by N M Zoltack
Marcellus eyed the man. He might not be wearing a knight's armor, but he was a fighter. Marcellus could see it in his eyes, but to fight a man on the field or on an even playing grounds was hardly the same as this scenario. Would the man be capable of killing Flavius just like that? The prince was not certain he wished to test that theory.
His gaze fell to the commander. He was hurting on multiple levels. His side was bleeding, and Marcellus swallowed back a curse. The man’s pride was also injured, and he would want to free himself, would wish to attack, but there were three others who surrounded him, with their own weapons as well as Flavius’ pointed toward him.
“We outnumber you,” Marcellus said, careful to keep his tone neutral.
“You do not want him to be our prisoner, which means he is of value to you, which means he has value to us,” one of the other captors said.
Marcellus never wanted to admit defeat, but he needed Flavius, and he could not end the war. How best to handle this?
“You wish for the village to be yours again. Very well. We will leave,” Marcellus said, “but all of us will leave. Otherwise, it will be a battle, and all of us can take on the four of you.”
“Ah, but we are not alone—”
“The rest of your men are down by the bank,” a Vincanan scout called out.
“Yes, but can you be certain that others have not…” The one with the blade waved a hand up and down to encompass the dried mud.
“The sky is already lightening. Any who would venture near will be visible now,” Marcellus said. “There aren’t any up here. You four are alone. Will you take the village and be happy? Or will you die and lose the city?”
“We will keep our hostage.”
“Your hostage will kill himself the first chance he gets.”
“He will not be given that chance.”
Marcellus narrowed his eyes. The sky was lightening, yes, but the man was hard to see. His hair must be dark. So were his eyes. “What is your name?”
“Ulric Cooper.”
“A peasant,” he said, surprised.
“A laborer has as much worth as a baron, a knight… a prince,” Ulric said evenly, as if daring Marcellus to disagree.
“I concur. As such, you must realize that I will not allow you to keep this man as a hostage. Can’t you see he’s injured already?”
Ulric did not look away from Marcellus, but the muscle in his arm did twitch, and he held the blade even closer to Flavius’ throat.
“We will go,” Marcellus said.
“No!”
A tiny figure darted across the empty space between where the legionaries slept—had slept as they were now all awake and watching the proceedings with interest. A small body plowed into Marcellus' legs.
“Don’t go!” Phillipe wailed.
“Phillipe.” Marcellus bent down and ruffled his already messy hair. “You be a good lad. Return to your mother.”
“But—”
“You have to protect her,” Marcellus said firmly. He removed the smallest dagger he had on his person and handed it to the boy.
His eyes nearly doubled in size. “I will!” Phillipe started to run away then raced back, hugged Marcellus, and dashed away back to wherever he had been.
Marcellus straightened, ready to argue with Ulric some more. To his surprise, Ulric and the others had stepped aside. Flavius was straightening, eyeing his prince, waiting for a sign to attack, but Marcellus barely shook his head. No. They would do as he said and no longer occupy Rapid Falls.
Still, it left a bitter taste in the Vincanan’s mouth. He was furious they had been bested and by four members of Tenoch’s militia at that, but at least they did have a lot of supplies that they needed, and they were slipping away with their lives.
Wordlessly, Marcellus marched them back toward River Zim and the beach. He would not sleep this night, and he would not for some time. He needed to think, to plan better, to come up with a formula that would end with him wearing the crown.
Each time he blinked, however, he saw little Phillipe. Tenoch had failed the poor boy, but then, so had Marcellus.
66
Ulric Cooper
The look on the knight’s face as he came up to Rapid Falls to see that the Vincanans were all leaving was a sight Ulric would never ever forget. Ulric supposed he had realized that he was missing and had come to investigate. The Vincanans had left noiselessly, but the villagers had not been necessarily the happiest to see them depart.
“Why are you so…” Edmund was sputtering over his words.
“Are you going to help and stay then?” a woman demanded firmly. The boy from earlier, Phillipe, clung to her. “There are rooftops to be fixed, buildings, homes… The fields have been burned some, and we need to start planting, and they were helping with all of that. All of it.”
“And if you’re thinking they set the fire,” the boy piped up, “they didn’t. A dragon came! He was huge! Huger than huge! So big that he could swallow you up in one bite!”
The knight looked about helplessly, and Ulric patted his shoulder.
“You and your men can handle this, don’t you think? As for me and mine, I think we’ll be leaving since we did our part in completing the quest.”
Edmund hung his head, shook it, and then sighed. “You will give me the full story later?”
"I will, but if it makes you feel any better, it was a stealth operation. A lot of us could not have come and the plan still work, and if you would've insisted on your armor… I do know how a knight and his armor are never parted."
Ulric turned, waving the others to him. He'd sent Armel and Gidie to fetch the last of the militia and the horses they had left tethered on the embankment.
“If you want a good word in with the queen…” Edmund muttered.
Ulric whipped about, his jaw dropped.
“As a knight,” Edmund continued.
Of course. Not as anything else.
“If you feel so moved.” Ulric nodded curtly. “Forbidden Doom, let’s go!”
