Albion woke slowly, face
down upon a dirt floor. His hands were bound so tightly with strips of
leather they were beginning to swell. More terrifying still, his head
still swam and his shields were as useless as shattered glass.
Whatever these brigands
had done it was quite effective. With much struggle he managed to roll
to his side, but the effort made his head swim and his stomach rolled.
He glanced around the hut. Josce lay on the other side of the room,
bound in the same manner. Young Hugh was nowhere to be seen.
As he turned his head he
caught sight of their only other companion. One of the brigands, armed
with a sturdy mace, sat near the door. Apparently the leader wasn't
stupid enough to leave them alone to plot escape.
Albion gathered his
resolve and tried to focus his mind enough to contact Josce. The effort
was agonizing, exhausting and futile.
At last he gave up and
drew a painful breath. "Josce! Are you awake?"
A moment later his friend
nodded without opening his eyes. "I wish I wasn't."
The mace crashed into
Albion's stomach. He doubled over, retching violently though there was
nothing to come up.
The guard settled
himself, a grimly satisfied smile on his face. "You'll get your
chance to talk more than you want to soon enough."
Shadows lengthened as day
turned to night. Albion drifted in and out of awareness, rousing only
when he was offered a cup of bad ale. His first taste told him the cup
was laced with the same poison they had used on him earlier but he was
too thirsty to refuse it.
The day passed to mid
afternoon. Then shouts outside the hut roused both of the Deryni from
their drugged sleep. Running feet sloshed through sodden ground. From
the sound of the cries, Albion hoped rescue might at last be at hand.
A few minutes later a
brigand entered the hut, his cloak dripping. The guard glanced up but
did not leave his comfortable stool. "What's this?"
The newcomer tossed a
brief nod toward the hut's door. " 'His Lordship wants 'em brought
t' the chapel."
"Makes no
sense." The guard growled as he rose, clearly not wanting to leave
his relatively comfortable shelter. " 'Hain't had enough time t'
soften 'em up yet."
"Oy! D'ye think I'm
in charge 'ere?" The brigand shrugged and continued as if he were
discussing weather. "Th' sentries caught a pair o' morts sneakin'
about. One o' 'em's important, so 'Is Lordship says we'll get the
message sent right quick."
"Good enough for
me." The guard stood with a grunt. "I'm ready t' get out o'
this soggy mess. Is it still rainin'?
"Not for some time.
It's snowin' now." The second brigand seized Josce and hauled him
to his feet. "Did ye give this one 'is tonic yet?"
The guard shook his head
as he forced Albion to stand. "Didn't see the need. 'E wasn't the
one tossin' about. Besides, why waste good ale?"
Josce sagged in his
captor's grip. Albion struggled to keep his feet, but he stumbled more
than once as they covered the distance to a small, partially ruined
church. His guard let him fall to the ground each time, so he was
covered with chill mud by the time they reached their destination.
The chapel bore only the
most peripheral resemblance to a sanctuary. Clearly someone had lived
here for more than a few days. Albion tried to glance about, hoping to
spy some clue to their captor's identity. He only made himself dizzy.
Then a cloaked figure
rose from a stool placed near the altar and advanced on them. At the
same moment four brigands joined the group, leading two men tightly
bound. Blades held to the new prisoners' throats kept them from
struggling.
Footsteps warned of more
to join them. Albion's heart turned over in relief as Isolde came to
stand near him. She was unbound, but a brigand with a crossbow stood a
few feet behind her, loaded and cocked.
The cloaked figure turned
slowly as if he were surveying the room. Then he lifted an altar chalice
and drank a silent toast to all of them. "Well done indeed, my
friends, and good fortune to us this day. Here I had thought to deliver
only one portion of justice and I am favored to bring three criminals to
their full rewards."
Isolde made a small
sound. Albion turned as best he could to look at her. Her soft brown
eyes glistened with tears, the fear in them unmistakable.
