“Tempest, I think they are back”
Her new friend sat up, blinking. She gently shook Tiresias awake and the three walked out of the dirt cave, shielding their eyes from the morning light.
Julian, Vladimir, and Kian were speaking with Katrina and Grigore. All of them grew silent when they noticed them exiting the cave. Pepca guessed they had been discussing what had transpired the night before.
Without warning, Tempest punched her in the arm and pointed to Julian. “I told you.”
Pepca grimaced and rubbed her arm.
Kian looked at Tempest. “Gather your things. We are leaving soon.”
Without argument, the girl went back into the cave to retrieve her belongings.
Pepca stood staring at Julian until he noticed her. He gave her a smile then turned his attention back to the conversation.
“I wish you could come with us, Kian. Julian was right, you are a man to be reckoned with,” Vladimir said.
“After Tempest and Tiresias are settled, I will try and pass back this way.”
Julian stepped forward and took Kian’s arm in a warrior’s grip. “It was good to see you again, Kian.”
“It is good to know you have fared well. Take care of yourself, Julian.”
“I think I should go with, Kian,” Katrina blurted out. Everyone looked at her like she had grown a second head.
“We still need to check on our agents in Brova. I could at least travel with the swordsman that far. Maybe keep him from walking into trouble, we owe him that.”
Vladimir gave her a strange look as the female rebel tried to explain her motives. Pepca could see something pass between the two, but she didn’t know Vladimir or Katrina well enough to know what it was. She was just happy that the auburn-haired woman might be leaving.
Vladimir spread his hands. “If you wish to go with him, Trina, you have no need to ask me, and you’re right, you still have business in Brova, but it’s Kian who you should ask.”
Katrina faced the swordsman, her face devoid of emotion.
The swordsman shrugged. “If you wish to come along with us as far as Brova, I have no objection. You look to be able to handle yourself.”
“Well, that’s settled then. I hope we meet again, swordsman. Safe journey, my friend. Katrina, I will see you in the south,” Vladimir said, giving the woman a brief embrace.
“Tempest, let’s go,” Kian barked.
The girl came out of the cave, swinging her bow and quiver over her shoulder and dragging little Tiresias by the hand. She stopped and threw her arms around Pepca, whispering in her ear, “Good luck with Julian and don’t be afraid, you are very beautiful. He would be blessed to have you.” She kissed Pepca on the cheek and trotted after Kian with the little girl trailing behind.
Pepca felt a lump in her throat as she watched Tempest go. She would miss her.
His buttocks were sore from the riding and his back burned like fire. The archbishop knew his body was too old for such rough traveling, but Volos Lech was not one to shirk his duty. God needed him and the almighty’s wishes could not be denied. After all, he was Trimenia’s shepherd and his flock’s very souls required his protection from the darkness that had wormed its way into his beloved country. The Beast’s wickedness was afoot in the kingdom and he intended to drive out the foul Lord of Evil’s malevolent influence, no manner what hardships his aging body had to contend with.
Glancing to his right, Archbishop Lech studied Brother Xavier as the monk scanned Baron Serban’s castle. The stronghold was to the north of Brova, and the ride had to get there had taken two days. The fortified estate sat on a low hill surrounded by open ground, except to its west side. There, the tree line came within less than a hundred yards of the castle walls. They had stopped their advance just inside the edge of the wood.
“The baron’s keep looks well built,” the monk stated without taking his eyes from the structure.
“He is very particular about such things,” Volos offered. “Are you sure we are doing the right thing, Brother?”
“He left us no choice. Your baron is too concerned with his petty schemes to listen to our warnings. The destruction of our Lord’s enemies is far more important than anything your nobleman could possibly be tending to and it is our sacred duty to see an end of these creatures, with or without the good baron’s assistance.”
