by Bo Burnette
What right did her father have to choose whom she could and couldn’t dance with? That was her choice. If she wanted to dance with a lord’s son, she would. If she chose a peasant farmer, who was he to stop her?
A droplet of water settled on her head. Then another wetted her forehead, trickling down her nose. In a moment, the rain was pattering through the dim canopy all about her head. Thousands of liquid beads flooded the shivering darkness.
As she stood to leave, a vague noise pierced through the rain to her left. A stealthy wheeze or hiss, perhaps. She froze. But the sound did not return. Probably just a phantom of her imagination.
She walked slowly all the way back to the castle, letting the rain bathe her troubled body.
She arrived at the castle soaked. Instead of scolding her, her mother eased her into a warm tub, filled with water which had been heating in a basin over the fire. After this, Arliss slipped into a fresh nightgown and crawled into her bed.
Once her parents were asleep, she crept into the library with a lone candle, thankful for the thick carpets which drank the noise of her footsteps. She lay on the floor for hours, poring over books of legend and lore and history and maps. The ancient tales, written in other realms, spoke often of “a wild land in the east, intimidating and deadly, yet plentiful and majestic.” Reinhold.
But what—where—in Reinhold were the legends talking about? The landscape she knew was harsh and bleak, intimidating and deadly. Hardly plentiful and majestic. Yet those very words repeated themselves throughout the book.
The words reached into her mind and spun a labyrinth of ideas and plans which, perhaps, could reverse Reinhold’s problems. And, it seemed to her, the best way to conquer those difficulties would be to reveal the faults of the king and his ways. She had to overstep his customs and violate his laws—which really weren’t worth following, anywise.
Perhaps her father was right to expand the seaside outpost. Yet how could they ignore the treasures that might lie just a few days’ journey into the forest? How could he not explore the heart of Reinhold?
By the time the sun dawned and she retreated into bed, she had created a solid, daring plan. The troubles of the night were over. Now, the day had come, and it was time for action.
CHAPTER SEVEN: A COUNCIL OF DISSENSION
Armed with a leather satchel filled with books, clothes, and arrows, Arliss hurried downstairs to Ilayda’s room. Lord Adam and Lady Elisabeth—and their children Ilayda and Arden—dwelt in the lower floor of the immense tower, which sat adjacent to the great hall.
Within the dim bedchamber, Arliss found the exact sight she had expected: Ilayda slumbering upon the bed, her dark velvet hair hiding half her face.
She chuckled to herself and yanked the covers off the bed.
Ilayda squinted at her, groaned, and buried her face in the pillow.
“Get up, you lazy goose!” Arliss said. “We have important things to do.”
Ilayda turned her head from its place inside the pillow. “Sleep is an important thing to do, silly princess who dances with peasants.”
“If anyone is silly, it’s you, muttonhead. Now get up, or I will be rather inclined to leave you behind!”
At this, Ilayda tottered out of bed. She stumbled over to her dresser and began dragging a comb through her hair.
“I’ll meet you in the garden in ten minutes.” Arliss turned toward the door. “You’d better pack some things.”
“Pack? Why?”
“You shall see.” Arliss slipped through the door, around the corner, and back down the hall the way she’d come.
The footsteps shocked her so much she nearly fled back to Ilayda’s room. She scanned the hallway, frantically searching for a place to hide as the steps drew nearer—steps which were neither her father’s heavy trod nor her mother’s gliding pace. These particular steps belonged to Lord Adam.
He would have no reason to be angry at finding her here—she frequented Ilayda’s rooms—but after yesterday’s eavesdropped conversation, she didn’t desire a confrontation. At the last moment, she slipped through a doorway to her left, pulling the door to just enough so that she could see yet not be seen.
Lord Adam rounded the corner in the hall and paused a moment, heaving a sigh. A few paces behind him strode Lord Brédan. Both wore courtly attire.
“And your wife?” Brédan was saying.
