Devlin's Luck by Patricia Bray Page B

the bitterness from her tone.
    Fools! What would it take till they saw the truth? The roads were the lifeblood of the Kingdom. They carried taxes and royal decrees. Traders and noble councilors alike depended upon safe passage. As did the army, in times of war. They could not afford to lose control of the roads, and yet she could not convince the council to act. When it became clear that the Duke Gerhard was unwilling to commit the Royal Army, she had asked for permission to send a squad of Guardsmen, on the pretext of inspecting the royal hunting lodge, which fell under her purview as part of the royal residences. A training exercise she had called it, but that had been forbidden as well.
    So far the bandits had been clever enough not to attack a noble, or a royal messenger, but she feared that it was only a matter of time until they did. Then and only then would the council be forced to heed her words.
    “I see,” Devlin said, after a long pause. “The army cannot be bothered with these marauders, so you are sending me instead. Tell me, do you have any reports as to their number? Is it a half dozen fools or a well-organized band?”
    She shrugged. “There is no way to tell. But large parties pass unhindered, so reason tells me this is a smallish group, or perhaps merely a careful one. The attacks go back at least a year, maybe longer, yet no one has found a trace of their victims, or their camp in the woods.” This was the part that concerned her most. The thoroughness with which the bandits covered their tracks spoke of a highly organized group. “Mind you, if it is a large band, I do not expect you to take them on single-handedly. Survive to bear witness to what you have seen, and I will convince the King to send the Royal Army in pursuit.”
    It was a fool’s errand, but she had nothing to lose. At best Devlin would find the proof she needed to convince King Olafur that there was a real and present danger. At worst he would be killed in the attempt, which would be a waste, but would certainly be enough to convince the King and Council that the marauders posed a serious menace.
    She did not believe for a moment that Devlin would be able to defeat the bandits. Only in ballads did a lone hero take on overwhelming odds and emerge triumphant.
    Devlin took a step closer to her, so that the torchlight shone full on his face. “I accept the task,” he said, with no trace of expression. Even his gaze was strangely flat, as if he were looking through her rather than at her.
    “I thank you,” she said, feeling an uncomfortable twinge of pity for she knew he had no choice but to accept the task she had given him. The Geas would let him do no less.
    She fought back an urge to countermand her order, having a sudden premonition that she was sending this man to his death. But she steeled herself against the impulse. She was the Captain of the Guard. Sending men and women to die was part of her job, as was protecting the residents of Kingsholm. And this man was not one of her guards, nor one of those she was sworn to protect. By his own choice he had made himself into a tool, and only a fool would refuse to make use of his services while he still lived.
    “My Guard will help you with your gear, and the Royal Steward will provide anything else you need. You have only to ask.”
    “I thank you,” he said. “And now, if you will excuse me, I bid you good night.”
    After his talk with Captain Drakken, Devlin had returned to his quarters. He slept only a few hours, rising before the dawn. But his rest had been blessedly free of dreams, and that alone had the power to grant him ease.
    It was midmorning when he left. The guards at the main palace gate came to attention and saluted him as he passed between them. But there was no fanfare, no wishes for the success of his journey, no comradely encouragement.
    By noon he had left the city of Kingsholm, passing out of the western gate. It felt good to be traveling again— whatever