Healer's Inheritance
Chapter 9 -The Road to Abbeyford
On the fourth morning out of Cynfyn, rain blurred the detail of the rich farmlands along the road. Broken forests outlined each clearing, separating the parcels from one another. Some clearings held sheep that munched on stubble from the previous year's crops. Others lay fallow waiting to be harrowed. Nearly every open field had a cottage in a corner where smoke billowed above the rooflines and lights glittered through the shuttered casements. The travelers longed to take refuge from the rain, but no one complained. If each person dreamt of a favored, dry place, then they kept it to themselves so as not to be the first to admit the weather was misery. At an even pace the horses continued on. As a whole, the party was relieved when the road finally turned west to follow the Lendour River; they were nearing their midpoint destination and a place where they hoped to make camp. The road near the river was thick with puddles of mud, yet it appeared free of recent hoof prints or wagon wheel grooves. Few had come this way since the last storm or even the one before that. There was no logic to it, as this was the most direct route between Corwyn and Rhemuth, unless one chose to travel west to the coast at Nyford.
At mid-morning, the travelers out of Cynfyn came upon a sloping bank leading to the river's edge. The Knight Captain nodded his greeting to his lieutenant who had proven good to his word. Sir Dillon stood on the deck of the ferry, which was properly tied to a piling on the north bank.
"It would be my honor to welcome you to Abbeyford," Dillon called over the steady sound of rain drumming on the river's surface.
"We will be right glad to arrive on the south side of this river. I trust you know a safe place to set up camp; a place not too muddy, where the women's feet can stay dry?" Sir Washburn called back.
"Aye, we've a good knoll southeast of town," his lieutenant replied. Then in jest, he held out his hand, palm up, like he had only just noticed the rain. "This weather isn't to your liking, my lord? It is to mine. It has kept the locals in their homes and allowed me to offer a deal with this fine man." Dillon gestured toward the man hunched over the ropes which strained in the cleats as the barge knocked back and forth against the current.
"Good day to you, master helmsman," Wash acknowledged the ferryman. "My party and I seek your ferry to get us safely across. Will you give us permission to board? I have coin to pay for your efforts."
"So your man has brokered with me," the ferryman replied. He lifted his head to reveal a weathered face under an oiled hat that kept the rain at bay. "I've been promised ten coin and the strength of your men to use the winches to pull us across. Your man and I could handle the barge while empty, but loaded…? It will require two strong men as I'll be needed at the tiller." He pointed to the toothed wheel that would pull the barge along the rope stretched over the width of the river. "Curse the abbey for putting the fear of God in my workmen; they won't come near the ferry until it's allowed. If you have the coin, then that's the fee, otherwise you best keep riding west to Nyford."
"You've made this deal with my man, and I will back it. His agreement is mine. Just don't cheat me, and I promise I won't cheat you, I stand by my reputation." Wash looked the man straight in the eye. The ferryman shied back. The Knight Captain's honest reputation was well known, but so was the hearsay about his Deryni bloodline. Wash ignored the ferryman's discomfort. "I presume it will take three trips to get my party across."
"The barge can carry that many, if your horses remain calm," the ferryman said, his voice revealing some doubt.
"I'll manage the horses, there will be no need for concern," Wash replied, not mentioning the Deryni talent of handling animals. The ferryman nodded knowingly and made no further reply. Can he be trusted? Wash asked privately of Dillon.
We're paying him three times his normal fee, and I have detected no lies in the multitude of questions he answered for me. Nevertheless, keep a wary eye on him.
Wash assigned two men to the wheel, and then motioned half the Tralian nobles off their mounts. Lord Kyriell handled five horses, including Lady Elzia's, Lady Cecilia's and his own. Washburn touched the muzzles of all these animals as they were led up the ramp onto the wooden deck, making pretense that he was the only Deryni here. In truth, however, he only needed his energies for a few of the horses, as Jathurn and Dillon inconspicuously lent their talent to calm most of them. Nothing more than a nicker and a flick of the tail came from the animals as they boarded. The Knight Captain indicated that Dillon should remain on the north shore, and then stepped on the deck with a serious eye on the old man in the large hat.