“Elisabeth is unwell this morning,” Adam responded. “Last night’s festivities did not agree with her, I think.” The two lords shared a knowing glance.
Arliss squinted at them through the crack in the door.
“Come.” Adam motioned Brédan. “Let us enter and find our seats.”
Arliss’s heart thumped. If they found her hiding in here, they would almost certainly be suspicious—even angry.
But they did not enter her hiding spot. Instead they opened the double doors across the hall and slipped inside with the covertness of two wily cats.
Of course—the royal council was on this day. Her father had spoken to her mother about it. How could she have forgotten? Then again, in all the excitements and miseries of the previous evening, how could she have remembered?
After a few moments, she ventured to open the door a bit wider. She slipped back when she looked into the hallway.
Her parents and Nathanael were entering the council chamber.
Once the doors swung together, nearly clicking shut, she slipped across the hall and peeked inside.
When he entered the small room, Kenton found the lords Adam and Brédan already seated about the round table. How long had they been conversing together?
Elowyn, too, regarded the two men suspiciously, her dark eyes remaining steady and sure. “I see the council has begun prematurely, my lords.”
Adam lowered an arm to the table. “We were merely waiting upon your highnesses to arrive and begin the council.”
“Then it would seem your patience has failed you,” she replied.
Adam glowered at her as she lowered herself into a chair in between Kenton and Nathanael.
Kenton regarded those around the table. “I declare this council begun. Let us establish such things that will build our country and honor our God. For Reinhold.” He hesitated. “I think we all know what we must discuss this day.”
“Indeed,” Adam butted in. “We have clearly assembled to put into practice your plans for a new village.”
Kenton clenched his brow. “What are you implying, my lord?”
Brédan spoke. “He means only that he knows you have a definitive plan for Reinhold’s growth. A plan which, p’raps, you are quite determined to put into practice.”
“You have long known my mind, O lords and lady of the court.” Kenton nodded. “This village has grown great over this past decade. We must not all remain and fester until we are packed like too many arrows in a small quiver. The building of a new village is inevitable.”
“Or is it?” Adam asked in a crisp, certain voice. “Is it truly wise to venture back towards the sea? Ought we not instead venture inward?”
“You know why that is forbidden.” Nathanael spoke. “It is forbidden to cross the river which cuts through the forest. Have you forgotten the darkness so quickly? Would you be so hasty?”
“Enough foolish questions.” Adam chuckled. “No, I have forgotten nothing. Still I maintain my position. I think an inward expansion would ultimately prove more fruitful than an outward one. That is my honest opinion. You may make of it what you will.”
Elowyn spoke deeply. “Mayhaps that means you will be silent for a moment, for your wisdom has fled with your patience.”
Adam appeared so surprised that he silenced altogether.
Kenton restrained his smile.
“With all due respect, my queen,” Brédan said, “there may be more wisdom in Adam’s plan than at first meets one’s eye. I’ll wager he may be right, though there is undoubtedly wisdom in the king’s plan as well.”
“So you are of a like mind with
Adam, then,” Kenton said grimly. “And what of the Lord Nathanael?”
Nathanael regarded him with serious eyes. “I am with you to the death, whatever path you may take, or service I may offer you.”
“Then I suppose we shall look further into my plan, at least at present.” Kenton pressed his chin into his palm. “I will not move forward in haste. It is in my heart to take a party of men and journey to the seaside outpost, examine the land, and see if there is suitable ground and water supply for a village. Then I will return and share what I have found.”
Adam’s fist clenched. “I thought this was a council, not a list of edicts.”
Brédan looked uncertain. “The king simply wants what’s best for his family.”
“What about what is best for my family? Furthermore, for this entire clan of Reinhold?” Adam rose to his feet. His face reddened as he pressed his palms against the edge of the table. “You cannot even control your own daughter, Kenton. Ever she scuttles about, causing mishap and disturbance. How can we expect you to control an entire country?”
