“And such a devious ally might best be described as an enemy,” Ariana declared. Inside, she quailed at the wisdom of angering the man further. But she couldn’t escape to the vaults without somehow getting past him. Distraction was the only way.
His mocking gaze never left her. “Why should I share the spoils of victory when I can take both Darkmoor and Kenmar for myself?”
Ariana forced herself to stand tall. “What part do I play in the spoils of victory? Do you intend to take me prisoner, Sir Althalos? Or do you intend to kill me?”
She was gratified to see a look of faint surprise cross his face. “I’d say that all depends on you, Lady Ariana.” He smirked, lowering his sword to the ground and resting both hands upon the hilt. “My men would prefer we take you prisoner. They’d certainly enjoy spending time with Otto Sarragnac’s young bride.”
Her stomach rolled with nausea. “I would prefer to die.”
“That can be arranged.” He stepped towards her, and the metallic stink of fresh blood, not his own, filled her nostrils.
Ariana leaned backwards, conscious of the stone wall looming behind her. She had no intention of being taken prisoner to be raped by the villainous warriors reporting to Althalos. But she had no one to rely on but herself. “You threatenme, Sir Althalos,” she said calmly. “You should know, I’m a desperate woman. And desperate women should not be toyed with.”
“Oh?” He raised a mocking eyebrow and came closer, so close she could see where his chainmail gapped over his blood-smeared tunic. “Do you threaten me now, Lady Ariana? That’s good. I like to see some defiance in my women, before I thrash it out of them.”
Her moment had come, and Ariana didn’t waste it. She kept her eyes focused on Sir Althalos’s mean black ones while her hand reached for the dagger, unsheathed it, and plunged into the gap beneath his chest plate, wincing with horror as her blade sliced upwards through flesh and scraped against his ribs.
For a second, it seemed as if her aim had missed. Sir Althalos blanched, but stayed standing, his glazed eyes fixed on hers. He opened his mouth and a reddish foam bubbled from the corners. Ariana scuttled sideways, numb with shock, knowing she must get herself out of reach of his sword. But she needn’t have worried. In another moment, Althalos’s legs buckled beneath him, and he sank to the ground, a deep-red pool of sticky blood gathering beneath his fallen body.
Ariana clamped her hands to her mouth, silencing her scream. She couldn’t waste any more time. Enemy soldiers could be preparing to storm the keep, even now.
Without another look at her adversary, Ariana ran towards the vaults and the possibility of freedom.
Chapter Nineteen
Otto was unaccustomedto feeling nervous when he faced his men, but on this warm mid-summer’s morn, he had to chase down his apprehension before standing up to speak.
The knights of Darkmoor were gathered in the stone-flagged armory; yawning still because of the early hour, scratching their bushy beards and jostling one another good naturedly. A flagon of cider was making its way around them. The men drank deeply, smacking their lips in appreciation. Otto took a deep breath and strode to the center of the vaulted chamber.
“Good men of Darkmoor,” he began, his voice rebounding around the whitewashed walls. “I have summoned you from your beds and gathered you here to ask a very important question.”
“’Twas not his own bed you summoned Sir Tristan from,” interjected Andreas de Montain, to a chorus of approving jeers.
Tristan, a young knight of just twenty summers, found the grace to laugh at their jesting. “Aye, well, the lady has promised me I’m welcome back any time,” he said, his brilliant blue eyes alight with youthful zest.
“Glad to hear it, Tristan,” Otto put in quickly. He looked around at the assembled men; every last face was tilted up towards him. They trusted him as their leader. But would they follow him so unthinkingly into battle when they heard what he had to say?
He cleared his throat. “You have served Darkmoor and done us proud, some of you for more years than I have been alive.” He nodded towards Gaius, who raised the flagon of cider towards him in a silent toast. “The knights of Darkmoor are known throughout the North for their fearlessness.” A small cheer erupted at that. “Their unfaltering courage.” Another cheer, accompanied by some table-banging. “And their strength, speed, and skills in battle.” This time his words were met with roars of approval, feet-stamping, and back-slapping. Otto waited until the chorus had died down. “I would have it no other way.” He raised his fist into the air, getting into his stride now. “But there is one change I would like to make.” Immediately the mood in the room shifted as the men waited for his explanation. Otto rubbed at his scar and summoned the conviction from deep within him. “My forefathers created the Knights’ Code for Darkmoor. We all of us know it.Show no weakness; show no mercy.It is a code that has served us well in battle.” Otto lowered his voice, knowing he had the attention of every man here. “Darkmoor has never once fallen.” Cheers erupted through the room and Otto held up his hand for silence. “Thanks to the fortitude of our ancestors, we find ourselves on the cusp of more peaceful times.” He ploughed ahead, seeing doubt flicker behind the eyes of the closest young knights. “And I for one, would like to ride out under a different code. One that values fortitude and valor over all else.” He paused for effect. “As knights, we show no weakness. But there are times, men, when it is a strength to show mercy. Or that, at least, is what I believe.” He plunged ahead, taking courage from the nods he saw greet his words. “From this day forward, we defend our borders. We protect what is ours. We fight forpeace, for our families and for the people of Darkmoor.”
Gaius was the first to his feet. “Aye,” he cried, bringing his mighty hand down onto the table.
The knights around him rose as one, brandishing their fists in the air and banging their swords. “Aye,” they shouted.
Otto knew a moment of relief before he was swept up into the throng of back-slapping and good-natured thumping. The flagon of cider was pressed into his hands, and he drank deeply.
“And now to business,” he roared, jumping onto a low wooden table to be seen above the fracas. “We have reason to believe that Lady Ariana is being held in Kenmar Castle. This war with Sir Leon has already taken too many lives, but we must protect what is ours. As the Countess of Darkmoor, Lady Ariana belongs here, with me. We must bring her home.”
“Aye,” cheered the men.
“Are you with me?” he bellowed, brandishing his sword above his head.
“Until the last,” proclaimed Gaius, to a rousing chorus of approval.
“Then let us make ready,” Otto ordered. “We have a long journey ahead of us.”
The sun was still rising over the Caldon Hills when the knights mounted their horses in the outer courtyard and trotted over the drawbridge in a tidy formation behind Otto. They were followed by an army of a hundred men, with another fifty staying behind to guard the castle. Otto kept the pace steady, knowing they had some distance to travel and mayhap many challenges to overcome even when they reached their destination. But despite his trepidation over what lay ahead that day, he knew great peace of mind that he had at last spoken openly to his men.
As they progressed towards the river, a great heron flew overhead, flapping lazy wings and making stately progress through the clear blue sky. After so many days of rain, the change in weather was a good omen, boding well for their quest. The Sarragnac standard cracked in the brisk breeze and the horses stepped out smartly along the ploughed tracks. To theirleft, down in the valley, Otto could spy the rippling treetops of the ancient forests bordering Kenmar and Darkmoor. It was through those mighty oaks, he reasoned, that Ariana’s captors had smuggled their prisoner. Keeping her hidden, for the most part, until reaching Sir Leon’s cheerless fortress. He steered his men well clear of the woodland; they had no reason to hide and the winding paths within would only slow their journey.
