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It was not much of a garden. Even in the dim light, the signs of neglect were obvious. Weeds and wild vines grew in profusion, overrunning the flower beds and shrubbery. And dry foliage softly crunched beneath their feet, evidence that no recent effort had been made to sweep fallen leaves and other debris away. It was not unexpected, however, considering Xeren hardly ever visited the property.
They neared the edge of the garden where they espied a path, which they guessed led to the courtyard in front. The murmur of voices drifted to them, warning of the presence of residents of the keep. More sounds told of soldiers gathering in the courtyard. Probably the small company that earlier left to search outside had returned.
Yandro studied Leyhar and noticed the ambassador could barely walk, let alone run even with the support of his companions. They would never make it if they attempted to cross the moat via the bridge. He desperately looked around the garden and realized with a start that it was bordered by a thick hedge. He scanned the hedge and soon spotted a gap in it, wide enough to accommodate a Deir.
He ran to the gap and stepped past the hedge. The moat yawned wide and deep before him, its stagnant contents fetid and dark with algae and waste. Yandro looked from side to side. He barely stifled an exclamation of relief when he spotted what he sought.
Lying half-concealed under the hedge to his left was a makeshift bridge wrought of wooden planks secured to long poles with sturdy rope. It was very narrow and had no side rails. They would have to cross it one at a time. He wondered if Ambassador Leyhar had the strength to do so. Nonetheless jubilation blossomed inside him. It was still a way out.
He gestured to the others, and they hastened to his side. Jareth smiled when he saw the bridge.
“Definitely the best aide I’ve ever had,” he murmured.
They hauled the bridge into position to span the moat. Jareth motioned to Leyhar’s people to approach it.
“It won’t take more than the weight of one Deir at a time. You go first. We’ll guard your backs. Don’t wait for us to reach you, but head toward the line of copses south of the keep,” he instructed, gesturing toward that direction. “We tethered our steeds there. Whatever happens, you must mount them and ride as swiftly as you can for the border. Head southwest for Losshen. With luck, you’ll reach the marches in a day.”
Yandro started when a ray of light fell across Jareth’s face. He looked up and swore. Dawn was breaking and fairly swiftly. They would soon be visible to the sentries manning the watchtowers. All three of them. It appeared Xeren had ordered more guards on watch.
“We must hurry, Dyhar,” he urged.
Jareth nodded and shoved the other three forward. “Go. Move as quickly as you can. I’ll try to shield you if you’re spotted.”
They hurried to obey and soon the aide was inching his way forward on the bridge as fast as he could.
“Shield them?” Yandro muttered as he watched the Deir gain the other side. “Is there no limit to what you can do?”
“Rest assured, there are.” Jareth looked up sharply at the sound of shouts from above. The sentries had spotted Leyhar as he tottered with agonizing slowness toward his waiting aide. “But you’ll have reason to wish there weren’t. Hurry!” he bellowed to the secretary even as four guards entered the garden.
Fortunately, the path from the courtyard was narrow and the guards could not pour into the garden all at once. Yandro brutally disemboweled the first to near them, rammed his sword into the side of the second and all but ripped his flank open, and slashed a third guard’s throat, almost decapitating him in the process. Jareth fended off the fourth despite being hampered by Xeren’s weight on his shoulder. He finally hewed a leg from under the guard and thrust his sword down into the fallen Deir’s belly.
Yandro turned in time to see arrows start to drizzle down on the secretary as he scurried across the bridge. To his amazement, the bolts bounced off an invisible barrier, leaving the Deir unscathed. He made it to the other side and joined his colleague in holding up Leyhar who looked positively gray. They hastened away as ordered. Yandro swung around to face Jareth.
“You first, Dyhar,” he insisted. “You can’t defend your back with that sack of dung weighing you down.”
Jareth spared him a small smile before he started to traverse the bridge. Arrows continued to rain down. Obviously, the archers did not recognize the limp form draped over Jareth’s shoulder, else they would not have risked hitting Xeren.
