The Crown conspiracy trr-1

by Michael J. Sullivan

  "We've been out of town…traveling, the last few days," Hadrian said. "Anything been going on in Medford?"

  "A lot," he said quietly as Hadrian poured the ale. "King Amrath is dead."

  "Really," Hadrian feigned surprise.

  "The Rose and Thorn has been shut down. Soldiers tore through the Lower Quarter. A bunch of folks were rounded up and sent to prison. There's a small army surrounding Essendon Castle and the entrances to the city. I got out just in time."

  "An army around the castle? What for?" Alric asked.

  Royce motioned for him to calm down. "What about Gwen?"

  "She's okay-I think," Albert replied, looking curiously at Alric. "At least she was when I left. They questioned her and roughed up a few of her girls, but nothing more than that. She's been worried about you. I think she expected you to return from…traveling…days ago."

  "Who are they?" Royce asked, his voice several degrees colder.

  "Well, a lot of them were royal guards, but they had a whole bunch of friends as well. Remember those strangers in town we talked about a few days ago? They were involved. They were marching with some of the royal guards, so they must be working for the crown prince I would think." Again, Albert glanced at Alric. "They were combing the entire city and asking questions about a pair of thieves operating out of the Lower Quarter. That's when I made myself scarce. I left town and headed west. It was the same all over. Patrols are everywhere. They have been ripping apart inns and taverns, hauling people into the streets. I've stayed one step ahead of them so far. Last thing I heard a curfew was ordered after nightfall in Medford."

  "So, you just kept heading west?" Hadrian asked.

  "Until I got here. This is the first place I came to that hadn't been ransacked."

  "Which would explain the large turnout," Hadrian mentioned. "Mice leave a sinking ship."

  "Yeah, a lot of people decided Medford wasn't so friendly anymore," Albert explained. "I figured I would stick around here for a few days and then start back and test the waters as I go."

  "Has there been any word concerning the prince or princess?" Alric asked.

  "Nothing in particular," the viscount responded. He took a drink, his eyes lingering on the prince.

  The rear door to the inn opened and a slim figure entered. He was filthy, dressed in torn rags and a hat that looked more like a sack. He clutched a small purse tightly to his chest and paused for only a moment, his eyes darting around the room nervously. He walked quickly to the rear of the bar, where the innkeeper filled a sack of food in exchange for the purse.

  "What do we have here?" asked a burly fellow from one of the tables as he got to his feet. "Take off the hat, elf. Show us them ears."

  The ragged pauper clung to his bag tightly and looked toward the door. When he did, another man from the bar moved to block his path.

  "I said take it off!" the burly man ordered.

  "Leave him alone, Drake," the innkeeper told him. "He just came in for a bit of food. He ain't gonna eat it here."

  "I can't believe you sell to them, Hall. Haven't you heard they're killing people up in Dunmore? Filthy things." Drake reached out to pull the hat off but the figure aptly dodged his reach. "See how they are? Fast little things when they want to be, but lazy bastards if you try to put 'em to work. They ain't nothing but trouble. You let 'em in here, and one day they'll end up stabbing you in the back and stealing you blind."

  "He ain't stealing anything," Hall said. "He comes in here once a week to buy food and stuff for his family. This one has a mate and a kid. Poor things are barely alive. They're living in the forest. It's been a month since the town guard in Medford drove them out."

  "Yeah?" Drake said. "If he lives in the forest, where's he getting the money to pay for the food? You stealing it, ain't you, boy? You robbing decent people? Breaking into farms? That's why the sheriffs drive 'em out of the cities, 'cause they're all thieves and drunks. The Medford guard don't want 'em on their streets, and I don't want 'em on ours!"

  A man standing behind the vagabond snatched his hat off, revealing thick matted black hair and pointed ears.

  "Filthy little elf," Drake said. "Where'd you get the money?"

  "I said leave him be, Drake," Hall persisted.

  "I think he stole it," Drake said and pulled a dagger from his belt.

  The unarmed elf stood fearfully still, his eyes darting back and forth between the men who menaced him and the door to the inn.

