by Elise Marion
King Serge turned to leave the room, and the other two men fell into step behind him. “Were there no soldiers present?”
“A few, Your Highness, but not enough to stop them.”
He turned to the grand vizier. “Have fifty men armed and ready for me in the courtyard. We ride for Kingsford straightaway. Tell the queen to have a physician summoned and every available maid on standby in the infirmary, prepared to tend to the wounded.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” said Lord Burnham before setting off at a near run to do his king’s bidding.
“There is more,” said the messenger as he followed the king to the main hall.
“Tell me,” he replied, halting to turn and face him.
“They have captured our soldiers and several villagers, including some women and children. The ones who came bearing the news carried this note.”
King Serge accepted the wrinkled scrap of parchment the messenger held out to him. On it were written the words of a madman.
You have something of mine, and now I have something of yours. I will await you in Kingsford, and we will discuss a trade. If you do not come, consider the good people of this village already dead.
Lucius
* * *
The words written upon the note enraged Serge to no end, the heat of it clashing violently with the frigid dread unfurling in his gut. While he’d sat about trying to plan a course of action with his new council, Lucius Winthrop had made the first move, striking out at the village of Kingsford and taking hostages with which he could barter.
A servant appeared, carrying his sword belt and cedar box containing his twin revolvers. He thanked them and dismissed the messenger before arming himself with the weapons. By the time he’d finished, Primus reappeared, armed with his own sword and gun and prepared to ride out. Serge offered him the note, and waited for the other man to read it and grasp what was happening.
“I don’t understand,” Primus said once he’d finished. “What thing of his could we possibly possess?”
“The men who survived the attack,” Serge replied. “There are twenty.”
“You intend to negotiate with him?” the grand vizier asked as they continued through the front open doors.
Together, they trotted down the front steps to where the fifty requested men waited on horseback, ready to leave.
“He has women and children, Primus. I intend to get them back.”
He swung himself up in the saddle, accepting the reins from the waiting groom. Primus followed suit, and together they led the waiting soldiers through the portcullis and away from the safety of Guthrie Hall’s walls.
They undertook the short ride to Kingsford in silence. One of Barony’s smaller villages, it bordered acres upon acres of prime farmland, upon which many of its citizens toiled each day. Serge kept his eyes on their surroundings, remaining alert for any sign of danger, his hand tight on the hilt of his sword.
As they neared the village, he detected billowing black clouds lingering in the air. The sickening odors of smoke and blood mingled in a putrid combination, turning his stomach. An eerie silence surrounded them. Not one voice could be heard, nor were there the pound of horse’s hooves, or the clatter of carriage wheels. Ash rained down over them in a gray mist. Even with his vision obscured, he could see that the village was no more.
His fury surged hot and swift when they paused at the center of the village to take in the damage that had been done. The rebels had ravaged Kingsford without mercy.
Nearly every structure had been burned to the ground, proving to be the reason for all the smoke and ash. All that remained of homes, shops, barns, storehouses, and a church were piles of smoking timber and embers. Corpses littered the pathway through town—men, women, helpless children. Serge blinked back tears and choked down bile, looking away from the body of a mother still holding on to her dead babe. Her eyes were still open, her face frozen in the terror that had gripped her at the moment of her death.
He felt the energy of the men around him shifting toward rage, and turned his horse to face them. Their expressions became grim, their eyes full of fury. Many of the soldiers from Barony had dismounted and moved amongst the dead, searching for friends or loved ones. Cries of horror and grief greeted his ears, and Serge’s heart broke as he watched them discover the fallen forms of friends or family.
He dismounted, facing his men. The few who had wandered away returned, tears in their eyes and soot smearing their faces. One held a child’s toy in his hands, a broken thing that had been charred almost beyond recognition. Somewhere, the owner of it must lay dead.
“I know that you are angry,” he said, his voice gone hoarse with grief. “Some of you have lost loved ones or friends, and are now in mourning. You have my permission to leave and tend to the bodies of your dead if you wish it. The rest of you will come with me. Lucius Winthrop is here somewhere, and he has the remaining villagers held hostage. If you have not found someone you know among the dead, they may have been captured.”
Serge waited for a full minute before moving. He searched the face of each and every man, expecting those who had lost someone to file away and tend to their bodies. However, not one man left the group and he saw their need for vengeance, the determination to have done with it before they would allow themselves to grieve.
“All right, then. We go on foot from here. Keep your swords sheathed for now. I know you want your revenge, but there are other lives at stake. We will attempt to negotiate first.”
The men followed as Serge moved down the road, searching for any sign of life or movement. As they neared the edge of the village, he could see that one building had been left standing. A large barn remained, its doors barred. It was surrounded by rebel soldiers, each wearing black beneath gleaming silver armor. All opted to go without helmets so that their proud faces could be seen.
Serge paused a few feet away from the barn’s entrance, and eyed each of the enemy soldiers, trying to determine which one might be their leader. Not one of them stood out as being overtly special or charismatic, the group appearing like one seamless horde.
