Paladin's Prize

by Gaelen Foley

  The disapproving looks some of the knights gave her suggested they would have never tolerated such open rebellion from their wives. Indeed, she got the feeling that many of these “head-lopping warriors,” as Jonty called them, would have probably answered similar defiance from their own spousal chattel with a backhand rather than a speech.

  At least she had perfect faith that Thaydor would never hurt her—or any female, for that matter.

  By the time night came and he still failed to return, gnawing worry had overpowered her hurt pride. It didn’t matter. She just wanted him back safe.

  Even her indignant rejection of his lovemaking last night seemed petty to her now. What if they never got the chance to make up properly?

  She hoped Jonty was looking after him, as she’d made him promise…

  Suddenly, she spotted motion on the road. With a swift intake of breath, she leaned forward.

  The moonlight revealed three riders coming around the bend.

  Three? Gracious, has he already rescued the king by himself?

  It sounded typical of him. Perhaps a battle could still be avoided.

  “It’s Thaydor! He’s coming!” she called over her shoulder to the men.

  One of the big, rough head-loppers rushed over to verify this. The word of a mere female was apparently not enough.

  Wrynne frowned.

  “She’s right! Open the gate!” he hollered.

  Before long, Thaydor was striding into their midst, his tall, confident posture rejuvenating the men at the mere sight of him and sending a thrill through Wrynne down to her toes.

  Thank you, Ilios.

  She ran down through the dim, winding tunnels to see him, eager to feel his arms around her and confirm for herself that he was unscathed.

  When she arrived in the large underground cavern that served as the citadel’s great hall, he was just walking into the warm, gold glow of the lamplight, Jonty safe and sound a step behind him.

  He greeted his men, who crowded around him with a hundred questions and blocked her path to him like a mighty forest of so many thick, towering trees. She tried to push her way through, but it was Thaydor who made them clear a path.

  “Where is she?” she heard him ask. “Where’s my lady? Is she all right?”

  “I’m back here!”

  A pair of big fellows parted to let her pass. “Oh… Sorry, milady.”

  As soon as Thaydor saw her, he offered an intimate smile, his blue eyes glowing with hopeful affection at the sight of her. “There she is.”

  Wrynne rushed forward to launch herself into his arms but stopped short at the sight of his prisoner—a tall, burly man in peasants’ clothes with a sack tied over his head, his hands bound behind his back.

  “Who’s this?” she exclaimed.

  “Oh, sir, you didn’t already rescue the king without us, did you?” Kai asked, sounding extremely disappointed.

  “Hardly. The king’s still in the dungeon under Lionsclaw Keep. I’m sorry to tell you he was found guilty at that mockery of a trail they just held for him.”

  “Big surprise,” Jonty said ruefully.

  “His Majesty is to be beheaded in the square tomorrow morning. But of course, I don’t intend to let that happen. Which is why we nabbed him. Gentlemen, allow me to present our guest.” Thaydor pulled the hood off his prisoner. “There you are. That better?”

  Blinking in the light, the scruffy-faced man scowled at him.

  “Who the hell is that?” Reynulf asked.

  “The royal executioner. But tomorrow morning, I’ll be taking his place. Instead of dropping the blade, obviously, I’m going to get the king out of there, and all of you will be in place to cover my retreat with him when the Urmugoths attack. Which they will.”

  Wrynne closed her eyes. “This, for the man who’s spent the past six months trying to have you killed?”

  “I told you she wouldn’t like it,” Jonty said to Thaydor.

  “The man who framed you as a traitor to your country?” she persisted, flicking her eyes open angrily.

  “Darling,” Thaydor said in a long-suffering tone.

  She checked her temper, determined not to restart hostilities between them. “It’s just— One wonders why you don’t just let him die, my lord. Is he really worth it?”

  His blue eyes flickered with amusement, acknowledging her effort to be a most agreeable wife in front of his men. “Tell her, bard,” he said with a narrow smile.

  “He took a vow,” Jonty said wryly. “Oath of loyalty, y’see. They all did. And you know Thaydor.”

