Keeper of the Black Stones (53 page)

“Where is he?” Paul asked nervously.

I closed my eyes, reaching for the stone, and asked the same question. The answer was there before I'd finished my request, and my eyes flew open.

“In the chest,” I muttered, darting forward. Throwing the lid up, I found Sir William Stanley on his back, gagged, with his legs and hands bound in front of him. His eyes were open and alert, I saw, but held a note of warning I hadn't seen there before.

“Help me!” I shouted in a whisper, leaning over to remove the rag stuffed in his mouth. As I pulled it free, William took a deep, gasping breath.

“Thank Heaven, you've rescued me again,” he said, his voice hoarse. “We must flee, and quickly.”

“I couldn't agree more,” I answered, pulling the man from the chest and cutting his ties with my pocket knife. “We need to get you to your brother. He's about to join Richard and destroy what's left of Tudor's army.”

“My brother would never be so foolish as to side with Dresden and Richard, no matter my position,” William said. Then the color washed from his face, the joy replaced by a look of utter betrayal and shock. I didn't have to turn around to know that we were trapped.

“Your brother,” a cold, familiar voice said smoothly, “will do exactly as he is told.”

A chill ran down my spine as my brain supplied the name of the speaker, and I turned slowly. Reis stood at the ready with his assault rifle raised, but I could already see that it would do little good. Eight large, fully armed men filled the entrance of the tent, led by one of the last people I'd wanted to see again.

“Brother,” Tatiana murmured, glaring at the dark-haired boy in front of us.

He shot her a quick look, indicating that he still didn't believe that particular story, and grinned nastily. “My father told me to expect your arrival. I must admit, though, that I did not believe him. I told him that you'd be mad to come into this camp, no matter who we held prisoner. And yet here you are, ready to die.”

“You'll go first,” Reis replied in a confident, lethal voice. He flipped the safety off his rifle and adjusted the weapon on his shoulder.

“Perhaps, but all of you will perish in turn,” Sloan replied apathetically. Only then did I notice that five of the soldiers had already drawn their bowstrings, each pointing an arrow at one of us. For some reason, two of the soldiers had been assigned to me. I knew Reis was good, but there was no way he could gun them all down, not before they shot us. My thoughts flew back to an earlier situation, and I kicked myself again for the lack of armor. Of all the stupid, unprepared moves, and with the fate of the world hanging in the balance, no less.

“We appear to be at an impasse,” Reis said quietly. “How are your negotiation skills?”

Sloan's grin widened. “Drop your weapon.”

“That's not much of a negotiation,” Reis replied.

“I give you my word that you shall live. But that is the only thing I shall grant you,” Sloan replied. “And my word only stands if you drop your weapon. Now.”

“Still sounds like an unfair deal to me,” Reis grunted. He tightened his grip on the stock of his rifle, hunching down into a shooting stance.

“So be it,” Sloan snarled, throwing himself to the ground at our feet. “Kill them all!”

A shot sounded out from Reis's rifle, and Paul screamed. The archers released their grips on the strings of their bows, loosing their arrows in our direction with sharp twangs. Sloan looked up, his face anxious, his eyes full of something I couldn't identify.

With my last thought, I reached out for the stone, asking–begging–for it to stop the arrows, the bullet, the deaths. Asking it to stop time itself.

Suddenly, and quite to my surprise, it did.

42

T
he Earl looked to the right, now, where the Earl of Norfolk would strike with his army. Henry wouldn't have known of that attack, but the Earl did, and they were ready. He had sent Phillibert de Chandee and his men to that flank, reinforcing it by twofold, and they would withstand the attack. In order to do this, of course, he had all but stripped his left flank, relying fully on the men there to maintain their position.

As long as no one else entered the battle, this would mean their victory. Richard was sending his last surprise weapon forward, and the Earl already had his answer prepared.

He stood up in his stirrups just in time to see the two forces come together. They met with the impact of thousands of horrific car crashes. Screams of terror, pride, and battle lust erupted simultaneously, filling the air with raw emotion. Soon the horses were screaming as well.

Suddenly a voice rang through the noise. “Raise shields!”

The old warrior bought his shield up and over his head, just in time to feel the thrust of an arrow as it punched through the heavily decorated wood. He looked up to see its iron head protruding through the thin bronze shell of the shield.