Kenton stared, unable to respond. What could one say to such impudence? He glanced toward his wife.
Her lips drew into a subtle smile. “If I am not mistaken, Adam, it is your daughter who accompanies her in many such escapades.”
To that, Adam could make no reply.
Nathanael glared at Adam. “They are both young. Young women, but very young ones at that. Were you never a young man, Adam?”
“Do not speak to me of youth. You, one who is not yet thirty years of age. Your nerve surprises me.”
Nathanael stood and set his fists on the table. “I seem to recall reading in the Holy Scriptures that it is not age, but the Spirit of the Lord which makes someone truly wise.”
“Silence!” Adam shouted. “Kenton, I beg you to bring order to this council.”
Kenton also stood, trying to restrain the rush of his pulse. “If I am not mistaken, it was you who destroyed its order in the first place.”
Brédan looked uncomfortable as he also stood. “Let’s resolve this, fellows. No sense in squabbling when we have already come to a decision.”
Adam spread his arms wide. “And what decision is that? The king’s command! It’s as I believed—the king will march on with his plans and leave our counsel in the dust.”
Kenton’s muscles tightened. “I am not ignoring your counsel. I am merely choosing to explore the option of a new seaside town. No clear decision has been made. I am going so we may have a clearer council on this matter.”
Adam took a deep breath. “Kenton, you listen to me—”
“Peace!” Elowyn’s powerful voice left all four men silent. She too had risen from her seat. “You will listen to me. The king’s plan is solid, and leaves room for much counsel and wisdom. He will journey to the sea, and will take one of you with him. As for the princess, I will speak with her about her behavior.”
Kenton nodded gratefully to her. She always was the peacemaker, the arbiter.
“Then it is decided,” Kenton affirmed. “I will take with me Brédan and a dozen other men. Elowyn and Nathanael will be left in charge of ruling the city. And Adam, try to see that no trouble comes to me on your, or anyone else’s, account.”
Something flickered in the crack between the double doors. He squinted, but saw nothing. Had someone been eavesdropping?
The council would tarry and discuss dozens of other more trivial things—laws regarding selling and bartering in the village, most likely—but Arliss needed to hurry. She arrived in the garden only moments before Ilayda burst out of the wooden back door. She was panting and had a canvas knapsack strapped about her.
“Arliss, I’m sorry. I know you said ten minutes, but there were so many things to do.”
She held up her hand. “No, it’s fine. I made good use of the extra minutes you provided.”
“Doing what? You really must tell me what you’re up to or I shan’t even come with you.”
“No, I cannot tell you just yet. We have to find a more secret place.” She leaned closer to Ilayda. “I happened to overhear much of the royal council. My father plans to build a new village by the sea. Your father disagrees.”
“And how do you feel?”
“As few kind feelings as I have toward your father at present, I still disagree with my own father’s refusal to explore the heart of this land. And…well, that is part of the secret.”
Ilayda’s eyes widened. “You’d better tell me soon.”
“Come, silly goose, let’s go.”
The sound of clanging metal reached Arliss’s ears long before they reached their destination. She and Ilayda scurried across the street of the city’s lower tier, trying to avoid suspicion as much as possible. It seemed the entire city guard had been summoned to the castle in light of the council’s decision. And, as it was Diathamon—a working day—many folks were toiling in the fields, even though the bean harvest was waning. The sun had hardly reached its mid-morning point.
As Arliss reached the door of the carpenter’s workshop, she shuddered. Clanging metal within chimed an omen of both adventure and danger. She’d heard such sounds from within before and never given them a second thought. Now, she put a hand to the sword which she’d stowed beneath her cloak.
Glancing back at Ilayda, she gave a nod and stepped over the threshold. It wasn’t strange for someone to enter the carpenter’s shop uninvited. But today, she wasn’t a customer for woodwork. Her heart fluttering, she gazed into the open room adjacent to the workshop.
