The Crown Conspiracy

Chapter 3: Conspiracies

The crowned falcon standard flew from the highest tower of Essendon Castle, marking the presence of the king. Essendon was the royal seat of Avryn and the kingdom of Melengar, and although not especially large or powerful, it was nevertheless an old and respected realm. The castle, an imposing structure of elaborate gray walls and towers, stood at the center of Medford, the hub of the city’s four distinct quarters of Gentry Square, Artisan Row, the Common Quarter, and the Lower Quarter. Like most cities in Avryn, Medford lay behind the protection of a strong outer wall; nevertheless, the castle also had its own fortifications partitioning it from the general city. This inner wall, crowned with crenellated parapets where skilled archers kept watch from behind stone merlons, did not completely encircle the castle. Instead, it connected to a large, imposing keep that served as its rear barrier. The height of the keep and the wide moat surrounding its base kept the king’s home well protected.

During the day, merchants wheeled carts to the castle wall and positioned themselves on either side of the gate, forming a tent city of bustling vendors, entertainers, and lenders who sought to do business with the castle inhabitants. This wave of local commerce receded at sunset because citizens of the city could not pass within fifty feet of the walls from dusk until dawn. This restriction was strictly enforced by royal archers who rarely hesitated to fire at those who ventured too close at night. Pairs of guards, dressed in chain mail with steel helms bearing the falcon standard of Melengar, patrolled the perimeter of the castle. They walked casually, with thumbs in their sword belts, often discussing events of the day or their off duty plans.

Royce and Hadrian watched the pace of the guard’s routine for an hour before moving toward the rear of the keep. Just as DeWitt had explained, negligent gardeners had ignored a spider-work of thick-stemmed vines tracing their way up the stone. Unfortunately, the vines did not reach as high as the windows. On this frosty late autumn night, the swim across the moat was bone chillingly cold. The ivy, however, proved to be quite reliable, and the climb was as easy as ascending a ladder.

“I now know why DeWitt didn’t want to do this himself,” Hadrian whispered to Royce as they hung from the ivy. “After being frozen in that water, I think if I fell right now I would shatter on impact.”

“Just imagine how many chamber pots are dumped into it each day,” Royce mentioned as he drove a small, ringed spike into the seam between two stone blocks.

Hadrian looked up at the many windows he presumed led to bedrooms and cringed at the implications. “I could have lived without that bit of insight.” He pulled a strap harness from his satchel and fastened it to the eyelet of the spike’s ring.

“Just trying to take your mind off the cold,” Royce said, tapping in another spike.

Although tedious and tense, the process was surprisingly fast, and they reached the lowest window before the guards completed their circuit. Royce reached out and tested the shutter. As promised, it was open. He pulled it gently back, just a hair, and peered inside. A moment later, he climbed in and waved Hadrian up.

A small bed draped in a rich burgundy canopy took up the center of one wall. A dresser with a washbasin stood beside it. The only other piece of furniture was a simple wooden chair. A modest tapestry of hounds hunting deer covered much of the opposite wall. Everything was neat but sterile. There were no boots near the door, no jacket thrown across the chair, and the bed covers showed no wrinkles. The room was unused.

Hadrian remained silent near the window as Royce moved across the room to the door. He watched as the thief’s feet tested the surface of the floor before committing his weight. Royce mentioned once how he had been in an attic on a job when he hit a weak board and fell through the bedroom ceiling. This floor was stone, but even stones had loose mortar or contained ingenious hidden traps or alarms. Royce made it to the door where he crouched and paused to listen. He motioned a sign for walking with his hand and then began counting on his fingers for Hadrian to see. There was a pause, and then he repeated the signal again. Hadrian crossed the room to join his friend and the two sat waiting for several minutes in silence.

Eventually Royce lifted the door latch with gloved hands but did not open it. Outside they could hear the heavy footfalls of hard boots on stone, first one set, and then a second. As the steps faded, Royce opened the door slightly and peered out. The hall was empty.

Before them lay a narrow hallway lit by widely spaced torches, whose flames cast flickering shadows, which created an illusion of movement on the walls. They entered the hall, quietly closed the door behind them, and quickly moved approximately fifty feet to another door. Ornate and elaborately carved, it had gilded hinges and a metal lock. Royce tried the door and then shook his head. He knelt and pulled a small kit of tools from his belt pouch while Hadrian moved to the far side of the hall. From where he stood, he could see the length of the corridor in both directions as well as a portion of the stairs that entered from the right. He stood ready for any trouble, which came sooner than he expected.

A sound echoed in the corridor to his right, and Hadrian could hear the faint noise of hard heels on stone coming in their direction. Still on his knees, Royce worked the lock as the steps grew closer. Hadrian moved his hand to the hilt of his sword when at last the thief quickly opened the door. Trusting to luck that the room was empty, the two slipped inside. Royce softly closed the door behind them, and the footsteps passed without pause.

They were in the royal chapel. Banks of candles burned on either side of the large room. Supporting a glorious vaulted ceiling, elaborate marble columns rose near the chamber’s center. Four rows of wooden pews lined either side of the main aisle. Cinquefoil-shaped adornments and blind-tracery moldings common to the Nyphron Church decorated the walls. Alabaster statues of Maribor and Novron stood behind the altar. Novron, depicted as a strong handsome man in the prime of his youth, was kneeling, sword in hand. The god Maribor, sculpted as a powerful, larger-than-life figure with a long beard and flowing robes, loomed over Novron, placing a crown upon the young man’s head. The altar itself consisted of an ornately carved wooden cabinet with three broad doors and a rose-colored marble top. Upon it, two more candles burned and a large gilded tome lay open.

DeWitt had told Hadrian he left the sword behind the altar, and they headed toward it. As they approached the first set of pews, both men froze in mid step. Lying there, face down in a pool of freshly spilled blood, was the body of a man. The rounded handle of the nondescript dagger protruded from his back. While Royce made a quick survey for Pickering’s sword, Hadrian checked the man for signs of life. The man was dead, and the sword was nowhere to be found. Royce tapped Hadrian on the shoulder and pointed at the gold crown that had rolled to the far side of a pillar. The full weight of the situation registered with both of them—it was time to leave.