Archbishop Lech didn’t believe he was in a position to question the monk’s actions. Brother Xavier was a member of the Order of the Blessed, and the priests of that order had been ordained by the pope himself. Each of the monks had been gifted by God with extraordinary powers, and their influence in the holy city of Asqutania was formidable, but they were not in the Tyroian capital, and Serban was an unforgiving man. There could be dire consequences when the baron found out what they had done.
He had known the noble for some time and the baron had been a staunch supporter of the endeavors of Holy Mother Church, but once he knew that they had stolen into his home and absconded with his guests, there was no doubt the powerful lord would be furious. Hopefully, he and Brother Xavier could convince him of the wisdom of their actions before he flew into one of his famed fits of rage.
“I should have little trouble entering the castle, Eminence. Once I have gained the inside, I will open the western sally port. The Hands will enter from there.”
The archbishop looked back at the men behind him. Nearly a dozen members of the Hand of God sat in total silence just inside the cover of the trees. Brother Xavier had brought the warrior priests with him when he had ridden into Brova several months ago, and the archbishop had not had a conversation with any of the grim-faced priests the entire time they had been in Trimenia.
“How many men do you think guard the castle?” the monk asked.
“I really wouldn’t know, but I would say few since Baron Serban has so many of his warriors out searching for Princess Pepca and the escaped rebels.”
“What of the baron himself?”
“I understand he has returned to the royal palace,” the archbishop said, pulling at his beard.
Xavier rode back to where the Hands waited and began to whisper instructions.
Raising his liver-spotted hands, the archbishop rubbed the gray stubble on his head. Since a bout of lice last year, Volos had kept what remained of his hair cropped close to his head, though sometimes a phantom itching prompted him to scratch at his wrinkled scalp. The cool fall breeze made him pull his hood up over his shorn head, easing the creeping feeling on his skull.
Brother Xavier handed the reins of his horse to one of the priests as he dismounted. “I am ready, Archbishop, I have instructed the Hands on what they should do. All you have to do is remain here till my return.”
Walking a few feet away, Xavier pulled what he referred to as a Rod of Absolution from the red, corded belt around his waist. Volos watched as the monk raised the metal-tipped rod above his head, and then Brother Xavier vanished from sight.
“We are leaving now, Your Eminence. Please keep the horses quiet, if you can,” one of the Hands said as the small group dismounted and moved forward.
“Yes, that will be fine. I will await your return.” Volos still stared at the empty space where Xavier had been standing only moments ago, before he was whisked away by the power of God.
The warrior priests quickly moved from the cover of the trees and made straight for the castle walls. Volos had no doubt that Brother Xavier would have the sally port open when they arrived. After that, he would just have to pray all went well.
The chill of winter’s approach gnawed at his old bones. The air felt as if it had grown colder now that he was alone. Pulling his robe tighter around his shoulders, the archbishop stamped his feet and watched his breath as it fogged.
It was surprising that as wary a man as Alexis Serban was, he had inadvertently let the evil of the Beast into his own castle. Many of the peasants had accused the baron of committing his own iniquities and demanded that the Church take action;
Volos had promised he would personally look into their claims. Weeks later, he told them he had investigated the baron and found no wrongdoing. Of course, he had made no inquiry into the nobleman’s activities, because he didn’t believe the commoners’ wild allegations. Upset by the high taxes imposed by Serban and the crown, the people would say anything to discredit the baron. Besides, the man had simply donated far too much gold to the Church for Volos to trouble him with such trivialities.
Looking at the distant castle, he saw that it was dark except for the few torches spaced along its bleak walls. He could hear no alarm bells or sounds of disturbance in the quiet of the night, so he took that as a sign that Brother Xavier and the Hands remained undetected.
