“We can hope, my dear. We can hope,” Arcadius said. “Now let’s keep moving. I know you’re tired. I know you’re cold. So am I, but we have to go as fast as we can. We have to get farther away.”
Mercy nodded or shivered. It was difficult to discern which.
Miranda dusted the snow from the child’s back and legs in an attempt to keep her from getting wetter than she already was. This drew a cautious glare from Mr. Rings.
“Do you think the other animals got away?” Mercy asked.
“I’m certain they did,” Arcadius assured her. “They are smart, aren’t they? Maybe not as smart as Mr. Rings here—after all, he managed to get a ride.”
Mercy nodded again and added in a hopeful voice, “I’m sure Teacup got away. She can fly.”
Miranda checked the girl’s pack and then her own to ensure they were still closed and cinched tight. She looked down the dark road before them.
“This will take us through Colnora and right into Aquesta,” the old wizard explained.
“How long will it take to get there?” Mercy asked.
“Several days—a week, perhaps. Longer if the weather stays bad.”
Miranda saw the disappointment in Mercy’s eyes. “Don’t worry, once we are farther away, we will stop, rest, and eat. I’ll make something hot and then we’ll sleep for a bit. But for now, we have to keep going. Now that we are on the road, it will be easier.”
Miranda took the little girl’s hand and they set off again. She was pleased to discover that what she had told the child turned out to be true. Trenches left by wagons made for easy going, even more so due to the downhill slope. They kept a brisk pace, and soon the forest rose to blot out the fiery glow behind them. The world became dark and quiet, with only the sound of the cold wind to keep them company.
Miranda glanced at the old professor as he trudged along, holding his cloak tight to his neck. The skin of his face was red and blotchy, and he labored to breathe. “Are you sure you are all right?”
Arcadius did not respond at first. He drew near, forced a smile, and whispered softly in Miranda’s ear, “I fear you may need to finish this journey without me.”
“What?” Miranda said too loudly, and glanced down at the little girl. Mercy did not look up. “We’ll stop soon. We’ll rest and take our time tomorrow. We’ve gone a good distance today. Here, let me take your satchel.” She reached out.
“No. I’ll hang on to it. It’s very fragile, as you know—and dangerous. If anyone dies carrying it, I want it to be me. As for resting, I don’t think it will make a difference. I’m not strong enough for this sort of travel. We both know that.”
“You can’t give up.”
“I’m not. I’m handing off the charge to you. You’ll manage.”
“But I don’t know what to do. You’ve never told me the plan.”
Arcadius chuckled. “That’s because it changes frequently. I had hoped the regents would have accepted Mercy as Modina’s heir, but they refused.”
“So now what?”
“Modina is on the throne now, so we have a second chance. The best you can do is get to Aquesta and seek an audience with her.”
“But I don’t know how—”
“You’ll figure it out. Introduce Mercy to the empress. That will be a start in the right direction. Soon you will be the only one who knows the truth. I hate placing this burden on you, but I have no choice.”
Miranda shook her head. “No, it was my mother who placed the burden on me. Not you.”
“A deathbed confession is a weighty thing.” The old man nodded. “But doing so allowed her to die in peace.”
“Do you think so? Or is her spirit still lingering? Sometimes I feel as if she is watching—haunting me. I’m paying the price for her weakness, her cowardice.”
“Your mother was young, poor, and ignorant. She witnessed the death of dozens of men, the butchery of a mother and child, and narrowly escaped. She lived in constant fear that someday, someone would discover there were twins and she rescued one of them.”
“But,” Miranda said bitterly, “what she did was wrong and unconscionable. And the worst part is she couldn’t let the sin die with her. She had to tell me. Make it my responsibility to correct her mistakes. She should—”
Mercy came to an abrupt halt, tugging on Miranda’s arm.
“Honey, we need to…” She stopped upon seeing the girl’s face. The faint light of an early dawn revealed fear as Mercy stared ahead to where the road dipped toward a large stone bridge.
