Master Salsi coughed.
"With all due respect...we don't have enough horses."
Olav snorted.
"We have money, and there's a township not far. We'll go and buy them, no big deal!"
He flashed a gold coin, patting his huge Virman axe. Master Salsi nodded, recognizing that there was no arguing. Anyone would be happy to strike a bargain and thank them for an honest deal.
Apparently, Lily was just thinking about that, seeing as she sighed and pulled the remaining rings off her fingers.
"Master Salsi, I suspect that my people don't have a lot of money. Could you loan us some with my jewelry as collateral?"
"Your Grace! Lilian!"
The master couldn't even find the right words, then simply removed a purse from his belt and handed it to the countess.
"I already owe..."
Lily sighed. She stood up, came up to the master, put her rings into his hand, and clenched his fist together.
"Don't argue with me, Master. We've just gotten involved in a real gamble that can result in the gallows for me. Maybe even something worse—the gallows is a pretty clean option, actually. What they will do to the queen, to the princes, to me...let's not think about these horrors. Maybe I'll be able to return the favor, but what if I won't? Take these rings as your...insurance."
"Insurance?"
"I'll explain this concept to you later." Lily chuckled. "And please, no more noble acts. Money will come in handy later, anyway."
"I think so, too," Gael chimed in. "We've brought some food with us. Maybe while we're fetching horses, the ladies will prepare something to eat?"
"A great idea," Lily said, excited as she realized how hungry she was. "Where are the supplies?"
***
The next two hours were pretty fun. Everyone was busy. The women cooked while the men made a stretcher for the queen. Thankfully, the Virmans had explained what it was supposed to look like. They also attended to their horses, stripped down the carts, and removed the trash, so nobody would connect them to the waste collectors who had left the city. Master Salsi joined the group with Lilian, listened to her explanation of insurance, and considered the idea.
It seemed to have potential. But how to implement it? That was the question. He'd need protection. The master cast a glance at the queen. That was something to be entertained, later, that is.
At the moment, the most important issue was food. They had some smoked meats, some grain, some vegetables...All of that went into a soup. Milia was the first to be fed, and the others followed suit. Then they waited.
The Virmans weren't long in coming. The horses they had found were far from combat steeds—short, plain, and shaggy, they were nonetheless sturdy and resilient. Unfortunately, there weren't enough of them for everyone, seeing as there were almost thirty people in the group. They had to leave two carts, each of them pulled by two horses. At least that way, the journey would be faster.
The men climbed into saddles, and the journey started.
Milia and the children were safely resting in the carts, and the Eveers, as it turned out, were passable riders. The ladies didn't shy away from getting into crude male saddles, and so what if it exposed their legs up to their knees? It was definitely not the time for thinking about propriety. Only survival mattered.
Everyone understood that lingering only a couple of hours away from the capital was not an option. Their only salvation lay in speed…and praying to Aldonai, of course. Maybe he would take mercy on them.
***
As Lily bumped in the saddle, she thought about Lidarh, wishing the conspirators to catch pox and grow bald and then fall into her hands...at least for an hour. She was no sadist, after all, and didn't quite know how to dissect a human.
Too bad, really. She'd just tie them up and get down to business while they were still squirming.
Back in her world, she had heard rumors that some countries did something like that to prisoners. What was the point in wasting lead on death row inmates? Each body was a veritable treasure trove of priceless organs. Liver, kidneys, cornea...
Anesthesia? Did you use anesthesia to kill the king, sweetie? Oh, you didn’t? Then just hang on, honey. You won't have to suffer long. Serves you right, too.
Transplants weren't a thing yet, but truly, the parasites who made her feel like a cat with its tail set on fire for the last twelve hours deserved a trepanation or a surgery without anesthesia—a nice opportunity to train, too.
The thought about medical procedures made Lilian switch to the queen. She didn't like Milia's state. A doctor's intuition told her—screamed at her—that something was off. She could feel it in her gut.
