The Blood of Kings

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  The sound of footsteps approached, and Princess Ravenna appeared at the room’s entrance. The two guards who accompanied the princess remained behind as she made her way to where he lay.

  When Ravenna noticed Morwen there with him, her mood seemed to sour somewhat. “Lady Morwen.” Her cold tone implied she was all too familiar with Morwen’s true parentage.

  Morwen bowed and stepped out of her way in deference to the princess, a sign of a dynamic that had probably played itself out many times before.

  Ravenna’s expression softened when she looked at the warden, and her eyes swept over his bandages. “You saved my life.” Her voice was full of barely restrained emotion. Before he could reply, she slipped her hand into his and squeezed. Her hand was soft and warm. Berengar had not felt its like in many years. The princess quickly pulled back her hand, as if she had surprised even herself by the tender gesture. “You have my thanks, Lady Morwen, for treating the warden so diligently,” she added with a brief glance in Morwen’s direction, perhaps by way of apology.

  “Of course, Your Grace,” Morwen replied politely.

  “The guards have restored order in your absence,” Ravenna declared. The flicker of vulnerability was gone, replaced once again by a mask of strength. “There were riots into the night, but the city is peaceful now. Most of the nonhumans have either left Cashel or gone into hiding. I can’t say I blame them.”

  “What of the queen?” he asked.

  “Safe, thanks in no small part to you. I’m not too proud to admit when I am wrong, Warden Berengar. We should never have gone into the city. I did not fully appreciate the extent of the danger until it was almost too late.”

  He remembered how fiercely the princess had argued for her independence after his attempt to convince them not to stray outside the castle walls. Ravenna was stubborn, which was at least one trait she shared with Mór. At least now she and her mother would be under constant protection, though they remained in considerable danger. The attack during the feast confirmed beyond any doubt that the assassin had also targeted Queen Alannah and Princess Ravenna, which meant the conspiracy extended beyond Mór.

  Ravenna glanced over her shoulder at her guards, who waited for her at the entrance. “I shall leave you to your convalescence.” She hesitated at his bedside a moment longer. “Perhaps when you are well, you might join me at our table in the great hall for my evening meal. I would be glad of the company.”

  Many strange happenings had occurred since Berengar first answered King Mór’s summons, but none compared with his surprise at the princess’ invitation to dinner. Members of polite society usually tolerated him at best, if only because of his position. With few exceptions, the warden was rarely greeted with open arms, which was probably on account of his rough appearance, reputation for killing, questionable manners, or some combination of all three. He was unsure what interest someone like Ravenna might have in him, but then again, the confident and outspoken princess was unusual in her own right.

  “As you wish.” He couldn’t very well turn her down, even if he were so inclined. It was rarely wise to reject a request from royalty. Another conversation with Ravenna might shed more light on the castle’s inner workings. Besides, there was an allure about the princess he found difficult to resist, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. There was a ring of truth in what she said to him during the feast—he did feel a kinship with her.

  Satisfied with his answer, Ravenna left them without another word.

  Berengar watched her go, his eyes lingering perhaps a moment too long. Be careful, he told himself. He couldn’t afford to lose sight of the reason he had come to Munster, especially not with danger lurking in every corner.

  “You were uncharacteristically quiet in the princess’ presence,” he said to Morwen.

  “Princess Ravenna is not overly fond of me, though she has never treated me ill. The princess had a difficult relationship with her father, and my presence only made things worse. King Mór believed it was the duty of a princess to be seen and not heard, but Ravenna was far too independent for that. He visited upon me all the favor and attention he denied her, though she was his legitimate heir and I was not.”

  Her words were no surprise, given what Berengar already knew of Mór and Ravenna’s relationship. The king valued Morwen for her magical abilities and spurned Ravenna for daring to exercise her nimble mind freely. The king’s thoughtless partiality had done neither daughter any favors and probably deprived the two half-sisters of an otherwise meaningful relationship.

  “Where are my things?” He looked around the room. His shirt had been removed, and he wore only his pants. Most of his belongings, including the bearskin cloak and his weapons, were suspiciously absent.

