Cold Magics (54 page)

“Did you win anything?”

“Five silver, actually,” said the baron, “though they haven’t paid yet.”

“I want some of that, after this is done.” Thomas stopped. His hands were shaking again and his breath was ragged. He turned his back to the students and the lords, willing himself to be calm. It wasn’t working. The baron immediately stepped up beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “What happened to you, man?”

“Magic,” said Thomas. “It’s tiring.” He felt his knees threaten to give. “I just need a moment.”

“Suddenly frightened, are we?” sneered Steven.

“You’d know better than that if you’d been in the hallways last night,” snapped the baron.

“I went where I was ordered,” said Steven. “Not where I wanted to be.”

Thomas’s whole body was shaking with exhaustion now, from the magic and the battles and the long, long night. Thomas wasn’t sure how long he was going to be able to stay standing.

“Get Thomas a chair,” said Baron Goshawk to the students. “Hurry!”

“I’m fine,” protested Thomas.

The baron ignored him and turned to the nobles. “Thomas has been fighting all night and has not eaten,” he said. “He needs some time to recover. I believe it is only fair, don’t you?”

“I believe he called for this to happen at dawn,” said Lord Steven. “Given the lateness of the hour, I think we have been more than patient.”

“Given the circumstances,” said Sir Patrick, “I think we can all afford to wait a while longer.”

“I think not,” said Lord Cormac. “I think he should fight now.”

“Either wait for him or fight me,” said Baron Goshawk. “Whichever of you it’s going to be.”

“Me,” said Steven. “And in that case, I will wait. You are of no interest. It is him I want.”

By the Four, why?
Thomas struggled to control his shaking hands.
Why do they want me so badly?

Pieces fell together in Thomas’s head—the behaviour of the lords and the enemy’s attacks and how they had used the magic. He had a sudden vision of the map that Henry gave him—the marks of destroyed towns and villages, of lives laid waste. Across the room, the lords stared at him, Steven in the front, waiting.

“Draw,” said Thomas, his eyes still on Steven.

Steven blinked in surprise. “What, now?”

“Students!” shouted Thomas, “Draw!”

A moment’s hesitation, then twelve blades leapt to hand. The lords looked shocked. Steven’s blade cleared his scabbard a moment later. “Coward,” Steven shouted. “I knew you were a coward!”

“Thomas, what are you doing?” demanded Baron Goshawk. “It’s a challenge.”

“Get Henry,” said Thomas to Sir Patrick. “Hurry.”

“Thomas, what are you—”

“Henry. I need to talk to Henry. In my tower. Now!” When Patrick hesitated, Thomas shouted, “Go!”

Patrick glared. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Captain.” He turned on his heel and left.

“What about them?” asked Mark.

“George,” said Thomas. “Take their weapons.”

“Aye,” said George, drawing his own heavy war-blade and moving forward. The students advanced with him, weapons at the ready. Steven, his blade still in his hand, ignored him. “You’re a coward!” he said to Thomas. “A coward and a liar and a feeble little boy!”

“Hand over the sword,” said George.

“Come and take it!” shouted Steven at Thomas. “Come and fight me!”

“I’ve killed fifteen men tonight,” said George. “One more won’t make a difference. Now hand over your blade.”

“You can’t do this!” shouted Cormac. “It goes against all rules of conduct! When I tell the duke—”

“Do it,” said Charles.

Steven rounded on him. “You must be joking!”

“Do it. We’ll get our turn.” Charles looked to Thomas. “Or we’ll see you hanged.”

L
ord Steven stood, irresolute, then swore and threw his sword on the floor. One of the students picked it up. The other lords undid their sword belts and handed them to George, glowering all the while. George dumped the weapons in a pile on the floor beside the weapon racks.

“Baron, George, keep them here. If they start anything, kill them.”

“Thomas,” said the baron, moving close and lowering his voice. “This is against all rules of honour and the rule of law. You can’t just—”

“I can.”

“They’ll have you hanged!”

“They let the enemy into the city,” said Thomas, keeping his voice low enough that it didn’t carry past the baron’s ears. “And the reason they want this duel is to keep me from stopping them.”

