by E. D. Walker
“No.” He twisted to stand, to run, opened his mouth to scream for help.
“No, you don’t.” Her little blade whistled past his sleeve, nicking his arm. The blade landed to stick hilt up in the dirt. Godric’s chest swelled with anger, boiling inside him like dark oil. He clawed the blade out of the turf and wheeled toward the blood witch. His balance was off, and he had to blink to clear his vision. “You will not take me again.”
She rolled her eyes and flicked her fingers in a summoning gesture. The little blade tore itself out of his hands to fly into hers. She drew the flat side of the blade against her tongue, tasting his blood once more. She closed her eyes and moaned.
“Please, no.” Godric fell to his knees, sinking his head down in despair. I should have slit my own throat with the knife.
“Come now, up.” She snapped her fingers.
All at once the languidness in his limbs disappeared. He moved with purpose again, precision. His mind was sharper, clearer. It was like being sober again after a weeklong drunk. He actually smiled at Mistress Helen as he pushed to his feet.
She smiled warmly back at him, tracing her hand over his beard. “That feels better, doesn’t it? You must not try to leave my protection again. Now, let us hurry. I have the horses, and we must ride hard if we’re to beat dear Thomas and that little slut to Anutitum.”
Chapter Eighteen
Thomas drove his people hard after the confrontation with the witch in the shepherd’s hut. They rode faster now, stopping less, sleeping less, eating less. Their group almost ran into another small patrol of Tiochene, a dozen or so, but his people hid despite their greater numbers. Llewellyn recognized the Tiochene had several spell-casters among their troop, and he did not want to set his talents against two unknown magicians.
Of the blood witch there was no sign. Thomas uncharitably hoped she’d run afoul of the Tiochene and had her neck slit. Of Godric there was no sign either, and Thomas regretted that more than he could say.
Several days of hard travel at last brought Thomas’s party out of the high mountains and into the lowlands, where the river gentled, and more villages cropped up. Llewellyn refused to let them pass through any of the towns. He was still wary of traps set by the blood witch, and a town full of strangers seemed like too much risk. Instead, they hunted rabbits, fished out of the river when they could, and bartered with farmers on the outskirts of civilization. All Thomas’s people were filthy and hungry, every one of them at the ragged end of their endurance.
“Anutitum should be just over this next ridge,” Llewellyn announced after consulting their maps. The magician urged his mount forward, moving to the front of their ragged column.
Thomas grinned and tried to urge his mount faster also, but the stubborn beast just grunted. The horses too were at the end of their stamina.
A small chuckle sounded behind Thomas, and he half turned in the saddle as Aliénor approached on her own horse. “Anutitum at last.”
“Yes.”
“Well,” she said, and her eyebrows crimped as if with pain. She opened her mouth, then closed it and looked around at their small retinue with frustration. She appeared so alone, so distressed, that his chest ached with it. She had so much brightness inside, so much life ahead of her.
She should not be so sad, so hopeless. That was for shriveled old men like him. She was a rose that should have been bursting into bloom. Dried roses and regrets should not have been her lot in life. “I am…” He broke off and wet his lips, his throat suddenly tight. “I am glad I met you, Princess Aliénor. I wish…”
“I understand.”
“Good-bye. My lady.”
She winced at his words—all the sign he needed that she understood this too. This is where I lose you, my princess. This is where the world takes you from me.
Watching him, her delicate face firmed up as if with great resolve, as if she meant to argue with him. Oh Fate spare him, but he wanted to let her, he wanted her to convince him, to cajole him to being unwise and reckless again. He wanted—
“Halt.” Llewellyn flung his arm up.
“What is it, Llewellyn?”
The magician sat on his horse almost at the very crest of the hill. He had a perfect view into the valley below. He grinned back at the rest of them. “Anutitum.”
***
The city lay like a box of spilled jewels along the floor of the canyon. Hundreds of crisp marble buildings with domed tile roofs and narrow, spindly towers stretched toward the sky. The marble walls of the city glinted in the decadent golden sunlight. And straight through the heart of Anutitum, the river wound like a fine silver thread. Clean, modern, Anutitum gleamed like a beacon for them, calling them to home and safety with the failing of the light.
