Castle Walls
D. Jordan Redhawk
P.D. Publishing, Inc. (2006)
* * *
Princess Sabine Katerina Annaatje of Dulce is outside the safety of the castle walls, on the run from a vicious invader who has killed her family and usurped her throne. With only one man at arms and a faithful handmaiden, she barely escapes the Invader's clutches. But only for so long - he has vowed to leave no blood heir alive. Stumbling into a camp of itinerant performers, Sabine hides her identity, becoming Katerin of Aimsbury. She learns to trust the leader of the traveling circus, Ros Adamsson, a bawdy woman who is half rogue and half gentlewoman. Trust may eventually blossom into more if Katerin can overcome her fear and conservative upbringing. Meanwhile, the Invader still searches for her. A rumored uprising in the Dulce Province, a royal summons for the Adamsson Circus, and a traitorous servant all collide to reveal a secret even deeper than Katerin's identity.
Castle Walls
Prologue
The air was moist with fog. Muffled sound reached her ears, a minstrel singing nearby. Blindly, she focused on the song and its sedate beat, moving with care over the uneven terrain.
As she neared the music, other sounds could be discerned - the tumbling of water, dove calls gentle in the slight breeze. Her slippered foot stumbled over a rock and she could hear it clatter against others, splashing. The wind picked up, brushing a lock of hair across her forehead, dissipating the mist before her. Flickering light beckoned her closer as she picked her way across a stream.
Motion caught her eye and she saw the minstrel for the first time. His voice was soft, chanting a tale of war and betrayal. A white dove in his hand contrasted with his bloody story, cooing in counterpoint to his words. She could barely see his musicians through the darkness behind him, the torchlight only catching their movements as they played the drum and lute. Walls rising steeply into the fog told her where she was, her heart filling with dread. She was outside the castle. Again. As if on cue, the minstrel sang what she knew would be the last of his song. When he finished, he dropped his head and the musicians paused in their playing.
Sharp strains from the lute began, eerie in the dark mistiness. Unease filled her heart for she knew what was coming. Wanting to turn and leave, her feet wouldn't move. The deep rolling of the drum caused her to flinch in apprehension.
Startled by a sudden, intense beat of the drum, the dove flew from the minstrel's hand. Her fearful eyes could not look away as its path took it up into a clear blue sky. Shrill cry of a hawk, sickening impact, bloodied feathers floating through the air.
Another drum beat. Another vision.
She waited with impatience, squatting beneath the table in her father's chambers. Her little sister should have found her by now. Just as she was about to climb from her hiding place, the sound of booted feet chased her underneath again. Wishing she'd never begun this game, she shrank back, watching several pairs of legs stomp into the room. Their voices were quiet and serious, rough with concern, and her ears perked up in curiosity.
"What have you learned, Angus?" her father asked.
"My liege, the Invader is closing on our southern borders. He's moving fast, burnin' the farms behind him."
A younger voice, similar in timbre to the king, cursed. "Why destroy perfectly good farmland?" he demanded in righteous anger. "He'd need it to support his troops should get too far past our borders."
"Calm yourself, son," the king insisted, moving towards the man.
Waiting quietly under the table, she recognized her brother's boots. He fancied those silly flaps on the sides to help pull them on. She wanted to know who this Invader was and why he was being so dim but if her father found her now, she'd be in real trouble. The voices had continued above her and she focused on them again.
"Let me go, father! With the Third Army, I could lay waste to him!"
With reluctance, the king asked, "Angus?"
"Aye, your Majesty. If we can get to him before he gets to the Wynsul River…"
"See?" the young man said. "Please, father! I beg you."
In the following silence, she entertained herself with the notion of her strong older brother on his knees, begging. She bit her tongue to keep from giggling.
"Go."
After a startled pause, the son dashed forward. "Thank you, father! I'll make sure that bastard never invades another kingdom!" He turned and clattered out of the room.
