Ravenheart (44 page)

Chara was sitting on the floor, her back to the wall.

“We must get out of here,” he said. “Can you walk?” He reached for her.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped. She closed her eyes and drew in several deep breaths. “I can walk.”

Kaelin lifted the guard’s breastplate from the floor. “Get into this. I will buckle it.”

“I can do that myself,” she replied, her voice cold and distant.

Kaelin lifted the blood-drenched cloak from the table. “Tie this on. It will not pass close muster, but the guards on the battlements may be fooled.”

Chara did so, and Kaelin led her up the circular stairs, pausing in the doorway at the top and listening. There were still sounds from the mess hall above, but they were muted now.

“Let’s go,” he said, moving out through the keep doors and onto the parade ground.

The walk to the gatehouse seemed interminable. He tried not to look at the sentries on the wall. Then he saw one of them wave. Kaelin waved back.

Rayster was waiting. He saw the injuries to Chara’s face, and his mouth tightened. “They’ll pay for this,” he promised.

“Some of them already have,” said Kaelin. Moving inside the gatehouse, he tore off the breastplate and put on his black greatcoat. Then he retrieved his pistols, pushed them into his belt, and stepped back out into the night. “Now let’s be gone,” he said.

Easing open the gate, the three highlanders crossed the drawbridge and moved toward open ground. Kaelin’s mouth was dry. At any second he expected to hear a sentry call out for them to stop. He imagined long muskets trained on them, lead shot ripping into flesh. Into his mind’s eye leapt the image of the mutilated man in the cells. Kaelin shivered and walked on.

No challenge came from the barracks, and the three highlanders disappeared into the alleyways behind the Dancing Bear.

*  *  *

Rayster and Chara ditched their breastplates in the alley, then Kaelin ordered Rayster to return to the wagon and head off toward the west. “Chara and I will go directly south,” he said.

“Why south?” asked Chara.

“We will not have long before they find the bodies. They will expect you to run for home. That is where the search will begin. We will go south and then turn west into the forest. It will be slower travel, but we’ll have more chance of moving undetected.”

Rayster and Kaelin had bought supplies earlier that afternoon, and Kaelin took a small sack of provisions from the wagon. Rayster gripped his shoulder. “Good luck to you, Kaelin,” he said. Then he climbed aboard the wagon and flicked the reins.

Kaelin and Chara set off through the night-deserted streets, keeping to the darkest places until they reached the edge of the town. The southern road was empty as they left Black Mountain. “It would be good if we could run for a while,” said Kaelin. “How is your strength?”

“Not good, but I can make a mile or two,” she told him.

Together they began to lope along the road. Ahead, just over a mile away to the right, Kaelin could see the dark outline of the forest. Fear was heavy upon him, for out in the open like this they could be run down by a horse patrol within minutes. He sent up a silent prayer to the Source and increased his pace. Only then did he realize how exhausted Chara was. She struggled to keep up, then stumbled. They had made less than half a mile. Kaelin dropped back. “Let’s walk awhile,” he said, glancing back toward the town, expecting at any moment to see horsemen thundering into sight.

How long would they have? It was unlikely that the whole night would pass before a soldier noticed that no one was guarding the gates.

They pushed on, running and walking. Chara did not complain, but Kaelin could see she was almost at the end of her strength.

At last they reached the rising slope leading to the trees.
Chara struggled on, then suddenly sat down, her breathing ragged. Kaelin knelt beside her. “Let me help you,” he said, taking her arm. She snatched it back.

“I told you not to touch me.”

“Aye, you did. I understand why. And you should understand that it is stupid. I have strength, and you do not. If we do not put distance between us and Black Mountain, you will be back in that dungeon cell by daybreak.”

“They’ll not take me alive again,” she said.

“Take my arm, Chara. Then it won’t be me touching you but you touching me. Use my strength.”

She hesitated for a moment, then hooked her arm in his. Smoothly he drew her to her feet, and they continued up the slope and into the trees.

There he allowed her to rest. There was no point pushing into the forest at night. The moonlight was thin and obstructed by clouds. Here at the edge of the trees there was still some light, but if they moved deeper into the forest, they would be stumbling in pitch darkness. Best now to wait for the dawn and watch the road. Kaelin’s fear was that the enemy would bring tracking dogs to the scene.