Paying the knight no more mind, the ferryman busied himself with their departure. He hoisted the end of the ramp off the bank, and he barked his orders to the two guards who took up positions on the winch that would turn the toothed wheel. Getting the coordination to turn the wheel smoothly was no easy trick. Water lapped against the flat hull, splashing over the boots of those at the front.
"You want us all flipped into the current? You imbeciles! Pay attention to what you're doing!" the ferryman demanded. The men took more care to pull the wheel evenly. When they reached the south bank there was a sigh of relief. This was a shallow part of the river in the dry season, but deep enough to drown in at this time of year.
A third of the travelers gratefully disembarked. Wash appointed one man to return with him. He and the Lendour guard turned the winch to get the barge back north. The second group, led by Dillon, completed the Tralian contingent and several of the Lendouri armsmen. Wash stayed behind. It wasn't too long before the ferry returned to make the last crossing. As the only Deryni remaining, this time Wash truly did calm each of the remaining horses as they were led up the ramp, including the pair of rounceys that pulled their wagon filled with their belongings and gear. Glad that he hadn't needed to use that much energy on the two prior crossings, Wash banished the small bit of fatigue that this crossing caused. He looked up to see the ferryman giving him a stern look, and then the old man made the sign of the cross against the use of magic.
"Would you rather have a boatload of fractious warhorses?" Wash inquired of the ferryman. "I'm sure you've dealt with a few of those in your day."
"Aye, my lord, and watched men drown when their steeds get rebellious. Times aplenty when a fearful horse slips off the deck taking many a man with him into the river. The horse usually finds the bank and climbs from the icy water, but the men never do. The current here is deadly and will drag a clothed man to his doom. The bodies do find the shoreline after a day or two." The old man said this with a wry grin as he eyed each of the Lendouri armsmen who held tight to the reins of their mounts. "Happens every year." Then the old man laughed for best effect. In turn, the men looked back to their Knight Captain for reassurance.
Wash only laughed. "Nasty business, that. Hard to get paid when your customers don't reach the far shore." He reached into his belt and tossed a heavy coin purse from hand to hand.
"Indeed. Sometimes the entertainment is worth the price." At his words, a heavy wind blew up the river and the barge strained into the ropes, water lapped over the deck. The men stood tense, but the horses neither flicked their ears nor their tail.
"As you see, Lendour horses are a stock above the rest. Well trained and versatile in any situation. Yours is not the first ferry they have ever been on. Nor will it be their last," Wash said with the barest hint of threat.
"Aye, animals of quality, that I can see. 'Tis a shrewd commander who leads them as well."
They were more than halfway across the river with the wind continuing its gusts. The barge held to the ropes, but it was the clouds above that blew about. A ray of sun gleamed through the billowing cloud bank. The sun beam shimmered across the river's surface and then increased in size. As the light shone against the remaining drizzle, a myriad of refracted colors arced over the water, giving promise of an end to the storm. The ferryman pointed out the sight, even as he eyed the nobleman's purse. Taking the sun beam as a sign from the heavens, the old helmsman let slip a smile that exposed a row of gnarled teeth. "Perhaps your coming is favored after all," he commented expressing a change of attitude. "That coin in your purse is well needed. My family grows hungry from the lack of business. I've worked hard all my life, earning an honest wage. Abbot Darby doesn't like your kind, neither much do I, but his decrees are out of spite and greed. They threaten the welfare of my family. The food promised by the monastery has not come to pass. That's why I'm here against the abbot's decree. That there tells me, I'm doing the right thing." The man nodded at the rainbow with its colors deepening in the light of the breaking sun.
