The Song Of The Lioness Quartet - In The Hand Of The Goddess Part 13

Myles tugged his beard. "That's possible," he said thoughtfully. "That's very possible."

ROGER knew nothing other than the kind of spell that had been used on the cat and the sleeping guard. "Any village healer can do it, I'm afraid," he told Jonathan grimly. "Sleep is particularly easy to create, because it is something the body does naturally." He gazed out the window and sighed, knowing Jonathan was watching him closely. "A pity about that young man. With your father's orders. . . . We'll have to wait for a ransom demand. Alan's obviously a n.o.ble, and even Duke Hilam won't dare to flout the conventions of war."

But no ransom demand came by messenger bird across the river. It was well past noon on the day after the kidnapping when a red-eyed Jonathan returned to his tent. Faithful lay on the cot beside him, looking lost. Jon fell asleep while petting the cat, but within a few hours he was prowling the riverbank like a restless tiger. Other men were there-men from the camp, weapons-smiths, healers, Jonathan's friends-all staring at the other side, as if they could see the missing three if they looked hard enough. When Jonathan returned to camp, he found Myles staring into a full mug of brandy. To his surprise, the s.h.a.ggy knight wasn't drinking.

"This is too serious for drink," Myles said, guessing the Prince's thoughts. He nodded toward Faithful; the cat was lying with his head on his paws, his eyes wide and unblinking. "He's worried. That makes me worried. I can't be convinced that Alan's capture was not the sole object of this raid."

Jonathan sat down, twisting his hands together. "Myles, I can't leave him over there," he whispered. "He-"

Myles shook his head. "Don't."

"Sir?"

"You're about to tell my why Alan of all people should not be left among enemies for very long. I would rather hear it from Alan, when he's ready to tell me."

"You already know," Jonathan accused.

The older man smiled. "Let's say I've formed an educated guess. I can wait to have it confirmed."

Jonathan scowled, rising to pace again. "If Alan stays on that side of the river, you won't have to wait much longer."

Myles saw Jon was eying the river. "Your father was very specific, Prince Jonathan," he pointed out softly. "It would mean the head of any man who tried to rescue them. I hope you'll warn the others, because I'm afraid a rescue is exactly what they have in mind."

Jonathan stared at Myles. Suddenly he had an idea, a wild idea, but an idea nonetheless. "Perhaps the punishment would depend on who led the rescue!"

Myles met his stare with calm eyes. "I would be obligated by my oath to your father to stop a rescue attempt."

Jonathan smiled, knowing what the knight was really saying. "Of course, Myles. Oh, what will you be doing after the evening meal?"

Myles tugged his beard. "I think I'll ride down to the fort to confer with our commander. I shall probably be there very late."

Jonathan nodded absently. "You should take a couple of men," he murmured, thinking hard. "We don't want you kidnapped, with our security so poor." He strode off, his walk purposeful.

Watching him go, Myles began to chuckle. "That young man gets more like the Old King every day."

The cat stretched, suddenly looking better. Yes, he agreed.

JONATHAN discussed his plan with only one of the men: the soldier who had brought Faithful the night before. He was enough. When Jon, Gary, Raoul and their squires arrived at the falls just after sunset, they found thirty grim-faced men-and Faithful-waiting.

"So many?" Sacherell whispered nervously.

"That's the smallest number I could manage," the young soldier replied. "I've got ten more standing guard against our return."

Jonathan nodded, pleased. "Let's move."

Myles and Roger were playing chess when a guardsman burst in to whisper hurriedly into Roger's ear. Myles saw with interest that Jon's cousin suddenly turned white.

"What?" the Duke snapped.

The guardsman bowed. "It's true, Your Grace. More than thirty of them, I'd guess. They've fired the huts the enemy built on the north side of their camp. I saw it myself from the wall."

Jumping to his feet, Roger turned on Myles, his eyes burning. "Do you know what my precious cousin has done? He's trying to rescue that be-d.a.m.ned squire of his!"

Myles sipped his wine. "Has he indeed?" the knight replied mildly. "The King will not be pleased."

"How could you not hear of this?" Roger demanded hotly. "You were there all afternoon. Surely you must have seen them plotting!"

"They wouldn't tell their plans to anyone who would stop them," Myles said. "I knew they were upset, of course. It is natural for men to be angry when three comrades are s.n.a.t.c.hed from under their very noses. There are even rumors that Jem Tanner was not the only traitor among us."

"Shall I a.s.semble a helping force, Your Grace?" the guardsman wanted to know. "They must be outnumbered-"

"Don't be a fool!" Roger snapped. "It'll be our heads with the King if we further my cousin's folly."

"I doubt His Majesty will have Jonathan beheaded for rescuing a friend," Myles commented. "I also doubt that he will be so unfair as to punish the Prince's companions." He disappeared into his wine cup.

Roger drew a deep breath before answering, finally retrieving his iron self-control. "What my cousin may do, others may not do." He turned to the guardsman. "Post archers along the riverbank. They can cover Prince Jonathan's retreat." He stalked over to his desk to grab his seeing-crystal. "I must inform my uncle. If you will excuse me, Sir Myles?"

ALANNA came to in a small wooden hut. Two other men, Micah and Keel, were there, but they were still unconscious. Glancing at the tiny, iron-barred window, she saw it was well past noon. She drew a dipper of water from the bucket, splashing it in the men's faces with difficulty. This was due in part to the stiffness in her wounded arm and in part to the fact that she, like the two men, was wearing heavy chains. Calling on the small reserve of magic she had built up over the weeks of rest to stop the pounding in her head and arm, she found herself weak and gasping. There was magic in her chains, magic that bound her Gift as well as the rest of her.

Micah and Keel came around slowly, still dazed from the sleeping-spell.

"Sorcery-fah!" Micah growled, spitting on the ground. "No decent warrior uses sorcery!"

"No decent warrior uses traitors, either," Micah told his comrade. "And Duke Hilam's done both. He'll stop at nothing."

They were interrupted by heavy footsteps and the clank of a key ring. The door swung open, revealing a Tusaine captain flanked by two soldiers. He pointed to Micah and Keel.

"You two. You'll be paid well and released, if you give information."

Micah jerked his head at Alanna. "What about the boy? He's a n.o.ble; he's got the right to be ransomed."

The captain shook his head. "Not that one. His Grace wants to talk with him personal." He scowled. "A filthy way to fight a war," he muttered.

Alanna and her two friends exchanged puzzled looks. What was the man talking about?

"You will have your lives if you tell us what we want to know," the Tusaine went on.

"I'd sell my own mother's honor first," Keel snapped. "What are you going to do with Squire Alan?"

The captain shrugged. "You had your chance." He nodded to his men, and the three left, locking the door behind them.

"That was very well said," Alanna remarked slowly, "but I have a feeling you just gave away your lives."

"Mayhap our people will try a rescue," Keel said hopefully.

Alanna shook her head. "The King gave orders. Anyone who tries a rescue will be guilty of treason."