Garet was more than happy to follow Moira, staring at her endlessly as they made their way along large roads and small. Every time she glanced back toward him, it was like the sun came out from behind a cloud, and something in his heart melted.
“How far do you think it is now?” Garet asked.
“Not far,” Moira said. “Which is a pity. If there had been more time, we could have found a nice little inn to stay in somewhere.”
Something about her tone made it clear that there would have been one room for them at the inn, not two, and that made Garet wish he could find a way to get them both lost, drag this out a little longer. He couldn’t, though, because his brothers were depending on him. An army of the common folk would be something, one with Picti in it would be better, but in truth, to beat the king, they needed at least some nobles on their side. They had to keep going.
“You’re sure the lord we’re going to see will help Royce?” Garet asked.
“Lord Aversham was very loyal to Royce’s father,” Moira said. “When King Carris took the throne, he retreated to his lands rather than swear loyalty to him.”
“He sounds like the kind of man who will rise to the cause,” Garet said.
“I hope so,” Moira said. “We’re going to him, because once he rises, everyone else will rise as well. We have to get there first, though.”
They kept going down the road, Moira’s certainty helping to carry Garet forward. The miles disappeared beneath their horses’ hooves, the countryside around them passing from farmland into a patch of forest.
Ahead, a tree trunk lay fallen across the track. Instinctively, Garet loosened his sword in its sheath.
“What is it?” Moira asked, looking back at him.
“That tree has been cut,” Garet said. “It didn’t just… look out!”
A trio of men leapt from the trees, dragging Moira from her horse. Two of them held onto her, while the third of them leveled a crossbow at Garet.
“Might as well get down, boy,” he said. “Wouldn’t want the young lady to be hurt, would you? Well, not more than she’s going to be. We’ll take what you own, and we’ll have our fun with her, and then you’ll go on your—”
Garet leapt from the saddle, throwing himself at the crossbow man. The crossbow went off, the bolt flashing past Garet so close he felt it graze his skin. He slammed into the crossbow man then, hitting and kneeing, wrestling for position. He saw a flash of steel, and Garet clamped both hands on the other man’s arm as he sought to stop the knife. He twisted away, wrenching the blade clear of the other man’s grip so it fell to the forest floor.
He kicked the other man away, grabbing down for the blade, but the bandit kicked at his wrist and Garet felt pain flare through it. Garet pushed him back, and now there was the space to draw his sword. He lunged at the bandit, feeling his flesh give way beneath the sharpness of his blade.
Another of the men was already charging at him, sword held in both hands. Their swords clashed again and again, Garet having to parry and give way against the strength of the attacks. Then he saw an opening. Ducking low, he slashed across the other man’s belly, then brought his blade up just in time to stop the stroke aimed at his head.
The last of the men had a knife to Moira’s throat, holding her there like a shield.
“You stay back!” he yelled. “Stay back or I’ll cut her!”
“You should run,” Garet said. “Your friends are dead. If you stay, you’re dead. If you hurt her, you’re dead. Your only option is to run.”
The bandit hesitated for a second, and then threw down his blade to run. Garet let him go. Moira, though, walked over to where the crossbow sat and loaded a bolt.
“What are you doing?” Garet asked.
She turned and fired, the bolt striking the bandit in the back.
“No one threatens me.” She turned to Garet, throwing her arms around him. “Thank you. You saved me. Most of the men I know would have left me to the bandits.”
“I’m not like them,” Garet said.
“No, you’re not,” Moira said, and she kissed him. Garet found himself caught, not really knowing what to do, not wanting her to realize just how little he knew about women. He was so busy worrying about the experience that it was over before he’d even worked out how to react.
“I…” Garet didn’t know what to say.
“You know, we could just find somewhere to go,” Moira said. “We don’t have to go find the nobles. Not for a day or two.”
Garet wanted that so much it hurt to shake his head. He did it anyway.