“Close ranks!” he shouted, gathering his reins. He looked to the side to see Trigva crouched under his own shield, grinning from ear to ear.

“It's time to fight!” the soldier shouted, his smile growing broader.

The Earl grinned back, then lowered his shield and looked around to find his personal guard. “Attack!” he screamed.

He and his men thundered forward, swords raised. This was it, he thought. Now he was putting everything on the line. As he surged forward, one last thought flew through his brain. If Stanley's army stayed out of the battle, Henry's army would take the day. If they didn't, it would mean the end. Of everything.

The world didn't actually stop, but for a split second I thought it did. Arrows hung motionless in mid-flight, the deafening noise of Reis's rifle disappeared, and friend and enemy alike stood frozen in place. My eyes flew around the room, trying to make sense of this strange phenomenon, and I ducked automatically, coming to a crouch in front of William. A moment later I remembered what I'd done–asked the one stone in the area to hold time for me. It would seem that it was doing its best.

But the pressure to hold that flow was coming down like a tidal wave, threatening to crack the stones themselves, and my body with them. We couldn't hold it for long; the weight was already crushing my self-discipline, pressing on my mind like an entire ocean's worth of water. I bent farther to the ground under that weight, gasping for breath, and trying to recall who I was and why I was there. When I found the answer, I grasped it with both hands and held to it with all my will. The stones had combined to give me the largest gift they had, and I wasn't going to waste it.

It took every ounce of will power I had to start moving again. Slowly–so slowly–I saw my hand reach out to grab William's wrist and free him of the time constraint I'd placed on the world. He flinched, as if waking from a dream, and came suddenly back to life.

“What … what's happening?” he whispered in disbelief.

“No time,” I groaned out, sliding past him. “Move.”

I pressed toward my friends, trying to keep the pressure at bay. If I released it entirely, I knew that the force of time would slide out of my control. Freeing me from the pain, but also sacrificing what little chance we had of escape. Maintaining control–using those precious seconds–was the
most difficult thing I'd ever done, but it was also our only hope.

I felt rather than saw William move into lock step behind me as I plodded my way toward Paul. I reached out and touched his arm, knowing it would free him, and shook off his question. I didn't have time to explain, or the strength to do so. I could only hope that he would follow my lead as William had done. I willed my way to the front of the tent, where Reis and Tatiana stood, and reached for them with the last of my strength, crying out as I did so. When I saw them come to life I fell to the ground, fighting to keep my control, and knowing that I couldn't do it for much longer.

“I can't hold it off much longer,” I gasped. “Please, hurry.”

Someone–probably Reis–picked me up like a rag doll and carried me out of the tent. I was thrown onto a horse, with someone behind me, and told to hold on. Suddenly we were moving, racing away from that place, with our lives somehow intact and our mission complete. I opened my eyes for a second, to see the ground rushing along below us, and closed them again. Then the entire world blurred and went dark.

Activity to the Earl's right caught his eye and he paused in his charge to glance at the hill above them. Several lightly armored soldiers, mounted atop small, fleet horses, raced toward Thomas Stanley's banner. Moments later they had turned and were racing back from whence they'd come. The Earl's stomach sank. Stanley was receiving messengers, then, and they weren't from him. That could only mean one thing.

Moments later, his fears were confirmed as Stanley's knights begin to form ranks. His forces were no longer going to simply watch the battle. They were readying themselves to join the fray, and if communications were open between Richard and Stanley, that meant that Tudor was out of the mix.

He turned to watch as his army's right flank pushed off yet another attack by Norfolk's men. If left to their own devices, the Earl was sure that his force could defeat Richard, but now … with Stanley preparing to strike, the odds
were becoming too monumental to overcome.

“My Lord, are you seeing this?” Trigva asked, his horse abruptly drawing up beside the Earl's. The man was looking up at the hill, and could only mean one thing.

The Earl of Oxford looked over at his closest ally and nodded. “Stanley's army,” he noted grimly. Then he firmed his shoulders, drawing them back and raising one eyebrow at his friend. “But we will not forfeit the day yet. Come! If we are to die today, we shall do it together, and we shall take as many of them with us as we can!” He lifted his sword and spurred his horse forward into the crush of men and horses, intent on doing everything he could while his life still belonged to him.