by Guy Antibes
Boxster laughed. “You need a woman in your life, Trevor, but that is a little difficult for a soldier of fortune. I’ve learned to take a limited kind of love when I find it. When there are assassins still out looking for you, it is difficult to put someone you care for in harm’s way. I know, I’ve done it, much to my sorrow.”
“The woman in Peeker’s Flat?”
Boxster nodded. “I like them smart, but without airs. You don’t find many women like that among the nobility.”
“But they do exist,” Trevor said, thinking back to a few of his brief amorous adventures.
Boxster nodded as he took another sip of the wine. He reached over and patted Trevor on the head. “I look forward to our time together, burning a path of good deeds wherever we go. I promise I won’t lead you into a life of crime. I dipped into that morass until I dragged myself out of it. It would be the same for you, I know.”
“Why are you so melancholy?” Trevor asked.
“Because I knew I would be when we finally got around to having this talk.” Boxster showed Trevor an amulet he always wore around his neck. “If I’m cut down somewhere, somehow, I want you to deliver this to the innkeeper of the Black Swan. He is the son of the owner whom I knew when I was a prince and was my refuge the times I sneaked back into Bassington, Brachia’s capital.”
Trevor leaned over and looked at it. “What does it signify?”
“I have funds in various enterprises in Brachia. This is like a key to access that money. It is considerable, but I’ve had no need of it, and I don’t want it seized by someone waltzing into the Black Swan claiming they killed me. The money will stay invested until this,” he lifted the amulet to let Trevor get a better look, “is presented.”
Trevor looked at the tarnished silver talisman. It was a rearing horse surrounded by stars on a circular background.
“I don’t see that happening,” Trevor said. “Let’s make sure you are the one to redeem your investment.”
Boxster cleared his throat and nodded. “I’ll be back to normal tomorrow, and you can tuck this conversation in the back of your head.”
~
Winter increased in its ferocity, and they were stuck in the monastery. No one bothered them again, and they spent days in the chapel sparring and afternoons studying. Boxster absorbed new information as well as anyone. On good days, they had the opportunity to clear enough space in the courtyard to practice a bit of jousting, using lances they had made with padded cloth balls on the end. Trevor had enjoyed that practice more than any other.
A thaw finally came a few months later, and with the prospect of spring, Brother Yvan returned with three other men.
“I brought three monks. One will be the new prior,” Brother Yvan said.
“We can’t live here forever?” Win asked.
“How are you with a habit?” the cleric asked.
“I don’t have any bad ones,” Win said.
“No, a monk’s habit. You’ll have to devote yourself to Dryden to stay for the rest of your life.”
Win frowned. “But we made the place habitable again.”
“And for that, you received room and board at no cost for two seasons,” Brother Yvan said. “A wonderful deal if you ask me. Your mother has expressed an interest in your return, Win. Boxster and your cousin can stay for another month while they help these fine brothers learn what to do in the monastery. This is a place dedicated to Dryden, and it is time it was returned to him.” He turned to Boxster and Trevor. “The situation in Tarviston is becoming more critical. Princess Lilith has become more vocal again, and this time I don’t blame her. King Henry and the crown prince are at each other’s throats, and the nobles outside the city are taking liberties with their distraction.”
“What about the army?” Trevor asked.
“Its effectivity has diminished with loyal factions fighting the crown prince’s forces. It seems Sorryn’s Presidonian army is fighting the king’s fake West Moreton forces. With all eyes on the Red Forest, Presidon is even riper for an invasion. The question is, who will invade first.”
“If we are to be evicted, then I want to return to Tarviston and see if there is anything I can do.”
“There is nothing you can do,” Brother Yvan said.
Trevor wasn’t happy about the cleric’s answer, but he held his tongue. He didn’t want to get in an argument with his old teacher. The new monks hadn’t resided in Tarviston but came from another monastery to the northeast of the capital.
