Cobweb Bride (20 page)

As he looked, he also noted the raven-haired beauty Lady Amaryllis throwing him a darting glance.

“S
o my dears, when will you be off to play Cobweb Brides?” said Lord Nathan Woult mockingly as soon as they were past the stretch of hallway where the unfashionably-dressed Duke of Rovait busied himself with his footwear.

“Why, as soon as possible—anything to accommodate your desire for that fresh rare steak. Isn’t that so, my dear Nathan?” Lady Amaryllis retorted.

Lady Ignacia made a sound halfway between a snort and a giggle, tossing her bright auburn hair. “Honestly, now, I wouldn’t mind a bit of steak myself,” she added. “Only, this is all very dire and misfortunate, and I am not sure I am up to such an . . . uhm . . . adventure.”

“None of us are, sweet,” Lady Amaryllis replied sharply. “And yet, we must. There is not a moment to waste, for oh-so many reasons, the least of which is steak. So off we go, right now.”

“What?
Now?
” Lady Ignacia’s pretty rosebud mouth fell open.

“But—aren’t you forgetting something, sweetlings?” said Woult. “Such as—the plumbing of your wardrobes for suitable attire would take at least all the rest of the afternoon and most of this evening? Anything less would be an outrage to fashion.”

“I say, indeed, Amaryllis, how will we manage to get ready to leave today? This is a bit overly hasty, isn’t it? Sort of daft, really.”

The Lady thus addressed whirled around and stopped in the hallway, overtly pouting, looking from one of her friends to the other.

“If you are not up to it,” she said, “then I am off on my own. My sweet Papa’s not going to miss me or the Curricle of Doom.”

“Oh heavens, not the Curricle of Doom!” Ignacia gave a small scream. “You cannot think to drive that thing in such weather?”

“What weather?” Lady Amaryllis snorted. “Look outside, my dear, it is still and dead, a Winter calm. The snowflakes are hardly coming down, and the Curricle has taken me on far rougher trips than this. The one immense advantage is that it will be the fastest thing on the road, and we can run over a whole battalion’s worth of other Cobweb Brides on their way to the same place we’ll be heading. Less competition, you know.”

“Hah! Now you’re jesting completely,” Nathan exclaimed. “You can’t mean to say you actually
want
less competition in this endeavor? Would you really have Death pick
you
as his very own, one and only? I thought the point was just to have a thimble of fun, and to let the other damsels and ladies stampede the Grim Fellow?”

“Nathan, I hate to say this,” Ignacia mumbled. “But I do believe this has all crossed the line beyond fun and into duty a long time ago. And you know what happens to Amaryllis when she perceives a challenge. We are in for it now. Adventure is unavoidable.”

I
n the deepening evening twilight the forest was a crystalline thing of blue pallor and barren black tree branches. It had began to snow again, softly, and the snow dusted the world, deepening all layers and filling the still air with sparkle in the light of the rising moon.

Beltain stood shifting in place, feeling his body freeze slowly, and moved his fingers and toes in reflex, bundled as they were in layers of wool inside the boots and gloves and underneath the deadly cold of the metal mail. Only motion could keep one from freezing now, during night patrol. His warhorse stood nearby and he would periodically pull its lead to make it take a step or two to stay alert.

As near as a few feet away, and ranging onwards, scattered about the forest were his men. A small discreet fire burned on the ground in a very deep, semi-concealed pit that had been dug out with great difficulty with ice picks, and they took turns warming their fingers over the embers. Occasionally a black form would move past, to report to his ranking officer who would in turn report directly to Beltain.

Somewhere deeper in the forest, at least three miles away, was his father. Duke Hoarfrost was patrolling a stretch of icy wilderness where a living man would have greater difficulty, but a dead man might as well make himself useful. Several other undead Chidair soldiers were with Hoarfrost, and the living men who reported back and forth between them, were suitably wary of the task.

