"Ah!" Roakh screamed. "Stop! Stop, please! I'll do it."
Menduarthis stopped his assault and dropped his hands to his sides.
"Just… just help me up," said Roakh. "I'll, ah!" He winced in pain. "I'll get them."
"No," said Menduarthis. "You point, and we'll get them."
Roakh glared at him. Menduarthis raised one hand again, his fingers already twirling again.
"No!" Roakh screamed. He pointed in Hweilan's direction. "Under the pile! There!"
She turned. Shoved up against the wall not far from the hallway was a jumble of cloaks, clothes, and what looked like an old tapestry.
"Careful, Hweilan," said Menduarthis. "This one's a trickster."
She peeled back and tossed aside the thick fabrics with the tip of her knife. At first there were just more of the same, then she came across a long tassel, a bit of rope that looked fit only for burning, then under an old leather jerkin was a familiar bundle. One of Lendri's belt pouches. The larger one. She grabbed it and opened it. Inside was a whetstone, bowstrings, arrowheads, a few wooden phials stopped with tightly rolled felt, and a ring. Not gold. Darker and redder. More like copper, with darker etchings all around it. The ring he had used to summon the fire for Scith's pyre. She closed the pouch and tucked it under her belt.
Digging through more clothes and another bit of tapestry, she found her old knife and her father's bow. She gasped with relief, tears welling in her eyes. She slipped the knife into her boot, sheathed the new blade Menduarthis had given her, and cradled the bow to her chest.
Standing and turning to face Menduarthis, she wiped the tears from her eyes. "It's here. Everything I need."
"Good." Menduarthis looked down on Roakh. "Now, back to business."
He raised his hand, his fingers twirling, and Roakh's eyes went wide. "No! You promised!"
"And I'm a liar," said Menduarthis, a stiff breeze already wafting through the room. "Even if I could trust you not to go cawing off to the queen the moment we leave-and I can't do that, can I? — the truth is I never liked you, you conniving, greedy, gluttonous little bastard. You've had this coming for a long time, and I am going to enjoy myself."
Roakh clamped his jaw shut again and grabbed his nose. Tears streamed out of his eyes. The air in the room moved, eddying currents twisting every which way and then coalescing around the two men.
But then another sound broke through the howling of the wind in the chamber. Horns. From outside. Dozens of them at least. Not the brass sound of the horns of Highwatch Hweilan knew so well. These had a lower, howling sound.
"What is that?" Hweilan asked.
"Ujaiyen clarions," said Menduarthis, and he dropped his hand. The air stopped dead in the room, though bits of it still seemed to be playing in Menduarthis's hair. Even the howling of the storm outside seemed to have hushed.
The horns continued, and amid them Hweilan could hear the cries of voices in the distance.
"We're under attack," said Menduarthis.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Guric spent the evening in prayer.The longest time he had ever done so since his knighthood-and the first time since Valia's death. The small shrine devoted to Torm was set in a bit of the mountain near the gardens where most of the High Warden's family had once had their apartments.
In the sacking of Highwatch, the shrine had been robbed of its gold, the jewels pried from the statues, and the silver chalice of the altar itself was long gone. Probably in some Creel chief's tent. But Guric had not allowed the altar to be desecrated. At the time, he wasn't sure why. But now, he was glad.
He did not feel at peace. Only death would bring him peace now. But at least he felt determined.
Where it had all gone wrong, he still didn't know, and if Torm knew, the god was silent. Guric knew his own center had never been right since Valia's death. But he often wondered if her death was Torm's judgment for Guric's defiance of his father, his family, and their house. In his heart of hearts, he did not believe that. Torm demanded justice, but there was no malice in his judgments. No, Guric believed his life had come to ruin at one critical juncture: Argalath.
Had Argalath used Guric from the beginning? Deceived him? Or did the man honestly see good in the horrors he had wrought? In the end, it didn't really matter. The man had to be stopped.
Guric's guards fell into step behind him as he left the shrine and crossed the winter-bare garden. Guric stopped in the middle of the garden and looked around. The ivy climbing the walls was brown, the branches on the bushes black and leafless. How fitting, Guric thought. He turned his attention to Boran and said, "Gather ten more guards. Men you trust. Hemnur and Isidor." He hesitated. "And Sagar."
"Sagar?" Boran whispered and looked at the other guards, standing a respectful distance away. "You're certain, my lord? His loyalty-"
"I have no faith in Sagar's loyalty to me," said Guric. "But I am quite certain of his… antipathy for others."
Boran's eyebrows rose, and he looked around. Not gathering his thoughts. He seemed to be searching for spies. "You mean-"
"You know who I mean. No need to speak it."
"If I may…" Boran swallowed, and Guric saw that a fine sheen of sweat had broken out on his brow. "For what am I gathering these men?"
"Nothing more than a walk, I hope," he said. "But they should come armed. Just in case."
Guric, fourteen guards at his back, stood before the arched doorway that led to the southern tower where Valia had been housed. Every guard had a sword at his belt, two carried axes in their hands, and every one wore mail and helm.
Two Nar guards had been here before. Now, nothing. The archway stood empty. Unguarded. Guric did not know whether to feel relief or dread. It delayed a possible confrontation with Argalath's men. But that Valia's chamber was unguarded…
A thin curtain of dread draped itself over Guric's mind, and for the first time since leaving his prayers, he felt his determination cracking.
He turned to Boran. "I want you, Isidor, and two others with me. Everyone else, guard this entrance. No one comes in or out without my leave. And I mean no one. Understood?"
The men bowed.
Boran said, "Yes, my lord," and chose two men to accompany them. The axemen.
Guric's unease grew as they mounted the stairs. Something was not right. No lamps or torches burned in the sconces. It was cold enough in the tower that their breath steamed before them, and the sounds of their footfalls echoed against profound emptiness.
Long before they reached the top, Guric began to suspect. But before they rounded the final bend in the stairs to the top platform and the door, he knew.
No guards stood vigil on the platform. The door to her cell stood open. The chamber beyond still held a foul reek, but nothing stirred within. Even the rats had forsaken the chamber.
Valia was gone.
Guric rejoined the rest of the guards at the bottom of the stairway. Seeing the fury on his face, they stepped back. Two bowed their heads and did not look up.
"Did anyone try to come this way?" Guric asked.
"No one, my lord."
Guric turned to Boran. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, reconsidering. He'd been about to say, We must find Argalath. Now.
But no. He would not go to Argalath, making demands and begging like a cur under his master's table.
No.
Argalath would come to him.
"My lord?" said Boran. "What are your orders?"
"I am going to my chambers. I want a flagon of wine waiting for me when I get there. Before I am finished draining the dregs, I want Argalath in front of me."