He paused to take a look at Wulfric’s sword. Grenville had told him it was the one he had returned with from the mountains, a journey that had been intended to get him out of the way, and hopefully killed when he was still only Ulfyr, the princess’s new favourite. Now that Rodulf knew who Ulfyr really was, he rued the missed opportunity. Instead of dying, it seemed Wulfric had found the place everyone thought to be nothing more than a legend, and returned with the most magnificent sword Rodulf had ever seen. He supposed it was his now, but the thought of its association with Wulfric tarnished it for him. He was more than wealthy and powerful enough to have his own Telastrian blade made. One fit for a king.
His eye flicked to the box where his crown was concealed. In the morning, he would present it to the Markgraf when he was anointed as King Walken of Elzland. He cringed when he thought of the name that the Markgraf had given his kingdom, but it was easily enough changed when the crown came to him in only a few weeks. Perhaps sooner, if everything went well.
It was difficult to restrain himself from going down to the dungeons to have some fun with Wulfric, but there was too much to do. He reconciled himself with the thought that there was plenty of time. Now that he had him locked up, Rodulf could deal with Wulfric at his leisure, and draw his agonies out. Indeed, the extra time locked up before Rodulf could get to him would soften the savage up a bit. Make him more receptive to the torturers Rodulf would bring in to show him the true nature of suffering.
CHAPTER 45
Adalhaid had slept only fitfully. She lay awake as the light grew beyond her curtains, listening to her heart beat too loud and too fast. The encounter with Renmar and his son the previous night, though ending well, had been such a shock that the aftereffects still played on her nerves, and she was gripped by anxiety. There was more stress before her, however, and she wondered if she would ever truly be at peace again. As she lay there, she wondered how or when the opportunity to get to the Stone would arise. Since the announcement that the Markgraf had seceded from the principality, there was so much commotion she doubted Rodulf had even had time to eat. If war came, as it seemed likely to, and he went out on campaign, it could be months or even years before she had the opportunity again to get close enough to him to destroy the Stone.
She stared at the beams of light coming through the crack in the curtains. She let her mind drift as she watched the motes of dust float through the light. It was the only break she had given her thoughts in weeks, and the strain had taken its toll. She was a gaunt vision of her former self, and she could not wait to be done with the palace, the city, and everyone in it.
She was startled from her thoughts by a shout outside. In her daze she had not noticed the noise level from the city increasing, but it was rapidly starting to sound like it did on the day of a fair. She got out of bed, slipped on a pair of shoes, and wrapped herself in her cloak before stepping outside to see what all the fuss was about.
She was nearly knocked over by a palace guard running down the corridor, his ceremonial breastplate, helmet, and accoutrements clattering away as he went. They were never supposed to run in the palace, particularly not in the citadel where the family and high officials’ apartments were—the clattering of armour might disturb the sleep of someone important. If he was willing to risk punishment for the indiscipline, there must have been a very good reason. She headed down the corridor to where it joined the main hallway off which the senior noblemen—and Rodulf—had their apartments.
There were guards standing outside Rodulf’s door. Was it too much to hope for that he had finally overstepped the mark and been arrested? A moment later he emerged from his apartment followed by two of the Markgraf’s officers, his manservant, and his exotic bodyguards in their scarlet robes.
He was dressed only in britches and shirt, and they all went off in a hurry. Curious as she was to know what was going on, Adalhaid knew a perfect opportunity when she saw one. Rodulf’s hands had been empty, and he wasn’t wearing one of his tunics with the special pocket.
She rushed back to her room and fetched the knife Aethelman had left for her. She had read the instructions enough times to be able to recite them backwards, but still cast one last glance across his carefully written words. That done, she hurried back to Rodulf’s room.
A cursory knock revealed that he hadn’t returned in the interim, and in his flustered departure, he had neglected to lock the door. She opened it, went in and pressed herself against it after closing it. She took a deep breath. She hated having to act with such spontaneity. There were so many elements she had not considered, but it seemed unlikely that there would be another opportunity quite so good.
His apartments were huge, and grand. Hers seemed like a box room by comparison. She looked around for a moment and felt a flutter of panic that she would not be able to find it in time. It was important to him, so it would be kept close. His bedroom was the first place to look.
SOMETHING ABOUT GOING through Rodulf’s things made her feel like a beggar digging through a midden heap for anything of value. Everything that belonged to him was fouled by his touch. She wished she had brought gloves with her, but hindsight was a wonderful thing. Her heart jumped into her throat when she finally found what she was looking for.
The Stone had only ever been described to her, and the picture she had of it in her head was entirely of her imagination. What sat before her was not at all what she had expected. Instead, it was a misshapen lump of Godsteel ore about the size of a potato, covered in runes that were entirely unintelligible to her. Nonetheless, there was no mistake that this was what she was looking for. In some strange way, it seemed to call to her, to will her to take it for herself. She wasn’t in any way tempted, however. She wondered if that was odd, if the impulse should have been greater.
