Warcry

It would be an honor and a privilege to see you safe to the castle.” Detros’s voice boomed out over the crowd.
    Lara drew a deep breath, and for a moment Heath was sure she’d refuse.
    “Her Majesty would be very grateful,” the Warlord said as he dismounted from his horse. To the delight of the crowd, he strode over and swept Lara up in his arms to set her in the chair.
    Lara laughed and stole a kiss from Keir before releasing him. She settled back in the chair with a sigh. “I am ever so grateful, Detros.”
    “If you don’t mind my saying so, settle back and enjoy your day, Your Majesty.” Detros raised his voice. “For such a day has ne’er been seen in Water’s Fall!”
    The crowd roared its agreement.
    Detros tugged at the pony’s bridle and began a long, slow circle around the square, letting the crowd get a last glimpse before they continued on.
    Heath moved his horse to the lead, and once again they started toward the castle.

CHAPTER 11
     
    THE MESSENGER KNELT IN THE CENTER OF THE room, breathing hard, words spilling out in a rush as he described the Queen’s entrance into the city. He paused to swallow, gulping in air.
    “Go easy, lad.” Lord Durst lifted a frail hand, and his wife came forward with a glass of wine. “Get your breath, then tell us what you saw.”
    The boy slurped the wine and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Sorry, Lord. Ran from the main gate.”
    “And I thank you for it,” Lord Durst said. “You were very prompt. Tell me again. She walked into the city?”
    “Aye, Lord.” The lad’s eyes were wide. “She’s all dressed in white, with something glittering on her ear.”
    “And the Warlord stayed with her? With how many men?”
    “Men and women, Lord,” the lad answered. “Not more than twenty.”
    Lord Durst nodded, listening carefully to the descriptions. “My thanks,” he said finally. “A few coins for your troubles.”
    The lad bobbed his head over the silver and darted out of the room.
    “Well, that didn’t work. It’s clear that they expect an attack as she makes her way through the city.” Lanfer spoke from the corner.
    Lord Durst eyed him. Lanfer’s face was awash in vivid bruises, centered on his nose. “Let them.” Durst looked off into the distance. “Let them expend their energies on wasted efforts. Sword to sword, we lose. Our attacks will be unsuspected and unseen, and all the more powerful as a result.”
    Beatrice, his sweet wife, seated herself in one of the chairs off to the side and reached for her sewing. Durst smiled at her head, bent over the white cloth that filled her lap. “We shall distract them from the real threat,” he continued. “No bastard of the Plains shall rule in Xy.”
    “Your plans risk being too subtle,” Lanfer said. “And Browdus—”
    “We will discuss that later,” Durst replied. “For now, let us go to the throne room and prepare to welcome Xylara home.”
    Lanfer snorted, then reached out a hand to help him stand.

    EVEN SEATED IN THE CART, LARA WAS STILL AN impressive figure. The cheers and flowers continued as they made their way to the gates of the castle.
    Heath increased the pace slightly, now that he was no longer leading a pregnant woman on foot. Lara had made her point; no reason she couldn’t travel the rest of the way in comfort.
    There were a few delays along the way. Someone had organized a chorus of singing children, dressed in their finest and piping a hymn to the Sun God. Heath stopped the procession so that Lara could listen and accept a tiny bouquet of mangled flowers from the smallest of them.
    Lara thanked them all, and Heath got the procession started again. The children ran behind the cart for a time, laughing and skipping. Heath feared they’d startle the pony. But Detros had the bridle firmly in his hands, and the animal was a steady goer. It just flicked an ear. The children scattered to their parents for praise and reassurance, and the procession continued on.
    There were other faces, familiar ones, in the crush of people. At one point Lara spotted Kalisa, the old cheesemaker, bent over next to her cart, selling her good cheese and crackers. Kalisa held her old crippled hands up, as if to show them to Lara. Lara laughed and waved back.
    Then there was the old bookseller, Remn—a short ball of a man, standing on the edge of the crowd, looking so very pleased. The Warlord pulled his horse over and leaned down in the saddle. The little man looked up with a smile,