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Time blurred then vanished as Corban raged, dropped to the ground, and hurtled his spear squarely at the lead scaln’s blood-shot yellow eyes. The beast dropped dead before its companions, which cowered and halted just long enough for Corban to slash the second with a lethal wound to its leathery crimson throat. The third slunk about the first beast’s corpse, half-circling Corban, its fetid breath reaching him like a surging miasma defiling the air. Threads of venom slid glistening from between the beast’s bared teeth as it hissed and lowered its head, gathering momentum to lunge.
Never moving his gaze or sword from the encroaching scaln, Corban reclaimed his spear and flung it with all his might at the third, then slashed at the fourth before it could lunge, felling it as the fifth surged past him ... toward the girl’s agitated horse.
She lifted her feet just as the fifth beast raked its claws into her skirts and then downward, slashing bloody streaks into her terrified horse’s sides. Corban charged at the scaln’s rippling crimson back and wielded his sword two-handed, landing the blade hatchet-like into the base of its muscular neck, driving the beast into the ground.
The girl leaped from her horse as it fell. Beyond her, the shocked nobleman flung himself off his own horse and cried, “Dalia!”
She dropped without a sound, feet first onto the gritty road, then fell forward and caught herself with her hands. Corban scooped the girl away from the dead scaln and her now thrashing horse, then set her on her feet.
The girl, Dalia, gulped audibly and stared up at Corban as if he, not a scaln, were the true monster. To his surprise, she recovered her wits and clutched Corban’s hand. “Sir— Tell me you’re not scratched or hurt!”
“I’m not.” Reorienting himself, Corban took a deep breath and nearly gagged at the stench of five scaln-corpses. Five. He’d killed five scalns and emerged unscathed. How? An impossible feat.
“Grainia!” Dalia gasped and released Corban’s hand, turning his attention. She rushed to her quieting horse. “Grainia?”
The sturdy nobleman caught her, holding her back. “Dalia, don’t touch her! She’s been poisoned.”
The girl sobbed, “My lord, how can I not touch her? Those were scalns—she’s dying of the wounds! We must comfort her!”
“Just don’t touch her,” the nobleman admonished. “You know scaln wounds are fatal.”
Sniffling, Dalia kneeled near her horse’s head. “Grainia, I’m so sorry! My poor girl, you’re so brave. I’ve loved you! You’ve made me so happy!”
She crooned sweetly until all life and light vanished from her unfortunate horse’s eyes. Then she rested her forehead on the darkened road and cried. The nobleman, evidently her father, hugged her. But he looked up at Corban. “Sir, may the Mighty One ever bless and guard you! Name your reward for saving my only child. But how did you do it so swiftly? I scarcely had time to leap from my horse—much less draw my sword—and you’d felled them all. By everything that’s sacred, I’ve never seen such fighting!”
Corban shook his head, feeling the sickly aftermath wash over him, casting tremors throughout his limbs. Evidently concerned, the girl looked up at him, tears leaving thin tracks down her tawny cheeks. Her lovely face contorted as she finally perceived the dead-scaln stench. She lifted one hand to her mouth and persisted. “Sir, thank you! Please, won’t you accompany us to Eshda and let us tend you? Reassure us that you’re not hurt.”
He weakened, guilt rendering him unable to refuse this girl’s plea. Her tears and entreating gaze were too crushingly similar to Araine’s just before she’d vanished.
When he’d judged she must die.
He’d give everything to return to that night and wipe it from existence, just for the chance to be near Araine again, and to control his unfettered emotions, even if cost his final breath.
Looking away from the girl and her father, Corban nodded. Yes, he’d return to Eshda’s fortress. Just as well. He’d likely suffer from shock for the remainder of the day. Did he even have enough strength to remount his horse?
Clearly holding similar doubts, the nobleman motioned to two of his servants, who hurried to help—one holding Ghost, the other offering Corban a hand up. Fresh humiliation set him on edge, though he didn’t have the strength to act upon his growing internalized fury.