  The bard’s humor helped defuse the brief tension at her protest.

  “So I do,” she said, offering her husband a knowing smile. “I suppose that’s what I get for marrying a hero.”

  “And here we thought you’d be cross,” Jonty said. “In fact, we brought you something to cheer you up! A souvenir from our day.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a length of white-and-silver cloth.

  “You brought me a handkerchief?” she asked dubiously, taking it from him.

  “It’s an armband,” Jonty said as she inspected it.

  “Er, gallant. Thanks,” she said, confused.

  “We took it off the arm of a dead Urm.” Thaydor clapped the bard on the back and grinned. “Jonty killed one today.”

  “What?” she cried.

  Thaydor nodded proudly at his companion while the squires cheered with equal parts envy and enthusiasm. “We ran into one while we were running around the city after curfew, figuring out our battle plan.”

  Reynulf arched a brow. “Curfew?”

  “Lord Eudo ordered everybody off the streets by nine,” Thaydor explained. “He’s got Urms patrolling the city to make sure of it. Came around the corner, and there he was.”

  “Gods, they’re big. And smell like a pigsty,” Jonty muttered in disgust.

  “You should’ve seen him. The bard actually can fight.”

  “Oh, aye, I’m full of surprises,” Jonty drawled. “I have been on quests, you know.”

  The squires gasped with envy, but Wrynne wrinkled her nose and held up her present. “You got this off a dead Urmugoth mercenary?” she asked. “Thanks very much.”

  “Well, I could’ve brought you the head, but I didn’t think you’d want it,” Jonty said, his green eyes dancing.

  She gave him a droll look.

  “Enough chatter. We’ve all got to get into position by dawn.” Thaydor clapped the executioner on the back. “Get this fellow some food and drink. Lock him in one of the chambers where he can’t escape, but see that he’s made comfortable. You can untie him once he’s secured in a room. He’s our prisoner for now out of necessity, but I gave him my word he’d be treated well and that he’ll be free to go once all this is over.”

  Two of the knights led the executioner away.

  “You must be hungry, too,” Wrynne said, going over to Thaydor and slipping her arms around his waist.

  “Starved.” He pulled her close and curved his arm around her shoulders. “Did everyone behave for you today?”

  “Oh, yes. It was uneventful here. We all finished supper hours ago, but sit down and I’ll conjure a meal for you and Jonty.”

  Now apparently great friends, much to her amusement, both paladin and bard sat down at one of the long, wooden tables in the giant cavern.

  “More tricks! Is this magic food safe to eat? I mean, if I eat it, I won’t be doomed to stay in this cave forever or anything, will I?”

  “She’s not a sorceress. It’s Ilian magic, Jonty. From above.”

  “If you say so.”

  Thaydor shook his head, but Jonty sent Wrynne a cheery wink to show he was only teasing.

  While the rest of the knights took their places on the tables and benches around Thaydor to hear the specifics of their battle plan, Wrynne retreated to a quiet corner to work the Feed the Hungry spell.

  “So what is the hour of the execution?” Reynulf asked.

  While they st
arted discussing the mission, Wrynne closed her eyes, connecting her awareness inwardly with the Light. It was strong in her today after all the hours she had spent in the chapel helping the knights repent for their shameful behavior. She knew she shouldn’t judge, but it was still a bit difficult to look at some of them and not see them drunk and half-naked, acting like a bunch of satyrs. She was so glad Thaydor never conducted himself that way.

  With deep breaths in and out, she felt the power flow through her, and within moments, the meal manifested into being on a platter before her.

  She carried it over to Thaydor and set it down in front of him rather proudly.

  Jonty looked at her in amazement. “Hang me! Can I order whatever I want?”

  She laughed and set her hands on her waist. “No. All you get is that.” She pointed at the loaf of bread, hunk of cheese, and roasted chicken breast on Thaydor’s plate. “It always comes out exactly the same. Don’t worry, it’s quite good.”

