Wild Lavender: The Aurelian Guard - Book One

by Nicole Elizabeth Kelleher

  The panel on the right had shifted to reveal a small gap. The carved wood glided smoothly to the side. She moved her lamp into the opening and peered into the shadowed pocket. The space was about as wide as the platform supporting the altar. Anna crawled through the opening and discovered a dark hole with steeply carved steps, mere toe- and handholds cut into a nearly vertical wall. The air was cool and damp, and the farther she climbed down, the moister the stone surface became. She breathed a sigh of relief when her feet touched flat rock. The stone floor descended at a shallow grade, a hundred paces at least, before gradually changing to an incline.

  When she reached yet another set of steps, she climbed quickly to the landing and held her lamp aloft. Carved into the lintel of an arched door, she read aloud, “Be Not Afraid to Enter Our Home. Unlike You, We Are at Rest.” Releasing the latch, she stepped into the darkness. The barracks! Her mind screamed, and she stepped quickly back and away from the sleeping men. She suddenly realized where she stood. This was the old crypt. The supine men and women were carved of stone.

  Months ago, she had explored this exact spot. She stepped to its inner, solid oak door, opening it to reveal an old metal gate, its latch long broken from disuse. It was probably the only mechanical thing that was in disrepair at Stolweg. She waited until she was in the safety of the tunnel before shouting with joy. If the time came, she had the means to escape the keep and its curtain wall undetected!

  In the coming months, she explored the passageways whenever she was able, formulating plan after plan only to discard them. Each plan resulted in the death of her family. It wasn’t until spring came around once more that Anna realized what would be required of her. She shivered. The cost due for saving her family would be more than Roger’s life.

  Chapter Twenty-Three—King’s Glen

  Lord Baldric of Whitmarsh, the King’s most trusted adviser, was troubled. He’d been at King’s Glen and in council with King Godwin for a week now. Like weeds, the answers they sought only served to propagate new questions. Everything circled back to Lord Roger. Stolweg was too important an asset to the realm’s protection to have someone with questionable motives in place as its leader.

  Baldric sat next to King Godwin at the large table in Glen Hall. With him were assembled the elite of the Royal Guard: Larkin and Warin, Trian and Tomas, and Ailwen. In times of war, these five men would be Baldric’s captains. They had gathered to discuss Lord Roger.

  Trian, Larkin’s closest friend, had returned from his mission and was reporting his findings. He had just finished describing the group of people moving horses to different grazing areas, explaining that the herd was always confined to the fertile hills and woods to the south and southeast of Stolweg Keep.

  With a nod from the King, Baldric finally spoke, choosing his words carefully. “Let us start with the most obvious. Trian, do you believe the group with the horses could be doing other than that which they appeared to be doing?”

  “The riders always numbered two or three,” Trian expounded. “One rider was a man and the other a boy—rather, a young man. I had thought the third rider was a boy as well. It became obvious by the way the other two deferred to him that he was instead a she.”

  “Must be the Chevring girl,” Baldric said. “It makes sense that she would be with the horses. I’ve heard that her prowess in breeding and training exceeds that of her great-grandfather’s. Roger chose well his wife.”

  Trian nodded his agreement. “They’ve bred more than a dozen foals. From the tracks of the mares, more are on the way, three or four, at least. The horses are all of Chevring stock.”

  “That is something to consider, isn’t it?” King Godwin commented. “Everyone at this table would agree that the Great War was won because Nifolhad’s lords were outhorsed.” After a pause, he added, “It is time to speak of Lord Roger. What think you all? Is he treasonous?”

  Warin, Tomas, and Ailwen glanced at one another uncomfortably. It was one thing to suspect treason, Baldric thought, another to accuse. Trian, always one to keep silent unless he had something of import to relate, cleared his throat as if to speak, then lowered his head to think. But Larkin stood abruptly. “If Lord Roger is suspected of treason, we must act,” he charged.

  A look passed between Baldric and the King. “It’s time that you heard the rest,” King Godwin said patiently. “To understand Roger, we must discuss Nifolhad. Baldric?”