They headed for the door. Royce paused only momentarily to listen to ensure the hall was clear. They slipped out of the chapel, closed the door, and moved down the hall toward the bedroom.

“Murderers!”

The shout was so close and so terrifying that they both spun with weapons drawn. Hadrian had his bastard sword in one hand, his short sword in the other. Royce held a brilliant white-bladed dagger.

Standing before the open chapel door was a bearded dwarf.

“Murderers!” The dwarf cried again, but it was not necessary. The sounds of footfalls could already be heard, and an instant later, soldiers, with weapons drawn, poured into the hallway from both sides.

“Murderers!” the dwarf continued pointing at them. “They’ve killed the king!”

Royce lifted the latch to the bedroom door and pushed, but the door failed to give way. He pulled, and then pushed again, but the door would not budge.

“Drop your weapons, or we’ll butcher you where you stand!” a soldier ordered. He was a tall man with a bushy moustache that bristled as he gritted his teeth fiercely.

“How many do you think there are?” whispered Hadrian. The walls echoed with the sounds of more soldiers about to arrive.

“Too many,” Royce replied.

“Be a lot less in a minute,” Hadrian assured him.

“We won’t make it. I can’t get the door opened; we have no exit. I think someone spiked it from the inside. We can’t fight the entire castle guard.”

“Put them down now!” The soldier in charge shouted and took a step closer while raising the level of his sword.

“Damn.” Hadrian let his blades drop. Royce followed suit.

“Take them,” the soldier barked.

Alric Essendon awoke, startled by the commotion. He was not in his room. The bed he was lying in was a fraction of the size and lacked the familiar velvet canopy. The walls were bare stone, and only a small dresser and wash table decorated the space. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and soon realized where he was. He had accidentally fallen asleep, apparently several hours ago.

He looked over at Tillie, her bare back and shoulder exposed above the quilt. Alric wondered how she could sleep with all the shouting going on. He rolled out of bed and felt around for his nightshirt. Determining his clothing from hers was easy to do even in the dark. Hers was linen; his was silk.

Awakened by his movement, Tillie groggily asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, go back to sleep,” Alric replied.

She could sleep through a hurricane, but his leaving always woke her. That he had fallen asleep was not her fault, but he blamed her just the same. Alric hated waking up here. He hated Tillie even more, and was conscious of the paradox. Throughout the day, her need for him attracted Alric, but in the morning, it repulsed him. Of all the castle servants, however, she was by far the prettiest. Alric did not care for the noble ladies his father invited to court. They were haughty, formal, and considered their virginity more valuable than the crown. He found them dull and irritating. His father thought differently. Alric was only nineteen, but already his father was pressuring him to pick a bride.

“You’ll be king someday,” Amrath told him. “Your first duty to the kingdom is to sire an heir.” His father spoke of marriage as if it was a profession, and that was how Alric saw it as well. For him, this, or any form of work, was best avoided—or at least postponed as long as possible.

“I wish you could spend the whole night with me, my lord,” Tillie babbled at him as he pulled his nightshirt over his head.

“Then you should be grateful I dozed as long as I did.” With his toes he felt along the floor for his slippers and, finding them, he slid his feet into the warm fleece lining.

“I am, my lord.”

“Good night, Tillie,” Alric said as he reached the door and stepped outside.

“Good—” Alric closed the door before she finished.

Tillie usually slept with the other maids, in a dorm near the kitchens. Alric brought her to the little vacant bedroom on the third floor of the castle for privacy. He did not like taking girls to his room—his father’s bedroom was right next door. The vacant room was on the north side of the castle, and because it received less sunlight, it was always cooler than the royal chambers. He pulled his nightshirt tight and shuffled down the corridor toward the stairs.

“I’ve checked all the upper floors, Captain, he’s not there,” Alric heard someone say from just up the steps. By his curt tone, he guessed the speaker to be a sentry. He spoke to them rarely, but when he did, they were always abrupt as if words were a commodity in short supply.

“Continue the search, down to the prisons if necessary. I want every room examined, each pantry, cabinet, and wardrobe. Do you understand?”

Alric knew that voice well, it was Wylin, the master-at-arms.

“Yes, sir, right away!”

Alric heard the sentry trotting down the steps, and he saw the soldier stop abruptly the moment he met Alric’s gaze. “I found him, sir!” he shouted with a hint of relief.

“What’s going on, Captain?” Alric called out even as Wylin and three other castle guards rushed down the steps.

“Your Royal Highness!” the captain knelt briefly, bowing his head, and then rose abruptly. “Benton!” he snapped at the solider. “I want five more men here protecting the prince right now. Move!”

“Yes, sir!” the soldier snapped a salute and ran back up the stairs.

“Protecting me?” Alric said. “What’s going on?”

“Your father’s been murdered.”

“My father? What?”

“His Majesty, the king…we found him in the royal chapel stabbed in the back. Two intruders are in custody. The dwarf Magnus confirmed it. He saw them murder your father, but he was powerless to stop them.”

Alric heard Wylin’s voice, but he could not understand the words. They did not make sense. My father is dead? He had just spoken with him before he went to Tillie’s room not more than a few hours ago. How could he be dead?

I must insist that you remain here, Your Highness, under heavy guard until I finish sweeping the castle. They may not be alone. I am presently conducting a—”

“Insist what you like, Wylin, but get out of my way. I want to see my father!” Alric demanded, pushing past him.

“King Amrath’s body has been taken to his bedroom, Your Highness.”

His body!

Alric did not want to hear any more. He ran up the steps, his slippers flying off his feet.

“Stay with the prince!” Wylin shouted after him.

Alric reached the royal wing. There was a crowd in the corridor that moved aside at his approach. As he reached the chapel, its door lay open with several of the chief ministers gathered inside.

