A hundred more Fregian soldiers waited in the courtyard, along with Duke Hercule, who nodded to Roland before storming toward Andre. The Fregians formed two groups, and one accompanied the forty White Stags who followed Taliesin and their Grand Master to the castle. Erindor troops had gathered at the far side of the courtyard with catapults to use against the enemy on the opposite side of the wall. More royal soldiers, carrying the Draconus banner of King Frederick, marched past and climbed stairs to the battlements, acting as if the truce had ended.
“I’m glad your magic worked, but I admit I am a little surprised it did,” Roland said as he caught Taliesin’s gaze. “It is not an insult. I merely point out Arundel must not have known Xander and Phelon went to the crypt. You did say he’s been meddling with your magic, but not today. Still, it was foolish to take you into that morbid place, and it was my idea to use Doomsayer. You have my permission to thump me in the head the next time I have an idea that puts you in danger.”
“As much as I like wearing Ringerike, I feel strange walking around with a cloak over my shoulders like I’m hiding a hump. And, no one has said anything about Tarquin’s ring, but I can see them looking at it, and wondering how I came to possess the ring he is wearing in every portrait in the castle.”
Roland smiled and nudged her in the side as a group of curious noblemen and ladies scurried off the path to avoid them. A large furry hound on a leash barked and bared its fangs at Taliesin until she flashed her teeth. The dog lowered its head, tucked its tail, and cowered to the ground, and his master promptly turned his back.
“You will be seated at the high table for dinner. Your mother and Arundel will be together, and you’ll most likely be placed near a prince or two,” he said, with a grin. “The royal court wants to see you, but not in armor. Somehow, you must fashion a dress so you can wear Ringerike. The sword cannot be left unguarded; it is safer with you, and you are safer with it. Something must be done about your chair, however, for I doubt you can shrink Ringerike into a spoon. A stool with a soft cushion should do the trick.”
“Roland, I am convinced I do not want to be a queen. As soon as this farce is over, we are leaving this place. I miss the simplicity of my former life.”
“So do I,” Roland said. “But I will not leave without Moonbane.”
“I did promise to get it for you. It means we will have to stop at the armory. If anyone tries to stop us, I may hurt someone.”
A side entrance allowed them inside the castle without an audience, and Roland led Taliesin and the soldiers to the royal armory. Two royal guards stood at the door and lowered their spears across the threshold.
“No one enters,” one grumbled.
“This is Princess Rosamond,” Roland replied. “She desires to enter the armory, and I suggest you open the door and stand aside.” He crossed his arms when the guards hesitated, and tapped at the hilt of his sword with a finger. The guards took one look at each other and opened the door. “Being a Draconus does have its advantages; you ask, and they obey.”
“Let’s get your axe,” she said.
Taliesin stepped into the chamber and stared at the hundreds of weapons and the ornate armor on display. She felt a push from Ringerike, and she let the sword guide her to where the battle axe, Moonbane, was stored in a tall, glass case. Bedwyn and Landrake remained at the door to keep the guards from peering inside, while she approached the case and sniffed. The odor of dark magic was thick in the air, reminding her of bad foot odor, and she immediately thought of Arundel, knowing he had sealed the case. Annoyed, she pointed at the door of the case and concentrated; with a groan, it opened.
“Nicely done,” Roland said.
The large, silver-coated axe had a double blade, and its handle was carved with ancient runes. It was a weapon unlike any other, and at a wave of her hand, it lifted into the air, floated past her, and flew into Roland’s hand. He hefted it, whirled it around, and gave a satisfied nod to have it back in his possession. She looked around, spotted another axe of lesser quality, placed it in the case, and shut the door.
“Is that necessary?” Roland asked.
“Leaving it empty looks too suspicious,” she said, laughing. “Let Arundel figure this one out. It’s about time he realized I am not some trivial magician, and I actually have powers equal to his. Well, almost equal. He does have others helping him negate my powers, Roland, and that includes the Maeceni.”
“But not Mira?”
“No, she has always helped me, and I hope she continues to do so.”
Taliesin turned to scrutinize the rest of the contents in the room. There were no superior magical weapons, though many of the swords and spears were of fine craftsmanship and possessed limited powers. She wanted to linger, especially when she spotted a row of old battle flags that dated back to King Korax and Prince Tarquin. Although they were a thousand years old, they still looked to be in good condition, and it took effort not to pull one off its rings.
