Castle Walls

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  Fidgeting on the stool, young Prince Germaine peered at the strange designs on the witch's cards. He wasn't supposed to be here; his father would have a fit if it were discovered his youngest son had visited a soothsayer. But when the teenager had rode past, he felt something call to him and here he sat.

  The decrepit old woman cackled, rubbing stones together in her hands before casting them upon the cards. Leaning close to study them, she said, "You'll be a great warrior, a great king, young pup. You'll not be defeated in battle."

  Germaine puzzled over this. "But I've two brothers before me in line for succession. How can I be king?"

  "Never mind the present," the hag dismissed, waving a wrinkled hand. "You will be king."

  Leaning closer, dread and fear and intense yearning filling him, the teenager asked, "Can you see my death? How will I die if I'm never defeated in battle?"

  The witch clucked a bit, poking at this stone and that as she muttered to herself. "You will die by a sword, young kingling. It will be wielded by the child of your enemy, one of royal blood who will avenge those before and after."

  After his brothers had been killed in assorted wars, his father gasping his last at the end of a spear, the Invader had begun his trek across the map. Of the four kingdoms he'd taken, all of royal blood were slain. There'd been an instance or two of trouble, but he'd been ultimately successful.

  "And I'll be successful now," he stated, finishing his wine.

  Stepping into the courtyard, Dominic cuffed a page that inadvertently impeded his path. He smiled in grim satisfaction when the lad yelped and ducked away from a further beating. The physical attack did nothing to ease the deep anger in his heart.

  Bastard! How dare he toss me off as so much rubbish!

  Dominic made his way across the crowded courtyard, ignoring the soldiers still in the process of sorting through the Invader's new wealth. "Wealth he wouldn't have if it weren't for my intervention."

  "Eh? You say somethin'?" a passing guardsman asked, carefully balancing a large tapestry on one shoulder.

  Startled, his anger deepening at his slip, Dominic growled, "Nothing for your ears."

  The guardsman snorted derisively but held his tongue.

  Dominic arrived at his destination, a low door on the east wall, without further ado. The hall he entered was dark with an aroma that was coolness and death, the usual scent of musty stone mingling with a coppery tang. As he closed the thick door behind him, the rattle and activity of the courtyard faded away.

  Sighing in relief at the audible reprieve, Dominic moved silently through the hall. The aide sidestepped a dried pool of blood, thoughts intent on his abrupt dismissal.

  Bastard would never have taken the castle without my help, Dominic grumbled to himself.

  Most of his life at court had been aimed at attaining power. Dominic wasn't presumptuous enough to desire the throne. He was a realist; no one would follow a king who had more interest in the fashions of the day than his people. But to be the man who had the king's ear... That was a worthy goal. Initially, things had worked in Dominic's favor and his career flowered as he progressed along the path to become the king's personal aide. All shriveled away when he ran into the stone wall called Queen Mugaion Caesarin Elizabeth Dulce Annaatje.

  To say the queen disliked Dominic was an understatement of grand proportions. He was never sure whether it was something he'd done

  or a distinct loathing for no other reason than he existed. Dominic assumed the latter for nothing he did or said seemed to alter the queen's distaste. Unfortunately for the ambitious man, Caesarin also had her husband's ear.

  Dominic slipped into the small chambers he had called home these last few months. Throwing open an oak wardrobe, he looked at his clothes in dismay. There was no way Dominic could take all his belongings and he began weeding through the clothing as frustrated musings continued.

  Every attempt at getting into the monarch's good graces was met with resistance. Dominic soon realized his future hopes were dashed and he began searching for another way to attain them. It had been a difficult decision but, with no other way of reaching the king, only one avenue remained. Moving on to another kingdom was out of the question - Dominic's network of informants and hoodlums couldn't be moved. Either find another throne, starting from scratch, or remain and bring another to power.

  The Invader had been a difficult man to reach. Once their initial meeting was complete, however, Dominic felt a renewed sense of purpose; his proposals and offers accepted, a pact was made that would further his desires. That the Dulce king and his bitch would be dead was only added incentive.

