Shapers of Darkness (37 page)

They struggled for several moments, silent save for the rasp of their breathing. And just as Tebeo managed to wrap his fingers around the hilt of his dagger, he saw the man’s arm fly free, steel glinting in the sunlight like the wing of a dragonfly. Then the arm angled downward, a blur of steel and mail and flesh, and Tebeo felt a searing pain in his side. His body sagged, though he fought to stay on his feet. The soldier stepped back, raising his sword again, the other hand empty, save for a smear of blood on the crescent between his thumb and forefinger. Tebeo tried to raise his own blade to ward himself, but it was all he could do not to tumble onto his side. The
flesh under his right arm was ablaze; he felt himself growing light-headed. He heard someone call out to him from what seemed a great distance, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the man standing before him. The Solkaran, with his sword over his head, ready to smite the duke like some warrior god, and a blood stain on his hand that looked oddly like red Ilias early in the waxing.

Tebeo expected to die then. He wondered how the siege would end, whether Bausef and his men would give in to Numar of Solkara, or whether this civil war would continue, perhaps with Brall or one of the others taking up the cause. He thought of Pelgia and their children, and he nearly cried out with his grief at having failed them. All of this in the span of a single heartbeat, as the Solkaran began to bring down his sword for the killing blow.

But then another figure came into view, also a blur, though the duke recognized the colors of his own house, gold, red, and black. This second man crashed into the Solkaran, knocking him off balance, causing the sword to fly from his hand and clatter harmlessly against the wall beside Tebeo’s head. The two soldiers fell to the ground and began to struggle. Almost instantly a third man joined them, and then a fourth, both of them wearing the colors of Dantrielle. Still another man rushed to Tebeo’s side, crouching beside him, a stricken look on his youthful face.

“I’m all right,” the duke muttered, though he knew he wasn’t. “Don’t kill him.”

“My lord?”

“The Solkaran. I don’t want him killed.”

“But my lord . . .” The man shook his head and gestured at Tebeo’s side, forcing the duke to look there. The Solkaran’s blade jutted from between his ribs and his surcoat was stained crimson. He closed his eyes and clamped his teeth against a wave of nausea.

“I don’t care. I want him alive. We learn nothing if he dies.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The man shouted something to the others.

Tebeo closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the
stone, and for some time he was aware only of voices shouting around him and the sun on his face.

“The healer’s here, my lord.”

Tebeo started awake, as if from a deep slumber, though when he opened his eyes he found that he was still in the castle ward, leaning against the castle wall. He glanced around slowly, and saw the Solkaran standing nearby, his arms pinned at his sides by a pair of Tebeo’s soldiers. There was a cut over the man’s eye, and another on his cheek, but otherwise he appeared unharmed.

“Drink this, my lord.”

A Qirsi face loomed before him, pale and bony, yellow eyes like those of a wolf. The healer held out a cup containing a steaming, foul-smelling liquid.

“No,” Tebeo said. “Where’s Evanthya?”

“The first minister is on her way, my lord. But you must drink this. It will help you rest, and that will allow me to heal your wound.”

“I don’t know you.”

The man frowned. “You should, my lord. I’m Qerban. I’ve served as a healer in Castle Dantrielle for more than six years.”

Tebeo narrowed his eyes. Perhaps there was something familiar about him. “You’re still Qirsi.”

“Yes, my lord. And you’re dying. You’re losing far too much blood. If it’s poison you’re worrying about, you have no need. If I wanted you dead, I’d just let that dagger do its work and be done with it. Now please, my lord. Drink this, and let me help you.”

Tebeo nodded, and reached for the cup. But before he could take it in hand, he felt his world pitch and roll, and closing his eyes once more, he fell back into darkness.

When next the duke awoke, he was in his bedchamber. Pelgia sat beside him, holding his hand in hers, worry written in the lines on her face. Her dark eyes were dry, but that was her way.

Evanthya was there as well, looking small and pale. The healer stood beside her, his expression unreadable.

“I take it I’m going to live,” the duke said.

Qerban grinned. “It would seem so, my lord.”

“Then I have you to thank.”

“I’m a healer, my lord,” the man said with a shrug. “It’s what I do.”

