by Jeff Wheeler
He felt a rush of gratitude and intense emotions swell inside him. “When I awaken . . . you’ll be gone.”
She nodded cheerfully. “It is difficult being so different. To be the only one who hears or sees. Thank you for believing in me. It meant so much to me to have someone else believe in me.”
He smiled at her, but felt on the verge of tears. “I won’t see you again.”
She shook her head. “Not until your time in the mortal coil is over. That filthy world with all its greed, anguish, and sorrow. So much of it brought upon itself because people don’t understand what truly gives meaning to life. I have done what the Fountain sent me to do. I am ready to be in a different place.”
A stab of bitterness welled in his stomach. “You crowned a false king. He betrayed you, Genette!”
She patted his arm with her hand. “I know, Gentle Duke. I hoped his better nature might persevere, but I knew what he would do. My mission was not to help Chatriyon, but to save our countrymen. To preserve their lives from a devastating flood. That threat has been averted now. You have to know the rules of the game. Chatriyon has been taught. It is his choice how he plays the game. If he’d chosen to be a good king, he would have earned much wealth and prosperity. Sadly, he will be a dark one. But it is his choice.”
Alensson sighed heavily. “I’m not yet ready to go back to that world,” he said gravely, feeling the grief bubble up inside him. “My child will be stillborn. My wife may perish as well. I’ve lost the scabbard and cannot heal them. It will be painful to go through all of that. It feels so . . . different here.”
A tender smile softened her face. “I know, Alen.” She slowly shook her head, her eyes serious. “But your turn is not yet finished. You will bear those griefs as I have born mine. Knowing the future does not make it any easier to endure. But you still have a role to play. The Fountain needs you. It always has.”
“To do what? Help another lad claim my duchy?” he asked, but could not quite summon the bitterness and resentment he had once felt.
“Was it ever truly yours?” she asked him delicately. “Was it not a gift from the Fountain to your ancestors? We hid the scabbard in Kingfountain because it’s intended for someone else. The sword will be reclaimed one day to aid a new king, a righteous king. It is so simple to limit our view of the world to our immediate surroundings,” she added, gesturing to the resplendent garden. She sidled a little closer and held onto his arm as they walked. “There are worlds beyond imagining, Gentle Duke. Worlds without number. There are times and seasons for them all. I go to join the ranks of others who have gone before me. But I will wait for you, Alen. I will wait until your journey is done. And when it is finished, I will meet you and Jianne and your unborn child here in the garden. I will care for them while you linger. You will feel differently then. Believe me. Trust me. Farewell, Gentle Duke. For now.”
She released his arm and it felt as if tree roots had squirmed through the grass and entangled his feet, forcing him to a halt. She kept walking ahead, looking back at him with an inviting, promising smile. His heart was breaking as he watched her leave.
“Genette!” he called after her. There was a stab of sunlight in his eyes, forcing him to look away. He blinked rapidly, trying to see her through the blaze.
And that was when he awoke.
He was cold, though that was hardly an adequate word to describe it. His body was rigid and stiff and his face was numb from being pressed against the ice. The prick of light in his eyes came from the actual sun, cresting a snowy peak with brilliant wonder. It hurt to look at it, but he could still hear the murmur of the fountain water from the garden in his dream. There were clouds in the sky and the sunlight bathed them in dazzling hues that made him want to weep for their beauty. His vision drifted lower, finding the boulder. He saw the Maid chained there, frozen. Dead.
As his senses began to return to the pain and cold of his mortal confinement, he registered the sound of crunching bootsteps and garbled voices. With half-veiled lids, he saw the soldiers inspecting the camp.
“They’re all dead, including the girl,” one of them said, sniffing against his leather glove.
“I can’t believe it. Deford will be furious. He won’t believe this.” The second soldier’s tone was incredulous, full of awed disbelief.
“I just don’t understand. All the nightwatch were slain by sword, yet there is not one bloody sword among them. The girl is chained to the rock like when we left her. Did they all go mad and kill themselves?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to make of it. Where is Brant?”