Her temperature wasn't much higher than normal, and the bleeding...who said it stopped just after the labor? Absolutely not! A woman could suffer for two more weeks, if not more.
Nothing seemed off, overall. Still, Lily would have given her left ear to get the woman into a good bed, put ice on her belly, and watch her condition.
Milia had said that in the past, traveling to the Summer Palace took two days. That, however, was with a retinue, carriages, and stops on the way.
A kingdom for a horse? A map, dammit! A map and a compass, that's what a kingdom is worth!
Lily regretted never studying topography. All she could do was to wait and pray, pray and wait. And ride.
The thing that she hated the most in the world were circumstances she had no control over. And then, there was Jerisson’s uncertain fate...
Stop! Shut up, stupid heart! Listen to the liver, Lily! Think about Milia! You have no time to worry, and that's it!
***
As Altres Lort prepared to march out, he couldn't stop thinking about one thing. Where was he going to march?
He imagined himself, all decked out and commanding five hundred soldiers, ride into capital and tell Gardwig, "Brother, you have a plot brewing. I think."
The first question would be, who was conspiring? If there would be a question at all. His brother might as well greet him by throwing a stool at him for such an arrival. And he could. And he should! Violating an order, coming to the capital before the ambassador had left, taking troops... Yes, Gard would rip off his head first and talk later.
What else could he do, then? Stay somewhere close to the capital and send his brother a message with a reliable man, that's all.
Where, though? Altres racked his brains. There weren't many options—say, Fort Shedar. He could stay there for several nights; it was a conveniently located place with a roof.
There was one problem, of course. If a plot truly existed, it was a given that the conspirators would learn about Lort's arrival. What would they do? Either strike immediately—if they were prepared—or hide in a place where he'd never find them. It put him at a disadvantage.
Where else could he go? Altres remembered what the marquis had told him. What about...the Summer Palace?
It had its pros and cons. Pro, it had the Armored Regiment stationed there. He could assume control of them. Chantaine was loyal to the king, and he and Lort went way back. He knew that Altres would never go against Gardwig.
Con? If a plot existed, Chantaine would be attacked soon, and the Armored Regiment most likely had spies in their midst.
Still, they wouldn't have time to warn them. Altres had the upper hand. Maybe he would even get to identify the spies.
He could crash with someone else as well, but how could he tell who was involved in the plot? He might step inside and find himself smack dab in the middle of the mess.
Yes, Summer Palace seemed the best option. If he got lucky, he might get there by the next evening.
Aldonai, please help me to get there in time. Please. I know I'm no believer, and then some, but still. Not for me, but Milia and the children. They aren't to blame, even if Gardwig and I might be!
Chapter 2
Virma. The lands of Clan Oronsteg.
If Wulf Oronsteg did expect anything, it certainly wasn't a visit by Bran Gardren. Or, rather,
he had been anticipating a visit ever since his father sent him a messenger pigeon, but definitely not one like that.
Clan Hardar? Clan Torsveg? Just Elg Torsveg himself? Who else could it be? Could there be a traitor in his own clan?
A storm raged on in his mind, and not for nothing. Bran, who sat next to him, glanced at Wulf with a look of sympathy.
"Tough luck..."
Oronsteg rubbed his face with his hands. It didn't really help.
"Gardren, what am I to do now?"
Bran sighed. It couldn't be helped. Chief Oronsteg had taken his heir to the Circle to show him around and let him learn the ropes, and as for Wulf... Gardren had a perfect memory and remembered very well what Wulf Oronsteg was like. He was loyal and kind, true, but he was also a bit simple. The perfect number two, who, if he had his number one, always knew who was in charge and never pushed forward. He had no ambitions of his own, but would never lack for a slice of bread.
Well, since Bran was already there...
"Wulf, you need to inform the clan immediately. If the Hardars decide to re-divide Virma, you, as their neighbors, will bear the brunt of their first attack."
