Warna stared into her mug before she glanced at him. “Take care anyway,” she said softly.
Verice looked at her, her golden hair pulled back in a braid, with wisps of gold escaping, crowning her in the morning light. Suddenly, he wanted to sit with her, drink kav and talk about her plans for the day.
Narthing was hovering in the doorway, he had to go.
She gave him a questioning look over her mug, and he suddenly felt foolish. He bowed his head to her and left to join his men.
He mounted, feeling oddly bereft, as if he’d forgotten something, or lost a chance at—
He shook his head, lifted a hand, and started the chant to open the portal.
The glowing circle formed, a doorway of flowing white curtains of gossamer, moving in an unfelt breeze. His men formed up behind him; Narthing moved into position in front. They’d preceded him, so that he could take the portal down behind him as he rode through.
Narthing gave the order, and the horses moved forward at a walk, well used to this mode of travel. Verice waited until the last tail disappeared, then urged his own horse through, concentrating on the closure. There was a moment of white light, of disorientation, and then he was through on the other side.
To find the air filled with smoke and screams, and his men under attack.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The skirmish won, the enemy in retreat, Verice followed the last of his men through the portal, emerging into the Castle courtyard, filthy and bone weary. With a savage gesture, he snapped it shut behind him, on the ruins of Birch Cove. Nothing left there but burning buildings, smoke-filled air, and the heads of the ‘bandits’ on pikes along the road.
A fierce bolt of satisfaction went through him at that memory, but the sight of the village dead lined up in the courtyard, covered in shrouds wiped any sense of gratification away. Far too many lost.
It was late, the night was still and quiet, the stars bright above his head. The walls burned with torches and he could see the watch making the rounds.
Constable Ricard appeared at his side, his face reflecting the strain of the day. He cast an eye over Verice with a frown.
“Not my blood,” Verice reassured him.
Ricard’s relief was in his eyes, but he gave a simple nod of his head. “We’d word you’d be at it till daybreak.”
Verice stripped off his gloves. “It didn’t take long to hunt them down.” He indicated the rows of bodies. “What of—”
“The survivors of Birch Cove have asked to return and bury their dead,” Ricard said. “They want to return to their homes as well. I’ve told them all that must await your decision.”
Verice rubbed his face with his bare hand.
“The healers have seen to the wounded, my lord.” Ricard gestured over to the other side of the courtyard. “We’ve housed the villagers as best we can. Some of the men have given up their beds for the night.”
“Narthing?” Verice asked softly.
“Not as bad as they first thought,” Ricard nodded toward the Healing Hall. “They’ve got him settled, and they drugged him stupid when he tried to leave his bed to return to your side. Won’t be up for much until tomorrow.”
“Nor will I,” Verice said.
“You look done in,” Ricard agreed. “There’s naught else you can do tonight. I’ll roust some of the lads, we can get you hot water—”
Verice shook his head. “I’ll just draw up some water from the well, and wash the worst off.” He started to unbuckle his breastplate.
“I’ll send out towels then, and something to eat—”
Verice made a face.
“Try to get something down,” Ricard said gruffly. “Leave your gear by the well, and I’ll have the lads clean it for you,” he held up a hand to prevent Verice’s protest. “You’d best be to bed, there’s more than enough that will need your attention in the morning.”
Verice shrugged. No denying that.
His muscles protested as he lowered the bucket, and pulled it back up, brimming with water. It was cold. He stripped to the waist and plunged his hands in with relief. A lad appeared with towels and soap, and he carried off Verice’s armor and sword. Verice kept his daggers.