The road down the mountain to Anutitum lay empty and seemed somewhat ill-kept to Aliénor. A dead donkey lay off to the side of the road with flies buzzing all over. At another point, Thomas and his men had to dismount and shove an overturned farm cart out of the way.
It was near dusk as they neared the city, and yet they passed no other people. Their whole party had fallen silent without having to be told. The hairs on Aliénor’s neck stood on end, and she chafed at the goose bumps on her arms.
At last, the tall white gates of the city and the long walls of Anutitum loomed above them like benevolent giants. Aliénor puffed her breath out with relief.
“Who might you lot be?” someone called down from the top of the bronze gate doors—the gates that remained resolutely shut against them.
Thomas urged his mount forward. “We are weary travelers who seek the protection of your city.”
A snort sounded from the watchtower above. “Are you now? Well, it’s your bad luck that we don’t let folks into the city after sunset. Especially not now.”
The sun was busy rolling down behind the mountains, and a chill breeze fanned across Aliénor, tickling her skin with icy fingers. She let out an impatient humph.
“Please open the gates,” she called out. “I know Lord Guillaume. He will vouch for me.”
The unseen guard cackled. “Oh, certain sure he will. I’m sure he’s friends with all sorts of dirty guttersnipe girls. Doesn’t mean I’ll let you into the city.”
Aliénor recoiled, anger blazing through her. Then she happened to get a glimpse of her own hands in the torchlight—dirty skin with broken nails and scrapes all over. Her face couldn’t have been much better. Her clothes most certainly weren’t. Anyway, for all intents and purposes, she was a poor guttersnipe girl begging on her cousin Guillaume’s doorstep.
The only thing left to tell her that her life as Princess Aliénor hadn’t all been a mad fever dream was the golden signet ring of her father’s twisting on her thumb. “Look, you,” she hollered, picking out each word with precision, speaking in her most cultured accent. “I’ve got a gold ring down here that your Lord Guillaume will want to see, and he’ll want to see it tonight. If you make me wait even one minute more outside these gates, believe me that it will mean your head come morning. Now open these gates.”
There was a brief silence from above and then some frantic mumbling. “You, go fetch Guillaume.”
“No, you.”
She didn’t bother yelling again because a loud cranking had started, and the two large doors of the gate swung inward just wide enough for their horses to pass through. Aliénor urged her horse forward first, with Thomas’s close behind.
“Good job,” he murmured.
She lifted her chin high as she passed through the gate, into a torch-lit courtyard beyond.
Their small, bedraggled party was barely all the way through the gate before a great commotion sounded on the wall above them. “Princess Aliénor.”
She whirled toward the sound of the voice and watched as a tall redheaded man clattered down the gatehouse steps. “It is you. Cousin.” The tall man cut straight past her companions to stand beside her horse.
Aliénor smiled down into his handsome face. “Hello, Guillaum
e.” He had grown from a gangly youth into a man since she’d last seen him almost a decade ago, and yet he’d not changed much for all that. He was a little over ten years her senior, a tall, strong, handsome knight with a square chin like granite and a long scimitar of a nose slashing down his face. His eyes were the same dark brown as hers, his hair a paler shade of red, more blond than ginger.
“Bring me my horse!” Once Guillaume was properly mounted on his own horse—a fine white stallion—he wasted no time ushering their little party away from the gatehouse and up the winding road that led to his own palace on the high hills of the city. Guillaume rode at her side. Thomas rode just behind them, a lethal shadow ready to step in if Guillaume was not who or what he seemed to be. That blasted paranoia of the Lyondi must have been catching, because she was actually grateful for Thomas’s care of her.
Unnecessary in this moment, though. Noémi had taken to hiding the cursed hairpin in Aliénor’s coiffure each morning. ‘Just in case.’ The damn thing gave Aliénor the chills every time she touched it, but still it was a comforting weight in her hair.