  Baldric took a deep breath and began. “When King Cedric of Nifolhad died three years ago, and his brother Diarmait declared himself Steward King, we realized there would be repercussions in the state of peace between our two realms. At first, diplomatic ties went on as usual. Cedric’s daughter, Aghna, was to marry a favorite of Cedric’s, a man who shared his desire for a kingdom unmarred by the hardship of war.” Baldric, seeing Larkin’s impatience grow, gave him a hard look.

  “You may already know this story, but you do not know that Princess Aghna, Cedric’s only heir, has died. The details are not clear. Her betrothed, Lord Ranulf, managed to get us word: he believes that Diarmait is culpable. Diarmait’s son, Bowen, now has a clear path to the throne. With Nifolhad still mourning the loss of King Cedric, they are now torn apart over the death of Princess Aghna. Their people are clamoring for Bowen’s coronation.”

  “And this Bowen,” Larkin asked, “how does he view the peace that has reigned for so long? His father has long voiced his objections to the treaty between our realms.”

  King Godwin spoke then. “That is what we have been trying to ascertain. Unfortunately, the envoys we have sent have not returned and are considered lost. For now, assume Bowen is of a like mind to his father.”

  “How does Lord Roger fit into this puzzle?” Trian asked.

  Baldric steepled his fingers and cleared his throat. “A good question, that.”

  “Interesting, isn’t it?” Larkin asked no one in particular. “Ragallach’s only strategic value is that it can alert the kingdom of any invaders from the west. Roger returns to Ragallach, and his grandfather conveniently dies. Then, Roger obtains control of Stolweg by marrying Lady Isabel, giving him a stronghold in the center of the realm.” Larkin continued, “Soon after, the Lord of Stolweg dies. Again, conveniently. After Lady Isabel dies, there is trouble at Chevring. And who comes to the rescue with the necessary coin? Lord Roger. In return, he is given one of the Chevring daughters and access to Aurelia’s greatest weapon: the Chevring destriers.”

  Larkin addressed his fellow guards, bringing the point of his observations to bear on their minds. “In just six years, Lord Roger’s influence reaches from the northwest clear to the southwest, a wide band across the kingdom.”

  “I see you have been listening at court these past months,” Godwin said with admiration. “Have you any other thoughts?”

  Larkin gave King Godwin a respectful nod before brandishing one final question. “I do, if it pleases you, my liege. The question we should all be asking is this: Just who is Lord Roger’s true father?”

  “Who indeed?” echoed the King.

  A plan was drawn up. Lord Baldric, with the cream of the Royal Guard, would ride west to Whitmarsh, then on to Stolweg. There, they would question Lord Roger and his people, and determine once and for all if the man was plotting against the King.

  Chapter Twenty-Four—Horses

  The date of Anna’s third wedding anniversary came and went. She celebrated that Roger had not remembered. However, Anna always remembered, for the passing of each year since coming to Stolweg was never far from her thoughts.

  So much had changed, she thought. She had many friends now, and the breeding program had exceeded her expectations. And she’d been practicing with bow and quarterstaff, and was feeling stronger than she ever had before.

  And so little had changed, she realized too. Despite all of her accomplishments, she and the others had yet to discover what Roger was plotting. He’d just returned from his latest journey and summoned her to his chamber. She stood patiently in front o
f him as he demanded an update on the foals. “They are to be ready to present to the King in the fall,” he ordered.

  “If you want to present steeds such as Tullian,” Anna retorted, “it takes years.”

  “They do not have to be saddle ready, Aubrianne,” Roger countered with a pained look. “I just want them to have the heart of a Chevring destrier. The King has an entire staff of trainers. Tullian’s little tricks are amusing, but not especially useful; he has yet to be tested in battle.”

  He was so condescending that Anna’s ire was pricked. “The colts were born Chevring steeds,” she maintained heatedly. “Heart in a warhorse comes from breeding, not training.”

