Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

T he alarm at dawn woke Dane up out of a dead sleep.

He could hear the Shrewsbury horn on the battlements, its mournful cry rousing men to battle, and he threw back the coverlet and leapt out of bed. His breeches, in a pile next to the bed where he had left them, were quickly on and he snatched his boots, yanking them on his feet as Grier, groggy and hungover, sat up in bed.

"What is happening?" she asked, rubbing her eyes. "What is that noise?"

Dane hardly had time to explain. With his boots on, he grabbed his tunic and bent over the bed, kissing Grier on the top of the head.

"An alarm," he said. "Stay here and bolt the door. You will not open it except for me or any of the knights. Is that clear?"

Fearfully, Grier nodded. "An alarm?" she repeated. "Is the castle being attacked?"

Dane yanked his tunic over his head as he made his way to the door. "I do not know," he said. "Bolt this door when I go."

As Dane rushed to the stairs, he heard the bolt as Grier threw it across the chamber door. Taking the steps quickly, perhaps too quickly, he was just hitting the entry when Boden burst in through the entry door and headed for his brother. The pair came together somewhere in the middle of the foyer.

"What is happening?" Dane demanded.

"A raid on the market street," Boden said. "Syler and Dastan are already mounted, riding out to stop it."

Dane didn't like the idea of his men fighting a battle without him. "Bring my horse to the gatehouse," he said. "I will be there in a few minutes. Where is William?"

"He is preparing to ride out after Dastan and Syler."

Dane came to a halt. "We cannot all ride out to fight," he said, irritated. "Boden, you remain here. I will ride out with Willie. Tell him to wait for me, do you hear?"

Boden rolled his eyes. "You know he will not listen to me."

"If he does not, then I send him home to Wellesbourne and tell his father that he has shamed the Wellesbourne name." He jabbed a finger at his brother. "Tell him that, Boden. I will not hesitate to do it."

Boden knew it was the truth. As he headed back out to the gatehouse to have Dane's horse brought around, Dane ran with him, stopping at the western tower of the inner gatehouse because the armory was there. His armor, his weaponry, had been taken there after they'd returned yesterday to be cleaned by the small army of squires and pages they had serving at Shrewsbury.

And that small army had an entire story behind it.

Garreth de Lara was generous in that he accepted young men and boys from noble families who were perhaps not too well off so that the lads could learn the vocation of the knighthood. The problem was that Garreth never denied a truly willing and eager family, so there were literally dozens of young men at Shrewsbury, willing and able to complete any task asked of them.

That was never more evident than it was when Dane dashed into the armory only to find it full of boys and young men, all working furiously on the racks and stacks of weaponry and armor that were there. When they saw Dane, the new duke, they rushed him, bringing his armor and weapons and anything else they thought he needed, and Dane had to settle the boys down so he could properly dress. It had been like a rush of eager puppies the moment he walked through the door. There were two older squires there, young men who had seen sixteen or seventeen years, and they were quite efficient in holding off the throng of young men as they helped Dane dress.

It was heavy plate armor, made for great protection, and Dane had them fasten on the chest and back plates, and the protection for his arms and shoulders. Time was growing short, so he forewent most of the plate on his legs. He had a mail coat on, that hung to his knees, and with his boots on, he was nearly fully dressed, but time was passing swiftly and he didn't want to delay any longer. With one of the older squires running after him, carrying his shield, he ran all the way to the bailey where his horse was just being brought around.

As he'd hoped, but not really expected, William was impatiently waiting for him. Astride his excitable war horse, William rallied the other soldiers astride their steeds and formed a protective barrier around Dane as the patrol raced from the main gatehouse of Shrewsbury. It was an impressive formation organized by William and meant to protect Dane. The trouble was, it also singled him out, which Dane didn't like. He broke from the formation and charged towards the marketplace in the center of town with his contingent thundering after him.

The deeper they went into town, the more panic they saw. People were running in their direction, screaming in terror. Dane tried not to mow them down, but it was difficult because they were all fleeing in terror. Dane was finally forced to slow his horse and as he drew closer to the market area of town, a high-pitched wail suddenly filled the air.

Knowing immediately what it was, Dane threw himself off of his horse just in time for the arrow, launched from a crossbow at high speed, to sail overhead and hit the soldier behind him. Hit squarely in the chest, the man grunted and fell backwards off of his horse.

"Get down!" Dane bellowed, and men began falling from their horses. "Find cover!"