"Then, I can count on you to keep the ferry open? With honest payment to ensure a safe crossing? Soon there will be wagons loaded in need of finding the north road."
"Aye, I'll see to it. Although, it'd be easier if the decrees were lifted. Your men have strong arms, but it takes a bit of skill to handle this here barge when she's low in the waterline with heavy wagons. I need my own laborers for that."
"If I had a certain dispatch from the capital, I could do as you ask," Wash murmured almost to himself but loud enough to hear. "The way that it stands, getting what you ask may be a problem," Wash replied louder. Already he was planning how best to confront the abbot, and if need be, break through the barricade that was purposely in place to stop someone from doing just that.
"Dispatch, you say? I heard talk of a rider from Rhemuth this morning when I passed the main square." The ferryman cocked his head at the Knight Captain, waiting to see if his story would be of interest to the nobleman.
Wash turned to the old man almost instantly. "Tell me…!"
"In the past day or two, I heard tell of guards hiding in the ditches along the road west out of town. The town folk had joked about them lying out there in the rain. Seems this morning, they ambushed a lone rider. I overheard a guard telling the magistrate they'd surrounded the man with swords drawn; he'd held up a torn bit of cloth which looked to have the partial insignia of Rhemuth upon it. The guard then told how the man had fought back, wounding one of them and taking a wound himself before escaping."
As the ferryman spoke the Knight Captain's anger began to build. In the first place, just how had the Abbot gotten this news that a royal courier was in route? During the contact from the night before, Dillon had said such a rumor was already passing through the town. To retaliate, the magistrate had given the ruse of coastal raiders pillaging inland so as to rile the town folk, giving them cause to let the abbey confiscate all the goods in town. Wash knew that the only way for news to travel faster than horseback required a trained Deryni and one other, either Deryni or properly trained human, to receive that contact. It sickened Washburn to think that the men who hated Deryni the most gained knowledge and power by using and often abusing Deryni to act against their own kind.
"...Next thing, I see the magistrate rousting up his men. He was yelling that if they wanted their pay, then they had better catch this lone rider. For if he was the bearer of a dispatch from Rhemuth, the abbot desperately wanted that dispatch in his possession. I had no desire to get caught in that, so I left the square heading home. That's when your man confronted me and persuaded me to open the ferry. I figured with the rain and all the magistrate's men riding out, no one was around to notice us working this barge."
Washburn barely heard the ferryman's last words. He'd stepped closer to the old man and had begun to reach out to him, desperate to Mind-See exactly what the man had witnessed. It was with a sudden self-admonishment that he stopped and stepped back; that kind of magic would cause needless anxiety in his men who watched, not to say anything about the morality of such an act, no matter how benign Washburn's touch would be. It was one thing to calm horses, but to have a rapport with an unconsenting human was considered abuse of power. And rightly so, Wash inwardly chastised. Angry with himself, the Deryni lord clenched his fists, and then forced an outward calmness as he mundanely asked for more information. "When did you say this was? Do you know which way they went?"
"They were pointing south… it was about Tierce," the old man said, sensing the agitation that his news brought to the Lendour knight, but not knowing the full reason why. "Are you thinking that this lone rider carries something that will force the abbot to reopen the road? Could be, could be. I would be worried for the man's life… it was Doggin who spearheaded the mob that chased the lone rider. He is a mean bastard, he is."
"They took the road, heading south?"
"Aye!"
Wash tossed the man the coin purse he'd been holding, which contained payment plus a bit more. "I thank you for your news. You will have your ferry freely open and your workmen after all, as soon as I clear up this mess." He studied the ferryman closely for a moment, knowing the man was quite pleased to be paid.
The old man grinned at the weight of the bag before hiding it in his clothes. "Thank you, my lord," he replied with a bow. "I do believe that you will."