“What if King Carris attacks while we’re doing it?” he asked. “My brothers are depending on me. We have to get to this Lord Aversham and get his help.”
“I understand,” Moira said. She looked wistful for a moment. “Pity. Come on, we should probably go in case there are more bandits.”
They made their way back to the horses, Garet cleaning his blade on a scrap of cloth before he sheathed it. He wondered if Royce would have been impressed by the way Garet had fought the men; maybe not, because Garet had seen him cut through two or three opponents easily before now. Even so, to come through something like that unscathed… Garet was starting to think that he was finally fighting as well as his brothers could.
He and Moira continued riding through the forest. The light was dappled there, the sun hard to see, so it was difficult to keep track of how much time was passing, or which direction they were heading in. Even so, Moira seemed to know where they were going, and Garet was more than grateful for that. Alone, he suspected that he would never have been able to find nobles loyal to the old king; he simply didn’t know enough about the politics involved.
Eventually, finally, they came out of the forest, and Garet could see what had to be their destination. A motte and bailey stood on a hill, surrounded by a small town. Moira was already leading the way toward it.
“We’ll have to be careful in town,” Garet said. “We won’t know if everyone will be friendly to us. There might be people loyal to the king there.”
“Good thinking,” Moira said. “But if we keep the cowls of our cloaks up, no one should recognize us.”
They went down into the town, and it seemed similar to any other place Garet had seen. There were people going about their business, and a couple of sharp-eyed watchmen watching out for trouble. Garet and Moira tied their horses down in the town, reasoning that they would attract less attention on foot.
This especially seemed to be the case since there was a line of supplicants heading up toward the castle. Men and women of all ages were there, some wealthy looking, some more ordinary.
“That’s how we’ll get in without attracting attention,” Garet said.
“Yes,” Moira agreed. “That should get us past the walls, at least. After that, we need to make sure we speak with Lord Aversham directly. We don’t want to waste time stuck talking to his servants.”
Garet nodded at that. They couldn’t afford to spend too much of their time there just trying to talk to the castle’s lord, when any delay might mean being too late to help. They needed to talk to Lord Aversham himself, get his agreement, and then move on to the next of the lords who might help.
“Thank you for agreeing to come with me,” Garet said as they shuffled forward in the line. “I don’t think I could have done all of this without your help.”
“You can thank me later,” Moira said with a smile. “I just want to show people that I belong.”
“You do,” Garet reassured her. “No matter who your husband used to be, or what you were forced to do in the duke’s castle, you’re one of us now.”
They kept on moving with the line. There were guards ahead who seemed to be asking each visitor their business. Garet felt tension rise in him at the sight of that.
“What do we say?” Garet asked.
Moira didn’t seem bothered. “We tell them the truth, or some of it. If I tell them who I am, they will give us an audience with his lordship, I’m sure of it.”
Garet wasn’t as certain as Moira sounded, but he knew he had to trust her. She’d gotten him this far, after all.
“State your business,” one of the guards on the gate said.
Moira pulled back the hood of the cloak she wore. “I am Moira, the former wife of Lord Nors’s youngest son. I was hoping to speak to Lord Aversham personally, on a matter of the utmost importance.”
The guard stood there in obvious shock for a moment, but then nodded, stepping out of the way.
“Of course, my lady,” he said. “I will have a servant take you and your companion to a private meeting chamber at once.”
“It might be better if this were public,” Moira said, which caught Garet a little off guard. “We will go to him, wherever he is.”
“He is currently in the great hall hearing supplicants, my lady,” the guard said. He gestured in the direction of the castle’s central keep, above.
Garet set off on the climb to it with Moira, still not quite understanding.
“Why didn’t you want to meet with him in private?” he asked.
“Lord Aversham is a man who likes to be seen to do all the things a lord must,” Moira explained. “If we remind him of his obligations in front of his people, it makes him more likely to do what we want.”