Infinite, what have You done? And why?
***
Seated behind Father on his horse, Dalia sniffled back tears, then braced herself as Roi called up to Eshda’s watchman, “I am Roi Hradedh! I request permission of the king to enter!”
The king. Dalia couldn’t think of her darling Matteo as Darzeq’s king. Yet it was true, thanks to that wretched Cthar. Was Matteo here? Beneath her breath, Dalia begged the Infinite with all her might, “Please let Matteo be here! Please let him welcome us!”
The guards looked down at Father, then scanned his household. Their attention swiftly focused on the mysterious man who’d fought off the scalns. Someone bellowed from high above, “Lord Corban’s returned! Alert Lord Aristo!”
Without further questions, they rushed to open the massive woven-iron gates and then lower the bridge’s span.
As the huge gate lifted amid the creaking and groaning of gears, Dalia flung a quizzing glance at the exhausted man who’d saved her. Who was this Lord Corban? She’d never heard of him, but beyond doubt, he was known and trusted here, despite Eshda’s formidable defenses. She tugged at her father’s arm. “He must be important, my lord—the man who saved us.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Roi muttered. “I hope he’s not been poisoned somehow.”
“I’m praying not.” Losing her sweet Grainia was terrible enough. To lose the man who’d saved her before she’d so much as heard his name would more than add to her grief. Dalia swallowed a fresh sob and blinked hard at the threatening tears. She glanced fretfully at the man once more, but he seemed a-wandering in his own thoughts.
The final spanned section of the bridge lowered, and they were waved across Eshda’s beautifully arcaded stone passage. Dalia didn’t dare look down at the smoking chasm below. Instead, she fixed her gaze beyond the magnificent gatehouse tunnel to the stone courtyard beyond, which resounded with shouts heralding their approach.
Guards formed ranks on either side of Father’s household as they rode into the magnificent enclosed and paved courtyard, its beautiful golden stonework adorned with more graceful, simple stonework arcading. Why had Father scowled at the mention of Eshda? This fortress was truly amazing—set high and clear above the smoldering lands below.
A robust, silver-haired man marched out from the magnificent keep and stood on the stone landing near the sculpted entrance. He folded his arms and watched father’s household enter. As Father dismounted and reached up to help Dalia, a delighted cry made her glance up again at the castle’s keep.
Anji dashed past the silver-haired man and swept down the keep’s broad stone steps, her mantle flaring and lifting about her as she laughed. Behind her... Dalia gasped. “Matteo!”
She dismounted and slid from Father’s grasp, joy warring with her misery. Oh, they both looked older, her sweet lifelong friend and her love. Matteo’s face was thinner and somber, despite his smile—she must console him, and Anji.
Snatching up her tattered skirts, Dalia sped to Matteo and Anji, all but flinging herself into their arms, kissing Anji’s soft face, then Matteo’s rough-whiskered jaw. “You’re both here! I didn’t dare hope! I’ve been thinking of you both, constantly.”
Anji laughed and hugged her again as Matteo bent to stare into her eyes as if he wanted to study her forever. Dalia touched his face once more. Matteo kissed her cheek, then scooped her closer, dragging Anji into his embrace as well. In his best Master-Tredin style, he mocked, “We know why we’re in Eshda, young lady! But why are you here?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I thought your lord-father disapproved of me. What’s happened?”
“It’s my fault. I’m in disgrace, and I’m not even supposed to be talking to you. I wrote a bit of doggerel and sent it throughout the Tinem North valley. It made Cthar so angry that she’s sent soldiers searching for me. Father brought me here for my own safety.”
She’d quite forgotten that Father was watching. Dalia stole a guilty peek over her shoulder. Roi Hradedh shook his head and beckoned her to his side once more, obviously intending to hold her to his ordained punishment.
