Windemere, p.6
Windemere, page 6
part #5 of Archer of the Heathland Series
“He denies doing it,” Redmond said.
“And what is that worth?” Dacrey scoffed. “The word of a low-born murderer.” He gestured to Sieger. “Do it,” he ordered.
Sieger stared at Redmond with unconcealed terror.
Redmond stepped forward. “I’ll do it,” he said. Better to spare this boy the indignity and shame than to avoid the horror himself.
“Shut up and get back in line,” Dacrey ordered. “Or I’ll have you all whipped one by one.”
Sieger took a tentative step toward the stone stairs that led to the pillory.
“Now!” Dacrey shouted.
Sieger climbed the steps and raised the whip. He let it fall on Peter’s back without much force. Dacrey sprang to Sieger, jerked the whip from his hand and lashed out with incredible fury. The whip struck Sieger’s face, leaving a bloody trail that showed the whip had bits of metal or bone woven into it. Sieger cried out and tried to shy away, but Dacrey collared him and yanked him upright.
“You strike him like that every time, or I’ll lash you until there’s no flesh left on your bones.” He jammed the whip back into Sieger’s hand and shoved him toward Peter.
Sieger raised the whip and lashed it across Peter’s bare back. Peter flinched but didn’t cry out. Sieger swung again and again until he became too exhausted to deliver a powerful stroke, and Dacrey grabbed another one of Redmond’s men and forced him to continue. Peter jerked and twitched at the bonds but never uttered a sound. Eventually, he sagged against his restraints, clearly unconscious. Dacrey didn’t relent. Peter’s back became a ragged pulp. His trousers were soaked in blood.
“He’s had enough,” Redmond growled. He ground his teeth. If he could get that whip and Dacrey alone, he would teach him how to treat men.
Dacrey raised his eyebrows and gestured toward the pillory. “Do you want to take his place?”
“You’ve made your point,” Redmond said.
Dacrey glared at Redmond with a calculating expression before gesturing to the man with the whip. “Continue,” he said.
And so it went on until the three hundred lashes had been given, and Dacrey cut Peter down. Peter fell to the ground and rolled down the steps. Redmond rushed to his side. Peter’s ribs showed through, stark white against the bleeding mass of flesh. Redmond bent low to see if Peter was still breathing. He laid a hand on Peter’s chest. No heartbeat. He gazed up at Dacrey as the rage burned in his face.
“You’ve killed him,” he snarled.
Dacrey smiled. “That was the idea,” he said. Then he faced Redmond’s men. “Any more nonsense, and we’ll give the same treatment to one man every day until the nonsense ends.”
The men murmured, but no one challenged him.
Redmond stood. “The forsworn knight has shown his true character,” he said.
Dacrey spun and backhanded Redmond across the face. Redmond stumbled and then lunged toward Dacrey before stopping himself. He straightened. He would save it for later. There was no point in giving Dacrey an excuse to kill him now.
“Wise choice,” Dacrey sneered. “Now get back to work.”
Redmond had seen worse brutality, but he hadn’t been this helpless to stop it in a long time—not since the Salassani raid on his village at Comrie. The memory of that day had been seared into his soul. He was sixteen years old when the Salassani burst into his village and ripped his world apart, forcing him down the path of blood he now followed.
Cries of alarm rang out around the village. Then the screaming began.
“Salassani!” The shout was picked up and carried all over the village.
At first, Redmond raced back toward his home, but flames engulfed it. His mother and sister were nowhere to be seen. People fled in all directions seeking shelter, while scattered groups of men stood to fight. Lara dragged her five-year-old brother by the hand. Frantic women and children knocked each other about. Lara’s blonde hair flew out behind her, and her linen dress hugged her form. Redmond raced to her and scooped up the boy into his arms.
“Follow me,” he shouted and rushed toward the lake. At first, he considered taking one of the boats out into the broad lake, but the Salassani were already on the long dock setting fire to everything.
Redmond wove in and out of the houses, dodging the fleeing people with Lara on his heels. There was only one place left to go—his secret hiding place under the great boulder by the lake.
