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“Never more so, cousin.” But when he leaned closer she couldn’t help twisting away. Vasic caught hold of the front of her dress and shoved her back against the edge of the bed. She toppled backwards and he half-fell, half-clambered on top of her, pressing his mouth over hers, probing with his tongue, bruising her lips against her own teeth. She clawed at his face and he pulled back, cursing. Beside the bed stood a pewter candlestick and she made a desperate lunge for it, grabbed it and smashed it against the side of his head.

He slumped over onto the bed and she shoved his dead weight away so she could scramble clear, then she gathered up her skirts and ran, dropping the candlestick as she tugged the door open. She was halfway down the flight of newel stairs before Vasic bellowed for his guards. The soldier on duty in the great hall gaped as she passed, before they realised the import of their master’s shouts and gave chase. Alwenna’s luck ran out when she reached the foot of the tower, as two burly guards stepped forward to block her path. She realised her mistake in abandoning her weapon so soon as she dodged one, but the other tackled her to the ground, and she was bound and returned to the great hall. Vasic sat in state there, clutching a cloth to a bleeding gash above one ear while a healer fussed over him.

Vasic glared at Alwenna. “You have gone too far this time.” He turned his eyes to the guard. “Lock her up, it’s time she learned some respect.”

The guard hesitated. “In her rooms, sire?”

“No, you fool. Put her in the cell off the guardroom. Let her have a taste of what her life will be like if she disobeys me again.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

The dungeon door clattered open, startling Weaver into wakefulness.

Curtis hurried over to unlock first Weaver’s shackles, then Drew’s. “We’ve no time to waste. Vasic’s in a rage – you need to get out now.”

Weaver scrambled to his feet and stretched to work some life into his limbs, sending a fresh spasm of pain through his ribs. “What’s happened?”

“You’ll be needing this.” Curtis handed him a sword and belt that Weaver recognised as his own. Drew took a moment longer to get to his feet as he searched through the straw for something. But he rose lithely enough, fumbling with his voluminous sleeves, and accepted the dagger and belt that Curtis handed him.

Weaver buckled on his belt, wincing as pain shot through his ribs. “Tell us, Curtis. What are we getting into?”

“The Lady Alwenna tried to escape – she’s been locked in the guardroom cell.”

“She – how? Is she hurt?” Weaver tried to gather his scrambled wits.

“I don’t know. We’ve no time to waste.”

Curtis hurried away and was halfway up the broad staircase before Weaver and Drew caught up. Curtis signalled to them to wait as he sauntered up to the two guards stationed at the head of the stairs.

“All’s quiet down there. I’ve got the dice with me, if you think your luck’s better than yesterday.”

The taller of the two guards glowered at him but the shorter man laughed. Weaver recognised neither; they must have come to Highkell in Vasic’s army. Curtis fumbled in his scrip, ostensibly searching for his dice and moved round so the shorter of the two guards turned his back to the stairs.

Weaver was almost within arm’s reach of the shorter guard when the taller one sensed movement and spun round, drawing his sword. The shorter man followed suit, sidestepping into Curtis who backed away towards the guardroom door. The tall guard tried to drive the prisoners back to the top of the stairs, but Weaver stood his ground. The pain in his ribs hampered him, but this would be his only chance to win free and he fought like a cornered rat, taking risks until he got inside the taller man’s guard and smashed him in the face with the pommel of his sword. The tall man staggered. Weaver thrust his sword up beneath the guard’s breastplate and he fell backwards. As Weaver withdrew his blade the shorter man lunged towards him, dagger in hand.

A blade flashed across from the stairwell, lodging in the guard’s throat. With a dreadful gurgling he crashed against Weaver, and rolled to the ground, clawing at the knife and pulling it free, only to release a spurt of blood that sprayed across the flagstones, the wall, and his fallen companion. After a moment he lay still. Drew stepped forward to retrieve the blade, wiping it clean on the dead man’s hose.

Weaver bent double, fighting the pain from his ribs. “You kept that skill quiet, lad.”

Drew flashed a pained grin. “You didn’t ask.”

Curtis stripped the liveried tabards from two of the fallen guards, passing them to the others. “There’ll be two more in the main guardroom.”