“You still have a hard time resisting the urge to steal things,” Roland said, as he picked up a harness, strapped it around his back, hooked the axe in the loops, and gave her a wide grin. “I admit I picked up a few bad habits from the Ravens.”
“We won’t take anything else,” Taliesin said. “This is all quite impressive, but you should see Bonaparte’s collection of weapons at Ascalon. I did tell you about the gold dragon, right? He has sat on Tarquin’s treasure all these years. You would like him, Roland. Bonaparte said he’d come when I called him, and one day I might need him.”
A Fregian captain pushed Landrake into the chamber. “There is a commotion in the corridor, sir,” he said. “I believe guests have arrived.”
“Almaric,” Taliesin and Roland said in unison.
* * * * *
Chapter Fifteen
Taliesin and Roland watched the page push his way through the White Stags and Fregians, shouting, “Prince Almaric has arrived,” as he ran down the corridor, heading to the front foyer of the main keep. Roland tucked Taliesin’s arm around his right arm, and motioned the knights and Fregian soldiers to follow, as they went to meet the Wolf Prince.
“Moonbane must know a Wolfen is coming, for it trembles,” Roland said. “I must be excited too, for my nose is itching. If you hadn’t given me the Broa necklace this morning, I may have sprouted whiskers and not been able to hold Moonbane since it is coated with silver. However, Almaric is here to see you. Do you need the necklace more than I, my love? You have tasted human blood, though I suppose the roast beef I ate this morning counts; it was a little red.”
“Cow blood doesn’t count,” she said, her voice sharp as a scolding blue jay. She was nervous, and noticed the change in the atmosphere in the castle—the guards stood straighter at their posts while servants cowered in doorways, too afraid of the Wolf Prince to go about their duties. But it wasn’t meeting Almaric that worried her.
Roland sensed she had something on her mind and smiled as he leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “You want to tell me something, don’t you? Well, what is it?”
“It’s what I was trying to tell you in the armory about Bonaparte. Phelon saw the dragon kiss me, and I thought I’d best tell you before you heard it from someone else. Before you say anything, just know it wasn’t anything like what you must be imagining. I bit the dragon and tasted his blood, and strange as it sounds, it actually helps control my wild side. That’s why I don’t need the necklace. Please. Tell me you’re not upset with me, especially when we’re about to face the Wolf Prince.”
“Dearest, if you want to kiss a dragon, kiss a dragon. If I feel inclined to kiss a dog or cat, I will do so, though I do not imagine that will happen…cats have such thin lips.”
Roland laughed, not at all jealous because he did not seem to take her seriously. He nodded at a guard in a doorway, a man he apparently knew, and she felt it was a lame attempt to dismiss her comment. Yet, he kept Taliesin’s arm pressed hard against his ribs, as though he expected her to run off at an
y second, while she felt the urge to poke him in the side; hard.
“This is not a laughing matter. He can turn into a dragon-man, and he’s rather attractive, and his lips are not that thin,” Taliesin snapped. Roland finally stared at her, finally looking annoyed. “I want to be completely honest with you. No secrets, isn’t that what we told each other? But I won’t be laughed at.” Especially, she thought, when she told him something she that caused a tremendous amount of guilty in her heart. She said nothing further, afraid she had made too much of a moment in time that would never repeat. Bonaparte was her friend, but that was all.
“A proper response from a very improper princess,” Roland replied. “If Almaric feels the need to mention it, at least I am forewarned. However, in the future, I trust you will reserve all of your kisses for me, for as you know, I can turn into a beast.”
“That I do know.”
Roland chuckled when she blushed, her thoughts on a particular passionate embrace from the prior evening, and they both laughed.
Down the corridor, a large group of nobles, ladies, and soldiers stood in the spacious entryway to create a blockade. The roof rose forty feet above, where flags hung and a few pigeons cooed from the rafters. The crowd seemed eager to see the rebel prince, and servants brave enough to see Almaric firsthand stood on the grand staircase, watching, while they pretended to dust the steps with brooms. The Fregians and White Stags lined up behind Roland and Taliesin, but several tall noblemen made it difficult for Taliesin to see a procession of dark figures enter through the open double-doors as a trumpet blared to announce the arrival of the eldest Draconus.