Meanwhile, several guards burst through the gap in the hedge behind Yandro. Rather than attempt taking them on in hand-to-hand combat by himself, he hastily projected a welter of conflicting emotions at them. Some were befogged enough to stumble, lose their balance and topple into the moat and drown. The others Yandro dispatched while they were still hampered by their confusion.
A little winded from the sudden expenditure of energy, he took a moment to catch his breath and then turned to check on Jareth’s progress.
Jareth was two-thirds of the way across, his pace slowed by having to deflect arrows as well as bear Xeren’s weight. Yandro made ready to cross as soon as he cleared the bridge. But to his horror, Jareth suddenly halted and nearly lost his balance. Yandro caught his breath. An arrow protruded from the ambassador’s left thigh.
Recalling Jareth had used up much energy to revive Leyhar and was now expending more to shield against the arrows, Yandro realized the ambassador could not adequately protect himself. Some bolts were piercing the barrier he’d thrown up. He wondered if Jareth could draw enough strength from him to reinforce his shielding.
Yandro weighed the risks of joining him on the bridge.
Already the confounded contraption was bending downward under the combined weight of Jareth and his prisoner. If he went to help Jareth, the bridge might break and they would fall into the moat and it was possible they would perish in its murky depths. But if one arrow found its mark, Jareth would definitely die.
He made up his mind and sprinted to Jareth. The bridge bowed even more perilously beneath them.
Yandro grabbed Jareth’s free hand, shouting, “Use my strength! Draw as much as you need!”
Jareth’s eyes widened for a moment, and then he gripped Yandro’s hand hard. Yandro glanced up and saw a new hail of bolts coming down upon them. He gritted his teeth and braced himself for the worst.
Naught happened.
Some arrows were repelled, but even more were completely destroyed, setting off tiny explosions in the air above them as they disintegrated. There was a pause in the arrow-fall, the archers above obviously shocked into inaction by the fiery demises of their bolts.
Yandro heard the sound of wood cracking under his feet. “Go! Go!” he yelled, propelling Jareth forward.
The bridge started to come apart beneath them as they ran the rest of the way. They barely leaped onto solid ground when the structure finally collapsed and fell in pieces into the dark waters of the moat below.
“Break it off!” Jareth barked as soon as Yandro gained his balance.
Yandro blanched when he realized the ambassador was referring to the arrow shaft protruding from his thigh. It would hamper his stride as they made a run for their steeds.
By now, the whole estate would have been alerted by now to their escape. They did not have much of a head start.
Gritting his teeth, Yandro gripped the shaft and snapped it as close to the arrowhead as possible. He flinched at the sound of Jareth’s pained hiss, but focused on breaking the shaft off completely.
They hurried after the others. If they were lucky, they would reach their mounts in time to get away. If not...
Yandro’s mouth tightened into a grim line. The alternative was unthinkable.
Halfway across the debris-strewn field, he glanced back and saw soldiers streaming out of the manor doors. They crossed the bridge and soon gave chase. Mercifully, only a few were mounted. The rest were on foot.
More evidence that the manor did not have a fully equipped garrison. Thank the saints for small mercies, Yandro thought as he gauged the remaining distance to the copse where their steeds waited.
They were nearing it, but their pace was not fast enough. The Terazians would overtake them, especially the riders.
Yandro stopped, turned around, and stared at the steeds.
“Yan!” Jareth shouted. “What are you doing?”
“Go on! Don’t stop!” Yandro yelled back. “I’m going to try something.”
He met Jareth’s gaze for a moment, his own pleading with the ambassador to trust him. Jareth scowled and then nodded and hurried on.
Yandro turned once more to face the approaching riders. He’d never used his empathy on an animal before and could only hope the equines were sentient enough for this first attempt to work. He concentrated on projecting fear and pain into their minds.
To his relief, the beasts suddenly reared up on their hind legs, throwing off their startled riders in the process. They turned and galloped back, heedless of the guards unfortunate enough to lie beneath their hooves or of the oncoming soldiers. The Terazians scattered as the panicked animals plowed into their ranks.
