by Guy Antibes
“I was taken to a square, tied to a post, and told to wait patiently for my death. Valanna can tell you the rest.”
“You were part of the rescuers?” Axlewood said.
“It turns out that I am the strongest magician in Pestledown.” Valanna then told her version of the story. “We didn’t know the Vashtans had used a truth spell on Snively. With all of your secrets told, he thinks there is little reason to wait long before you attack.”
“I agree,” Snively said. His diffident demeanor hadn’t quite returned, and she could tell that he really hurt.
“I wish we could leave Darkpuddle now, but we will have to wait a week or two. My men aren’t fully trained, and we don’t have a good plan for incorporating magical assistance.”
“Then as soon as Asem and Henrig return with the rest of our group, we should begin planning,” Valanna said. “Asem has more military experience than any of us, and he knows my capabilities.” At least, she thought, as well as anyone. She didn’t think assaulting Pestledown Palace would be easy, but it seemed that there were more men training outside in the cold than there were guards and thugs in King Harl’s employ.
“Where is the Pestledown Army in all of this?” Valanna said.
Axlewood laughed. “There is no Pestledown Army. King Harl disbanded it seven years ago when the Warish influence was at its peak. That was obviously part of King Marom’s plan, along with the previous mandate prohibiting magic. We started up our organization in a small way at the time, with the support of Esmera and Neel Cardswallow. I believe you know both of them. We’ve ramped up quite a bit since Neel left to fight in the Santasian civil war. Harl tried to capture him too many times, and that distraction gave us the opportunity to increase the size of our organization.”
“Thank you for taking us in.”
“It is our pleasure to entertain you, Princess. Perhaps we might have some refreshments before your other group arrives.
~
Asem paced back and forth in the private dining room of Beltfeeler’s Inn. “I am not pleased with Danson Axlewood’s rise to lead the rebellion.”
“He runs a real army. I can’t rise to the Pestlan throne until that army has taken over Pestledown,” Valanna said. “We can’t just walk in by ourselves, even if King Harl is down a few Yellow Fox Vashtans.”
“I agree,” Henrig said, swirling the deep red wine in his goblet. “Danson hasn’t said he wanted to take over the country.”
“Coffun swears that all will recognize my claim to the throne.”
Asem waved her comment away. “As long as you cut Pestle off from Warish.”
“Pestle is already cut off from Warish,” Valanna said, playing with the fork after their meal. “I’m still Marom’s fifth wife, and we can effect a formal treaty. Isn’t that what King Marom wants?”
Asem walked to the single window in the room and gazed out at the large stableyard. Beltfeeler’s Inn was three times the size of Esmera’s and not more than a few years old. “I don’t know what my cousin wants. He wants control of Pestle, but after that?” He shook his head. “Does he want to rule both countries from Balbaam? That he has never shared with me. Prince Nez would have been a titular head and, hopefully, forced to follow his father’s wishes. I don’t think that strategy changes with you on the Pestlan throne.”
Valanna knew she had to walk carefully. Asem’s loyalty had to rest with King Marom first and her, second. She wished that Axlewood hadn’t been so forceful in his first meeting with Asem, relegating him to a minor advisor. Coffun had shrunk into a corner, and Snively’s pain kept him from contributing much to the meeting.
It appeared that spies didn’t have the power that she had originally thought, and when she reviewed General Niamo’s relationship with Misson Dalistro, it hadn’t seemed much different. Would Misson have been listened to at all if his father wasn’t the political head of the Loyalists in the Santasian civil war? Trak had to leave because of the General’s attitude towards him. Would Axlewood have treated Trak the same way? She clutched her fists in frustration while she listened to Asem. Enough was enough.
“What keeps us from acting independently, but coordinating with Axlewood? Why do we have to wait for him to tell us what to do, but do what we want at the same time?” Valanna said.
Asem looked at her as if he had been struck. “What do you mean?”