Over the course of the afternoon and evening they had intercepted at least several dozen potential Cobweb Brides. The women had been found making their way through the forest and along paths, and many had come along the major road leading north-west from Tussecan. They were young and not-so-young, most sorry and haggard, walking alone and in groups of two or three, some carrying bundles, others empty-handed and resigned to not having to come back. There had been at least ten noblewomen complete with servants and carriages to accompany them. The carriages had been stopped easily, any guards surrendered or beaten off, and the women were all herded together and then taken in small groups back to the ducal Keep and settlement that was situated deeper in Chidair lands, to be placed in custody and held indefinitely.

Several times the women themselves or their guards resisted, or fought back, or ran. The Chidair patrols had to give chase, and at times there had been brief skirmishes. Beltain had given his men a direct order to avoid bloodshed as much as possible, and if a fight was inevitable, to seek to overpower instead of strike killing blows.

“No maiming,” he had also told them. “Do not take limbs.” Doing so was the cruelest thing possible under the circumstances, since death could not relieve anyone, but limbs lost were gone forever and mortal pain had no relief.

Beltain thought of pain, the dull ache in his own battle-weary body, the bruises slowly healing underneath the wool and mail and the everpresent cold. He thought of what it all meant, what they were doing, what
he
was doing. And yet he did not allow himself to think too far, for that would invoke questions, and he could not bear to question things, not now. . . .

“My Lord,” said one of his men, Riquar, bearded and bearish, emerging from the shadows up ahead in the direction where the road lay, and beyond it, Lake Merlait. “There is a quickly moving carriage of sorts, coming this way. Looks to be well-guarded too, and extra horses. How should we proceed?”

Beltain exhaled deeply, watching his breath curl in pale vapor. He then moved toward his horse. “Proceed as before,” he replied, gripping the saddle, mounting with some difficulty, but unassisted by a squire—a testament to his determination and sheer strength. “Set up the ambush teams on both sides of the road, then bring out the roadblock. But make sure the cut tree is visible from a distance, giving them advance notice. I want no overturned carriages and unnecessary damage, nor hurt innocents.”

“Yes, sir.”

The man disappeared ahead, and Beltain whistled, giving the signal for patrol on alert. He leaned forward in the saddle and urged his horse forward, while all around the forest came alive with dark moving figures of his men, converging rapidly upon the road south of their location.

Beltain rode carefully, avoiding clumps of unpassable brush and snow, while branches struck him occasionally on the helmet and shoulders and chest plate, sending blasts of icy fresh powder over the minimal exposed area of his already numb face. His powerful horse knew the forest well, and he relied upon the beast’s ability to avoid pratfalls and find its own way.

Soon, he and his men were at the edge of a clearing. The roadway spread on both sides of them, one end leading southeast to Tussecan, the other disappearing further north until the road itself became a forest path, then dissolved into hoary impassable woodland in Chidair territory and beyond. Here was no-man’s land, the boundary between Chidair and Goraque, spanning all of the thoroughfare and the northern lakeshore, technically lands belonging only to the King of Lethe and ultimately to the Emperor of the Realm.

Which meant that he and his Chidair soldiers had as much right to be here as that carriage.

The clamor of its approach and the galloping horses announced its coming half a mile ahead, as might the best of court chamberlains. Beltain wondered who would have such urgent business at this hour, and here, on the outskirts of civilized territories. He had little doubt this was all somehow related to the Cobweb Bride situation.

Three Chidair soldiers plunged forward and down the snowy embankment dragging a felled pine tree, cumbersome with evergreen branches, many of which were still loaded with packed snow. They arranged it across the roadway, then retreated to both sides and hid along the snowdrifts and shrubbery flanking the road.

Everyone waited for Beltain’s signal in silence.

One more bend of the road, and the galloping carriage came into view, a dark expensive thing carried by fine horses, with two wrought-iron lanterns hung in the front to illuminate their way with a golden radiance against the blue night. Their illumination extended just far enough to reveal the sudden obstacle lying before them.