Yandro did not wait to see how quickly they would recover, but dashed after the others. He worriedly noted that Jareth was no longer running, but limping as fast as he could, partially dragging his wounded leg.
They were still some twenty yards away from the copses when Jareth came to a halt, his face scrunched up in pain. Leyhar’s aide ran back to him.
“I’ll carry him, Dyhar,” he offered.
Jareth nodded and handed the unconscious Xeren to the Deir. He then sank down on his left knee. Yandro anxiously eyed the widespread crimson stain on his thigh and noted his blanched countenance.
“Come, lean on me,” he offered. “I’ll support you.”
Jareth shook his head. “I can barely stay on my feet, much less run,” he said through gritted teeth. He looked from Yandro to the aide.
“Our steeds are in that copse yonder,” he said. “Get yourselves there. I’ll delay them.” He spared Yandro a brief glance before turning his gaze on their oncoming pursuers. “You know the way. You’ll be safe as soon as you come within sight of the marches. They won’t pursue you once you cross into buffer territory.”
Yandro stared at him in confusion. “You want me to go with them? But what about you?”
“I’ll only slow you down,” Jareth said without looking at him.
To Yandro’s increased alarm, he bowed his head, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, Yandro espied a strange glow in their depths, brighter than he’d seen earlier in the cells.
“Dyhar, what—”
He suddenly noticed how Jareth held his hands before him, fingers curling inward. There was a soft crackle and then light—rosy, sparkling light—burst into being in the center of his palms.
Jareth said, “I’m nigh drained. I haven’t the strength to stop them. Only delay their approach that you may yet escape. You must lead them as quickly as you can, Yan. I will hold these vermin back.”
Yandro pursed his lips and then shook his head. “I’m staying with you.”
“This is no time to argue with me.”
“Yes, it is. The longer you can hold the soldiers back, the more time they’ll have to get away. But you can’t do so if you’re overcome too soon. You need someone to shield you whilst you weave your spell. You need me!”
Had there been time, Jareth would have likely fought him. But there was none left and the ambassador perforce acquiesced to Yandro’s decision. He barked orders to the aide to flee and waited until the others neared the copse before returning his attention to the rapidly approaching force.
He clenched his hands then reopened them. The light was no longer rosy or merely sparkling, but had transformed into bright, angry-red streaks. Like lightning bolts contained only by his fingers, as a wild beast was restrained by the bars of a cage.
As the first wave of their pursuers charged at them, Jareth rose to his feet and hurled the scarlet energy he held at the ground under the Terazians’ feet. Earth and rock came loose and shot into the air, hurling those who trod upon them every which way while those behind stumbled into the resulting ditch.
Amidst the chaos, a lance was thrown at Jareth. Hissing with as much fury as a mother protecting its cub, Yandro lunged and caught it. He hurled the lance right back at the soldier who’d thrown it, impaling the latter in the gut.
Jareth ripped the ground from its moorings again, tossing more enemy soldiers hither and thither, while Yandro engaged those few who had managed to elude the ambassador’s assault. Dispatching the last of his opponents, he heard Jareth issue a shuddering exhalation and turned to see him step back shakily.
His face was paler than ever and his shoulders were bowed with exhaustion. Yandro caught him by the arm and kept him from falling to his knees.
He spared a glance for their compatriots and knew some comfort when he saw they’d reached their steeds, mounted them, and were now heading southwest. Turning back to survey the field, he briefly met Jareth’s questioning gaze. He nodded, mutely conveying the assurance they’d bought the others time.
To his surprise, Jareth ordered, “Go after them. Get away from here.”
Yandro glared at him in sudden anger. “You think I’d leave you? You’d have that on my conscience for the rest of my life? Well, a pox on you for even considering it. And may the thought of it haunt you all the way to wherever you bloody templars spend your afterlives!”
Jareth stared at him in what appeared to be awe. Yandro forced himself to return the ambassador’s stare as steadily as he could manage. Of a sudden, Jareth caught him by the back of his neck, pulled him close and sealed their mouths together in a brief but searing caress. Yandro almost stopped breathing then.
