Ivo
and Hugh walked back toward drapers' lane, licking spiced honey from
their fingers and lips. The hot cider and roasted nuts coated in sweet,
sticky cinnamon cheered them nearly as much as watching a pair of
sloe-eyed Forcinn dancers shed scarves as they writhed to the
accompaniment of flute and drum.
"Was there ever a
more incredible pair of ---" Ivo mimed the shape of one of the
dancers as he walked. He smacked his lips in appreciation.
Hugh choked with
laughter. "An' the way she twirled that sword! Never seen that in
Derry."
"There's a couple of
girls in the kitchens I'll have to introduce you to." Ivo nudged
Hugh's ribs with a friendly elbow. "They could teach you a thing or
two. Me too, come to think of it."
Some sixth sense made
Hugh pause. The hair on the back of his neck rose in alarm. Ivo stopped
a step later and glanced at his companion.
From a dark space between
two shops a hooded figure stepped and beckoned to the boys. The two
squires looked at each other.
The cloaked man glanced
up and down the street, clearly uneasy. Then he moved a few steps
closer. "A word for yer master, lads."
Ivo and Hugh glanced at
each other again. Hugh rested his hand on his dagger. Both of them were
armed, and he was confident they could handle one man should he decide
to be trouble for them.
They followed the
stranger into the narrow alley. As soon as they were out of sight of the
street he pushed his hood back. A scarred and weather-beaten face topped
by a mass of shaggy gray and silver hair grinned at them.
"Ye're servin' His
Grace o' Tolan, ain't ye." This was not a question. "Been
watchin' ye for better part o' a day now, since ye come back. I've a
message for yer master."
"We can deliver
it." Ivo held out his hand for a scroll.
The stranger chuckled.
"Do ye thin wi' what's been goin' on since His Grace left us we'd
risk puttin' anything in writin'? Not ye, boy." He turned to Hugh.
"Ye'll carry the message an' deliver it yerself."
Hugh wished he could turn
into a mouse at that moment. All his courage and most of his bowels
seemed to turn to water.
Before he could escape or
resist the stranger grasped his shoulder. A force of will like a
sea-spawned hurricane crashed into his mind. The message it imprinted
there was urgent, important and somewhat comforting.
The stranger then set
controls in Hugh's mind that would wipe the message and all remains of
this encounter away should any save Albion try to read them. When Hugh
again came to himself he was staring at Ivo, who stared back as if he'd
been hit over the head by one of old Jack's iron kettles.
The stranger pulled up
his hood. "Now off wi' ye. I'll be here when yer master wants to
reply. Remember that."
Flames shot skyward from
the burning manor house. Brandonn watched with satisfaction as the roof
collapsed in a shower of sparks. There would be nothing left for the
hated invader to salvage from this, even if some of them survived.
His men made short work
of all resistance, and were now enjoying the fruits of their labor. He
smiled. His own reward had been perfected in the death of the lord of
Sheele, his wife and children.
Let the Deryni monsters
suffer the same fate as they had given the Haldane king and his family.
Brandonn felt no pity for them. Mercy was for the weak.
The raid proved fruitful
for more than vengeance. The manor house held wealth, now spoils of war,
that would be put to good use. The sacks of gold and silver
candlesticks, coin, jewels and rich clothing gave him a fortune to fund
his cause.
Better yet, his timing
had been perfect. A merchant was at Sheele, hoping to interest the
wealthy lord and his lady in spices and perfumes. The luckless fellow
now lay dead near his cart. His wares would bring more wealth than they
had looted from the small chapel.
Brandonn's lieutenant
appeared before him, grinning and sooty from the destruction of the
manor. "What are yer orders, m'lord?"
A gesture at the sacks of
treasure spoke volumes. "To the Connatti with half of this. We
should have more than enough to buy the weapons we need. And more of
that poison that works so well on these demons. As much as can be
had."
The man nodded. Brandonn
could not remember his name at the moment, but that mattered little.
What was a name in the midst of a war?
"I'll see it done,
m'lord. Where will I meet ye?"
"We travel to
Rhemuth. These invaders have become too comfortable. I intend to teach
them the meaning of fear." Brandonn smiled, thinking of the revenge
he planned for all those who accepted the conqueror's rule. "As
soon as I've done giving my schooling, I mean to meet again with my
whore of a sister. She too needs to learn obedience."
The man flinched, but
held his tongue. Brandonn decided it was time to replace him, but he
could not think who else would serve so well. He would use the
intervening time to consider the matter.
He patted his lieutenant
on the shoulder and smiled so the man would not suspect his doom had
been sealed already. Not that the stupid fellow could see Brandonn's
face, nor would he wish to. If he pushed back his hood, Brandonn knew he
would horrify and sicken even the most hardened of his men.
That was the price he'd
paid for survival. He would never forgive it.
"Get you gone. There
are good horses aplenty. Take two, you'll travel faster."
His lieutenant gave him a
short bow and left to do his bidding. At times, Brandonn thought, not
much had changed.
He turned back to his
men. Fortunately they seemed to be tiring of the sport gained in
conquest. "Gather up. We ride!" |