“Forbidden Doom?” Ulric overheard a knight say.
“They’re liable to be our doom,” Edmund returned, and Ulric had to laugh at that.
The meal to break one's fast should be served about the time they arrived at Atlan Castle. Ulric bid his people take some time to relax until he fetched them then strolled into the keep.
A guard grimaced as he walked by, but it wasn’t until a servant wrinkled his nose and gaped at him that Ulric realized he was still coated in mud.
“Shall I… draw a bath?” the servant asked timidly.
“With haste,” Ulric said firmly. “I must speak with the queen as quickly as possible.”
“Right away, sir.”
The servant rushed away, and Ulric just stared after him. He did not recognize the servant, nor the servant him, but at one time, not so long ago, Ulric had been the one drawing up baths for others.
Up ahead, the servant turned. “Sir?”
“Coming,” Ulric muttered. “And thank you.”
“I have a feeling it should be me thanking you.”
Ulric grinned. “We can thank each other.”
“Consider it done.”
After his bath and changing into fresh pants and a tunic, armed as he went everywhere armed nowadays, Ulric left the bathing room. The servant had disappeared before Ulric could learn his name, and he was not certain where he could find the queen.
He did not get very far before a queen—the wrong one—headed toward him.
“Ulric,” Queen Sabine said. “I thought you had left for an important engagement. Do you care to tell me what has transpired?”
“I… Actually, I am here to make a formal report to Queen Rosalynne. Maybe I could speak with you both?”
Sabine crossed her arms, her long fingers tapping her opposite elbow. Her gown was as fancy as could be, lace and beadwork and gemstones along the neckline, the bodice a rich blue, the skirt the same blue that darkened to black by her ankles.
“She is detained at the moment, unfortunately. You can tell me if you like, or if you wish for her to tell me later, I suppose that would work, but I will hear of this eventually, and I would much prefer to hear from your lips than from hers.”
Ulric grimaced inwardly. She was playing him. He was certain of it, but he also did not wish to play one side over the other. As much as he wished differently, Sabine was the ruling queen, not Rosalynne.
One day, Rosalynne’s time would come. She would shine like the second sun.
Until then, Sabine had a say in the matters concerning Tenoch, which included Rapid Falls.
“The Vincanans had occupied a village. My militia and a troop of knights went to rescue the village. We did as we were asked.”
“Did you now? That is rather impressive. How did you accomplish that?”
“By working together.” Ulric grinned at her. She wished for information, and he would grant it, but she did not need every last detail.
“Where are the knights?” Sabine questioned.
“They are ensuring the safety of the village.”
“If you removed the occupants…”
“A dragon came to the village.”
“While you were there? Did you see it?” the queen asked eagerly.
He shook his head.
“Were the Vincanans there when the dragon was?”
“I believe so,” he said slowly.
“Interesting,” the queen mused. “Thank you for telling me this, Ulric. You are free to go. You may do what you wish. You have earned some time off. I will tell Rosalynne this when the queen is no longer busy. Again, thank you.”
And she swept away.
Ulric set his jaw. If he lingered about the keep and Sabine found him, she would know that he did not trust her. As much as he wished to seek out Rosalynne, he should not.
But he was not deterred. He had found a way to communicate with Rosalynne before secretly, and he could do it again. All he needed was a scroll, some ink, and a quill.
67
Rase Ainsley
The street rat hated nothing more than being weak. He used to be so scrawny and short and thin that he looked many years younger than his actual age. Now, he was regularly eating, and he had finally grown a bit, was starting to fill out.
But he was weak yet. He had been beaten badly, twice, almost to the point of death, and the house he had been so very proud of had been found out by his enemies.
He and Leanne should move at once, but as he stood in the doorway of her room after having washed his wounds and bandaged them as best as he could, he could not bring himself to rouse her. She was sleeping peacefully, so peacefully in fact that she was smiling.
Rase cooked a simple breakfast for himself and left out a plate for his sister before departing. They should move to another town, but first, he needed coins. That meant selling this place.
But no one was looking to buy, or if they were, they had not enough. Rase was nearly at his wit’s end. The sun was beginning to set when he left the store area. He had purposely avoided Mermaid’s Tears, but he still hoped to pay the alchemist back somehow.
He turned down a street when the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Someone was watching him.
Rase eased into an alley, climbed the side of the building, and made it onto the roof. He jumped to the next roof and the next before scrambling back down to the street level. No one was paying him any attention, but two streets down, he felt the same sensation. Idly, he glanced over his shoulder and spied a tan man with brilliant white teeth.
Recognition washed over him. Berard Duerrg. Rase had overheard the man at a tavern once. He had been planning on stealing land from Baron Godric Ackles to build a mill. Now, Rase had no love for this particular baron. He was supposed to help all those in his area, which included the Ainsleys, but when Rase had begged for assistance, the baron had refused.
So Rase had sat on the information about Berard and his stealing until Rase needed some money. Then, he extorted money from him. Just a bit. After all, he had his mill now. He had the coins to give.
Those coins had mostly ended up going over to Dudley.