  With a frustrated sigh, Dominic slammed the wardrobe closed. Everything would have to be replaced. Opening a trunk at the foot of his small bed, he pulled out a travel pack. A few pieces of jewelry, a couple of changes of clothing and three small scrolls were all the space Dominic could afford.

  Shouldering his bag, Dominic took a final look at his furnishings. I must take the bastard Invader down. Another frustrated sigh escaped him and he left the room.

  Somewhere, there was a renegade princess on the run from a usurper. I wonder, Dominic speculated, What if I found her first?

  A full day of travel had passed and Katerin was bone weary. Their pace slowed to a crawl now that night was upon them, the added smell of nearby wood smoke urging them to greater caution.

  The trio kept to the forest, evading one patrol after another, with no chance to rest. The Invader was not content with spilling most of the royal bloodline; he was obviously hunting for the final heir between he and the throne. Fortunately, Hector had served in the guard as a younger man. His experience was invaluable as the need to hide their trail was tested again and again.

  Wrapped in the only cloak, the women waited in the shadows of a large elm while the ex-soldier scouted the cause of the smoke. Stomach grumbling, the princess blushed in embarrassment at the din. Just what we need - to be discovered by the noise from my belly. Ilia heard it, as well, placing a hand on the young monarch's shoulder in a comforting gesture. Katerin's blush deepened, happy it was unnoticeable in the darkness.

  Though the moon was full, the night was cloudy, sending intermittent splashes of light upon an encampment in the hollow below them. The sight of Hector ducking into the undergrowth was a welcome one; he'd been gone for some time and the princess was beginning to worry.

  Moving close enough for the women to see, Hector held a finger to his lips, urging them further into the forest. Once far enough away, he whispered, "It's a caravan of some sort, Katerin. Maybe merchants. I couldn't tell in the darkness." He pulled two sacks from under his shirt. "But here's some food and water from one of the wagons. We can get more before we leave." He pulled foodstuffs from the sack - a half round of cheese, a loaf of bread and the leg of some sort of animal.

  Despite the sudden ache in her belly, Katerin held her handmaiden back. "You stole it?" she asked, reprimand in her tone.

  Drawing himself up to full height, Hector nodded. "Aye, your Ladyship, I did." He frowned, peering into her dark eyes with intensity. "We don't have the crowns to pay for it and it'll hardly be missed. I'll not have you starve out here in the wilderness! Your father would haunt me 'til the day I die."

  Realizing the truth of his statement, the princess dropped her gaze. With a sigh and a nod, she gestured for Ilia to take the food. "You're right, Hector," she murmured. "We must survive at all costs." Glancing back down the hill, she vowed, "I promise to repay them… somehow."

  The servants looked at each other behind her, worry lining their faces.

  Much as she wanted to eat it all, Katerin knew it would be folly. As Ilia used the dagger to slice the cheese, the princess doled out a portion of meat, deciding to leave the bread for later. Filling the sack with the remaining items, she tied it shut, patting it gently.

  They made short work of their meager allotments, sharing the water skin between them. Acid burned in Katerin's stomach as it demanded more, her app
etite hardly whetted. With a sigh, she put the enticing smell of venison from her mind. "We need to find a place to sleep," she announced.

  "Aye, lady," Hector agreed, glancing around with a calculating gaze. Pointing away from the encampment below, he said, "P'rhaps we can follow this ridge here and see if there's a safe place."

  Nodding, the princess picked up her skirts with one hand and the food with the other. Beside her, Ilia gathered what few personal items they'd been able to scramble during the attack. A lifetime ago, Katerin mourned.

  As the women stood, however, Hector grabbed both of them about the waist and pulled them back. Hissing their surprised gasps to silence, he cupped his ear and pointed up the hillside.

  The distinct sound of a horse snickered. It was near.

  Sudden terror filled Katerin's heart as the servant waved at the encampment below, urging them onward. As quietly as possible, the trio moved along the hillside. Behind them could be heard a muffled curse and the heavy thud of someone dismounting. Reaching the edge of the forest, clouds still covering the moon above, Hector threw caution to the winds and herded his charges across a cleared area and into the encampment itself.