Everyone was scattering, rushing into doorways and alleys, trying to stay clear of the arrows, which were flying in their direction. Several more were launched as Dane and William took shelter in the doorway of a large house.

"Where are they coming from?" William demanded, trying to stick his head out. "Did you see?"

Dane pressed himself up against the door as another arrow sailed in their general direction, hitting the house on the eaves above them.

"Nay," he said. "But they are coming from the general direction of the marketplace, which concerns me. Where are Dastan and Syler? They rode out ahead of us, didn't they?"

William nodded. He dropped to his hands and knees, peering out into the street beyond. "I can see the merchant houses that line the marketplace, but this is the rear of them," he said. "The front faces out into the market street. I cannot see any movement."

Dane thought quickly. "We need the army, not just small patrols," he said. "Someone needs to make it back to the castle to muster a few hundred men."

"I'll go," William said confidently. "If I can move to this row of homes behind us, I can make it to the castle without being seen."

"Then go," Dane commanded quietly. "Hurry, now, and stay low. I am concerned for Dastan and Syler. We must find them."

William was gone, using stealth to make his way to the row of residences several dozen yards to the north, and then using those homes as a shield as he ran back to the castle. Dane was pleased to see that he made it, but then it began to occur to him that he was hearing the sounds of a fight from the direction of the marketplace. And here he and his men were, pinned down by arrow fire and unable to help.

He wasn't just going to stand here.

Off to his left, he could see his war horse milling about, grazing on one of the many grassy, muddy areas that dotted the town. Most of the horses had run back to the castle, but not his glutton– his stallion never turned down fresh grass, which was a good thing. On the horse's back were the tools he needed to make it into the marketplace– his shield and his sword.

He had to get the horse's attention.

Emitting a low but rather shrill whistle between his teeth, he called to the beast. The animal's head came up first, sighting him, and then Dane whistled again, which brought the animal in his direction. A couple of arrows flew in the horse's direction, but they both missed, and the animal began to run towards him, startled by the sound. When the steed came alongside, Dane grabbed his shield and his broadsword.

Now, he was armed.

Slapping the animal on its fat rump, he sent the horse back in the direction of the castle as he stepped out into the open, holding the shield over his head. As he expected, multiple arrows came flying out at him, but he ran towards the marketplace, fending off the arrows with his shield.

The sounds of fighting grew louder and, as he approached, he ran straight into a Welshman with a crossbow in his hands. Delivering a crushing blow with his shield to the face, Dane dragged the unconscious Welshman back the way he'd come, handing him over to some of his men who were just coming out of their hiding places. As a few men gleefully took the unconscious prisoner back to the castle, Dane and the rest of his men continued towards the marketplace, only to run headlong into the remnants of a brutal fight.

There were dead men in the street, dead Welshmen with their long tunics and even longer cloaks. Two of Dane's soldiers were down, and he could see Dastan as the man fought off a group of Welshmen who were trying to seriously beat on him.

Unfortunately, it looked to Dane as if Dastan and Syler hadn't taken many men with them when they'd hurriedly fled the castle, because there were more Welshmen than English, and Dane charged into the fray, swinging his sword and beating back those trying to overwhelm his men. Just as he began fighting in earnest, he could see a downed knight off to his right, lying in a puddle of water, as two Welshmen tried to strip him of his weapons.

Dane was on them in an instant.

Infuriated, rage fed his actions. In a particularly brutal move, he went in for the kill right away. The Welshmen weren't wearing armor or protection, but Dane didn't care. He cut off one man's arm right away, sending the man screaming off, and with the second man, he wasn't any kinder. With a vicious upstroke on his sword, he caught the man in the chin, cutting his head off with tremendous ease. As the man's head went rolling into a gutter and his body fell away, Dane fell to his knees beside the downed knight.

It was Syler.

The man was on his face, his entire head in a muddy puddle of water. Dane could feel panic in his veins as he rolled the man out of the water and onto his back. Immediately, he could see the remains of two broken-off arrows in Syler's chest area, very close together, and he yanked the man's helm off to see if he was still alive.

Met with an unconscious knight with a bluish-tinged face, Dane quickly unbuckled the plate protection, pulling it off and yanking the arrows out with it. They were all stuck together, the arrowheads wedged into Syler's torso, but Dane ripped them all out. He could see that the arrows had pierced the man just below his heart, into the left side of his body, and he put his head against the man's chest to listen for a heartbeat or breathing.

