by C. J. Pinard
There was a pause, and then Marcus replied, “Yes, something like that.”
Zackary grinned at his answer. Smart man. He was clever enough to not admit that his daughter was the Mariselle Langer, savior of Syracuse with her fertile womb.
“So, why do you think you’re here?” he continued.
“Not sure, Marcus. I was in my carriage heading into the village and the same band of thieves detained us.”
Zackary felt bad for not revealing to him who he was, but he wasn’t sure if the other prisoners were still in their cells, and couldn’t risk it. He knew Marcus’s was directly next to his and hoped he could try to pass him a message somehow of who he was, and how he was sure help would be on the way.
The problem was… he wasn’t sure how Lord Francis, his brothers, or anyone else would know where he was. He was just hopeful that Serina had made it back to the castle to deliver the news and hadn’t been killed—or worse—on the way there.
Alexander’s eyes shifted continuously as he and Griffin rode slowly on horseback through the woods. They were both anxious to find their brother, but knew rushing things would not get them anywhere. What they had been hoping for was that the band of thieves would try to attack them while they rode. That way, they would be able to overtake them and torture them into revealing the location of where they held Zackary—and most likely a lot of other prisoners.
Even though the forest outside the West Haven castle wasn’t technically his jurisdiction, Griffin was outraged by what was going on there. He found it abhorrent that there were detestable cretins stealing coaches and kidnapping people. He wasn’t sure that they weren’t just common thieves, and that maybe they’d only taken Zackary when they’d realized that he was the king, but these lowly delinquents had no place in Syracuse and they would all hang for their crimes once he got his hands on them. He’d kick the block out from under their feet himself, and watch their necks break with a smile on his face when that day came.
He glanced behind him, grateful that the ten knights and guards he’d brought with him weren’t immediately visible. The instructions had been for them to hang back and make it appear that he and Alexander were alone in the woods, to make them appear more vulnerable to attack. Griffin had been king long enough to know that when thieves and miscreants were after something, they tended to get tunnel vision; they kept their eyes on the prize and rarely were smart enough to think outside the box.
The sun was beginning to set, and he wondered if he and his brother would have to set up camp for the night soon. He also had a thought that he expressed to Alexander.
After a brief look around, he said, “Do you think these scoundrels only operate at night, under the cover of darkness?”
Alexander, sitting on his slowly trotting horse, looked at his older brother. “It is quite possible. In fact, that would be a smarter strategy, as long as they had the means and determination to hold torches to carry out their criminal behavior. The dark would surely help them.”
Nodding because he agreed, Griffin looked around the forest. Trees, felled leaves, and small animals were the only things around. Knowing this was the path Zackary would have taken into town, and not seeing any threats, Griffin was now sure the thieves would wait until nightfall.
He pulled his horse to a stop, and Alexander did the same.
“What, brother?”
Griffin glanced behind him. “Wait for the others to catch up.”
Alexander took out a leather costrel from his saddlebag, unscrewed the top, and drank down a large gulp of water. It wasn’t long before the knights and guards caught up to them.
“What is it, sire?” Barclay, Zackary’s guard Captain asked.
“It’s still daylight… barely,” Griffin responded. “Let’s wait this out. Once night descends, we will continue on.”
Barclay nodded. “You believe the bandits operate only in the dark?”
Griffin grinned. Sharp as a tack, this one. “Absolutely. Go water your horses and then rally back to this spot in thirty minutes’ time. We will reconvene then and decide on a course of action.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Barclay replied. He looked to the rest of the men. “You heard the king, go to the stream, eat something, and meet back here as soon as possible.”
The knights and guards voiced their affirmations and steered their horses toward the large, rushing stream that weaved through the forest. Barclay took up the rear, and as his horse began to follow the rest, he looked back at the kings. “Are you coming, sires?”
Griffin looked at Alexander. “No, we will wait here, and then water our horses once you return.”