A tall Salassani with bright blue war paint in the shape of a snarling bear barred their path. He grabbed Lara, who screamed and fought. Redmond set the boy down and snatched up a rock. He threw it at the Salassani with all his might. The rock flew true, smashing into the Salassani’s face. The man screamed and dropped Lara before lunging toward Redmond, but Redmond dodged aside, scrambling to find another rock. Someone yelled. The Salassani paused before he grabbed up Lara’s brother and sprinted back toward the edge of the village.
“No,” Lara screamed and raced after the Salassani. Redmond threw another rock at the man’s retreating back and sprinted after Lara, who disappeared into the clouds of smoke. Redmond found Lara with her skirt held up over her mouth and nose, stumbling amid the burning huts in search of her brother. The Salassani were still killing and burning all around them. Redmond grabbed Lara’s hand.
“We have to go,” Redmond said.
Lara blinked at him. Tears cut little trails through the soot on her cheeks. The smoke smelled of roasting flesh and burning thatch.
Lara shook her head and bit her lip, but Redmond pulled her away from the burning huts and led her to his secret hideaway. The great boulder stood alone on the edge of Comrie Lake, a hulking shadow in the drifting smoke.
Redmond fell to his hands and knees in the water, felt for the hole, and then ducked under the water to scramble up onto the cold, hard-packed earth on the other side. A crack in the rock above let in a ray of light. The smell of the burning village drifted in, but the sounds of the fighting and killing became muted.
Lara followed him through and collapsed into his arms, sobbing. Redmond held her, not knowing what else to do. He wished he was a bigger man—no, wished he was a great warrior so he could take revenge on the Salassani, find Lara’s little brother, and bring him back. But he was only sixteen. He tried not to think of what happened to his mother, his little sister, and his older brother. How could anyone have survived? The raid had been so sudden and so violent.
After a long, cold night spent huddled next to Lara, they crawled out of their refuge to find the survivors picking through the smoking ruins of their village, searching for the living and the dead. Lara raced off to her home, and Redmond hurried toward his. The sight of the still-smoking ruin with the roof collapsed and the walls sagging in, forced a knot into his throat. The stone fireplace still stood, a blackened skeleton defying the destruction around it. Redmond kicked through the rubble, feeling the warmth through his boots until he stopped at the fireplace. Huddled in the back lay the charred remains of a woman clutching a child.
Redmond coughed on the sob that burned in his throat and collapsed to his knees. Ashes floated up to choke him. His mother had tried to save his sister by seeking protection in the fireplace. But the fire that destroyed their home had been too hot. Redmond reached in and lifted them into his arms. Bits of their charred clothing fell away and the stench of burned flesh filled his nostrils. He staggered through the blackened rubble and laid them on the trampled, burned grass.
The sobs tore from his throat. He had chosen to save Lara and her brother and let his own mother and sister die in the burning hut. He had failed them. How could he go on?
It was an agonizing memory—made all the more bitter by the years of hatred and revenge that followed. His brother, Neahl, had gone after the Salassani to rescue his wife. Weeks passed before he returned, scarred and disfigured with three fingers cut from his drawing hand.
The heath wars erupted after that, and Redmond and Neahl had joined the King’s army. When it was over, Neahl convinced him and their friend, Weyland, to go back into the heathland to pursue the rest of the men who had raided their village. Redmond remembered, too, the sense of betrayal when he learned that Neahl and Weyland accused him of cowardice and had sworn to kill him for leaving them in battle.
He had never deserted them. His horse bolted after taking an arrow in the rump during their last battle together. As Redmond followed Neahl and Weyland, he learned they were being hunted by assassins sent by someone in Coll. Redmond intercepted and killed the assassins only to find he was also being followed. He didn’t dare return to Lara after that. He lured the assassins off the island and killed them one by one.
In the foolishness of youth, he decided not to return to Coll, both out of a sense of betrayal and a fear that he might lead danger to Lara and her family. Now he couldn’t go back. It had been too many years. There had been too much suffering. He probably wouldn’t even survive long enough to go back.
