting your grace and commanding this
venture; I do not wish to oppose you, but I feel that it is in the best
interests of everyone concerned that this man not be permitted to join
us."
"I understand what
you say and why you are saying it, but the fact remains that I make the final
decisions. And I say that he comes with us. If you do not wish him to ride with
the other men, he may join my personal retinue, but I do not wish to hear any
further opinion on the matter." Flipping her book back open, the duchess
recommenced her reading.
Gerard stood indecisive
for a moment and then, with a stiff bow, he retreated.
The journey westward
along the base of the Tarrant Mountains progressed quickly using the available
roads. By the end of the first day, they turned north again and began to climb
the knees of the mountains. There were fewer inhabited areas so close to the
mountains, but an occasional shepherd could be seen on the higher slopes. Now
that they were coming closer to where they would leave the borders of the
Pentarchy a sense of excitement touched the company.
In the group of men
riding near the duchess, the newest of their number rode uneasily. Last night
as he was settling down for the night he had been called before Lord Gerard to
be informed quite bluntly that Lord Gerard did not wish for him to ride in
House Treves' contingent any longer. In a canny move, he intimated that
Daffyd's presence might provoke bad blood between the men of House Treves and
House Creon, but in fact Gerard was merely trying in a petty way to get back at
the high-handed treatment that he felt the duchess had used with him. Since it
was by the duchess' orders that Daffyd was allowed to ride with them, Gerard
thought it best if, in the future, Daffyd ride with her. Daffyd had acquiesced
quietly and now found himself riding among the green and gold liveried men of
her grace's personal guard.
That night, they camped
in the last village within the Pentarchy, knowing that the next morning they
were to start up the road that led into the Tarrant Mountains, a place
belonging to children's fables and superstition for most of them.
The next morning
brought little sunshine, and even that dissipated as the company began their
climb into the mountains. The weather grew colder and mistier the further
they traveled, and by mid-day the valley of the Inner Ward had vanished from
sight entirely. The road itself was in fairly good condition, considering its
location, though it was barely adequate for their numbers. Gerard commented to
the duchess as they rode together that the road seemed to have been well-used
recently. Lord Brescom had given him detailed instructions about this
lesser-used route and, Gerard continued, according to that information the road
climbed quite high into the mountains before cutting through a steep defile,
after which it wandered in a northeast direction until it eventually connected
with the Great Northern Road.
In the middle of the
afternoon they entered a vast stretch of conifer forest. The sky had grown grey
and sullen, making the forest seem darker and more dreary the further they rode
through the wet gloom. Conversation died and the thoughts occupying most of the
men turned with yearning to the warmth of evening fires and the smell of
cooking food. Soon the muffled tramp of horses’ feet on the pine needles, along
with the creaking and jingling of harness, were the only sounds to be heard.
A vague knot of
uneasiness began to take possession of Hollin when they entered the forest, a
mood which she could not shake. The dankness of the surrounding trees seemed to
penetrate the heavy wool of her cloak and made her shudder with something more
than cold. Settling more deeply into her saddle, she thrust her gloved hands
under the wealth of Farion's mane in an effort to stay warm. Glancing behind,
she saw that Celia, looking miserably uncomfortable on her quietly plodding
gelding, had fallen back and was no longer riding with Langstraad’s contingent
of guards. Eventually there was a thinning of the trees and their long ride
through the tunnel of trees was over.
When she emerged from
the forest, Hollin saw that they were high up on the shoulder of a mountain.
The afternoon had grown late, and a thin mist was settling on the ground as
they followed the narrow road across a grassy meadow. Gerard, who had dropped
back from the vangard, informed her cheerfully that the Slakestone Pass was
directly ahead. There was a small valley just beyond it where he planned for
them to make camp that night. Hollin nodded glumly as she surveyed the steep
defile cutting through the cliffs that rose abruptly on the other side of the
meadow. Only two or three horses could walk abreast through the pass, which
meant that it would be slow going. Wanting to make sure that Celia was all
right, Hollin brought her own horse to a halt and let Gerard start for the pass
ahead of her. Sitting quietly with the contingent of riders who made up her
personal guard, she waited for Celia to catch up. The remainder of the company
was strung out across the meadow to the edges of the forest. The sharp sound of
shod hooves striking rock reverberated on the cliff walls as Gerard and his
point-riders entered the narrow, rocky canyon. With the thought that soon she
could retire to the comforts of her own tent, Hollin started to lead her people
up the trail as soon as Celia reached them.
