I moved away from Wyln, and this time managed to stay upright. “I don’t know,” I said, rubbing my forehead, a throbbing ache beginning. “I can’t remember.”
“Perhaps, Your Majesty, we should wait until we figure out all the angles of this new attack against Rabbit before we go haring off to the garrison,” Ranulf said.
“Ha, ha, ” I muttered, but was drowned out as a murmur of agreement arose from not only the other aristos and the town elders, but also royal guards, nobles’ armsmen, watchmen and even servants, all crammed into my room. Those who couldn’t fit inside spilled out the door, filling the hallway. Cais, however, had managed to work his way in and now stood with Finn at the fireplace, Finn softly talking as he showed his uncle the hauberk and padding. They both turned to stare at the bolt lying on the table.
“No,” Jusson said. “I do not want to find out later that if I hadn’t tarried, they would still be alive.”
Laurel ran a paw over his head, rattling his beads. “There’s that,” he admitted.
“In any case, all I have is one complement of royal guards,” Jusson added. “We need the extra men.”
“There are our armsmen, sire,” an aristo offered.
“Only those who were lodged in town,” Jusson said. “The rest are also penned up at the garrison, remember?”
“There is the Watch, Your Majesty,” Chadde said. She’d been eyeing Dyfrig at the window, but now turned to join in the conversation.
“So there is,” Jusson agreed. “But considering what we’ve already faced, if we have to fight our way out of here, does anyone think what we have is enough?”
No one said anything.
Jusson gave his sharp-edged smile, which faded as he looked back at me. “We have to go, but I don’t know what to do with you, cousin. I daren’t leave you here with you so obviously a target. Yet with everything that’s happening to and around you, it may be best for you to remain, out of the way of sorcery and stray arrows.”
“We have Cais, honored king,” Laurel said.
“Yes,” Jusson agreed absently. He then frowned at Laurel. “But that’s neither here nor there.”
My spine abruptly tightened at the thought of being left behind with none but Laurel and servants, no matter how capable. “I want to go, Your Majesty,” I said.
“You can barely stand,” Ranulf protested.
I opened my mouth, but Jusson waved me silent. “Except possibly for my lord elf, none of us are at our best, and I have my doubts about him. In any case, Rabbit staying here makes me just a little more nervous than Rabbit going with us—”
My sigh of relief was drowned out as my stomach gave another plaintive growl.
“—as soon as he’s eaten,” Jusson said, also sighing.
“Yes, sire,” I said. “Thank you.”
“There’s the old saying about not thanking me until you know what you’ve got yourself into,” Jusson said. “However, what I want to know—” He turned his head. “Who the bloody hell are you?”
There was another moment of dense silence as everyone followed the king’s gaze to Dyfrig standing at the window, the doyen’s back still turned to us. Then Dyfrig looked over his shoulder and a gasp rose up.
Jusson didn’t gasp but he did blink. Twice. “Your Reverence?”
“He has come into his full power,” Laurel began.
“I want to be a mage,” Magistrate Ordgar said in a loud whisper.
“Truly a miracle,” Dyfrig said. “But before we lift up praise and holy offerings…” He turned back to the window. “Has anyone noticed how quiet it is?”
Chapter Thirty-one
There was a pause, then a mad dash for the window with Jusson in the lead. But before the king could pull the curtains further aside, Thadro caught up with him.
“Sire, please. Remember the snipers.”
Casting a glance at the bolt, Jusson shifted so that he stood behind the wall and peered out the window at an oblique angle. “From what I can see, it looks normal,” the king said. “Quiet, but normal.”
“The hum is missing, Your Majesty,” Dyfrig said, still standing in front of the window. The thought of folks wielding crossbows apparently didn’t faze him. “We should hear traffic, people, the sound of a town in the morning.”
“Perhaps everyone’s staying home,” an aristo said. “As His Majesty pointed out, the last few days have been eventful.”
“We’d still hear something,” Dyfrig said. “Birds, a dog barking, someone going on an unavoidable errand.”
“Farmers heading for market,” Chadde said, standing with her head cocked, listening. “Delivery carts and street vendors. Even the rustling from the wind is missing.”
“You’re right,” Alderman Geram said. “It’s like we’d just had a heavy snowfall.”
So it did. Not only was there no sound, but the silence itself was flat—as if any noise would be swallowed without a trace. Frowning, both Arlis and Jeff met my gaze before all three of us turned to the window, Arlis rising from his bed.
Jusson let the curtain fall. “Who’s guarding the front door?” he asked.
Thadro looked at me. However, while duty rotas were technically my responsibility, I hadn’t had the time or the opportunity to go over the lists. Before Thadro could give me his mud-puddle stare, one of the Own inside the room spoke up.
“It’s Berand and Joscelin, sire.”
“Do they know enough to report anything out of the ordinary?” Jusson asked as he started walking towards the door, Dyfrig with him. “Would they know what is not ordinary?”
With Jusson and Dyfrig out of the way, more mobbed the window. Ranulf and Beollan gave the street below a quick glance before withdrawing to follow the king, Beollan’s gaze unusually troubled. Others filled their places, pressing in close to the glass panes, forgetting about potential assassins. The crowd shifted again and Jeff and Arlis took their turn to see.
“Yes, sire,” Thadro said, walking with Jusson and Dyfrig. Their pace quickened. “They each have enough sense to separate shadows from substance—”
There was a tinkling crash of breaking glass and everyone whipped around to look at Arlis, who was staring at the blood blooming on his shirt. He then lifted his wide-eyed gaze to the still-quivering quarrel that had grazed him before it struck the wall.
I shoved through people. “Damn it, Arlie! Move!”
Jeff was already in motion. He grabbed Arlis’ arm, yanking him out of the window, and pulling the curtains closed at the same time. Most everyone hurried to them, exclaiming. Jusson and Thadro, though, took off running out of the room. A moment later, the rest of us caught on and we scrambled after them. We thundered pell-mell down the main stairs, skidding onto the black-and-white tiles of the foyer floor, and catching up with Jusson and Thadro at the front door. Motioning for quiet, Thadro unlocked and unlatched it and, standing to one side, used his dagger to open it and peer through.
“Blast,” he whispered. “They’re gone.” He opened the door wider, trying to see more without sticking his head out. “So are the horses, carriages and watchmen, all gone without us hearing a bloody thing—”
“Hello the house!”
I and several others jumped at the sudden shout in the leaden quiet, but Thadro merely paused, frowning. “I know that voice.”
It was familiar to me too and I tried to place it. All around me, though, the town elders’ mouths dropped open, and the lines of pain and discontent on Ranulf’s face disappeared as he and Beollan looked at each other in astonishment.
“Of course you know it, my lord,” Chadde said, her gray eyes molten. “It belongs to Helto. The owner of the pile of ashes that once was the Copper Pig.”