If the enemies of the Church could be secured, perhaps the pope would hear of his work here in Trimenia. Xavier would surly mention his name to the pontiff. He imagined being summoned to the Grand Cathedral in Asqutania to stand before the Holy Father himself, being honored for his role in ridding Saree of the vile demons that plagued its lands. Pulling a small flask from his robe, the archbishop took long pull of Nyronorian brandy. One of his young friars had acquired several gallons of the delicious spirits on a trip back from the port city of Janus. Volos thought he might have to send another of his young priests back to Janus to spread the word of God and to retrieve another batch of the wonderful drink. He had been at his supply so often that it was nearly depleted, and he didn’t want to go back to drinking the dark Trimenian ale so many of his countrymen had to suffer; that swill had nearly been the end of him.
He grinned as he stroked one of the horse’s muzzles. “You will have to excuse my rudeness for not sharing, my friend,” he whispered to the gray mare.
Taking another sip, he heard a noise and quickly stashed the flask back in his robes. Peering into the dark, he saw Brother Xavier walking towards him.
“It is done, Your Eminence, though you will have to explain to the baron why some of his men had to perish. I’m sure he will understand once he has been told how we saved him from the evil that dwelled beneath his very nose.”
“You have the prisoners?” the archbishop asked.
Brother Xavier removed his cowl, revealing the dark circle of hair cut into a clerical tonsure and a pair of dark eyes set close together. “Yes. There were more than I thought, but I believe I have them all. The Hands are bringing them from the castle now.”
Archbishop grinned with delight. “Then we can continue with our plans?”
The monk held up his finger. “After I return to Asqutania and speak with the pope. We must make sure our actions are approved by the papacy, and see how the Holy Father wishes us to proceed.”
“That is wonderful news, Brother; I will finally have rid Trimenia of the Beast’s children.”
“Yes, Archbishop. God brought down his mighty hand and smote our enemies, praise be his holy name.”
Archbishop Lech grinned. “Oh yes, Brother. Praise his holy name.”
* * *
They had stumbled across the abandoned barn around mid-morning and Vladimir thought it would be a good place to get some rest while they waited for nightfall. Pepca felt much safer with four walls around her, even if the old barn was in shambles.
Julian had pointed out the burned down remains of a small crofter’s home a short distance from the barn. Pepca followed him to it. Only the charred floor boards and a short section of a blackened wall remained. It wasn’t the house that made her turn away, but the skeletons that lay among the ruins. Two adults and four children had died in the fire that took their home. “How did this happen?” she had asked Julian.
“Soldiers.” He had pointed to half a crossbow bolt protruding from the largest skeleton. “This is what Trimenia has come to, Pep.”
They rejoined Grigore and Vladimir in the barn. All three men had climbed into the loft to rest. The upper floor had shaken so badly, Pepca had been afraid that their added weight would bring the whole place down. Each had found a place in the old, dusty straw to lay their heads.
Pepca had decided to remain in the lower portion of the barn; she even found an old horse blanket to cover up with. Each day that passed brought winter closer and she wasn’t dressed for harsh weather.
Though she was comfortable, sleep had been difficult to find. She couldn’t keep her thoughts from the terrible fate of the farmer and his family who had owned the barn. How could her father ever allow such atrocities to take place while he sat idly by in the palace? She was angry when she finally drifted off to sleep.
Her stomach rumbling woke her in the midafternoon. She was hungry and though the barn kept the wind out, the chill of the approaching evening had crept into her skin. She stretched and brushed off the dirt from the old barn’s filthy floor. The dust and rotten straw threatened to make her sneeze. Pepca rubbed her nose, trying to stop the itch; she did want to wake the others because of a tickle in her nostrils.
It would be nice to have a place to clean up. She knew her hair had to be a mess and more than likely, she smelled as bad as the men traveling with her. It was hard to admit, but sometimes she missed the comforts of the palace.
It was surprising, but she didn’t mind her journey with the rebels. If they had a little more food, some warmer clothing, and Baron Serban wasn’t hunting them, she would be having the time of her life. Pepca had never been one for the confinements of noble life, but it was all she had ever known. Now with a taste of a commoner’s freedom, she didn’t ever want to go back to the judgmental life of the palace. It would suffocate her now. Out in the world, she could be herself and it felt wonderful. It would just be a little better with some soap and water.