It was sitting on a cushion that would make it difficult to cut, so she reached for it. Her heart leaped again, and she stopped herself halfway, remembering Aethelman’s warning not to let it touch her bare skin. It might not seem that tempting from a distance, but if she touched it? She wasn’t willing to take the risk, so took a corner of her cloak, lifted it with that as a barrier, and placed it on the bedside table. That done, she readied the knife.
She had no idea how the slender blade, also of Godsteel, was supposed to cut through the solid lump of ore. She would have to hold faith in Aethelman’s words that it would work as he had said. As she touched the blade to the Stone, there was the faintest chime, almost like a musical note. She pressed harder, and could feel the Stone start to give way. A pale blue glow appeared around the cut, and Adalhaid realised she was afraid. Aethelman hadn’t said what would happen when the Stone was destroyed. Might it explode? If it was such a powerful object, surely it would not simply splutter into nothingness.
She realised her hand was shaking, so took a deep breath to steady herself, and pressed down with the knife again. The blue glow grew stronger as the blade slowly passed through the Stone. The glow spread out from the cut until it enveloped the whole Stone, and ran up the blade to the handle and her fingers. She could feel it tingle, but not in an unpleasant way. She closed her eyes and pressed down harder, until she felt the Stone part and the knife bite into the wooden surface beneath.
She opened her eyes. A blue glowing maelstrom was rising through the air from the Stone, growing ever fainter as it swirled and spread. The air felt fresher, richer even, like the meadows by Leondorf on a crisp spring morning. Then it was gone. She realised she was still clutching the knife so tightly that her knuckles were white. She set it on the table beside the remains of the Stone.
It was in two pieces, each rocking gently on their uneven surfaces. Where she had cleaved it asunder, the surface was perfectly smooth, as though it had been polished. When she looked closer she realised that all the symbols that had been carved into it were gone. It looked no different to any other piece of ore. She took a deep breath and felt the weight of strain lift from her shoulders. It was as though she had been carrying a sack
of rocks around with her for the past weeks, and now it was gone.
She stepped back from the bedside table and turned her thoughts to her getaway. A glance out the window showed her what was the cause of the commotion at the palace that morning. There were a number of buildings on fire out near the city walls, and thick black smoke billowed up from them. She thought instantly of the attack on Leondorf—the fires, the killing, the fear—only now it was on a far larger scale. Getting out of the city alive might be impossible, and it occurred to her that finding somewhere safe to hide might be a better idea. Her initial plan had involved having a horse saddled and waiting for her at the city gate stables, but due to the opportunistic nature of how she had pulled it off, that had not happened. There was no fast way out of the city for her now. There were many bridges for her to cross before that one, however. First, she needed to get out of Rodulf’s rooms before he got back.
CHAPTER 46
The citadel’s top ramparts gave a fine view across the city, and over the walls to the fields beyond. To the north, one could even make out the dark green forests of the Northlands, but Rodulf wasn’t there to admire the scenery.
‘How in hells did it happen?’ Rodulf asked of the captain of the guard. There was smoke rising from the outskirts of the city. Hundreds of enemy soldiers had sneaked into the city under cover of darkness, and now the main force could be seen approaching.
It looked a beautiful thing, a royal army on the march. Hundreds of banners fluttered in the air, adding splotches of colour to the grey mass. Before long, he was confident he would be able to hear the pipes and drumbeat they marched to. If he didn’t act quickly, it would be his requiem music.
‘Someone opened the gates during the night and let the vanguard in,’ the captain said. ‘We estimate two, perhaps three hundred men. They’ve been raising bloody hell since dawn.’
‘Of course they have,’ Rodulf said. ‘Have the gates been secured?’
The captain flushed, and shook his head. ‘No, my lord. They control the east and south gates.’
‘How in hells did they get here so quickly?’ Rodulf said. ‘The bridges over the Rhenner were supposed to be destroyed. I arranged for it myself. It should have taken them weeks to get here. We should have had plenty of warning.’
The captain shuffled nervously. ‘I can’t say, my lord. If I knew how they got here so quickly, we wouldn’t have been surprised by them.’
Rodulf bristled with anger. How had some silly girl born into her titles managed to get the jump on them?
‘We need those gates closed before the army gets here. Coordinate with the company captains and counter-attack. If those gates aren’t retaken, closed, and bolted by the time the main army gets here, you’ll swing for it.’
The captain nodded and departed with haste.
Rodulf thought of Wulfric down in the dungeons. It galled him to give up his opportunity to exact revenge on Wulfric in as slow and painful a way as possible, but he knew it would gall him even more if he delayed and Wulfric escaped during the battle. It wasn’t time just yet, but he had to be prepared. There were bigger concerns to deal with first.
‘Go with the captain,’ Rodulf said to Grenville. ‘Take two of the Blood Blades with you. Make sure those gates are closed.’
Grenville nodded and left, and Rodulf gestured for two Blood Blades to go with him.
