The
Savage Nobles
(Part Three)
Stolen Crown
SHAWN WICKERSHEIM
Copyright © 2018 SHAWN WICKERSHEIM
Digital Edition, License Notes
Published by Shawn Wickersheim
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No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author
Cover Art Design: J Caleb Clark
All rights reserved.
DEDICATION
For my family, but especially for my wife,
Tracy,
who always believed someday I’d finish this story.
.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d like to again thank the many writer-friends who have provided their guidance, encouragement, critiques and the occasional caffeinated beverage during the creation of this novel, specifically Lorijo Metz, Hal Shepherd, and Tina P. Schwartz. I’d also like to thank Kimberly Pauley for providing me with the original “Rush of Betrayal” book covers. Thank you all so very much for everything you’ve done.
Also, because of the strange order of events in which I’ve written these novels, I’d like to thank my two children, Alex and Anna, first for being wonderfully behaved babies so I had the opportunity to write the first couple of drafts of The Rush of Betrayal (the original title) while they napped and now for being wonderfully behaved kids who allow me the time to write every day after we’ve gone for a bike ride or played a game or two or simply just hung out. Thank you both for being really great kids!
Thanks also to my mom and dad and my immediate family for their love and support and for listening to me talk about this strange fantasy world I’ve created.
A special thanks to author Dyrk Ashton for the wonderful book blurb and to the talented J Caleb Clark for once again creating a great new book cover design. Thank you both.
I’d also like to say thank you to all my wonderful fans for your kind reviews and for helping to spread the word about me and my books on Twitter, Facebook, and Goodreads and on your personal blogs and websites. I am so happy you’ve enjoyed my books and I will do my best to continue to entertain you and to publish quality work. That is my promise to you.
And last, but definitely not least, a special thank you to my amazing wife, Tracy, for her unconditional love and for her continued support of my writing dream. I would not be the man I am today without her, and definitely not the writer I am without her firm but gentle prodding from time to time to ‘just get the book done already’. I love her beyond words. Thank you, Tracy, for your love, your patience, your kindness and for always being there for me. I will be eternally grateful for having you in my life. And honey, I did it. The Savage Nobles is finally done! Let’s go celebrate! Wait . . . why are you handing me a toilet brush? What is this ‘to do’ list all about? Why is it so long?
Chapter 1
Josephine stood at the cliff’s edge and watched in growing frustration as her rapist sailed away. It wasn’t fair, but if she’d learned anything about life these past few days it was life wasn’t fair.
Long minutes passed and finally the droning inside her head faded away. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her body ached. She’d scuffed up her hands and knees and her right side sliding along the road, but nothing appeared broken.
She turned to thank Edgar for coming to her rescue, but he wasn’t standing beside her.
“I found these two grazing on a bit of grass by the lighthouse,” Edgar called out.
He was leading the pair of runaway horses she’d saved. Josephine let out sigh of relief. At least they wouldn’t have to walk all the way back to the Walpole.
“We don’t have to go back there, Jo,” Edgar said, as if reading her mind. “We could just ride away, go anywhere we want. Forget about Belyne . . .”
It was a tempting suggestion, but Josephine shook her head. “There’s still a chance for me to make this right.”
“How? The man you want to kill is gone.” Edgar gestured toward Lipscombe’s ship. It was barely more than a dirty spot on the horizon now. “For all we know, he ain’t never coming back.”
“Then I’ll follow him to Euclacia,” Josephine said. “That’s not too far from Bel’yowlye, right?”
“All I know is they’re both on the other side of the sea.”
“Very well . . .” She gave Lipscombe’s ship one last look before turning away from the cliff and fixing him with a level stare. “I suppose that just means I need to finish matters here before I find passage on a ship.”
“Finish what matters?”
Josephine climbed onto the back of one of the horses. “I already told you, I’m going to help Lord Ian.”
“Still?” His face scrunched up in confusion. “Why?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
During the ride back to the Walpole, Josephine considered her words and wondered if she’d spoken in error. Was she truly doing the right thing? Was she really helping Lord Ian out of the goodness of her heart, or was she honestly seeking revenge against Lord Ragget? The truth was . . . she was probably doing a little of both.
In the end, did it really matter?
Edgar tried to make small talk, asking her, had she been secretly practicing with her crossbow? No. Then, how had she shot all those arrows out of the sky? She thought about that for a moment, tried to figure out how best to explain the pounding music in her head and finally shrugged and said she didn’t know. Did she think it was the power of the crossbow or something else? She was sure it was something else, but she shrugged again and said she didn’t know. How was she going to help Lord Ian? That was a good question. She wished she had a good answer.
“Let me guess,” Edgar said. “You’re going to shrug and say you don’t know.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, yet. Is that better?”