  “She makes chicken. Magic chicken.” The bard elbowed Thaydor. “You definitely married the right girl. Why not steak? Have you ever tried? What about mincemeat pie?”

  “Oh, be quiet!” She swatted the laughing bard on the head.

  “Be glad she’s here,” said Thaydor. “I can only make an apple.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “I wasn’t offering!” He snorted. “At least my horse appreciates it.”

  Chuckling, Wrynne withdrew to work the spell a second time, delighted to see the two men getting along so well.

  After setting Jonty’s meal down in front of him and mouthing a discreet You’re welcome in answer to his small bow of thanks, she sat down next to her husband, savoring his presence, but only half listening while the men talked strategy. She was eager to speak to him in private and let him know she was sorry for their fight. One look in his cobalt eyes had already told her he was sorry, too. Unfortunately, it was always business before pleasure with the paladin.

  She bit her lip, trying to focus on the men’s conversation. She did not like thinking about the violence to come. And dawn was only hours away… Which of these men would die? she wondered, letting her gaze travel around the room.

  While Thaydor and Jonty ate, Reynulf and several of the other men debated different possibilities of how to launch the attack once Thaydor had whisked His Majesty off the execution platform.

  Wrynne had an idea, too. She tapped her husband on the arm and whispered, “Maybe I should stay near you when it all happens so I can hasten the king out of there. Would that be safer?”

  “Not for you!” he exclaimed, and washed down a mouthful with a swig of the ale one of the lads had brought him. “No, love. It’s too dangerous.”

  “It might be safer for the king.”

  “Your safety matters more to me than his does. You’ll have a small role to play ahead of time, which I will soon explain, but you’ll be long gone from the city by the time the fight breaks out. I don’t want you anywhere near that square tomorrow.”

  “You’re going to let me help?” she murmured, pleased, but he was already answering another question from one of his men.

  So I’m even more important to him than the king. How sweet! Warmed by his protectiveness, indeed, relieved by it after their quarrel, she snuggled against him on the bench, eager to find out what her job would be.

  For now, she turned her attention to her morbid “present.” The two-foot length of Urm’s ribbon made her shudder, as it suggested the massive circumference of the gray-skinned biceps around which it had, till recently, been tied.

  On closer study, she noticed an insignia embroidered on it in silver thread. She furrowed her brow and stared at it, then tapped Thaydor on the shoulder.

  He was still in the middle of speaking. “Obviously, the civilians there will be a liability, but perhaps there’s some way to channel them out of harm’s way. Yes?”

  Wrynne pointed to the symbol on the armband. “What is this?”

  His gaze flicked down to it, then back to her. “I believe that’s the crest Lord Eudo has adopted for himself. Do you know what this is?” he asked Jonty.

  The bard shook his head. “Eudo had all the Urms wearing those armbands. I assume to make the people feel better about the creatures’ presence in the city. Probably as a visual reminder that, as horrid as they look, they’re under his command and they’re not supposed to hurt anybody. Well, except us.”

  “But what does it mean?” she persisted.

  “Well, it’s got the silver and the white to represent Efrena,” Thaydor offered.

  “That much I figured, but what does the symbol look like to you?”

  “I don’t know.” Jonty shrugged. “Flame of knowledge, maybe?”

  “It’s not a flame. Thaydor, doesn’t this look familiar?” She held it up to him.

  He shrugged. “Looks like perhaps some kind of flower or plant.”

  “Exactly! I’ve seen this before,” she told them.

  Thaydor elbowed the bard. “Did you know she’s an expert in botany? Grows the plants, then turns them into medicine. Very clever, my wife.”

  Jonty looked at her. “I’ve been listening to this all day. Do you realize that? It gets a little tiresome.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Thaydor said with a grin.

  “Thaydor!” Wrynne insisted.

  “Yes, love?”

  “Listen to me! I’ve seen this before. The actual plant, not the symbol. At Silvermount!”

  He gave her a blank look.

  She frowned. “You didn’t see it. Oh, that’s right—you were too busy keeping us from getting eaten by the rocs.”