  "Drake?" Hall said in a lower, more serious tone. "You leave him be, or I swear you'll never be served here again."

  Drake looked up to see Hall, who was considerably larger than he, holding a butcher knife.

  "You wanna go find him in the woods later, that's your business. But I won't have no fighting in my place." Drake put the dagger away. "Go on, get out," Hall told the elf, who carefully moved past the men and slipped back out the door.

  "Was that really an elf?" Myron asked, astonished.

  "They're half-breeds," Hadrian replied. "Most people don't believe pure-blood elves exist anymore."

  "I actually pity them," Albert said. "They were slaves back in the days of the Empire. Did you know that?"

  "Well actually, I…" Myron started, but he stopped short when he saw the slight shake of Royce's head and the look on his face.

  "Why pity them?" Alric asked. "They were no worse off than the serfs and villeins we have today. And now they are free, which is more than the villeins can say."

  "Villeins are bound to the land, true, but they aren't slaves," Albert corrected. "They can't be bought and sold; their families aren't torn apart, and they aren't bred like livestock and kept in pens or butchered for entertainment. I heard they used to do that to the elves, and sure, they're free now, but they aren't allowed to be part of society. They can't find work, and you just saw what they have to go through just to get food."

  Royce's expression had grown colder than usual, and Hadrian knew it was time to change the subject. "You wouldn't know it to look at him," he said, "but Albert here is a nobleman. He's a viscount."

  "Viscount Winslow?" Alric said. "Of what holding?"

  "Sad to say, none," Albert replied, taking a large drink of ale. "Granddad, Harlan Winslow, lost the family plot when he fell out of favor with the King of Warric. Although, truth be told, I don't think it was ever anything to boast about. From what I heard, it was a rocky patch of dirt on the Bernum River. King Ethelred of Warric gobbled it up a few years ago.

  "Ah, the stories my father told me of grandfather's trials and tribulations trying to live with the shame of being a landless noble. My dad inherited a little money from him, but he squandered it trying to keep up the pretense he was still a wealthy nobleman. I myself have no problem swallowing my pride if it will fill my stomach." Albert squinted at Alric. "You look familiar, have we met before?"

  "If we did, I'm certain it was in passing," Alric replied.

  The meal arrived and chewing replaced conversation. The food was nothing special: a portion of slightly overcooked ham, boiled potatoes, cabbage, onions, and a loaf of old bread. Yet, after nearly two days of eating only a few potatoes, Hadrian considered it a veritable feast. As the light outside faded, the inn boy began lighting the candles on each table, and they took the opportunity to order another pitcher.

  While sitting there relaxing, Hadrian noticed Royce repeatedly looking out the window. After the third glance, he leaned over to see what was so compelling. With the darkness outside, the window was like a mirror. All Hadrian could see was his own face.

  "When was The Rose and Thorn raided?" Royce asked.

  Albert shrugged. "Two or three days ago, I guess."

  "I meant what time of day?"

  "Oh, evening. At sunset I believe, or just after. I suppose they wanted to catch the dinner crowd," Albert paused and sat up suddenly as his expression of contentment faded into one of concern. "Oh…ah…I hate to eat and run, but if it's all right with you boys, I'm going to make myself scarce again.
" He got up and exited quickly through the rear door. Royce glanced outside again and appeared agitated.

  "What is it?" Alric asked.

  "We have company. Everyone stay calm until we see which way the wind is blowing."

  The door to The Silver Pitcher burst open, and eight men dressed in byrnie with tabards bearing the Melengar falcon poured into the room. They flipped over a few tables near the door, scattering drinks and food everywhere. Soldiers brandishing swords glowered at the patrons. No one in the inn moved.

  "In the name of the king, this inn and all its occupants are to be searched. Those resisting or attempting to flee will be executed!"

  The soldiers broke into groups. One began pulling men from their tables and shoved them against the wall, forming a line. Others charged up the steps to the loft, while a third set descended into the tavern's cellar.

  "I do an honest business here!" Hall protested as they pushed him up against the wall with the rest.