Chara lay down on the soft earth, covering herself with the blood-drenched cloak.

In the faint moonlight he gazed upon her bruised and swollen face. These wounds were as nothing to those which burned like fire on her soul, he knew. Two years earlier a highland woman had killed herself after a rape by Beetlebacks. The young Kaelin had not understood her despair. He had voiced his confusion to the Wyrd one afternoon in the woods just beyond Maev’s house.

“Why would she do it?”

“I don’t think any man can understand, Ravenheart,” she told him. “It was not just the act of rape, which is evil enough. It was all the vileness that accompanied it: the fear, the self-loathing, the realization, maybe, that her life was not hers. Rape is the opposite of everything that lovemaking should be. Instead of being life-affirming it degrades the very value
of life. Parsha Willetts was raped many years ago. It still scars her.”

“Parsha? But she is a—”

“I know what she is,” snapped the Wyrd. “She sells her body for money. A man might therefore think that a rape would be a small matter for someone in her profession. It is never a small matter, Kaelin. Rape has little to do with lust. It is about domination and humiliation, the stripping away of dignity, the scarring of the soul. It is about pain. Parsha still has nightmares about it.”

“Does Jaim know?”

“No, and I will trust you not to speak of it to him. Jaim is a good man, the finest of the Rigante. His heart is huge, and he carries within him great magic.”

“Jaim is not a sorcerer,” said Kaelin.

“No, he is not. The magic I speak of is elemental. He does not know it is there. Grymauch lifts the soul, Kaelin. Have you not noticed how in his presence your spirit soars? He radiates all that is fine in the Rigante. He touches hearts. Were he to know of Parsha’s suffering, he would set out to kill the men responsible. That would stain him. Parsha knows this also.”

“They
should
be killed,” said Kaelin.

“Maybe they should, Ravenheart. Maybe they will be.”

Kaelin sat now at the edge of the trees, watching the road.

His heart was burdened, and he felt a great sadness overwhelm him. Before this night he had killed only two men. Both had deserved it, for they had murdered Chara Ward. Yet what had the guards at the gatehouse done? They were merely soldiers doing their duty. Perhaps they were married and had children of their own. Perhaps they were good men.

The sleeping guard might have been dreaming of his wife or son. At least with the last two they were planning to rape Chara and, as such, deserved their fate.

Curiously there was no sense of achievement or exultation. He had walked into a fortress and rescued the girl he loved, and all he felt was a sense of melancholy. Kaelin looked down
again at the sleeping Chara. Would her wounds ever heal? She shivered in her sleep. Removing the greatcoat, he laid it over her.

Sitting with his back to a tree, he dozed a little and dreamed of the man in the dungeon cell whose hands and feet had been cut away.

The sound of hoofbeats on the road awakened him. Kaelin crept to the tree line and saw four riders moving at speed. They were Beetlebacks. He waited until they had passed out of sight along the southern road. Were they searching for him? It seemed unlikely, for they were moving too fast to see tracks.

Even so their appearance brought back his fear of capture.

He saw that Chara was awake. She was lying quietly, staring at him.

“You feel rested?” he asked her.

“Yes.”

“Would you like some food?”

She sat up and nodded. Opening the canvas sack, Kaelin produced two oatcake biscuits sweetened with honey. He passed one to Chara. They ate in silence. There came a rustling in the undergrowth behind them. Kaelin wrenched a pistol from his belt and cocked it.

“It is just a fox,” said Chara.

“Yes,” he said, uncocking the Emburley and returning it to his belt. Chara ate two more biscuits, then lay back down. Within moments she was asleep again.

Kaelin waited until the dawn, then woke her. He did not touch her but called her name softly. “Time to be moving on,” he said.

She was stronger for her rest, and they made good progress for several hours. They moved warily, stopping often to listen for sounds of horsemen. By midmorning they had reached high ground, where the trees were thinner. It was unlikely that any Beetlebacks would be that high, but Kaelin remained cautious.

Colonel Ranaud would stop at nothing to recapture Chara
Jace, and there were thousands of men at his disposal. He knew also that Chara would try to make it home, and this would give him an advantage. No matter how circuitous the route, Chara and Kaelin would have to emerge by the pass.

