Keeper of the Black Stones (52 page)

Reis growled deep in his throat, and legged his horse forward. Behind him, Paul fell into place. “Well if we're going to die, we may as well do it saving the world. Do you know how to get there?”

I couldn't help but grin at the question. The stone had told me exactly how to get there, and I was aching to go. “Better than that. I know a short cut that will take us around the battle and up behind their camp. We'll be there in no time. It might just be quick enough. Let's go!”

I spurred my horse forward, leading us eastward, away from Doc and the
relative safety of his soldiers, and into the heart of Dresden's camp, praying that we would get there and back before Stanley made his move.

The Earl held his sword aloft, listening intently to the dull roar on the battlefield. It was time. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, readying his body for battle, and he wondered if he'd ever felt so alive. This was what it was like, then. A major battle, history riding the brink of change…

History. The future. The joy vanished from his face, to be replaced by a mask of grim murder and determination. This wasn't a battle he or the world could afford to lose.

He scanned the hill above him, looking for the familiar figure. There. Just to Richard's right, and dressed in his standard uniform of dark blue. Dresden. The man who was trying to change history. The man he'd come to stop.

The Earl of Oxford screamed with fury, declaring his intentions to the world, and dropped his sword. Around him, his men surged forward to battle.

I took the lead, feeling just as comfortable on the horse now as I did on my bike back home. We flew forward, bounding over the slopes of the ridge at an alarming rate of speed, racing toward the small path that would take us toward Dresden's camp. And William. I just hoped he was still alive. If he wasn't, we were going to have a big problem.

Below us, the battle raged, complete with the sounds of clashing iron, canon fire, and arrow flight. Men screamed in defiance and pain, coloring the air with their voices, and the horses matched them. The mass of life moved back and forth across the valley floor, marked by the pendants and flags of the lords and barons, like the tide rolling and crashing on the shore. I tried desperately to find Doc's banner, but gave it up for impossible when
our own path turned and took us away from the valley.

Our mounts raced through the woods for several minutes, their bellies low to the ground with their speed. Then we were free of the tree line, and less than 50 feet from the river's edge. This was where we would cross, the stone told me–there was a turn here where the river was both shallow and narrow, offering easy passage. My horse trotted into the water, reading my thoughts, and made quick work of the crossing.

Within moments we were on the other side, and racing toward Dresden's camp. Our horses crested the shallow ridgeline that bordered the river, and we pulled to a sudden stop. Before us lay the tents, wagons, and flags of King Richard's camp.

“What's the plan?” Reis snapped, pulling abreast of me.

“You're the Navy SEAL here, Reis,” I said, grinning. “Isn't infiltration and kidnapping more your line of work? And let's make it quick. We don't have a lot of time.”

Reis grunted in response, but nodded. “Well I don't expect much in the way of guards or soldiers within the camp,” he mused. “Most of them should be at the battle. Then again, Richard or Dresden–or both–may have held a group of soldiers in reserve. We won't know until we get in there. I'll go first. Jason, follow me as closely as you can and give me directions when you have them. Everyone else, stick close. Keep your eyes open and mouths shut.” He looked around, and nodded at everyone's silence. “Once we grab the hostage, Jason takes point and I bring up the rear to make sure that no one follows us. Got it?”

Everyone nodded, intensely silent and ready for action. Without a word, Reis whirled and took off, straight toward the war camp before us.

41

L
uck was on our side, at first. The people we came across weren't soldiers at all, but children playing a game that appeared to be a hybrid of tag and hide-and-seek. Several of the kids stopped to look at us, but within seconds they'd decided that we were uninteresting, and turned their attention back to the game at hand.

“Try to look as though you belong,” Reis said, just loudly enough for all of us to hear. “Jason, where the hell are we going?”

