Part 29 (1/2)
Alvar gave a single sharp nod.
”And be's training a lot of lancers.” Anna thought. Maybe she should go straight back to Falcor. Or follow Jecks' advice and just repair the ford at Soprat. If the southern lords were preparing revolt, she might need quick access to and from the east. Anientta would have to wait-like a lot of things. ”You may be right, Lord Jecks. This is not the time to visit Synope.” She paused. ”Do you have any idea where that last scene might be?”
”No. Lady Anna. I do not. It has to be south of here, because there were red quince trees on the hillside, and they do not grow north of the Synor.”
”I hope Hanfor's had some luck in finding armsrnen and blades for them to bear.” She shook her head.
”We'd better make plans to leave as soon as possible.”
”I feel that is wise, lady.” Jecks cleared his throat. ”I would also feel happier if you would wear a breastplate.”
Alvar nodded.
”Armor?”
Jecks looked down. ”If... Arkad had been younger ... If you are caught unaware... you can recover from injuries to limbs, if anyone can.”
”I suppose I should learn to wear a helmet, too?” She softened her tone and added, ”I'm sorry. I'll give it a try.”
”You are Defalk, Lady Anna,” Alvar said slowly..
Now she had to worry about armor? And another fight? She didn't want to use sorcery against Dencer, but would she have any choice? He didn't seem likely to listen to reason, and she certainly didn't have a large enough army to avoid using it. In any case, she needed to be in Ealcor, or somewhere not so out of touch as Cheor.
She took a deep breath, then reached for the pitcher of wine. She needed it. She hoped she wouldn't need it too much in the days ahead.
32.
STROMWER, DEFALK.
Dencer opens the iron-bound door and steps into the narrow, stone-walled room.
Wendella looks up from the table, then stands, and inclines her head. ”My lord, what wish you?”
”What wish I? What wish I? What sort of fool do you take me for? What wish I?” He lifts the leather quirt in his hand. ”Do you see this? See you this?”
”Yes, my lord.” Wendella's eyes meet Dencer's.
”The sole good you have done, the sole good is my son! Better I had your tongue ripped out.”
”My lord?”
”You said you made no bargains with the b.i.t.c.h!”
”I said I made none, and I made none.”
”You lie. You lie as rushes on a peasant's floor.” Dencer reaches out with his left hand and rips off the thin s.h.i.+ft that Wendella wears. She stands erect, motionless as his second motion rips away her small clothes, leaving a red scratch across her hip.
''I told you no lies, my lord. I suffered captivity for you. Never did I agree to anything.”
Smack! Dencer's hand rocks the brown-haired woman's head back.
”Will you never stop lying to me?”
”I. . . did... not. . . lie.” Her words are evenly s.p.a.ced.
”You lie as rushes lie.” He slashes the quirt-whip across Wendella's bare b.u.t.tocks, leaving a line of red.
”You made a bad bargain with the b.i.t.c.h sorceress. Tell me you did!”
”I made no bargains.”
”Then why does Lord Ehara send an overcaptain to proffer friends.h.i.+p to that gray pig Sargol? Why does he spurn me with a stripling captain and a handful of golds? What bargain did you strike with the b.i.t.c.h?”
”My lord, I offered nothing.” Wendella' s jaw remains firm, though tears seep from the corners of her eyes.
”Liar!”
Wendella does not speak.
”Liar!” Thwipp! Thwipp! The quirt strikes again, and again... and continues until she lies on the stone files.
Then the door shuts.
33.
With the midafternoon sun streaming down, Anna took off the floppy felt hat and blotted her forehead.
Although Jecks and the others still wore riding coats, she had doffed her jacket. That still left the breast- plate and a feltlike pad and a light green s.h.i.+rt. All of that made her feel hotter. She hoped she could get used to wearing the breastplate. Or was this the first step in getting her used to a lot of armor? Did Jecks see her as an overage Maid of Orleans? Despite the heat, she s.h.i.+vered. She didn't fancy following that example. She just wished she could stuff the armorplate into her saddlebags, along with -the discarded jacket.
She glanced ahead. The road clay remained mostly damp from the heavy rains, but two days of steady sunlight had dried patches to the point where, hoofs raised some dust.
Two days... and we're still less than halfway to Soprat. Destroying the Evult's army under Eladdrin had been the only way to stop the invasion of the Ebrans, but the spells necessary had also ripped out the ford, and Anna was definitely beginning to regret the destruction of the only decent crossing point on the Chean River west of Pamr. Some things don't change. You make a mess, and you're the one who gets stuck cleaning it up. Why do some people never have to pay for their mistakes? And why do you feel you always pay double?
She shook her head. She doubted that she'd ever be able to answer that question. Once... just once in her life she'd offered a really thoughtless plea. Anywhere but Ames, Iowa! The harmonies or G.o.ds or fates had laughed and granted that wish, and poor dead Jenny's spell had hurled her from earth to Liedwahr. How many years would she pay for that? With fights and angry men, and children she'd never hold again?
She tried to push those thoughts away, at least for a time, and forced her eyes to the sprouts of green in the fields to the fight of the road. While Alvar rode beside her, immediately behind rode Jecks and Jimbob.
”Who will inherit the lands of Synfal, grandsire?” Jim-bob's voice was still a boyish tenor, but the redhead had started to grow, and Anna knew his voice would deepen before long.
”That's for the regent to decide. Jimbob. You watch how she handles it, for you may have to do the same one day.”
”Why didn't she just announce whoever she wanted?”
”How would you feel if a ruler killed a lord, and before the body was cold, declared a new lord?”