Arliss stared at the intriguing fight within.
CHAPTER EIGHT: A COLLISION OF SWORDS
Philip ducked as Erik’s blade arced towards his head. It was a foolish move on his cousin’s part—easily blocked or diverted by anyone who had any real sense. As the blade swept past him, Philip brought down a quick cut, which Erik barely countered.
Erik slammed his entire strength into the blade and spun Philip’s sword off his own. He stepped backwards.
“Given up yet?” Philip teased.
“Not yet.”
His blade and footing made sure, Philip let his cousin make the next move. Erik slashed his blade down with a sort of collected anger. Philip lifted his eyebrows and took a swift step backwards. He barely parried the blade before his cousin cut down upon him again.
The two swords met with a clash, scintillating in the morning sun which streamed through the open windows. Philip blocked the blow and saw his chance. He countered and slashed his blade into Erik’s. Erik’s blade nearly flew from his grip. Philip brought his sword down again, and Erik tried in vain to raise his blade from under the force.
Philip’s strength won out, and he disarmed Erik with a twist of his wrist. He pointed his sword across the space between them, expecting Erik to pull out his usual trick—challenge Philip to a round of archery, at which Philip would surely fail.
Instead, a new blade swung up to meet Philip’s. Startled and unprepared, he held the sword fast to keep it from arcing back into his face. He turned to behold the amateur swordsman who had challenged him this way.
It was no swordsman.
There, her eyes fierce and joyous, stood Princess Arliss. She wobbled her sword back and forth. The blade was larger even than Philip’s, and took both of her hands to support and swing.
She swung again, and Philip half-parried. He hesitated. Ought he fight the princess? Clearly she had no idea what she was doing. He himself hadn’t the slightest idea why she was here.
The princess stood poised for another move. “Are you tired so soon?”
He almost laughed. “No, my lady, though I feared you were.”
Her eyes narrowed—whether in anger or amusement, Philip knew not—and she swung again. Obviously, she knew only a few strokes, and hadn’t the faintest knowledge of real blocking and parrying. However, she at least knew what to make of her feet. Must have come from knowing how to dance.
She continued to thrash at him. In the midst of an
easily blocked stroke, she began to speak. “I’ve come to you for a reason.”
He grinned as he sliced into her sword. “Does this have something to do with last night?”
“No…and very much yes.”
Waiting for an explanation, he pivoted and continued fighting.
“I need your help,” Arliss panted.
“For what?”
“For an adventure.”
The answer distracted him just long enough for him to relax his grip on his sword. She swung with all her might, and his blade clattered to the floor.
With a sly smile tugging at her lips, she pointed the sword near his chest. “I am leaving the city on a quest to uncover the secrets of the land of Reinhold.”
He narrowed his eyes. He had never been held at sword’s point by a woman before, let alone the princess herself. “Why does that concern me?”
“Because”—she tapped the tip of the sword against his chest—“I want you to accompany me.”
“And why would the princess of Reinhold choose a carpenter’s apprentice for this quest?”
“Because,” she said in a soft voice, “you understand.”
Their eyes met. Her eyes revealed a knowing acknowledgement of shared experience and emotion—of something he understood far too deeply for words. She spoke the truth.
But she did not quite understand.
In a swift, agile motion, he ducked under her blade, reaching for his fallen sword. He grabbed it from where it lay by her feet, flipped himself onto his back—his legs bent beneath him—and raised his sword to meet hers above. Then, leaping upwards, he snapped her sword from her grasp. The blade flipped upwards, and he snatched it out of midair.
With both weapons in hand, he faced her. “Tell me about this quest of yours.”
Arliss hesitated, feeling about in her mind for the right words. Finally she spoke in a hushed voice. “As I said, I am leaving the city this very day on a mission of justice and adventure. I would ask you to accompany me and the Lady Ilayda in our quest.”