“Stay then,” Jareth whispered against his lips before releasing him.
They watched the Terazians regroup and once more advance on them.
Drawing his sword, Jareth grimly said, “We’re not to be taken.”
Yandro swallowed. “I’m ready.”
What happened next he would always remember for the perfection of its timing.
An eruption of light engulfed the first soldiers to approach their position. The Deira’s screams were abruptly silenced as they disintegrated amidst the pulsating brilliance. The soldiers immediately following them hastily turned back lest they too be caught in what Yandro could now see was a blossoming portal.
A moment later, a yawning hole in the center of the flashing light opened, increasing in diameter until one could see the mist-like veil which obscured the shadowy passage within.
Hardly had the Terazians gathered a safe distance away when a mounted warrior emerged from the portal at a gallop. More soldiers followed him out onto the field, swords unsheathed and ready for battle. All were astride zentyra, the famed war steeds of Ylandre, as recognizable from their whimsically dappled flanks and silky manes as their sharp-cloven hooves and the single vicious horn that protruded from their foreheads.
Yandro caught his breath when he espied the great steeds. No Deir lower in rank than a Herun of a major fief could own or breed zentyra. He returned his gaze to the lead rider and gazed long at the fluttering banner his standard bearer proudly displayed. A silver gryphon on a bluish-violet field—the emblem of Ziana, city-fief of the Hadranas in the north of Ylandre.
“Dyhar!” he elatedly addressed Jareth. “It’s Lord Hadrana come to rescue us!”
Jareth managed a tight smile. “Thank Veres,” he said. “I feared he would not make it in time.” He forced himself to stand up. “Come, let’s get out of the way and leave it to Tenryon to rout this rabble.”
Yandro hurried to slip an arm around him and help him limp to safer ground as quickly as Jareth’s wounded leg would let them. He led Jareth to a sheltered space behind some broken boulders and eased him down on the ground. Assured that Jareth was comfortable, he turned his attention back to the battle to assess its progress.
After their brush with death or capture, it was gratifying to watch the Terazians flee before the Ziani soldiers or get mowed down if they were foolhardy enough to face the brunt of a cavalry charge. He exhaled with relief.
They were safe. Salvation had come just in time.
He peered in the direction Ambassador Leyhar and his aides had fled. Obviously they had seen the Ziani charge from afar and realized rescue was at hand for they were riding back albeit cautiously. He noticed Xeren was slung across one of the steeds, his lack of movement indicating he was still unconscious. That was quite a clout Jareth had dealt him if he had not yet awakened from it.
Good, Yandro thought with vicious satisfaction. The scoundrel deserved it after his horrible treatment of an elderly Deir. Not to mention his reprehensible actions, which could have precipitated a war.
Yandro watched as the bulk of the surviving Terazian soldiers fled back to the keep, their retreat dissolving into a rout when the Ziani troops allowed their fierce steeds to run down and trample stragglers into the riven earth. In all, less than a third of Xeren’s force had survived and few among them had escaped the battle unscathed.
As the commotion of fighting died down, Yandro swept the corpse-littered plain with his gaze. So many soldiers sent to capture five fugitives of whom only two knew how to wield a sword with competence. Perhaps someone had recognized Jareth? If so, it seemed his reputation had once more preceded him to have warranted this excessive show of force, Yandro thought with grim amusement.
“We won,” he said when the fleeing soldiers disappeared from view.
Jareth flashed him a tired smile. With Yandro’s help, he got to his feet. He limped out from behind the boulder to get a look at the battle’s aftermath himself. But his injury barred him from going any further and, with a pained grunt, he leaned against the boulder to take some of the strain off his wounded limb.
Yandro softly exclaimed his dismay when he saw that Jareth’s left thigh was crimson with blood. The ambassador had bled quite profusely.
“Sit!” he ordered. “You’re in no condition to move about.”
