No one was looking as he and Hadrian reached the ladder. “You want it over there?” Hadrian asked, nodding toward the banners, but it was more of a statement than a question. When you knew what to look for it was easy to see.
Once Hadrian set the ladder, Royce led the way up. Using only the two outside fingers of his left hand, he climbed with no more difficulty than if it had been steps. Partway up, he disappeared beneath the blue-and-white standard of House Dulgath.
If I were doing this, I’d set up the crossbow down and to the left. Better angle and more reaction time if anyone comes up. But then if I were doing this, I would’ve pulled up the ladder.
Not for the first time, Royce wondered who he’d find holding the bow. Not Tom the Feather or Roosevelt Hawkins, and probably not a bucketman from the Diamond.
Creeping up the last few rungs, Royce poked his head above the level of the catwalk. Beneath the banners was a dim world, a long tunnel formed by the parapet, roofed and walled on one side by the huge linen pennants. On the outer side, merlons left squared open spaces, giving views outside the castle. Muted sunlight lent the space a tentlike feel. The underside of the banners acted as the backside of stained glass along the corridor. Less than twenty feet to his left, a man lay on his stomach with his hips turned, one leg bent and the other straight to fit within the narrow passage. He was bald, heavily tanned and tattooed. His arms were wrapped around a massive crossbow, his cheek resting on its stock; the weapon’s nose barely protruded through the gap between the standard of Dulgath and the banner of Maranon. The prow of the bow was mounted on a stand, the other end pressed against the bald man’s shoulder. As Royce had expected, a rope was tied around a merlon behind the assassin—his escape route.
Hasn’t seen me.
A bell began ringing. Royce reached into his cloak and gingerly drew Alverstone with his left hand before creeping onto the parapet. The bowman was so intent on his target he never noticed.
Too intent.
The killer’s eyes narrowed, and he was holding his breath.
The bell! It’s a signal.
A busted right hand made it impossible to accurately throw his dagger. Instead, he raced toward the assassin, but a diving hawk couldn’t cut that distance faster than the bald man could squeeze a trigger. Only two strides separated them when…
Thwack!
The sound was loud. Somewhere in the courtyard below, came a faint, muffled thrump! Followed by screams.
Royce wondered if the shooter had even seen where his shot landed before his throat was cut. The assassin was dead, but a price was paid. A jolt of pain exploded from Royce’s broken finger as he killed the bowman. Soaked in blood, the slick blade slipped from his hand. Alverstone hit the parapet and fell through to the courtyard below. “Damn it!”
Hadrian, who had caught up to Royce, was pulling back the edge of the pennant.
“Did he hit her?” Royce whispered.
Hadrian drew the banner aside further so both of them could peer out. Lady Dulgath sat slumped in her beautiful blue gown, a massive quarrel protruding from the center of her chest.
She’s dead.
Two knights were on their feet. One drew his sword, looking through the crowd for the enemy. Everyone else stared at the chair to the right of King Vincent. Hadrian released the cloth and it slid back into place.
“Can you climb down the rope with your hands like that?” Hadrian asked.
Before Royce could answer, a communal gasp rose from the courtyard. Several people screamed. “She’s alive!” someone shouted. That one voice managed to cut through the murmur of the crowd.
Royce peeled back the canvas and saw the impossible. Nysa Dulgath’s eyes were open. With both hands she pulled the quarrel from her body, looking at it, stunned.
How could she…how could anyone survive being impaled with a bolt that size.
Nysa dropped the quarrel. It hit the stage with a hollow clunk. Blood soaked the front of her once beautiful gown, turning the blue to black. She coughed, and blood bubbled out of her mouth, spilling in a gruesome display down her chin and neck. Her eyes looked up, looked across the length of the courtyard, looked directly at Royce. Help me, she mouthed.
They were separated by almost three hundred feet but she knew he was up there, once more hiding, once more watching. She always knew when he was near, and that he could see her lips because he was elven.
The sound of someone climbing the ladder caught Royce’s attention, and he let go of the canvas, blocking his view of the lady and her pleading eyes.
Knox’s voice arrived before he did. “Shervin! Damn you. Load another bolt or I’ll have to smother the bitch in the infirmary!” When his head cleared the parapet he froze. “Melborn! Blackwater?”
Hadrian drew his swords and charged toward Knox, but the sheriff wasn’t a fool. Grabbing an end of the banner, he leapt; his weight did the rest. Sheriff Knox fell to the courtyard, bringing the blue-and-white standard of Dulgath with him. He pointed at Royce and the arbalest shouting, “Assassin! Assassin!” His men headed his way, pushing through the crowd.
Hadrian dragged the ladder up. He jerked his head toward the rope. “I can buy you some time, but make it fast. Get moving.”
The knights, along with other guards, continued their way toward the wall, hampered by the crowd. People were crying, as they backed away from the stage. King Vincent stood beside Nysa, shocked. Lady Dulgath continued looking at Royce with desperate eyes.
Help me.
I’ll have to smother the bitch in the infirmary!
“I’m not leaving,” Royce said.
“What?” Hadrian shot back.
“We need to get her out. Here, help me load another quarrel.” Royce fumbled, trying to work the arbalest.
“Get her out? Royce, there’s a thousand people between us and her. Maybe two thousand. How do you expect—” He shook his head. “Royce, get on the rope!”
“We can’t leave her here. You heard what Knox said.”
“Royce, you’re being stupid! Get down the rope. It’s not going to take them long to get another ladder.”
“No.”
“Since when are you a hero? Look, I’m all for saving people, but there is no way to get her out!”
“Yeah, there is. But I need your help.” Royce said, continuing to work the weapon with his mangled hands. “Get over here.”
Hadrian looked skeptical but joined Royce at the arbalest. He rotated the crank, spinning it as quickly as he could, pulling back the wire. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”
“You’re going down to the courtyard and carry Nysa Dulgath out the gate. Then, put her in the wagon and I’ll use the rope to meet you outside the wall.”
“If I go down there, they’ll kill me,” Hadrian said as the wire reached its firing position.
“I won’t let them.”
“You won’t let them. How you going to—?”
“Just trust me!”
Hadrian stared at Royce for a moment, only a second, then nodded. Seeing him do it, seeing Hadrian accept trust me as an argument worth risking his life for, disgusted Royce. Had the situation been reversed, he never would’ve agreed. Royce would’ve already left.
Would I? Would I leave him behind to die?
He wanted to believe he would, but…
“What are you going to do?” Hadrian asked as he placed the bolt.
“Play chess.”
The bell rang.
Payne had been tasked with pulling the rope. The idea being that the noise would cover the sound of the shot. Christopher was preparing to look surprised, but he needn’t have bothered—it came as a genuine shock when the quarrel struck Nysa.
He’d heard the crack, as if someone had split wood. In point of fact, Gerami had done exactly that. The quarrel had punched through Lady Dulgath’s chest and shattered the wooden back of her seat. Christopher had to fight off a smile now that the deed was done.
It’s over! I’m going to be earl!
The next shock came when Knox called out the thieves’ names and pulled down the banner.
Why aren’t they in Manzant? The thought fought with the sight before his eyes.