  Ducking behind a wagon, the princess leaned her back against it, watching her one and only aging guardsman peer around the side and back the way they'd come. Before her were several other wagons, their coloring indistinct in the lack of light. Her eyes narrowed as she studied one - Is that a design painted on the side? Hector's hand on her arm refocused her attention.

  With exaggerated movements the servant urged them along the line of wagons until they came to the fourth. Here, he stopped them, hands held aloft, indicating they should wait. Stealthily, he eased around the wagon to have a look behind them.

  The smell of food almost made Katerin swoon. It was overpowering and she knew that this must be the wagon from which Hector had taken their repast. She grasped Ilia's hand for comfort, her stomach growling in demand, and she closed her eyes against the faintness. Above them, clouds drifted aside and the moon illuminated the area.

  "Bleedin' Sif!" came the soft curse.

  Startled at hearing such language from her servant, the princess' eyes opened wide.

  Hector returned to the women, face visible in the moonlight, clearly concerned. Leaning his head close, he breathed, "Only one man. He's got our trail and following." Glancing quickly about, accessing the situation, he grabbed the princess' arm, pulling her toward the back of the wagon.

  As he eased the wagon door ajar, the aroma that assailed them nearly made Katerin faint. His hand on her arm pushed towards the opening and she stumbled on her skirts as she was forced inside, her handmaiden following. Turning in the darkness, the princess could see Hector's silhouette against the moonlit encampment, the tense set of his shoulders, his hand reaching out.

  "Give me the dagger, lady." He glanced once backwards at a noise. "Quickly! I'll try and draw him away!"

  Katerin knew there was no other choice. She handed it to him. "Be careful, Hector," she insisted. "I need you now more than ever!"

  "Aye, lady," Hector grinned, tugging his forelock. "I'll do my best. Now, get back!"

  The princess obeyed, darkness closing in as the wagon door was shut. She heard the latch click into place with a thrill of fear. Groping about her blindly, she found Ilia and the pair sank down to their knees.

  Cautious movement could be heard, the slight jingle of chainmail as someone neared the wagon. Then a silence dragged on for eternity. Katerin felt her eyes widening as she tried to see in the pitch black, her ears nearly growing in length. She held her handmaiden tightly, comforted by arms wrapped about her as well.

  A sudden blur of sound, some sort of skirmish. The wagon thumped once, rocking at the impact of two bodies running into it, and the women were hard pressed not to cry out in fear. More scrabbling, the sound of metal on metal, dogs nearby sounding an alarm, a voice grunted in pain. Ominous silence, only dogs barking in excitement.

  Dread in her heart when Hector did not immediately reappear to open the door, Katerin rose and pushed further into the wagon, pulling her handmaiden with her. Outside voices were raised in sleepy question and irritation. Curling into a corner with Ilia, the princess wrapped her cloak tightly about them, drawing it over their heads. The barking drew closer and soon there were sounds of happily snuffling hounds all about.

  "Freya's tears, Daiki," somebody cursed, getting closer to the provision wagon. "Your hounds raising a ruckus for a midnight snack? Thought you had 'em better trained than that."

  Snort of derision. "If you wouldn't sleep on watch, Tommaso…"

  A gasp of surprise, followed by another curse. Rustling movement.

  "Ros is not going to be happy with this," Tommaso commented. After a pause, he continued, "Both dead and no good comes of that. What do you think they're doing here?"

  Katerin bowed her head in mourning. Poor Hector… All this death and destruction. And for what?

  "Don't know," Daiki answered. Another set of footsteps could be heard. "Habibah! Get Ros."

  Further away, a woman agreed. Only the men shuffling about as they waited broke the silence. After a few moments, other footsteps could be heard, nearing the wagon.

  "What's going on, Daiki?" The voice was low and gruff, filled with command.

  "That, Ros."

  "Bleeding Sif!" Ros cursed. "Tommaso?"

  "That's how we found 'em, Ros," the man responded, tone a bit desperate. "I didn't hear or see nothing - I was on the other side of camp when it happened."

  Another derisive snort from Daiki.

