by Rob Preece
"But I killed them."
"No musket has ever been so small.” Arnold seized the Glock from Mark's shaking hand. “And it fired more than once without being reloaded. This is powerful magic.” He looked at Ellie. “And you are a woman. Which means everything you told my father is a lie."
Chapter 4
People were trying to put a happy face on it but Moray, the capital of Lubica, was a wartime city. Too many of the beggars were prime-aged males, missing limbs or eyes. Too many of the shops were run by aging women or young children. Those men capable of walking were off at the wars—or hiding.
The city stank of human excrement, rotten food, and burning wood. A few of the streets were paved with cobbles, but most were mud tracks.
Behind stone walls that didn't look like they'd been maintained in decades, the town was a mass of closely packed two-story wooden buildings—a firestorm waiting to happen. Only at the very center of town did wood transform to stone. A second wall, older but with much better upkeep, and a wide green area separated the inner city of nobility and church from the common folk.
Arnold led Ellie and Mark directly to the Bishop's palace near the center of the inner city and left them in the charge of an angry looking priest. Shalla and Jeneen seemed reluctant to see the last of Mark but Arnold had hardly spoken to Ellie since he'd spotted the female shape of her rear when she'd bent over to help Mark.
The priest watched them for a couple of hours before abruptly, and with no signal that Ellie could detect, rising and demanding they follow him. He led them directly into what turned out to be the bishop's private office.
The bishop was a lean man of middle years and a sharp nose that quivered when they approached. He didn't look like Ellie's idea of a holy man. He wore the same style of clothes as everyone else, and his bald spot looked to be the result of male hormones rather than a tonsure.
He squinted at Ellie, then looked to Mark. “I was told one of them was female."
"I am a woman,” Ellie admitted.
He peered. “You're sure?"
"Pretty sure."
"The Rissel would never allow a woman to learn the way of the sword, or ally with one who had already learned. Thus, you can't be one of them, or in their hire. You can go.” He turned himself and headed toward the rear door.
That was it? Maybe Ellie should have been relieved that they didn't turn her over to some sort of inquisition, but she wanted answers. Someone had sent her to Earth, presumably to protect her. And someone had sent killers after her parents despite the dimensions that separated this world from Earth.
"Did Baron Ranolf write that we arrived in his fiefdom by magic?"
The bishop froze. “By magic."
"By these stones."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the sack of jewels that she'd used to bring herself and Mark across the dimensional gap that separated this world from Earth—and met the priest's staff as she started to yank them out.
"Slowly,” he warned.
"Right. Slowly.” If she was going to learn about her past, and her parents’ killers, she was going to have to trust someone. And a bishop who was willing to let them go free seemed like a good bet. If he'd been the one to send the killers, he would have been more suspicious of her in the first place.
"Ah. Dimensional gems.” The bishop took the velvet bag from Ellie's hands and poured the jewels on a felt-topped table. A table that might have been made for late-night poker games but that Ellie suspected was used for jewels just like hers.
"An attractive set. Even the source/destination pair. And heavily empowered."
"They belonged to my parents. I think they used them to cross from here to another world where I was raised. Recently someone followed. And killed both of my parents."
The bishop wrinkled his forehead. “Another world. That is metaphysical speculation and not in accord with orthodoxy. Besides, there are no known patterns for such a journey."
"Someone found one,” she answered. “Or rather, two someones. Because my parents didn't kill themselves."
"Your parents trained you in the stones, then?"
She shook her head. “I found them in my parents’ hiding place. Along with a book that sketched out a pattern. I followed the pattern and voila, here I was on a different earth."
"I see.” The bishop paced his office a couple of times, his face set in a scowl of intense concentration.
"You feel guilty because your parents died and you did not. You blame yourself, thinking that the killers would have left them alone if they had only found you. Is this correct?"
She nodded slowly. “I guess."
"Your anger is understandable but your guilt is unhealthy. If your parents crossed the dimensions safely, at least one of them was a powerful mage. If they created the pattern that opened the dimensions, they are more powerful than any mage in the past thousand years. Such a powerful mage would have tracked down and destroyed anyone who killed you. Therefore, your parents, not you, would have been the prime targets. After all, without the mage, they would have supposed you to be immobilized."
"Oh.” She felt strangely relieved. Not that it should matter. Her parents were still dead. She still needed to kill the murderers.
The Bishop gave her an unconvincing grin. “You say you have a book that shows the pattern. May I see it?"
If she said no, she suspected he'd take it anyway. By being agreeable, she preserved the potential for cooperation.
Moving slowly to avoid another tap from the watching priest's staff, she pulled the book from her pack.
She opened it to her mother's drawing of the pattern.
The bishop studied the design for a while, then set the book on the table near her gems and traced the lines with a long elegant and heavily ringed hand.
Tiny purple sparks followed his hand and the oil lamps that illuminated the bishop's office flickered and grew dim. He frowned.
"And you used these stones to make this pattern?"
"Except that I reversed the two smooth stones. That's how I got here."
