by Rob Preece
A serious workout was in order. If she could sweat, dish out some licks, and take a few as well, she might not feel better but at least she'd have a reason to feel lousy.
"Let's get drilling,” she suggested. She gathered up her katana and stepped toward the training grounds where the sound of clashing steel blended with the chink of pottery beer mugs. “By the way, did Mark tell you about his idea for paper cartridges?"
Mark wasn't enough of a scientist or metalworker to develop a breach-loading weapon but he had participated in Civil War reenactments. Even with muzzle-loaders, paper cartridges like those soldiers of both sides had used during the American civil war could increase rate of fire by as much as fifty percent compared to the old-fashioned manual loading practiced by Sergius's army. Replacing awkward matchlocks with percussion caps would speed things up even more. That could have made a big difference in their battle at Dinan. It would certainly make a big difference when they took the battle to the Rissel.
Dafed brushed her question away. “Do you want to talk or do you want to fight?"
"Fight.” She headed down to the training ground to see if she could scare up some knights who'd attack her from horseback. She'd gotten lucky against the Dinan cavalry but wanted to make sure she relied on skill rather than luck if she ever had to face that kind of attack again.
For the next five hours, she forgot about war, forgot about Sergius and his uncles, forgot about everything but the pursuit of a perfect cut, the matching of wits on the field, and the almost mystical feeling she got when she performed her Kata and found something new buried in the form, some new technique that had been obscured because she hadn't been ready for it, and was suddenly made clear by what she'd learned on the battlefield.
For a while, at least, the King's banquet was a long ways away.
* * * *
"Leave your weapons here, please."
Ellie didn't recognize the guards at the ballroom door, but then, the army had been growing so fast, she didn't recognize most of the soldiers any more.
"I'm Ellie Winters,” she explained. “The returned Princess."
"Only the King's bodyguard is allowed weapons tonight.” The sergeant in charge of the guards looked embarrassed, he didn't look like he was going to back down from his orders, either. “Sorry. With Sullivan and Harrison both paying court to the King, there are too many chances that someone will drink too much, say the wrong thing, and launch a blood feud. That's the last thing His Majesty needs right now."
She, and all the sergeants, had worn their swords to the King's coronation so she didn't think this rule should apply to her, but no one else was objecting.
Maybe Sergius was worried that she'd take her revenge on Harrison for murdering her parents and create an incident. She reluctantly handed her katana over.
"If you lose it, I'll hunt you down,” she promised. She didn't have much to remember her parents by. The book, the jewels, and the sword were it. And she didn't want to lose any of them.
"Don't worry."
Easy for him to say. He wasn't the one who was walking into the lion's den without his defenses. But Ellie would go in naked to hear the King's final announcement of the parliament. A couple of hours away from her weapon was a small price to pay.
Dinner was massive, heavily spiced, and not very good.
Ellie found that she and Mark were seated with Dafed and some of the other sergeants from the early days in the army. The King sat halfway across the ballroom between his uncles, flanked by the Bishop, Arnold's father Ranolf, and several of the other barons who had thrown their support to Sergius even before his victories. Ranolf caught Ellie's eye and nodded.
She nodded back, then glanced around and caught the glare of the man at the table beside hers.
From the strangely styled clothing, she guessed he was foreign.
"He's the Rissel Ambassador,” Dafed whispered. “Word is, he sees you as the main reason Rissel ambitions have been thwarted here in Lubica. Good thing we had to drop off our weapons, huh? He looks like he wants to kill you."
The way the Ambassador kept looking at Ellie, she felt as if she were naked. His brown eyes were hard and cruel. He stabbed his knife into the roast pork in front of him and Ellie knew he wished his knife were plunging into her body as well.
"I didn't know the Rissel were here,” Ellie whispered back.
"Yeah. Supposedly we're at peace with them now. That's part of the reason they were supplying Harrison. So we could fight amongst ourselves and they could stand there with their hands supposedly clean. It won't last. Sergius has to clear them out of the north if he's going to have a Kingdom to rule."
Ellie nodded. Dafed was probably right. If the Rissel King had a claim to the throne, he'd continue to push, continue to raid, continue to incite revolt and dissension within Lubica until he won or Lubica drove him out and made him abandon that claim.
Sergius wandered over, slapped some backs and tossed a few more gold coins to the sergeants before making his rounds to the tables where the high nobles were sitting. He was in his element, a politician as well as a king. He hadn't been a great general, but was wise enough to know that it was soldiers who put him on his throne, and clever enough to show them his appreciation. From the faces of some of the nobles around the ballroom, Ellie suspected this was the first time mere soldiers had been allowed this kind of access.
Dafed, the Sergeants, and even Mark stuffed themselves on the King's food. They'd been in the army long enough to know that you eat when there's food because you never know where your next meal is coming from.
Ellie's stomach was too knotted up to let her do more than nibble. She'd been waiting for tonight for weeks now. Whether she stayed here, or returned to Earth, the parliament would be her legacy.
* * * *
Sergius waited until the meat and bread had been cleared from the tables and a succession of custards and fruits had replaced the main meal. Finally, he waved away the jugglers and musicians who had provided entertainment through the meal.