  There was the sound of a resigned sigh. "Well, we can't stay the night here. Someone will be looking for the guard. And who knows what people are waiting for this poor fellow." Pause. "Tommaso, wake Martim. I want you two to clean up this mess. Hide the bodies as best you can. Daiki, Habibah, lock up the dogs. We need to get water from the creek and clean up this mess before we move." As Ros walked away, the orders continued. "We leave within the hour. Roust everyone!"

  A chorus of agreement followed and soon the encampment was a buzz of activity.

  Even if Katerin could leave the provision wagon, there'd be no way she and her handmaiden would get far without detection. And now we don't even have a weapon, she sighed.

  The wait was long and the terror of previous days was taking its toll. Eyelids drooped heavily, startled wide only when the wagon jerked into movement. Making a decision, the princess sat up, pulling the cloak away from her head.

  "Your Highness?" Ilia asked faintly.

  "Katerin or Lady, Ilia," the princess reminded in the dark. She felt for the bag of food that Hecktor had stolen. "We'll be here awhile, I think. It's high time we had more food and some sleep. We're not getting out

  of this wagon without help."

  "Aye, lady."

  The women, bread split in half between them, devoured the remainder of the meat and cheese. Finally sated, Katerin leaned back, weariness washing over her. The gentle rocking of the wagon lulled her into sleep.

  After two days running, her exhaustion was deep. A full belly and the lazy swaying of the wagon didn't help matters any. Katerin's slumber was sound, as was her handmaiden's. Bright sunlight spilling across her closed eyes woke her and the princess jerked upright with a start. Wincing, she raised her hand to block the unwelcome light, turning her head to one side. Beside her, Ilia pulled the cloak up over her face.

  "Well, what have we here?" a gruff voice asked in amusement. "A pair of sleeping mice?"

  Memory crashed in on Katerin, her heart thumping in fear. Eyes adjusting to the brightness, she lowered her hand, peering out the wagon door at a dark silhouette. Her handmaiden peeked over the edge of the cloak.

  "Well?" the voice asked again.

  Swallowing, Katerin cleared her throat. "My name is Katerin. This is Ilia," she nodded at the blonde beside her. She became silent, at a loss.

  The sound of running could be heard and a small voice piped, "Da! Mum says
she'll make cherry hotcakes for breakfast!"

  "Hold, Wilm," the man ordered, looking over one shoulder. "Go get Ros."

  "Aye, Da." Small feet pelted away.

  Children. There are children here, so these people can't be all bad. The princess pulled the cloak from her shoulders, preparing to rise and move towards the entrance.

  "Hold there, girl," came the gruff voice, his attention back on the women. "We'll just wait a moment until Ros gets here, all right?"

  Katerin nodded. "Of course," she answered softly. Remembering the terror of the night, she recalled the sharp command in Ros' voice, the obvious respect from the others. She could feel Ilia trembling and reached over to pat her knee comfortingly, dark eyes warming with the promise to get them both out of this alive.

  As they waited for the mysterious Ros, sounds of people making camp were heard. Voices called back and forth in cheeriness, men and women alike. Somewhere in the near distance, a man yelled out, followed by the rumble of a tree being felled. Footsteps approached.

  "What's the hold up, Willem? We've got hungry people to be fed."

  The man at the entrance stepped back and to one side. "Looks like a pair of mice have crawled into the provisions," he said with a grin, nodding into the wagon.

  It took a moment for Katerin to realize that the new arrival was a woman. She was dressed in black, tunic and breeches, the only color a splash of light blue from her undertunic. Her curly, golden hair was cut scandalously short, giving her a roguish appearance that was further aided by the sword strapped to her hip.

  Eyes narrowed, the woman studied the stowaways. "Come out of there," she demanded, hand resting gently on her sword hilt.

  Recognizing the voice as Ros', the princess obeyed, helping Ilia to her feet. With no sudden movements, Katerin guided her handmaiden out of the wagon, wincing at the bright sunshine that assailed her eyes. Despite the circumstances, she sighed in happiness, finally able to stand to her full height, surreptitiously stretching in pleasure. Eyeing the strangers before her, the princess subtly stepped in front of her handmaiden.