Zala raced down the street, she heard shouting from within the barracks, followed by a furious pounding. Sparing a glance in that direction, she saw that every door was blocked with timbers, piles of masonry, casks, or barrels. Further on, she passed a solitary figure leaning against the columns of one of the fine houses now home to part of Caergoth’s garrison.
Queen Casberry. She and her kender troop had been busy. They had blocked the barracks’ doors.
The commotion near the prisoners’ cages had become an uproar. Zala’s sword had been passed back among the ragged Dom-shu and vanished. The guards who hadn’t chased Zala demanded it back. Miya’s reply was brief but pungent.
The sergeant of the guard summoned a squad of archers. Soon, ten bows were leveled at the foresters, standing shoulder to shoulder just inside the bars. Other prisoners scampered out of the line of fire.
“Give up the blade!” shouted the sergeant..
“Come and take it, grasslander!” Voyarunta bellowed back.
The Ergothian raised his hand. Ten bowstrings creaked as they were drawn back.
“Will you murder us all?” said Miya. “I am the wife of Lord Tolandruth!”
The archers glanced at their commander. “You are all condemned prisoners of the empire!” said the sergeant. “Yield the blade or die!”
Uncle Corpse pushed his daughter behind him. “Enough talk! Dom-shu, time to go!”
The tribesmen rushed the bars, smashing into them with all their weight. Bows twanged, and arrows flashed in a short flight to meet the oncoming wall of flesh.
Governor Lord Wornoth’s factotum was a plump, fussy man named Tello. He arrived at his master’s bedchamber to find the doors already closed. Squaring his shoulders, Tello lifted his baton of office and rapped on the portal. A loud voice beyond the door yelled at him to enter. He did so, and the servant behind him scurried in to light the room’s lamps.
Wornoth sat up in bed. Although he was not an old man, the strain of ruling the second city of the empire in Ackal V’s name showed in his hollow eyes, sallow complexion, and thinning brown hair. Tello pretended not to notice the young woman lying next to Lord Wornoth, her face buried in the bedclothes. She was not, he knew, one of the governor’s wives.
“Tello, if the bakali aren’t at the gates, I’ll have you flogged for this interruption!”
“My gracious lord,” Tello said, putting his soft hands together and bowing. “The prisoners in Luin’s Field are rioting!”
“Sweet Mishas, you woke me to tell me that? Tell the guards to quell any disturbance. When they’re done, tell the captain to give you forty lashes!”
Tello bowed again in acknowledgment of his master’s judgment, but added, “There is more, Lord Governor. We have captured one of those who was trying to free the prisoners. It’s the Red Robe Helbin, my lord.”
Wornoth’s annoyance vanished. “Helbin! Where is he?”
“In your audience hall, my lord, under heavy guard.”
The governor slid out of bed. A lackey hurried forward to hold his robe. As Wornoth tied the sash around his waist, he told Tello to rouse the garrison.
“Have them clear the streets,” he commanded. “Anyone caught helping the prisoners escape is to be killed on sight. I will see Master Helbin at once.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Factotum and servants departed, and Wornoth’s bedmate exited through a door concealed in one of the room’s walls. Wornoth donned his rings of office and hung the heavy governor’s medallion around his neck. The golden emblem of the House of Ackal felt cold against his skin.
So, the Red Robe deserter had been caught. The emperor’s pleasure at this news would be great-as would his gratitude.
He went to the small gong by his bed, intending to summon a scribe to take down an immediate dispatch, but he paused. Perhaps it would be better to find out exactly what Helbin knew first. Great discretion had to be exercised in dealing with any important person from Daltigoth, especially Ackal V. Although the emperor had issued a death warrant for the wayward wizard, it was entirely possible Helbin was acting on the emperor’s behalf, and the warrant was only a ruse to confuse Ackal V’s enemies.
Wornoth rubbed his forehead. Countless possibilities chased themselves around in his brain. He could feel a major headache beginning, just behind his eyes.
Dirty and exhausted, Tol and a twenty-man escort rode into Tylocost’s dark, fireless camp. They had covered the distance between the Isle of Elms and Caergoth in less than two days. The Army of the East, moving more slowly, was strung out behind them. Its full strength would not arrive for another day, possibly two.
The Juramona Militia cheered Tol’s arrival. The noise brought Tylocost out of his tent, and he bowed to his captor-commander.
Drink was brought. Tol gulped cider as Tylocost apprised him of the discovery of the Dom-shu prisoners and Zala’s father.
The wooden cup fell from Tol’s gloved hand. “Miya is here? And Chief Voyarunta?”
“So I am told. Is Kiya well? I’m surprised she isn’t with you.”
Tol said only that Kiya was well and was coming later with Egrin and the main body of the army. In truth, she had been profoundly affected by her experience at the Isle of Elms. Tol had told her to remain behind and watch out for Egrin, and she hadn’t objected. Oddly, she seemed sad, as though the slain nomads were her own kin and not the enemy.
Tylocost had little faith the kender could prevail against an entire city garrison, but Tol didn’t share these sentiments. The kender, he said, could be a valuable asset to Zala-if the erratic little folk remembered they were on a rescue mission and not in Caergoth to “find” interesting things.
Tol glanced at the eastern sky. It was well past midnight, but daybreak was still marks away. Nevertheless, he made his next decision quickly.
“Muster your troops, General. We go to Caergoth.”
“My lord? You intend to force an entry with only five hundred Riders and a few thousand foot soldiers?”
Tol smiled grimly. “I don’t plan to force anything,” he said. “The governor will invite us in.”
Chapter 19
The Caergoth archers loosed a single volley into the rebellious prisoners. Three of the Dom-shu went down, and Chief Voyarunta received an arrow in the upper thigh. Grunting, he broke off the fletched end, pushed the shaft on through, and yanked it free of the hard flesh of his leg. The Dom-shu, with other prisoners, formed a human ladder pushing against the fence. Miya and a dozen captives climbed the tangle of limbs to the top of the cage. Their swift progress unnerved the archers, who shifted their aim to pick off the prisoners as they reached the top of the spiked fence. They never let fly the second volley. A barrage of brickbats and paving stones struck them, knocking some flat and spoiling the aim of the rest.
The sergeant of the guard whirled to see who dared interfere with his men. On the steps of the Temple of Corij were more than a dozen short figures. He took them for children until several in front bent over and bared their bottoms. All heckled the soldiers in loud, high-pitched tones.
“Kender!” the sergeant bellowed. “You men there! Get those stinking-!”
A heavy weight landed on his back, driving him face-first to the pavement. It was Miya. She stepped off the unconscious man and said mockingly. “Thank you for breaking my fall!”
Although Chief Voyarunta’s leg was bleeding, he had taken his place among his men at the base of the human ladder. When he saw his daughter outside, he shouted for Zala’s short sword and tossed it to her through the bent bars. She caught it deftly and hurried to free him and the rest.