The Knight Captain strode tensely off the barge the moment the ramp was lowered. He waved to Robby for his destrier. As the sorrel was brought to him, he began barking orders to Sir Dillon to take the contingent to the hill southeast of town, to make camp there, and guard it well. As he mounted up, he called two of his men to his side while calling out to the rest of his party, "We're going hunting! With a little luck, I intend to have this resolved by nightfall." Wash turned back to his lieutenant. "Don't do anything to stir up more trouble today. If I'm not back by morning, you have permission to tear that barricade apart and get yourselves free of this town."
"May I join you?" Baron Jathurn requested. "I have no desire to spend the day sitting in a tent."
"This won't be a peaceful ride." Wash motioned to his sword.
The baron laughed. "Good, your country so far has seemed tame by the standards of its reputation."
"Very well! Let us go and find us some sport!" Wash yelled, putting spurs to his horse's flank. He was too focused on his pursuit to note the motion behind him, but soon enough Jathurn and his man with two Lendouri armsmen were matching strides with Sir Washburn's destrier. The five riders made good speed on the muddied road traveling south.
Though the weather had drizzled most of the morning, it had not washed away the deep impressions of fast-moving horses south of Abbeyford. Skillful tracking was not required, even after the trail led off the road and over unplowed fields and small thickets. The trail of hoof prints ended at a shallow creek, but with the water churned into mud, it wasn't hard to tell which direction the riders had gone, and fairly recently too. Given, of course that the tracts they followed were indeed the magistrate's men on the path of the royal courier whom they sought. Wash hoped the lone rider had given these hunters the slip. Yet if he had done so, the Knight Captain knew he might not retrieve what he needed in time to make a difference.
They were two hours out of Abbeyford when they caught a whiff of wood smoke in the midst of the trees lining the creek. They found a cart road near the stream which traversed the tree line; it led toward a rain-drenched clearing. As the riders came nearer, they sighted a farm with a few acres of bare field awaiting the spring planting. There was a cottage of modest size, with stone walls and a thatched roof; a column of smoke lazily rose up from a cleft in the back wall. A wooden structure stood behind the house; chickens and sheep wandered freely in and out of the barn door. The oddity in this peaceful setting was the gathering of nine horses tied together before the cottage's main door. Certainly the barn was not big enough to stable that many horses. Neither a man nor a child could be seen about, and the cottage held no windows to betray what was happening inside.
The Knight Captain had his men halt at the edge of the trees. He motioned his two armsmen to ride around to the barn. To Jathurn and his man, Castor, he indicated that they should tie their steeds in the shadows of the brush and walk from there. With a keen eye on the door, they paced the hundred steps across the open field. Still, no motion at the door indicated they'd been seen. The three slipped between the horses and examined their gear. Rough woven blankets under poor leather saddles held emblems of the Abbeyford guards. All but one horse. This destrier's saddle was of considerable better quality than the rest, proving that the magistrate's men had run someone to ground.
On inspection, under the lather of damp salty sweat, the quality bay had the mark of Cassan on his hip, an emblem not often seen this far south. The destrier held one leg off the ground with a gash across the fetlock and blood crusted on the hoof—a possible injury from running along the creek's rocky bottom. A second splash of blood was found smeared across the steed's neck. A quick inspection proved this blood not to be from the horse; likely it belonged to the rider who'd been pulled from his seat. No saddle bags were seen, only cut leather thongs where the bags should have been. The torn pennant of a messenger out of Rhemuth was found tucked under the saddle. Washburn's frown deepened. He motioned toward the cottage door. They needed to be quick if surprise was to remain their advantage. Swords at the ready, the three surrounded the door.
"Hold him! Damn you!" yelled a rough voice from within. A clamor of noise, then a curse. "You wan'a-be dead? Slit your throat I will, if you try that again!" Sounds of a struggle continued.
The Knight Captain wasted no time. He shoved the door open and charged in. At the far side of the room, a man strung up by his wrists from the rafters was kicking out at his assailants. Two men were struggling to hold him as a third man was searching him like robbers frisking a corpse. Only this man was not dead, not yet! Although he looked to be not far from getting himself in that condition.