They paused only to search the bodies, removing scrips full of coin, then turned their attention to the two guards outside the guardroom. These two were easily distracted by Curtis’ gossip. Weaver garrotted one, while Drew slit the other’s throat. Curtis grabbed the keys from the senior guard’s belt and sorted through them, trying to find one to fit the locked cell.

“It’s not here.” Curtis tried the largest key, but it rattled uselessly in the lock. He cursed.

“Who’s that?” Alwenna’s voice was hoarse but unmistakable. A moment later her face appeared at the inspection grille. There was a fresh cut on her lip.

Weaver reached for her fingertips through the bars. “You are hurt…”

“Weaver! What’s happening? Has he freed you?”

“We decided not to wait.” He glanced at Curtis, who still rummaged through the keys. “Have you found that key yet?”

“I’m trying,” Curtis grumbled. “I don’t think it’s here.”

Alwenna’s face fell. “The key to this door? Hames has it. He took it with him after he locked me in.”

“Hames?” The name meant nothing to Weaver. “Where is he now?”

Alwenna shook her head. “I don’t know – with Vasic? He’s his steward.”

Curtis desperately tried the other keys. “It’s no use. I can’t open it with these.”

“Then we’ll break it down.” Weaver knew he was fooling himself – the door was new and solid. “Lever it off its hinges, there must be some way.”

“It’s set into the stonework, it won’t open without the key. There’s no time, Weaver.” Curtis was sympathetic. “At any minute someone might come for the Lady Alwenna. Or you. We have to go.”

“I won’t leave her here.”

Alwenna watched Weaver with a bittersweet expression on her face. “He’s right, you must go. Get away. Then Vasic can’t use you against me.”

Drew was watching the courtyard from the doorway. “There’s a merchant’s wagon about to leave, with pack mules and outriders. We could slip in among them and walk straight out through the gate.”

“I can’t leave you here. Not with him.”

“You must. While you still can.” She released his fingertips and stepped back from the door. “Go. It’ll be easier to handle Vasic, knowing you’re beyond his reach.”

Drew came over to add his urgings to the others. “Weaver, this is the best chance we’ll have.”

Weaver stepped away from the door, irresolute. The three of them couldn’t storm Vasic’s private chambers to find the key. He knew it. They were right. But to come so close to freeing her… “I’ll come back for you. Just as soon as I can.”

Drew was fumbling inside his sleeve. “My lady, you might have a use for this.” He passed a small leather sheath between the narrow bars of the grille.

The throwing knife, Weaver realised. For the quiet son of a stonemason Drew was full of surprises.

Alwenna reached for it and took it from him, puzzled, her lips forming an “Oh” as she identified it.

“Hide it in your clothing. Once they know you have it they’ll likely take it off you, but it might help you in a tight spot.”

“Thank you.” She tucked the blade inside her sleeve. “Now please, go, before you are discovered.”

Weaver had to force himself to turn away. He had to put all thoughts of her out of his head and concentrate on the task at hand, or he’d put all three of them in danger.

Curtis had taken Drew’s place at the door. “The merchant’s setting off now. Are you ready, Weaver?”

“Aye.” Weaver nodded. He followed Curtis and Drew out, aware that behind him Alwenna watched from the cell. He never once looked back.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Weaver halted his horse at the summit of Vorland Pass, waiting for Drew and Curtis to catch up. A few hundred yards below them a spring emerged from the ground between a jumble of boulders. It didn’t look like much, but it was the source of the broad river that wound across the plain below them to join the sea at Ellisquay. On a clear day the city and its harbour could just be seen from here. But this was not a clear day. The distance was lost in haze and cloud obscured all but the foothills of the Scarrow Mountains that rose across the plain. And between them and the plain was a steep descent over rough ground. Just looking at the so-called road ahead made the pain in his ribs worse. Right now the thought of drowning that pain in a barrel of ale was the only thing keeping him in the saddle.

Weaver couldn’t shake off the uneasy sense everything would change beyond recall now he’d crossed that watershed. He told himself the further he travelled from the Lady Alwenna the better it would be for both of them. She would be married to Vasic and there’d be a new peace in the Peninsular Kingdoms, perhaps more lasting than the peace secured by Tresilian’s wedding to Alwenna. And she’d be as far beyond his reach as she’d ever been. He’d been a fool to imagine it could ever have been otherwise. He knew his place. And he knew better than to indulge in foolish daydreams about a woman. How many times would he have to be burned to remember it?