He tried to give her a
reassuring smile. The effort failed miserably.
The cloaked brigand
pointed first at one of the new prisoners. "As you all know, I was
in service to the great Ifor Haldane, true King of Gwynedd, when these
monsters attacked us without provocation. Many of you were with me. You
saw the slaughter of innocents in the courtyard, the execution of our
beloved Queen and the butchery of His Highness Ifor Haldane by these
monsters."
Rumbles of assent came
from all sides. Now Albion knew what this was about. These men had
survived the coup and somehow believed they could reverse the loss of
their homeland.
"And here," the
cloaked figure continued, seizing one of the new prisoners by his hair,
"is the heir of the usurper himself! What say you all? Shall the
sins of the father not be repaid in the fate of his son, as scriptures
tell us?"
How in God's name had
Festil come here? Albion closed his eyes against the madness even as
cries from every side condemned his prince and friend to a traitor's
execution.
Isolde stepped away from
the group then. Her voice rose over the tumult, a frantic undertone
carefully controlled. "Listen to me! You cannot be so foolish!
Think what you risk!"
The cloaked leader turned
to her. Isolde stiffened her stance, clearly not willing to back down.
"You think to defend
them?" The leader's voice carried an edge of menace.
Albion watched Isolde
pale, but she held her place. He shook his head, trying all the while to
catch her attention. Don't, he thought wishing futily he could send the
message to her. Don't put yourself in his way. He's mad, they all are,
and you are not enough to stem this tide. This is not your fight.
But she stood her ground.
"In any trial, Brandonn, the accused is entitled to defense. I will
speak for them if none else will."
The cloaked leader
laughed. "You always were the one to side with the trapped wolf.
Defend them then, sister. Is the heir of the usurper not subject to his
father's crimes?"
"He was not with the
army that came to claim our lands." Isolde faced the group of
brigands, her chin up, her voice steady. "He could not have stopped
them. There was no way he could have saved us."
"But he benefits
from our defeat!" The leader pointed again at Festil, who shot
mutinous glares around the room but dared do nothing more with a knife
at his throat. "What say you?"
And the cry came without
dissent. "Guilty!"
The leader turned from
Festil to the next prisoner, who was struggling mightily with his
captor. "And what say you of this one, my friends? True, he stood
with the Haldane and has led some measure of resistance in the past
year. But when I needed him most he refused me his aid. He says he is
unwilling to attack women and children to support our cause. I ask you,
my friends; was our Queen not a woman? Were the Haldane children not
slaughtered?"
"And would you
condemn a man because he will not lower himself to the levels you so
despise in your enemies?" Isolde did not allow the leader to finish
before she interrupted. "Connal McQuillion has been your strongest
supporter. He has inflicted Heaven knows how much damage on the king you
call usurper."
The cloaked leader
rounded on her with fury in his voice. "McQuillion would not
protect you! His loyalties are divided!"
"No." Isolde
refused to be cowed. "His priorities are valid. He will not waste
his efforts where he knows they will do no good."
The leader turned back to
his men with a growl that would have suited a wolf. "What is your
verdict?"
Again the gathered
outlaws roared, "Guilty!"
With a grunt that might
have been pleasure the leader moved to Albion and Josce. As he paced
before them, Albion risked a glance at his friend. Josce's head hung
limp and he seemed barely aware of what was happening.
Albion wished he could be
as oblivious. Obviously these brigands did not know the dosage of the
drug they were using. He was horribly aware of everything around him
despite his rolling stomach and swirling brain.
"These two are the
worst of the lot. They came with the usurper! They drew the blood of
loyal men! They butchered our beloved queen as if she were a sow in
farrow!"
"No!" Isolde
interrupted, her voice rising above the muttering. "Indeed they
came from Torenth, but you have no proof they committed atrocities.
Where are your witnesses to accuse them?"