For Redmond, the years of wandering the southland had been long and lonely. Now he was a prisoner of a crafty baron and his conniving wife. One of his men had already been slaughtered, and the rest depended on him to get them out safely. But the situation was getting worse. More unstable. Something else was going to go wrong—he could feel it in his bones.
Chapter 6
The Pigeon and the Assassin
I have news for you,” Emilia whispered as Redmond stepped through the gates to the inner ward that evening on his way to clean the Baron’s wound. She didn’t have time to explain before a servant girl appeared to lead them up the spiraling stairs.
Redmond gave Emilia a questioning glance, but she shook her head and mouthed “later” to him.
The Baroness came to watch again but said nothing as they worked. The Baron still burned with fever, and Redmond wasn’t sure he would pull through. Still, he cleaned the wound with whiskey and dusted it with the mold from the bread. When he finished, he washed his hands and straightened to face the Baroness.
She wore a light pink gown this evening, and she sat so her bare lower legs were visible. In any other context, the display of that much flesh would have been scandalous. Now it seemed threatening. Redmond chose to ignore it. He had more important things on his mind.
“You had one of my men killed,” he said.
She feigned ignorance. “I did nothing but save you from a similar fate,” she said.
“You know he didn’t do it,” Redmond said.
“I know he was found cowering in a haystack with Lord Berard’s sword in his hands,” she said. “What more proof do you desire?”
Redmond pursed his lips. “You’re making it difficult for me to accept your offer,” he said. The Baroness flashed him an annoyed glance and stood up.
“Leave us,” she said to Emilia.
Emilia raised knowing eyebrows at Redmond and left the room.
“You should have more discretion,” Lady Selgrave said.
“And you should understand that my men come first,” Redmond replied. “If you allow Dacrey to brutalize them, you leave me no choice.”
Lady Selgrave lunged to her feet knocking her chair over. “Do not speak to me in that manner,” she said. “You are nothing but a prisoner here. I have offered you the chance to save your men, and you insist on insulting me.”
“I mean no disrespect, My Lady,” Redmond said. “I ask you to spare my men. Release us, and we’ll leave your lands for good.”
The Baroness laughed. “You are not my prisoners,” she said. She gestured to the Baron. “When my husband recovers, he’ll decide what to do with you.” She stepped toward Redmond with an alluring smile. Then stopped and plugged her nose. “You smell like a filthy dog,” she said.
Redmond gave her a rueful smirk, feeling grateful for his body odor. “Working all day underneath your southern sun without the privilege of a bath is liable to make any man stink.”
She backed away. “My offer still stands, providing you bathe regularly.”
“When my men are free,” Redmond said, “we can discuss your offer.”
“Come back in the morning,” she said with a gesture to Baron Selgrave. “I won’t let anyone else treat him.”
Redmond found Emilia waiting for him by the gate that led out of the inner courtyard. The evening light slanted through the village, washing it with a pure, yellow light.
“That didn’t take long,” Emilia said with a coy smile.
Redmond sighed and shook his head.
“Come with me,” Emilia said and hurried away. Redmond followed her to the apothecary shop. They found Tal grinding herbs at his workbench. He jumped up as they entered, snatched a piece of paper from the table, and extended it to Redmond.
Redmond stepped to the fire to better read the note. The script was neat and distinctly feminine.
“I want your men here in no less than a week. They are getting difficult to control. We need their labor in the salt mines.”
Redmond raised his head as the shock of what it meant coursed through him. “Where did you get this?” he demanded.
Emilia fell onto a bench by the table. She grabbed a chunk of bread and tore off a piece. “My goshawk caught one of the Baroness’s homing pigeons,” she said. She pointed at the paper in his hands with the chunk of bread. “That was tied to its ankle.”
“She means to enslave us in the mines?” Redmond had long suspected the Baron might stoop to this, but with the Baron on what might be his death bed, he hadn’t considered Lady Selgrave would act on her own.