“He’s over there. Oy, Brant! What did you find?”
Alensson’s body was painfully stiff, but he didn’t dare move. There was no way he could fight at the moment, and he knew he was in trouble. These were all the king’s men and he wasn’t one of them. If they noticed he wasn’t wearing the tunic—
Then he noticed that he was wearing one of the soldiers’ tunics. His own cloak was draped across him, covered with freshly fallen snow. How had this happened? Then he remembered and the grief crashed over him like storm-driven waves onto a rocky shore. He had fallen asleep when Genette had kissed his eyes and uttered the word of power. What had she done in the interim?
“This one fell trying to escape,” a man shouted from a distance. “He’s got a wound in his back from a spear by the looks of it. No spear around, though. No weapons at all. Whoever killed them left.”
“Are you sure the girl is really dead?” one of them asked worriedly. “Someone could have switched her body for another!”
“You think me daft, man? You guarded her just as I did. Tell me that’s not the strumpet from Occitania. She’s frozen to death. But I’d know that face, that hair. You want to know what I thinks? I thinks one of these fools tried something foolish with her. You know what I mean. And she cursed them to kill one another. If we hadn’t bound her to the stone, she’d have escaped all right. And then we’d all be in the river. At least she’s dead.”
“At least she’s dead,” his partner agreed thankfully. “What do we do?”
“We fetch a wagon and bring them down to Dundrennan. What else do you think? There were six soldiers who come up here last night. And there are six soldiers left. They’re all dead. We have the bodies to prove it, including hers.”
Alensson wondered if Genette had hidden one of the bodies beneath the snow or shoved it off the edge of the mountain.
“This mountain is cursed,” a soldier moaned. “I’m never coming up here again.”
“Nor me either,” said the other. “Let’s stack the bodies over there.”
Another soldier marched up to them. “At least they’ll be getting a ride down the mountain, eh? Lucky sods.”
“Don’t joke,” someone said, rubbing his gloved hands over the arms of his cloak. “This place gives me a strange feeling. It’s over, though. The Fountain didn’t save her after all. It was all a riddle. A farce.”
“Aye. You two grab that one.”
“Yes, sir.”
Alensson feigned the mask of death as he listened to their approaching footsteps. His mind was sharp, but his limbs were still unusable. One soldier grabbed his ankles. The other hoisted him beneath his arms. His heart throbbed with pain and wretchedness.
“Come on, lift. Don’t make me carry the bulk!”
“I am lifting! I thought we’d only be carrying one corpse back down the mountain in the wagon, not this lot too.”
Through his lashes, Alensson saw that he had been positioned right near the brazier. All the torches were out, but there were still some smoldering coals left in it. Genette had kept him by the fire while she had willingly frozen to death. She’d positioned him so that his back and neck were to the brazier, his face toward her so that she could look at him in her final moments. His heart ached for her, for his wife, for the child he’d not see until his own death. How different things could have been had Chatriyon chosen better things. How different indeed.
As they lugged him away, he cast a final look at her stiff body, watching as another soldier unlocked the chains. Her mouth had frozen into a smile of victory.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Black Knight
Ankarette and Alensson were hidden in a hollowed-out trunk near a gurgling stream. They had rested there for several hours and continued their hushed conversation until the crack of wood nearby had alerted her. There was something dreadfully wrong. Ankarette’s senses were taut with danger. It was not possible that their pursuers could have found them this quickly. The riders who had accosted their wagon had been the outriders of a larger force bent on hunting them down. They had scarcely stolen the mens’ horses and tunics when the sound of approaching soldiers reached them. Ankarette had sent the two Espion into the woods on the left and urged them to return with reinforcements. Then she and the duke had taken the strongest of the beasts and ridden on ahead, only to find a picket of stakes blocking the road. At first Ankarette had thought the pickets were a trap, but then she’d realized these were the border defenders of Occitania, here to alert King Lewis of troop movements from his rival on the throne in Kingfountain.