  “Waiting in your room. I had your armor mended where the arrow pierced it.”

  “Good.” Berengar cast the sheets away, put on his boots, and reached for the tunic laid out for him.

  Morwen sat upright in her chair and sprang to her feet. “What are you doing? You need to rest.”

  “I’ve rested long enough.” He pulled the white shirt over his head. Even with the shirt, he felt naked without his weapons. Thankfully, the hidden dagger remained in his boot, just in case the occasion demanded it. “Besides, that draught you gave me is working. I feel better already.” It was true, though his wound ached more than a little. Berengar grimaced and willed away the pain. There was work to do.

  Morwen frowned but offered no protest when he slid out of bed. She probably knew him well enough by now to know there was nothing she could say that would dissuade him. Faolán leapt off the bed and landed beside him deftly on all fours.

  “Someone was blackmailing the king.” Berengar started toward the doorway. “We need to find out who.”

  They were interrupted by the sound of a bell ringing loudly without warning from the watchtower, and Berengar stopped dead in his tracks. The last time the bells tolled across Cashel, they announced the king’s death. He exchanged an apprehensive glance with Morwen, and the pair hurried to the window, where they could see a mass of people approaching the city from beyond the wall. Most were on foot, although a few appeared to be riding on horseback—probably soldiers, though given the distance, it was hard to tell. Even if their numbers were too few to belong to an attacking force, their sudden appearance was certainly cause for alarm.

  “They carry the queen’s colors,” Morwen said of the golden banners flapping in the wind. “These are subjects of the crown.”

  “The guards wouldn’t ring the bell unless there was something wrong. Come on.”

  There was no time to stop to retrieve his weapons. He quickly made his way outside the castle, Morwen at his side. As the bell continued ringing the alarm, scores of guards rushed to form ranks across the courtyard. Panicked cries broke out from below, where the approaching swarm had almost reached the city gate. Berengar pushed his way through the fleeing spectators, but the line of guards marching down the road into Cashel was moving far too slowly, blocking his way forward.

  “We’ll never get there in time,” he said angrily.

  Morwen put two fingers to her mouth and whistled. A loud whinny from a horse over by the stables sounded above the ruckus. The horse reared up and tore free of the squire who held its lead rope before breaking into a run. It came to a stop just short of Berengar and Morwen, as if waiting for them to mount it.

  “Nice trick,” he muttered to Morwen as he stepped into the stirrup and took the reins. Animals were known to have an affinity for certain magical beings. The fact probably played a role in Faolán’s favorable disposition toward Morwen, though he suspected Morwen’s good nature also played no small part. Animals could sense good and evil as well as magic. Berengar trusted Faolán’s instincts above anyone else’s—even his own. He reached down and pulled the magician into the saddle. When Morwen put her arms around his waist, he kicked the horse and they started downhill.

  Despite the alarm caused by the bells, Cashel h
ad calmed somewhat since the upheaval at the feast, though the undercurrent of tension that remained was palpable. Berengar suspected it would be a long time before life in the city returned to normal. If Mór’s killer wasn’t brought to justice, the chaos threatened to spread across Munster. He’d seen it before, in the time of the Shadow Wars, when the five kingdoms of Fál were divided, even among themselves. The High Queen had appointed the wardens so that such times would never again return.

  The wanderers had begun to trickle into the city when Berengar and Morwen arrived at the gate. The people were covered in mud and soot. Many wore torn and bloodied clothes. There were men, women, and children from all walks of life. United by common tragedy, all class distinctions were apparently forgotten in the wake of what they had endured. Berengar knew the hollow look in their eyes. These people had seen death.

  “Make way,” a familiar voice called above the clamor. “Grant these people passage into the city!”

  Berengar spotted Ronan closer to the gate, issuing orders to the guards to allow for a greater influx inside the walls. He dismounted and approached on foot, brushing past the crowd. “What’s going on?” he asked when he was near enough.