“There’s a light up ahead,” Arcadius said.
“Is it…?” Miranda asked.
The old teacher shook his head. “It’s a campfire—several, it looks like. More refugees, I suspect. We can join with them and the going will be easier. If I’m not mistaken, they are camped on the far bank of the Galewyr. I had no idea we’d come so far. No wonder I’m puffing.”
“There now,” Miranda said to the girl as they once more started forward. “See? Our troubles are already over. Maybe they will even have a wagon that an old man can ride in.”
Arcadius gave her a smirk but allowed himself a smile. “Things may be looking up at that.”
“We’ll be—”
The girl squeezed Miranda’s hand and stopped once more. Up the road, figures on horseback trotted toward them. The animals snorted white fog as their hooves drove through the iced tracks. The riders sat enveloped in dark cloaks. With hoods drawn up and scarves wrapped, it was difficult to determine much, but one thing was certain—they were just men. Miranda counted three. They came from the south but not from the direction of the campfires. These were not refugees.
“Who do you think?” Miranda asked. “Highwaymen?”
The professor shook his head.
“What do we do?”
“Hopefully nothing. With luck they are just good men coming to our aid. If not…” He patted his satchel grimly. “Get to those campfires and ask for shelter and protection. Then see to it that Mercy reaches Aquesta. Avoid the regents and try to tell the empress Mercy’s story. Tell her the truth.”
“But what if—”
The horses approached and slowed.
“What do we have here?” one rider asked.
Miranda could not tell who spoke, but guessed it was the foremost. He studied them while they stood still, listening to the deep throaty pant of the horses.
“Isn’t this convenient?” he said, and dismounted. “Of all the people in the world—I was just coming to see you, old man.”
The leader was tall and held his side gingerly, moving stiffly. His piercing eyes glared out from under his hood, his nose and mouth shrouded by a crimson scarf.
“Out for an early stroll in a snowstorm?” he asked, closing the distance between them.
“Hardly,” Arcadius replied. “We’re in flight.”
“I’m sure you are. Clearly if I had waited even a day, I would have missed you, and you might have slipped away. Coming to the palace was a foolish mistake. You exposed too much. And for what? You should have known better. But age must bring with it a degree of desperation.” He looked at Mercy. “Is this the girl?”
“Guy,” Arcadius said, “Sheridan is burning. The elves have crossed the Nidwalden. The elves have attacked!”
Guy! Miranda knew him, or at least his reputation. Arcadius had taught her the names of all the church sentinels. From the professor’s viewpoint, Luis Guy was the most dangerous. All sentinels were obsessed, all chosen for their rabid orthodoxy, but Guy had a legacy. His mother’s maiden name was Evone. She had been a pious girl who had married Lord Jarred Seret, a direct descendant of the original Lord Darius Seret, who had been charged by Patriarch Venlin to find the heir of the Old Empire. In the realm of heir hunters, Luis Guy was a fanatic among fanatics.
“Don’t play me for a fool. This is the girl-child you spoke to Saldur and Ethelred about, isn’t it? The one you wanted to groom as the next empress. Why would you do that, old man? Why pick
this girl? Is this another ruse? Or were you actually trying to slip her past us? To atone for your mistake.” Guy crouched down to get a better look at Mercy’s face. “Come here, child.”
“No!” Miranda snapped, pulling Mercy close.
Guy stood up slowly. “Let go of the child,” he ordered.
“No.”
“Sentinel Guy!” Arcadius shouted. “She’s just a peasant girl. An orphan I took in.”
“Is she?” He drew his sword.
“Be reasonable. You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Oh, I think I do. Everyone was so focused on Esrahaddon that you went by unnoticed. Who could have imagined that you would point the way to the heir not just once, but twice?”
“The heir? The Heir of Novron? Are you insane? Is that why you think I spoke to the regents?”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.” He shook his head, an amused smile on his face. “I came because I suspected they hadn’t thought about the question of succession, and I wanted to help educate the next imperial leader.”