He heard nothing.

Seized with horror, Dane rolled Syler onto his side and pounded on his back, hoping that might clear his lungs and start him breathing. He had no way of knowing how long Syler had been lying face down in that mud puddle, but he suspected it was too long. Still, he didn't want to face it. He didn't want to lose a knight, a man he'd genuinely grown to like. He didn't want to lose the camaraderie and the man's skilled sword. He pounded on the knight's back.

"Breathe, Syler," he commanded. " Breathe! "

Muddy water poured from Syler's mouth, but nothing more. He didn't breathe. Dane pounded again and again, not realizing that the fighting had stopped around him and his men, including Dastan, were coming up alongside, watching him as he tried to bring a dead man back to life.

"My lord," Dastan said, feeling the grief of having lost a friend as he watched. "He was down for several minutes before you arrived. I saw him go down but there was nothing I could do."

Dane heard Dastan's words but he ignored him. He continued to beat on Syler's back, shaking the man, trying anything he could think of to get him to breathe again, but he was met by silence.

"Syler, breathe! " he bellowed. "Do you hear me? Breathe! I command it!"

It was so very difficult to watch. Dastan had tears in his eyes. Rather than stand there and weep, however, he fell to his knees beside Syler, trying to clear his mouth of the debris the man had breathed in, trying to help Dane revive a man who could not be revived. Dane tried, for several minutes, and so did Dastan, but in the end, it did no good.

Syler de Poyer was dead.

Even after Dane realized that, he continued to pound on Syler's back but, eventually, he stopped pounding. Then, he simply sat there and hung his head.

"God," he muttered. "Oh, God… no."

Dastan gazed down at his friend and cousin through marriage, a man he'd greatly respected and admired. Heavily, he sighed.

"They were waiting for us when we rode into town," he said, his voice sounding weary and dull. "I was in the lead and Syler was back behind me, riding with the men. They hit him first with arrows, and a few others, as you have seen, but Syler fell off of his horse and straight into the puddle, and there he lay, as I could do nothing. While we were engaged, more of them waited for you to come behind us. I could hear the arrows flying at you but I could do nothing."

Dane still had his hand on Syler's back as he looked at Dastan, his face a mask of devastation and anger.

"How many were there?" he asked.

Dastan scratched his head with a bloodied hand. "Forty or fifty men, mayhap," he said. "They were Welsh."

"You are sure?"

"I am."

Dane looked down at the dead knight, feeling the stress and grief of the sight. "His death shall not be in vain," he growled. "Dastan, mount two hundred of our best men. We will follow the trail of the bastards who did this. When we find them, we shall destroy them."

"It shall be done, my lord," Dastan said, struggling to focus on what needed to be done and not the anguish he was feeling. "What would you have me do with Syler's body?"

Dane reached out, putting a gentle hand on Syler's head. It was a poignant gesture, one of kindness and regret. In his own way, he was apologizing to Syler, perhaps asking the man's forgiveness for what had happened. As the Duke of Shrewsbury, it was the first man he'd lost under his command and he took it very hard. With a final stroke to the man's dark head, he stood up.

"Cover him up and take him back to the castle," he said. "No one is to mention his death until the rest of us return. News of his passing should come from you, Dastan, since you are married to his cousin. I do not want the women hearing about this from others."

Dastan nodded, his gaze moving back to Syler and losing the battle against his grief. As Dane watched, he went to Syler and drew the man up into his arms. Kissing his forehead, he simply held him for a moment, indulging in the only display of grief he would allow himself.

"He is an only son, you know," Dastan said hoarsely. "His father will take this very hard."

That was like a dagger to Dane's heart. He put a hand on Dastan's shoulder, a hand of comfort, but he knew there was little comfort to give. After several moments of watching Dastan grieve, he patted him on the shoulder rather firmly.

"Give him over to the men, Dastan," he said. "You and I have a task to complete. We must make sure whoever is responsible for it pays with every damn bone in their body. Are you with me?"

Dastan nodded, but tears were trickling from his eyes. "Indeed, I am," he said, gently releasing Syler back onto the ground. As Dane turned away, looking for his horse, who had found another grassy patch to chomp on, Dastan quietly ordered a few of the soldiers standing around to collect Syler's body and cover him up, returning him to the castle and placing him in the cold underground vault until his body could be prepared. Dane had never heard a man weep and give orders at the same time.

But today, he did.