"Hmm. Interesting. It's an old-style pattern. In the days before the prophet, mages relied on the bardic loops for power and the pentagrams for protection, of course. Now we have the prophet's cardinal points to draw on and bardic loops are hardly ever used."
That was interesting in an academic sort of way but it didn't provide Ellie with much information.
The bishop abruptly closed the book and studied the cover. “Lawgrave. Bring me the records from the end of the reign of King Mucius."
Apparently Lawgrave was the priest who'd shown them in. He snapped to attention. “But Mucius has been dead for hundreds of years."
"Just do it."
Lawgrave gave Ellie a disapproving look but finally scuttled from the room.
"I suppose every nation has its legends.” The bishop took a seat behind his desk and gestured to Ellie and Mark to sit at the chairs by the table. Unlike Ranolf, who had knelt by the table in a style similar to the Japanese, the Bishop had padded and comfortable chairs, their soft leather upholstery a welcome change from the hard saddles where she and Mark had spent the past three days.
"I guess everyone tells stories,” she agreed.
"One of ours is that of the lost princess. Mucius was a powerful king, but he had no son and his daughter died in labor. This was back in the days of the Iberial invasions. Mucius summoned his chief armsman and head mage and gave them his newborn granddaughter. What happened next is unclear, but they disappeared from history. According to legend, though, the lost princess is supposed to return in Lubica's day of greatest need. Well, Lubica could hardly need a miracle more than we do now."
He flipped through the pages of Ellie's mother's book. “What makes this interesting is that the Lubica royal crest has changed. Iberial invaders married a collateral branch of Mucius's family and added their hawk to the royal panther. Your book has the old crest.
"But you said that was hundreds of years ago."
The bishop raised an eyebrow. “We are talking of miracles, after all."
Lawgrave stumbled back into the bishop's office carrying a huge volume covered with spiderwebs and dust.
The bishop gestured to the book on his desk, then stood.
"This is certainly an hour of danger for our country. The King's uncles, the powerful Dukes of Harrison and Sullivan, refuse to allow him to take power. The Rissel are playing the uncles against one another, but really seek complete control over our country. I think it's time that the lost princess of legend returns."
Okay, who wouldn't want to be a lost princess and the nation's savior? Ellie didn't feel much like a princess. She didn't think the bishop really believed she was five hundred years old and returned out of legend. But he was ready to grasp for any hope he could find in the troubles that were overrunning the kingdom.
"Wouldn't that make me the legal ruler?” she asked.
The bishop smiled, although not unkindly. “Not exactly. Five hundred years is a long time. Lubica has lost a lot of wars since and replaced its ruling house several times as a result. Besides, the real king is the person who gets the great barons to support him. As an outsider, you don't have much chance. And, well, you're a woman."
"So you want me to be some sort of figurehead. Somebody to stand in front of the army and tell them that I've returned like King Arthur to lead them to victory in their dark hour."
"Like whom?"
She shook her head. “Never mind."
He smiled. “At any rate, that's exactly what I want. The army is unhappy. The return of the lost princess would cheer them up, maybe cause dissention among those supporting the uncles or the Rissel. It couldn't hurt."
"What about the people who killed my parents?"
The bishop didn't even try to look calm. His fists tightened until a drop of blood fell from his ring. “We share the same enemies."
Ellie was a little reluctant to bring it up but she knew the bishop would think of it soon. “One more question. I crossed the dimensions and I don't have any magical powers. How is that possible?"
He looked at her. “It isn't possible. And there isn't anything more dangerous than an untrained mage. We'll put you in old-fashioned armor, have you address the troops, then send you into the cloister to learn to control your powers."
"Cloister?” That didn't sound promising.
"One of the sisterhoods. Merely for training, of course. You wouldn't have to take vows."
"How long does this training take?"
He waved a hand absently. “It varies with the candidate. Perhaps in four years, you'd be safe."
For a moment she considered it. Who wouldn't want to learn to control magic? But she didn't trust the bishop or anyone else to look after her interests, to be sure that whomever had slaughtered her parents would be punished.
"How about some intense tutoring for a couple of weeks?"
This time the bishop's smile didn't reach past his lips. “We need to be certain you'll be safe. The legend wouldn't help us much if the Rissel trotted your dead body out."
It hadn't helped the English much when they'd killed Joan of Arc, but then again, the French victory had come way too late for Joan. Ellie didn't have a problem with the idea of staying alive.
That said, spending the rest of her life hiding didn't have any appeal at all. And the bishop's four years could easily convert to a lifetime. After all, why wouldn't he want to keep her around, safe but controlled, forever?
"What about Mark?” He was in this as much as she was. And if time really did work differently in this dimension than it did on Earth, if she returned him to Earth, she might not make it back here for years. On the other hand, she'd dragged him here. If he wanted to go back home, she owed him that much. At worst, she could give a couple of speeches to the troops, then send Mark back, and then return. If she did it quickly enough, maybe not too much time would pass. And if it did, how much worse would it be than being locked up in a cloister somewhere?
"Ask him to move one of the gems."
"Is it safe for him?"
The bishop shrugged. “Perhaps."