"Angus," the king said. "Go with the crown prince. He'll have need of your wisdom."
"Aye, sire."
Another beat of the drum. Another vision.
Her mother's hoarse cry interrupted her. She looked up from her studies, a boring book on history, catching movement near the doorway. Ignoring her tutor, she dashed into the main hall of the castle, hearing many voices.
Several people were in the hall. Puzzled, she stepped closer, wondering why her mother was on the floor. The woman was hovering over something, hugging it to her breast and sobbing loudly. Others around her either stood back in embarrassed silence or appeared to be comforting her.
The king appeared, face stricken as he clearly saw what his daughter could not, one of his aides gasping in shock.
"It's your fault!" the hysterical woman spit at him. "Your fault!" Her voice faded into loud sobs.
Unable to stay away, fear and inquisitiveness filling her, she stepped closer. Others were in her way, blocking her view. She edged around them, peeking between. Even when she was able to see, it took a moment for the vision to sink in. Tears welled up in her eyes when it did.
Her brother's boots were bloody.
Another beat of the drum, the tempo increasing.
Even at this distance, the stench made her nose twitch. Acrid smoke rose less than a mile away, evidence of the Invader's progression towards her home. Below her window, she could see increasing activity in the courtyard. Injured were straggling in from the front lines, women and older children providing supplies to the overworked surgeons. The guard on the walls had tripled in response to the threat, but half of them were walking wounded. She'd heard the orders given by her father's aides - all foodstuffs and potables were to be brought into the castle in the event of a siege.
A lone rider approached from the battlefield, his horse galloping at full tilt. Reaching the castle, he nearly toppled his steed as he pulled it up short. Even at this distance, she could hear a captain's voice challenging him, distinctly hear his response.
"The king is dead! The king is dead!"
Drumbeat.
Darkness, whispers, rustling noises. A hand across her mouth, smothering her, scaring her. Startled shriek, heart pumping.
"Hush, lass!" The voice of a servant. "It's time to rise and dress. The Invader's at the castle walls. We must get you and your family away!"
Hurried dressing, barely enough time to grab a favorite doll as she was hustled from her room. In the hall, her mother clutched an infant brother, her sister staring wide-eyed at the small gathering of loyal guards and servants. She grabbed onto her younger sibling, feeling the smaller girl tremble as she did.
As they were herded from the castle, the ringing of metal on metal filled the courtyard.
"They've breached the walls!"
Drumbeat, relentless nightmare.
Flash of moonlight on water, gentle music of the horses' tack, muted whispers, arms wrapped about a servant as their mount swayed gently.
"There's a small boat ahead, majesty," a voice drifted back.
The world turned to thunder; pounding of hooves, rattle of armor, and cries of alarm. She clutched the servant before her as their steed leapt into a full gallop. Branches tugging at her clothes, hair whipping in the dark, heart in her throat. Suddenly flying, landing with a grunt on a
patch of peat, she tried to catch her breath.
Standing, alone, the horse's hooves raced away. In the near distance she could hear fighting, angry curses and her sister's cry. She clutched her doll to her chest, terrified and frozen with indecision. The baby was shrieking in the dark, a man's scream mingling with the sound for just a moment before choking off. Unable to stay away despite her fright, she pushed through the foliage.
On a small strip of sand next to the river was her family. Bodies lay all around, evidence of the guards' attempts to save the royal family. Her mother was on her knees, clutching the screaming baby to her chest. Before her was a man in armor holding a sword. Several other soldiers and horses were gathered around them, some of the servants on their knees in a small knot nearby. Her sister was nowhere to be seen.
The armored man pulled off his helmet. His air of command reminded her of her father, though he wasn't as handsome. An ugly scar ran across his face from the base of his nose to curve down and around his cheek. He was saying something, his voice so low that she couldn't make it out.
When the blade pierced her mother's chest, pinning the babe to it, her scream matched theirs.
Drumbeat.