Sir Tamal, Simoon, Khamsin, Harmattan, and Sirocco slid in behind Roland and Taliesin. The young knight wore his best tunic and armor, his dark hair was combed back from his brow, and he smelled like soap. The four squires wore leather tunics with tall pauldrons on their right shoulders, and swords hung against their right legs, except for Harmattan who was left-handed. Landrake and Bedwyn moved closer to their squires, and Taliesin spotted Sir Gavin and the Blue Star knights among the crowd, as eager as the rest to see Almaric.
“We thought you might need extra protection,” Tamal whispered. “I see you have your axe, Grand Master. And Princess, your sword hilt is exposed. Allow me to raise your hood around it, so no one can see it.”
Tamal fussed with her cloak, while Taliesin stood on tiptoes. When the tall nobles in front of her bowed their heads, she was able to see Chief Lykus and Captain Wolfgar swaggering into the foyer. They led a group of Wolfmen, clad in black armor, through the entryway and formed a circle to hold back the royal court. The Dukes of Scrydon, Aldagar, and Maldavia came next, followed by a handsome, blond-haired man with a thick beard wearing gold armor.
Taliesin knew this man was Almaric Draconus, noting he wore a slender gold crow. His hand rested on the hilt of a gold-plated sword worn on his left hip, which she recognized as Doomsayer. Almaric turned, light on his feet, and studied the crowd while whistling a little tune Taliesin recognized as a folk song her clan had often danced to around campfires. Voices whispered in excitement. Almaric concentrated on the women, and old and young alike blushed when he looked toward them; one young girl even swooned.
The moment Almaric noticed Taliesin at the back of the crowd, their eyes locked. Soldiers stepped aside at the wave of his hand as the Wolf Prince approached the Raven Mistress. Taliesin felt her sword give a nudge, and she lifted her head further, refusing to show fear. Roland attempted to block Taliesin with his body; however, she did not want a scene, nor blood spilled. She released Roland’s arm and stepped forward, with her eyes still locked on the prince, in what felt like a battle of wills. When Almaric came to a halt before Taliesin, he placed his hands on his hips, and smiled to reveal even, white teeth.
“This must be the Raven Mistress,” Almaric said in a surprisingly melodious voice. “Why so grim, Sir Roland? I came here to devour my cousin only with my eyes. Does it really require your entire order to protect her from the big, bad wolf?” He laughed, and the Wolfmen who remained in the foyer joined in, until he whistled, and they silenced. “You’re reluctant to make the formal introduction, so I will. I am Prince Almaric, and you are Princess Rosamond.” He held out a gloved hand. “Go on. Take it.”
Taliesin lifted her hand, unsure she wanted to be touched by Almaric, but with a growl, he grabbed her fingers and bowed his head to kiss her fingertips. His beard scratched her flesh and she felt his teeth pinch the skin of her knuckles before she jerked her hand free. She noticed a thin scar on his left cheek, and wondered if it was the scratch from Lykus, which had turned the prince into a Wolfen. Almaric stepped closer, laughed loudly when Roland bristled, and then placed his hand around the hilt of Doomsayer.
“Nothing to say, Sir Roland?” the prince asked. “I see my grandfather could not be bothered to greet me, nor any of my brothers.”
“Greetings, Your Grace. You will, of course, abide by the terms of the three-day truce,” Roland said. “You have brought as many Wolfmen as I have knights.”
“I didn’t include your countrymen, so technically you have more men here than I do. In fact, there are more Fregians inside than out in the courtyard,” Almaric said, amused. “You should have seen how the Thulian and Erindor troops fled at my arrival. Are you not going to send for my family? I hear my Aunt Calista has come home. I wonder if she has changed? A few gray hairs, a few more wrinkles, and most likely a sourer disposition. Hmm?”
“Shall I send for your family?” Roland asked.