She and the old duke had plunged into the woods on the right side of the road in the hopes of losing their pursuers. Then they’d ditched the horses to provide a false trail and found refuge in the hollow trunk. But their pursuers hadn’t taken the bait.
All her ruses were failing.
The forest was thick, full of moss-covered trees, and furrowed with deep ravines and gulches. There were plenty of places to hide, but the poisoner knew she could not stay still.
“I don’t understand how they keep on our trail,” Ankarette said in a low voice, deciding it was better to flee before they were surrounded. The two departed the trunk and hiked side by side eastward, trying to reach a break in the woods. She knew Eredur’s army was nearby. If she could only reach it, they would be protected, and she knew her king would value the prize she had brought.
The duke was breathing heavy in short order. He was much older than her, but still had the strength for a long march. “It’s happened to me before,” he said darkly. “Every time I’ve risen against the king, he knew where to find me. His spies are everywhere.”
She shook her head. “This is more than spycraft, Alensson. I can sense Fountain magic at work. It’s subtle and I cannot determine the source . . . but it’s coming from behind us. He sent someone who is Fountain-blessed to hunt you. What I don’t understand is why they let us get this far. Why didn’t they stop us from leaving the city?”
“I don’t understand it either, Ankarette.” He dodged a low-hanging branch and then lifted it so she wouldn’t have to duck. He had not lost his courteous manners.
There was a call coming from the woods on the left. It could have been a bird, but she recognized it as a human sound. The soldiers were trying to flank them, to encircle them.
“This way,” she said, tugging at his sleeve, leading him toward a ravine with a trickling stream at the bottom that joined the one they had left. “There was a river that leads to the king’s camp,” she said. “I remember seeing it before I left. I think we are drawing near. This brook may feed into it.”
“Which river was it?” Alensson asked. “I can tell you.”
“It was the Sienna River. The one that leads to Pree. The army is encamped on the other side of Montreux Bridge.”
A wise grin passed over Alensson’s face.
“You know that bridge?”
“Of course I know that bridge,” he said with a chuckle. “That’s where Chatriyon murdered his rival, the King of Brugia. Is that were Lewis and Eredur plan to meet?”
“It is. I’ve not heard this story.”
“It was famous back in its day. But it’s long been forgotten. Are we going down into the ravine?”
“I think we should,” Ankarette said.
He shook his head. “This will lead to the Sienna. It would be wise for us to follow it for a while, but let’s not go down there just yet. Once we’re there, it’ll be easier for them to trap us. Let’s save it for a final hope. Agreed?”
“Agreed. As long as we’re heading in the right direction.”
“We are . . . I know this wood. Let me tell you this story quickly. It may save your king’s life. I’ll keep my voice low.”
“Thank you,” she answered, keeping alert for noise of their pursuers. She could hear them in the woods. They weren’t troubling to keep their silence. The occasional spurt of voices or cracking of limbs announced their presence. She was determined to bring Alensson to safety. Perhaps their hunter had a special gift from the Fountain that enabled him to pursue someone?
“Montreux Bridge is just ahead,” Alensson said, pointing. “The Sienna is too difficult for an army to cross. The bridge is notoriously stone and quite defensible. What’s not well known is that a secret trapdoor was built into the flooring on the other side of the bridge. The side your king is encamped on.”
“A trapdoor? To what purpose?”
“Murder, of course. Before a negotiation, the king’s men will erect two timber cages on the bridge, and the two sides will meet in the cages. The doors are locked. The arrangement ensures only a few men on each side are involved in the negotiation and the cages prevent them from attacking each other. But there is the trapdoor. At the king’s signal, the soldiers hidden under the bridge come through the trapdoor and kill those inside the cage on the enemy’s side. That’s what happened to the King of Brugia when he came to negotiate peace with Chatriyon. This was before Chatriyon was crowned king at Ranz. This deception was the reason Brugia sided with Ceredigion during the troubles that followed. Chatriyon’s father often relied on murder and duplicity too. He bribed several lords to betray the King of Ceredigion before Azinkeep. Unfortunately, they were discovered and sent over the falls. The best way to win a battle is to prevent one.”
