Moonstone, Magic That Binds (Book 1) (25 page)

The shouting grew as large wooden roofs began to pour into the area by the gate. Arrows rained down again, but few found a target other than a roof and arrows stood up like bristles on the wood. Archers now ringed the back of the cleared area and, with wooden shields held by other soldiers, returned fire.

The roofs made of doors and the tops of tables snaked towards the open gate. The fire still blazed, but Lotto could see that the wood used for shelter as they got closer to the gate were thicker. Lotto expected rocks to fall on the roofs, but the hot oil on the battlements continued to smoke, keeping defenders off of the walkway above the gate.

Buckets of water were passed underneath the protection until Lotto heard the sizzling of dying embers. He stood up. “Another drink of something.”

Someone put a skin in his hands. He drank and coughed wine out. He laughed thinking he held a waterskin. His energy began to return.

“Let’s find out how dedicated the King’s Guard is. Black uniforms you say?”

“Indeed and all of them right bastards, Captain Mistad,” Lessa said pulling his sword from scabbard a few inches and slamming it home again. “Even if they are my Prolan brothers, I’ll happily fight them.”

Lotto followed Gully out of the room and Lessa walked down behind him happily chattering away at what a wonderful day this would turn out to be. Lotto didn’t contradict him.

Applewood met up with them when they crept halfway under the wooden roof.

“We met with a bit more resistance that I thought, mostly those black buggers,” Applewood said. “But we cut our way through.”

Lessa laughed. “Just less of them between the king and us.”

Men were already clearing out the rubble with rakes and pikes.  The debris began to form large piles at the sides of the gate. Arrows began to zip through the opening and the makeshift shields were stood on end as the two armies pushed through and into the courtyard.

Lotto’s strategy had gone as far as it could and now Lessa’s men with a superior knowledge of the castle layout poured in through the gate and fought for the battlements.

“Surrender! Give up your arms!” Lessa’s men, now with red coats back on, yelled out as they fought.

Pockets of the defenders threw down their swords as Lotto ran through the gate and began to fight a newly arrived contingent of black uniformed guards. All of the training with Kenyr took over as Lotto’s swordsmanship became instinct. Lotto still concentrated on his opponents, but their movements slowed up for him and he could tell where to poke and where to parry. He wished he had his battle staff, but to be honest he lacked the strength to whirl the thing around in his present condition. He only gripped his father’s sword tighter and went to work.

The superb balance of his father’s sword and the long knife let him fight longer until his arm began to fatigue. He entered the castle, following a few of Lessa’s soldiers. He fought his way to the throne room along with others. One more guard. He ducked as the man swept his sword to take off Lotto’s head, but then a dagger appeared in the soldier’s hand that Lotto hadn’t seen and Lotto had just enough time to get out of the way of it’s plunge to his stomach, but it ended going through his right hand, closer to his wrist between his finger bones. The path of the knife was cut short when it reached the sword’s grip. Lotto’s weapon clattered to the stone floor.  Lotto yanked his arm and the knife left his opponent’s hand.

Lotto had to keep his eyes open and tried to will away the pain. He retrieved his sword with the knife still waving, embedded in his hand. He backhanded with his blade, catching the slot between the man’s helm and his gorget. It slid through the man’s neck, causing his opponent to crumple to the ground. Lotto backed up to a wall and quickly dropped his sword, sliding down the wall to sit on the cold stone floor. He grit his teeth and pulled out the dagger as straight as he could. The worst of the pain hadn’t hit him yet. He shrugged off his battle pack and pulled out a bandage, hoping he’d be ignored on the ground. While he wrapped the bandage around his hand and wrist, a man in a dark red velvet tunic walked up and stared at him, with a bloody sword in his hand. 

Lotto’s sword was on his left side and he couldn’t trust the pain in his right hand, so he grabbed his own weapon in his left hand and held it up, keeping his new opponent away. He pressed his right arm to his chest and slid up the wall, to stand and confront the man.

“You expect to fight me left-handed?” Lotto heard the man laugh.  It was filled with condescension and arrogance. “Let me put you out of your misery quickly.” The man’s stance betrayed no lack of fighting skill.