With uncharacteristic meekness, Jareth obeyed. Yandro drew out his knife and cut away the fabric covering the wound. He grimaced as the gash came into view, the arrowhead deeply embedded and its broken shaft poking out.
“Take it out,” Jareth said through gritted teeth.
Yandro gaped at him. He shook his head. “I’m no surgeon. Best we get you to a healer forthwith.”
He rose and sought Tenryon among the Ziani riders. Once he spotted the fief-lord, he waved his hands wildly above his head until the latter noticed him.
Tenryon urged his zentyr toward them at a brisk trot. He dismounted almost before his steed came to a stop and dropped down on one knee before Jareth.
“He needs a physician, Dyhar,” Yandro said.
“Aye, and fast,” Tenryon replied with a grimace. He straightened and signaled to one of his people. The Deir hurried over. A physician’s leather bag was slung across his body from one shoulder.
“Berian was at the manse tending to one of my servants,” Tenryon explained as the Deir proceeded to examine the injury.
The physician glanced up. “I prefer to remove this now lest infection sets in.”
“Be quick about it then,” Tenryon said. “We’d best be far from here before reinforcements arrive.”
Berian set about the procedure swiftly. He was no born healer and could not numb the pain of the excision, but he was skilled and fast. Nevertheless, by the time he extracted the arrowhead, Jareth was white-faced, his brow damp with sweat, and his lower lip close to bloodied from being bit down on. A hurried smear of a paste made from medicinal herbs brought him some relief and he relaxed a little as the pain-numbing properties of the medicament took effect. Berian finished by winding a length of thick gauze around Jareth’s thigh.
Some color returned to Jareth’s face by then and he no longer sported a severely pinched look. He thanked the physician while the latter examined and dressed Yandro’s wound with fresh bandages. Tenryon then bade the Deir to inform his captain to ready the cavalry for departure. Berian nodded and left to convey Tenryon’s order.
Now that Jareth was no longer in danger, Tenryon exhaled in relief. “I’ve never been so pleased about the readiness of my soldiers for battle as I was today.”
“Thank Veres you responded so quickly,” Jareth murmured. “It was still a close call, wasn’t it?”
Tenryon snorted. “Horribly close. Please don’t wait that long next time before calling me.”
“I won’t. I’m sorry for worrying you so.”
Yandro had remained silent throughout the physician’s ministrations. Now he frowned with curiosity over the brothers’ exchange. “You summoned Lord Hadrana?” he asked Jareth.
The ambassador nodded. “When I realized I wouldn’t have enough strength to open a portal, I contacted Ten. I knew we couldn’t possibly escape without his help.”
Yandro stared at him in awe. He recalled that moment back in the manor cell when Jareth’s eyes had looked unfocused. “Do you mean after you helped Leyhar-dyhar, you spoke to your brother all the way in Ziana?”
“Nay, I was too drained for that,” Jareth said. “All I could do was call to him and hope he heard me.”
“Aye,” Tenryon affirmed. “But as it was an hour until cockcrow, I was still abed. His call came to me in my sleep and at first I thought it was only a dream.”
“Why did you realize it wasn’t?” Yandro asked.
“Because Jareth doesn’t like to depend on others,” Tenryon wryly answered. “He very seldom does so and only when he’s in extreme need. Indeed, I no longer remember the last time he sought my help.”
Yandro nodded. “Yes, that does sound like him.” He regarded Jareth with some amusement. “I suppose we should be grateful you didn’t let your pride get in the way this time.”
Tenryon suddenly winced, as if he’d been struck by some horrible thought. “Confound it all, Jath!” he exclaimed. “I could have lost you!”
He bent and pressed his brow to Jareth’s, biting his lower lip, his eyes tightly closed. Jareth wound an arm around him and hugged him reassuringly.
“But you didn’t,” he murmured. “I’m here, I’m safe. Thanks to you, brother.
Yandro looked on with a pang. This was something he’d never known. This bond of kinship that flowed deep and tore at the heart when threatened, as much as salved wounds both of the body and spirit.