“My prince!” he heard his Uncle Percy call to him from inside, but he did not stop. He was determined to reach his father.

He couldn’t be dead!

He rounded the corner, passed his own room, and rushed into the royal suite. Here the double doors were open as well. Several ladies in nightgowns and robes stood just outside weeping loudly. Inside, a pair of older women busied themselves wringing out pink-stained linens in a washbasin.

To the side of the bed stood his sister Arista, dressed in a burgundy and gold gown. Her arms wrapped around the bedpost, which she gripped so tightly that her fingers were white. She stared at the figure on the mattress with eyes that were dry but wide with horror.

On the pale white sheets of the royal bed lay King Amrath Essendon. He still wore the same clothes Alric had seen him in before he retired for the night. His face was pale, his eyes were closed, and near the corner of his lips, there was a tiny tear of dried blood.

“My prince—I mean, Your Royal Majesty,” his uncle corrected himself as he followed him into the bedchamber. His Uncle Percy always looked older than his father did—his hair was very gray, his face wrinkled and drooping; however, he possessed the trim elegant build of a swordsman. He was still in the process of tying up his robe as he entered. “Thank Maribor you are safe. We thought you might have met a similar fate.”

Alric was at a loss for words. He just stood staring at the still body of his father.

“Your Majesty, do not worry. I will take care of everything. I know how hard this must be. You’re still a young man and—”

“What are you talking about?” Alric looked at him. “Take care of what? What are you taking care of?”

“A number of things, Your Majesty. There is the securing of the castle, the investigation as to how this happened, the apprehension of those responsible, arrangements for the funeral, and of course, the eventual coronation.”

“Coronation?”

“You are king now, sire. We will need to arrange your crowning ceremony, but that, of course, will wait until we have everything else settled.”

“But I thought…Wylin told me the murderers have been captured.”

“He captured two of them. I’m just making certain there aren’t anymore.”

“What will happen to them?” He looked back at the still form of his father. “The killers, what will happen to them?”

“That is up to you, Your Royal Majesty. Their fate is yours to decide, unless you would prefer I handle the matter for you, since it can be quite unpleasant.”

Alric turned to his uncle. “I want them to die, Uncle Percy. I want them to suffer horribly and then die.”

“Of course, Your Majesty, of course. I assure you they will.”

The dungeons of Essendon Castle lay buried two stories beneath the earth. Ground water seeped through cracks in the walls and wet the face of the stone. Fungus grew in the mortar between stone blocks, and mold coated the wood of doors, stools, and buckets. The foul, musty smell mixed with the stench of decay, and the corridors echoed with the mournful cries of doomed men. Despite the rumors told in Medford’s taverns, the castle dungeons had a limited capacity. Needless to say, the prison staff found room for the king-killers. They moved prisoners to provide Royce and Hadrian with their own private cell.

News of the king’s death did not take long to spread, and for the first time in years, the prisoners had something exciting to talk about.

“Who’da thought I’d outlast old Amrath,” a graveled voice muttered. He laughed, but the laughter quickly broke into a series of coughs and sputters.

“Any chance the prince might review our sentences on account of all this?” A weaker, younger voice asked. “I mean it’s possible, isn’t it?”

This question was met with a lengthy silence, more coughing, and a sneeze.

“The guard said they stabbed the bastard in the back right in his own chapel. What does that say about his piety?” A new bitter voice questioned. “Seems to me he was asking for a bit too much from the man upstairs.”

“The ones that done it ’ere in our old cell. They moved me and Danny out to make room. I saw ’em when they shifted us, two of ’em, one big, the other little.”

“Anyone know ’em? Maybe they was trying to break us out and got sidetracked, eh?”

“Gotta have some pretty big brass ones to kill a king in his own castle. They won’t get a trial, not even a fake one. I’m surprised they’ve lived this long.”

“Gonna want a public torture before the execution. Things been quiet a long time. Haven’t had a good torture in years.”

“So why ya think they did it?”

“Why don’t you ask ’em?”

“Hey, over there? You conscious in that cell of yours? Or did they beat you stupid?”

“Maybe they’re dead.”

They were not dead, but neither were they talking. Royce and Hadrian stood chained to the far wall of their cell, their ankles locked in stocks, and their mouths gagged with leather muzzles. They had only been there for the better part of an hour, but already the strain on Hadrian’s muscles was painful. The soldiers had removed their gear, cloaks, boots, and tunics, leaving them with nothing but their britches to fight the damp chill of the dungeon.

They hung listening to the rambling conversations of the other inmates. The conversation halted at the sound of heavy approaching footfalls. The door to the cellblock opened and banged against the interior wall.

“Right this way, Your Royal Highness—I mean, Your Royal Majesty,” the voice of the dungeon warden said rapidly.

A metal key twisted in the lock, and the door to their cell creaked open. Four royal bodyguards led the prince and his uncle, Percy Braga inside. Hadrian recognized Braga, the Archduke and Lord Chancellor of Melengar, but he had never seen Alric before. The prince was young, perhaps no more than twenty. He was short, thin, and delicate in appearance with light brown hair that reached to his shoulders, and only the ghost of a beard. His stature and features must have come from his mother because the former king had been a bear of a man. He wore only a silk nightshirt with a massive sword strapped comically to his side by an oversized leather belt.

“These are the ones?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Braga replied.

“Torch,” Alric commanded, snapping his fingers impatiently as a soldier pulled one from the wall bracket and held it out for him. Alric scowled at the offer. “Hold it near their heads. I wish to see their faces.” Alric peered at them. “No marks? They haven’t been whipped?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Braga said. “They surrendered without a fight and Captain Wylin thought it best to lock them up while he searched the rest of the castle. I approved his decision. We can’t be certain these two acted alone in this.”

“No, of course not. Who gave the order to gag them?”

“I don’t know, Your Majesty.”

“Do you wish their gags removed?” Percy inquired.

“No, Uncle Percy—oh, I can’t call you that anymore, can I?”

“You’re the king now, Your Majesty. You can call me whatever you wish.”

