Page 81 of The Maiden

In moments he was dressed, hurriedly wrapping his cross garters about his legs, then running along the corridors to the rooms of the other men, who were each wrapped about one, two, or in Geralt’s case, three women. He ordered the men into the great room immediately. Only Geralt gave him trouble.

“You’ll be there or I’ll come for you,” Rowan said, slamming the door and beginning to run, Daire and the Fearens on his heels.

What looked to be an army of women was streaming into the palace, each face angry, and in their hands they carried whatever they could use as weapons: rakes, shovels, hand axes, long bone needles, clubs of various sizes. They were such small women and armed so poorly that they were almost an amusing sight—but Rowan did not laugh.

Rowan grabbed the arm of a woman near the front, a beautiful dark-haired wench. “What has happened?” he asked in the Ulten language.

She sneered at him. “We have been lied to,” she yelled. “We were told that all men died of the sickness, that the only ones left were here in our city, but Jura says that is not so.”

Rowan groaned as he released the woman then turned to translate to the other men.

“Jura!” Geralt snorted. “I should have known she would ruin paradise.”

Rowan grabbed his half-brother’s tunic front. “Your sister has been in slavery while you were eating figs. Now we have to stop this or we’ll have a war on our hands.”

Geralt twisted from Rowan’s grasp. “Let them kill old Marek. What do I care? I will rule the Ultens. You have taken the Irials from me, so I will take the Ultens.”

It was Jura, Cilean behind her, who pushed her way through the crowd just in time to hear her brother’s words. “You are not fit to rule yourself much less a tribe,” she yelled at him. “You think only of yourself, not of your people or your country. You are not loyal to the Irials or anyone else in Lanconia. You could not even spend the night with Brita without starting a war. You may think so highly of yourself that you believe these women would love to follow you, but right now they are too angry to think.” She looked at the other men and they were now surrounded by angry Ulten women as they surged through the palace. “They are furious at Marek for lying to them over the years, and their blood is up. They may not stop at killing one man but may decide to kill all men. We have to get you out.” Jura turned to leave, but Rowan caught her arm.

“You did not side with your brother,” he shouted to her.

“My brother is Irial, not Lanconian,” she said, somewhat annoyed. “Is there another way out of here? Please, Rowan, do not try to talk your way out of this. These women seek blood.”

He took a moment to caress her cheek, then turned back toward the wing of bedchambers. “Follow me,” he ordered, and only Geralt hesitated. Rowan grabbed the young man’s shoulder and pulled him with the others.

Like a reluctant boy, Geralt fought. “Unhand me, you usurper. The women will not harm me. I am their master.”

Quite calmly, Jura picked up a vase from a nearby table and brought it down over Geralt’s head. He crumpled gracefully to the floor.

Rowan looked at her in disgust. “Now how do we get him out?”

“You must carry him. Come on, we haven’t much time to lose. I think the women are looting the palace.”

Rowan, without arguing, took an order from a woman and heaved the tall Geralt over his shoulder, then once again took the lead as he went down a corridor. There was no other door besides the front one, but in the last few years of safety the Ultens had become lax and had built a granary near one of the palace windows.

“Daire!” Rowan said. “Take that marble and put it between the buildings.”

It took four men and Cilean and Jura to put the long thick slab of marble between the two buildings, forming a slide. It was precariously positioned and the slippery surface made it dangerous.

“I will go first,” Jura said, but Rowan pulled her back.

“I will test it. Take care of your brother. He is waking.”

Jura only gave a quick glance to Geralt as he sat on the floor and began to rub his aching head as Rowan slid across the marble slab to the safety of the other building. When he was across, one by one, the others followed him.

Geralt refused to go with them. “I will stay here. This is where I belong,” he told Jura. “I will not be second to that Englishman.”

“He is more Lanconian than you are,” she said. “Thal knew what he was doing.”

“I am betrayed on all sides,” Geralt said grimly. “Go with him. I will stay here and bring order out of this chaos.”

Jura was already on the marble slab but she didn’t release the windowsill as she watched her brother straighten his shoulders and head back toward the women.

“Jura, come on,” Rowan shouted behind her.

She made a decision. “I must go after him,” she yelled to Rowan, then threw her leg back over the window.

Rowan allowed himself a few precious moments of cursing, then he untied his boots and went up the inclined marble. The only way he could hold on to it was with his bare feet. Behind him the others begged him not to go, but he ordered them to leave the city as fast as possible.