“Shall I stay with you?” he asked, pulling on the reins and stopping his steed from going any further.
Alexander shook his head. “No, Barclay. Tend to your men. We will be here when you get back.”
“Very well, sire.” And he was off to catch up with the rest.
Hecate held the charmed knife in her hand. She had plans to stab the warlock as he was in the castle with the brothers the night before, but her magic had been weakening and she didn’t have the strength to go whole and sneak in. But after a full day of rest, she felt recharged and knew she’d have to change her plans.
She wandered through the forest in her ethereal form, searching for Gaylen. His house was glamoured from humans, but, of course, she could see it. The warlock had set up a small cottage outside of each of the castles of the four corners of Syracuse. The trick would be to catch the slippery magician at the right location. Lucky for her, Hecate had done a locator spell and knew he was in the forest of the West Haven, where Mariselle was.
And she knew there was a reason for this. She’d overheard the conversation between Gaylen and the four young kings. She had cringed when they had told him about Mariselle’s menses. That was one thing she had purposely kept from him. But now that he was privy to that fact, she knew the evil warlock would speed up his plans to kill off the Rothhavens before one could impregnate her—and that ridding the kingdom of Mariselle would be his first priority.
But nobody would harm Mariselle. Hecate would see to that. She was special and important. So killing Gaylen with the enchanted knife would have to come first. It was a dire, desperate situation in her mind.
She floated through the tops of the trees and stopped fast when she spotted King Griffin and King Alexander. She hovered above the forest and watched the two kings converse quietly with each other. She looked over and could see the rest of the kings’ men watering their horses at the stream. With how high up she was, she could also see something else: about half a dozen men, dressed in dark-green tunics and masks, armed and approaching the two kings quickly. Unfortunately, both kings had their backs to the oncoming bandits, whose intentions were clearly anything but friendly.
Hecate had to think quickly. Warn the kings, or just kill the bandits? But if she used her powers to strike them down with lightning, she might sap all her powers and spend days recuperating in order to have the strength to kill Gaylen. The kings were strong and courageous. They could defend themselves. She knew the other knights would come when they heard a commotion.
Pulling out her wand, she said a small incantation and aimed a large gust of wind to the area behind the kings. A large tree branch snapped and broke, causing the kings to turn around. With looks of shock on their faces, they quickly withdrew their swords and hopped off the horses.
Next, Hecate used her wand to create more wind to make large waves in the stream. This spooked the horses, and at once, they began to whinny and become restless. “Rally up, men. Let’s get out of here!” Barclay ordered, clearly sensing something magical was at work there.
The men rode off toward where they’d left the kings, and stopped immediately when they witnessed their kings fighting in hand-to-hand combat, two against six. They all hopped off their horses, withdrew their weapons, and rushed into the melee.
Chapter 10
It was dinnertime, but Mariselle had no appetite. She wanted nothin
g more than to retreat to her room and wallow in self-pity. She knew feeling sorry for herself wasn’t going to get her anywhere, but she couldn’t help it. She missed Alexander and Griffin, and she was worried sick about Zackary. If she’d had her way, she would have gone on the expedition with the handsome kings to find him. But, alas, it was not meant to be.
She pushed the food around her plate, no interest in the roasted chicken and smashed potatoes. Her stomach was turning over from nerves, not hunger, and she felt sick at the thought of eating. Not only that, some cramps low in her belly signaled that Aunt Flow was about to come pay her a visit.
“You’re not hungry, love?” Mathias asked from across the table.
She lifted her eyes to his piercing aqua ones, and sighed. “Not really.”
Mathias’s eyebrows knit together. He didn’t like to see her so withdrawn, nor could he stand to see the stress coloring her features; the haunting pain behind her eyes. He set down his chicken leg, wiped his hands on a cloth, and rose from his seat. Once he reached her, she gazed up at him.
“Mat… what is it?” she asked, doe-eyed.
