Heartwood (42 page)

However, there was little he could do for the moment; things were only going to get a lot worse if the Darkwater Lords were successful in their invasion attempts, so he just tried to reassure them and tell them he had a plan in mind and was working on it at that very moment.

In Vichton, however, things seemed little changed. His Chief of the Guard assured him raids had been few and far between, and even the sea traffic had remained steady, with few coastal raids. The city certainly seemed as bustling and alive as ever. As they wound their way through the streets to the castle on the cliffs, he stopped occasionally to talk to the shopkeepers and traders, who greeted him with pleasure, keen to speak to their lord, and clearly fond of him. Procella looked over at him several times, whether amused or puzzled at his popularity, he couldn't tell, but he didn't return her glance; his people were his first priority, and he had to satisfy himself they were relaxed and happy before he finally went home.

They found themselves at the castle gates and he led the party through, dismounting in the courtyard and letting the stablehands take the horses off to be rubbed down and fed. He had just lifted his bags down from the packhorse when there were screams of “Father, Father” from the castle, and then two figures came flying down the steps, running up to leap into his arms to cover his face with kisses.

“Careful,” he laughed, picking them both up easily and squeezing them tightly, “you nearly knocked me over.”

“We have missed you,” said Rosamunda, burying her head in his neck.

“Have you been fighting?” said Varin, pushing himself away from his father and brandishing a wooden sword. “I have been practicing, Father, look!” and he leapt about, swinging the sword around him fiercely.

“Careful, young man, you nearly had my head off with that.” Procella smiled, clearly touched by the children's affection for their father.

Chonrad came over, pleased she seemed to like them. “Rosamunda, Varin… This is Procella,” he said, bringing them over to her. “She is Dux of the Exercitus. The leader of Heartwood's army.”

Their little mouths fell open. Varin, eyes wide, said: “You must be so brave and strong.”

Procella tipped her head, her cheeks pinkening a little. “Not as much as your father,” she told them. “He fights like a great bear.”

“My father is the best,” said Rosamunda defensively, but her eyes watched Procella eagerly, and she was clearly impressed.

Chonrad raised an eyebrow at the Dux as he led her up the steps to his Great Hall. “A bear?” he asked dubiously. “I am not sure if that is a compliment or not.”

“I just meant you like honey and have big hands,” she said mischievously.

Chonrad laughed and swung open the doors to the Hall. “Come in,” he said. “For one night, at least, we shall eat like kings.”

One of his men had ridden on ahead while Chonrad stopped briefly in Esberg, and thus the household were prepared for their visitors and had laid on a splendid spread. The party were taken first to the baths, of which Chonrad was most proud: huge stone sunken baths with underfloor heating, and they all stripped and sank into the hot water with a sigh, feeling the aches of the journey gradually melt away.

After this, they dressed in fresh clothes and had dinner in the Hall. He watched his servants bring in the food with satisfaction – his staff had done him proud. Huge plates of cut meats and various types of fish, loaves of fresh bread, bowls of stew full of crisp, fresh vegetables, and plenty of flagons of ale to wash it all down. Though food was scarce, still his pride made him want to look like a good host.

The party ate hungrily, complimenting him on the spread. Chonrad made a mental note to go down to the kitchens later and thank the staff. He looked up to see Procella watching him, smiling. “What?” he asked, pulling a face.

“You are proud of your home,” she said, “and rightly so.”

“I am surprised you have not been here more,” he said.

“I tend to stay away from the towns. Too many distractions for the knights. We stay on the Wall road, and in the forts.” She smiled. “It is my loss.”

Pleased she liked his home, he came to sit beside her, pulling his seat closer to the fire that danced in the central grate. “How do you feel about our journey tomorrow?” he asked. Nitesco had suggested they get started at first light.

Procella shrugged. “What will be, will be, regardless of my feelings towards it.”

He smiled. “Very neatly sidestepped.”

She sighed. “Truly? I cannot imagine it is going to work. I saw with my own eyes the Darkwater Lords rising from the river, but still I cannot believe I, myself, can be turned into a water elemental.”