A few days later, Brother Yvan and Win left the valley. From what Trevor could tell, Win was conflicted about going. He had enjoyed their stay at the monastery, but Trevor knew Win missed his mother. At least Win would return to Tarviston a much more experienced man than Win arrived at the monastery. Trevor didn’t know if he had changed or not, but at the very least, he was as strong or stronger than he had been before he left Tarviston, heading to his first command.
He wished he knew what the future held, but he had no prospects now that they were kicked out of the valley.
He and Boxster spent three days showing the monks where everything was. The monks were excited to tour the wine cellar, although there were plenty of empty bottles stacked in the chamber. Trevor was quite insistent that much of the wine had gone bad.
At the end of the third day, Boxster took them to the monks’ pyre.
“I don’t know what you wish to do, but this should be a holy place,” Boxster said.
The monks agreed and told them that they knew enough to let them go. Trevor thought that was a very polite way of dismissing them from the monks’ valley.
On the fourth day, Trevor and Boxster took their pick of the provisions. Trevor filled two quivers with arrows and took a few armor bits with the permission of the monks, and the pair of them rode out of the valley with a packhorse in tow. Trevor looked back a few times, knowing that he would miss the place, and he would miss the experiences with his two closest friends.
When they reached the road, Trevor looked up toward the mountains and down toward the plains.
“What is on your mind, Prince Trevor Arcwin?” Boxster said, using the title for the first time in months.
“I can’t desert Tarviston and Win. Everyone has to think I’m dead by now,” Trevor said. He turned his horse toward the plains. “You are free to come with me, Desolation Boxster, sir.”
Boxster smirked. “My real friends call me Des.”
Trevor shook his head. “That wasn’t an answer. I can’t call you Des after all this time thinking of you as Boxster.”
“Suit yourself. If you don’t think I’ve answered, all you have to do is test me.”
Trevor began to head down toward Tarviston and the more dangerous path. Boxster stayed where he was. Trevor shrugged and continued, deeply disappointed that his companion for the last year had finally abandoned him. A minute later, Boxster caught up and rode at Trevor’s side.
“Such a condescension on my part requires a little price on your part.”
Trevor laughed. “Facing death wouldn’t be the same without you,” he said as he picked up the pace.
“Not death, but good deeds. Our lives as soldiers of fortune begin today.”
Tarviston finally loomed up as the pair of them stopped on a small rise a few miles from the city. A forest showed dark on the far side and went all the way to Dorwick to the east with large patches of farmland breaking up the landscape.
“Bill,” Boxster said. “Are you ready?”
“I am, Karn,” Trevor said, using Boxster’s mercenary camp name.
They kicked their horses in the flanks and joined a small caravan passing them on the road to the capital of Presidon.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
~
T revor and Boxster stepped into the main Dryden church in Tarviston.
Trevor looked at the symbol of Dryden, a round sun surrounded by a scalloped circle with rays that looked like they were radiating from the center of the sun. The symbol always made him feel solem
n and that there was something much bigger than him in the world, not that he felt particularly religious at other times.
They knelt on cushions and put their forearms on the wooden framework ahead of them. There might have been sixty to one hundred people scattered among the kneelers and more in the two rows of chairs at the back for those who could not kneel.
Trevor had never known his mother or his half sister to kneel in the family chapel in Tarviston castle. He hadn’t reflected why before, but after wintering in a monastery, Trevor wondered if the two women placed themselves above Dryden.
A priest walked by.
“Can you get this to Brother Yvan?” Trevor said. The paper had the name of Karn Kissel as the sender on the front.
“You are Kissel?” the priest asked.
“No, he is,” Trevor said, pointing to Boxster. “Can you do it?”
“I can. Brother Yvan receives messages from his congregates often enough, if you didn’t know.”
“We didn’t,” Boxster said.
“Any further instructions?” the priest asked.
“No. If he is willing to reply, that information is inside the note,” Trevor said. “Now, we will ask Dryden for a quick blessing.”
