Keeper of the Black Stones (31 page)

“The Bishop's pain?” Paul asked.

Katherine shook her head. “No … Lord Dresden!” she hissed, suddenly coming alive again. She looked up, her green eyes flashing with hatred at the name.

I shook my head in confusion and looked over at Tatiana, expecting to see the same expression. Her face, though, showed no emotion at Katherine's declaration.

“Dresden killed my father!” Katherine muttered. “Because of a toothache!” She swiped at the tears on her face and threw them away from her.

Before she could say anything else, Tatiana spoke. “Well, this is all very interesting, and quite coincidental, I'm sure, but I think we need to be going. We do, after all, have someplace to be.” She looked pointedly at me, and my mouth dropped open.

“You're right, and she's coming with us,” I said, surprising myself. I hadn't talked it through with myself yet, and certainly hadn't meant to say anything, but I couldn't take the words back now that that they were said. As silence descended, I realized that I was right. She
did
need to come with us, though I couldn't understand why. The stones had led me to her, and they must have had a reason. Beyond that, she was an orphan, and probably in trouble for the attack on the Bishop. The romantic in me–bolstered by the pressure of the stones–was screaming at me to protect her. If she didn't come with us, where would she go?

Reis shook his head slowly, torn. “I don't think that's a good idea, Jason. You know our situation. Perhaps she has friend or family in another village … somewhere else she could go?”

Katherine shook her head. “I have no one else,” she said quietly.

“Are you both mad? She can't come, absolutely not!” Tatiana snapped. “We don't have time for this. This has nothing to do with why we're here! We've already messed with history enough, do you want to make it worse? We have to go.”

“You don't get a vote in this,” I replied, shocked at my own response and tone of voice. “This isn't only about you, Tatiana.” I heard myself saying the words, and shook my head. I wasn't being fair to the others, but something was pushing me forward. Something that I couldn't explain. Whatever it was, it wanted me to rescue Katherine, and I wasn't strong enough to ignore it.

“Jason…” Reis started.

I didn't let him finish. “And it's not about you either, Reis. No offense to any of you, but this is
my
mission.
I'm
the one with the connection to the stones, here, and
I'm
the one who brought us into the past.” I sighed, trying to decide how to say what I needed to say without terrifying everyone.

“I can't tell you how I know, or why, but she's important. I know it. We found her for a reason, I've just got to figure out what the reason is. I think we have to take her with us.”

“Well that's a pretty weak motivation,” Paul grumbled, putting his hand on my arm. “Jason, think about what you're asking here. Take her with us today, sure, but then what? It's not like we can take her home with us.”

I turned to him, my face flushing with emotion. “I know this the same way I knew that Doc's life was in danger, Paul,” I said evenly. “And if we can't take her home with us, then I guess that gives me three days to try and figure out what I
am
supposed to do with her.”

I glanced at Katherine, who lifted her head and gave Tatiana a cold look. I paused for long enough to see the look returned, and turned to Reis.

“I'm bringing her with us, Reis. And that's all there is.”

Reis heaved a heavy sigh, then nodded and looked at his watch. “Well, maybe she'll come in handy along the road. I'm not going to fight you on it. You've got five minutes to gather her things.”

21

T
he Earl stalked past the two heavily armed guards outside the cream-colored awning and stormed into the tent. He had grown angrier as the ride went on, and paused for a moment now to look around him and allow his temper to cool. The air inside the tent assaulted his senses, making it difficult to breathe. The smell of human bodies, wet dog, and smoke merged with a heavy dose of rose petal cologne, giving the air a sickly sweet smell. It was gloomy inside the tent, with only three tallow candles burning in their sconces. Henry would have done better to open the drapes, the Earl thought, for natural light and valuable fresh air. Three old rugs of blue and white wool lined the dirt floor, and one large table, consisting of little more than a piece of wood over two crude sawhorses, dominated the small, cramped space. Eight chairs were arranged tightly around the makeshift table. All of them were occupied, leaving no space for the Earl to sit. His mouth firmed into a frown at that. Just one more sign of disrespect. He added it quickly to the growing list, wondering how exactly Henry planned to make amends with his richest ally.

For his part, Henry Tudor remained seated at the head of the table. He looked directly at the Earl upon his entrance, but said nothing. His thin, frail body, combined with gaunt facial features, made him look weaker and far older than his real twenty-eight years. It was easy to see why many men, both in England and Europe, wanted Henry Tudor on the throne. He looked like he would be easy to manipulate, and everyone, including the church, planned to take advantage of that. The Earl had to smile at the thought. If they knew how ruthless both Henry and his lineage would
become, they would rethink that position.