“I know what you mean,” he said, opening his arms with a smile as his children came towards him for a cuddle before going to bed. He placed a kiss on one head and then another, giving them a squeeze before they retired. “Sleep well,” he called after them as their nurse led them up the steps to the bedchambers at the far end of the Hall.

“They are beautiful children,” Procella commented. “Clearly, they do not take after you.”

He laughed. “No, obviously they look like their mother.”

Procella turned her tankard in her hands, looking into the depths of the ale. “Do you miss her?”

“Minna?” Chonrad thought of his dead wife and sipped his own drink. “Would I be a cruel man if I said no?” Procella just raised an eyebrow. He sighed. “She was the daughter of a local magnate. It was a good match. She gave me two healthy children before she died. We… tolerated each other. I think I was more upset because I was not more upset when she died, if you understand me.”

Procella gave a wry smile. “I think so.” She sipped her ale. “I do not understand, though, her lack of enthusiasm towards you. If I were not a Militis, I would have been grateful for such a match.”

Chonrad met her gaze directly and smiled. “Why, thank you.”

“You are welcome.” Her dark brown eyes were very warm. Once again, he felt a surge of desire towards her. She was strong, fierce and striking, and he wondered how her body would feel pressed against his own without the hindrance of armour.

Of course he had seen her without her clothes in the baths, but bathing was such a natural, unsexual thing for all of them that he had done little more than glance at her body to note it was as firm and slim as he had thought it would be. Now, however, he pictured her in his arms, and he realised he wanted her very much.

His desire must have shown in his eyes, because her pupils widened. She hesitated, and he told himself not to expect anything; she was Dux, for Animus's sake, and not likely to jeopardise her position and her place in the Militis for a quick roll in the hay. Neither would he want her to hate him in the morning. However, the next day was a monumental one for both of them – they were about to risk their lives in an act that may well see them die on the spot, and this quite possibly could be their last chance, as clichéd as the fact might be.

Suddenly she stood, and said, “Come, Chonrad. Let us not spend our last night alone.”

He looked around the room, surprised at her directness. But the children were abed, the Militis were either asleep or talking quietly by the fire, and none of them even looked up as he took her hand and led her along the Hall to the bedchambers. Only Fulco caught his eye where he lay by the fire, his wife wrapped in his arms, and the knight's lazy wink was enough to tell him that his bodyguard knew perfectly well where they were going.

Chonrad took her up to his bedchamber, wondering as he did so if she would think about the fact that this may be the place where he had bedded Minna, but she said nothing as she entered the room, and he sensed she was past worrying about what had been, and past considering her future. It was comfort that she wanted most of all, and Chonrad could not bring himself to refuse her, as he wanted her more than anything.

She unbuckled her sword and laid it carefully on the top of the oak coffer by the wall. She looked down at it for a moment, and he had the feeling she was mentally leaving her Militis status there too, removing the vows, laying down the restraint and the denial she had carried for so long.

She turned and walked over to him slowly, then reached out and took his hands in her own. Her thumbs rubbed the centre of his palms and she stepped even closer, until her mailed chest met his with a soft clink of metal on metal.

She was tall for a woman, but still several inches shorter than he, and she had to tip up her head to look into his eyes. Her own were dark with passion, and her lips parted a little as she read the desire in his gaze.

Slowly, afraid she might bolt, Chonrad lowered his head. Their lips met gently.

He kissed her softly, then, as he realised she was not going to pull away, more passionately, and his hands rose to cradle her head and the small of her back, his heart thudding against his ribs as she pressed herself against him.

“Help me out of this,” she breathed, gesturing to her armour. He lifted the mail shirt over her head, trying not to catch her hair with the links. When she was free, she stretched luxuriously, enjoying the freedom of being without its weight. He watched her remove her leather tunic, and then she stood before him in her linen shift. She released her hair from its tight knot at the nape of her head, and he smiled as she spread the dark brown locks across her shoulders. She looked suddenly much younger and uncertain, and he reminded himself she had not had many – if any – lovers before.

