The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [17]
He tried not to think about it. Most of them were scuffed and battered, and Lord Farvel was trembling and could not keep his feet without Falken's assistance. However, after a moment, it became clear the only one who was actually hurt was King Boreas.
“It's nothing,” the king said with a grunt as Grace probed the rapidly growing lump on the top of his head. Blood matted his black hair. “It was a pebble, that's all. You needn't fuss.”
The king's credibility was immediately countered by the way his knees buckled. Beltan caught him under the armpits to keep him from falling.
“You could have a concussion,” Grace said, and Travis doubted she noticed that she had forgotten to call him Your Majesty. She shut her eyes, then opened them again. “In fact, you do. It's mild. You're not in serious danger—as long as you lie still and do nothing.”
Boreas started to protest, only then he doubled over and vomited into the muck.
“You there!” Beltan called to a trio of guardsmen running toward them. “Help the king return to the keep.” Beltan turned toward Teravian, who stood nearby, shoulders hunched. “Your Highness, there are likely to be intruders in the castle. You must guard the king. Take him to his chamber, summon more men. Whatever you do, protect him with your life.”
These words seemed to astonish the young prince, but after a moment he nodded and squared his shoulders, and it seemed a light ignited in his dark eyes. “I'll protect him, cousin.” He moved to Boreas, taking Beltan's place. “Come, Father.”
“Away, boy. I must see to my people.”
“This is a matter for your warriors now. You must leave it to them.”
“Yes, my warriors . . .” His eyelids fluttered.
“Keep close watch on him, Your Highness,” Grace said. “Make him drink water. And don't let him fall asleep.”
Teravian nodded, and Boreas did not protest further as the prince led him toward the arch to the upper bailey. The men-at-arms followed, bearing Lord Farvel with them.
Grace glanced at Melia. “Will you watch Tira?”
The amber-eyed lady picked up the girl, and Tira laid her head on Melia's shoulder. Grace moved toward the ruined gates, threading her way through the crowd. Castle folk ran every which way, their faces white with dust, some of them smeared with blood.
“There could be another explosion,” Durge sputtered, staring after Grace, brown eyes wide. “What is she doing?”
“Helping,” Travis said. “Come on.”
He started after Grace. Dimly, he was aware of the others hesitating, then following after him.
Travis lost sight of her, then a knot of peasants broke apart, and he saw her kneeling over a crumpled form, blood on her hands. It was a young woman in a serving maid's gray dress. Travis started to move to Grace, wondering if he could help. Grace stood, shaking her head. Much of the young woman's lower body was gone; she must have been close to the blast.
“Sir Tarus!” Beltan called out behind Travis. “What news do you have?”
The red-haired knight ran toward them, several men-at-arms on his heels. “The southeastern tower was abandoned,” Tarus said, breathless, as he reached them. “And it broke away clean. There were a few minor injuries, that was all, but the castle wall has been breached—there's a hole in it you could march an army through.”
“What of this tower?” Durge said. “Surely it was not abandoned. It is too much to hope any within might yet live, yet we must try.”
Beltan exchanged grim looks with Durge and Tarus. “We'll get them out of there.”
“And I will see if any intruders yet remain within the castle,” Vani said.
Travis felt a twinge in his heart. Beltan and Vani were each so strong, so brave. What had he done to deserve the love of one of them, let alone both? Except maybe they didn't care for him after all. Both had avoided him on the journey back to Calavere. Had he done something to drive them away?