Roland welcomed these sessions with her. They had rediscovered much of their former playful fun in them, and Roland held the guarded hope her feelings for him might be developing into something more than friendship. In the year since Lyams departure they had practiced together, or had gone riding when it was considered safe, near the castle. The time with her had nourished a sense of companionship between them he had previously been unable to bring about. While more serious than before, she had regained her spark and sense of humor.
Roland stood lost in reflection a moment. The little-girl Princess, spoiled and indulged, was gone. The child grown petulant and demanding from the boredom of her role was now a thing of the past. In her stead was a young woman of strong mind and will, tempered by harsh lessons.
Roland blinked and found himself with her swords point at his throat. He playfully threw down his own weapon and said, Lady, I yield!
She laughed. What were you daydreaming about, Roland?
He gently pushed aside the tip of her sword. I was remembering how distraught Lady Mama became when you first went riding in those clothes and came back all dirty and very unladylike.
Carline smiled at the memory. I thought she would stay abed for a week. She put up her sword. I wish I could find reasons to wear these clothes more often. They are so comfortable.
Roland nodded, grinning widely. And very fetching. He made a display of leering at the way they hugged Carlines curvaceous body. Though I expect that is due to the wearer.
She tilted her nose upward in a show of disapproval. You are a rogue and a flatterer, sir. And a lecher.
With a chuckle, he picked up his sword. I think that is enough for today, Carline. I could endure only one defeat this afternoon. Another, and I shall have to quit the castle in shame.
Her eyes widened as she drew her weapon, and he saw the dig had struck home. Oh! Shamed by a mere girl, is it? she said, advancing with her sword ready.
Laughing, he brought his own to the ready, backing away. Now, Lady. This is most unseemly.
Leveling her sword, she fixed him with an angry gaze. I have Lady Marna to be concerned with my manners, Roland. I dont need a buffoon like you to instruct me.
Buffoon! he cried, leaping forward. She caught his blade and riposted, nearly striking. He took the thrust on his blade, sliding his own along hers until they stood corps a corps. He seized her sword wrist with his free hand and smiled. You never want to find yourself in this position. She struggled to free herself, but he held her fast. Unless the Tsurani start sending their women after us, most anyone you fight will prove stronger than yourself, and from here have his way with you. So saying, he jerked her closer and kissed her.
She pulled back, an expression of surprise on her face. Suddenly the sword fell from her fingers and she grabbed him. Pulling him with surprising force, she kissed him with a passion that answered his.
When he pulled back, she regarded him with a look of surprise mixed with longing. A smile spread on her face, as her eyes sparkled. Quietly she said, Roland, I
Alarm sounded throughout the castle, and the shout of Attack! could be heard from the walls on the other side of the keep.
Roland swore softly and stepped back. Of all the gods-cursed, ill-timed luck. He headed into the hall that led to the main courtyard. With a grin he turned and said, Remember what you were going to say, Lady. His humor vanished when he saw her following after, sword in hand. Where are you going? he asked, all lightness absent from his voice.
Defiantly she said, To the walls. Im not going to sit in the cellars any longer.
Firmly he said, No. Youve never experienced true fighting. As a sport, you do well enough with a sword, but Ill not risk your freezing the first time you smell blood. Youll go to the cellars with the other ladies and lock yourself safely in.
Roland had never spoken to her in this manner before, and she was amazed. Always before he had been the teasing rogue, or the gentle friend. Now he was suddenly a different man. She began to protest, but he cut her off. Taking her by the arm, half leading, half dragging her, he walked in the direction of the cellar doors. Roland! she cried. Let me go!
Quietly he said, Youll go where you were ordered. And Ill go where Im ordered. There will be no argument.
She pulled against his hold, but the grip was unyielding. Roland! Take your hand from me this instant! she commanded.
He continued to ignore her protests and dragged her along the hall. At the cellar door a startled guard watched the approaching pair. Roland came to a stop and propelled Carline toward the door with a less than gentle shove. Her eyes wide in outrage, Carline turned to the guard. Arrest him! At once! He anger elevated her voice to a most unladylike volume laid hands on me!
The guard hesitated, looking from one to another, then tentatively began to step toward the Squire. Roland raised a warning finger and pointed it at the guard, less than an inch from his nose. You will see Her Highness to her appointed place of safety. You will ignore her objections, and should she try to leave, you will restrain her. Do you understand? His voice left no doubt he was deadly serious.