“I see you are awake.”
Glancing up, she saw Vladimir Sitting on the edge of the loft, swinging his legs and grinning. Pepca thought the smile sat well on his face, and their leader should try to do it more often. “I tried to be quiet. I didn’t want to wake any of you.”
“You didn’t. I need very little sleep, Princess.” Pepca’s breath caught in her chest as Vladimir leaped from the loft. He landed on his feet and seemed uninjured from the fall. Her mouth open, Pepca reached out to him. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, fine. I am quite durable, I assure you.”
Pepca shook her head with amazement. “That would have broken my ankles.”
“I have very strong ankles, Highness.” Vladimir gestured to the door. “Will you step outside with me, Princess? I would like to speak with you before the others awake.”
The sun was doing its best to shrug off the thin clouds that kept its brilliance hidden as the two walked out into the clean afternoon air. Vladimir leaned against the barn’s rotten wood and took a deep breath.
“Can you smell that?”
“Smell what?”
“Close your eyes, Pepca.”
She watched as he closed his so she followed suit. She took in a deep breath. “What am I supposed to smell?”
“Trimenia, the very air reeks of our homeland. I am part of it, Pepca, and so is Julian.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. Slowly, he opened his eyes and gazed at her with a strange intensity. “You love Julian; I see it every time you look at him, Pepca.”
She started to deny it but silenced herself.
The rebel gave her an understanding nod. “I love him too, he is like a son to me, and I want you to come to terms with something. Julian is a piece of Trimenia, he belongs to our land just as much as our forests and our mountains. Even if you win his heart, you will never truly possess all of it.”
“I don’t understand?”
“Someday you will and you must be prepared. Julian and I are alike in many ways, our hearts are wild and will always strive to be free. Even he doesn’t comprehend it now, but Julian will never truly belong to anyone because he belongs to the land.”
Pepca didn’t have any idea what Vladimir was trying to tell her, but she thought she would be polite. “Thank you, Vladimir. I don’t know if I will ever have the problem of ma
naging Julian’s heart, but I would never try to hold him captive or keep him from anything he loves.”
Vladimir put his hand behind her head and pulled her close, softly kissing her on the forehead. “You, my dear princess, are a fine young woman. It is a shame the rest of your family does not share your noble heart.” He looked to the north and frowned. “Grigore, Julian, get yourselves up,” he yelled, taking her hand and leading her back into the barn.
The two men climbed down from the loft, their eyes still clouded with sleep. “What is it?” Grigore asked, rubbing his head.
“Riders, and there are too many to deal with. I heard them they are close.”
“I heard nothing,” Pepca said, looking to Julian.
“If Vladimir said there are riders coming, they are coming,” the younger man shot back.
“Julian, take the princess and head to the southwest. Grigore and I will go southeast. Perhaps we can lose them if we split up. If not, at least some of us might escape.”
Grigore threw his warhammer up on his shoulders. “Are you sure that is wise?”
“We have little choice; they are almost upon us. Let’s go quickly out the back.”
They ran to the rear of the barn. Julian and Vladimir quickly kicked a few of the rotten planks away, giving them enough room to squeeze out of the back. Julian grabbed her hand and they ran. Pepca glanced over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of the other two men heading in the opposite direction.
In moments, she and Julian pierced the edge of a thick wood south of the old barn. She could hear men and horses in the distance as they plunged headlong into the tangled brush. Small limbs whipped across her face and more than once, Julian led her through thorny bushes that tore at her skin. Pepca thought her lungs would burst before they slid down the bank and into the water of a small creek.
Julian stopped and looked in every direction. “We will follow the creek. It is going in the right direction and has to come out somewhere.” Once again, they ran, splashing through the shallow water heedless of the noise. She almost lost her boot twice in the mud as they forged ahead.
The Star Of Saree Page 10