With all eyes on the struggle, none of the Abbeyford guards reacted to the intruding new sound, save one. Wash was on this man even as he turned; he never got a chance to raise up his weapon. In an instant the guard crumbled from the flat of Wash's sword smacking the back of his neck below his skullcap. Jathurn caught the man's sword before it banged against the stone, and then he pressed his palm over the man's eyes to be assured the guard would stay unconscious through the chaos about to erupt.
The next two men turned at the commotion, meeting the black knight's stern gaze. With little hesitation, they lunged at Wash, thinking their numbers an advantage. Seven to three—were these intruders fools? The Knight Captain proved the error of that thought. With a swift cut and twist, one man lost his sword and a bit of his hand. The other was shoved aside only to run into Jathurn's blade. Jathurn shook his head at the man's stupidity.
The five men left standing belatedly turned and took a fierce stance to defend what they'd hunted down. Their prey, newly freed from the frisking, cursed his attackers, spitting out a bloody mouthful as he did so. This only won him a punch low in the gut and left him groaning as he swung from the rope that strung him just above the floor.
"This business is none of your business!" growled the biggest man standing before his captive.
"That man is my business. King's business. You're Doggin, I presume. In the name of the King, I demand that you let that man go," the Knight Captain ordered.
"I see no King! I've got my orders and they don't come from you! You want this man? I'll give you a deal— when I get what I need, I'll leave you his bones and his gold, all yours— when I'm done!" The big man tossed a satchel of gold at Jathurn's feet, thinking him the best dressed and therefore the most likely to take the bribe.
The baron raised his eyes at the two coins that spilled from the laden coin purse which slid across the floor. "I'm not here for gold, but I'll take these and return them to their rightful owner." The baron wrapped his sword point over the purse strings and flipped it up into his hand. A ruffian thought to take advantage of the nobleman's distraction. His poor judgment was met with a strong block and a swift cut. Then Castor intervened and shoved the man away from his liege lord. With one disarming strike the man, bloodied, was added to the three wounded in the corner.
Washburn stepped closer, causing the four remaining Abbeyford guards to step back. Now they were in the reach of the beaten man swinging from the rafter. The royal messenger had been twisting and churning within his binds. Realizing that Doggin's back was finally near enough, the captured man kicked out and managed a blow that unsettled the big man's balance. Unfortunately, the force sent the messenger into a chaotic spin.
Wash used the advantage. He lunged, gouging a chunk out of Doggin's sword, but three other swords blocked him from doing more. As one, they shoved their sword points where Washburn had been standing. The knight was lighter on his feet than he seemed. He danced aside, sweeping a table over to bring an end to their barrage.
"Wash, is't you?" yelled the courier as he swung from tied wrists. His words were pronounced in a thick border brogue. Recognition brought a thin smile to one side of his face, the side unbloodied. As he twisted again, trying to turn to face Wash, he called, "Ye're a hearty sight f'r sore eyes." At least that is what he tried to say through swollen lips. His tunic was slashed, exposing rent chainmail and blood oozing from beneath. Wash stared for a moment and couldn't believe who he saw.
"Roger?" Wash yelled, rage swelling in his chest. Here was a friend, a young man who'd recently squired for Muir, a nobleman from the north. "What in God's name are you doing here?" Moving closer, Wash's next attack proved his anger was up; the guard before him went down without so much as a sound.
"The King thought me the best man to deliver you a letter," Roger called back, while kicking outward in the hopes that someone would fall within his reach.