The driver reacted swiftly and pulled up the team just short of the fallen trunk and branches, with a yell and clatter and angry protesting neighing of the horses. Coming immediately after, a groom barely reined in the four spare horses, and four mail-clad knights burst forward, passing the carriage and flanking it on all sides, their mounts pulled up and rearing in frustration. The knights were armed—for Beltain could see the sudden glint of bared steel in the moonlight—and they sat atop great horses, true pedigree beasts bred for heavy combat.

The same moonlight also revealed Imperial insignias and coat-of-arms on the clothing of the knights and decorating the sides of the carriage.

Very interesting
. . . . But damn, thought Beltain, this was not going to be easy. And unfortunately this exchange was very likely going to be deadly.

He gritted his teeth. His right hand encased in the gauntlet went for the great sword at his side. And his mind filled with steel and winter.

Raising his left hand in a sharp motion Beltain gave the command to attack. At the same time he drove his warhorse forward and emerged crashing through the shrubbery of the raised embankment and down onto the road, readying his sword-hand for a deadly blow.

His men burst forward with cries but he paid them no more heed, for he had entered the battle mindset and was oblivious to everything but the enemy.

The closest of the knights came at him with a yell, but Beltain advanced like a battering ram and his blow brought the man down from his horse so that he was dragged several feet in the saddle. Beltain had already turned away and was engaging the second knight while his men swarmed the fallen knight and immobilized him with nets and ropes.

“If you can help it, do not strike to kill!” Beltain exclaimed, and then regretfully had to act against his own orders and hacked the knight’s right arm off after plunging the sword deep into his chest in a purely defensive strike. The mortally hurt man screamed and continued screaming while blood poured out of him, black in the moonlight, and sluggishly froze in the snow. “Forgive me
 . . .” Beltain whispered as he severed another limb so that the knight could not resume his attack as an undead, and instead slumped forward then fell from his horse.

“Surrender!” Beltain yelled hoarsely to the third knight who was approaching from the other side of the carriage. “Surrender now and state your business and I swear upon the name of Chidair you will not be harmed!”

“No, it is you who will surrender, villain! You will lay down your arms before your betters. We are Peers of the Realm, on Imperial business,” replied the third knight, keeping a shrewd distance, having seen how two of his comrades have fared against this one knight. His face was uncovered halfway and his helm’s partial visor remained up so that Beltain could see two dark intense eyes underneath heavy brows. At his side, the fourth knight approached and the two of them maneuvered their horses so that they had their backs turned to the carriage protectively and their swords drawn.

“Will you attack both of us at once, Sir Knight—if that is what you truly are? Or will you send your rabble to take us on?” spoke the fourth knight, his low belly-rumble voice echoing through the forest. He cut a great figure, a huge hulking shape, helm covering his face—truly, a giant not unlike Beltain’s own father, the Duke Hoarfrost. Indeed, he seemed familiar and Beltain thought he might have seen this one in the ranks before, might have even fought him in courtly competition, but could recall no name to match the figure.

“I and my men have no wish to attack either of you,” replied Beltain in a cool steady voice. “But if it comes to a fight, I promise your honor will not be besmirched. I am Lord Beltain Chidair, son of the Duke Ian Chidair, Lord of the lands which you are about to enter. Who are you? What is your business here? Who sits inside the carriage that you guard?”

“Since when has it become necessary to explain one’s presence on a public road?” said the smaller knight with the heavy brows. “I am Baron Carlo Irnolas, Peer of the Imperial Silver Court, at my side is Lord Givard Mariseli, and we are on the business of the Emperor.”

“What of the carriage?” said Beltain, motioning with his blood-stained swordblade. “Who is inside?”

The two knights glanced from one to the other. Finally the baron spoke, after a pause just significant enough that Beltain suspected he was not about to impart the whole truth: “Within are
 . . . two noble ladies of the Silver Court. You must swear not to harm them. You must let us be on our way!”