"I am a
witness!" the leader roared. "We are all witnesses. Even your
beloved McQuillion was in that yard that morning. Ask him! Let him
testify!"
Connal shook off his
guard before he could be hauled forward. He faced the leader squarely,
then turned to look at Albion and Josce. At last, when he spoke, his
words fell like lead.
"I did see them in
the yard. They did not murder the children, nor did either of these men
attack any woman."
"But they did
wrong!" The leader seized Albion's hair and dragged him forward.
Albion stumbled and fell
to his knees, unable to stay on his feet. The brigand allowed him to
stay down, but hauled his head back so he was forced to face the
ceiling.
"This is the
greatest felon of all," the leader exclaimed, raising a fist in
triumph. "McQuillion, do you deny this is the archer who shot the
shaft that killed Ifor, King of Gwynedd?"
Amid the roars of outrage
Albion heard Isolde's despairing gasp. Dear Christ, why had he never
told her his part in the invasion?
With a supreme effort of
will he managed to turn his head and look at her. Her expression sent
waves of nausea rolling through his already tortured belly. The tears in
her beautiful eyes tore apart his soul.
The outlaw leader jerked
Albion's head forward. "Do you deny it?" he shouted in
Albion's face. His rancid breath made Albion gag.
"I cannot. It is
true." Every word came with an effort. "I did kill King Ifor."
"Then you are guilty
of all we have accused!" The brigand let Albion fall face forward
onto the floor as he fairly crowed his triumph. "And, for having
defended you, so is my whore of a sister. This trial is over. It is time
for the sentence."
Behind Albion, the
outlaws' cheers rose like thunder. Their leader strode back and forth
before the prisoners, clearly relishing his position.
Albion wished then, if
only for a moment, to have his powers back. If only he could focus his
mind he could blast that swaggering brute apart. Rage and helpless
frustration tore at him, but they gave him enough strength to struggle
to his feet.
Beneath the leader's hood
yellow teeth showed in what must have been a smile. "I had thought
to give these villains the death reserved for traitors," he said as
if he were contemplating the crossbeams above them. "You know I
had, in fact, prepared all necessary to do it right. We have the rope to
hang, the knives to disembowel and the horses necessary for the final
step.
"But I have changed
my mind. They shall not be hung, drawn and quartered. Instead I think
they shall face a fate more fitting heretics, for indeed they have
offended not only ourselves but The Most High with their heinous
acts."
The chapel fell silent,
save for Isolde who was still weeping helplessly.
Albion bit his lip to
keep from shrieking. Terror seized him and shook him like a terrier
shakes a rat. Had he eaten anything in the past day he knew then he
would have spewed it up.
The brigand leader braced
his feet apart, clasped his hands behind his back and raised his voice
so loudly he might be heard in Beldhor. "We have the lash, stake
and flame at ready. These wretches shall be flogged until not a strip of
flesh remains unscarred. Then, while yet aware they shall be sent to
hell in flames of our making."
Shouts of approval
greeted his pronouncement.
The leader gestured at
Albion. Two of the guards seized him and dragged him from the church
into the softly falling snow. The others followed, held securely by
gleeful brutes.
Four stakes stood behind
the chapel, surrounded by piles of faggots. Ropes hung from each of
them. Nearby a small fire burned, ready to light the torches already
prepared.
Dear Christ, he prayed
silently as he was stripped naked as a babe. I know I have not been the
servant you would wish. I am not the man my father was. I have not
always done as you would ask, for I feared the mortal cost. I ask naught
for myself, but Isolde is an innocent. If you have mercy in you, Christ
God, save her.
And let her know I love
her, he added as he managed to look back and find her amid the crowd of
watching brigands.
That was his last thought
as he was bound to the stake. Each stroke of the lash tore away strips
of flesh. They slapped wetly against Albion's legs as the methodical
flogging continued.
Only when he was turned
about and the first blow caught his naked belly did he lose control. His
scream of agony seemed to echo forever. |