Shadowdance (49 page)

Kyrin glowered, purple-faced with anger. He was not happy to see Taelyn alive. "I ordered you to hold the gate at Parendur!" he railed. "The fact that you stand before us alive is proof of your desertion!"

A general shout went up from Taelyn's officers, but Taelyn himself quieted them with a gesture. He glared with open defiance at his king. "You ordered me to hold the gate
until you got away
," he reminded everyone with a sneer. "Well, you got away, didn't you? And I fought in the front lines—that was your order, too. I survived, though, and got most of my men clear, as well. That's the real reason you're sitting there pissing in your loincloth!"

Minarik interceded, attempting to bring some order to the charged proceedings. He raised his hand, and the hall fell silent. "Finish your report," he said to his commander.

Taelyn raised the back of a hand to wipe away a stream of sweat that ran down his left cheek. "We held the Witch's mercenaries long enough for you to get beyond their sight," he explained gruffly to Minarik. "Then, we lured them in a different direction, fighting as we retreated. After we got away, I did as you instructed me—gathered the remains of the Third Army and all other armies still loyal to that." He tilted his head toward Kyrin, pointedly refusing to acknowledge him with a look. "We've fought three battles in eight days. Some of these soldiers have fought with wounds that would've killed lesser men. When their lances and swords broke, they used rocks and clubs, or they used their hands. Most of us haven't eaten in days."

Kyrin slammed an open palm on the arm of his chair. "Yet you came here to lick your wounds. Fool! You may have led my enemies right to me! Her scouts probably followed you!" Another rumble ran through the room and quickly, turned to shouts. Kyrin's officers pressed closer around Taelyn, but Taelyn's men pushed them back, and the room got very tense. Veydon moved to Innowen's side and put one hand on his sword. Dyan got to her feet and stood behind her father's chair.

Minarik stood up. "Stop it!" he ordered sternly, raising his fist. "Stop this bickering!" The room fell silent immediately, and everyone looked to the Lord of Whisperstone. Minarik turned angrily toward Kyrin.

"You're the fool here, if you think the Witch doesn't know exactly where you're hiding."

Kyrin bristled, but kept his seat. "You dare too much, Uncle," he warned, leaning on the chair arm, peering up at Minarik. "I am still king of Ispor."

"Akkadi," Innowen muttered, too softly for anyone to hear him. He glanced down at the sword on his lap. The ruby on its pommel glittered in the lamplight as it had glittered on Minowee's throat in the lightning that night so many years ago.

He felt another storm gathering now.

"You're king of nothing!" Taelyn exploded suddenly. "Without the consent of the noble families and the armies, no man can rule as Ispor's king!"

Kyrin leaped to his feet, but Taelyn was not yet done.

"Well, there are damned few of the noble families alive, and their armies, what's left of them, are out there!" He gestured beyond the room, toward the main grounds. "They fought with me to reach Whisperstone, because they knew this is where the best hope for Ispor's future lay."

Taelyn turned away from Kyrin to face Minarik. He held out his hand toward his lord. "We'll fight to save this dog's life if you ask us, Minarik. But we beg you! Take the crown yourself! Lead the armies. Ispor needs a great king, not this coward you call nephew!"

A thunder of voices filled the hall as some shouted approval and others screamed for Taelyn's head. Veydon's hand tightened on Innowen's shoulder, but Innowen's eyes were on the crowd. He noted the subtle shifting that took place as men loyal to Minarik and Taelyn surreptitiously surrounded Kyrin's officers. He gripped the hilt of the Witch's sword, ready to draw it if a fight broke out.

Minarik sat down slowly in his chair and rested his chin in his fist. That alone was enough to quiet the hall once more. The air was electric with danger. Everyone strained to hear his decision.

Kyrin spoke up, and though his voice was cold and harsh, it contained a note of desperation. "You wouldn't dare!" he challenged. "I am Koryan's son!"