Doggin and one other leaped at Washburn. The third man turned toward the easier target, the nobleman in his fine clothes. Jathurn had turned away to force back a man rising from the floor. He did not see the third man who was planning a killing blow. "Jathurn!" Wash yelled from across the room. In that instant the baron's back was open, but then Castor was there blocking the deadly attack. Feeling the concussion of blade striking blade, Jathurn ducked and rolled to the ground. He then spun on his knees only to see Castor weaken under a succession of blows. The attacking third man didn't see Jathurn stand. Almost stealth-like the Deryni Lord came up behind the attacker, landing a fierce blow upside the man's head with the hilt of his sword. The attacker crumpled to the floor beside the baron's best man, who'd been forced to onw knee. Jathurn took a moment to help Castor recover his footing, while pointing his sword in warning at the rest of the downed guards, threatening them to stay where they lay.
Wash drew the last two away from Roger and Jathurn, toward the back of the room. Two swords against one. The one never faltered; only the low ceiling beams and the furniture gave reason for concern. It seemed a concern that the Abbeyford guards appeared to ignore. Abusing this flaw, Wash stepped purposely under a rafter. His opponent swung high over his head. His whole body shook as the blade embedded itself deep within the roughhewn beam.
The black knight gave a wicked grin, teasing the big man to do the same. Doggin made an angry growl and swung his sword low and wide. Wash countered with a solid strike that shattered the big man's blade and sent steel skittering over the floor. For a moment the sound stunned those in the room. In fierce desperation, Doggin attacked with his halved, jagged blade, counting on his strength and weight to defeat his enemy. Wash jumped back, shoving aside two chairs. Space was getting tight in the low-ceilinged back corner of the room. Time had come to end this game.
Like a stag ramming his antlers at his opponent, the knight captain pushed off the wall, his sword arched across the broken weapon, severing it from the big man's grasp. A second blow bit into Doggin's shielding arm likely saving the man from Wash's deadly anger. With a yell of pain, the Abbeyford leader fell back. Hounded by the black knight, he skittered backward along the floor, only to come upon Castor's boots. The owner of those boots, kicked the big man in the head, sending Doggin reeling under Roger's feet. Roger's spurred boot slammed the man in the shoulder, justly returning the wounds he had received at this man's hands. But as Doggin writhed and groaned, his eyes widened at a glimpse of parchment protruding from Roger's boot-top. Too quickly, the big Abbeyford guard seized Roger's leg, hauled himself up, and pulled the letter free from its hiding place.
"Stop him!" growled Roger, instantly enraged.
Jathurn was the first to realize the trouble. He ran for the door where the Abbeyford guard had just made his escape. Unable to follow, Washburn growled, "We're done!" at the last guard who was just reaching for a fallen friend's sword. Wash stomped his boot-heel upon the sword. His anger flared. Had he just lost his prize? With barely held restraint, he stopped his own sword just short of the man's throat. "Don't tempt me!" he snarled. Sir Washburn blazed his crimson aura, giving full warning that he was in control. Wisely, the guard backed away, and the wounded men on the floor cowered from the proof that a Deryni lord had them defeated.
Concern for his friend kept Wash from following the others outside. He turned to help the youth who was still swinging from the rope around his wrists. All too recently this son of a border-clan chieftain had squired for his brother during the battle at Rengarth. At the height of the battle, even as King Jasher was cut down, Muir's squire had succeed in getting a warning message through to Prince Cluim, a message that alerted the prince of hidden enemy on their flank, reducing that surprise and giving time for Washburn and his men to come to the prince's defense. Prince Cluim not only survived the attack, but continued on to defeat the Torenthi army. Months later, the newly crowned King Cluim recognized the young man's heroic deed. He requested Roger to become his personal squire. An honor that not only the boy's father but his maternal grandfather accepted with pride.
This royal squire, at the moment however, was feeling worthless in his latest task. He grimaced as he slurred the words, "I failed you."
Reaching over Roger's head, Wash cut the rope from the beam. He kept the young man from stumbling forward when his feet hit the ground. Pulling a chair over and righting a table, Wash sat his friend down, and helped him free his hands from the rope.
"Not your best day, is it?" Wash remarked while surveying the mess and being sure that Castor kept the wounded where they lay.