“But it isn’t dignified, not for a ruler, but archduke is so formal—I will call you, Percy, is that all right?”

“It is not my place to approve of your decisions any longer, sire.”

“Percy it is then, and no, leave their gags on. I have no desire to hear their lies. What will they say except that they didn’t do it? Captured killers always deny their crimes. What choice do they have? Unless they wish to take their last few moments of life to spit in the face of their king. I won’t give them the satisfaction of that.”

“They could tell us if they were working alone or for someone else. They could even tell us who that person or persons might be.”

Alric continued to study them. His eyes focused on a twisted mark in the shape of an M on Royce’s left shoulder. He squinted and then, out of frustration, snatched the torch from a guard and held it painfully close to Royce’s face for a moment. “What is this here? Like a tattoo, but not quite.”

“A brand, Your Majesty,” Braga replied. “It is the Mark of Manzant. It would seem this creature was once an inmate of Manzant Prison.”

Alric looked puzzled. “I didn’t think inmates were released from Manzant, and I wasn’t aware anyone has ever escaped.”

Braga appeared puzzled as well.

Alric then moved to inspect Hadrian. When he observed the small silver medallion that hung around his neck, the prince lifted it, turned it over with mild curiosity, and then let it go with disdain.

“It doesn’t matter,” Alric said. “I really don’t think they look like the type to volunteer information. In the morning have them hauled out to the square and tortured. If they say anything of merit, have them beheaded.”

“If not?”

“If not, quarter them slowly. Draw their bowels into the sun and have the royal surgeon keep them alive as long as possible. Oh, and before you do, make certain heralds have time to make several announcements. I want a crowd for this. People need to know the penalty for treason.”

“As you wish, sire.”

Alric started for the door, and then stopped. He turned and struck Royce across the face with the back of his hand. “He was my father, you worthless piece of filth!” The prince walked out, leaving the two hanging helplessly awaiting the dawn.

Hadrian could only guess how long they had been hanging against the wall; perhaps two or three hours had passed. The faceless voices of the other inmates grew less frequent until they stopped entirely, silenced with boredom or sleep. The muzzle covering his mouth became soaked with spit and he found it difficult to breathe. His wrists were sore where the shackles rubbed and his back and his legs ached. To make matters worse, the cold tightened his muscles, making the strain even more painful. Not wanting to look at Royce, he alternated between closing his eyes and staring at the far wall. He did his best to avoid thinking about what would happen when daylight came. Instead, his mind was full of thoughts of self-incrimination—this was his fault. His insistence on breaking rules landed them where they were. Their death was on his hands.

The door opened, and once more, a royal guard, this time accompanied by a woman, entered the cell. She was tall, slender, and dressed in a gown of burgundy and gold silk, which shimmered like fire in the torch light. She was pretty, with auburn hair and fair skin.

“Remove their gags,” she ordered briskly.

The jailers rushed to unbuckle the straps and pull off the muzzles. “Now leave us, all of you.”

The jailers promptly exited.

“You too, Hilfred.”

“Your Highness, I’m your bodyguard. I need to stay to—”

“They are chained to the wall, Hilfred,” she snapped and then took a breath to calm herself. “I am fine, now please leave and guard the door. I want no interruptions by anyone. Do you understand?”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” The guard bowed and stepped out, closing the door behind him.

She moved forward, carefully studying the two of them. On her belt was a jeweled kris dagger. Hadrian recognized the long wavy blade as the type used by eastern occultists for magical enchantments. Presently he was more concerned with its other use—as a deadly weapon. She toyed with the dragon-shaped hilt as if she might draw it forth and stab them at any moment.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked Hadrian.

“Princess Arista Essendon,” Hadrian replied.

“Very good.” She smiled at him. “Now who are you and don’t bother lying. You will be dead in less than four hours, so what is the point?”

“Hadrian Blackwater.”

“And you?”

“Royce Melborn.”

“Who sent you here?”

“A man by the name of DeWitt,” Hadrian replied. “He is a member of the Duke DeLorkan’s group from Dagastan, but we weren’t sent to kill your father.”

“What were you sent to do?” Her painted nails clicked along the silver handle of the dagger, her eyes intent on them.

“To steal Count Pickering’s sword. DeWitt said the count challenged him to a duel here last night at a dinner party.”

“And what were you doing in the chapel?”

“That’s where DeWitt said he hid the sword.”

“I see…” She paused a moment as her mask of stone wavered. Her lips began to tremble, and her eyes well up with tears. She turned away from them, trying to compose herself. Her head was bowed and Hadrian could see her small body lurching.

“Listen,” Hadrian said, “for what it’s worth, we didn’t kill your father.”

“I know,” she said her back still turned.

Royce and Hadrian exchanged glances.

“You were sent here tonight to take the blame for the murder. Both of you are innocent.”

“Are you—” Hadrian began, but stopped. For the first time since their capture, he felt hopeful, but thought better of it. He turned to Royce. “Is she being sarcastic? You can usually tell better than I.”

“Not this time,” Royce said, his face tense.

“I just can’t believe he’s really gone,” Arista muttered. “I kissed him goodnight—it was only a few hours ago.” She took a deep breath and straightened before turning to face them. “My brother has set plans for the two of you. You’ll be tortured to death this morning. They’re building a platform where you will be drawn and quartered.”

“We have already heard the details from your brother,” Royce said dismally.

“He is the king now. I can’t stop him. He is determined to see you punished.”

“You could talk to him,” Hadrian offered hopefully. “You could explain that we’re innocent. You could tell him about DeWitt.”

Arista wiped her eyes with the insides of her wrists. “There is no DeWitt. There was no dinner party here last night, no duke from Calis, and Count Pickering hasn’t visited this castle in months. Even if any of that were true, Alric wouldn’t believe me. Not a person in this castle will believe me. I am an emotional girl; that’s what they’ll say. ‘She is distraught. She is upset.’ I can do no more to stop your execution tomorrow than I could do to save my own father’s life tonight.”