“We heard of the slaughter of Prince Philippe’s army.” Guillaume’s mouth pinched with unhappiness. “It is a miracle any of you survived. I’m just sorry that Anutitum cannot offer you better protection, cousin.”
“What do you mean?” Was Guillaume going to turn them out into the wilderness, after all?
Her cousin let out a deep, heavy sigh. “A Tiochene army marches even now to lay siege to us. The whole countryside knows Philippe’s army is lost. I have no help coming, so the Tiochene mean to try their strength against my city’s walls. They should be here in a day, maybe two.” He flung his hands out, and for the first time Aliénor noticed how empty the place was, how unnaturally quiet. “We sent all the families we could down the river. I’ll try to get you out that way, cousin. As soon as a boat can be prepared.”
She should say something, of course, but her throat was thick, her eyes stinging. It was with a very great effort that she did not look behind her at Thomas.
“Here is my palace.” Guillaume dismounted first and lifted Aliénor down from her own horse. He offered his arm to her as they walked into his palace. More high walls surrounded the building, this time made of a warm brown stone, with towers springing out of the wall every hundred feet or so. The towers were round-walled and stockier than the architecture of Jerdun, with squat, rounded tops that seemed cheerful somehow to her eyes. More beautiful tile work covered the outer walls, subtle mosaics of the river with bright blue-and-green details that popped against the dull brown stone.
They passed through the main gate, and she couldn’t help herself—she looked back to make sure that she hadn’t lost anybody. Thomas’s gaze caught with hers, his blue eyes dark, his face solemn and worried. He gave her a small nod of encouragement. One corner of his mouth twitched in an almost-smile. Taking heart, Aliénor drew her breath in and straightened up.
Guillaume paused in a large courtyard with even more intricate tiling and decoration. The space was open and airy with arched doorways leading off to the rest of the palace. Aliénor gaped. Even the finest castles back home would have looked cramped and barbaric compared to this elegant splendor. “This is beautiful, Guillaume.”
He grinned. “It is, isn’t it? This structure was once an old Tiochene fortress that our Jerdic forces took over when we came south in your father’s day. I inherited it from the last Jerdic governor.”
Aliénor swallowed and looked away from the intricate tile mosaics, the beautiful stonework her artisans back home could not possibly recreate. How much might her people have learned if they had worked with the Tiochene back then instead of trying to conquer them all?
Guillaume dismounted and clapped to summon his servants. Two young boys emerged from the shadows at once. They looked barely old enough to be servants at all, not even ten, she would guess. All the older boys must have been called to man the city’s walls.
Guillaume scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m afraid I cannot offer you much in the way of refreshments, though I think we do have some good meat left. Maybe some fruit?”
“That sounds fine, Guillaume.”
He didn’t seem to have heard her, for he still rambled on like a horse heading home for his stable that would not let his rider turn him from the path. “The bathhouses still work, so you can clean up. I’ll dig up some fresh clothes for you and your ladies. The knights too. I’ll speak to my steward about arranging a boat.”
“Guillaume, thank you—”
“Have to give you some supplies for the trip. Can’t spare much. Maybe send your horses with you, but no, we might need them. Perhaps I can—”
“Guillaume.” She gripped his arm and gave it a little shake. “I’m sure whatever you arrange will be suitable, and I thank you for thinking of my comfort at all in such a desperate time as this. I am most sorry to be adding to your burdens.”
He covered her hand with his own. “Here, let’s get your men and the other ladies settled while you and I make our plans.”
Aliénor swallowed as she looked back at Thomas. She raised her eyebrow, asking silent permission. He nodded and stepped forward. Aliénor drew a deep breath in. “By your leave, cousin, there is one more of my party that we must include in our plans.”
Thomas moved to stand at Aliénor’s side, and Guillaume frowned at him, raking his gaze up and down Thomas’s tall form. “Who—”
Aliénor wet her lips. “Lord Guillaume of Anutitum, allow me to present to you King Thomas of Lyond.”