The guard nodded, but still was reluctant to place hands upon the Princess. Without taking his eyes from the soldiers face, Roland pushed Carline gently toward the door and said, If I find she has left the cellar before the signal that all is safe has sounded, I will ensure that the Prince and the Swordmaster are informed you allowed the Princess to step in harms way.
That was enough for the guard. He might not understand who had right of rank between Princess and Squire during attacks, but there was no doubt at all in his mind of what the Swordmaster would do to him under such circumstances. He turned to the cellar door before Carline could return and said, Highness, this way, forcing her down the steps.
Carline backed down the stairs, fuming. Roland closed the door behind them. She turned after another backward step, then haughtily walked down. When they reached the room set aside for the women of the castle and town in time of attack, Carline found the other women waiting, huddled together, terrified.
The guard hazarded an apologetic salute and said, Begging the Princesss pardon, but the Squire seemed most determined.
Suddenly Carlines scowl vanished, and in its place a small smile appeared. She said, Yes, he did, didnt he?
Riders sped into the courtyard, the massive gates swinging shut behind. Arutha watched from the walls and turned to Fannon.
Fannon said, Of all the worst possible luck.
Arutha said, Luck has nothing to do with it. The Tsurani would certainly not be attacking when the advantage is ours. Everything looked peaceful, except the burned town standing as a constant reminder of the war. But he also knew that beyond the town, in the forests to the north and northeast, an army was gathering. And by all reports as many as two thousand more Tsurani were on the march toward Crydee.
Get back inside, you rat-bitten, motherless dog.
Arutha looked downward into the courtyard and saw Amos Trask kicking at the panic-stricken figure of a fisherman, who dashed back into one of the many rude huts erected inside the wall of the castle to house the last of the displaced townsfolk who had not gone south. Most of the townspeople had shipped for Carse after the death raid, but a few had stayed the winter. Except for some fishermen who were to stay to help feed the garrison, the rest were due to be shipped south to Carse and Tulan this spring. But the first ships of the coming season were not due in for weeks. Amos had been put in charge of these folk since his ship had been burned the year before, keeping them from getting underfoot and from causing too much disruption in the castle. The former sea captain had proved a gift during the first weeks after the burning of the town. Amos had the necessary talent for command and kept the tough, ill-mannered, and individualistic fisherfolk in line. Arutha judged him a braggart, a liar, and most probably, a pirate, but generally likable.
Get back inside, you rat-bitten, motherless dog.
Arutha looked downward into the courtyard and saw Amos Trask kicking at the panic-stricken figure of a fisherman, who dashed back into one of the many rude huts erected inside the wall of the castle to house the last of the displaced townsfolk who had not gone south. Most of the townspeople had shipped for Carse after the death raid, but a few had stayed the winter. Except for some fishermen who were to stay to help feed the garrison, the rest were due to be shipped south to Carse and Tulan this spring. But the first ships of the coming season were not due in for weeks. Amos had been put in charge of these folk since his ship had been burned the year before, keeping them from getting underfoot and from causing too much disruption in the castle. The former sea captain had proved a gift during the first weeks after the burning of the town. Amos had the necessary talent for command and kept the tough, ill-mannered, and individualistic fisherfolk in line. Arutha judged him a braggart, a liar, and most probably, a pirate, but generally likable.
Gardan came up the stairs from the court, Roland following. Gardan saluted the Prince and Swordmaster, and said, Thats the last patrol, sir.
Then we must only wait for Longbow, said Fannon.
Gardan shook his head. Not one patrol caught sight of him, sir.
Thats because Longbow is undoubtedly closer to the Tsurani than any soldier of sound judgment is likely to get, ventured Arutha. How soon, do you think, before the rest of the Tsurani arrive?
Pointing to the northeast, Gardan said, Less than an hour, if they push straight through. He looked skyward. They have less than four hours of light. We might expect one attack before nightfall. Most likely theyll take position, rest their men, and attack at first light.
Arutha glanced at Roland. Are the women safe?
Roland grinned. All, though your sister might have a few harsh words about me when this is over.
Arutha returned the grin. When this is over, Ill deal with it. He looked around. Now we wait.
Swordmaster Fannons eyes swept the deceptively peaceful scene before them. There was a note of worry mixed with determination in his voice as he said, Yes, now we wait.
