“You are most incorrect, Miss Blackflame.” his eyes flinched, his blade raised back up as he thought to kill her here and now, just to be safe.
“An agent of the White Spider, let alone one of the Emerald Eight, would have killed that boy without a second thought. You are dangerously close to giving yourself away here. In fact, you had better hit me or your hours are numbered I assure you. Just one favor.”
“What is that?”
“Take me and Balric with you when you leave, victorious or not.”
Craackk! Fadim’s hand slapped across her scarred and burned face, snapping her head to the side. He stared at her eyes that were now staring at the floor. “A woman should mind her tongue, especially when her master is away protecting his domain!”
“A thousand apologies Fadim.” her eyes were wet with tears, not so much for the slap she took on request, but for years of pain, molestation, and corruption she had endured in her life since Johnas had bought her. She watched the Altestani man walk away into the passage leading past the pit and to the outside. The tablets glowed with arcane scripture. Vanessa wiped the tears from her face, and sat down at the table to translate what message was arriving from Jade of the West in Devonmir. She did not care that all eyes were on her, just that a thread of hope, a seed of a chance was planted for her escape. She needed to inform the patriarch of her latest findings.
LCMVXIILCMVXIILCMVXIILCMVX
Alec Silverblade crept through the courtyard that was filled with thousands, his cloaked figure moved within the shadows that the passing clouds and towering castle provided. He stopped under the cover of one of the few trees in L’Herrim’s yard and gazed up to the balcony. Trumpets blaring did nothing to the mass of boos and defiant roars of an angry population in the city of Harlaheim. Like a wave of bodies during a storm at sea, the crowd compressed closer to the rows of royal guards that stood at the gates in heavy plate armor with long polearms at the ready. The injured swordsman saw King Richmond the Second dressed in all his finearies with the Queen’s hand in his as they approached the edge of the platform far over the crowd. He had heard through the marketplaces that morning that Bishop Javiel and Seneschal Florin were to be executed, blamed for all the corruption that Alec was privy to know was just as much the king’s doing. All he wanted was to find his mistress and teacher before it was too late.
“My people of Harlaheim, we have had many tragedies of late!” Richmond put his hand out, glanced to the queen impostor, who in turn put her hand out, palm forward, just like her supposed husband. Seeing the two in unison caused the boos to degenerate into mutterings and confusion more than direct outrage. Richmond looked at the banners and flags above the castle walls, the rose entwined in the crown of Harlaheim. He smiled at the feathered cross of Alden on a flag held by a commoner in the crowd.
“You have had sieges on a beloved icon of the mystical arts! We have had riots in the city streets! Our own knights of the kingdom and of Alden the merciful have been lost and murdered! My own wife was accused of crimes she did not commit! And we, you and I, have suffered under the machinations of two people who tried to overtake not only our city, but our kingdom! By the grace of God, they did not succeed! By the valiant honor of the knights and armies of our great nation, they are here to face justice! Our armies bravely rescued the queen and I from abduction and death, and brought us the progenitors of the terrible treasons! I give to you the betrayers of morality and would be usurpers to the thrones! I give to you, with my loyal queen by my side, Bishop Javiel and Seneschal Florin!”
No truthsayer could stop it, no army of priests could hold back the call for justice and blood that the crowd cheered for. Lies or no lies, in the minds of the people, those that had to answer for the crimes were named and about to meet the guillotine that moment. Richmond knew his people, he knew people in general, and he knew them all too well. Give them food, give them blood, and give them leadership. When life was hard or times withering of morale, give them someone to blame and die for it.
Alec heard the words, the names he had hoped were not true. The White Spider betrayed by the king? His mind raced and his wounds ached as the blood pumped faster through his body. He needed to put a mask on, to stop this before Florin was executed. Looking around for other possible members within the courtyard, he saw none. The black clad executioners walked from the castle gates and received the array of oohs and aahs they expected. Alec looked toward the stables, the up to the king and queen, he had not much time. The queen had noticed him, she was looking back at him through everyone, she was looking at him now. The young swordsman pushed through the crowd of thousands to the stables, fearing it was only a matter of moments before guards were sent after him by the queen.