“You knew he was going to die?” Royce asked.

She nodded, fighting the tears again. “I knew. I was told he would be killed, but I didn’t believe it.” She paused for a moment to study their faces. “Tell me, what would you do to get out of this castle alive before morning?”

The two glanced at each other in stunned silence.

“I’m thinking anything,” Hadrian said. “How about you, Royce?”

His partner nodded. “I’d have to say I’m good with that.”

“I can’t stop the execution,” Arista explained, “but I can see to it that you get out of this dungeon. I can return your clothes and weapons, and I can tell you a way to reach the sewers that run under this castle. I think they will take you out of the city. You should know that I have never personally explored them.”

“I…I wouldn’t think so,” Hadrian said, not really certain he was hearing everything correctly.

“It is imperative that when you escape, you leave the city.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Hadrian explained. “We’d probably do that anyway.”

“And one more thing, you must kidnap my brother.”

There was a pause as they both stared at her.

“Wait, wait, hold on. You want us to kidnap the Prince of Melengar?”

“Technically, he’s the King of Melengar now,” Royce corrected.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot,” Hadrian muttered.

Arista walked back to the cell door, peeked out the window, and then returned.

“Why do you want us to kidnap your brother?” Royce asked.

“Because whoever killed my father will kill Alric next, and before his coronation, I imagine.”

“Why?”

“To destroy the Essendon line.”

Royce stared at her. “Wouldn’t that place you at risk as well?”

“Yes, but the threat to me will not be serious as long as Alric is thought to be alive. He is the crown prince. I am only the silly daughter. Besides, one of us has to stay here in order to run the kingdom and find my father’s murderer.”

“And your brother couldn’t do that?” Hadrian asked.

“My brother is convinced you killed him.”

“Oh, right—you have to forgive me. A minute ago I was about to be executed, and now I’m going to kidnap a king. Things are changing a bit fast for me.”

“What are we supposed to do with your brother once we’ve gotten him out of the city?” Royce asked.

“I need you to take him to Gutaria Prison.”

“I’ve never heard of the place,” Royce said. He looked at Hadrian, who shook his head.

“I’m not surprised; few people have,” Arista explained. “It is a secret ecclesiastical prison maintained exclusively by the Church of Nyphron. It lies on the north side of Windermere Lake. You know where that is?”

They both nodded.

“Travel around the edge of the lake; there is an old road that rises up between some hills; just follow it. I need you to take my brother to see a prisoner named Esrahaddon.”

“And then what?”

“That’s it,” she said. “Hopefully, he will be able to explain everything to Alric well enough to convince him of what is going on.”

“So,” Royce said, “you want us to escape from this prison, kidnap the king, cross the countryside with him in tow while dodging soldiers who I assume might not accept our side of the story, and go to another secret prison so that he can visit an inmate?”

Arista did not appear amused. “Either that, or you can be tortured to death in four hours.”

“Sounds like a really good plan to me,” Hadrian declared. “Royce?”

“I like any plan where I don’t die a horrible death.”

“Good. I will have two monks come in to give you last rites. I’ll have your chains removed and the stocks opened so you can kneel. You will take their frocks, lock them in your place, and silence them with the gags. Your things are right outside in the prison office. I will tell the warden that you’re taking them for the poor. I’ll have my personal bodyguard Hilfred escort you to the lower kitchens. They won’t be active for another hour or so. You should have the place to yourselves. A grate near the basin lifts out for sweeping debris into the sewer. I will speak to my brother and convince him to meet me at the kitchens alone. I assume you are capable fighters?”

“He is.” Royce bobbed his head toward Hadrian.

“My brother isn’t so you should be able to subdue him easily. Be certain not to hurt him.”

“This is likely a really stupid question for me to ask,” Royce said, “but what makes you think we won’t just kill your brother, leave his body in the sewer to rot, and then just disappear?”

“Nothing,” she replied. “Like you, I simply don’t have a choice.”

The monks posed little problem and once dressed in their frocks, with hoods carefully drawn, they slipped out of their cell. Hilfred stood waiting just outside and quickly escorted them as far as the entrance to the kitchens where, without a word, he left them alone. Royce, who had always had better night vision, led the way through the dark labyrinth of massive pots and piled plates. Dressed as they were with loose sleeves and long, disabling robes, they navigated this sea of potential disaster where one wrong move could topple a ceramic stack and cause alarm.

So far, Arista’s plan was a success. The kitchen was empty. They shed their clerical garb in favor of their own clothes and gear. They located the central basin under which was a massive iron grating. Although it was heavy, they were able to move it out of position without creating too much noise. They were pleasantly surprised to find some iron rungs leading into the void. In the depths below, they could hear the trickle of water. Hadrian looked around and found a pantry filled with vegetables. He felt around until he located a burlap sack filled with potatoes. He quietly dumped out the spuds, shook it as clean as he could, and then rooted around for twine.

They were still a long way from free, but the future was looking considerably better than it had only minutes before. Although Royce had not said a word, the fact that he was responsible bothered Hadrian. Waiting there together, the guilt and silence became overpowering.

“Aren’t you going to say ‘I told you so’?” Hadrian whispered.

“What would be the point in that?”

“Oh, so you’re saying that you’re going to hang on to this and throw it at me at some future, more personally beneficial moment?”

“I don’t see the point in wasting it now, do you?”

They left the door to the kitchen slightly ajar, and before long, the distant glow of a torch appeared and Hadrian could hear approaching voices. At this signal, they took their positions. Royce took a seat at the table with his back to the entryway. He put the hood of his cloak up and pretended to hunch over a plate of food. Hadrian stood to one side of the door, his short sword raised above his head.

“For Maribor’s sake, why here?”

“Because I’m offering the old man a plate of food and a place to wash.”

Hadrian recognized the voices of Alric and Arista and surmised they were now just outside the kitchen door.

“I don’t see why we had to leave the guards, Arista. There may still be danger. Other assassins could be loose and plotting to kill me, or even you. Have you thought of that?”