Edgar grunted and backed off; allowing the conversation to die and giving her time and space to think. Either that or he was just riding behind her to enjoy the view of her backside. Even in the warden’s uniform trousers, he had claimed she had a beautiful bum. She sighed and guessed there was no harm in letting him look.
As they drew near the Walpole, Josephine noticed a crowd of hundreds gathered on the steps in front of the courthouse. Guards blocked the main doors and were only allowing a few people inside at a time. She shot Edgar a quizzical look.
“Go on upstairs.” He tossed her the room key. “I’ll find out what’s going on.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No,” he said. “There ain’t no one looking for me.”
He had a point.
She headed up to their room and strolled out onto the balcony. From there she was able to watch the crowd slowly file inside. She tried to find Edgar, but he was nowhere to be seen. Had he slipped into the courthouse already? After a while, the guards closed the doors and began turning people away. No one seemed in the mood to leave and many simply stood on the stai
rs and waited.
A knock sounded at the door. Josephine headed back inside. It was probably Edgar, but to be safe she pressed an ear to the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s me, Josephine,” Edgar said. “Let me in.”
“Josephine?” It sounded strange hearing him use her formal name. She released the lock and opened the door. “I can’t remember the last time you called me . . .”
Two of Bolodenko’s stone-faced men stood on either side of Edgar. Trago and Como. She recognized the carved grimace and smirk. They were the two who used to beat her father when he couldn’t pay his debt on time.
She reached for her crossbow.
Edgar raised his hands. “Josephine, stop!”
She froze. The forcefulness of his commanding voice surprised her. The familiar buzzing sounded faintly in the back of her mind.
“Josephine, listen to me,” Edgar said. “I ran into Bolodenko and these two fine gentlemen in an alleyway downstairs. Bolodenko was not pleased with me. He did not like that I had failed to keep you away from Lipscombe.”
“Go back and tell your master that Lipscombe is fine,” Josephine said to Trago and Como. “I shot him in the ass, but he’ll live.”
The two stone-faced men said nothing.
“I already told Bolodenko that, but he still wasn’t happy,” Edgar said. “He said I had to be punished.”
“Punished? How?”
Edgar shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll come up with something creatively painful. He usually does.”
“Not this time,” Josephine insisted. “Did you tell Bolodenko I need your help if I’m going to break Lord Ian out of the royal dungeon?”
“I did, but then he told me Lord Ian is already standing trial, that he will be found guilty of high treason and he’ll be executed tomorrow.”
“How does he . . .?” The meaning of the words sank in and Josephine put a hand to her mouth. “That poor man! We’ve . . .” Her mind raced. “We’ve got to move quickly and get him out of there tonight!”
“That’s what I told Bolodenko.”
“And what did he say?”
“He didn’t think the two of us could succeed on such short notice. Maybe if we had a week to plan . . .”
“No! We can do it.” She glared at the two stone-faced men. “Go tell your master, I’ll do it myself if I have to! I have a warden’s uniform. I can fix my beard and mustache. I’ll touch up my make-up. I’ll infiltrate the dungeon tonight. Wardens guard the royal dungeon. No one will notice one more. I’ll find Lord Ian’s cell . . . somehow . . . and I’ll get him out of there.”
Trago and Como stared down at her.
“It’ll be just like playing another role,” Josephine insisted. “I know I can do it!”
“I suggested something similar to Bolodenko,” Edgar said. “I told him you were a great actress and he agreed. He’s seen you perform. The problem is I’m the one who’s good with locks . . .”
“You could teach me. We’ve got all day.”
Edgar was shaking his head. “Again, maybe if we had a week . . .”
“Dammit Edgar,” Josephine scowled. “What’s the matter with you? I thought you were on my side.”
“I am which is why I told Bolodenko I’d go in myself.”
“What? Just you?” Josephine searched for another way out of this mess, but nothing immediately came to mind. “What did he say?”
“Well . . . considering I’m still alive and all in one piece, I’d say he’s in favor of it.”
Josephine eyed the two stone-faced men. “So, what are they doing here?”
“Bolodenko wants to make sure I don’t back out.”
“Oh.” Josephine immediately saw where this was going. “Am I to be his prisoner at the Necropolis then?”
“No. Bolodenko agreed to let you stay here. In this room,” Edgar said. “They’re here to make sure you stay put until I get back.”
“What? I can’t just sit on my hands and do nothing while you’re gone!”
“I’m sorry, Josephine. This is how it has to be.”
“I don’t like this . . .” The buzzing inside her head grew louder. “There’s got to be another way.”
“If I don’t do what Bolodenko wants, I’m a dead man.”
Josephine growled her frustration and paced around the room. “And what happens if you don’t make it back . . .?”
“I’ll make it back.”
“But what if you don’t?”
“Bolodenko promised he wouldn’t harm you as long as I uphold my end of the bargain.”
“Gods, Edgar!” She stalked across the room and looked him square in the eyes. “And you agreed to this?”
“What choice did I really have, Josephine?”