“Richmond, I have to go. Something is happening down there.” Florin kept her smile, but his grip would not let her go. She had seen Alec Silverblade looking for someone. She could only assume it was her and that he was unaware of her posing as the queen. The likeness was too good, her own man did not know of it.
“No, my queen.” he squeezed her hand tighter. “You will stay with me. I have a peasant girl dressed as you that will fit the bill fine, no one here will know. You can hunt Rosanna later, but for now you must remain at my side to show the people unity. Now smile, and remain still. You failed to find her, now we move along.” he yelled through a gritted smile.
“But one of my men, Alec, is down there and—“
“Silence, my queen. I do not care to hear more of your failures. In a moment, it will not matter.”
LCMVXIILCMVXIILCMVXIILCMVX
Rosana paced in the stables, starving and afraid. Her feet were numb from being bare and her body was shaking from the cold of having a mere tunic and set of white robes to cover her. She peered out the crack in the stable wall again, watching the crowd roar at the guillotine and the speech of the king. No one would believe her if she walked out and spoke the truth, no one would hear. Her head would be on the block in moments and she knew she was trapped in here. All the horses were out, which meant the army was massed outside the city. Having nowhere to go, the beaten and bruised queen sat in the hay and waited for something, anything. She had seen through the cracks, the imposter queen waving her hand far above the crowd. She dared not be seen, her rule was over.
“My queen? Is that you?”
A voice from the corner of the stables eeked out, seemingly from under the haypile. Rosana stood back up, startled. She wondered if she was dreaming, going mad perhaps, for there was no one there. “Hello? Is there someone here?”
“You are alive, that is good. Where….is…..Savanno?”
The voice trickled off faintly, like a drowning whisper. Rosana crept closer, shivering, but walked toward the corner. Blood, dried and dark, a pool of blood lay at the base of the haypile next to a gloved hand. She could see an eye looking back at her through the hay, tired and drowsy, but he saw her and recognized her. She crouched and began uncovering the hay from the hidden man, a knight of Saint Tarumin by the feathered cross on his armband. Rosana covered her mouth as not to scream or cry. She stared at Sir Sulian Lisario, covered in his own blood from several arrows that protruded from his side, leg, and shoulder.
“Sir Sulian, we must get you to a temple, to a priest, you are badly injured.” Rosana wept, knowing why he had been hurt and why he was hiding in the castle courtyard for the last two days. It had been for her, she knew it, for her and Savanno to escape. She also saw he could not move, his lower half seemed dead already.
“I do not think much can …be done…my queen. Is your…execution…waiting outside?” his shaved head felt not the caress of the woman he had served for the past decade. His eyes were trying to close, but he fought hard with what little strength he had left to talk and stay awake.
“Yes, Florin sits as me on the throne with Richmond. I escaped the prison, but now I have nowhere to go, no clothes, no coin, no food. You can help me get to Saint Erinsburg if we get you out of here, Sulian. You are a knight of
Harlaheim who rescued me, and if we can—“
“No, beautiful Rosana…I can not…feel my legs or arms…but if you go down the grate…follow—“
“I just came from there, it’s horrible and it leads back to the prison under L’Herrim where they kept me. Why can’t you just heal up and take me? I have no one here now, I am so alone Sulian.” Rosana sobbed on the dying man’s chest.
“Follow…it to the right…all the way…before it exits out of the city…there is…a wall with…scratches. It is a safe…house we used during…the war. Food…clothes…stay there and…get to Cristoff…before they get him…too. Please.” his words flickered in and out of whisper to guided last breaths.
“Don’t leave me too, please no.” Rosana heard something at the door, then saw the wooden beam lift off from the outside as a blade jammed up into it.
The door swung open and shut quickly, the dark cloaked figure put the beam back on as fast as he could, then proceeded to pull a black mask up over his mouth and nose. He put an oil from his pouch on the floor and let it smoke as he removed the cap from the bottle. He slowly waved his rapier in the smoke, covering the blade with a dark film. The man was preparing for something that required stealth and secrecy, and obviously he was not part of the city guard.