"I... I'm going to rally them all!"
"That's first. Second, send several pigeons to the Circle. Not one, Wulf, several. Maybe at least one of them will make it. A few riders, too, just in case. I'll write a letter. Have your servants bring me ink and parchment."
Wulf nodded. So far, everything made sense.
"Assign two maids and guards to Her Highness Angelina. She's a princess. If anything happens to her, we'll never make peace with Ativerna."
"Wh—"
"When will we get out of here?"
"Err..."
Wulf couldn't say that out loud, of course. Hospitality didn't allow him to: tradition said that he should die before saving his guest. He felt safer next to Bran, too. Gardren was astoundingly charismatic; a man like him could sell sand to the Khangans. And unlike Wulf, he knew exactly what he was doing and what needed to be done.
On the flip side, if not for Bran, trouble wouldn't have come knocking at the Oronsteg gate for...
How long, really? A month? Two? Wulf held no illusions: if an all-out war broke out, he wouldn't survive it, either. He was no lowlife to sell out his father and brother, and Chief Oronsteg was quite content with Olav Hardring as the head of the Circle and the order that reigned in Virma. Sooner or later, he'd be sucked into it anyway. Wulf wasn't simple enough not to realize that. That said, he didn't know what measures he had to take, which is why he was hanging on Bran's every word.
They would leave as soon as it was safe. There, they were under the protection of an entire clan. On the road, though? They didn't wish to be ambushed again: one miraculous survival was enough—no need taking risks once more. Holosh didn't approve of suicide, and that was sheer suicide.
Wulf easily accepted those arguments. All he had left to do was to send out pigeons and wait.
***
Angelina was sitting in the room given to her. Bran knocked at the door and came in.
"May I, M'lady?"
"Of course, Bran."
She looked so much like a Virman girl, dressed in a common Virman dress—they couldn't find another one in short order—and with her hair braided and decorated with a pearly band. For a second, he wanted to lie to himself and see her not as a princess, but as a woman.
He couldn't, though. He couldn't do anything.
"Everything's fine, M'lady Angelina, but until we get a response from Olav, we should stay here. In Clan Oronsteg, we're well-protected."
"Here?" Angelina gasped. Bran threw her a reproachful look.
"M’lady, I won't put you into danger again."
Angelina stood up from the bed on which she sat, walked through the room, and stopped within arm's reach of Bran.
"But I was safe with you!"
Bran smiled.
Sweet girl, if only you knew how many I killed and how many more I will kill to keep you safe, you'd scream and recoil. One cannot become a priest of Holosh and keep their hands clean. I'm not just up to my elbows in blood; I've been swimming in it for years, and I don't regret a thing. But even if I did...
I have nothing to give to you. I'm married, I won't leave my clan, I'm forever bound to Virma, and those ties cannot be broken. I can't betray those who trust me.
But maybe I can still have my memories, so when I'm old and grey, I'll flip through them like the precious gems they are. Your smile. Your amazing shining eyes. A strand of golden hair that fell on your soft face.
Ah, Angelina. I would have sold my soul to Holosh to be with you. I'd become your servant just so I could see you. But my life already belongs to Holosh. I have nothing else to offer to the gods.
"M’lady..."
"Bran, stop using my title! After all that we've been through, it sounds stupid!"
Bran knit his eyebrows together. All right, in any case, he would get his way.
"Angie, I won't risk you. It's not up for discussion."
"But Richard's there!"
"Unlike you, he's a man, and he knows how to hold a sword. What can you do for him if you're there?"
"He won't have to be afraid for me."
Bran smiled.
"He doesn’t have to be afraid now either. Clan Oronsteg is one of the strongest in Virma. Olav will know where danger's coming from, and together, they'll manage. And I'll be protecting you."
Angelina stepped forward and touched Bran's hand. He startled as if he got burned.
"I believe you. Do what you must."