“Don’t bother.” Almaric was an inch taller than Roland, though leaner, and he sniffed the air as he moved closer to Taliesin. “Cousin, I am far more handsome than my brothers,” he whispered, “and the reaction of the ladies is typical, only you don’t seem impressed. I believe I was to meet you in the family crypt. I would have come sooner, only I like a large breakfast. You may tell your champion to stand down, my dear, and I will accompany you to the crypt.”
Taliesin frowned. “I have already been there, and did not enjoy the time spent waiting, Your Grace. You forget we met a long time ago in this very castle.”
“Did we? I seem to recall Sertorius mentioned you two had been childhood playmates. No doubt you were scrawny and had scraped knees, or I would remember you, although the color of your hair is quite lovely.”
“I don’t remember you either,” she said. “I simply assume I met you, since I met the rest of your brothers, but only Sertorius stands out in my mind, Your Grace.”
“Call me ‘cousin,’ please. You know, Sertorius failed to do you justice. He did describe you as a beautiful woman, which means he wants to play with you in the garden again.” Almaric glanced to either side, and grew silent when he realized the crowd stared at him. He threw his arms out wide and turned. “Well, look your fill, you pack of mongrels. I have returned home. All of you go drink wine, or prepare for the feast tonight, for I do not need an audience. I hear Konall is dead. I rather liked Konall; a pity Sertorius took his head, but I am not here about that…I am here to learn who killed my father.” He turned to Taliesin and held out his hand. “My dear, it’s time for us to go to the crypt. Come along.”
“Someone fetch the princes and Lord Ungus,” Roland called out, and pages scurried in every direction.
“Must the Wolf Clan and dukes come with us?” Taliesin asked. She did not want to go to the crypt with Lykus or Wolfgar, and when she caught the shaggy-haired chief scowling at her, she wondered if they knew Phelon and Xander now sat in the dungeon. Wolfgar, however, refused to look at her. “If I must return to that place, I intend to bring only Sir Roland and several of his knights. I’m not afraid. Are you?”
“Bring an army, if you like, cousin. But first, allow me to introduce my allies.” Almaric took Taliesin’s arm and drew her into the open, away from Roland, by force. He pointed at the three noblemen and a young man in maroon with a thin mustache. “This is Duke Volund Fortinbraus; his eldest son, Lord Valesk; Duke Regis Peergynt; and t
he ugly one is Duke Fergus Vortigern. I have always confused ‘Volund’ with ‘Vortigern,’ and in truth, they look and smell the same. Gentlemen, allow me to introduce my cousin, Princess Rosamond the Fair.”
“I have seen her many times,” Duke Regis said. He looked and sounded much like Sertorius, except he had facial hair and was ten years older. “It’s a shame about Raven’s Nest. I am relieved Mother wasn’t burned to the ground, for that old oak tree is a symbol of peace for our people. It is said the Raven King married his bride beneath the tree, old even then, and every Lorian in his royal court carved their initials into the bark; I’m sure, by now, the initials have vanished. When last I passed, the forest had started to reclaim the land once inhabited by the Raven Clan.”
“Yes, it is a shame our clan was nearly wiped out by the Wolfmen,” Taliesin said, thinking about the Battle of Bernlak, and how Peergynt’s men had brutally laid a trap for the Fregians. She and her clan had picked the dead bodies clean, and that was how she happened to find Doomsayer, the Deceiver’s Map, and Sertorius’ flag; the first clue he had joined his older brother’s rebellion against their father.
Duke Volund of Aldagar was a beefy, brutish man, and his son, Lord Valesk, was a slender reed in comparison, but both shared the same cruel eyes. Havendor Castle was Volund’s home, while Valesk owned Stalker Castle, and together they guarded the bridges that hung over the Minor River which led into Garridan. Their ancestral sword, Desdemona, which meant ‘demon moan,’ had vanished centuries ago, hidden in a dark place even the Deceiver’s Map could not find. Duke Fergus of Scrydon owned the sword Trembler, now belted at his side, and lived in the Black Tower. Overweight, with a thick black beard that fell to mid-chest, his odor reminded Taliesin of a wet sheepdog who had rolled in manure. Stains on his black tunic appeared to be part of his lunch, and he had food in his teeth when he smiled at her intimidatingly. Taliesin wondered if Fergus was Wolfen, for he had their scent, and his eyes had a peculiar, yellow tinge.
Queen of Magic Page 22