She switched to English. “He wants you to move one of the jewels. It's a test of some kind, to see if you have magic potential. If it feels funny, stop and back away. I don't want you hurt."
Mark nodded. He reached for one of the smaller stones, picked it up, then set it down a few inches away.
"Now another."
"The bishop wants you to move another one."
Mark shrugged and did it.
No wave of purple shook the room. Mark was just moving pebbles.
"He has no magic. Completely useless for our purposes.” The bishop didn't sound too sad about that. Maybe untrained mages really were dangerous.
"Okay, Mark. The bishop says you're not a mage. So, what do you want to do?"
He looked confused. Of course he still didn't have enough of the language to understand what the bishop had told her.
"I figured I could hang out with you and the girls. From what I saw of this city, it's very similar to early-renaissance England. For a history buff, a place like this is good as dying and going to heaven. Who knows, maybe the local Shakespeare is alive and writing now. Staying here, I have a chance to do something interesting. Hopefully without having to kill anyone else."
So he had developed a crush on at least one of Arnold's sisters? Ellie couldn't really blame him. The girls were cute, flirty, and even halfway competent with their swords. And nobody was going to mistake either of them for a boy.
"It'll be dangerous,” she explained quickly. “They want me to be some sort of returned hero from the ancient past so we'll be targets for everyone."
Mark wasn't an idiot and he didn't look especially anxious to have everyone shooting at him, but he nodded. “I'll back you up, Ellis."
She started to correct him but stopped. If he wanted to tease her about her fake name, that was his business. It wasn't like the two of them were anything but friends, anyway. She turned her attention back to the bishop.
"Here's the deal. We'll stay, but no cloisters. I'll address the troops, be your cheerleader, but I need to stay here in the capital and I need to stay with my friends. If you want me to control my magic, I want a tutor here in Morey. And if we win, whoever killed my parents goes to trial."
"Why should I agree to that?"
She forced herself to relax. Tensing up would slow her down and, if necessary, she was ready to fight her way out of the bishop's offices. “Because the alternative is no cooperation and no miracle princess. Somehow, I think need those more than you need another prisoner right now."
Of course the Bishop's easiest solution would be for the two of them to conveniently disappear. Only Ranolf and his children knew that they were even here. And Ellie didn't think Arnold would complain if she vanished. When he'd discovered she was a woman, he'd backed away from her like she had a disease. The funny thing was, he hadn't seemed to mind when his sisters had pulled out their swords and defended themselves.
The bishop looked like he was thinking about the disappearing option and Ellie wished for the comfort of her sword. Unfortunately, they'd left their weapons with the doorman before they'd been allowed to see the bishop.
Finally the bishop shook his head.
"Perhaps you are right. The cloisters are too remote for you to be immediately accessible. As for a local tutor, I think Lawgrave could do an excellent job. What do you say, father?"
Lawgrave looked like he wanted to say it was the dumbest idea he'd ever heard.
* * * *
Over the next couple of days, Ellie learned why the bishop had given in so quickly. The political and military situation was grim.
King Sergius was eighteen, the age of majority in Lubica, but it looked like the regency could go on indefinitely. The uncles had left the capital and the bishop, along with a group of barons, including Ranolf, served as acting regents while doing their best to prevent either of the
uncles from returning to fulfill their titular responsibilities.
Between them, the uncles and the Rissel occupied more than ninety percent of Lubica's land mass. The only good news was, the Rissel and the uncles only agreed about one thing—the need to regain control of Sergius. Because they couldn't agree on who would control him, and because everyone would gang up on the first one to move, the capital remained in a sort of no-man's land. Sergius's own armies would be little more than a speed bump to any of the real armies massed against the capital. At best, they could keep the brigands down. Sometimes.
"It's a little like England under Richard the Second,” Mark told her while they waited for their first audience with Sergius.
She strained her memory. “Is he the one that wanted to trade his kingdom for a horse?"
"Uh, no. That was later. Another Richard."
Good, because she didn't think that Richard had gotten his horse—or his kingdom. “That's lucky. So how did this Richard make out?"
"Not well. One of his cousins had him killed by sticking a white-hot poker up his you know what."
That was not an encouraging precedent.
"I've been trying to think of a case where an infant king grew up and things worked out,” Mark continued. “I'm sure there have been examples but I can't remember any. Maybe Genghis Khan."
With that rather grim thought, they were led into Sergius's throne room.
Sergius looked down at them from the gold-plated throne. A crown, not yet officially placed on his head, sat on a pedestal nearby.
He wasn't bad looking. With his dark blond hair and solid over-six-foot height, he radiated a magnetism that spoke kingliness. This was the kind of person people would follow. Ellie wasn't so sure about the little smirk on his face, but she could see potential. He was the kind of kid her father delighted in taking into his dojo as an arrogant punk and transforming into a confident man.
Thinking of her father blurred Ellie's vision for just a moment but she shook her head angrily. She wasn't here to weep about her parents; she was here to avenge them. Even if the bishop was right and they weren't her natural parents at all. Regardless of genetics, they had raised her, cared for her, and taught her what they could. She owed them. This kingdom owed them.