  “Rocs?” all three young squires exclaimed at once.

  Wrynne ignored the boys. “It was this huge, bizarre species of thistle that was stuck to the rocs’ nest. I’ve never seen such a thing before, and I had to learn every species of plant that grows on the continent in my studies at the Bastion. I’ll bet you anything that’s what this insignia portrays.”

  “Huh,” said Thaydor, as though he didn’t really see her point.

  “I know it sounds strange, but this was not a normal plant. I could’ve sworn the thing was…staring at me.”

  Everybody laughed.

  “I’m not joking! I really think I should go to the Great Library and do some research on it.”

  “Ahem, anyway,” said Reynulf. “How are we going to get into the city with all our weapons and equipment without being noticed?”

  “We had a talk with the sentry unit in charge of the West Gate,” Thaydor answered. “The captain there is loyal. He and his men have agreed to help.”

  “Turns out more people in the city are on our side than you’d expect,” Jonty added.

  “Good!” one of the knights said with a snort.

  “I’m not surprised,” said another.

  The bard nodded. “They seem to be waking up.”

  “Finally,” Thaydor muttered.

  Wrynne was doing her best to hide her exasperation at being brushed off by a bunch of head-loppers planning their battle, but she couldn’t take it any longer. “What about this symbol?” she cried.

  Thaydor caressed her back. “Darling, we’ll sort it out once we’ve got the king out of harm’s way. One thing at a time.”

  “But we still don’t even know why Eudo is doing all this. Doesn’t it strike anyone as strange in itself?” She looked around at them. “The Silver Sage has been in court circles for years and never showed any such lust for power before the past year or so.”

  “Power corrupts,” Thaydor said with a shrug. “Perhaps these nefarious desires started growing in him years ago. Hidden and festering.”

  “Or maybe this plant had something to do with it,” she insisted. “Maybe he’s using it for medicinal purposes, o-or maybe it released some kind of poison that affected him. You heard what Eudo’s handmaid told Jonty about how different he was when he came back from his retreat.”

  “Look, I’m not that worried about Lor
d Eudo at the moment,” Thaydor said. “I’m worried about the Urms amid the populace and the king getting his head chopped off. And by the way, as I said, you’ve got a role to play in all this, too, so you’d better pay attention, lovely.”

  “I’m all ears.” She was so pleased at being included rather than tucked into a blasted strongbox somewhere for safekeeping. “What shall I do to help?”

  “Didn’t your father’s construction company work on the new wing of the royal palace that was built a few years ago?”

  She nodded. “Why?”

  “I need whatever architectural plans he might have of Lionsclaw Keep. There are sections of the palace I’ve never seen.”

  “He might well have something like that.”

  “Good. Any sort of map of the building that might reveal an easier way to rescue His Majesty before they ever lead him out onto the execution platform tomorrow.”

  “You’d spare him even that?” she asked softly.

  “I’d spare the people having to see their king so degraded.”

  “Well, if Papa does have a detailed scheme of the palace, it would be in the vault in his office. It’s always locked, but I used to help him around the office before I studied at the Bastion, so I know where he hides the key.”

  “Excellent. We’ll see what we can find among his papers. Then there’s the matter of getting me into the palace, and I need your help for that, as well.”

  “Hasten spell?” she asked, holding his businesslike gaze.

  Thaydor nodded. “I’ll appoint a few of my men to protect you.” He glanced around the hall, weighing which ones he could spare in the battle ahead for the sake of ensuring her safety. “You’ll come with us when we head into the city shortly. We’ll see what your father’s vault might yield, then you’ll hasten me into the palace, as close to the dungeon as we can get. That way, even if I can’t manage to get His Majesty out of there beforehand, at least this will put me in position to play my role as executioner when the time comes.”

  He met her eyes, unblinking. “As for you, once you’ve got me into the palace, you’ll pop right back out again to your guards, do you hear me? They’ll immediately bring you back here to the Eldenhold, where you’ll be safe no matter how the battle goes.”