“That’s why you need to talk to this man. He says he knows who hired the men who killed father, and he refuses to talk to a woman. I get the impression there may be a conspiracy at work here, and I’m not sure who to trust. He said he will only deal with you, and only if you are alone. Don’t worry, he’s an old man and you’re a skilled swordsman. We have to find out what he has to say. Don’t you want to know?”

“Of course, but what makes you think he knows?”

“I don’t. I don’t know anything for certain. But he says he knows. He’s not asking for money, just a fresh start. That reminds me, here are some clothes to give him.” There was a brief pause. “Look, he seems trustworthy to me. I think if he were lying, he would request gold or land. I’m reserving judgment until I know what he knows, and as I said, he won’t tell me anything.”

“It’s just so—strange. Hilfred is not even with you. It’s as if you’re walking around without a shadow. It’s unnerving is what it is. Just coming down here with you it’s…well, you and I, we…you know. We’re brother and sister, yet, we hardly see each other. In the last few years, I think I’ve only spoken to you a dozen times, and then only when we visit Drondil Fields on holiday. You always lock yourself up in that tower doing who knows what, but now—”

“I know, it’s strange,” Arista replied. “I agree. It’s like the night of the fire all over again. I still have nightmares about that evening. I wonder if I’ll have nightmares about tonight.”

Alric’s voice softened. “That’s not really my point. It’s just that we’ve never gotten along, not really. But now, well, you’re the only family I have left. It seems strange to be saying it, but I suddenly find that matters to me.”

“Are you saying you want to be friends?”

“Let’s just say I want to stop being enemies.”

“I didn’t know we were.”

“You’ve been jealous of me ever since mother told you elder daughters don’t get to be queen as long as little brothers are around to be king.”

“I have not!”

“I don’t want to fight. Maybe I do want to be friends. I’m the king now, and I’ll need your help. You’re smarter than most of the ministers anyway, Father always said so. And you’ve had university training; that’s more than I’ve had.”

“Trust me, Alric I’m more than your friend. I’m your big sister, and I’ll look out for you. Now go in there and see what this man has to say.”

As Alric entered the door, Hadrian brought the hilt of his sword down on the back of his head. The prince collapsed to the floor with a dull thud. Arista rushed in.

“I said not to hurt him!” she scolded.

“He would be screaming for the guard right now otherwise,” Hadrian explained. He tied a gag around the prince’s mouth and placed the sack over his head. Royce was already up from his seat and securing Alric’s ankles with twine.

“He’s all right though?”

“He’ll live,” Hadrian told her as he secured the hands and arms of the unconscious prince.

“Which is a whole lot more than he had in store for us,” Royce added, pulling tight the noose around the prince’s ankles.

“Keep in mind he was certain you killed his father,” the princess said. “How would you react?”

“I never knew my father,” Royce replied indifferently.

“Your mother then.”

“Royce is an orphan,” Hadrian explained as they continued to wrap the prince in twine. “He never knew either of his parents.”

“I suppose that explains a lot. Well then, imagine how you will treat the person who sent you to the chapel tonight, once you find him. I doubt you will be very charitable when coming face to face with him. In any case, you gave your word. Please do as I ask, and take good care of my brother. Don’t forget I spared your lives tonight. I’m hoping that fact will keep you to your word.”

She held out the bundle dropped by her brother. “Here is a set of clothes that should fit him. They used to belong to the steward’s son, and I always thought he looked about the same size as Alric. Oh, and remove his ring but keep it safe. It bears the royal seal of Melengar and is proof of his identity. Without it, unless you encounter someone who knows his face, Alric is just another peasant. Return it to him when you reach the prison. He’ll need it to get in.”

“We’ll hold up our end of the bargain,” Hadrian told her as he and Royce moved the bundled body of the prince toward the open basin. Royce pulled the opulent dark blue ring from Alric’s finger and stuffed it in his breast pocket. He then climbed to the bottom of the cistern. Using the rope tied around Alric’s ankles, Hadrian lowered him head first to Royce. Once the prince was down, Hadrian grabbed the torch and dropped it to Royce. Then he entered the hole and dragged the grating back into position. At the bottom of the ladder was a five-feet-wide, four-feet-high arched tunnel in which a shallow river of filth flowed.

“Remember,” the princess whispered through the metal grid. “Go to Gutaria Prison and speak to Esrahaddon. And please, keep my brother safe.”

An incomprehensible series of mumbles emitted from the prince from under the potato sack. While they were not certain exactly what he was saying, Royce and Hadrian could tell the prince was doing his best to shout and was decidedly displeased with his situation.

The cold water backing up from the Galewyr River into the sewer woke him. They were waist deep in it now and while the smell was better, the temperature was not. Looking out through the end of the cistern, the first pale light of dawn revealed the difference between the forested horizon and the sky. Night was melting away fast, and they could hear the Mares Cathedral bell ringing for early service. The whole city would be waking soon.

Hadrian calculated they were below Gentry Square, not far from Artisan Row where the city met the river. Determining their location was an easy guess, because it was the only section of town with covered sewers. A metal grate enclosed the end of the sewer. Hadrian was relieved to find hinges and a lock sealing it instead of bolts. Royce made quick work of the lock, and the rusted hinges surrendered to a few solid kicks from Hadrian. With the way clear, Royce went out to scout while Hadrian sat at the mouth of the sewer with Alric.

The prince had worked his gag loose, and Hadrian could recognize his words now. “I’ll have you flailed to death! Release me this instant.”

“You’ll be quiet,” Hadrian replied, “or I’ll let you go into the river and we’ll see how well you tread water with your hands and feet tied.”

“You wouldn’t dare! I am the King of Melengar, you swine!”

Hadrian kicked Alric’s legs out from under him, and the prince fell face down. After allowing him to struggle for a few moments, Hadrian pulled him up. “Now keep your mouth shut or I might leave you to drown next time.” Alric coughed and sputtered but did not speak another word.