“But you insisted on this girl—only this girl. Why would you do that unless she really is the heir?”
“That makes no sense. How could I know who the heir is? Or even if an heir still lives?”
“How indeed. That was the missing piece. You are actually the only one who could know. Tell me, Arcadius Latimer, what did your father do for a living?”
“He was a weaver, but I fail to see—”
“Yes, so how did the poor son of a weaver from a small village become the master of lore at Sheridan University? I doubt your father even knew how to read, and yet his son is one of the most renowned scholars in the world? How does that happen?”
“Really, Guy, I would not think I would need to explain the merits of ambition and hard work to someone such as you.”
Guy sneered back. “You disappeared for ten years, and when you came back, you knew a lot more than when you left.”
“You’re just making things up.”
Guy smirked. “The church doesn’t let just anyone teach at their university. Did you think they didn’t keep records?”
“Of course not. I just didn’t think you’d see them.” The old man smiled.
“I’m a sentinel, you idiot! I have access to every archive in the church.”
“Yes, but I didn’t think my scholastic examination would be of any interest. I was a rebel in my youth—handsome too. Did the records indicate that?”
“It said you found the tomb of Yolric. Who was Yolric?”
“And here I thought you knew everything.”
“I didn’t have time to linger in libraries. I was in a hurry to catch you.”
“But why? Why are you after me? Why is your sword out?”
“Because the Heir of Novron must die.”
“She’s not the heir. Why do you think she is? How could I even know who the heir was?”
“Because that is one of the secrets you brought back. You discovered how to locate the heir.”
“Bah! Really, Guy, you have quite an imagination.”
“There were other records. The church called you in for questioning. They thought you might have gone to Percepliquis like that Edmund Hall fellow. And then, only days after that meeting, there was a fight in the city of Ratibor. A pregnant mother and her husband were killed. Identified as Linitha and Naron Brown, they and their child were executed by Seret Knights. After centuries of looking, I find it interesting that my predecessor managed to locate the Heir of Novron just days after the church interrogated you.” Guy glared at the professor. “Did you make a deal with the church? Did you trade information in exchange for freedom? I’m sure they told you they wanted to find the heir so they could make him king again. When you discovered what they really did, I imagine you felt used—the guilt must be awful.”
Guy paused for Arcadius to respond but the professor said nothing.
“After that everyone thought the bloodline had ended, didn’t they? Even the Patriarch had no idea another heir still lived. Then Esrahaddon escapes and he goes straight to Degan Gaunt. Only Degan isn’t the heir. I was fooled for a long time too, but imagine my shock when he failed the blood test that he previously passed. No doubt the result of the same potion Esrahaddon used on King Amrath and Arista that made Braga suspect the Essendons. I suppose, looking back on it, we should have guessed a wizard of the Old Empire wasn’t a fool and would never lead us to the real heir.
“But there was another, wasn’t there? And you performed whatever trick you did the first time to find her.” Guy peered at Mercy. “What is she? A bastard child? A niece?” He advanced toward Miranda. “Hand her over.”
“No!” the old professor shouted.
One of the soldiers grabbed Miranda, and the other pulled the girl from her.
“But let’s be certain, shall we? I will not make the same mistake twice.” With a deft sweep of his wrist, Guy slashed Mercy across her hand. She screamed and Mr. Rings hissed.
“That’s uncalled for!” Arcadius said.
“Watch them,” Guy ordered his men while he moved to his horse.
“Hush now, be a brave girl for me,” Miranda told Mercy.
Guy carefully laid his sword on the ground, then withdrew a small leather case from his saddlebag. From it, he pulled forth a set of three vials. He uncorked the first, tilted it slightly, and tapped on it with his finger until a bit of powder sprinkled onto the bloodstained end of his sword.
“I want to leave now,” Mercy whimpered as the guard held her fast. “Please can we go?”
