His expression closed up again, the lines of his face becoming hard and determined. Khollo backed away uncertainly. Then Janis laughed fiercely, baring his teeth and throwing his head back as he looked out the nearest window.
“What a beautiful day!” he exclaimed. “As will be the next and the next. And soon, we fight.” His eyes gleamed. “We fight and we fight and we drive them before us.” He looked down at Khollo. “While there is life, there is hope. I will not give in to despair again.”
Chapter 14
Nothing happened the rest of the day. The West Bank waited with bated breath for the inevitable. Soldiers moved about quietly, household staff darted about furtively. Word of Ishkabur’s fate had gotten out, adding to the fog of fear and uncertainty that hung over the keep.
Ondus’ patrol had left at first light, with orders to stay alert and avoid the places where ambushes could easily be set up. They were to observe, not engage. Khollo had watched them go, twelve proud men in full armor, their weapons drawn before they even rode through the gate. Men whom Khollo might never see again if things went badly beyond the walls.
Khollo shook the morbid thoughts aside forcefully, and nearly dropped the tray he was carrying. Janis had assigned him to see that food and drink were brought to the king’s chatelain, who had been complaining loudly of his imprisonment ever since Janis had given the order. It had made sleeping nearly impossible, what with the shouts echoing through the tower. As he stepped into the stairwell, Khollo heard the chatelain start up again, two floors above where the young warrior was. But the chatelain’s cries were quickly joined by another voice.
Khollo frowned and increased his pace, curious. He reached the next landing and recognized the voice as Sermas’. He must have been assigned to Clemon’s guard again. What puzzled Khollo most was what he was hearing:
In the day long past of the year far gone,
Came a great calamity,
But old King Rast and his brave young son,
Drove it right back to the sea.
Oh, Rast was the first and his son the third,
With his brother in betwee’
But after the first and his son the third,
No more heroes did we see.
In the royal bowels of the fourth king Tam,
Was the next disaster born,
Whenere’ he –
Sermas broke off when he saw Khollo emerge from the stairwell. He grinned cheerfully at first, then groaned. “Not my replacement?”
Khollo shook his head apologetically. “Afraid not. What are you doing?”
Hern snorted. “Sermas fancies that if he sings loud enough he might be able to drown out the wailing from inside.” He gave the door to Clemon’s cell a heartfelt kick. “Stow it!” he bellowed over a fresh protest.
“Well, it’s a change of atmosphere at least,” Khollo said slyly. “I’m not sure I’ve heard that song before.”
Sermas reddened, embarrassed. “I was trying for something loud and rowdy, thought maybe it would cheer me up and annoy Clemon at the same time.”
“It’s a tavern ballad that lists the kings in order, according to various fictitious ailments and tragedies,” Hern explained. “Only Rast gets any respect. The rest . . . well, you heard how the second verse started.”
Khollo nodded grinning. “It showed promise,” he agreed. “Carry on, Sermas. Maybe it will reach the others in their fog of doom downstairs. Now get this door open so I can give our guest his morning rations.”
“Any word from Ondus yet?” Hern asked as Sermas struggled with the door.
Khollo shook his head. “It’s hardly been an hour. They’re to check in with Janis every two.”
Sermas swung the door open and ushered Khollo inside. Clemon’s ranting stopped abruptly. He glared up at the two young men, both with determinedly affable expressions on their faces.
“Here’s your breakfast, my lord,” Khollo said. “The kitchens outdid themselves.”
“I ought to have the lot of you strung up for treason,” Clemon muttered as Khollo set the tray down on a rickety table near the door.
“Who, us?” Sermas asked innocently. “What have we done?”
“Imprisoned an officer of the crown for starters. Blasphemed the line of kings. Nothing too severe,” Clemon replied sarcastically.
“Good, if it’s nothing too severe we might get away with it,” Sermas observed, backing towards the door. “Enjoy your meal, sir. Better keep your strength up.”
Khollo and Sermas left quickly, shutting the door behind them. From within came the sounds of explosive cursing, then the rants began again.
“Traitors! Barbarians! His majesty will see you hang for this. I’ll have you locked up for eternity, starving to death, rats gnawing at – ”
“Sermas, how did that song go?” Hern asked innocently.
Sermas grinned. “Do you know any of the verses?”
“A few.”
“Well, join in any time,” Sermas said. “We’ll start at the beginning, I can’t remember if I was on Tam or Thron.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Khollo said, shaking his head.
As Khollo descended back to the main level, he heard the two cadets bellowing the words to the old song tunelessly. Hern was stumbling over every other word, but what they lacked in quality they made up for in enthusiasm. By the time the sounds of merriment died away, Khollo had heard the tale of Tam the king of digestive issues, Hammon the Deaf, and Thron the nearly blind. The mishaps of the kings were growing progressively more fantastic and ridiculous with each verse. Khollo was unable to make anything out after Thron led a charge from his flagship and promptly fell overboard.
Down below, things were considerably calmer, the people still moving about furtively. A