Valanna clamped her lips together, gathering the inner strength to say what was in her heart. “I didn’t sign up to join the Pestlan Army. I am not a soldier reporting up the chain of command to Danson Axlewood. I am an agent of Warish and a pretender to the throne of Pestle. I do not want to follow along Danson Axlewood like an animal on a leash.”
“I agree with Valanna,” Kulara said, standing up from her chair. “We choose to coordinate with the Pestlans, not become buried in their army. I had enough of that in Santasia, running reconnaissance missions for General Niamo. We had no real role in the conflict until Trak decided to break off on his own. He saved the Santasians.”
Valanna nodded. “He did, and we will do the same.” She stood up. “I’m going to visit Axlewood now.” She leaned into the teleport pose and stood in front of the headquarters building.
~
A soldier, lying on the muddy ground, looked up at Valanna. She leaned over and helped him to his feet. “I am sorry I pushed you over,” she said.
He looked very flustered. “How…I mean where did you come from?”
“Beltfeeler’s,” Valanna said as she proceeded up the stairs without wiping her feet on the boot scrapers.
Axlewood stood by an orderly’s desk, speaking to him with a paper in his hand.
“Miss Almond,” he said, looking a bit shocked. His form of address told Valanna how he really regarded her.
“We have to have a quick discussion,” she said, while walking into his office. She stood at the door, and closed it as he walked through.
“What do you want?” Axlewood’s voice betrayed a hint of impatience.
Valanna leaned against the closed door and took a deep breath. “An understanding. I want an understanding about your role and my role in this rebellion.”
“You said you had joined us,” he said.
“You assumed that. We have the same goal, to depose Harl Crustwillow and eliminate the Vashtans. However, once that goal is accomplished, I think our intentions diverge.”
Axlewood narrowed his eyes. “They might,” he said.
“They do. It is my opinion that you have no desire to see me rule Pestle. Placing me on the throne as a puppet to smooth over a transition is how you see my role.”
He looked at Valanna appraisingly for a moment. “Perhaps.”
“Just between you and me, I have no desire to be a puppet. Not for Warish and not for you. I don’t claim to be a supreme political mind, but I listen, and I learn, and I have opinions to bounce what I know against what people tell me. I’ll not be forced to abdicate if I have to fight for the Pestlan throne.”
“I didn’t say you would have to.”
“Didn’t say or didn’t think. Do you want me to throw a truth spell on you? I remain a powerful magician.”
Danson’s eyes widened a bit, and he raised both hands in the air. “No need. I don’t really know you, Princess. I will admit that if circumstances create a Pestle worse than our present condition, I don’t intend on letting lives be lost in vain.”
Valanna noticed he used her honorific. She must have scored a point or two. “We both agree on that, so let us come to an accommodation. The group at Beltfeeler’s will operate as an adjunct force. We will keep each other informed as to our operations as best we can with the condition that any direct assault on the palace will be coordinated between us, and that means we participate in the planning.”
Danson pursed his lips and walked over to his desk. “Let’s put that in writing for our mutual protection.”
“Gladly,” Valanna said.
“Yellowmasher!”
The
clerk that Axlewood had been talking to tried to enter the room. Valanna realized that she still held onto the door latch and stepped away.
“Yes, General Axlewood,” the man said, once he squeezed his way through the door.
“Paper and pen, and you will be the recorder. We are negotiating an agreement, Princess Valanna and I.”
~~~
Chapter Eighteen
~
Princess Pullia did her best to look like Lia, wife of Trak Bluntwithe, while they waited to stand before a magistrate. She ruffled her hair, and Trak thought it only improved her appeal. She continued to put her arm through his and slumped next to him while they sat in the large holding area in the building’s basement.
A constable brought the prisoners tea from time to time and helped those in urgent need to the lavatory in the district’s administration building.
“Trak and Lia Bluntwithe.” Finally, someone called their names. They had ceased to learn anything new despite being surrounded by Zamiel’s citizens. The prisoners all clung to their favorite factions, but few had any more idea of what the factions were intending to do than Trak did.