Berard headed his way. Rase knew he could run or try to, but already just the climbing and jumping had caused his wounds to start to bleed again. Running would only make things worse, so he stood his ground, doing his best to look tough.
“Berard,” Rase called once the man had almost reached it. “How’s the mill?”
“You better watch what you’re talking about,” Berard snapped.
“I’m merely asking how you’re doing, one businessman to another.”
"That's the thing. You aren't a businessman. You're a swindler. A con artist. You steal from other hard-working people—"
“That’s a bit rich, coming from you, don’t you think?”
Berard cracked his knuckles. “If I were you, I would start sleeping with one eye open.”
“I never sleep,” Rase lied easily. “So sleeping with one eye open just doesn’t happen. Always have two open.”
“You blink, don’t you?” Berard groused. “I can make it so that your eyes don’t see anything. Might be better. Or how about I cut out your tongue? That way you can’t ever talk. You see… I’ve been talking, and word out on the streets is that you’re bad news. You’ve messed with far too many people, Rase Ainsley. You’re going to get yourself killed if you don’t get out of town.”
“I’d love to get out of town. You happen to be in the market of buying a house? I’ll leave as soon as you pay me—”
“You aren’t getting another coin,” Berard shouted. He glanced around, checking to see if anyone overheard. No one was paying them any mind. The swindler leaned closer. “I’m not the only one fed up with your shenanigans. Take it from me, boy. If you want to live to see your next birthday, get out of Atlan.”
“Like I told you, I would if I had the coin—”
“I don’t want to hear excuses. No one does. You won’t last another week in this city. Do you understand? I’m doing you a solid favor by telling you this and by not killing you right here where you stand. The guards aren’t here. No knights around. There’s no law in the land. You’ve done us wrong. We want payback, but if you flee, no one will give chase.”
Rase nodded slowly, ignoring the leaking of blood that was running down his right side.
Berard flared his nostrils and sniffed. He eyed Rase critically. “They’re already circling, aren’t they?”
The street rat couldn’t help grimacing.
“Get out of Atlan,” Berard said. “You’re half dead already. You want to make it dead dead? And you won’t be buried either. You’ll be left for the crows. I’m willing to not punch you, kick you, nothing like that. Not today at least, but if I see you again…”
“You won’t.”
“I’m glad we’ve come to this understanding,” Berard said. “A pity it had to come to this, but a true businessman doesn’t con another.”
Rase wisely kept his mouth shut.
The tanned man’s face turned red. “If you’re thinking about me and what I did, it’s different. Just trust me. It is.”
Berard stalked off, and Rase would’ve run back to Leanne, but he couldn’t. He was in too much pain.
They had to leave. Start over somewhere new with no money. Rase just knew that things wouldn’t be better anywhere else, but at least anyplace else wouldn’t have enemies lining up to kill him.
Not until he made new ones.
68
Sir Edmund Hill
Five days. That was how long it took for Rapid Falls to be back on its feet, and that was with knights working in shifts day and night, and even then, there was technically more work to be done, but the villagers insisted they could manage the rest themselves. Honestly, Edmund had a feeling they preferred the company of the Vincanans, which did not sit well with the knight at all.
Once he returned to the barracks, Tenney Brooker, the commander of the ga
rrison, took one look at him and grimaced, rubbing his fingers over his well-trimmed mustache. He had no beard, so the heavy lines around his mouth were not hidden as he grumbled, “Take two days off.”
“But—”
“Your whole troop too. You look half-dead, and you smell. Out of my barracks!”
Edmund had no choice but to comply, and he headed outside and got into line, waiting for his turn to wash up.
A throat cleared behind him, and he turned to see Simba Pretorius. The knight’s bald head shone darkly in the sunlight. He gave Edmund a wide smile.
“How are you?” Simba asked.
“I’m just fine, I suppose. You?”
“Not too bad.”
Edmund moved up a step. “Have you heard about my brother’s hotel?”
“Yes, actually.”
“Have you seen it?”
Simba didn’t answer, so Edmund turned to look at the other knight, who nodded.
“Your brother gives one free drink a night to knights,” Simba said.
“How does it taste?”
“Like piss.”
Edmund laughed. “That does not surprise me.”
“I heard that there is to be a fight tonight.”
“A fight?”
"At the hotel. A match between two fighters. A lot of money is being wagered on the winner."
“My brother is hosting a fight?” Edmund didn’t know if he should be impressed or disgusted.
“I will not go, but maybe you should,” Simba said.
“Why me?”
“To support your brother. That is what a good brother would do, yes?”
Edmund sighed. “I suppose,” he grumbled.
Finally, it was his turn to wash.
“Do not use up all of the hot water,” Simba called.
Edmund just shook his head. The other knight used to hardly speak, but now, he was just like the others.
Seeing as Edmund had no other plans, he did opt to head to the hotel that night, but first, he swung by Mermaid’s Tears. Tatum wasn’t there, but what hurt him the most was the cloth hung where the window had been. Her storefront hadn’t always had the window, but she had been doing so well that she had one put in, and now, it appeared someone had broken it.