“Your turn to help me,” he said, and she took hold of his mail shirt and helped him struggle out of it, laughing as it snagged on his hair. When he was free, he caught her up in his arms, promising she would pay for laughing at him, and began to cover her face and neck with kisses. The play soon turned serious as she began to sigh with pleasure, and it was not long before they removed the rest of their clothes and found their way under the furs on the bed.

And then they made love, and it was as sweet, and as fierce, and as gentle as he had thought it would be. And afterwards she lay in his arms, and together they dozed as the rain rattled the shutters and the candle guttered in the midnight breeze.

 

When he awoke the next morning, the sky was just lightening, and he turned over in the bed and sighed as he saw she had gone. With a groan, he stood and dressed, wondering if she would refuse to meet his eye when he saw her, but when he descended to the Hall he found her with her knights at the table, and when he passed her, she gave him a smile and squeezed his hand, and his heart gladdened that she did not regret what they had done.

The atmosphere was generally subdued, however, and his memories of the night before began to be blanketed by a deepening fear of what lay ahead. Within the hour, they were gathered in the courtyard and, mounting their horses, they made their way out of the castle and down the coast road to the beaches beyond. None of them spoke as they rode. Procella was quiet, and although she smiled at him once or twice, she did not speak to him, and he continued to wonder whether she was regretting her act. No matter now, he thought, somewhat bitterly. Life as they knew it was about to cease.

He had said goodbye to his children in the castle and found it difficult to think soon he might be dead. Of course, he faced death whenever he was in battle, but he had grown used to that foe, who he thought of as a large animal, bristled and growling, but real and physical and something that, with training, he could learn to avoid. Now, however, death had become insidious, like a snake or an insect that slipped into your clothing and, in spite of its size, brought an end to your life with a simple bite or sting. He could do nothing to avoid the consequences of what was about to happen, and that did not sit lightly on his shoulders.

 

V

Gavius was in a world of light and shadows. He lay down, his body suspended by some unseen hand, light as a leaf caught on an Awakening breeze. He was quite happy to be there, and felt no panic or distress, even though he couldn't put his finger on exactly where he was. Gradually, however, he became aware he wasn't floating in air; he was in water. He was deep in a pool of thick, dark water, and above him a hand was reaching in, trying to pull him to the surface. He fought the hand, but it would not let go, and gradually he got nearer and nearer to the light…

He opened his eyes with a gasp. He was not in water, he realised, but merely unconscious, and the hand that had been trying to bring him back to consciousness belonged to the Komis leader, Aukaneck.

“You shall not sleep!” Aukaneck snarled, slapping him sharply on the cheek. Gavius's head snapped back, then fell forward, his muscles too tired to hold him upright. Through his beaten, pulpy face he looked at his body, but could not make out any skin – he was too covered in blood. He felt as if he were on fire. The many cuts Aukaneck had made on his skin stung as his sweat dripped into them.

One of the Komis raised Gavius's chin with his hand and poured water over his face. Gavius gasped, taking in some of the water and swallowing it thankfully, spluttering a little and trying to turn his head to let the liquid clear his face, which he could feel was also covered in blood.

When he was done, he looked across at the figure slumped on the ground opposite him. Thankfully, Brevis was dead, although his screams still rang in Gavius's ears, like a bell whose echo goes on long after it has been struck. Having no luck with torturing Gavius, Aukaneck had turned to Brevis. Although the knight had no idea where the secret entrance to Heartwood was, Aukaneck hoped the torture of his friend would lead Gavius to reveal its whereabouts.

The Komis leader had not counted on the knights' loyalty to Heartwood, however. Greater even than their loyalty to each other – which was very strong – their need to defend the Temple and the tree it guarded inside it was overwhelming, and though it nearly killed him in the process, Gavius said nothing as Brevis was sliced and stuck like a pig, until eventually the shock killed him.