  A satisfied coldness settled over her husband’s face. She had unwittingly driven another nail into her coffin by giving Roger the idea that her training skills were no longer necessary. As he walked away, she wondered just how many weeks she had left.

  Days later, this question still occupied her thoughts as she rode back to the keep. She’d been in the hills with the mares and returned to a stable in shambles. Will raced from the paddocks to intercept her. It seemed that Lord Roger had procured more mares and a few geldings in her absence. Anna followed him to the corral. At first she thought her eyes were deceiving her. The horses were from Chevring, every last one.

  Had her family arrived? Where was her father’s stallion and her mother’s gentle mare? Where was Rebel, Claire’s steed? She raced from the stable and was breathless by the time she reached Roger’s door. Only by sheer force of will did she manage to stop herself from barging in. She rapped firmly on the door. It swung open, and Gorman leered wolfishly at her before leaving her alone with her husband. Roger sat near his hearth. She strode forward and demanded news of her family. Roger’s mastiff leapt to his feet, growling and snapping his jaws, ready to protect his master. Anna drew back as the dog advanced.

  • • •

  Roger watched her quell her urge to flee, half hoping she would make a run for the door. If she did, his beast would attack. But she held her ground, ignored the dog’s low growls, and waited for an answer.

  “Ah, Aubrianne,” Roger drawled, “I assume you have seen the horses.” He stood next to his dog and placed a loving hand on its massive head. “For nothing else would cause you to be so rude as to come here uninvited.”

  His wife said nothing, probably for fear of provoking the still-growling Garamantes.

  “Your father had some trouble with his stable again. It caught fire,” Roger explained. His wife shuddered. “Your father wanted the surviving horses cared for.”

  “A fire. Is my family—”

  “I suppose that some good has come from this,” Roger interrupted. “We now have more broodmares.”

  He grinned at his wife, relishing her repulsion at his callousness. “You may leave now, Aubrianne. I expect you back this evening.

  “And do take care around Garamantes. He is trained to follow certain command words but will also attack on his own if he senses a threat to my person. For example, if I were to say his name and lladhund, you would be dead in minutes.” Garamantes had bristled and crouched down as if stalking prey. “Bakea, Garamantes,” Roger commanded, and his dog immediately sat down and thumped his tail. “You can go now, Aubrianne,” Roger said. “Garamantes has hunted enough this month.”

  When his wife departed, Roger squatted down in front of his dog and scratched the thick fur of his neck with affection. Garamantes shifted forward, toppling his master, who laughed as the dog took advantage of him and licked his face. “Good boy,” Roger encouraged him. “And don’t you worry; you’ll have prey enough in the coming year.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five—Ride to Stolweg

  Lord Baldric, along with King Godwin’s most trusted guards, departed King’s Glen. They traveled with great haste, stopping at Baldric’s home, Castle Whitmarsh. They rested one night, and then departed the next morning. His men—Larkin, Trian, Warin, Tomas, and Ailwen—were unusually quiet as they pressed on at top speeds. On the eve of the final day, they rode well past sunset. When they finally stopped, weary from the day’s grueling pace, they tended to their horses, and bedded down for the night.

  • • •

  Larkin was checking on his horse one last time when Trian took first watch. Warin had second, followed by Tomas. Larkin knew Warin would wake Tomas early. No doubt Tomas would finish Warin’s duty without complaint. So when Tomas’s watch was only halfway through, Larkin relieved him. “Get some sleep. I’ll take over now.”

  Tomas was the newest of the five guards appointed to this mission. In appearance, the young man was everything Larkin was not: fair, blond, blue-eyed, and baby-faced. But Tomas’s angelic face hid a mind-boggling talent for the quarterstaff. Larkin had seen many an opponent at the tournaments misgauge Tomas and end up on his back. He counted himself among a numbered few who had not been bested by the young guard. But for all of Tomas’s skill, he was still inexperienced, and he cast a worried glance in Larkin’s direction.

  “Something on your mind, Tomas?” Larkin asked.

  “No, not really,” Tomas replied.