“I owe you an apology.”

“You were hurt, my lord. You hardly knew what you were saying.”

“I knew well enough.” His eyes flicked to Evanthya, who had lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry, healer. And I thank you for my life.”

“Of course, my lord. There’s more of my brew on the table beside your bed. Drink it all, and rest. You should be able to leave your bed in the morning, but no more combat for a few days. I healed the wound, but your body needs time to recover the blood you lost.”

Tebeo nodded, saying nothing. Healers were always prescribing more rest than was necessary.

The Qirsi smirked, as if he could read the duke’s thoughts. After a moment he bowed and left the chamber.

Pelgia lifted the cup of brew from Tebeo’s table and held it out to him. Seeing the face he made, she smiled archly. “You heard him, Tebeo. All of it. And if you argue, I’ll have him prepare more.”

Reluctantly, the duke took the cup from her and drank, nearly gagging on the stuff. He tried to hand it back to her, but Pelgia merely stared at him until he downed the rest of it. Glancing toward the open window, he saw that it was night. Ward fires still burned atop the castle walls, but he heard nothing unusual.

“What’s the time?” he asked.

Evanthya looked up. “It’s nearly time for the gate close, my lord.”

“I was out that long?”

The first minister nodded.

“What of the Solkaran?”

“He’s alive, held in your dungeon.”

“I don’t want him in the dungeon. Have him moved up into the prison tower.”

“Are you certain, my lord? The master of arms insisted that it be the dungeon.”

“Bausef put him there because of what the man did to me. To have done less would have been . . . inappropriate. But the man is Aneiran, just as we are. He was ordered by his sovereign to quell a rebellion, and that’s what he was trying to do. Our quarrel is with Numar, not with the Solkaran people or their army, nor with the soldiers of any other house for that matter. He may be our prisoner, but he deserves to be treated with some courtesy. I’ll question him myself in the morning. Please see to it, First Minister.”

Evanthya bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

When the minister had gone, Tebeo faced Pelgia again. “Sorry if I gave you a scare.”

She gave a small smile, looking lovely in the candlelight. “By the time I’d heard anything, the healer was already quite certain that you’d live. But the children are a bit shaken.”

“Well, bring them in. It might do them good to see me.”

The duchess shook her head. “In the morning. The healer told you to rest. I intend to make certain that you do as you’re told.”

“Surely seeing the children—”

“Tomorrow,” she said, more firmly this time.

Tebeo grinned. “Yes, my lady.”

She patted his hand and stood. “Rest awhile. I’ll have some food brought in shortly.”

“Where are you going?”

“To tell the children that you’re all right. I’ll be back soon.”

He watched her go, then lay back against his pillow, closing his eyes and savoring the remembered touch of her fingers. His side ached dully and he felt weak, but he had been fortunate this day. Had the Solkaran’s dagger found something more vital, or had the man managed to plunge his blade into Tebeo’s side a second time, the duke would surely be dead.

This is what becomes of fat old men who fancy themselves warriors. No more fighting for me. That’s why Dantrielle has an army
.

He felt an unexpected pang of regret at the thought that his days as a swordsman were over, but he knew that this was the right decision. Not only had he risked his own life this day; he had also endangered the men who had been forced to rush to his defense time after time.

After several moments he began to doze off, only to be tugged back awake by a knock at his door. Pelgia.

“Enter,” he called sleepily, not even bothering to open his eyes.

He heard the door open and close, and the soft scrape of a boot on stone.

“My lord.” A man’s voice.

Tebeo opened his eyes and, seeing Bausef standing near the door, sat up too quickly. His head spun.

“Are you all right, my lord? Perhaps I should return later.”

“No, armsmaster, I’m fine.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds, then opened them again. The spinning of the chamber seemed to slow somewhat. “What do you want?”

“The first minister told me that you wanted the Solkaran moved to the tower. I wasn’t certain that I believed her—I wanted to hear it from you before doing anything.”

“You think she’d lie about such a thing?”

“I thought . . . perhaps your injury—”

“Out with it, Bausef. What’s on your mind?”

“This man is a danger to you and this castle. He nearly killed you, and he deserves to be punished.”