  "Keep your mouth shut or I'll have this place torched," a man entering said. He did not wear armor, nor the emblem of Melengar. Instead, he was dressed in fine practical clothing of layered shades of gray.

  "It was a pleasure having your company, gentlemen," Alric told those at the table, "but it seems my escort is here."

  "Be careful," Hadrian told him as the prince stood up.

  Alric moved toward the center of the room, pulled back his hood, and stood straight with his chin held high. "What is it you are looking for, good men of Melengar?" he asked in a loud clear voice that caught the attention of everyone in the room.

  The man in gray spun around and when he saw Alric's face, he showed a surprised smile. "Well! We are looking for you, Your Highness," he said with a gracious bow. "We were told you were kidnapped, possibly dead."

  "As you can see, I am neither. Now release these good people."

  There was a brief hesitancy on the part of the soldiers, but the man in gray nodded, and they changed their stance to stand at attention. The man in gray moved promptly to Alric. His eyes looked the prince up and down with a quizzical expression. "Your choice of dress is a bit unorthodox, is it not, Your Majesty?"

  "My choice of dress is none of your concern, sir…"

  "It's baron, Your Highness, Baron Trumbul. Your Majesty is needed back at Essendon Castle. Archduke Percy Braga ordered us to find and escort you there. He has been worried about your welfare, considering all the recent events."

  "As it happens, I was heading that way. You can, therefore, please the archduke and me by providing escort."

  "Wonderful, my lord. Do you travel alone?" Trumbul looked at the others still seated at the table.

  "No," Alric replied, "this monk is with me, and he will be returning to Medford as well. Myron, say goodbye to those nice people and join us." Myron stood up and with a smile waved at Royce and Hadrian.

  "Is that all? Just the one?" The baron glanced at the remaining two of the party.

  "Yes, just the one."

  "Are you certain? It was rumored you might have been captured by two men."

  "My dear baron," Alric replied sternly, "I think I would remember such a thing as that. And the next time you take it upon yourself to question your king, it may be your last. It is lucky for you that I find myself in a good mood, having just eaten and being too tired to take serious offense. Now give the innkeeper a gold tenent to pay for my meal and your disruption."

  No one moved for a moment, and then the baron said, "Of course, Your Majesty. Forgive my impudence." He nodded to a soldier who pulled a coin from his purse and flipped it toward Hall. "Now, Your Highness, shall we be going?"

  "Yes," Alric replied. "I hope you have a carriage for me. I have had my fill of riding, and I am hoping to sleep the rest of the way back."

  "I am sorry, Your Majesty, we do not. We can commandeer one just as soon as we reach a village, and hopefully some better clothes for you as well."

  "That will have to do, I suppose."

  Alric, Myron, Trumbul, and the troops left the inn. There was a brief discussion only partially heard through the open door as they arranged mounts. Soon, the sound of hooves retreated into the night.

  "That was Prince Alric Essendon?" Hall asked, coming over to their table and trying to see out their window. Neither Royce nor Hadrian replied.

  After Hall returned to the bar, Hadrian asked, "Do you think we should follow them?"

  "Oh, don't start that. We did our good deed for this month, two in fact, if you count DeWitt. I'm content to just sit here and relax."

  Hadrian nodded and drained his mug of ale. They sat there in silence while he stared out the window, drumming his fingers restlessly on the table.

  "What?"

  "Did you happen to notice the weapons that patrol was wearing?"

  "Why?" Royce asked, irritated.

  "Well, they were wearing Tiliner rapiers instead of the standard falchion swords carried by the Medford Royal Guard. The rapiers had steel rather than iron tangs, but unmarked pommels. Either The Royal Armory has upgraded their standards or those men are hired mercenaries most likely from eastern Warric. Not exactly the kind of men you'd hire to augment a search party for a lost Royalist king. And if I am not mistaken, Trumbul is the name of the fellow Gwen pointed out as being suspicious in The Rose and Thorn the night before the murder."

  "See," Royce said, irritated, "this is the problem with these good deeds of yours; they never end."