When they stopped to eat by a stream, Kaelin asked Chara if there were any other routes into Rigante territory.

“No. The mountains cut away for a hundred miles, then curve toward the sea.”

Throughout their rest Chara volunteered no other conversation. She would reply if spoken to, but apart from that she merely sat, her eyes fixed on some distant point. Kaelin knew instinctively that this was not the time to talk of her ordeal, but he tried to find some other means of drawing her out.

“Why did you leave Rigante lands?” he asked at last.

She looked at him, and he saw the anger in her eyes. “Wullis Swainham told me you were sick. He said you had a fever and were likely to die.”

“Why would he say that?” asked Kaelin, surprised.

She looked away for a moment. “He sold himself to the Beetlebacks,” she said.

“He gave you up for
money
?”

“No. For revenge. I do not want to talk about it.” Chara turned toward him. “Let me have one of your pistols and a knife.”

“You do not intend to harm yourself?”

“Harm myself? What are you talking about?”

“I knew of a woman once who, after she was … attacked … killed herself.”

Chara laughed then, but it was not a merry sound. “I will not harm myself, Kaelin. If there is justice at all in the world, I will one day meet Wullis Swainham again. And I will kill him.”

Kaelin drew one of the Emburleys and passed it to her. “It pulls a little to the left,” he said. Then he gave her one of his knives.

“I need to wash,” she said. “I stink of Beetlebacks.”

“The stream will be cold,” he warned her.

“I expect so.” She made no move to undress, and Kaelin found the silence uncomfortable.

“Are you not going to bathe now?” he asked.

“Would you turn your back?” she said.

The words stunned him. “Turn? Why? I have seen you naked before. You told me I was Varlish-tainted because I was embarrassed by your body.”

“Well, now I am Varlish-tainted,” she said softly. “And no man will ever see me naked again.”

Kaelin said nothing for a moment. “I will scout a little and be back in a while,” he said sadly.

Then he strode away toward the west.

Ranaud’s fury raged for most of the morning. The bodies of the guards in the gatehouse had not been discovered until just before dawn, when the relief sentries arrived. Ranaud himself had been jerked from sleep by someone pounding on his door. It was the young officer in charge of the night watch.

“What the hell is it, man? Are we under attack?”

“No, sir. Two gatehouse guards were killed in the night.”

“What?”

“They were stabbed and stripped of their armor, sir.”

Ranaud’s sleep-befuddled brain tried to make sense of the attack. What was the point of such an enterprise? Moving to his bedside table, he poured a goblet of watered Uisge and drained half of it. The spirit flowed like fire in his throat. “No one else was attacked?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“It makes no sense.” Ranaud climbed into his leggings and pulled on his boots. Why would the attackers want the guards’ armor? The answer was obvious. To pass unobserved within the barracks and the keep. Were they here to assassinate him? Ranaud strapped on his sword belt. No. Had it been a murder attempt, they would have found him long before the dawn. What, then, was the purpose? Suddenly he swore. “Has anyone been to the dungeons, Lieutenant?”

“The dungeons, sir?” replied the startled man.

“You idiot!” stormed Ranaud, pushing past the man and heading for the stairs. The startled officer followed him. Soldiers were milling outside the mess hall. Ranaud ordered three of them to follow him and ran downstairs.

The lantern in the dungeon corridor had guttered and died. All was dark and silent. Ranaud ordered a soldier to fetch another lantern and waited on the stairs. When the man returned, he eased past his colonel, holding aloft the light. It shone on the two corpses and the blood that had flowed across the floor.

“Check the cells,” ordered Ranaud, knowing that Chara Jace would not be there.

Filled with cold fury, he swung on the young officer. “You were in charge of the night watch?”

“Yes sir.”

“Tell me, Lieutenant, do you have friends in high places?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you noble-born or rich?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you are doomed, you pitiful wretch! You’ll hang later. Take this man and lock him in a cell,” he told the soldiers. Pushing past the doomed officer, he strode upstairs. Outside the mess hall he ordered the men there to wake every soldier in the barracks and gather reports from everyone who had come into the fortress during the night hours.