“Interesting,” Guy muttered to himself, then applied the contents of the next vial. This one held a liquid that hissed and fizzled when it landed on the blade.
“Guy!” Arcadius shouted at him as he stepped forward.
“Very interesting,” Guy continued. He uncorked the last vial.
“Guy, don’t!” the old man yelled.
He poured a single drop on the tip of the sword.
Pop!
The sound was like a wine bottle cork coming free and the flash was as brilliant as lightning.
The sentinel stood up, staring at the end of his sword, and began to laugh. It was a strange and eerie sound, like the song of a madman. “At last. At long last, I have found the Heir of Novron. The quest of my ancestors will be achieved through me.”
“Miranda,” Arcadius whispered, “you can do nothing more by yourself.” The old man’s eyes glanced toward the refugee camp.
As the morning light rose, Miranda could see several columns of smoke. Possible help was tantalizingly close. Only a few hundred yards at most.
“I’ve devoted my life to correcting my mistake. But now it is up to you to do what must be done,” Arcadius said.
Luis Guy took the girl and hoisted her onto his horse. “We’ll take her to the Patriarch.”
“What about these two, sir?” one of the hooded men asked.
“Take the old man. Kill the woman.”
Miranda’s heart skipped as the soldier reached for his sword.
“Wait!” Arcadius said. “What about the horn?” The old professor was backing away, clutching his satchel. “The Patriarch will want the horn too, won’t he?”
Guy’s eyes flashed at the bag Arcadius held.
“You have it?” the sentinel asked.
Arcadius shot a desperate look toward Miranda, then turned and fled back down the road.
“Watch the child,” Guy ordered one of his men. Turning to the other, he waved, and together they chased after Arcadius, who ran faster than Miranda would have ever imagined possible.
She watched him—her closest friend—racing back the way they had come, his cloak flying behind him. She might have thought the sight comical except she knew what Arcadius actually had in his satchel. She knew why he was running away, what that meant, and what he wanted her to do.
Miranda reached for the dagger under her cloak. She had never killed anyone before, but what choice di
d she have? The man standing between her and Mercy was a soldier, and likely a Seret Knight. He turned his back on her to get a better grip on Guy’s horse, focusing his attention on Mercy and the hissing raccoon that snapped at him.
Miranda had only seconds before Guy and the other man caught up to Arcadius. Knowing what would happen made her want to cry. They had come so far together, sacrificed so much, and just when it seemed like they were finally close to their goal… to be stopped like this… to be murdered on a roadside… Tragic was too weak a word to frame the injustice. There would be time for tears later. The professor was counting on her and she would not let him down. That one look had told her everything. This was the final gamble. If they could get Mercy to Modina, everything might be made right again.
She drew the dagger and rushed forward. With all her strength, Miranda stabbed the soldier in the back. He was not wearing mail or leather and the sharp blade bit deep, passing through clothes, skin, and muscle.
He spun and swatted her away. The back of his fist connected with her cheek and left her reeling from the blow. She fell to the snow, still holding the dagger, the handle slick with blood.
On the horse, Mercy held tight to the saddle and screamed. The raccoon chattered, its fur up.
Miranda got back to her feet as the soldier drew his sword. He was badly hurt. Blood soaked his pant leg and he staggered toward her. She tried to get away, reaching for Mercy and the horse, but the seret was faster. His sword pierced her side somewhere near her waist. She felt it go in. The pain burned, but then she suddenly felt cold. Her knees buckled. She managed to hold fast to the saddle as the horse, frightened by the violence and Mercy’s screaming, moved away, dragging her with it.
Behind them, the soldier fell to his knees, blood bubbling from his lips.
Miranda tried to pull herself up, but her legs were useless. They hung limp and she felt the strength draining from her arms. “Take the reins, Mercy, and hang on tight.”
Down the road, Guy and the other man had caught up to Arcadius. Guy, who had stopped at the sound of the girl’s screams, lagged behind, but the other soldier tackled the old professor to the snow.
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