Royce returned, having slipped into the sewer soundlessly. “We are right on the river. I found a small boat by a fisherman’s dock and took the liberty of commandeering it in His Majesty’s name. It’s just down the slope in a stand of reeds.”

“No!” The prince protested and shook his shoulders violently. “You must release me. I am the king!”

Hadrian gripped him by the throat and into his ear whispered, “What did I tell you about talking? Not a sound or you swim.”

“But—”

Hadrian dunked the prince again, pulled him up for a short breath, and dunked him once more. “Not another sound,” Hadrian growled.

Alric sputtered, and Hadrian, dragging the prince with him, followed Royce down the slope.

The craft was little more than an oversized rowboat, bleached by the sun and filled with nets and small painted buoys. The heavy smell of fish from the boat helped to mask the stench of sewage. A tarp, stretched to form a little tent used to store gear or to serve as a shelter, covered the bow. They stuffed the prince underneath, pinning him there with the nets and buoys.

Hadrian pushed off the bank with a long pole he found in the boat. Royce used the wooden rudder to steer the small craft as the river did the work of propelling them downstream. Near the headwaters, the current of the Galewyr was strong, and forward momentum was no problem. They found themselves working to keep the boat in the center of the river as they moved swiftly westward. Just as the sky was turning from a charcoal gray to dull steel, they passed under the shadow of the city of Medford. From the river, they could see the great tower of Essendon Castle, its falcon standard flying at half-mast for the dead king. The flag was a good sign, but how long before they discovered the prince was missing and they removed it?

The river marked the southern edge of the city, skirting along Artisan Row. Large two-story warehouses of gray brick lined the bank, and great wooden wheels jutted out into the river, catching the current to power the millstones and lumberyards. Because the shallow waters of the Galewyr prevented the passage of deep-keeled ships, numerous docks serviced flat-bottomed barges that brought goods from the small seaport village of Roe. There were also piers built by the fishing industry, which led directly to fish markets, where pulleys raised large nets and dumped them onto the cutting floor. In the early morning light, the gulls had already begun to circle the docks where fisherman had started to clear the lines on their skiffs. No one paid particular attention to the two men in a small boat drifting down the river. Nevertheless, they stayed low in the boat until the last signs of the city disappeared behind the rising banks of the river.

The day’s light grew strong, as did the pull of the current. Rocks appeared and the river trench deepened. Neither Royce nor Hadrian was an expert boatman, but they did their best dodging the rocks and shallows. Royce remained at the tiller, while Hadrian, on his knees, used the long wooden pole to push the bow clear of obstacles. A few times, they glanced off unseen boulders, and the hull lurched abruptly with a deep unpleasant thud. When it did, they could hear the prince whimper, but otherwise, he remained quiet, and their trip was a smooth one.

In time, the full face of the sun rose overhead, and the river widened considerably and settled into a gentle flow with sandy banks and rich green fields beyond. The Galewyr divided two kingdoms. To the south lay Glouston, the northern marchland of the kingdom of Warric. To the north was Galilin, the largest province in Melengar administered by Count Pickering. At one time, the river had been a hotly disputed division between two uneasy warlords, but those days were gone. Now, it was a peaceful fence between good neighbors and both banks remained lovely, untroubled pastoral scenes of the late season, filled with hay mounds and grazing cows.

The day became unusually warm. Being so late in the year, there were few insects about. The cicadas’ drone had disappeared, and even the frogs were quiet. The only sound that remained was the soft gentle breeze through the dry grasses. Hadrian reclined across the boat with his head on the bundle of the steward son’s old clothes and his feet on the gunwale. His cloak and boots were off and his shirt was open. Similarly, Royce lay with his legs up, idly guiding the boat. The sweet scent of wild salifan was strong in the air, the fragrance more pungent after surviving the year’s first frost. Except for the lack of food, the day was turning out to be quite wonderful and would have been even if they had not just escaped a horrible death hours before.

Hadrian tilted his head back to catch the full light of the sun on his face. “Maybe we should be fishermen.”

“Fishermen?” Royce asked dubiously.

“This is pretty nice, isn’t it? I never realized how much I like the sound of water lapping against a boat before. I’m enjoying this: the buzzing of a dragonfly, the sight of the cattails, and the bank drifting lazily by.”

“Fish don’t just jump into the boat you know?” Royce pointed out. “You have to cast nets, haul them in, gut the fish, cut off their heads, and scale them. You don’t just get to drift.”

“Putting it that way makes it sound oddly more like work.” Hadrian scooped a handful of water from the river and splashed it on his warm face. He ran his wet fingers through his hair and sighed contentedly.

“You think he’s still alive?” Royce asked, nodding his head toward Alric.

“Sure,” Hadrian replied without bothering to look. “He’s probably sleeping. Why do you ask?”

“I was just pondering something. Do you think a person could smother in a wet potato bag?”

Hadrian lifted his head and looked over at the motionless prince. “I really hadn’t thought about it until now.” He got up and shook Alric, but the prince did not stir. “Why didn’t you mention something earlier!” he said, drawing his dagger. He cut through the ropes and pulled the bag clear.

Alric lay still. Hadrian bent down to check if he was breathing. Just then, the prince kicked Hadrian hard, knocking him back toward Royce. Alric began feverishly untying his feet, but Hadrian was back on him before he cleared the first knot. He slammed Alric to the deck, pinning his hands over his head.

“Hand me the twine,” Hadrian barked to Royce, who was watching the wrestling match with quiet amusement. Royce casually tossed him a small coil, and when Hadrian at last had the prince secured, he sat back down to rest.

“See,” Royce said, “that’s more like fishing; only fish don’t kick, of course.”

“Okay, so it was a bad idea.” Hadrian rubbed his side where the prince had hit him.

“By brutalizing me, the two of you have sentenced yourselves to death! You know that, don’t you?”

“That’s a bit redundant don’t you think, Your Majesty?” Royce inquired. “Seeing as how you already sentenced us to death once today.”

The prince rolled onto his side tilting his head back, squinted against the brilliant sunlight.