  Larkin cocked an eyebrow and waited.

  “All right, Lark,” he conceded, using a name that only those closest to Larkin could. “I was only wondering if you’ve been on many of these missions before.”

  “No. Of course, no one here has, save perhaps Baldric. The peace has gone on for so long, there hasn’t been a need. You’ve seen how King Godwin has been increasing the Royal Guard’s numbers; he recognized long ere now that trouble from the west has been brewing. I finally understand why he’s been so keen on the tournaments. He’s been training his guard for something greater. I imagine by next year there’ll be dozens of young men looking up to you as a fixture in our ranks.”

  “But do you believe Lord Roger has committed treason?” Tomas asked.

  “I only know what you know,” Lark answered, and saw that Tomas had more on his mind. Somehow, Lark realized, he’d taken on the role of mentor to his young friend.

  Tomas cleared his throat. “But what do you think, Lark?” he inquired. “Will Lord Roger hang or be beheaded?”

  “Perhaps both,” Lark responded, and smiled ruefully when his young friend’s eyes rounded. “I believe he’s guilty. But treason is difficult to prove.” He put a hand on Tomas’s shoulder. “Be on alert at all times, Tomas. Lord Roger is at best a dangerous man. If he’s cornered, he will be a deadly one as well.”

  Tomas swallowed. “What will become of the Lady of Stolweg?”

  “We don’t know yet that she is complicit, although it is likely,” Lark answered. “Her fate will be determined by King Godwin. Our mission is to discover if Lord Roger is treasonous, and to deal with him if he is.” Lark ordered Tomas to get some sleep while he still could. As Lark rarely needed more than a few hours’ rest, he often took on more than his own shift. Tonight, Ailwen too would get some extra sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Six—Stolweg at Daybreak

  Dawn was yet hours away as Lark saddled Rabbit, and Lord Baldric sought him out in the darkness of their camp. Lark studied his mentor and took note of the worry in Baldric’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Baldric. You are good friends with Lord Gervaise of Chevring; it must weigh heavily on you that his daughter is caught up in this treachery.”

  “Never think it, Lark,” Baldric said vehemently. “I’ve known the girl since she was a babe. Granted, I haven’t seen her in years, but the girl I once carried around on my shoulders would never hurt her family. Not Little Aubrianna.”

  “Aubrianne,” Lark corrected, but Baldric was no longer paying attention.

  “You didn’t wake Ailwen for his watch. Are you all right, Lark?”

  “I am,” he replied, then nodded in Ailwen’s direction. “It was quiet, and I’d had enough sleep. Everyone else awake?” Lark asked.

  “Yes. Except Warin. Trian’s threatened to dump water on him,” Baldric joked without mirth.

  “Warin will be fine. We’
ve seen him do this before, and he always manages to come through.” They both chuckled upon hearing a soaked Warin sputter awake.

  Not long after that the six riders left their camp. A two-hour hard ride brought the group to the last hill. Once that was crested, the vast basin below would be revealed along with a view of Stolweg Keep. Larkin and the others followed Baldric up the slope. They came to a halt at the hilltop, waiting for the sun to send its rays streaking over and around them. From their vantage, they overlooked the deep bowl of land where the heart of Stolweg was situated. If Baldric and his trusted guards expected to see anything amiss, they were disappointed. Below them, the hill’s incline fell softly into the basin. The lake, as yet unlit by the day, was dark and murky.

  Finally, the sun touched their backs. Its shafts kissed the peaks of the mountains to the north and the hills to the west. The six men watched as the top of each tower caught the light. The castle’s granite surface sparkled as if constructed of some translucent stone, like the iridescent nacre found in cast-up shells on the beach.

  Larkin gazed at the keep, ignoring the surrounding land. He had the strangest feeling that their arrival had not gone unnoticed. The reflected glare from the large window on the east tower blinded him to the details surrounding it. But the south tower—the glass there was not directly angled at the sun. The hair on his neck stood on end, and Lark shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven—Sunrise