They stayed for a few minutes more. Trevor made sure to ask Dryden to protect the message and the recipient.
“How long do you think it will take Brother Yvan to get back to us?” Trevor said.
“If he gets the message, you mean? If not, then we will seek out Win, who might have been the better idea,” Boxster said. “Nothing will happen today, anyway, since our note asks Brother Yvan to meet at the square in front of the main church tomorrow.”
“Maybe we should find Win anyway. I know where his mother lives.”
In a quarter hour, they stood across the street from the tidy townhouse where the royal cook lived. It was almost in the shadow of the Tarviston castle. Trevor poked his head down the road, looking at the tower that used to be his own. He sighed. Those were simpler days and not fraught with mortal danger.
He stroked his beard for a bit before he noticed Win walking out of his mother’s house.
“I’ll approach him,” Boxster said.
Trevor watched as Boxster walked in the same direction on the other side of the street. At the next intersection, Boxster walked quickly across the road and arrived at the corner at the same time Win did.
The pair of them talked. Win looked behind him, but Trevor clung to the shadows of an alley. Win turned back to Boxster and spoke another minute before Boxster let Win go. Boxster watched Win walk away, but Trevor couldn’t see his younger friend since he had turned the corner. Boxster walked back on the other side of the street and knocked on Win’s door.
Marin Denton answered. Trevor wanted to run over and hug the woman for all the food she had given him in the past, but the conversation was short. Boxster looked up and down the street before returning to Trevor.
“It looks like the cook will be our go-between,” Boxster said. “Brother Yvan is currently under house arrest. He can’t leave the family chapel under pain of death, but Win’s mother or one of her staff bring Yvan three meals a day. Win will be delivering Yvan’s next meal.”
“We should rescue him!” Trevor said.
“And take him where?” Boxster asked, turning back to look at Win’s townhouse. “Are we in a position to get him out of the city? Win is certain he is being watched, so he can’t help. It will be chancy to try a rescue, assuming we could get in the castle.”
“We can’t let Brother Yvan be killed,” Trevor said. “If he is under house arrest, with Bering exercising so much power, he won’t live for long.”
“And he won’t be receiving a message from Karn Kissel. His captors will certainly read it.”
“You aren’t the only one with secrets,” Trevor said. “I grew up in that castle. I know a way to the chapel, although I don’t have a way out of the chapel. It has to do with the route in.”
“And the way in is dangerous?”
Trevor smiled. “Rescuing isn’t supposed to be easy or simple, is it?”
“I suppose not with you,” Boxster said. “Is now a good time?”
“There isn’t a good time, but our chances to save Brother Yvan decrease by the minute.”
Trevor took Boxster around to the back of the castle in the royal orchard. On the far side of the orchard lay the barracks practice ground where Trevor had spent most of his youth.
“In here,” Trevor said, pressing a square-shaped rock in the wall. Trevor knew exactly where to push, and the door opened. They slipped inside quickly. The passageway was dark, and Trevor had to stop Boxster from stepping ahead.
“There are torches on the same wall as the door,” Trevor said. He fumbled around and found a tinder box, lighting a tiny flame and then a torch he grabbed from a spiderweb-strewn rack of five torches, but Trevor took the second to last torch. He closed the tinder box and put it in his pocket. “We will need it later.”
Boxster turned and almost stepped off into a deep shaft. Trevor pulled on Boxster’s tunic to bring him from a potentially long, long fall.
“We go down, but over here.” Trevor led Boxster along the wall to a set of rungs set in the stone walls of the shaft.
“This place hasn’t been used for a long time.”
“I might have been twelve the last time I played in here. After a few times running through secret passages without any kind of goal, it became passé. We go down quite a way and then up another set of rungs. You’ll see.”
“Then you lead,” Boxster said, pointing to the way down.
They descended the forty rungs to the bottom. Trevor remembered counting them the second foray into the hidden passage. The hardest part was negotiating the rungs holding onto the torch. But Trevor found it was much easier having grown stronger and longer since he last negotiated the passage. The bottom was dry, and they kicked up dust that made Trevor almost choke.