"I will. And...Angelina, our ways are simpler. Yours, however... What happens if it becomes known that we've spent more than a day alone?"
Angelina grew pale. She hadn't thought about traditions while saving her life, but they had a nasty habit of chasing you and biting your heels.
Ah, he was saving your life? And in which positions?
She could almost hear the courtiers’ vicious remarks. Her fingers clenched into fists but then relaxed. Angelina was still a princess.
"I don’t think anyone will learn about it."
"You should. Rumors have long legs and fast wings, and in light of us getting closer to Ativerna... A word there, a whisper here—I can't allow it."
"And what will we do?"
"Kyria Edaina was with us."
"All right. But..."
"Angelina, I've already made arrangements. When we came here, it was the three of us. She was badly injured, but she accompanied you. Wulf has already sent his people to the shore. They'll get her body here."
Angelina shivered.
"Disturbing a grave?"
"The dead don't care anymore. Those who are alive do."
Bran was practical to a fault. That said, if he were anything different, Angelina would have never fallen in love with him.
It was only in fairy tales where a princess fell in love with a fool and lived with him happily ever after. In real life, living with a fool would be dull and tedious. She'd die of boredom. No great love could replace an intellectual connection or a kinship of souls. When people were together, they didn't spend all of their time in bed. They also talked. When you loved someone, you had to breathe the same air and share common goals. Otherwise, your love would die with the first frost. It was natural that fleshly desire was complemented by a spiritual one—otherwise it became pointless, bringing a person down to the level of a beast. Didn't we think better of ourselves than to mate any time we got an itch?
Angelina didn't really think in such categories. She had simply been brought up among gossip and courtly intrigue, and Bran was something she could understand. Now, some strait-laced knight in shining armor? Nobody could say for sure, but usually, honor had no place in a palace. There, it was fumigated, like bedbugs. Honor and chivalry could bite, making them inconvenient to many.
"And...what should I do here?"
Bran laughed out loud.
"Clan Oronsteg has wonderful jewelers an
d weavers. And a great library, too."
The library attracted more interest. Angelina thanked him and asked meekly, "Bran, could you teach me to fire a crossbow? I don't want to be helpless anymore...
"Of course," Bran agreed.
Really, that wasn't right. His princess couldn't protect herself in a pinch. That couldn't go on. She had to learn—to shoot, to use a dagger, and maybe about a few poisons, too. He couldn't let her return to Ativerna defenseless, could he?
Somewhere in Virma
Ian Gardren slowly rode ahead.
On the second horse, behind him, rode Rith, holding little Hilda. After them, tagged two more horses and three goats, fir branches attached to the tails of the latter.
Lots of branches. Not enough to hinder them, but still.
The boy had also wrapped rags around the horses' hooves, remembering the stories told by his father and brother, and also tried to avoid sandy places. He would get to Clan Hardring and explain everything to his father.
And then, the living would envy the dead.
The lands of Clan Hardring.
"No news from Angelina."
Richard was genuinely worried. Tira, who was sitting next to him, caressed his hand. She didn't give a damn about the rumors. She was a kyria and could stuff them into anyone's throat along with their teeth although Olav would have probably done it first.
"It's Virma. A day or two later is nothing out of the ordinary."
"Is it?" Richard frowned.
"They have to sail against the current. Wind's a huge factor, as is the weather in general. And then, it's a journey. Who knows what might happen? They might run aground, strike a reef..."
It didn't do much to dissuade Richard.
"The wind's blowing from the sea."
"Here. What about the center of the island?"
Richard was sullen and anxious. Tira knew only one way to distract him: with a kiss. She used this tool gladly and to mutual satisfaction.
She saw the way Elg Torsveg looked at her, knew that her mother was worried, but couldn't help herself. Her beloved was next to her; she couldn't give up on him. She might get only an hour with him, but it was her hour!
The Road of Kings: A Strong Woman in the Middle Ages (A Medieval Tale Book 8) Page 5