Panting, heart thumping, crashing through the wilderness. Noises everywhere, the call of wild animals urging her on. Behind her, she knew the Invader and his soldiers were chasing her, tracking her down to kill her. She was royalty and her life was forfeit; she'd been instructed since a toddler that she lived for her people. Her people were gone.
Bursting from behind a bush, she screamed silently at the armored figure before her. Moonlight on blade flashed above her and she cowered, afraid of the deathblow that was coming. Cuddling her doll to her chest, she could only hear the scuffle, the rattle of armor, could feel the ground tremble as a heavy body hit it.
A gentle touch on her shoulder and she peered fearfully at her savior. The minstrel smiled down on her, a bloody dove in his hands. "Hush, child. You're safe now."
As she struggled with the familiar nightmare, barely coming to consciousness, she could feel fingers caress her forehead.
"Shhh. It's just a bad dream," a familiar voice murmured. "You're safe now."
Sighing, she relaxed back into sleep.
Chapter 1
Furtive movement gained her attention.
To her credit, her flinch to wakefulness was minor, causing hardly a sound. Cracking her eyelids a fraction, her mind raced as she remembered where she was. Warmth was behind and beside her, evidence of her sleeping handmaiden. Aching from a root that had dug its way into the small of her back, she'd been so exhausted when they'd stopped running, she hadn't realized it was there. Her cloak was wrapped about the both of them, hardly touching the chill of the early morning mist.
Steam rose from her mouth and she tried to keep her breathing even. There, the movement again; a rustling of cloth just outside her vision. A twig snapped, sharp in the silence, and her heart fluttered in her throat. Beneath the cloak, her hand grasped the ornamental dagger her father gifted her on her last birthday. Despite her attempt to appear asleep, her dark eyes widened and she held her breath.
The bush to her left rattled, someone trying to get into the tiny clearing where the women were hiding. Unable to keep up the pretense, she threw off the cloak, pulling the dagger from its sheath. Her handmaiden, rousing at the sudden movement, looked wildly about, keeping her tongue at the warning wave from her mistress.
A figure pushed slowly through the thick undergrowth on hands and knees. With shaking hand, she prepared to launch her attack, gripping the hilt with white knuckles. The figure raised his head, their eyes meeting.
"By the gods, Your Highness!" the man breathed. He used one grimy hand to tug at his forelock. "It's me! Hector!"
Terror quickly faded to elation and the princess scrabbled forward on the hard ground to draw the servant in. "Hector! You survived!" Her hands were frantic on his shoulders, grasping at his tunic and pulling him, unable to believe he was still alive despite the tactile proof. "Mother? Prince Liam?"
Hector, his weathered face sagging, shook his head. "Nay, Your Highness. I saw the Invader run them through."
She drew away, looking down and sheathing her dagger with heaviness in her chest.
"I'm sorry, Your Royal Highness," the man whispered.
Flinching at the added 'Royal,' an indication of her new status as Crown, she shook her head. "Nay, Hector." Taking a deep breath to quell the need for tears, she looked at her two servants. "Call me Katerin. Both of you. If we're to survive this night, the Princess Sabine must not be mentioned."
The handmaiden, Ilia, made a soft noise in her throat and reached out to grasp the younger woman's shoulder.
"Hector, did anyone see you escape?" Survival first.
He seemed slightly hesitant as he shook his head. "I don't think so, Your… Katerin. The guards were busy with the royal family. Two of us slipped away, but Matteo was killed by a wandering patrol after we'd gone less than a league."
Nodding, the dark haired princess looked up into the overhead foliage. "Get some sleep, Hector. Ilia and I will remain on watch." With a sad smile, she leaned forward and touched his shoulder. "It's good to see you, my friend. I'm glad you stayed alive."
Hector's face twisted into a smile. "And I am greatly happy to see you, High-… Katerin."
"Have you found her?"
Swallowing nervously, the captain shook his head at his sovereign's back. "Nay, we've not, Sire." In a gush, he added, "All but one of the men have reported back. And he's not been seen or heard from in two days."