Gerard was half-way up
the defile when the first boulders began tumbling down from the cliffs above.
Immediately after the rocks began to fall, Hollin heard the sound of men
shouting hoarsely in the chill air and horses whinnying in alarm. Gerard cried
out and she saw men with raised swords riding towards them from the farthest
end of the defile. Some of Gerard’s men foolishly tried to charge the enemy
riders at the end of the defile, only to have a new assault of rocks rain down
upon them, trapped as they were in the confines of the narrow canyon. Seeing no
possibility of escape up the pass, Hollin wheeled Farion around and urged him
to retreat back down the trail. Other riders who had been behind her tried to
take the same course and result was a bottleneck of congestion at the entrance
to the pass.
The crash of swords
connecting with shields and the twang of arrows being fired sent a quiver of
fear through Hollin and she hesitated, wondering what she should do. Taking
advantage of her indecision, Farion grabbed at the bit and pushed his way
through the other horses, carrying Hollin out of the canyon and back to the
meadow. In the meadow, men and horses were roiling about in confusion, as the
company was attacked by another large group of mounted warriors emerging from
the forest behind them. A group of six warriors on horseback separated
themselves from the attacking forces when Hollin appeared, and began galloping
in her direction. As they came closer, Hollin saw that the attackers were
well-armed and well-mounted, and wore no identifying badges. Sir Benedict
Heath, leader of the Langstraad’s host, waved his sword and shouted, trying to
rally the guards to protect their duchess. Even as he exhorted them and those
riders closest to her attempted to respond, Hollin found herself cut off from
her guards. Pulling a long fighting dagger from a pocket in her boot, Hollin
prepared to defend herself. Farion, navigating through the press of horses and
over the rocky ground in an attempt to avoid the warriors bearing down on them,
abruptly had to leap to the side when a horse in front of them fell. This
evasive action put them beside an unmarked rider who had moved in close, and
who now murderously swung his sword at Hollin’s head. Farion reared at the last
instant and the man missed, though the wind of the sword told Hollin how close
he had come. Without a shield, and boxed in by the horses and riders behind
her, Hollin desperately tried to fend him off with her dagger. Before he could
take another more accurate swipe at her, a rider wearing Langstraad’s green and
gold colors suddenly pushed his horse past Farion and, slashing downward with a
powerful stroke, knocked Hollin’s attacker from his horse. The man’s body fell
at Farion’s feet, causing the horse to back up and nervously dance in place. Though
exposed to mock warfare during his training, Farion had never experienced the
real thing before, and his natural flight reaction was beginning to countermand
his training.
"To me, your
grace!" Hollin heard a voice ring out. In amazement, Hollin recognized her
rescuer as the former musician, Daffyd ap Blewyns.
With a mute nod of
aknowledgement, she tightened her grip on her reins and got ready to follow him
through the hole that had opened between the combatants. The horse Daffyd rode
bounded forward and Farion, giving in to his nature, was swiftly on the other
horse’s heels. When they were safely away from the core of the engagement
Hollin pulled her horse up short, and attempted to assess the situation. The
noise of the fighting was deafening. Fifty yards away Celia sat screaming,
immobilized with terror on her frantically plunging horse. Instinctively,
Hollin tried to turn Farion back towards the melee with the idea of riding to
Celia's aid. Farion crab-stepped and tossed his head, resisting her command to
go back. From where she sat on her obdurate horse, Hollin saw a rider, wearing
chain-mail with no identifying tabard, charge through Langstraad’s defensive
line of riders and thrust his sword into Celia's side. A bright red fountain
erupted as he pulled his weapon from her body. Celia toppled from her horse and
was lost under the hooves of the horses crowding the area.
Hollin cried out in
anger and horror, but Daffyd, once again at her side, laid hold of her reins
and urgently called for her attention. "Your grace, we must make for the
trees over there!" He pointed to the western end of the meadow where the
gathering fog wisped through the edges of the forest.