Sulian coughed and spasmed, yet placed his rapier in Rosana’s hand. “Kill…him…my lady. Kill him and run. I go to meet Alden, my lord of mercy and heaven. I go to meet Savanno. I will…pray for…you.” his eyes closed and breathing stopped.
“Who is there?” Alec looked behind the beams and haypiles where he heard a cough and whispering. “Who is that?”
Rosana kept her body in front of the rapier, back to the man in black, so that whoever this was could not see she was armed or who she was. She did not speak, she did not move.
Alec Silverblade looked at the tunic and the torn clothes, the short hair and bruised face of a woman crouched next to a dead knight. It was his domenarch, awaiting execution, he was sure of it. “Florin?”
His eyes widened as the woman turned and plunged the rapier through his chest and out the other side. Through the ribs the steel went, all the way to the crossguard, her eyes closed the whole time. Choking on his own blood, eyes watering against his will, Alec knelt next to the woman who had just run him through, the woman he thought was Florin. He tried to speak with words that would have had many questions, but nothing but a few rigorous gasps released from his throat. The steel was cold, her eyes opened and he saw that she was not Florin, but the queen instead. Rosana pulled the blade from his chest slowly, looked down at the blood coating it, and dropped the sword and covered her mouth. She had never killed anyone before.
Rosana stood up, trying not to look at all the old blood of Sulian and the fresh pool of steaming crimson that was collecting under the dead man she knew as Alec, one of Florin’s thugs. She grabbed a bucket of water, and began stripping the clothes off of Alec. She cleaned the blood and filth off of them, boots, gloves, his shirt and cloak. Nothing fit well, but with the tightening of the belts it would do. Rosana sheathed his rapier back in its scabbard. She waited for the crowd. Then, during the last few minutes of cheering, the guillotine struck twice. Once for the bishop, and once for whoever was named as Seneschal Florin. The cheers died off with the recently dead, and she knew it was time.
Rosana opened the stable door and walked directly to the grate, through a chattering crowd that had been placated with death, courtesy of King Richmond and the impostor queen of Harlaheim. She kept walking, toward the grate that was still slid open, ignoring the looks, ignoring the yells of murder as someone must have gone into the stables and seen the bodies. The former queen slipped into the grate, into the sewer tunnels and never looked back. She wanted to cry, to go to church and pray, to curl up and die. She had no time for that now, she had to find her way to Saint Erinsburg. For her and the child in her womb.
LCMVXIILCMVXIILCMVXIILCMVX
Johnas sat in the covered wagon that was guarded by thirty of his men. Roricdale was two days yet, however, he had been enjoying the time away from the pressures of Valhirst. Balric had been completely subservient and quiet, partially from his hatred and partly from the necklace that held him under the Prince’s control. Johnas knew as much, and hoped to yoke that anger into something of great value very soon. His mind went to all his schemes in progress. The taking of power in Harlaheim, his strengthening of Devonmir’s financial tithes, new underground operations in the holy land of Altestan, and finally his cloaked revolt here in Chazzrynn. He thought also of his eight most trusted agents, the ones who moved in and out of various cities and kingdoms enforcing his will throughout the domenarchs that controlled each of the webs that he had built. Each was followed by another unbeknownst to them, the shadow agents of his dominion were not known to each other or anyone in the White Spider, those eight were known only to Johnas himself, and Vanessa. He usually knew of treachery and deceit long before it was common knowledge, even as far away as Jal-Adeen or Falligarde to the far west. Yet to the Prince, every agent was vital and every conversation held great weight and purpose. Each of the Emerald Eight was followed, and Johnas kept the web spinning and always kept well informed on things well beyond a Prince of Chazzrynn.
“So, Balric D’vrelle, the Harlian spy for the Crossguard Legion of the holy church and proven member of the White Spider. Besides having endless nights of passion with my scarred whore, what is it that gives you pleasure, my friend?” his smile was wide across his shaven face of pomp nobility.
Balric squinted his dark eyes to a sliver, ran his fingers through his dark curls, then ran his hands over his face in frustration. He pulled at his gotee and nose, inflicting a bit of pain on himself to distract from the fact he could not just murder this bastard right here in the wagon. His body twitched in pain as if something had just slapped him across the face. It was not anyone here, not Johnas, but Vanessa far away had been hit on the cheek. His left eye watered, feeling her pain both from the injury and from deep within.