"This is an important day in the history of Lubica,” Sergius announced.
That was enough to elicit a cheer from the well fed crowd, many of whom, Ellie guessed, had hit the wine jars a bit harder than they really needed to.
"For more than a decade, our nation has been torn between our regents, each seeking to benefit the kingdom, but so divided that they instead tore the fabric of the nation like talented tailors who try to make multiple garments from a single bolt of fabric. Now, at last, all sides have come together. Your King is no longer a child. We no longer seek or require regents to allow us to rule. What was once divided, is now united with purpose."
It was a good speech and the assembled nobles and soldiers seemed to like it. Even the Rissel ambassador was smiling, his sharp teeth bright in the torch-lit hallway.
Our uncles, the Dukes of Harrison and Sullivan, have agreed to merge their armies into the single national army which will be commanded by professional captains appointed by your King. Sullivan, Harrison, and Bishop Widimer shall form a privy council and act in our stead by unanimous vote when we shall find ourselves out of the country."
The three ex-regents stood to the somewhat more muted applause of the crowd. Ellie didn't know how long this Privy Council would last, but suspected it was part of the bargain. And it was a great bargain if it took armies from the hands of individual feudal lords and welded them into a single national army.
"We have considered other changes in our ancient ways,” Sergius continued. “Many have urged us to take steps our fathers and grandfathers feared to make.” He glanced at Ellie and nodded. “Many of these ideas are wise. But now is not the time. We have resolved to maintain our ancient laws and customs. They alone have preserved our nation through this time of trouble."
Sergius sat down to thunderous applause and Ellie's stomach dropped. If she'd eaten anything, she probably would have spewed it over the table.
She reached into her tunic for the parchment
Sergius had signed after that first battle in the woods. The one that contained his promise.
Mark grasped her arm. “Speak to him in private, Ellie. He won't be able to back down if you confront him in front of his army and nobles."
"I've spoken to him in private a hundred times. Every time he's promised he'd announce the parliament. Two days ago, after the coronation, he promised it would be tonight."
"He's probably got to make sure Harrison is completely in the fold before he tries anything. You have to believe that the uncles would resist any dilution in their feudal privileges."
Ellie nodded. “I'm going to resist any dilution in my privileges. We put him on the throne, Mark. Without us, he would still be sitting here fat and happy, controlled by the bishop and terrorized by his uncles. He owes us. He owes me."
"But—"
Whatever Mark was going to say, Ellie didn't give him a chance.
She pushed away from the table and approached the king.
"You made me a promise, your majesty."
Her voice cut through the low roar of male conversation.
Sergius had been laughing at something Harrison was whispering in his ear but he looked Ellie's way.
"Your idea is intriguing, but upon consideration with my uncles, we realized that it threatens to weaken the power of the crown."
"Would it weaken the crown as much as the civil war began by your loyal uncles? You swore an oath, your majesty. The people suffer from these wars, they deserve a voice in them."
Harrison put a hand on the King's arm. “Let me handle this."
Sergius waved his acquiescence.
Harrison looked like an older version of his nephew. His golden hair was shot with silver, but his body was still that of a hard-muscled athlete. His gold and burgundy robes flowed about him and he, unlike Ellie, had been allowed to wear his sword in the King's presence.
"A private person may make promises and contracts and the law will compel him to obey them. But the King must do what his nation requires. Sometimes, this means breaking one promise to fulfill another. A subject who reminds her sovereign too often of a promise made rashly, in a moment of battle and passion, does no favors to herself or to her cause."
Ellie shrugged. “I am not a subject of this King. I am the daughter of Mucius, returned for the salvation of Lubica, not simply so secure the primacy of one branch of an upstart family over another."
The ice-cold silence that met her words told her she'd stepped over a line—way over a line. Well, it was a line she was going to have to cross sooner or later. The benefit of doing it in public was that Sergius's promise would be on the table.
Sergius surged to his feet. “I am King and Mucius is long-dead, scarcely remembered. But if he were here today, I think he would be shocked at the idea of including stinking peasants in the council of Kings."
Okay, he was pulling off his gloves.
Ellie took a step toward him, her hand reflexively going to her belt where her katana would be hanging—if she hadn't been forced to leave it at the door.
"You threaten the King? Arrest her. And arrest Sergeant Mark as well."
Mark stood. “Me? I'm no part of this. I begged her not to ask. Why should I care about peasants when you've made me a leader?"
He probably went on but Ellie was too busy dealing with the small army of guards who appeared from nowhere to notice.
A part of her had hoped that the sergeants would support her. They were, after all, exactly the common people who would benefit from the parliament idea. And she'd fought with them, lived with them.
It was a forlorn hope. If even Mark refused to back her up, she was completely on her own.
Sergius's guards must have been warned she'd fight. They hadn't drawn swords but they came at her with short clubs, brass knuckles, and overwhelming numbers.
She kept the first guard away with a snap kick, then nailed a second with a back kick as he approached from behind.