***
Thomas watched Guillaume closely, but the man had a soldier’s training, and upon hearing Aliénor’s pronouncement, he merely blinked. “Well.” The master of Anutitum turned away and motioned for the two of them to follow him. His face had gone blank, his eyes distant like windows with the shutters closed. “All right. This way.”
Aliénor fell in step behind her cousin, chewing on her lower lip. Thomas wondered if she knew she was doing that. He settled his own hand carelessly on the hilt of his sword. I hope we have not made a very grave error in trusting this Guillaume.
Her cousin’s office was large but simple, with a table and several chairs. Rows upon rows of shelves filled with parchment and sheaths of vellum were stacked behind the table with all kinds of colorful stones to weigh the loose leaflets down. Reports, inventories, correspondence. The sight made Thomas homesick for some reason. He had been gone too long from Lyond. He only hoped his regent was managing. It had been months since Thomas had received any news from home.
Guillaume settled behind his desk and steepled his fingers under his chin. “I am sorry for the loss of your men, King Thomas, and I regret to tell you that your colony cities have all been overrun by the Tiochene already.”
He’d been expecting this, but still it was like having a knife shoved under his ribs and twisted. What an old fool and a failure I am. He hissed his breath out sharply through his teeth. “Were many of the Lyondi colonists killed?”
“Some fled here, but we were forced to send them away with our own people along the river to the last few cities controlled by Jerdic forces. A few of the colonists in your cities refused to abandon their homes. They stayed behind and surrendered to the Tiochene, even agreeing to convert. All the Lyondi cities were taken with relatively little bloodshed, so I’m told.”
Thomas should have felt outrage that any of his countrymen had defected to a foreign enemy. He felt only a weary resignation. He had seen how harsh this place was, how brutal. How could he judge or condemn his people for doing what they thought best to survive?
“Now, please.” Guillaume’s frowning gaze flicked back and forth between Thomas and Aliénor. “Tell me how you—both of you—came to survive. And to be traveling together in this way.”
Thomas glanced over at Aliénor, and she made a small you go first motion with her chin. Thomas snorted and settled back in his chair. “Many weeks ago now, my men and I were marching along the mou
ntain pass…”
***
As their tale continued, Aliénor watched Guillaume’s expression become more and more incredulous. Though the story sounded outlandish, they even told him everything they knew of the blood witch.
“No such woman has been seen, has she?”
Guillaume spread his empty hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Thousands of people have passed through my city, cousin. I will ask my men to watch for this witch, but it’s possible she’s already found her way inside the walls. I wouldn’t worry overmuch, though. Magic is forbidden in my city.”
Aliénor tilted her head. “What? Why?”
Guillaume’s jaw twitched, his eyes going distant. “Oh, the Tiochene population here were making trouble last year. The other Jerdic colony-cities too. Rumor is, the Tiochene faction in the mountains have been training anyone with a modicum of Talent in magic—even women. And then recruiting them for their army. So I banned magic altogether and imprisoned anyone caught practicing it.”
“You don’t even have a court magician?” Thomas asked.
“No,” Guillaume scoffed. “More trouble than they’re worth, if you ask me. Like your blood witch problem: why keep someone close to the throne who has the power to make you her puppet?”
Aliénor couldn’t exactly disagree, but not all magicians were as unscrupulous as Mistress Helen. She couldn’t help but think how useful and brave Master Llewellyn had shown himself to be, for instance. Having a good magician on your side could be a powerful boon. Especially when your enemies are creating an army of magic users. Guillaume’s outlawing of magic seemed marvelously short-sighted to her, cruel even. A Talented midwife, for instance, could save more lives in her time than even a skilled court magician like Llewellyn.
“How did you break the witch’s curse, cousin?” Guillaume asked, his eyebrow raised.
She dropped her gaze to the floor to keep from looking at Thomas. “Oh, ’twas the bite of apple. Once they took that out of my mouth, the spell was broken.”