“So you are saying that Lewis is only pretending he will negotiate peace terms with Eredur in order to assassinate him?”
“Yes, my dear. That is precisely what I am saying. Eredur thinks he came to fight a battle. I assure you that Lewis has no intention of fighting a battle. He knows his history, Ankarette. He knows about Azinkeep, Vernay, and Pree. He knows the costs of losing. And Eredur has a fearsome reputation on the battlefield. One side is playing Wizr. The other side is playing with wooden staves. There are two different games going on. Best you know this. Best you realize what’s truly happening.”
“Thank you for the warning,” Ankarette said. “I hadn’t known that bit about the betrayal of Brugia.”
“Not many remember the past.” His breath was coming in ragged pants now and she hoped they reached the safety of her king’s army soon. He would be such an asset to Ceredigion, and she really thought Eredur would like him. He would be a great addition to the king’s council. If he survived that long. The Maid’s prophecy about his death rattled her. She glanced backward, hopeful she wouldn’t see anyone yet.
“Do you have any . . . further questions for me?” Alensson huffed. Another whistle came from the right. The enemy was getting closer.
“Let me see if I can lay it out,” Ankarette said, searching the woods. She caught a shiver of movement—a man ducking behind a tree behind them. He was trailing them from a distance. She considered the possibility of doubling back to kill him, but she didn’t dare leave the duke unguarded. “The last time you saw the Maid’s sword was when you threw it at that man’s back, wasn’t it? The soldier who was fleeing from you. There was no sword on the scene, which means Genette took it somewhere. Do you think she hid it in the ice cave?”
“Possibly,” came the answer. “I have never been able to prove it, for I never returned to the North.”
Ankarette nodded. “So you don’t believe that Lewis has it. He allows people to believe he does, but it’s likely a bluff.”
“Indeed. He’s quite good at those.”
“You were carried off the
mountain with the corpses in a wagon. No one bothered to check if you were alive. And no one guards a wagon of corpses. You slipped away the first chance you got.”
“You are a crafty lass, Ankarette. So far, you are right.”
“And since Genette disguised you as one of the king’s soldiers, you had no trouble making it back to the borders. You returned to the cottage as quickly as you could. Had your wife delivered the baby yet?”
He let out a deep, ragged breath. “I was not there when she first went into early labor. Alix stayed by her side. I arrived just before it was over. The babe was stillborn, as you know.” His voice softened as he spoke the words. “Jianne was so weak, so heartsick, that she died a month later. Alix pleaded with tears for her to hold on, to come back to us. I was her nurse, her constant companion. She said she had to leave us, to be with the child. She told me she understood why I had left. And then . . . she was gone.” His voice was a mere whisper at the end.
The poignant recollection throbbed in Ankarette’s heart. She was a midwife herself and knew some of the remedies that could have sustained Alensson’s wife. But even the surest remedies wouldn’t work if someone was determined to fade.
“You never remarried,” Ankarette said, struggling to find her voice.
He looked back at her. “I did.”
She gave him a startled look.
“You must understand, Ankarette. It is the privilege of a king to decide whom his nobles will marry. Even though I was penniless. Even though I was scarred by the ordeals of my life, Chatriyon arranged for me to marry the daughter of one of his sycophants. Someone to keep an eye on me. It was not a pleasant memory, and I was not a good husband. To be honest with you, I was quite bitter during those years. But we had no children. And when she died, I was considered too old to sire an heir. I could not stand being in Chatriyon’s court.” He stumbled on a tree root and caught himself on a trunk. Sweat trickled down his cheeks. His strength was flagging, but they were so close. Ankarette thought she could hear the rushing water of the Sienna River.