Martin raised his hand. His three trackers stopped moving. The woods were quiet as far as they could tell, but the three knew Martin possessed more acute senses than they. After a moment he moved along, scouting ahead.
For ten hours, since before dawn, they had been marking the Tsurani line of march. As well as he could judge, the Tsurani had been repulsed once more from Elvandar at the fords along the river Crydee and were now turning their attention to the castle at Crydee. For three years the Tsurani had been occupied along four fronts: against the Dukes armies in the east, the elves and dwarves along the north, the hold at Crydee in the west, and the Brotherhood of the Dark Path and the goblins in the south.
The trackers had stayed close to the Tsurani trailbreakers, occasionally too close. Twice they had been forced to run from attackers, Tsurani warriors tenaciously willing to follow the Huntmaster of Crydee and his men. Once they had been overtaken, and Martin had lost one of his men in the fighting.
Martin gave the raucous caw of a crow, and in a few minutes his three remaining trackers joined him. One, a long-faced young man named Garret, said, They move far west of where I thought they would turn.
Longbow considered. Aye, it seems they may be planning to encircle all of the lands around the castle. Or they may simply wish to strike from an unexpected quarter. Then with a wry grin he said, But most likely, they simply sweep the area before the attack begins, ensuring they have no harrying forces at their backs.
Another tracker said, Surely they know we mark their passing.
Longbows crooked grin widened. No doubt. I judge them unconcerned with our comings and goings. He shook his head. These Tsurani are an arrogant crew. Pointing, he said, Garret will come with me. You two will make straight for the castle. Inform the Swordmaster some two thousand more Tsurani march on Crydee. Without a word the two men set off at a brisk pace toward the castle.
To his remaining companion he spoke lightly. Come, let us return to the advancing enemy and see what he is about now.
Garret shook his head. Your cheerful manner does little to ease my worrisome mind, Huntmaster.
Turning back the way they had come, Longbow said, One time is much like another to death. She comes when she will. So why give over your mind to worry?
Aye, said Garret, his long face showing he was unconvinced. Why, indeed? Its not death arriving when she will that worries me; its your inviting her to visit that gets me shivering.
Martin laughed softly. He motioned for Garret to follow. They set off at a trot, covering ground with long, loose strides. The forest was bright with sunlight, but between the thick boles were many dark places wherein a watchful enemy could lurk. Garret left it to Longbows able judgment whether these hiding places were safe to pass. Then, as one, both men stopped in their tracks at the sound of movement ahead. Noiselessly they melted into a shadowy thicket. A minute passed slowly with neither man speaking. Then a faint whispering came to them, the words unclear.
Into their field of vision came two figures, moving cautiously along a north-south path that intersected the one Martin followed. Both were dressed in dark grey cloaks, with bows held ready. They stopped, and one kneeled down to study the signs left by Longbow and his trackers. He pointed down the trail and spoke to his companion, who nodded and returned the way they had come.
Longbow heard Garret hiss as he drew in his breath. Peering around the area was a tracker of the Brotherhood of the Dark Path. After a moment of searching he followed his companion.
Garret began to stir and Martin gripped his arm. Not yet, Longbow whispered.
Garret whispered back, What are they doing this far north?
Martin shook his head. Theyve slipped in behind our patrols along the foothills. Weve grown lax in the south, Garret. We never thought theyd move north this far west of the mountains. He waited silently for a moment, then whispered, Perhaps they tire of the Green Heart and are trying for the Northlands to join their brothers.
Garret started to speak, but stopped when another Dark Brother entered the spot vacated by the others a moment before. He looked around, then raised his hand in signal. Other figures appeared along the trail intersecting the one Martins men had traveled. In ones, twos, and threes, Dark Brothers crossed the path, disappearing into the trees.
Garret sat holding his breath. He could hear Martin counting faintly as the figures crossed their field of vision: . . . ten, twelve, fifteen, sixteen, eighteen . . .
The stream of dark-cloaked figures continued, seemingly unending to Garret. . . . thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-four . . .
As the crossing continued, larger numbers of Brothers appeared, and after a time Martin whispered, There are more than a hundred.
Still they came, some now carrying bundles on their backs and shoulders. Many wore the dark grey mountain cloaks, but others were dressed in green, brown, or black clothing. Garret leaned close to Martin and whispered, You are right. It is a migration north. I mark over two hundred.