They hobbled, still bound, up a flight of stairs and were led to a large room, empty except for a man and a woman sitting at a desk with stacks of paper in front of them and a formidable-looking man who leaned against a lectern of some kind.
“You are Trak Bluntwithe of Pestle?” Trak had lost his knit hat in the scuffle in the square and thought it best to tell the truth, mostly.
“I am and this is my loving companion, Lia.”
“You are his wife?” the man said, narrowing his eyes.
He looked intently at Lia. Trak followed his eyes and admired how pretty Lia still looked in her disheveled state.
“I should hope so,” she said, nudging Trak in the ribs with her elbow.
“You two are charged with disorderly conduct and unlawful assembly. What do you have to say in your defense?”
Trak took a moment to think. “I am new to Zamiel, having traveled over the mountains. I spent some time in Santasia. Lia,” he patted her hand, “wanted to see the city of her birth, so since the road was open, we came here. While strolling though the streets, we saw the crowd listening to the speaker. I didn’t know it was a crime to listen to another talk, and then the constables came.” He shrugged his shoulders and stopped talking. He had said enough.
“How did you acquire this?” the magistrate said. He pulled Trak’s Benninese sword from behind the lectern together with his knit cap.
Trak didn’t have a good answer, so he thought a partial one might work. “I bought it in a sword shop. It has marvelous balance.”
“Indeed it does.” The magistrate closed his eyes and posed. Trak knew the pose and cringed. “And you are the infamous Trak Bluntwithe.”
“You’ve heard of me?”
“Most people in our country have heard of some of your exploits. You have a decent reputation among us for saving Western Toryan lives as well as Kandannan lives during our short-lived invasion of Santasia.” He ran his hand over the sword’s scabbard, still wound with black cloth, although some of the edges had begun to fray. “We also know that you were sent to Bennin to rescue Princess Pullia.”
Trak could feel his face begin to blush. His heart began to beat more quickly, and he considered teleporting Lia and himself to the inn.
The magistrate knelt in front of Lia. “I am your loyal servant, Your Highness.”
“Why did you use your real name?” Lia said to Trak, with more than a touch of anger in her voice. “Now look what you’ve done.”
Trak lowered his head. He recognized that Princess Pullia had to take over, now that they were in public. “Please forgive me, Princess.”
She ignored Trak’s apology and raised her chin. “You are?”
“Magistrate Hamirul, Your Highness. I have summoned palace guards to take you to the castle. Our illustrious king has been notified of your return.” He looked at the two scribes. “You may leave. Not a word to anyone,” Hamirul said, raising his finger to his throat and sliding it along his neck.
The pair quickly left, bowing and scraping their way out of the room.
“This way, Your Highness.” Hamirul looked back at Trak. “You may accompany us. Leave your sword.”
Trak grunted and took his sword and swiped his hat from the podium, ignoring Hamirul’s request. He pulled the knit hat over his head while they were led to a carriage waiting at the back of the building and whisked away.
The pair looked at each other, somewhat bewildered. “What just happened?” Lia said. “Magistrate Hamirul recognized me, and then tucked us into this carriage?”
Trak tried to pull up the solid shade on the window and found it nailed shut. “This is not the act of a supporter,” he said. “They are taking us somewhere, and it’s not a triumphant welcome.” He tried to kick out the shade, but couldn’t, so he blasted it open with his magic. “Where are we going?”
“To the Cliffs.”
“What are they?” Trak said, poking his head out of the window.
“The Cliffs overlook the river, and it looks like we will soon be plunging down two hundred feet to our deaths.” Lia began to struggle with the door latch.
“It won’t open,” Trak said. “This is a hastily arranged assassination by your uncle, I would imagine.”
Lia kicked at the door. “How can you be so serene? We are going to die!”