Matteo pressed Dalia’s hand, summoning her attention. Allowing her another chance to gaze into his beautiful, long-lashed golden eyes, which were so mesmerizing that she fought to pay attention to his words. He grinned. “I believe we’re all still in disgrace—you’d best return to him. Wait ... there’s Lord Corban. I saw him off earlier. Why’s he returned?”
Hoping she wouldn’t dissolve within puddles of tears, Dalia said, “He ... saved my life, but so remarkably that I doubt he’s mortal. Ask him what happened. I’ll cry.”
Dalia studied the mysterious nobleman, trying to comprehend him. Lord Corban looked away, and it was just as well. Remembering this lord’s courage and nearly unbelievable fighting abilities brought poor Grainia’s death to mind again. No. Dalia refused to face that grief. Everyone was watching.
Father motioned to her again, more sternly this time, both eyebrows raised. Dalia gave her beloved friends a final hug and then sped to him, returning to captivity.
With Matteo and Anji following, and obviously listening, the portly Lord Aristo Faolan approached, his gracious expression creased with worry. “My lord, forgive me, but was there some trouble? We weren’t expecting Lord Corban’s return.”
Dalia fought tears as Father wrapped one protective arm around her shoulders then nodded to Lord Corban. “We are forever grateful for Lord Corban, sir. He saved my daughter’s life. An ambush of scalns charged us as we approached.”
The portly lord’s grizzled eyebrows lifted, conveying shock. “Scalns? This early in the year? Winter will be early then. They’ll hunt everything that moves as they feed for winter. I’ll have my men set spike-traps all along the road to thin them out.”
If only those traps had been set weeks ago. Dalia looked down at the pavings. Dear Grainia could have been saved.
***
Too tired to do more than descend from his horse, Corban leaned against Ghost and watched the happy reunion. So the young lady Dalia was a friend to both the Lady Anji and Matteo of Darzeq? Interesting. The way she touched the king’s face ... and his fervent kiss to her cheek... They were in love.
Corban masked a bleak scowl as envy welled, followed by renewed self-incriminating fury. He had only himself to blame for losing his own love. Yet Araine had never greeted him with such joy.
Actually, now that he considered Araine’s behavior, Corban confessed another truth to himself. He’d believed he’d lost her, yet clearly she’d never been his. Indeed, whenever Araine had looked at him, Corban had seen what no man wished to see: compassion, not passion in his beloved’s gaze—unless he’d frightened her, as he had all too often.
In truth, Araine had never loved him. Yet he longed for her still, and he owed her some form of justice. Nothing had changed. He needed to find Araine. He couldn’t become involved with matters here in Darzeq. He must continue on his way. Why did he care what happened to these people? Yet he did care. If he left them, would he regret the decision?
As the girl returned to her lord-father, Corban muttered in complaint, “Infinite, why have You brought me here again? Why do You pursue me?”
Dalia looked over her shoulder at him, and Corban brought his gaze back to Ghost, unwilling to answer her silent curiosity. Unable to do more than rest, recover, and complain in silence to the Infinite.
***
Freshly shaven and wearing clean hunting garments he’d unsealed from one of his lord-father’s storage chests, Matteo stepped up on the stone dais and sat at the high table, Anji, Ekiael, and Corban to his right, while Lord Tragobre, Dalia, and Aristo sat to his left—with Aristo subtly directing servants here and there, pouring watered wine for himself and Roi, fresh juice for Dalia and Matteo and a steaming tisane of herbs that Anji had requested for Ekiael and herself.
Ekiael prayed over the bread, blessing the Infinite, and then the servants brought out platters of food—a hurried but welcomed feast ordered to honor Roi Hradedh’s arrival and Corban’s victory over the scalns.
A small army of guards had been sent earlier to clear the road of dead scalns, which they’d burned, and Dalia’s unfortunate little Grainia, whom Matteo had ordered respectfully buried. The guards had sent back lengthy and reverential reports detailing the wounds inflicted on the scalns and the horse, extoling Lord Corban’s valor.