Thoughtful, the Invader stroked his bare chin, staring out over the city with muddy blue eyes. He held himself with the power and grace of a man half his age; a scar marring his lower cheek drew his mouth into a permanent frown. His hair was turning gray with a vengeance, the rich mahogany color of youth fading away.
He was standing on a balcony, behind him the main chamber of the previous Dulce king - unwitting victim in the ordained destiny of the Invader. One of many who'd attempted to resist the inevitable. Below the Invader, tendrils of smoke still rose from outside the castle walls, smoldering remains of a long siege and welcome success. He inhaled deeply of the acrid scent reminiscent of so many other battles in his long and bloody career.
"In which direction was my man going before he disappeared?" he finally asked, voice gravelly from an old scar across his throat.
"Southwest, Sire," the captain piped, hard put to refrain from wiping at the sweat on his face. "I've already taken the liberty of sending a full patrol in that direction."
"Good." The Invader turned, eyeing the guardsman. "Catch up to them. If you don't personally bring her head back, I'll take yours in its place. Is that understood?"
Ashen, the captain nodded. "Aye, my liege," he whispered, swaying on wobbly knees. He flinched a bit when a hand waved at him.
"Get out." A worried frown crossed the Invader's face as he watched the man tumble out the door as though all manner of demon were upon him. Sardonic, he thought, I suppose I'm close enough to that particular description. He approached a large oak table in the center of the room. Beneath a layer of expensive, clear glass laid a map of the kingdom he'd just taken and he regarded it with partial satisfaction. Hearing movement, he looked up, seeing an aide standing at the door leading into the king's bedchambers. Frowning, the scar only made him look fiercer, he growled, "You said you'd take care of the royal family. I should send you out with my captain and the same instructions."
The man bowed obsequiously. "My apologies, Your Royal Majesty," he said, voice oily from too many years at court. "You'd be well within your right, though my success would be limited - I'm not well-versed at tracking errant princesses."
"Had you done as you bargained, no one would need tracking. If I recall, you were to drug the royal family and get my men into the castle with a minimum of fuss." The Invader studied the aide, disgusted with the finery the man insisted on wearing. "You failed, Dom
inic."
"Aye, sire," the aide responded with another bow before stepping further into the room. "But you'd still be outside the walls had it not been for my assistance. It's hardly my fault that Cook decided have a go at the stew before it was served."
Distastefully turning away, the Invader picked up a goblet of wine from the table and sipped at it. "What's done is done." He returned to the balcony, staring out over his kingdom. "Get out, Dominic. Pack your belongings and see my quartermaster for your reward before you leave."
The aide froze for long seconds before a flash of anger crossed his face. He took an automatic step forward as he spoke. "That's not what you promised me," Dominic insisted. "You said I'd remain as a member of your court when it was over."
"Aye," the Invader agreed, turning to glare at the dandy. "And you promised me that the royal family and a good number of the guard would be drugged before you opened the gates. Too many of my men died as a result. Since you failed on your end, I hardly need to hold up mine." His manner became that of a hunting beast as he padded closer to Dominic, circling him. "You betrayed a king to whom you had sworn allegiance. Do you think I can trust your oath of fealty to me?"
Dominic ground his teeth, not trusting himself to respond. Stories were rampant of this man laying waste to all in his path when angered, friend and foe alike.
"You're a traitor now and you'll be one in the future - you don't fool me." Stopping behind him, the Invader leaned close, voice soft. "Now get out, before I decide to add another head to my walls."
With a swallow, the aide turned and backed towards the door, refusing to respond. Once there, Dominic intoned, "Your Majesty," before stepping into relative safety.
The Invader sighed and resumed studying the map of his new acquisition - the fourth in his military career. He was now master of more land than any remaining realms put together. Sipping his wine, he recalled the witch that had set him on his path.
Castle Walls Page 1