The carriage hit a bump and began to roll on rough terrain. Trak grabbed onto Lia and teleported.
~
They stood on the edge of a precipice. Trak looked down at the carriage slamming into the water below. The city wall stood fifty yards away from the edge showing an open door, just wide enough for the carriage.
Trak teleported back to the Magistrate’s courtroom.
Hamirul conferred with three other men, huddled around the lectern.
“That wasn’t the trip that was promised,” Lia said, in full Princess Pullia mode.
The men turned around. They all displayed looks of shock.
“You are agents of my uncle?”
Trak pulled out his sword. “I suggest you tell the truth.”
Lia posed and said the truth power word.
“Who ordered you to kill us?”
“The king,” Hamirul said.
“Which king?” Trak held out his sword.
His face contorted as he struggled with the spell.
“Which king!” Lia said.
“Basiul of the Eastern Toryans,” Hamirul said. He leaned on the lectern, exhausted from fighting the spell.
“What of my uncle? Does he want me dead?”
Hamirul didn’t struggle with that command. “As far as I know, no.”
“Does the king seek to kill both of us or just me?” Trak wondered who represented the greater threat to Eastern Torya.
Hamirul looked blankly at Trak and then turned to Lia. “Answer his question,” she said.
“Bluntwithe,” he lifted his chin in Trak’s direction, still looking at Lia. “You would have been useful, but you don’t represent the threat that he does.”
“What are you going to do with them?” Lia said.
“Nothing right now, but I am more than capable of punishing them at my whim,” Trak said, looking at the four men. “Bear that in mind. I can appear in your midst at any time.” He turned to Lia. “We know we can’t trust the Eastern Toryans.”
“Or my people, either. There are too many factions. What has happened to my country?”
Trak shook his head. “The civil war with Santasia affected the political situation in your country more severely than I thought.”
“We thought,” Lia said.
~
What if Trak had brought Valanna with him to Torya? He shuddered at the thought. At least Princess Pullia had some degree of power, and now he wanted to take her somewhere far away, even more. He still thought of living in a little corner of Santasia. Maybe up in t
he northeast on the coast. He sighed as he looked at Lia, sleeping on the bed in their room at the inn.
He sat on the floor with his arms wrapped around his knees, just taking in her beauty. Their return to the inn was uneventful, but that was only a very temporary situation once they had been identified at the administration building. Trak gazed at his hand and found his unique magic streams. Could someone have looked at their magic? Lia was exceptionally strong, but her stream looked similar enough to Tembul’s that she would be classified the same as any strong Toryan.
Trak wondered if he could mask his magic. He pictured a glove covering his hand, hiding the magic that flowed into him from the tips of his fingers and his skin. It seemed to work as he thought harder. The magic streams could still be seen, but it looked no different from any normal person. Tembul could look at him, once he was cloaked again.
Again he considered teaching poseless magic to Lia, and decided to put it off until their living arrangement had stabilized.
A pounding on the door interrupted Trak’s thoughts. Had the Western Toryans already found them? Trak drew his sword and created a shield that would also protect Lia, who stirred from her sleep.
“What is it?” Trak said.
“Tembul’s hurt!” Trak could make out Sirul’s voice.
He looked back at Lia. “Get up and make a shield for yourself.”
He expected Lia to grumble at his terse words, but he heard her feet hit the floor. Collapsing his shield, Trak held the sword upright and cracked open the door. Sirul stood wringing his hands.
“Where is he?” Trak said.
“Follow me.” Sirul led Trak and Lia down the back servant stairs to a ground floor storage room.
Tembul moaned inside. “I didn’t tell them,” he said.
Trak could figure out what. “How did you get here?”
“They left me for dead. I crawled along the alley where they beat me, and a woman took pity and patched up the worst of my wounds, and then hired a cab to bring me here.” Tembul grabbed Trak’s arm. His grip was very weak.
Trak looked back at Lia. “Tembul needs help. It’s time to visit your uncle.”