She didn’t know what to say. Finally, feeling helpless and hating how it felt she said, “There must be something I can do.”
“Just stay put for now. Once this matter with Lord Ian is resolved, Bolodenko said you’re free to do whatever you want with Lord Ragget. You can kill him if you can.”
“I suppose Bolodenko would like that, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes,” Edgar said, nodding. “He’d like that very much.”
Minutes later, Edgar walked out of the Walpole and ducked into the nearest alley. At the far end was a black coach. Black curtains covered the windows. As he approached, a tiny man climbed down from inside. He was bald and burly, dark and surly, and he barely came up to his mid-thigh.
“Where’s the stone-faced muscle-men Bolodenko loaned you?” the tiny man grumbled.
Edgar closed his eyes and inhaled deeply . . .
. . . And Neko Blood exhaled and opened her eyes. “They’re keeping an eye on Josephine.”
“Both of them?” Tomm walked over to the body lying behind the black coach. “Then who the hell’s moving him ‘cause I sure as hell ain’t doin’ it.”
“I can help you.”
“Help?” Tomm shook his head. “He’s all yours. I ain’t got no need for him. I told you long ago, I don’t do no heavy lifting. I ain’t built for that kinda shit.”
Neko Blood’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t go looking at me as if you’re trying to shoot daggers out your eyes either,” Tomm groused. He climbed up the coach’s steps and opened the door. “There. I’ve done all I’m prepared to do to help you with that there body.” He scrambled onto the front window’s ledge and hopped over onto the bench. “I don’t know why Bolodenko wants him anyways . . .”
Neko Blood looked down at Edgar Wilde. The young Gyunwarian thief was still alive. Not that it really mattered much. Soon enough, once he served her purpose, he’d be dead. She cocked her head to one side. The stone-faced men had done a number on him. Even before they had beaten him and left him looking like a swollen mass of bruises, he hadn’t resembled his older brother Owen much, but she supposed that didn’t matter either. He looked well enough like a lot of other Gyunwarian men, and that’s all that really counted. It was just too bad he had to die in the end. Not that Bolodenko cared about the young man . . .
She just hated losing any asset, no matter how insignificant.
Chapter 2
The veins in the king’s neck stood out in livid ridges. Lord Ragget’s face turned a brilliant shade of red. The gallery behind Ian erupted. Hundreds leapt to their feet screaming. Curses spewed from their lips. Scores of guards trotted out of the nearby tunnel and took up defensive positions around the main floor of the amphitheater. A few enraged Yordicians surged out of their chairs. They were met by drawn swords and forced back. Sir Walter Merriday slammed the butt of an iron spear against the floor. The king bellowed for order. He banged his gavel repeatedly on his desk. The little wooden mallet broke in half.
Lord Ragget shot out of his chair. He snatched the iron spear out of Sir Merriday’s hands and stalked to the center of the courtroom. Ian thought the furious lord was going to use the weapon against him. Ragget mouthed something Ian couldn’t hear and repeated the same action Merriday
had done a dozen times already.
This time, the dull thud was a hundred times louder. The thunderous boom shook the entire amphitheater. Ian lost his balance. The hundreds behind him were knocked off their feet. Dust fell from the exposed rafters. Chandeliers trembled. A couple of the open windows shattered. Shards of glass rained down on some of those in the upper balconies. Noblemen and commoners alike all stopped and stared. When the bass reverberations died away, the room was deathly quiet.
“You invoke the right of diplomatic immunity?” Lord Ragget growled. His voice was thick with anger and frustration.
“I do,” Ian said. He climbed to his feet and raised his chin defiantly. He looked past the lord to stare at the fat new king. “I am the Gyunwarian Ambassador. You may exile me and send me back to Gyunwar, but nothing more. There I will be tried for my alleged crimes and if I’m found guilty, I will be punished there.”
“If you were going to invoke your diplomatic immunity,” King Edmund said, “why wait until now to do so?”
“I had hoped I’d get a fair trial,” Ian said.
King Edmund’s thick hands curled into white-knuckled fists. Ian waited. This was not how he’d wanted to handle this matter, but this charade of a trial had left him no other choice. His gaze bounced back and forth between the king and Lord Ragget. He could tell the two men were silently seeking a way around his immunity. They would fail. He knew he’d be released now.
Diplomatic immunity was sacrosanct.
King Edmund struggled to unclench his right hand. Finally, with an awkward wave he motioned in Ian’s direction. “The prisoner, Mister Ian Weatherall, has one day to pack his personal belongings and vacate the city of Belyne. He will be escorted to the Yordician border where he will be turned over to the proper Gyunwarian authorities.” The king’s harsh gaze narrowed. “Mister Weatherall, if you ever try to return to this country, if you even cast so much as your shadow into this country, I’ll have you arrested, tried and executed by the end of that same day. Do you understand what I am saying?”
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