After a moment, one man moved away from where he had stood speaking with someone and approached.
A frown turned down his mouth as the man walked toward him with clear purpose in his stride. Was this the infamous Lucius Winthrop? He had never seen a more unassuming man in his life. Neither tall nor short, large nor small, he boasted plain features and hair and eyes in an identical shade of brown. He would never think to fear this man on first glance, or assume he’d been a part of wreaking so much havoc in Barony.
However, as Lucius drew closer, Serge’s blood ran cold. When his gaze locked with his adversary’s, he felt as if the temperature had lowered several degrees. The cold, hard glint in the other man’s eyes told Serge everything he needed to know about him. He was cunning, cruel, and calculating, a dangerous combination.
Stopping once they stood toe to toe, Lucius sneered, the expression giving truth to his deranged nature.
“You must be His Royal Highness. I regret that I was unable to welcome to you to Barony personally and had to send my men instead. I do prefer the personal touch.”
Serge’s hand came to the hilt of his sword, but he stayed his hand. Negotiation was the name of this game, and he could not afford to gamble with the lives of the captives, who he suspected must be trapped inside the barn.
“On the contrary,” he replied, keeping his tone light. “Your welcome party made us feel right at home.”
Lucius’ smile faded, and he took another step so that their chests nearly bumped, a clear threat in the move. Primus and several others drew their swords and fell into a phalanx around their king, forcing him back.
Lucius’ derisive smirk stretched into a wide smile. “Is your king so wet behind the ears that he needs the protection of so many?”
The verbal jab hit Serge in his pride, right where the man had been aiming, no doubt. He reminded himself just how sly Lucius was rumore
d to be. It would be just like him to bait Serge into doing something stupid so he would have an excuse to kill the villagers.
“Stand down,” he said to his men.
Reluctantly, they put their swords away, and all but Primus stepped aside. The grand vizier remained just in front of him and slightly to the left, his hard gaze boring into their mutual enemy.
“My men are loyal,” he said, inclining his head toward Primus. “Can you say the same?”
Lucius shrugged. “My men are devoted to a cause. My father was the leader of that cause, and upon his death the mantle was placed upon my shoulders. Would you care to put their allegiance to the test?”
Serge detected the movement of several armed men behind Lucius, but his gaze remained locked on his enemy’s.
“We are here to negotiate, remember?”
“So we are,” Lucius replied, rubbing his clean-shaven jaw. “It has come to my attention that you have in your possession twenty of my men.”
“They made me feel so welcome, I thought I would introduce them to my own brand of hospitality,” Serge quipped.
“Well, I’m sure they’ve enjoyed their stay, but I’ll be requiring their immediate return.”
Serge scoffed. “What makes you think they’re still alive?”
Lucius’ eyes narrowed. “Come, now. Am I speaking to the second son of Adare Rothchester or not? Are you not trained in all aspects of military leadership? Surely a man with your knowledge would never be so foolish.”
“If they are alive, what will you give in return for their release?”
Lucius gestured toward the barn with one arm. “Inside are all that remain of the citizens of Kingsford.”
“How many?”
“One hundred at least. Mostly women and children, and their lives depend upon whether or not you will cooperate.”
It was as he suspected. The number of rebels surrounding the barn ensured that none could escape unless they wished to be killed. Defenseless women and children would be powerless in the face of such odds. He hated to give in to this lunatic, but there had already been far too many losses this day. Barony had been pillaged for years and now was the time to salvage what they could.
“I want to see them first. If they are all alive and well, I will deliver your men to you.”
Lucius stood aside and raised his eyebrows, his arm still extended toward the barn. “After you.”
Serge and Primus swept past him and walked toward the structure, where several of the rebels stood guarding the door. A few held lit torches, their flickering flames a deadly threat.
“Try anything heroic and we’ll burn it down,” Lucius warned before commanding his men to open the door.
Serge squinted into the dark byre and sighed with relief. As promised, more than one hundred people stood crammed into the space, each with their hands bound behind their backs. Filthy, and covered in a coating of soot, they made a pitiful sight.
Serge forced a confident smile for their benefit.
“Remain calm,” he told them. “You will be freed soon, I promise you.”
Backing out of the barn, he turned to Lucius.
“You have yourself a bargain. My men and I will retrieve the prisoners and return within the hour.”
Lucius nodded and gave another one of those terrifying smiles. “Excellent.”
Serge and Primus rejoined their men and mounted up but. Lucius’ voice stopped them before they could depart.
“Oh and by the way … Should you tarry longer than one hour, consider them all dead.”
Chapter 13
Serge and his men rode hard and fast back to Guthrie Hall, remaining ever aware of the threat hanging over their heads. If they tarried even a moment longer than necessary, the remaining citizens of the village would be lost. As quickly as they could manage, they released the prisoners and led them back to Kingsford, keeping them gagged and bound to avoid trouble.