“He needs to be questioned, Bausef.”

“I’ve already seen to that, my lord.”

“You’ve already—” He stopped, comprehension hitting him like a fist. “You tortured him?”

“It was the only way—”

“No, Bausef, it wasn’t! I intended to question this man in the morning. He wasn’t to be tortured at all.”

“That may have been your intention, my lord. But I assure you, if you were determined to get answers from the man, it would have come to torture eventually. Why does it matter, if it was tonight or in the morning?”

“Because I wanted to give him the chance to comply without
resorting to pain.” Tebeo gazed toward the window shaking his head. “The Solkarans aren’t the enemy. Surely you understand that.”

“Actually, my lord, I must disagree. Certainly they’re not the only enemy; they may not even be the most dangerous. But so long as they lay siege to this castle, we must treat them as a threat to you and your dukedom.”

“You think me too soft.”

Bausef smiled. “I think you’re a good man, and a fine leader,” he said, seeming to choose his words with care. “Your lone weakness—if it can be called that—is your aversion to war. You so wish to find a path to peace, that you show your enemies too much kindness.”

“You think I’m doing that now.”

The armsmaster took a breath. “Yes, I do.”

They fell into a lengthy, brooding silence, Bausef still standing near the door, his gaze lowered, the duke in bed, staring at the window once more.

“What did you learn from him?” Tebeo asked at last, feeling that the question signaled a surrender of sorts.

“A good deal, once he started to talk.”

Tebeo indicated the chair by his bed with an open hand, and Bausef crossed to it and sat.

“He and his comrades didn’t expect to survive their assault. It seems Numar learned of the sally port two days ago and thought to exploit it.”

“But to what end? If the men weren’t expected to survive, what was the point?”

“The soldier didn’t know, but if I had to guess, I’d say the regent is looking for ways to break our spirit. As such attacks continue or even grow more frequent, fear will set in, the people of this city will begin to look for ways to end the siege. They may even turn against you and seek a reconciliation with the royal house.”

“It seems a waste of men.”

Another smile flitted across the armsmaster’s face and was gone. Once more Tebeo found himself thinking that the man saw him as too weak to be an effective leader, at least in times of war. And the duke could only agree.

“Had you been laying siege to another castle, my lord, I would have counseled you to do much the same thing. Today’s attack took a toll on the men, and it nearly claimed your life. It was a gamble to be sure, but one that was worth the loss of a few men.”

Tebeo said nothing.
Worth the loss
. He could never bring himself to think in such terms. Was he doomed then to fail? Could a leader as softhearted as he ever prevail in a war?

There was another knock, and before Tebeo could call out an answer, the door opened, revealing Pelgia and a servant who carried a platter of food. Seeing Bausef, the duchess frowned, glaring first at the master of arms and then at Tebeo.

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“And I am.”

She glowered at him.

“We’re still under siege, my lady. I can’t just sleep the night away while Numar’s men threaten my castle and city.”

“Do I have to call the healer and have him prepare a sleep tonic?”

“I should be leaving, my lord,” Bausef said, standing and bowing first to Tebeo and then to Pelgia.

“Thank you, armsmaster. I found our discussion . . . illuminating.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Bausef started to leave. But as he reached the threshold of the chamber, the entire castle suddenly quaked, as if some great beast had reached out from the Deceiver’s realm to smite Dantrielle’s walls with a mighty talon.

The armsmaster whirled to face the duke again. From outside Tebeo’s window came shouts of warning and alarm.

“The gate?” Tebeo asked.

Before Bausef could answer, the castle shook a second time.

“I don’t think so.”

“Then what?”

A soldier appeared in the doorway, breathless and ashen.

“What’s happened?” the armsmaster demanded.

“Hurling arms, Commander,” the man said. “Two of them.”

“But they hadn’t any arms built this—” Tebeo stopped,
winced. Now it made sense. There had been more to Numar’s wile than even Bausef had guessed. “It was a diversion, to give them time to build the machines and put them in place.”

“So it would seem.”

For a third time, the walls and floor shivered. More shouts echoed through the castle ward, mingled now with screams of terror and agony.