Black wizards - Douglas Niles [88]
Hugh scowled darkly, but then startled them with a burst of laughter. "You truly are mad. I shall let you go on with your fool's mission, but you will get no support from me. In fact, I shall keep your horses as payment for my troubles!"
At that untimely moment, several kitchen maids emerged with platters of potatoes and stew. Hugh ignored his guests as he lifted forkful after forkful of food to his lips.
Tristan inwardly cursed the man, though he did not press the topic any longer. Pitchers of mead sat upon the table, and his tongue itched for the taste of the foamy stuff. He ignored the craving and drank only sparingly.
The meal passed slowly, and in silence. They had almost cleaned their platters when a young man entered the inn and gestured to Hugh O'Roarke. He was dressed in green leather and spattered with mud, as if he had just come from a long ride. The lord rose, carrying his full mug of ale, and went to the man. The fellow said something in a low whisper. Suddenly, the bandit leader whirled and threw his mug against the wall where it shattered with a crash.
"News?" asked Tristan quietly, raising his eyebrows. For a moment, he wondered if the bandit was about to attack him, so red was his face. O'Roarke's hands clenched at the air as he stalked back to the table.
"My sister has been executed by the High King!" he snarled. "She was a captive in his castle, and two days ago he had her put to death!"
A pall of silence descended over the room. O'Roarke's look challenged anyone to speak, to give him a target for his anger. Pontswain looked down, strangely subdued. Tristan felt a pang of sadness for the outlaw and renewed loathing for the High King.
"But why?" asked the prince.
"Why?" Hugh cried, his voice choking with agony. "Perhaps to draw me out of Doncastle, where the Scarlet Guard can meet me on its own terms."
Tristan began to see an opportunity in the tragedy, a chance to use the bandit lord's grief constructively – for himself, and perhaps even for Hugh O'Roarke.
"There's a better choice. You can help us get into Callidyrr, where I will confront this king!"
"And then what? Even supposing you made it that far, which you wont, what can you hope to accomplish?"
"We can avenge your sister. I can gain vengeance for my father's death. Think, man! We have to do something! We can't stay here in the woods, hiding in your pleasant little town! Help us!"
"Are you assassins, that you will sneak into his castle and stab him as he sleeps?"
"I am not an assassin" Tristan said. "I shall not kill him… in cold blood. The king will have a chance to defend himself against my charges. If he cannot, he will have a chance to defend himself against my blade!"
"I tell you, it is no use!" persisted O'Roarke, slumping into his chair. The energy drained from him – he looked dejected and defeated.
"We are not without skill," Daryth said quietly.
"No, you are not. But you were all four taken by my clumsy ambush. And you can be sure that the traps of the wizard, Cyndre, will be far more deadly!"
Tristan flushed, whether in anger or embarrassment he was not sure. Then he spoke.
"We have to try. You have lost a sister and your cantrev. I have lost my father – my king. How many more losses will it take to move you?"
Hugh was silent for a long time. Once again, his thick red eyebrows sank into a deep scowl.
"I will help you," he said finally. "But I have a condition: One of you must remain here, as proof against a betrayal. You will come to know my most valuable agent in Callidyrr. Should harm come to him, your man will die as well!"
"That is unaccep -" Tristan began to object, certain that he had the upper hand, when Pontswain cut him off.
"I shall remain here," said the lord.
Tristan looked at Pontswain in shock, wondering if the lord was afraid to face the High King.