Minarik looked at Kyrin with utter contempt. "Koryan!" he sneered. "Let me tell you something about my brother—your beloved father. He was little better than a pig, glutting himself on the treasures of Ispor while his people struggled to live. He cast off his first-born child because she was
inconvenient,
and after he finally had his son, he cast aside your mother when she dared to protest his rampant ruttings. Nothing with two legs was safe from Koryan, and no practice was beyond his appetites." Minarik shook his head as he scowled. "Don't invoke Koryan's name to me," he-said. "You'll win no points there."

Taelyn took a step closer to Minarik. "Then you'll be our king!" he cried triumphantly, and another shout went up from his supporters.

"No," Minarik answered calmly. He glanced briefly at Innowen. "Unfit as he is to rule, I am more unfit."

Taelyn backed up again, his expression turning to disappointment, then to anger as he prepared to argue with his lord.

Minarik stopped him. "Your report is incomplete, Commander," he said curtly, reminding Taelyn of his place as he reasserted his authority.

"What can be left?" Kyrin raged. "He's led the Witch to us!"

Taelyn glanced dumbly from Kyrin to Minarik. Minarik's refusal had put him off-stride. Even his anger deserted him, and the confusion that took its place was almost saddening.

Minarik righted himself in his chair. It was immediately obvious to everyone in the hall that it was he, not Kyrin, who was tacitly in charge, and they listened to what he said. "He didn't lead the Witch to us," he revealed coolly. "Why do you think I've been hoarding supplies? Why do you think our forges have been working day and night to turn out weapons?" He paused to let his meaning sink in. "Your sister is not the only one with scouts and spies. I've known for days of a large force gathering to the south of us, just a half-day's march away. I believe they're only waiting for the Witch to join them."

Taelyn hung his head. "We heard rumors," he admitted. "But we personally saw no sign of such a force."

"Not even the valiant Taelyn can fight in every corner of the land at once," Minarik offered generously. "But let's have no more talk of crowns. The simple fact is that Koryan's true first-born has made herself Ispor's ruler, whether we like it or not. At least for the moment. It's no crown, but right now we must fight for our lives." He turned his gaze on Kyrin and on Kyrin's officers, one by one. Then he added, "Let the survivors determine whose brow looks best in gold."

Kyrin clenched his hands at his sides and trembled with rage. Suddenly, he turned away from Minarik and stared out across the room, finding and fixing Innowen with his glare. "This is your fault!" he shouted.

The crowd moved back from Innowen and Veydon as all eyes turned his way. Innowen glanced uncertainly at his father, then lifted his head defiantly as he prepared to face Kyrin. Without a word, he reached up and gently pushed Veydon's hand from his shoulder.

Kyrin pointed a finger. "Look how he sits there with the Witch's sword in his lap!" he said, addressing the crowd. "He went to her in Parendur. That's where he's been. No doubt, he's the one who told her where we are. He's the one who betrayed us. Let him deny it!"

"I didn't have to tell her," Innowen answered calmly before the soldiers' mumblings could swell louder and force him to shout. "She could find you by the smell of your terror." The room grew deathly silent, except for a rude snort from Taelyn. "Yes, I saw her. But it concerned a matter strictly between us."

"You had the chance to kill her!" Kyrin charged. He waved a hand over those gathered in the hall. "You could have spared all our lives with a simple thrust of that blade. But you didn't! You didn't, because you're
abathakati,
like her! Look at you, a twisted little monster who only walks by night. You're not fit to sit in the company of decent men!"

Innowen kept his anger in check. He waited, letting the silence and the tension build, until he was sure everyone was looking at him. Then he spat on the floor near Kyrin's feet.

"Maybe I'm everything you say," he answered scornfully. "But I'm no coward. It's not their lives you're worried about. It's your own. You killed Koryan for his crown, and tried to blame the Witch. Now she's coming for you...." He glanced toward Taelyn, remembering something his old friend had said earlier, and a brief smile flickered over his lips. It faded as he gave his attention back to Kyrin:"...and you're pissing in your loincloth from fear."

Kyrin turned red as his rage boiled up within him. He took a step toward Innowen, raising his fists, but Taelyn made a subtle gesture, and two soldiers suddenly blocked their king's way.