The baron paled. It took him time before he managed, “If you are right—”

“Then we might just end this war,” said Thomas. He looked at the furious lords. “And if I’m wrong, I’ll come back and they can try to kill me one at a time.”

He turned away with the intention of heading for the door, but his vision darkened and the ground started rolling under his feet.

“George!” he heard the baron say. “Help him. Get him to the tower. You,” Thomas didn’t see who the baron pointed to, but guessed it easily enough. “Help him.” Eileen’s arm went around Thomas’s waist, and she took part of his weight. The baron put his hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “I’ll stay here. I outrank them anyway. You just find proof.”

George and Eileen held Thomas up and steered him out of the hall. George spotted a page and called for food to be brought to the tower.

“And breakfast for the students and the baron,” said Thomas. “Twelve of them, in the training hall. They haven’t eaten yet, either.”

The page ran down the hall and away from them. “How much longer are you going to be able to stand?” asked George.

“Long enough to get to my tower,” said Thomas. “After that, I don’t know.”

They hauled Thomas through the hallways and up the stairs to the tower.

Thomas was in full-body shakes by the time they arrived.

“Miss Eileen!” cried Lady Prellham, rising from the chair nearest the fire. She stared at Eileen’s blood and dirt-covered face. “You didn’t! Tell me you didn’t!”

“She did,” said Thomas. “Eileen, help me sit down.”

Eileen steered him to the chair nearest the fire. He collapsed into it and sat, shaking. Lady Prellham started to harangue Eileen in no uncertain terms when George’s voice cut through the room. Thomas tried to speak but found his mouth wasn’t working. Then everything went black.

It was a slow slide back to consciousness, sped up by the feeling of something hard pressed against his lip. It was a cup, Thomas realized, and he could smell the strong beef broth it held. He opened his eyes and the dark, blurry shape in front of him coalesced into Eileen. She raised the cup higher and Thomas let her pour the broth into him. The warmth of it flowed down his throat, bringing strength enough that he could raise his hand and take the cup himself.

“Oh, thank the Four,” said Eileen, when his hand wrapped around hers. Tears started rolling down her face. “Every time you’re like this…”

“I know,” said Thomas. He took the cup and, with Eileen’s help, drank more of it. “How long was I asleep?”

“A few hours,” said Eileen. “Then you moaned and started to talk so I thought the soup would help.”

“It did.”

“Henry hasn’t come yet, but the servants brought food and said they’d fed the students.”

“Good,” said Thomas. He held the cup in both hands and managed to sit up a bit in the chair. “Where’s George?”

“Asleep on the bed,” said Eileen. “He was cut in a dozen places, and looks like he’d been hit by a couple of arrows.”

“Is he all right?”

“I think so. Lady Prellham cleaned him up. And me. And lectured my ears off about sneaking out to fight.”

“And she left you alone with me?” Now he looked her over and saw bandages on her knuckles and arm, and another peeking through the ripped cloth of her shirt. He realized then that his cloak and winter coat were gone, and that he was in his shirt and pants. He looked around and saw the overcoats hung on hooks near the fire and the chain-mail shirt in a heap on the floor.

“We weren’t alone before George fell asleep. I bandaged you,” said Eileen, touching his shoulder where a fresh bandage covered a wound Thomas couldn’t remember getting.

He looked down and saw two other bandages—one around his stomach, another around his chest. “My thanks. Anything serious?”

Eileen shook her head. “Just cuts.”

Thomas raised the cup to his lips by himself this time, draining the rest of the broth and letting the warmth fill him. Eileen took the cup from him with a trembling hand.

“I wasn’t sick.”

 Eileen sounded like a child, desperate for praise. She was pale and the dark circles around her eyes stood out hard against her skin. “Some of the others, they were sick, once the fighting was done. They’d run outside the tavern to throw up or sit in the corner and cry. But I didn’t.” She was shaking now, and the cup slipped unnoticed from her hand to land on the rug below. “I didn’t cry and I wasn’t sick because I knew you’d use it as an excuse to make me stay behind and I couldn’t stay behind, Thomas. I couldn’t let you and George out there alone and not know what was happening to you or if you were going to live or die. I had to stay with you. I had to protect you and help Henry and—oh, by the Four, Thomas!” Tears streamed down her face, and her words came out between desperate sobs. “We killed so many people. Oh, sweet Mother. Oh, by the Four…”

Thomas caught her hand, pulling her to him. She fell into his lap and clutched desperately at her own body as if her heart had been torn apart and she could push it back together with the strength of her arms. Thomas held tighter, letting her rock back and forth. He held her until the wails became sobs and her shaking slowed and her arms finally came around him, squeezing his head to her breast while tears rolled down her face and into his hair.

