The Silent Shield (Kingfountain #5)(74)

“I’m tempted to reach through those bars and throttle your neck, thief,” Fallon said grimly. “I am not your master, as you well know. Trynne, come with me.”

“If you leave me here alone, I’m a dead man,” Dragan said to Trynne, his eyes widening with fear.

Fallon glowered at him. “Your death is already a foregone conclusion.” He had reached Trynne and stood by her, almost in a protective stance. “I hope you don’t give too much credence to anything he’s said to you. He’s liable to say anything to save his skin from frostbite.”

Trynne looked up at Fallon, feeling the familiar feelings at war inside her—the desire to trust him and the fear that she could not. “Why is he even here, Fallon?”

“I will gladly explain it to you,” he said, gesturing for the exit. “But I’d rather not say more in front of such a man. He has a thousand tricks. I had no doubt that you would sense him when you arrived. I might not be Fountain-blessed, but I know that one Fountain-blessed can feel the presence of another. I was going to tell you about him before . . . well, you know what happened. Let’s speak now. Come with me.”

“She will kill me,” Dragan said softly.

Fallon snorted. “Not likely,” he countered. “She’s behind bars herself and I had the blacksmith melt lead into the lock. Just as I did with this one. When I open this gate, it will be to drag you to a donkey and haul you to Helvellyn to freeze to death.” He took another step toward the locked gate, as if he couldn’t help himself. “I know you were at the grove, Dragan. I know you were part of the abduction, and I’ve already found the horde of coins you were bribed with. You have no further information I desire. The only thing I want from you now is your sorry carcass. But it will be done by the Assizes or by the king’s command. Not my own. But rest assured, Dragan, if your life is ended sooner by other means, I could hardly care less.” Then he turned and bowed to Trynne. “My lady, if you would come with me?”

Trynne nodded, feeling her heart flutter as Fallon’s words sank home. He gently took her arm and offered to carry her torch. As they walked away together, Dragan began to shake the bars in a fit of rage and screamed violent oaths.

Neither of them turned to look at him.



The stairwell leading up to the highest spire of the castle seemed unending. It was wide enough that they could climb it side by side, but soldiers wearing the badge of the Pierced Lion were coming down from above and they had to hug close to the wall to make room. Trynne craned her neck, peering up the dark shaft, unable to see the top. The noise of their steps and heavy breathing mingled to drown out any other sounds, save for the patter of distant steps and the noise from the wind every time they passed an arrow slit.

The climb was long but invigorating. By the time they reached the highest level, coming to a stop before a ladder leading up to a trapdoor, Fallon had a sheen of sweat on his brow. Both of them were a little winded.

“I don’t think Farnes would care to serve in Dundrennan, do you?” he asked.

Trynne smiled a little as she thought of her aging herald scaling the steps. Fallon climbed up the ladder and pushed open the trapdoor. A brisk, knifelike wind came rushing down, cutting through her tunic instantly as she started to climb up the ladder. He emerged first and then reached down to help her up.

The tower was the highest point of the castle and the view nearly made her dizzy as she stared down at the bailey. The sky was thick with clouds, though they parted to show a sliver of brilliant moon that shed its light across the woolen veil. The noise of the waterfall was much louder up there, a constant murmur against the howl of the wind. Fallon quickly removed his cloak and draped it over her shoulders. It was warm from his body heat and the exertion of the climb. The gesture sent a little shiver through her, and she smiled up at him.

There were four soldiers already up there, each one looking in a different direction, their eyes piercing the gloom. There were no torches, but each man had a hooded lantern. The bailey yard below was still teeming with people.

“What’s the latest news, Captain?” Fallon asked, half shouting to be heard above the screech of the wind.

“My lord,” the captain shouted back, putting his arm out and gripping Fallon’s shoulder. “The forefront of Gahalatine’s army has reached Doublebrook. They’ll be at the walls before dawn by our reckoning.”

“That soon?” Fallon answered, shaking his head in amazement.

“Aye, my lord. His army never stops, not fully. A part of it is always in motion. There are now two supply lines. One from Blackpool. Another from Kennit, one on either side of us. They seemed to know the king would be here.”

“Seems so,” Fallon responded gravely. “I’d like a moment with this young lady, if you wouldn’t mind, Captain.”

The captain, a large man with a full beard and whiskers, grinned a toothy grin and motioned for the others to join him. “Let’s wait out of the wind for a bit, chaps. What do you say?”

“Aye, Captain.” There was no disagreement, and soon Trynne and Fallon were alone at the top of the tower. The howling wind whipped her hair across her face.

“I’m sorry to have brought you up this high, but it is one of the few places I can be assured a private conversation,” he said with a chuckle. He stood in front of her, leaning back slightly against the wall of the parapet. She was afraid the wind was going to suddenly shove him over the edge, but she was close enough to grab his sword belt if that happened. She gazed up at him, feeling a surge of warmth for him when she noticed how his unruly hair was being ruffled by the wind.