He indicated for her to rise from her seat. “Stand, Mari.”
She did as she was instructed, and once her chair was empty, he sat in it, and then pulled her down to sit on his lap. With her back to his chest, he brushed her long, auburn braids to the side and whispered into her neck, “You need to know that nothing bad is going to happen to you.”
Mariselle shuddered at the feel of his hot breath on her neck, and her eyes slid shut. “I know. And I trust you. I’m just… scared.”
“There’s nothing to be scared of. My brothers are strong warriors. They’re going to get Zackary back, and everything will be all right. How can I to prove this to you?”
She closed her eyes and tried not to cry. Her emotions and hormones were all over the place. She took a deep breath to keep from crying. “Nothing.” She laid her head back against his chest and he squeezed her tighter.
After a few quiet minutes of sitting there, he said, “Come on.” He lifted her to stand. “Let me show you something.”
She nodded and took his proffered hand and let him lead her out of the dining room.
“Where are we going?” she asked when he led her through the foyer of the castle and toward the front door. A knight standing next to it opened it for the young king. “Require an escort, sire?”
Mathias shook his head. “No, we aren’t going far.”
“Your Majesty, I would advise you to take at least one, given the state of affairs going on with the other kings.”
He shook his head again and patted the knight on his armored shoulder. “I’m good, David. But thank you.”
“I’m sorry, sire, but I have to go with you. King Griffin has given me direct orders to escort you and Ms. Langer whenever you leave the confines of the castle.”
Mathias sighed. “You should have just said that, then.”
David chuckled, and held the door open for the couple and followed them down the wide path separating the lawns at the front of the castle.
Once they reached the end of the path, Mathias led them to the left and past the tall, stone walls of the outside of the castle. A cool night breeze blew off the large lake that sat a hundred yards from the property. The path took them around the castle to the back side. Mariselle could see the stables out across the field, and thought the horses looked peaceful in the moonlight. She wished she could be as carefree as they were.
They passed the outside of the courtyard, and Mariselle said, “Why didn’t we just leave out of the back?”
Mathias grinned. “I wanted to take the long way around so you could see more of the grounds. And also so I could hold your hand longer. But then David insisted on coming along,” he quipped.
“I will not apologize, Your Highness,” David said from behind them.
Mariselle giggled. “And you shouldn’t. We appreciate you looking out for us.”
Mathias lifted his chin and put his hand on the sword at his side. “I am perfectly capable of protecting this beautiful maiden myself.”
“Of that, I have no doubt, sire,” David said, and Mariselle thought she heard a smile in his voice, but couldn’t see his face because of the armor.
“Ah, here we are,” Mathias said.
Mariselle looked up and saw a small, decrepit-looking building. Its wooden and stone shell was faded and rotting, and the thatched roof looked as if it needed an entire bale of hay to replenish it. Mossy green ivy crawled up the outside and over the top. She wrinkled her nose. “Looks like an oversized outhouse.”
Mathias chuckled and squeezed her hand, leading her to the front. He put both hands flat on the door and pushed, and it squealed on rusty hinges. He felt Mariselle resist, and he turned to look at her. “I promise you will love it.”
She nodded slowly and let him lead her in. What she saw inside took her breath away.
“No! Don’t kill him!” Alexander yelled, yanking his sword from the man’s chest and dropping the body to the ground. He re-sheathed his bloodied sword as he ran toward Barclay, who had the tip of his sword against one of the bandits’ necks. He had his boot on the man’s chest and a murderous look on his face.
Without looking up, Barclay said, “Why he hell not, sire?”
Alexander, out of breath and looking every bit like he’d been fighting in a battle, said, “Look around. We have to leave one alive.”
Immediately, Barclay removed his boot from the man’s chest, but kept his sword trained on him. “Stay on the ground.”