“We will come out a little dirty. Is that acceptable?” Trevor asked Boxster.
“If we can get to Yvan.”
Trevor nodded as they walked down a passageway that made them crouch over. “I didn’t have to crouch the last time I came through here,” he said.
They ended at another wall with rungs.
“Now we get to the fun part.” They climbed up many more rungs than they had descended. “We are in my old tower,” Trevor said quietly. He put the torch to the ground, but the dust hadn’t been disturbed in some time.
“How did you find this?”
“Brother Yvan showed me. I don’t know where he learned, but he said the secret was his alone, and Father didn’t know about it. Looking at the floor and the torch rack at the entrance, I’d say no one has used it for a long time.”
Trevor paused by a wooden shutter in the wall by a rusted metal door. He held a forefinger to his lips and gave the torch to Boxster.
“My old rooms,” he said in an almost-whisper. Trevor withdrew the shutter and looked at the wreckage. It brought a sigh as he leaned against the opposite wall after closing the curtain. “My stash of money is gone,” Trevor said. “I was very tempted to retrieve it, but my room has been turned over.”
Boxster went to the peephole and nodded. “I don’t think whoever did it left anything unbroken.” He went to the door and stepped inside. “Yep, nothing untouched. Where was your money kept?”
“The open hole in the wall, above where that ripped up painting is.”
“A good idea, but not good enough.”
“Nasty,” Trevor said. “I can’t come back now.”
Boxster chuckled. “That has been the case for some time, but look where you are now.”
“I don’t consider this visit as being back,” Trevor said.
“It’s as close as you might ever be again.”
Trevor nodded, and they closed the door behind them after making sure they didn’t leave any footprints. Trevor led Boxster to another set of rungs. “These go down
, but not too far.”
The rungs took Trevor and Boxster out of the tower and made sharp turns. There were more rungs and a lot of short passages.
“I don’t know how you can remember how this works,” Boxster said.
“It’s easy if you realize the pathway doesn’t branch,” Trevor said. “This is where we can’t go back,” he said. “There is an airshaft, and whoever made these passages didn’t put a bridge. You have to go down a thick metal rod. It’s at an incline, and I was never able to get back up. So, I made a bunch of one-way trips.” Trevor looked at the light far above. “There is a roof over the shaft, but in the darkness, even a dim light looks bright.”
The metal pole was about four inches in diameter.
“How do you get down?” Boxster asked.
“I took off my shirt and held on as I sort of jumped and tossed up the shirt a bit. You end up down the pipe a way. Brother Yvan said I was mad for taking this route.”
“I should say, however, your technique should work as long as the cloth doesn’t rip.”
Trevor raised his eyebrows. “I never thought of that.”
“How much more do you weigh now than you did then?”
Trevor thought for a moment. “Less than three times, I’m sure.”
“I doubt that. Let’s get this done. Do you want to go first?”
“No,” Trevor said. “Guests and ladies always go first.”
“I guess I’m a guest,” Boxster said. He removed his sword belt and stuffed his sword in between his regular belt. “I’m not going to rely on cloth.” He looped the belt over the rod and secured the buckle. “Let’s hope this works.”
“I’ll do the same,” Trevor said. His belt was shorter and thinner, but it would have to do.
Boxster put his arm through the leather sling and began to make small jumps and proceeded as a younger Prince Trevor would have done, but the leather had less resistance on the pipe, and he began to slide farther down the pipe with every hop. He was soon on the other side, putting his baldric back on. As Boxster lit a torch from a rack there, Trevor did the same thing. His belt stretched more, but he got more of a slide down the rod than he expected and slid into Boxster, sending the torch down the shaft. They both looked as the torch continued on its way until it finally hit the bottom, wherever that was. Trevor looked down, after Boxster chuckled, to find his breeches around his ankles.