Lotto looked into cruel eyes. “Perhaps it is you who need the practice,” Lotto said. A stab of pain made him gasp, but he had to put that aside as he fought to remember Kenyr’s lessons on fighting when wounded. He grit his teeth and moved away from the wall on his left.

The pair of them circled each other and the man attacked. The man’s technique might have served him well with lesser-trained warriors, but Lotto found he didn’t have to expend too much energy to fend off his moves.

The problem was that he didn’t know how much energy he had left. Lotto’s eyes began to develop spots and he blinked them away while he studied his opponent’s style. Actually the man had more talent than he originally gave him credit for, but there were tell tale moves that he made every time and Lotto tested to make sure there was no trickery, remembering Kenyr’s style.  Both of them were winded from the previous fighting. They parried and thrust and slashed at each other.

“Lesson time is over,” Lotto said. He had one move remaining before his strength ran out. Feinting a thrust to the man’s unprotected neck, Lotto quickly brought the sword down and then up between his opponent’s legs.  His sword sliced through the velvet and ran up through the man’s stomach. The hem of his opponent’s chainmail shirt followed the tip of the blade up the man’s middle until the sword reached his foe’s breastbone.  Lott pushed the sword with the last of his strength.  His opponent toppled over, his eyes wide with surprise, his mouth groping for air. Lotto backed up to find his friendly wall and sat back down, his sword ready for another opponent, but he admitted that he didn’t have any more fight left in him.

He groped around for another bandage as Lessa ran into the court room with twenty or so men. Lotto thought that the captain ran to him, but the men gathered over the gravely injured man he had just fought.

“Your majesty,” Lessa said. “I think you are hurt.” Lotto didn’t hear much concern in Lessa’s voice. “It would appear that your days as ruler of Prola are over.”

Lotto heard a sigh and could see the king, whom he had just bested, relax. He couldn’t help but sigh himself. The battle had ended and the Prolans won. He smiled and went back to struggling with his bandage as the ever-building pain in his hand spread out to his wrist and up his arm. Other smaller injuries began to make themselves known as Lessa turned around and looked at Lotto’s sword.

“You?”

“He wanted to show me how good of a swordsman he was.” Lotto smiled, not really feeling the bravado of his words, but he felt Lessa expected some such comment.

“He beat me more than once,” Lessa said.

Lotto shrugged and didn’t have the heart to tell Lessa that he defeated the king of Prola, injured and left-handed. “Maybe today just wasn’t his day.”