Minarik rose to his feet, too, and stepped closer to Kyrin. "Innowen is my son," he said clearly for all to hear. "Not my adoptive son, but my true-born son, flesh of my flesh and blood of my blood." Minarik allowed himself a small grin at the gape-jawed expression that settled over Kyrin's face. "Yes, that makes him your nephew," Minarik added. "As you can see, he's inherited the family mouth."

Kyrin glared murderously, but it was obvious even to him that the mood of the room had turned against him. "This isn't over!" he hissed. He crooked a finger at his daughter, and she went timidly to his side, daring to cast a glance at Innowen, before her father grabbed her arm and dragged her through the crowd, which parted for them, across the room and out the door. Most of Kyrin's officers quickly followed, but a few remained nervously behind.

Minarik sat down again. "We have a battle to prepare for," he said to his soldiers. "I want the wounded moved inside Whisperstone. When the beds are full, put them on pallets in the formal rooms and the hallways. But move them off the grounds; there's too much to do, and they'll only be in the way out there."

Innowen admitted grudgingly that he was watching a man who could rule Ispor as a king should. Minarik certainly looked the part, sitting in his high-backed chair, giving orders to his assembled warriors. His voice cracked with authority, and his gaze seemed to touch each man as it roamed about the hall. The mood of the soldiers changed noticeably. No one argued or grumbled. They listened with attentiveness, almost eagerly, to the Lord of Whisperstone. They were hungry men, starved for the leadership Kyrin had denied them.

Minarik beckoned to Taelyn, and his captain stepped closer. "The villagers know and respect you," he said to Taelyn. "Tell them the village is not safe. Tell them to come inside the gates, those who will. Those who won't come should flee while they can. The young men who come must be ready to fight, and tell the women they'll have to work. We'll be cramped, but we'll find room behind our walls for as many as we can."

"What about supplies?" Taelyn asked, frowning, considering. "Can we feed everyone through a siege?"

"That will be the hard part of your task, my friend," Minarik answered. "Whether they come or not, you'll have to confiscate anything you think will be useful to us. Food, grain, any stores of water, any weapons. Those who refuse to come inside may keep one skin of water to see them on their way. No more. Take a squad of soldiers you trust to back you up."

Taelyn nodded.

Minarik looked toward Veydon. "Your job is to organize the supplies we already have and the ones Taelyn sends in. Take an inventory. I want a list and your report by morning."

One of Kyrin's officers stepped forward. "We'll need oil and wood for the watchfires," he said.

Minarik scratched his chin. "Oil is in short supply," he answered, eyeing the officer. "What is your name?"

"Sireos," the officer replied. "If I may volunteer, I'll take another squad into the village and dismantle the homes of those who leave. We might also send a couple of wagons on a quick trip into the forest."

Minarik studied Sireos coolly, taking his time to form a judgment about the man. "Wait until morning before you dismantle anything. Those are homes, not warehouses, and some people will be attached to them. Wait until the owners are clearly gone. You needn't wait on the wagons, though. Choose volunteers from among the villagers who join us; they know the forest best." He inclined his head toward Sireos without ever breaking eye contact. "Yours is a valuable suggestion. I thank you."

Sireos gave a grunt and grinned. "Hells, it looks like my neck's on the line, too."

There was a general laugh from the soldiers at that. Then other suggestions began to fly about the room. Minarik handled them one at a time, giving each one equal consideration. Some men left immediately to begin important tasks. Taelyn was among those, but first he slipped through the crowd and came to Innowen.

He bent down and hugged Innowen about the shoulders. "Good to see you again, Innocent," he said quickly. There was a heavy weariness in his eyes where a deep tracery of lines had formed in the corners. Yet the gleam of excitement also burned there. "And you, too, Veydon. I hope we find time to talk later." He straightened, clapped Veydon's arm, and departed.

Veydon leaned forward and whispered in Innowen's ear. "I'd better take you to your room," he said. "I've got a job, too, and I'd better get started."

"Not my room," Innowen said quietly. It bothered him that there was nothing he could do to help. Not until nightfall, anyway. He put those feelings aside, however. Now was not the time to think of himself. The best he could do was keep out of the way. "Take me to the gazebo. I'll wait for Rascal there."