  “These people are refugees,” Ronan said somberly, only half looking at him. “From the village of Ahenny.”

  “That’s only a day’s ride from here,” Morwen exclaimed as wagons entered, carrying the wounded. Some, if not already dead, would soon be so. “What happened?”

  “Ahenny was attacked,” said a soldier at the head of the party. Like his companions, he was in rough shape. The man walked with a pronounced limp and had sustained a deep gash across his sword arm. “The raiders crossed the Ford of Eine and set fire to the village. We fought them off, but at great cost.”

  The soldier lost his footing, and Ronan grabbed him by the shoulders and held him upright. “Who did this?”

  “We captured one. We tried to bring him back alive for questioning, but he succumbed to his wounds just before we arrived.” The soldier nodded at a body slung across the back of a horse led by one of his companions. The corpse’s skin was pale. Strands of wavy yellow hair spilled from a round-capped iron helmet that covered most of the face.

  Berengar recognized the corpse’s distinctive black lamellar armor at once. “Danes.”

  “Gorr Stormsson will pay dearly for this,” Ronan promised the ashen-faced soldier. “The northman knows King Mór is dead, if he didn’t have a hand in it himself. He’s testing the queen, searching for weakness.”

  Berengar, who came from Ulster—the true north—was mildly annoyed at Ronan’s use of the word northman to refer to Stormsson. The Danes were seafaring raiders from distant lands, invaders to be driven out of the kingdoms of Fál again and again. They worshipped war and sought only plunder and death. Warriors from Ulster were no less fierce, but they were men of Fál all the same.

  “See that the wounded are tended to,” Ronan directed his subordinates as the final refugees entered the city. “Bury the dead, and make sure the living have food and a place to sleep. Come,” he said to Berengar and Morwen. “We must inform the queen at once.”

  Morwen removed two vials from her satchel and passed them to one of the guards. “Give a thimbleful of the red and purple elixirs to each of the wounded. Tell the healers to send word if they require my assistance.”

  The guard bowed. “It will be done, my lady.”

  Berengar and Morwen followed Ronan to his horse, where the guards quickly produced mounts for each of them. “Who is this Stormsson?” Berengar asked as he swung himself onto the saddle. Laird O’Reilly had called the man a butcher, and Queen Alannah identified Stormsson as the leader of the Danes, but apart from that, he knew little of the man.

  “His brother Alfric was captain before him, until he was slain in battle when our forces pushed them out of Munster under King Mór. Stormsson swore revenge on the king and his line. He returned to our shores some years ago and began raiding villages. His numbers have grown in that time, though not enough to challenge our armies outright. We learned from Laird O’Reilly’s spies that he has a stronghold in the east, but we have not yet been able to uncover its location.”

  The bells ceased, and they rode in silence, leaving Berengar to contemplate Ronan’s words. He was almost certain Stormsson was somehow involved in the events surrounding the king’s death. His gift of the coatl egg to the Brotherhood of Thieves was not an accident, even if the reason for the exchange remained unknown. It came as no surprise that he could have obtained such a rare and valuable commodity—the Danes were well-known sailors and explorers.

  Then there was the missing shipment from the royal treasury, which was also rumored to have been the work of the Danes. Had Stormsson used the stolen gold to finance the king’s murder? He certainly had a motive to want Mór dead, but why would he bother attempting to cover his tracks, which the assassin had gone to great lengths to accomplish? The Exchequer had believed the theft of the gold was an inside job, and someone inside the castle revealed its location to the raiders. If that was true, Stormsson wasn’t working alone. Perhaps that was what Calum had been keeping to himself—yet another reason for Berengar to pay the prisoner another visit when the opportunity presented itself.

  They found Queen Alannah seated on her throne. She was already grim-faced when they entered. Laird O’Reilly stood at her side, holding a piece of parchment in his right hand. Berengar immediately took note of the increased number of guards.

  The chamber was almost empty. Most of the royal court had been dismissed, leaving behind only the queen and the Rí Tuaithe to deal with the sudden turbulence.