I gulped; Richard's camp was a mirror image of Henry's, and just as confusing. Every tent and alley looked exactly the same, making it impossible to tell which way was forward and which was back. I panicked, thinking that we'd come to the wrong place, but settled when I felt the hum of the stone in my head. It knew where William was, and it wasn't thrown off by the confusing layout of the camp.

I listened closely, then pointed to two tents on the other side of a very large clearing. “The large one on the right, with the deep blue pendent, is Dresden's. That's where we'll find William,” I said quietly.
Hopefully alive and capable of traveling,
I added silently. I hadn't said anything to the others, but the stone hadn't told me whether he was alive or not, and it was making me distinctly nervous. We needed him alert and ready to go if we were going to get to his brother in time.

We might already be too late,
a voice whispered in my ear. I thrust it down, unwilling to consider the possibility, and moved forward after Reis.

The Earl felt like he'd been fighting for hours, though he'd yet to see any heavy action. He looked up from the man he'd just run through to see that the body of Richard's army had reached the base of the hill. Their numbers must have been cut significantly by the Earl's archers, but there would still be thousands of them. Far more men than the Earl had provided. Some of them would be armed with guns, though they would be able to fire only once. Still, with the number of extra men he had gathered on the road here, the Earl thought that Henry's army would hold them off for the time being. And he had a better working knowledge of the battle than anyone else. That, too, would be an advantage.

He turned at the sound of hoof beats to his left, and saw the French nobleman Philibert de Chandee, head of the French mercenaries, racing his way. Hopefully bringing good news, the Earl thought grimly; the battle was progressing as it should, for now, but he wasn't counting it a victory just yet. There were still too many things that could go wrong.

“Have you heard from our friends to the east?” de Chandee asked, nodding toward the hill on their right.

Stanley's army,
the Earl thought. They hadn't heard from them yet, though Stanley hadn't joined the fray, either. Perhaps Jason had been right on that score, and William Stanley had made it to his brother's camp in time.

Remembering the man next to him, he shook his head once. “Nothing,” he said curtly. “Perhaps they mean to simply watch the battle, then join the victors.”
Please God,
he added silently.

De Chandee's mouth turned down at the idea of this unsportsmanlike behavior, and he shook his head as well. “I suppose we shall know soon enough, for the battle is moving quickly. It appears that you were right–Richard became impatient and charged, opening his left and right flanks. We've moved in to harry him on both sides, and leave the front to you and your men. We await your orders for anything further.”

The Earl grimaced. Richard had been a fool, and no mistake. As long as Stanley stayed out of it… “Shore up the eastern flank,” he barked, spurring
his horse forward toward his knights. “And watch Stanley. I do not trust him, and we cannot afford his interference. Movement from him–on Richard's behalf–would turn the tide, and mean defeat.”

He did not wait to hear de Chandee's response. His men needed him, and they could not afford to lose the front line of their battle.

We trotted toward the tent in question, taking care not to move too fast–or too slow–to appear casual. There were more people in this part of the camp, and several soldiers racing in and out of the area, but no one seemed to notice us. The camp was, in fact, relatively quiet. Eerily so. Our path was clear, but I couldn't help glancing over my shoulder from time to time, wondering if we were walking straight into a trap.

When we reached the tent, a soldier appeared out of nowhere and grabbed Reis' reins. “Who the hell are you lot?” he growled, moving his hand to the grip of his sword. “And what are you doing here?”

Reis looked down at the soldier, who was both shorter and broader than he, and grimaced with distaste. A moment later, he'd slid to the ground, brought his knee up into the soldier's groin, and wrapped both hands around his neck, pulling him down until the bridge of his nose met his other knee. He pulled the now-unconscious guard to the side of the tent, gesturing violently for us to move, and whispered for Katherine to stay put and watch the horses.

The rest of us ducked through the tent's opening and glanced swiftly around, searching for William. A large table, much like Doc's, occupied the center of the tent, along with several bulky chairs, a small bed in the rear, and one large chest that lay beside the bed. No William.