Drew brought his horse up alongside Weaver. “Can I ask you… Is this where it happened? The battle?”

What romantic ideas did the lad have about war? “Near enough. Why do you ask?”

“I heard about it from my father – and later from Brother Gwydion. On the second day you took on the eastern champion single-handed?”

Champion. Goddess, the lad didn’t think he was a hero, surely? “I volunteered to fight him.”

“Everyone said he was twice your size, and had dark powers. And they called you the Peacemaker afterwards.”

“You don’t want to believe everything people tell you, lad. Especially not the likes of Gwydion. He was a crazy old man.”

“He was right about many things, Weaver: about you, and about the Lady Alwenna. He knew she was coming to Vorrahan. He said she’d be the greatest seer the world has known since the time of Alidreth, but surrounded by non-believers.”

Weaver snorted, sending a fresh spasm of pain through his side. “It doesn’t take a seer to know their order has fallen out of favour.”

“He – what he did that day to the Lady Alwenna – it was wrong. But he had no time left.”

Now there was an understatement. “Better for all if the old man had died ten minutes sooner.”

For a moment Weaver thought Drew was going to turn his horse away, but instead the lad had another go.

“Why pretend you don’t care? When you fought Stian that day – you had some higher purpose, surely.”

“No. I wasn’t after peace. I didn’t care about the outcome of the battle, or how many lives were in the balance. My only purpose was to wipe Stian from the face of the earth. And to cause him as much pain as possible in the process.” Weaver paused. “As it was, he met his end far too quickly.”

“They say–” The lad hesitated again. “They say you’re a berserker. And you swore that day to wipe out every member of his family.”

“You’re the talkative one today. Do they also say how much I drank that day? It took me two days to sober up. There’s no heroism in battle, lad.”

“I– That wasn’t what I meant. They said you fought like a man possessed.”

“I fought like a man who didn’t care if he lived or died. Stian very much wanted to live – on the day that gave me the advantage.”

“They told me it was because–” Drew hesitated then rushed the final words. “Because of your wife. Stian slighted her.”

“Who said that?”

“Gwydion.”

There would have been gossip at the time. How else could the old man have known of it? “People talk.” But could word really have spread as far as Vorrahan?

“He could divine the truth, whatever you say. And he began to teach me how. He would have taught the Lady Alwenna, too, if he’d been granted time. The Goddess claimed him too soon. But, Weaver, when you swore vengeance against Stian’s family, on the blood of your enemy… Isn’t the Lady Alwenna one of his kin?”

Curse the lad for his impudence. “Do you dare suggest I’d raise a hand against her?”

“No. But…” The lad grimaced. “Words of vengeance have a power all their own. Your enemies might one day use them against you.”

“What’s done is done. Leave the past where it belongs.”

If the lad had a clever retort for that, Weaver was spared hearing it as Curtis rode up alongside them, his horse blowing heavily.

“Just my luck to get the broken-winded nag.”

Weaver glanced at the horse. It was fit enough. “It’s the horse who’s out of luck. You’ve been eating too well in the usurper’s kitchens.”

Curtis flushed with anger. “You’d be in a sorry state now if I hadn’t been.”

What was that all about? “Don’t think I’m not glad of it.” Weaver had known him for years. They’d joke about Curtis’ tendency to gain weight, and Weaver’s failure with women, and they’d cover one another’s backs in battle. That was how it worked. “We should swap horses anyway. Drew’s half the weight of either of us.”

Curtis laughed. “Aye, that’s right enough.” His moment of ill-humour had passed. Maybe he was regretting leaving behind softer living.

Weaver shrugged. If his memory served him correctly there was an inn at the foot of the pass. Goddess willing it was still there. He needed to get riotously, irredeemably drunk. And on the morrow if the worst of his problems was a hangover he’d count himself fortunate.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Alwenna slumped on the floor in the least noxious corner of the cell. Someone must have been using it as a urinal since her last sojourn there. Outside she heard various footsteps coming and going. Each time she tensed, expecting to hear the hue and cry raised against the escaped prisoners, but each time the footsteps moved away again. Weaver and the others must have been clear of the main gates by now. They had to be.