She skip-stepped to one side, avoiding three guards rushing at her, pounded a palm-thrust into a too-aggressive chin, and—went under a swarm of angry guards.
Chapter 14
Her head felt like someone had pounded a nail into it.
Ellie tried to open her eyes but her left eye remained shut despite her efforts. From the pain involved, she guessed it was swollen shut and stuck with dried blood. Yuck.
The ground lurched out from under her, then rose to smash her in the head.
"What the hell?"
"Awake, are you? About time."
She was having trouble tracking but she finally spotted the man who was talking to her.
Her brain had trouble making connections but he looked familiar.
"My name is Tadas. You saw me at the King's banquet yesterday evening. And today, you are our guest."
Of course. The Rissel Ambassador.
She pushed herself up on an elbow and saw she was lying on an ox-drawn cart. The Ambassador rode alongside on one of the oversized horses that seemed universal in this universe. From the dust and stench, she seemed to be part of a substantial caravan—a caravan that included a large number of armed men.
"How did I end up here?"
Tadas shrugged. “You were too popular with the soldiers for Sergius to simply execute you. He and his uncle, Duke Harrison, put their heads together and came up with a solution that satisfies everyone. They get rid of a troublesome potential rebel. My King captures someone he can blame for the defeats we suffered in our attempt to assert our lawful rule over Lubica, and the church has a witch to burn."
A lightbulb went off. “That's why you were at the banquet, isn't it? You knew this was going to happen."
Tadas laughed. “Of course. I'm surprised you have to ask that. Duke Harrison was quite right, you know. Kings are not like other people. To survive, they need to plan ahead and to strike any possible threat to their rule early, sometimes before those threats even recognize themselves. Often, the very people who helped them seize their crowns are most dangerous. If they helped one man become King, how difficult would it be for them to help another?"
Ellie wanted to say that Sergius wouldn't do something like that but she couldn't. She realized she didn't really know the man she'd done so much to make King.
She rubbed her left eye, broke off some of the crusted blood, and managed to pry it open at least a little.
"Even though you aren't a King, I assume you have a plan too?"
Tadas shrugged. “Nothing complex. We'll take you to Rotterwood, turn you over to the church authorities, and watch you burn. Unpleasant for all of us, really."
If Mark were here, he'd point out the similarities to Joan of Arc or some other characters from medieval history. But, if Ellie remembered right, Joan might be the patron saint of France now, but she'd gotten there in a completely unpleasant way. There had to be some better example she could follow.
But thinking of Mark didn't help. She couldn't believe he'd abandoned her when she'd confronted the King. Not that she had any romantic feelings toward the ex-mall security guard turned military genius. Still, he was a fellow American. Support for a small step toward democracy hadn't seemed like too much to expect.
"You know,” she told the Rissel, “I think you have a point. A Kingmaker is dangerous. And yet, an ambitious man might do well to latch his stars to one.” She tried to remember what people had said about the King of the Rissel. Wasn't he a bit crazy? She wasn't sure whether that was Lubica propaganda or reality but it seemed worth pursuing.
Tadas laughed. “Unfortunately for me, the Rissel don't have any legends about a magical princess who'll return in their hour of need. Besides, I'm a loyal subject to King Phillip."
Still, she didn't think she's imagined a gleam in his eyes. He could be had; she just needed to come up with the lever that would move him.
"I was a loyal subject to King Sergius and look where it got me. Subjects who are too loyal, too smart, and too successful had better watch out."
"Perhaps."
"I wonder how successful you'll look once you turn me over to the church. You'll probably be one of the most well known people in Rissel. Almost a Kingmaker yourself, wouldn't you say?"
Tadas stared at her for a full minute without saying anything. Then he yanked on his reins and spurred his horse away from the heavy wooden wagon that contained her.
* * * *
Over the next four days, Ellie got intimately familiar with the wagon.
They let her out twice a day for necessities, a pair of muscular female acolytes watching her every move. Otherwise the ox cart was her home away from home.
A steel collar secured one of her naked ankles. It had been welded in place and its ring attached to a heavy chain. The chain, in turn, looped through a heavy staple hammered deep into the wood frame of the cart, then locked on itself. She figured they'd taken her boots both because that would make it harder for her to run and because she could use them as weapons. Either way, if she ever managed an escape, she wouldn't run far.
A pair of guards checked the lock before and after the acolytes walked her, examining it closely for any sign of tampering.
She gave the chain a few tugs but it had been well made. She wasn't going to break it and evidently nobody here had heard the adage about chains having weakest links because she sure couldn't find one.
The ox wagon wasn't much to look at, but it had been well constructed, solid, and small.
Its basic shape was about a four-foot cube. Too short to stand in, too short to stretch out, it was constructed of solid boards in the floor and roof, and hardwood board slats in a cross-hatch pattern on the sides.
Overpowering a couple of over-muscled nuns wouldn't have been much of a challenge, but Tadas always made sure their caravan stopped in open ground and mounted a group of horsemen to surround her just far enough away to allow her a bit of privacy. Neither the horsemen nor Tadas seemed to think much of the acolytes so Ellie gave up any notion of taking either of them hostage.