The bandit spit at Alexander, missing him. “Go to hell, royal scum! Kill me now or I will do it myself!” He grabbed the blade of Barclay’s sword, slicing up his hands, and tried to shove it into his chest as he lay on the ground. Barclay pulled the sword away and then kicked the bandit in the stomach. “Shut the fuck up!”
Barclay looked around to see all bandits lying dead and gory on the ground, a few missing their heads. “Bloody hell.”
“He’s right,” Griffin said, hobbling over carrying a wounded royal soldier. He laid him on the ground and looked at his injuries. He stared at Barclay and Alexander. “Please tell me one of you brought some malgasec with you.”
“Yes, it’s in my saddlebag, I’ll fetch it straight way, sire.” Barclay looked at three of his men standing around. “Don’t let this piece of filth move. If he does, stab him where he won’t die.”
“Yes, sir,” they replied in unison, all pointing their swords at the bandit, who just glared at them, but otherwise kept his mouth shut.
Alexander knelt down next to his brother and looked at the wounded royal guard. “Is it just the arm?”
The soldier nodded, his brow crinkling in pain. “Yes, I believe so.”
“He’s losing a lot of blood.” Alexander pulled the rope belt from around his waist and began tying it in a tourniquet at the top of the man’s arm. The enemy’s blade had cut his upper arm down to the bone.
Griffin ripped the bottom of his bloodied tunic and pressed it onto the wound.
The soldier cried out.
“Sorry, mate. Gotta keep pressure on it.”
“I know,” the soldier gritted out, trying to be brave. “Sire.”
“Here you are, Your Majesty,” Barclay said, handing Alexander a sheep’s bladder full of a glowing green substance.
“Thank you.” Alexander carefully untied the top. He dipped three fingers into the gooey substance and it glowed so bright, it lit up all their faces in the dark of the forest.
Griffin pulled the makeshift bandage away and moved out of Alexander’s way.
Alexander looked at the man. “This is only going to sting for a minute. Ready?”
“Yes, sire,” he breathed. “Just hurry… please.”
Alexander looked at Griffin. “Pinch the wound so it can heal faster.”
Nodding, Griffin used the palms of both hands to press the gaping wound back together. Then, Alexander smeared the malgaese
c along the long, deep cut. The soldier hissed in pain, but was otherwise quiet. Griffin let go of the man’s arm.
Immediately, the malgaesec began to almost take on a life of its own. It slithered down into the cut, and began to ooze around the top of it. They all watched in fascination as the wound began to knit back together. Even the remaining bandit was watching on in fasciation.
“Bloody amazing,” Barclay breathed, wide-eyed.
After a few minutes, Alexander ran his finger over what was now merely a flesh wound. The soldier’s arm was still bloody, but the malgaesec had disappeared. The soldier sat up and moved his arm. “Your Majesties, where did you find such a magical substance?”
Griffin and Alexander looked at each other before Griffin smiled and said, “It’s a Rothhaven family secret.”
“Figures, you filthy royals would have something that could help people, but you hoard it all for yourselves. You all should just die. In fact, you probably will when there are no more heirs to carry on your dreadful name!” The bandit began to laugh maniacally.
One of the men guarding him kicked him in his thigh. “Shut your bloody mouth!”
The now-healed soldier got up and walked over to the bandit. With rage on his face and eyes storming, he spat, “They used it on me; I’m not a royal. The Rothhavens are good kings. They care about their people. If you weren’t the last remaining thief, I’d take your head off right now.”
“Why don’t you just do it then, huh?” The bandit laughed.
Griffin bent down and got close enough to be threatening but far enough away to dodge a spitball if need be. “What’s your name?”
“Piss off.”
Griffin chuckled. “Your mother must not have wanted you if she named you that.”
“Don’t talk about my mother!” the bandit screamed, the rage behind his gaze softening to pain. “She’s dead because of you filthy royals!”
Griffin cocked his head to the side. “Explain.”
“Fuck you! Just kill me already.”