  “Thank heavens,” Alannah said when she saw Ronan. “What’s happened?”

  Ronan briefly recounted what they’d learned from the attack’s survivors.

  “These are ill tidings,” the queen said when he was finished. “Laird O’Reilly just received word from the coast, where the Danes have burned much of our navy in an ambush. Added to the ships we lost in the hurricane, our fleet is all but depleted. If he is not dealt with soon, Gorr Stormsson will be free to land more ships along the coast and amass his forces. It seems the kingdom is beset on all sides.”

  It was King Mór who first mentioned the loss of his ships under mysterious circumstances. Now, the king’s suspicions seemed almost prophetic. Berengar recalled the conversation he’d overheard when he stayed at the inn on the road to Cill Airne. The patrons were concerned over reports of famine and increased monster sightings. Between the unrest in the city, the emboldened attacks from the Danes, and the strange happenings throughout the kingdom, there was a darker influence at work in Munster, but was it the result of magic, as Mór believed, or simply a byproduct of the fallout from his death?

  Princess Ravenna held her hand on the seat of her mother’s throne. “We cannot let this stand. These killers must be made to answer for what they’ve done.”

  Queen Alannah nodded deliberately. “Of the five kingdoms, ours alone has stood unconquered since the time of Brian Boru and the High Kings of old. Munster did not fall when the dragons came. We did not fall when the Lord of Shadows held all Fál under his sway. And we will not fall now.” She rose from the throne, facing the ranks of Rí Tuaithe. “Lords of Munster, I call on you to uphold your oaths. Raise your armies. I want Gorr Stormsson brought to justice.”

  “I will oversee the effort myself, Your Grace,” Ronan promised. As thane, he had command over the queen’s armies.

  Berengar frowned. Although Stormsson needed to answer for his crimes, armed conflict would only further destabilize the realm. Perhaps that was what the assassin had wanted all along.

  “Issue a royal proclamation,” Alannah instructed her scribe. “I want guards stationed in every city and town. Our roads and trade routes must be protected, by armed escorts if need be.” The queen marked the proclamation with the royal seal and presented it to her thane.

  Laird O’Reilly cleared his throat. “Your Grace, if I may—in
light of these events, and the attempt on your lives, perhaps we should delay the coronation. Surely we cannot expect High Queen Nora to attend while the danger remains.”

  It was customary for the High Queen herself to place the silver crown atop the head of the Rí Ruirech when they ascended to the throne. Given the circumstances, Berengar would strongly advise Nora against making the journey to Cashel.

  Princess Ravenna regarded Laird O’Reilly with an expression of pure loathing. “Would you have given my father the same advice, I wonder? The kingdom stands on the edge of a knife, and you would deny the people of Munster an opportunity to stand united? My mother is as strong as any man, Laird O’Reilly. As am I. You would do well to remember it.”

  O’Reilly, left flustered by the rebuke, muttered a hasty apology, but Queen Alannah held up a hand to quiet them both. “Ravenna is right. The people must see strength from their leader. The coronation will go on as planned. I believe the warden has the authority to act in the High Queen’s stead.” Her gaze fell on Berengar. “It is good to see you in good health, Warden Berengar. Words cannot express my gratitude for your actions during the feast. I have already buried a son, and a husband. I could not bear to lose my only daughter.”

  Berengar’s frown deepened at the prospect of being caught up in the pomp and circumstance of the coronation. He’d have to put up with all those preening, self-important nobles for an entire day. Worse still, they’d probably even insist he dress formally for the occasion. “It would be my honor,” he replied through clenched teeth, though in truth he’d rather face down a tribe of bloodthirsty goblins.

  Without warning, the doors to the throne room were thrown open, and the captain of the guard rushed into the chamber.

  “Where have you been?” Ronan demanded as Corrin hurried to meet them. “We looked for you at the gate, but you were nowhere to be found.”

  Corrin was visibly shaken. “Forgive my intrusion. I bring urgent news.”

  Berengar knew at once something was very wrong. “What is it? What’s happened?”