Wanderlust (dms-2) by Mary Kirchoff

Author:Mary Kirchoff [Kirchoff, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sf_fantasy

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The clack of a door bolt and screeching hinges awakened Delbridge. He recoiled like a snake from the bright torchlight streaming in through the doorway, shielding his eyes against the far wall of his cell. As he came fully awake, he remembered where he was.

Turning slowly, still shading his eyes with his hand, he squinted at the opening. Someone stood there, backlit by a flaring torch. Delbridge saw the outline of a peaked helmet and a spear held upright.

"Come on, now, you've business with Lord Curston." The voice was rough and tinged with sarcasm.

Delbridge shrank away to cower in the corner. "What is it? Has he sent for me? Am I to be released?"

"It's not my job to answer questions. Don't make me drag you out of here."

A second shape stepped into the light. "All right, Toseph, wait in the hall," it spoke softly. Then louder, "You, prisoner, on your feet. It's time to see Lord Curston."

"Have I been pardoned? Where is Balcombe?"

The guards both ignored his question. Slowly Delbridge rose from his knees and stepped tentatively toward the door. By now his eyes were adjusting to the torchlight. In the hall he saw three more soldiers, besides the one in his cell, all apparently waiting to escort him to Lord Curston. He stumbled slightly as he crossed the threshold.

As Delbridge stepped into the hall, the soldiers closed around him. They walked without speaking down long hallways beneath the castle, past closed doors and open archways. Finally they ascended a winding flight of stone steps and passed through a wooden door.

Expecting to emerge in an inner chamber, Delbridge was stunned to see that he was outside in the castle courtyard. The sky was pink and cold, streaked with thin, angry black clouds. The courtyard was shrouded in gray, the rising sun still hidden behind massive, fortified walls.

Delbridge looked all around in panic. He saw no sign of either Curston or the mage, Balcombe. The courtyard was divided, half being occupied with merchants' and craftsmen's stalls, the other half reserved for the castle's military use. Delbridge and his escort passed between a barracks building and the commercial area, and he could see they were headed toward a large, open court. As they rounded the corner, Delbridge's knees buckled.

A gallows was just beginning to catch the morning sun.

Two soldiers grabbed his sinking arms and propped him up, half aiding, half dragging him forward. Delbridge's eyes were tightly closed; his feet flailed uselessly at the ground.

The troop stopped in front of a line of men-at-arms, all standing at attention. Behind them were arrayed a hundred or more citizens from the town, and beyond them, within sight but out of hearing of the gallows-to the right of the castle gate-Lord Curston sat astride a powerful chestnut gelding. The elderly knight was splendid in his Solamnic armor, his helmet slung across the saddle pommel. Alongside Curston and slightly behind him was Balcombe, mounted on a black mare.

In an even voice, the

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