“Probably not you,” Emilia said with a wink. She tore a piece of bread with her teeth and chewed.
“It’s worse than you know,” Tal said. “She has ordered me to prepare the drug for them. I convinced her to let me introduce it slowly, so the men wouldn’t notice, but I don’t know how long I can hold her off.”
“Can you substitute it?”
“It’s dangerous,” Tal said. “If they find out…”
Redmond paced. Then he stopped to study Emilia where she sat in apparent ease chewing on the bread. “Do you regularly intercept the Baroness’s pigeons?”
Emilia shrugged. “Not always, but every now and then, it’s good to see what they’re up to. Besides, a good roasted pigeon provides variety to our bland diet.”
“You eat the Baroness’s pigeons?” Redmond asked in surprise. It was a brazen and dangerous act.
“You see,” Tal said to Emilia. “I told you it was foolish.”
“They’ll find out,” Redmond said.
“Nah,” Emilia said. “Pigeons get lost all the time. When she doesn’t get a reply in a day or two, she’ll send another.”
Redmond gave up arguing with her. He had bigger problems. Time had run out. He could no longer afford to wait and see if Henry had reached Baron Dragos and given him his message.
“I need to know the height of the walls,” he said. “Do you have a ball of string or twine I can use?”
Tal retrieved a ball of string from the back room.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, handing it to Redmond.
“I’m leaving tonight,” Redmond said. “I need you to get word to Jannik. He’s the big burly one with the full beard. Tell him I’ve gone to get help.”
“What kind of help?” Tal said.
Redmond grinned. “The kind that knows how to storm a castle.”
Tal scowled at him and glanced at Emilia.
“If you get caught,” Tal said, “and they find out we helped you, Lady Selgrave will show no mercy.”
“I understand the risk you’re taking,” Redmond said. “I won’t betray you.”
Tal scrutinized him uncertainly for a moment, then set his jaw and nodded.
“Is there a less obvious way outside the walls other than the gate?” Redmond asked.
“There’s the sally port,” Emilia said. “But it’s guarded.”
Redmond grinned at her. “But you know a way around the guard, don’t you?”
Emilia flashed him a pretty smile. “I might,” she said.
“Can you take care of that while I go measure the walls?”
Emilia stood. “It depends who’s on watch.”
“Thanks,” Redmond said. “I’ll be back.”
He slipped out the door and raced through the streets, seeking the shadows whenever possible and relying on speed and quiet when it wasn’t. Once the guard had passed on his nightly rounds atop the battlements, Redmond stole up the steps, tying a stone to the line and dropping it over the walls. He tied a knot at the height when the line became slack, wound it up, and hurried back toward Tal’s shop.
He was passing the brewery, heading toward the pillory, when he encountered a slender figure draped in a dark cloak skulking along in the shadows. At first, he thought it might be Emilia, but this woman was taller and stepped as if unaccustomed to navigating the refuse of the streets. Redmond needed haste, but the obvious incongruity of this woman with the dark streets of Windemere sparked his curiosity.
The figure slipped into a dark alleyway and paused by a narrow door. A tall man with a longsword stepped out of the shadow of the doorway and embraced her. She pushed him away as her hood fell back, revealing Lady Selgrave.
“My Lady,” Dacrey said.
Redmond crouched behind a barrel that smelled of apples.
“Not now, Dacrey,” she said. “We have a more pressing problem. Your execution of that prisoner has created considerable animosity among the prisoners.”
“I’ll handle them,” Dacrey said. “Men like these can only be governed by fear.”
“But my reinforcements won’t arrive for some time,” Lady Selgrave insisted. “If you drive the men to rebellion before they arrive, we may not be able to hold them.”
Dacrey raised a hand to brush at her hair. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it. The apothecary’s drug will take effect in a few days.”
Lady Selgrave slapped at his hand. “You botched the job,” she accused, jabbing her finger at him. “He wasn’t supposed to be found for days, and your captain tried to blame it on the man who is treating my husband.”