Rodulf reached down to take hold of the Stone. He didn’t care if it meant breaking his rule about only using it when he really needed it. If it couldn’t give him comfort and control at a time like this, what use was it? He slid his hand down to his tunic pocket with practised familiarity, and realised he wasn’t wearing his tunic. Discovering that the Stone was not with him was akin to feeling as though he had forgotten to bring a limb. He realised that he’d been in such a rush to see what was going on that he hadn’t fully dressed. He was loath to leave the vantage point on the citadel’s ramparts, but he couldn’t see a way to get through the day without the Stone with him, and there was no way he was going to send someone to retrieve it for him.
‘I’m returning to my apartments,’ he said. ‘I want an update within the hour. It had better be to my liking.’ With that, he stormed away, obediently followed by his remaining two Blood Blades.
RODULF WALKED QUICKLY, his mind racing to assess what was going on. He had never commanded an army before, and wondered briefly if he should leave the Markgraf to deal with it. The Markgraf had been a warrior of some repute in his youth, and had won himself a good reputation in the Ostian War. He would certainly have been a more appropriate choice for the job than Rodulf, were it not for the mental devastation Rodulf had wreaked on him with the Stone. On a good day, the Markgraf was now little more than a shell of his former self. Rodulf didn’t think he’d have it in him to mount a defence of the city, or a counter-attack. One thing was now for certain: The princess didn’t intend to allow her province to go without a fight.
He’d have to oversee the defence himself, trusting the finer command aspects to the officers. He’d send word to the mercenaries to circle around the royal army once he had engaged it, and with luck they could crush Princess Alys’s ambitions against the city walls. He wondered how Grenville would take being lowered over the city walls by rope to deliver the message. The thought made him smile, albeit briefly.
He walked into his apartment, the Blood Blades gliding along with silent menace behind him. He would need the Stone to get him through the day, more than he ever had before. Everyone he gave an instruction would have to obey without hesitation, the mercenaries in particular. He would also have need of whatever other benefits it brought. He always seemed to be so much luckier when he had it. The thought of the price it would exact from him was sickening, but there would be plenty of time to heal afterward. Time when he was a king. It would all be worth it, he promised himself.
He breezed into his room, then stopped in surprise. Surprise quickly turned to horror.
CHAPTER 47
‘You little whore,’ Rodulf said.
Adalhaid jumped at the sound, and turned to see Rodulf standing at the doorway. Her first instinct was to make a run for it, but his bodyguards were standing behind him, blocking her escape.
‘What have you done?’ he said. ‘Gods, what have you done?’ His eye was locked on the two pieces of the Stone.
For a moment Adalhaid thought he might burst into tears. He moved into the room and sat down on the side of his four poster bed, eye still fixed on the sundered Stone. He was completely oblivious to Adalhaid, and the fact that she held a knife in her hand.
She stood there in limbo for what seemed like an age, then realised her options were few. The door was blocked, and the window behind her offered nothing but a five-storey drop onto a cobbled courtyard below. There was no way she could survive the fall, and it seemed unlikely that she would survive Rodulf’s wrath. She pounced, leading with the knife. She had never had cause to attack someone before, nor practised it. Beyond seeing the lads in Leondorf working toward becoming warriors, she was on entirely unfamiliar territory, so threw herself at Rodulf for all she was worth. He still didn’t seem to notice her.
Her attack halted with the abruptness of a collision. One of the Blood Blades had grabbed her by the back of her tunic, and she dangled from his grip, her toes barely able to scratch the wooden floor. She struggled, but was powerless and let out a wail of frustration.
Eventually, Rodulf’s attention returned to her.
‘You whore,’ he said quietly, then again louder.
‘You were never supposed to have it,’ Adalhaid said.
‘You interfering bitch. What in hells do you know about it?’
‘More than you, I’d guess,’ Adalhaid said. She bit her lip as soon as she said it. Antagonising him further was not a wise course of action. Then again, would it make a difference?
‘You’ve ruined everything,’ he said. ‘Years of planning. Ruined. Set her down, but keep a good hold of her.’
The Blood Blades moved quickly, one holding her secure on each side. She couldn’t budge.
Rodulf took a deep breath and stood. He looked as though he was about to say something, when another man came into the room. Adalhaid had heard him being called Grenville when he had arrived at the palace a few days before.
‘Bad news, my lord,’ he said.
‘Is there any other sort?’ Rodulf said.
‘We couldn’t take back the gates. We lost a lot of men trying. There’s no sign of the mercenary companies. Someone said they’re already retreating.’
‘Retreating?’ Rodulf said.
Grenville scratched his beard and grimaced. ‘No, my lord. They’re running.’
‘How far off is the royal army?’
‘Less than an hour.’
‘How many?’
‘More than we can handle without the mercenaries.’
Rodulf turned his gaze back to Adalhaid. He nodded to the two pieces of the Stone.
‘With that, I could probably have fixed this mess,’ he said. ‘Now, I’m well and truly sunk.’
There was far less anger in Rodulf’s voice than she would have expected. He sounded defeated, giving her hope that there might be a way out.
‘It sounds like this is going to be a very dangerous place for you soon,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I’d be hanging around much longer, if I were you.’
The Blood Debt: Wolf of the North Book 3 Page 32