"Not when I fail a royal assignment!" Roger declared with a look of defeat. His left eye was swollen shut, the other was downcast and would not meet Washburn's gaze.
Sensing the commotion outside, which Roger's limited abilities could not discern, Wash grinned back at the royal squire. "You haven't failed yet, good lad, I believe you're about to hand me a royal dispatch." Wash nodded toward the door as it reopened. Jathurn stepped through with a smug smile and a sealed parchment tight in his grasp. Once he'd entered, the two Lendour armsmen drug between them the beaten, barely conscious, big Abbeyford guard. They dropped Doggin on the floor in the midst of his defeated men.
The cleanup was quick. The two armsmen gathered up the weapons. They used saddle-leathers to tie the guards' hands behind their backs. The Abbeyford guard's severest wounds were bandaged. When Jathurn went looking for more cloth, he discovered the cottage's family locked in the cellar. The farmer was a bit dismayed at first; he kept out a wary eye on everyone. Once he determined the worst was over, he was quick enough to get his boys to settle the room and have his wife and daughter bring out more linen for bandages. Roger was given a better seat before the hearth, to let the farmer's wife help remove his chain mail and see to his wounds.
When everything proved to be under control, the Knight Captain returned to Roger's side with a full tankard of ale. "You, my friend, found a hard way to deliver me a letter. How was it you were the one chosen to carry it?"
"I volunteered my services," the royal squire said, clenching his teeth, as some of the ale was poured over his wound. With a grimace, Roger declared, "I'd rather drink that, if you don't mind!" He took the mug away from Wash. He didn't flinch when Wash touched his hand. He even lowered his rudimentary shields, which he had inherited from an ancestor that Roger would not name, to let the Knight Captain send energy to help reduce the pain. After that, and another swig of ale, his color returned to his face. "The King had considered the possibility of danger. He wanted someone loyal to you, with fighting skills as well as speed. I'd have been here yesterday, if I had not been ambushed outside of Nyford. It took me all day to outrace them. This morning, I should have known I would not be in the clear at the town gates. A stupid mistake on my part that I will not make again." He grimaced once more at the pain as the farmer's wife cleaned his shoulder.
"Not if you want to survive long enough to achieve knighthood." Wash laughed at the look his friend made. "Drink up, I declare you're going to live, at least through today."
Roger took another swig and then let the farmer's wife bind his shoulder. When she was done he downed the rest of the tankard, then thanked her. After a moment, Roger nodded toward Baron Jathurn. "Rumor in Rhemuth has you married. Lord Kyriell is now a brother-in-law?" He grimaced as he laughed. "How the devil did a woman capture your heart so soon after the war?"
"Not the devil, my friend. An angel—an angel from up high. Perhaps the day will come when you'll discover the same."
"I'm afraid I'm already spoken for. My parents ensured my betrothal the day that they heard I'd survived Rengarth. I marry on my twenty-first birthday." The young man laughed at the Knight Captain's look of dismay. "That's five years from now! Don't worry, she is a pretty lass. Made of money, she is, since she had become heiress with the death of her brothers and her first betrothed when they fell as King Jasher fell. The family is in deep mourning right now, but they see the need to ensure their lands are well kept. I just have to keep in the King's good graces and live long enough to be that old."
"Twenty-one? That old? You insolent whelp!" Wash said with feigned offense. "It wasn't so long ago when I taught you to fight, my friend. Finding you this way today makes me think you've forgotten what I taught you. You keep on forgetting, and you won't live to be the ripe old age of twenty-one!"
"T'is this, I know," Roger slurred as he pulled away from the farmer's wife who had touched his face with a damp cloth. Wash just laughed and gestured for him to drink more ale.