The man in question coughed at the delay, and the Earl lowered his arms to let the two large hounds sniff his hands. After they accepted him as familiar, he took three long strides toward the table. It was European protocol to allow a country's monarch to speak first, so despite the Earl's seniority in years and position, he waited.

“You owe the church, as well as our king, a wergild,” the Archbishop of Canterbury said suddenly, sneering and breaking the silence that loomed inside the tent. The Earl snorted. Evidently the church wasn't adhering to protocol today.

He looked at the future King of England and bowed slightly before turning his attention to the Archbishop. “I have forfeited much of my fortune already to ensure that our future king gains the crown. I don't have to remind your Grace of the sacrifices my men have made to guarantee success in your quest,” he said quietly.

“Your sacrificed good men to take a town that was not worthy of the taking!” the Archbishop shouted.

“Don't lecture me about sacrifice, Archbishop!” the Earl snapped. He slammed his fist down on the wooden table, spilling two glasses of wine, and glared at the man. “I have given everything I own to the cause, and I'll be damned if I am to be lectured by you about not having given enough!” he barked. He paused and drew a deep breath. “Do I need to remind you what will become of this campaign should you lose me? Should you lose my men?”

For a moment, no one spoke. Seven pairs of eyes looked away from both the Earl and Archbishop. The Earl knew that he was treading on thin ice here. The Archbishop–and possibly Henry himself–had expected him to give in gracefully to this demand for a monetary fine. They hadn't expected him to flex his own muscle. This was necessary, and yet it was a gamble, for he needed Henry to claim the crown as much as anyone else in the room. And without him, Henry would surely lose. He waited breathlessly, wondering if he'd gone too far.

“It's our mission to bring order to this country,” he said finally, when no one else spoke. “To bring its people a king they can believe in.” He paused, his tone coming down a notch. “And I did not enter that town needlessly. Dresden's men had invaded the town, and were slaughtering its inhabitants. As king, I assumed that Henry would demand retribution. Protection for his people.” The Earl let the statement linger for a moment.

“You ask for a wergild … money and land for my act of disobedience.” He reached into his cloak and pulled out several small silver coins, throwing them on the table in front of the Archbishop. “Put that in your confessional box and buy yourself more henchmen. I grow tired of this conversation. We have too much work to do to quibble over such matters.”

Henry took a deep breath, then nodded abruptly in agreement. The man was young and inexperienced, but he was not as stupid as the church believed, nor was he easily manipulated. He wasn't going to bend to this church official's need for attention.

The Earl sighed in relief and took a quick step back from the table. “With your permission, your Grace, I'd like to show you something.”

Henry nodded again, his eyebrows quirked in curiosity.

“Trigva!” the Earl shouted.

The two guards posted outside the entrance flew to the side and the large Dane made his way immediately into the tent. Henry and his advisors drew back from the massive man, holding their breath.

“Unroll the map and place it here,” the Earl said. He swept the wine goblets from the table, sending them clattering to the floor, and spread the map with his hands.

“The battle for England, your Grace, will not take place outside the gates of London as we thought,” he said dramatically, jamming his forefinger down next to the town of Bosworth. “The battle for the crown will take place in the village of Leicester, in less than four days time!”

22

“C
an't this horse move any faster?” Reis muttered, frustrated. “We could walk quicker than this on our
own
.”

He was right. Katherine had thrown several things into a bag for herself and hitched an ancient–and emaciated–horse to a cart for the trip. Reis had argued with her at first, then given in, admitting that a horse and cart might come in handy.

Now we were all questioning the logic. My instincts were screaming for speed and secrecy, yet here we were, rattling along the road with a shocking lack of speed, behind a horse that looked like she might drop dead at any moment.

“We have to get as much distance between us and that town as possible,” Reis continued, moving up to sit next to Katherine on the bench. “And we need to get to Bosworth. Four days. We have
four days
.”

Suddenly he grabbed the reins from Katherine's hands.

“What are you doing?” she asked, surprised.

“Driving,” he answered grimly. He adjusted the reins awkwardly in his hands, pulling experimentally on them and trying to get a feel for the leather.

Katherine grinned cheekily, amused at this change in positions, but Paul gasped.

“Do you even know how to do that?” he asked. His eyes flew from the horse to Reis and back again, quickly judging the safety of the situation. “Don't you think you should leave the driving to the, er, expert?”

Reis snorted and threw a glance over his shoulder at Paul. “Kid, right now we're bumping along a road in the middle of the night, drawing all sorts of attention to ourselves and making virtually no progress.” He turned his attention back to the horse and the road ahead. “As long as we're going to make this kind of ruckus, we may as well take advantage of the tools at hand. Everyone hold onto something.”

He took a firmer hold on the reins and brought them sharply down on the horse's rump. Surprised, the horse jumped and shot forward into the darkness, pulling the cart bouncing after her.