Garet nodded. Once again, he felt as though Moira was the one making sure that everything ran smoothly here, while all he’d managed to do was kill a couple of bandits. Even so, he knew he would have a part to play soon. He would need to make the case for following Royce, and probably this man would look at him as a stand-in for his brother. If he didn’t impress, then no amount of help from Moira would make things better.
They walked through the castle, to a hall fronted by large double doors. There was a crowd of minor lords and knights in there, along with supplicants and peasants who had simply come to watch the proceedings. Lord Aversham sat on a chair at the front, a stone desk in front of him so he could make notes. He was a man in his fifties, mustached and with gradually whitening hair. He waved a hand vaguely at the last supplicant.
“Yes, yes, I know, you’re very grateful. Please move along so that I can hear the next case. Who is next?”
“That would be us,” Moira called out, moving confidently past all the others there to stand before Lord Aversham. Garet had to hurry to keep up with her.
“And who are you that you can push past everyone else here?” Lord Aversham demanded. “I am not a lord who abides unfairness amongst those who follow him.”
“I am Moira, wife of Lord Nors’s youngest son, sister-in-law to Altfor, and noble lady of this land.”
“Ah, forgive me,” Lord Aversham said. “I did not recognize you, Lady Moira. And your companion?”
Garet knew this was his cue. He threw back his hood to speak. “I am Garet, the brother of Royce, the one who overthrew Altfor and your rightful king!”
“What is this?” Lord Aversham demanded, rising to his feet. “Is this some joke?”
That was not the reaction Garet had expected, but Moira quickly beat it.
“Forgive me, my lord,” she said, “but when the rebels took Altfor’s castle, I could see no way to escape. I had to convince them that I could help them to find allies, and when one of them insisted on coming with me, I brought him to you, the most loyal of the king’s men.”
“The most loyal…” Garet began, the sense of betrayal starting to rise in him.
“Oh, Garet,” Moira said. “You didn’t really think I was going to help you build your army, did you? Lord Aversham, I have brought you this traitor. As you’ve heard from his own lips, he is the brother of Royce, and probably of value to the king.”
“Thank you, my dear,” Lord Aversham said. “Guards!”
Guardsmen moved forward, and Garet drew his sword. He swung for one, but the man managed to parry the blow with the haft of his halberd. Another came in from the side, swinging at him with a sword. Garet managed to block this blow, but only barely.
“Alive, please,” Lord Aversham said. He made no move to join the fight. For her part, Moira stepped back from him, a coldly satisfied smile on her face.
Perhaps it was the sight of that smile that robbed some of the fight from Garet, or perhaps it was just the thought that he’d failed. His brothers had entrusted this to him, and he’d failed, not just them, but their entire cause. He’d trusted Moira because he’d been stupid, and now…
Now a spear haft slammed into his side, making Garet stumble. He struck out blindly with his sword, feeling it connect with a man, but it stuck there in his opponent’s flesh, and the falling guard’s weight dragged it from his hand.
More guards descended on him quickly, grabbing and hitting, kicking and striking with the pommels of their weapons. Garet fell to his knees under the weight of blows, then to his belly, then could only curl up like a frightened child as the guards continued to beat him senseless.
“That’s enough,” Lord Aversham said, and the guards seized Garet’s arms, dragging him upright.
Every inch of his body hurt in that moment. It seemed to Garet that he saw the world through a red haze, and it took him a moment to realize that blood had dripped down from a wound on his forehead.
“Take him and put him in a tower room,” Lord Aversham said. “I think the king will pay dearly to have him.”
“And I hope you won’t forget who brought him to you,” Moira said. She walked forward as elegantly as if she’d been on a dance floor, drawing a finger down Garet’s cheek. It came away bloody. “Oh, foolish boy. You really should have gone with me to an inn somewhere.”
Garet struggled against his captors, throwing himself against their grip, but they held him easily. One struck him with something from the side, the impact hard and metallic. As he collapsed down into unconsciousness, he swore to himself that he would see Moira dead for this if it was the last thing he did.