  – 3 -The moon was rising as Arista placed the dagger on her windowsill. While it would still be sometime before the moonbeams would reach it, all the other preparations were ready. She had spent all day working on the spell. In the morning, she gathered herbs from the kitchen and garden. To find a mandrake root of just the right size had required nearly two hours. The hardest step, however, had been slipping down to the mortuary to clip a lock of hair from her father's head. By evening, she was grinding the mixture with her mortar and pestle while she muttered the incantations needed to bind the elements. She had sprinkled the resulting finely ground powder on the stained blade and had recited the last words of the spell. All that was required now was the moonlight.

  She jumped when a knock on her door startled her. "Your Highness? Arista?" the archduke called to her.

  "What is it, Uncle?"

  "Can I have a word with you, my dear?"

  "Yes, just a minute." Arista drew the curtain shut, hiding the blade on the sill. She placed her mortar and pestle in her trunk and locked it. Dusting off her hands, she checked her hair in the mirror. She went to the door, and with a tap of her necklace, she opened it.

  The archduke entered still dressed in his black doublet, his thumbs hooked casually in his sword belt. His heavy chain of office shimmered in the firelight from Arista's hearth. He looked around her bedroom with a critical expression. "Your father never did approve of you living up here. He always wanted you down with the rest of the family. I actually think it hurt him a bit that you chose to separate yourself like this, but you have always been a solitary person, haven't you?"

  "Does this visit have a point?" she asked with irritation as she took a seat on her bed.

  "You seem very curt with me lately, my dear. Have I done something to offend you? You are my niece, and you did just lose your father and possibly your brother. Is it so impossible to believe I am concerned for your welfare? That I am worried about your state of mind? People have been known to do…unexpected things in moments of grief…or anger."

  "My state of mind is fine."

  "Is it?" he asked raising an eyebrow. "You have spent most of the last few days in seclusion up here, which cannot be healthy for a young woman who has just lost her father. I would think you would want to be with your family."

  "I no longer have a family," she said firmly.

  "I am your family, Arista. I am your uncle, but you don't want to see that, do you? You want to see me as your enemy. Perhaps that is how you deal with your grief. You spend all your time in this tower, and when
you do step out of this stronghold of yours, it is only to attack me for my attempts to find your brother. I don't understand why. I have also asked myself why I've not seen you cry at the loss of your father. You two were quite close, weren't you?"

  Braga moved to the dresser with the swan mirror and paused as he stepped on something. He picked up a silver-handled brush laying on the floor. "This brush is from your father. I was with him when he bought this one. He refused to have a servant select it. He personally went to the shops in Dagastan to find just the right one. I honestly think it was the highlight of the trip for him. You should take more care with things of such importance." He replaced it on the table with the other brushes.

  He returned his attention to the princess. "Arista, I know you were afraid he was going to force you to marry some old, unpleasant king. I suspect the thought of being imprisoned within the invisible walls of marriage terrified you. But, despite what you might have thought, he did love you. Why do you not cry for him?"

  "I can assure you, Uncle, I'm perfectly fine. I'm just trying to keep busy."

  Braga continued to move around her small room, studying it in detail. "Well that's another thing," he said to her. "You're very busy, but you are not trying to find your father's killer? I would be, if I were you."

  "Isn't that your job?"

  "It is. I have been working continuously without sleep for days, I assure you. Much of my focus, however, as you should know, has been on finding your brother in the hopes of saving his life. I hope you can understand my priorities. You, on the other hand, seem to do little despite being the acting queen, as you call yourself."

  "Did you come here to accuse me of being lazy?" Arista asked.

  "Have you been lazy? I doubt it. I suspect you've been hard at work these last few days, perhaps weeks."

  "Are you suggesting I killed my father? I ask only because that would be a very dangerous thing to suggest."

  "I am not suggesting anything, Your Highness. I am merely trying to determine why you have shown so little sadness at the passing of your father and so little concern for the welfare of your brother. Tell me, dear niece, what were you doing in the oak grove this afternoon returning with a covered basket. I also heard you were puttering around the kitchen pantry."