Corban refused to speak of the clash when most men would have been boasting.
“Sire,” Roi Hradedh complained quietly as they helped themselves to bread and marinated vegetables, “your Lord Corban rejected my offer of a reward, and he turned his back on me!”
To excuse Corban, Matteo murmured, “Forgive him, my lord. He’s cousin to Siphra’s queen and his family’s pride is ancient and ocean-deep. He’s also called himself a living battlefield, therefore humor him.”
Roi puffed out a breath and accepted several slices of richly sauced venison. “I will. If you could see the man fight, Sire ... it was like watching some legend come to life.”
“I’ve seen him fight, and I agree.” However, the first time he’d seen Corban fight in that public house against the mercenaries, the man seemed capable enough with a sword, but nothing beyond that of any well trained nobleman. Corban’s newfound light-swift speed and exactness with weapons was surely a gift from the Infinite, as Ekiael had declared. To shift the subject, Matteo asked, “Are you calling me ‘Sire’ because you’ve changed your mind about supporting my cause?”
Lord Tragobre’s frown could have collapsed Eshda’s bridge. “I call you ‘Sire’ because you are indeed the rightful king. As for supporting your cause—” Tragobre exhaled deeply. “We need more of Darzeq’s lords bringing their men to your cause before any of us can march. I’ll not send my good men off to certain death, no matter how much I honored your lord-father, and much as I might honor you.”
Well, that was blunt. Matteo carved off a bite of his venison, resisting his desire to glance at Dalia, who was undoubtedly listening, and remarkably quiet. “You’re admirably forthright, my lord, therefore I’ll be equally blunt. I’ve summoned the First Forum to meet here in a few weeks. I intend to require their approval for my marriage. Then I’ll ask your formal permission to wed your honorable and beautiful daughter, so please consider my request.”
Roi spluttered, “What? No! Think of the added danger you’ll place her in. And, may I remind you, Sire, the First Forum’s been dismissed! Dissolved!”
“No, it hasn’t,” Matteo countered. “I commanded no such thing. In fact, I sent each lord including you a personal summons yesterday, with instructions to avoid Arimna and the queen-mother. You’re welcome to remain in Eshda until then. As for danger ... we’re all in danger here.” Matteo leaned forward and grinned at Dalia. “By the way, tell me about this doggerel verse you’ve written to aggravate my traitorous grandmother. It might become my anthem.”
Dalia glanced up at her father, her beautiful eyes so wide and pleading that Matteo wanted to kiss her. Roi growled, slipped a folded parchment from within his belted overtunic, and handed it to Matteo.
Mourn Darzeq... . Matteo’s smile faded as he read. Memories resurfaced of his parents and the massacre. His brothers fell again, one by one, butchered by Gueronn and his mercenaries.
Tarquin, Alvir, Sheth, Efraim, Boas, Melkir...
He finished Dalia’s anguished tribute in silence and then handed it to Anji.
If Cthar were here— Matteo started to shove aside the thought. But the depths of his silent ferocity acknowledged the truth.
If that she-scaln were here, Matteo would cut her to pieces without regret.
How viciously Cthar-like of him. Would this conflict with his grandmother finally bring out his blood’s true nature? Bad enough that he’d been born of Cthar’s “self-above-all” bloodline, but had he inherited her tendencies?
Was he ultimately corruptible?
Furthermore, was it wrong of him to enmesh Dalia further within his troubles? Perhaps he should send her away. Hide her, and Anji, among the Eosyths, or in Istgard until Cthar was dead and this “doggerel,” as Dalia called it, was forgotten. At least Dalia and Anji would remain safe; he’d be sure of it.
Then, he would deal with Cthar.
Quietly, so that neither Roi nor Anji heard him, Matteo threatened beneath his breath, “Grandmother, your own blood will kill you. If it costs me my life, I’ll destroy you!”