“What? No words from the amazing swordsman spy? I am shocked, truly.”
“I have words for you, Johnas Valhera, words that I would be ashamed to speak aloud for fear the Gods would strike me down for uttering.” the Harlian stared at the Agarian criminal with a contempt and loathing that had nowehere to go. His mind reached for his blades to kill him where he sat, but his body was powerless as the magic from the ring and necklace, ritually enchanted by Salah-Cam, prevented him from taking action against the patriarch of the White Spider.
“The Gods, the Gods, the Gods. If they truly existed my swordslinging prisoner, they would have struck me down a hundred times over. You should really stop serving others and their ideals someday Balric. It gets you nowhere in life.” Johnas chuckled as he ran his fingers over the emerald pommel of his kris blade.
“This coming from a man who employs, enslaves, and trains men and women do what what he asks when he asks? You bring in orphans, homeless, criminals, and corrupt soldiers and officers in governments, in order to build your webs of murder and illicit trade throughout the world. All in secret, behind your smiling face is the devil himself. And you tell me not to serve ideals? I serve the one that would see men such as you dead in an alley as you deserve, or burning in the lowest chamber of hell.” Balric struggled against the necklace that laid heavy and glowing around his neck. He wanted his blades out, but it was if the necklace, or the foul incantations of the half dead wizard, knew that he wanted Johnas dead. It could read his thoughts, feel his emotions, sense that who and what it protected was in danger. Despite his current rage, the Harlian swordsman thought of ways he could try and trick the enchanted necklace, to no avail.
Johnas seemed to enjoy the conversation, for his wicked smile never left his face nor did his composure of comfort dwindle. “Such glory you heap on my name dear Balric, thank you. Ha ha ha! It is not the most honorable position I hold, true. There is much more to moving shipments of opium and other illegal pleasures
through continents and countries. Just as difficult is the planned assassinations and necessary killings that keep the wheels of the underworld turning. But seriously, my biggest challenge is keeping the agents loyal. Unlike most men of my character, I have quite a reputation of brutal punishment for treason, and thank God for it!” he opened a bottle of Caberran wine from the chest in front of the seat of the velvet covered interior of the moving wagon. Slowly pouring the red liquid into two glasses also from the chest, the Prince of Valhirst looked down to his sword as if it had said something that caught his attention.
“Your blade speaks to you, I am aware. I wonder if it feeds that disturbed and vile ego, or if it tells you the truth?”
“No, it warns me that we have company close by that needs to cease breathing. And it is never wrong.” Johnas handed the wine to Balric, drank his quickly, then drew his sword as he whistled to the men. The caravan proptly stopped moving and the sound of crossbows cocking and blades drawing out of their scabbards was heard all around.
“Then why has it not warned you of me?” Balric stared at the sword, drank some of the wine, and waited to see what was to happen.
“It did, when we first met. I did not listen and have a scar to show for it now. You are no threat at the present, courtesy of the necklace which you cannot remove.” Johnas peeked out the curtain into the fading light of the Chazzrynn spring in the Deep South.
“So who is it then?”
“When I give word at the meeting, you will pretend to kill Salah-Cam, understood? He has already made deals with the trolls and ogre, I was aware. His usefulness is great, but his treachery even greater. This is why you came with me, besides the fact I like to see you suffer away from Vanessa.”
“So we are walking into a trap?”
“No, it would be a trap if we had no warning. Once the deal is done, we make it look like we kill the old focking half dead wizard. He cannot die by your blade, but the brutes will know we are smarter than they, and will not try and deceive us in the future. Then I will double the tribute to the foul creatures, offer them some lands and slaves, and we will have their loyalty for certain. Just how I enlist my agents and members everywhere else. I pay a soldier in a month what he makes in a year, brand him, and threaten that his family will bleed should he ever turn on me, and I will make him watch. Same principle here, just with troll and ogre nobility my friend.” the prince stepped out of the wagon, sword in hand, and carefully set the glass of wine on the wheel.
The Exodus Sagas: Book II - Of Dragons And Crowns Page 37
