Chapter 63: Part Dos-1

It took Sander and Tristan half as long to descend the stairs as it had taken them to climb them. They did not converse on the way down, Sander driven by determined urgency and Tristan too edgy to pretend otherwise. Tristan’s heart beat like the tattoo of a drum and his clammy palms slid easily along the balustrade, slick with his cold sweat.  He couldn’t recall ever being so nervous or reluctant to follow the High Commander’s orders. What if the High Commander is wrong? Could he have made a mistake in his judgment of Sander? Appalled at the traitorous direction of his thoughts, Tristan shoved them aside and focused on the slumped-over figure in the vestibule of the Beyaz Kale. A hand lay flat against the chalk-white walls and dragged down, accompanied by a horrible wailing sound like that of a drowning cat. Delicate shoulders – funny how delicate they seemed when encased in women’s frippery – shook with apparent grief, and great, gulping sobs racked the gently curved frame. Tristan rushed to the figure at once. “My lady, what is the cause of your distress?” He grabbed the hand on the wall and brought its fingers to his mouth, as if he were going to impart a kiss. Instead, he hissed in between the knuckles, “Sam, you’re overdoing it. You’re supposed to be frightened, not mourning the dead.” Wide green eyes glowered back at him, tears glistening on the edge of artificially-darkened lashes. “Oh, you’re good,” Tristan breathed, releasing his trainee’s hand. While the crying noises Sam made were out of a bad play, the tears at least looked real. Sander moved by his side, and Sam resumed his ridiculous caterwauling. “My lady,” Sander said gently. “Can you tell us what the trouble is? I will help you if it is within my power.” Sam made a show of sniveling, dabbing at his eyes with his dress sleeve. “I don’t mean to be any trouble,” he hiccupped, his voice pitched higher than Tristan was accustomed to. Sam sounded remarkably like a woman. “I’m traveling by myself, you see. I have no husband or brother, and I didn’t know where else to turn. I heard tell of the Uriel, that you might be able to help, and I saw this great big castle at the center of the city, and, well, here I am.” Sam sniffed loudly and blew his nose like a trumpet. Tristan shot him a covert glare – that was not feminine in the slightest. Sander said, “You’ve managed to find the Uriel, my lady. But why have you sought us out?” Sam let out a moan of despair. “ ‘Tis a demon, milord. A terrible creature, with sharp teeth and great claws and glowing red eyes.” He shuddered, quite believably. “It almost killed me, but I got away, just barely.” Sander put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You’re alright now, my lady. The danger has passed.” Sam shook his head wildly, his black braid whipping behind him. “Nay, milord, the danger is still there! I’m staying at an inn, you see, and in my haste to get away, I locked the demon in the room behind me. What if it is still inside? And worse, if it escaped, I fear what it will do. I was so anxious to leave that I did not think to warn others in the inn.” Sam looked down at the floor, the picture of dismay. “You did right to come to us,” said Sander. “A demon on the loose is a serious problem. I’ll take a few of my men and--” “My lady, was it just the one demon?” Tristan cut in. Sam nodded tearfully. Tristan faced Sander. “Surely a single demon does not require more than two men. Why don’t you and I go together? We can resume our talk of—” he gritted his teeth, “—an alliance after this matter has been dealt with.” Sander beamed at him and said, “It would be my honor, Paladin.” He seemed genuinely pleased at the prospect. Guilt settled over Tristan like a heavy blanket, but he forced a smile. “It’s settled, then. My lady, I assume you traveled here by horse?” Sam mopped at his cheeks. “Aye, milord. I left him with the groom.” He dropped into a flawless curtsey, and Tristan was suitably impressed. Where had the boy learned to curtsey like a duchess? “I’m ever so grateful to you both,” Sam said obsequiously. Tristan fought back an eye roll. “Sander, will you lead us to the stables?” “Follow me.” Tristan placed his hand firmly against the small of Sam’s back and guided his trainee out of the front archway. Underneath his hand, Tristan could feel the bones of the corset that cinched Sam’s waist to feminine proportions. Sam felt so much like a woman that Tristan’s mind began to play tricks on him, even though he knew the truth of it. He needed to clear his head and concentrate. “Is Braeden prepared?” he murmured against the boy’s hair. The lustrous locks were a wig, he reminded himself. “He’ll be ready,” Sam said, barely moving his lips. The groom brought out their horses – Sam’s piebald, Tristan’s chestnut mare and a handsome black stallion for Sander. “I need to fetch my weapon and let my men know I’m leaving,” said Sander. “Will you help the lady with her horse?” “Of course,” said Tristan. He kneeled beside the piebald and cupped his hands. “Your foot, madam.” Sam sent him a look of pure venom, but permitted Tristan to boost him up onto the horse. Sam leaned over to adjust his gown so he could ride astride modestly, and a round, purple-and-white object fell from the folds of his skirts. Tristan scooped it up from the ground. “An onion?” “Braeden said my crying lacked conviction,” Sam whispered. “Get rid of it before Sander sees!” That explained the tears. Tristan smashed the onion beneath his boot. “You have no future as an actor,” he told Sam. He stood up, dusted off the dirt from his knees, and mounted his own horse. Sander returned with a quarterstaff in hand and expertly swung himself onto the stallion’s saddle. “Where to, my lady?” “The Mountain’s Respite,” said Sam. “Do you know it?” “I know every inn in this city,” Sander said. “Paladin Lyons is staying there, too.” It didn’t surprise Tristan that Sander knew where he was lodging, but he hoped the Uriel would dismiss it as mere coincidence. Sander didn’t seem to harbor any suspicions, but the man hadn’t become the leader of thousands of men by being a fool. Sam’s ruse was damned convincing, though – no one would guess that the raven haired beauty was Tristan’s trainee. He hardly believed it himself. “Let’s ride,” he said. They galloped down the curving declivity of the mountain road, a blustering wind pressing at their backs. Their pace was inhibited by Sam, who had enough sense to curtail his horse’s gait to an acceptable level for a lady. When they arrived at the inn, it was no longer dusk, but well and truly night. The frenetic beat of the city had slowed, and the once-packed streets were near to empty. Milky moonlight cast an eerie sheen across the urban landscape. Sander offered Sam a hand down from his horse, and Sam accepted it without hesitation. He dipped into a quick curtsey as thanks, and Tristan thought, not for the first time, that Sam affected the carriage of a woman too easily. The stable hand was nowhere to be found, so they tied up their horses themselves and crossed to the front door of the inn. Tristan felt ill with anticipation, and he could see in Sam’s eyes that he felt it also. Sweat formed on Tristan’s upper lip, but he ignored it. “Will you show us to your room, my lady?”