Lucius waited patiently beside the barn, a cigar clutched between his teeth, and a gleaming silver flask in one hand. He put the cigar out once he noticed their approach, and took one last swig before tucking the flask into the breast pocket of his coat.
“Your men, as promised,” said Serge, as the prisoners were unbound and released to their leader. “Now, let them go.”
Primus’ hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. “Your Highness, we should take them all now. He is right within our grasp.”
Serge grasped the grand vizier’s arm and shook his head. “No rash actions. You know what he is capable of, and the villagers are still inside that barn.”
Noticing their exchange, Lucius laughed; a harsh, ugly sound. “I wouldn’t advise that, my lord. You are outnumbered.”
“We were outnumbered when you sent your little welcome party to greet us,” Serge retorted. “It would be foolish of you to underestimate me and my men.”
Lucius tapped one finger against his chin in a mockingly thoughtful gesture. “You know, I think you’re right.”
He then nodded to one of his men who, much to Serge’s horror, lifted his torch and hurled it to the barn’s rooftop. Primus spat a string of curses as at least ten others followed suit. The entire roof had gone up in flames within seconds.
“Just a little something to keep you occupied, so I know we won’t be followed. Until we meet again, Your Highness.”
Serge could only watch as Lucius and his men made their escape. His soldiers had already started toward the blazing barn. The cries of those inside were enough to jar him into action. Tearing his gaze away from his retreating enemy, he threw himself into helping free the people trapped inside. The fire was spreading fast, casting up billows of dark smoke along with the terrified cries of those inside. Rushing into the blaze without thinking, he helped his men guide the captives out of the space. After a time, their efforts saw them all freed from the inferno just before the roof collapsed and what remained of the structure was engulfed in fire.
They ushered the panicked people away from the raging inferno and left it to burn, all hope of saving it gone.
“What now?” Primus asked as they assisted in freeing the captives from their bonds. “He’s escaped again, and these people are now homeless.”
“We will take them to Guthrie Hall,” he replied. “Those who are injured will receive help. Those who are well enough will have to be relocated, while the wounded recuperate within the walls of the castle. There is no point in rebuilding Kingsford, at least not at the moment. There are other, more pressing concerns.”
Once every villager had been freed, Serge and his men led them back to the castle. Many shared their saddles with women and children, while the men walked behind the slow-moving procession. Some limped along, nursing injuries caused by the fire or putting up a fight against the rebels. Those who could not walk were carried, and the dead had been left behind. A mass burial would be in order within the next day or so, but their highest priority was getting the living to safety. Serge and his men exchanged glances over the heads of the children in their saddles, their sadness mingled with fury.
Once ensconced within the courtyard, Serge dismounted and handed the child who’d shared his mount off to his waiting father. Isabelle stood at the foot of the front steps with Esmeralda, directing the injured to the infirmary and the rest to the largest dining room in the castle, where they would be fed.
Satisfied that his wife had everything under control, he left the courtyard with Primus hot on his heels. He found Damien waiting for them just within the main hall
“Why did you not send for me?” he asked, falling in on Serge’s other side as they breezed toward the council meeting room. “I should have been with you.”
As they entered the meeting room, he was grateful to find that every member of the council had remained, even after being kept waiting for so long. He sat at the head of the table, while Primus and Damien took their places at his left and right.
Every eye rested on him as they waited for him to begin, varying degr
ees of curiosity and concern in their expressions.
“I trust you have all been informed of the reason for my absence,” he began. “I thank you for your patience and apologize for my tardiness, but it couldn’t be helped.”
“How fare the citizens of Kingsford?” asked Lord Thomas Angles.
Serge shook his head, partly in answer to the man’s question and partly to shake free the images of the dead and dying from his memory.
“It was a massacre. We managed to free the captive survivors, but the majority of the men were put to death. The entire village has been destroyed.”
Shock rippled through the room as each man reacted to the horrible news, voices raised. He held his hand up for order.
“Please, gentlemen. I know that you are angry. I find that the fires of my rage flare hot as well. Lucius Winthrop has eluded us for now, but he will not go unpunished.”
“What do you intend to do now?” asked another lord. “Our villages are broken, our people are destitute, and our enemy seems to vanish into thin air when they are not terrorizing us. Now that you have the authority to act, what will you do?”
“The answer is simple, my lord. Some of you may agree with my logic and some of you may not, but allow me to explain my reasoning. Lucius Winthrop and the rebel army are a problem, there is no doubt about that. However, we have a more pressing issue. Barony is suffering, and I cannot allow this to continue. Our people are desperate and dying out there. They are our first and only priority.”
“What are you saying?” Primus asked, confusion evident on his face. “Are you suggesting we forget about the rebel forces altogether?”
“Of course not,” countered Serge. “I’m saying we should concentrate on rebuilding our broken land first. The rebel army wants to break the people, destroy their hope so they will surrender. But by rebuilding their villages, and giving them the aid they so desperately need, we will restore their faith in our leadership. We will fortify them, thereby making us all stronger. When the rebel army sees this happening, they will retaliate.”