The captain brightened. “Certainly not.” A soldier ran into the room and whispered in Lessa’s ear. “A contingent of Dakkorans fled to the harbor and sailed away. I’m sure it wasn’t their day either.” Lessa grinned and Lotto tried as he could to mimic, but couldn’t quite manage.

~~~

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

~

T
HE SLOW, EVEN PACE OF THE HORSE,
lulled Lotto to sleep as he commanded the column taking wounded soldiers back to the capital. While they moved through the countryside, their numbers dwindled as some soldiers elected to muster out as they passed roads to their homes.

Lessa and his council had wanted Lotto to stay and act as the ambassador to Prola, but it seemed that the Valetan ambassador came out of hiding soon after the storming of the castle. Evidently the Dakkorans had threatened his life if he had communicated with Valetan.

The battlefield promotion had bothered Lotto and he didn’t feel that he had earned it. The men in his dwindling column treated him as a real officer, so Lotto tried to maintain as much posture of command as he could.  His thoughts went to the report from Captain Applewood, sealed in a messenger case to keep him from reading it, to give to Mander Hart. What kind of twist would Applewood put on the events in Prola?  Would his efforts be praised or minimized?  Lotto didn’t know and wondered if it made a difference.  He could tell the truth to Mander and that would just have to do.

At first, his wrist demanded constant care and became a little infected on his ride. He kept it wrapped up in a poultice, but his entire arm continued to throb. Lotto tried to ignore his injury, but the pain seemed to have become part of him.

By the time the walls of Beckondale appeared, the pain had begun to decline and the healers had already started to ignore him and suggest that he drink wine or ale if his arm ached. Perhaps that’s what made soldiers heavy drinkers? Lotto thought not, but he ended up being slightly drunk as he rode through the last of the pain.

He began to wean himself from the wine the last two days in the saddle and sat straight up on his horse when he realized that Restella had returned to the castle. The Moonstone couldn’t deceive him. Would his dreams become troubled with visions of the princess? That concern filled his mind as he rode through the gates at the head of his column of wagons. They headed to the barracks and Lotto dismounted, washed the worst of travel dust off of his face and sought out Mander.

~

For once Restella appreciated the solitude of her own rooms in the castle as she sat back in her bath and winced as her wounds flashed with pain as tender skin hit hot water. Taking Ashington had worked and Silver had done a marvelous job, but her forces bore the brunt of the fighting and if it weren’t for getting advanced notice of Ashdown’s army attacking from a side road, she might reside permanently and deeply in Ashdown country.

She had adopted the habit of keeping her sword close by as she rested, but she kept her hand away from the Moonstone. She had resisted seeking out Lotto ever since the battles began in Ashdown. She didn’t want the distraction. What had she become that she would become so attached to her weapon? She had noticed the same behavior of fellow soldiers. Fellow soldiers. She smiled at the thought. Her military service would forever define her. Her finger touched the Moonstone and instantly Lotto’s face appeared in her mind.

“Oh, no!” she said to the empty room. More dreams of him? The shock of his close proximty began to build as Restella just about stood up in the tub.

“Friends,” she said to calm her emotions. “We are friends.” Her emotions dissipated and the image became less threatening. This time she would seek him out and come to an accommodation. Silver always gave her excellent advice and she vowed that Lotto would become a friend. Well, perhaps not a friend, but not an object of horror.

She took a series of deep breaths as she tried to control her attitude. What had brought him back to Beckondale? The last time she had checked, weeks ago, he had penetrated deep into Prola. She would see Mander, since the man knew everything.

The loose dress felt soothing against her bandages and her skin as she hurried down the corridor to Mander’s office. The guards didn’t know whether to bow or to salute, so most of them did both, bringing a slight smile to Restella’s lips. She purposely left her sword in her rooms to keep her link with Lotto at a minimum. Still, she felt his presence in the castle like the heat of a thin sun on a cold day, faintly warm.

Stopping at Mander’s office door, she fiddled with her fingers and entered into the anteroom. Two young men sat at desks, buried in paperwork piled on their desks. A messenger bowed to her as he rushed out of the room. The men stood up.

“Is Mander Hart in?”

“He is with someone.”

Restella twisted her mouth. Perhaps a little royal pique might expedite things. “If it isn’t my father, then I’ll join them.” She knocked and walked into Mander’s office. The force of the link made her blink as Lotto sat conversing with Mander. She nearly fled from the room, but put her hand to her stomach for strength.

“Princess, have a seat, Lotto and I were talking about you.” Both of them stood and sat when she did.

Lotto had his arm wrapped in a fresh bandage and his eyes had a wild look that indicated he might spring from the room at a second’s notice. That gave her the strength to repress the exact same feeling. She took a deep breath—time to be nice. “An injury. The last time I looked, you were in Prola.”

“Looked, your majesty?” Mander said.

She couldn’t help making a face. “The link. There’s no use denying that the Moonstone links us, is there?” Her own voice felt forced and nervous. Lotto’s face looked abashed. “You knew I returned to the castle?” She turned and looked at him directly in the eyes.

“I did, your highness,” he said.

Restella pursed her lips. “I give you permission to call me Restella, if you’ll give me permission to call you Lotto. The link should give us that level of intimacy, even if you are a common soldier.” Mander looked pleased at her statement.

“He’s not a common soldier, Restella.” Mander had ceased with her titles since she had been a child. “He currently holds a battlefield promotion of Captain and recently returned from Prola. His injury is due to a personal fight with the king of Prola, who I’m afraid did not survive the encounter.”

Lotto looked down at the floor, his face had gotten redder, if anything.

“The king of Prola? He had a reputation as one of the best swordsmen in his country. What put you in a position to kill him?” Restella’s jaw dropped, shocked at the news.  A battlefield promotion?  Captain?