"Honestly, I haven't forgotten. They caught me before I had reached the town gate, coming up behind me from the river's edge. I fought well enough against four men to get away. I thought I had lost them at the stream. That was my mistake! My horse and I had been traveling all night and now running all morning. He'd caught his legs in the rocks and I was washing out the wound. That was when they came upon me." The young man frowned. "Thank you for the rescue, otherwise I'd likely be dead." Wash nodded to the truth of that statement, but then the youth gave a laugh at his near miss. "If I don't get myself killed building my reputation with the King, then my heiress will be mine, soon enough. If I do get myself killed..." He shrugged, and then winced at the pain that motion caused. "...I guess I wouldn't then be worthy of her earldom. Wouldn't you agree, Baron Kyriell?" Roger grinned at the baron who came toward the hearth.
"I can see your point," the Tralian nobleman agreed.
"Jathurn, let me acquaint you with Roger McLain, the son of Laird Andrew McLain and a grandson of the Duke Tammaron of Cassan. My brother had the pleasure of squiring this audacious borderer for the last two years, who rightly earned a Haldane squire's tunic just this fall. Apparently, his antics at playing royal courier are twofold, to get us this letter from his Majesty and to earn his right to better me as the Earl of Kierney someday."
"I wish you success in your future endeavors," Jathurn replied.
Roger smiled a lopsided smile, "Thanks to you, I have succeeded so far. Though how I am going to explain this, I am uncertain." He nodded to the guards tied on the floor who would not meet his gaze. They were well aware of the trouble they were in. That none of them were dead was a miracle, though a few needed better care than then they would get here. "Don't we need to get back, to make that letter worth all this trouble? I can ride, and it is time we let these good people have their farm back, don't you think?"
The knight captain soon agreed and organized the wounded Abbeyford guards to be placed on their horses and bound to their saddles. Two men were forced to ride together to give Roger a horse, as his had become too lame to move on.
"Take good care of that northern stallion's leg," Washburn said to the farmer as he handed across a writ of ownership. "He will sire you quality foals that you can sell for good coin in the years to come. Here's some coin to see him fed. You won't regret our coming or our going, I'm thinking."
With that, Wash led the way back to Abbeyford, his men guarding the eight defeated magistrate's men. They reached the gates after sundown. The magistrate and the abbot frowned deeply when they saw the Lendour Knight Captain use the captured guards as hostages to force the gatekeeper to open the gates. Wash wasted no time in presenting his royally sealed letter to the abbot before the gathering town folk. Accusing these men of assaulting His Majesty's courier, the knight captain had the guards arrested. He continued to threaten Royal displeasure upon the monastery, stating the King would soon learn just who ordered these men to waylay a royal dispatch. The abbot backed off from the magistrate and was quick to denounce him and his guards for acting out their own greedy scheme, against the advice of the Church. He ordered the magistrate locked up with his men in their own cells until a trial for their crimes could be arranged by Steward Barlum of the Duchy of Haldane. Refuting any association with the magistrate, Abbot Darby quickly declared all goods that were being held within the protective walls of the monastery to be returned to their rightful owners, including Lendour's grain. By morning's first light, the barricade was down and the Lendour grain was on the ferry crossing the river to the north road.
Royal squire Roger McLain, after a good night's sleep under the care of Baroness Elzia, took his leave of the Knight Captain and joined Sir Dillon with most of the Lendouri armsmen to go north. Wash handed the royal squire a long letter addressed to the King, giving a full account of the events that had transpired and praising the royal squire for his bravery. The letter was sure to raise the King's ire. In truth, however, Wash had doubts if the new King had yet gained enough influence with the archbishop to force Abbot Darby to face an ecclesiastical court. The abbot's claim of innocence was most certainly false, but the use of Truth-Reading to prove it would only further harm the tenuous relations between Deryni and the Church. Wash knew better than to pursue the matter further. No one had died and he had achieved his goal. That was good enough for now. Meanwhile he still had the Tralian party to escort south to Corwyn. Wash kept Robby and six men with him to see them safely to Castle Coroth, where they arrived two days later.