“I’m sorry,” said Henry from the door. He was still in his armour, covered with blood and filth, his sword sheathed at his side. “I should never have let you do it.”

“You knew?” said Thomas.

“I saw the extra man in line and guessed.” He stripped off one glove, revealing a hand red from the blood that had soaked through the leather. “I was too busy to send her back and I thought that if she was damn fool enough to want to be in…” He rubbed at his face, leaving streaks of red. “I shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“I had to help,” said Eileen.

“Not like that,” said Henry. “Not again.”

Thomas gently raised Eileen to her feet and rose to his own. He wasn’t strong, yet, but the shakes were gone. “How are you, Henry?”

“I’ve been better,” Henry said. “You have food.”

“We do?” Thomas looked. There was bread and a large bowl of beef broth and cold meat and cheese stacked on a plate. A jug of wine sat open by the fire, and Thomas realized he’d been smelling the spices in it since he woke. “We do.”

“Good,” said Henry. “I haven’t eaten since last night.” He headed for the table. “So, why is it your students are confined to quarters and Baron Goshawk is arrested?”

“What?” Thomas was stunned. “The students were holding the young lords. Goshawk was in charge.”

“Richard had them released and your men confined to quarters two hours ago. He’s at present wanting to speak to you, as is my brother John. Be thankful we’ve all been busy.”

“Two hours?” Thomas looked to Eileen. “How long have I been asleep?”

“It’s midday,” said Eileen. “Four hours, maybe.”

“Four hours?” Thomas repeated. He turned on Henry. “Where have you been?”

“Riot,” said Henry. “Someone in the city said the refugees were responsible for the enemy getting inside and the next thing you know we had people brawling in the streets. It took three hours to get the sides separated and we had to kill a fair number of them to do it. Forgive me for not arriving sooner.”

Thomas swore. “It wasn’t the refugees that let the enemy into the city.”

“I know that!” snapped Henry. “But since I don’t know who else it was, I couldn’t really persuade anyone, so I had to drive my troops into the crowds and kill my own people instead!”

“It was the lords,” said Thomas. “They let the enemy into the city.”

Henry stared at him for a long time, digesting the words. When he spoke, his tone was measured. “And can you prove it?”

“I don’t know,” said Thomas, “which is why I needed you.” He picked up the map he and Henry had made and, spreading it out on the floor, weighted down the corners with books.

“Look at the map,” said Thomas. “Look at the towns that were overrun and tell me who owns them.”

“What?” Henry’s brow furrowed.

“Who owns those lands?” Thomas repeated. “Who controls each town, who was their liege, who lived adjacent to them, and whose sons are among the lords at court?”

Thomas saw comprehension and anger blossoming together in Henry’s face. “Get quills and ink.”

Together, Thomas and Henry went over the map, putting names of nobles to place names in between bites of food and glasses of mulled wine that Eileen brought to them. The sleep and the food together gave Thomas some of his energy back, and while he would not have wanted to fight in his condition, he could at least focus enough to help, writing the names of each of the barons and baronets and knights beside their towns. Henry looked grim and exhausted beyond all measure. He, too, had been up all night and most of the day, and had been fighting while Thomas slept. Henry didn’t complain once, nor did he bother to clean off his body or his armour, save to wash his hands before he ate.

The last name was added onto the map, and Henry drew lines around the territories controlled by each of the barons in Frostmire.

When they were finished Henry said, “The fathers of Cormac, James, and Charles are soon to have new land under their control.”

“Land they could turn over to their youngest sons?” suggested Thomas.

“Aye.”

“What about Geoffrey and Edward?”

“The towns are gone, their fathers are probably dead,” said Henry. “Their older brothers probably are, too. They stand to inherit.”