Part 12 (1/2)

_”Very good, Konar. You handled that beautifully.”_

_”Thanks, Chief. What's next?”_

_”Just keep the Duke busy with bright conversation. Buck up his spirits a bit. The old boy's had a nasty shock, and unfortunately, he's due for another one. Too bad, but it's for the best. I'll take it from here.”_

Diners looked up curiously as the two guards led Flor through the hall to the outer door. A few rose and followed as the three men went past the sentries at the portal, and came out into the suns.h.i.+ne of the inner ward. Across the cobblestones was the narrow entrance to the dungeon.

Flor looked around despairingly. His charger stood, waiting for the rider, who would never again--Or would he?

He remembered that he was still carrying the heavy belt that had been so contemptuously flung at him. When the strap had been thrown, he had flung a hand up to protect his already aching face. He had caught and held the belt, and no one had thought to take it from him.

He suddenly swerved his thick shoulders, swinging the heavy strap at the eyes of one of his guards. With a cry of pain, the man covered his face, and Flor spun, to swing the strap at the other guard. Before the two men could recover, he dashed to the side of his mount, swung into the saddle, and urged the beast into motion.

The wall was low on this side, but Flor remembered it towered high above the dry moat. And across that moat were the woods, where his men waited.

He urged the beast to full speed, forcing the animal to the top of the wall and over.

For an almost endless instant, time seemed to stop. The barren moat and green weeds floated beneath him, and the only reminder of his rapid drop was the air, which whistled past his ears. Suddenly, motion was restored again, and they lit with a jarring crash, just at the lip of the moat.

With a cry of agony, the charger pitched forward, pawing at the stones that had smashed his chest, and throwing his rider over his head. Flor managed to land uninjured. He picked himself up and ran to the edge of the forest before he stopped to look back.

Heads were appearing atop the wall. At the edge of the moat, the charger struggled vainly, then dropped from sight. Flor waved defiantly at the growing crowd which stared from the high wall.

”The Duke hangs n.o.body,” he shouted, ”unless he can catch and hold him.”

He turned, to make his way through the trees.

”In fact,” he added to himself, ”I may yet return to hang the Duke.”

He went to the meadow where his escort was encamped.

”We have been betrayed,” he shouted. ”The Duke plots with the merchants to destroy Bel Menstal and hang his men. Break camp! We must gather the forces of the barony.”

Baron Bel Orieano looked worried.

”The Duke has sent couriers,” he said, ”to gather the fighting men of the duchy. But it will be a long, hard struggle. The serf has gained the hills of Menstal. He has raised his men, and has dared to attack. Some say he has enlisted those very hill tribes, from whose depredations he swore to defend the duchy, and even has them serving under his banner.”

He looked at Meinora and Konar.

”The roads of the duchy are no longer safe. Raiding parties appear at every wooded stretch. Nor can we even be certain that the couriers have gotten through to Dweros.” He shook his head.

”I, of course, am loyal to the Duke. But my forces are few. My barony has been a peaceful community, having little need for arms.”

Meinora smiled encouragingly. ”Yet there are fighters here,” he said, ”and in plenty.”

The Baron looked at him curiously. ”Where? I have no knowledge of such.”

Konar leaned forward. ”If you can help us get the Duke's approval, we can raise an army which ten Bel Menstals would fail to withstand.”