“You!” he shouted amazed. “But how did you—Arista!” His eyes narrowed in anger. “Not jealous is she! My dear sister is behind all this! She hired you to kill my father, and now she plans to eliminate me so she can rule!”

“The king was her father as well. Besides, if we wanted to kill you, don’t you think you’d already be dead?” Royce asked. “Why would we go to all the trouble of hauling you down this river? We could have slit your throat, weighed you down with rocks, and dumped you hours ago. I might add that such a fate would still be considerably better than what you had planned for us.”

The prince considered this for a moment. “So it’s ransom then. Do you intend to sell me to the highest bidder? Did she promise you a profit from my sale? You’re both fools, if you believe that. Arista will never allow it. She’ll see me dead. She has to in order to secure her seat on the throne. You won’t get a copper!”

“Listen, you little royal pain in the ass, we didn’t kill your father. In fact, for what it is worth, I thought old Amrath was a fair king, as far as they go. We also aren’t ransoming or selling you.”

“Well you certainly aren’t trussing me up like a pig to get in my good graces. Now exactly what are you doing with me?” The prince struggled against his bonds but soon found them too tight to bother.

“If you really want to know,” Hadrian said, “as strange as it may seem, we are trying to save your life.”

“You’re what?” Alric asked stunned.

“Your sister seems to think someone residing in the castle—the same lot that killed your father—is plotting to kill everyone in the royal family. Because you would be the next likely target, she freed us to smuggle you out for your own safety.”

Alric pulled his legs up under him and worked his way to a sitting position with his back resting up against the pile of white and red striped buoys. He stared at the two of them for a moment. “If Arista didn’t hire you to kill my father, then exactly what were you doing in the castle tonight?”

Hadrian provided a quick summary of his meeting with DeWitt to which the prince listened without interruption.

“And then Arista came to you in the dungeon with this story asking you to abduct me to keep me safe?”

“Trust me,” Hadrian said, “if there was another way to get out of there, we would have left you.”

“So you actually believe her? You’re dumber than I thought,” Alric said, shaking his head. “Don’t you see what she’s doing? She’s out to have the kingdom for herself.”

“If that were so, why would she have us kidnap you?” Royce asked. “Why not just have you killed like your father?”

Alric thought a moment, his eyes drifting to the floor of the boat and then he nodded. “She most likely tried, only I wasn’t there.” He looked back at them. “I wasn’t in my room last night like I usually am. I slipped out for a rendezvous with a young lady and fell asleep in her room until I heard the noise. It is very likely an assassin did come to my room, only I was not there. After that, I had a guard with me at all times until Arista convinced me I had to come alone to the kitchen. I should have known she was betraying me.”

He swung his bound legs into the mound of nets. “I just never thought she could be so cold as to kill our father, but that’s how she is, you see. She is extremely clever. She told you this story about a traitor, and it was believable because it was true. She only lied about not knowing who it was. Once her assassin missed me, she used you. It was more likely that you’d agree to a kidnapping rather than murder, so she set you up.”

Royce did not answer but glanced at Hadrian.

“There was this boat,” the prince went on looking around him, “perfect for your needs waiting at the river’s edge.”

Alric dipped his head at the tarp next to him. “How nice to have a boat with a cover like this to hide me under. With a nice boat, and a river, you wouldn’t be tempted to stray off the water. You can’t go upstream from the city. The headwaters are too rough. You have to go toward the sea. She knows exactly where we are, and where we’ll be. Did she say where to take me? Is it somewhere down this river?”

“Lake Windermere.”

“Ah, the Winds Abbey? It’s not far from Roe, and this river travels toward it. How convenient! Of course, we’ll never make it,” the prince told them. “She’ll have killers waiting along the bank. They will murder us. She’ll say you two killed me just as you killed my father. And, of course, her guards killed you when you tried to flee. She’ll have a wonderful burial for me and my father. The next day she will call Bishop Saldur to perform her coronation.”

Royce and Hadrian sat in silence.

“Do you need more proof?” the prince went on. “You say this fellow that hired you was called DeWitt? You said he was from Calis? Arista returned from a visit there only two months ago. Perhaps she made some new friends. Perhaps she promised them land in Melengar in return for help with a troublesome father and brother who stood between her and the crown.”

“We need to get off this river,” Royce told Hadrian.

“You think he’s right?” Hadrian asked.

“Doesn’t matter at this point, even if he’s wrong, the owner of this boat will report it stolen. When news leaks out that the prince is missing, they will connect the two.”

Hadrian stood up and looked downstream. “If I were them, I would send a group of riders down the river bank in case we stopped and another set of riders running fast down the Westfield road to catch us at Wicend Ford. It would only take them three or four hours.”

“Which means they could already be there,” Royce concluded.

“We need to get off this river,” Hadrian said.

The boat came into view of Wicend Ford, a flat, rocky area where the river widened abruptly and became shallow enough to cross. Farmer Wicend had built a small stock shelter of split rails close to the water, allowing his animals to graze and drink unattended; it was a pretty spot. Thick hedges of heldaberry bushes lined the bank, and a handful of yellowing willows bent so low toward the river that their branches touched the water and created ripples and whimsical whirlpools along the surface.

The moment the boat entered the shallows hidden archers launched a rain of arrows from the bank. One struck the gunwale with a thud. A second and third found their target in the royal falcon insignia emblazoned on the back of the prince’s robe. The figure in the robe fell from view into the bottom of the boat. More arrows found their marks in the chest of the tiller man, who dropped into the water, and the pole man, who merely slumped to one side.

From behind the screen of bushes and willows, six men emerged dressed in browns, dirty greens, and autumn golds. They entered the river, waded out, and caught the still drifting boat.

“It’s official, we’re dead,” Royce declared comically. “Interestingly enough, the first arrows hit Alric.”

The three of them were lying concealed in the tall field grass atop the eastern hill overlooking the river upstream of the ford. Less than a hundred yards to their right lay the Westfield road. From there, the road ran along the riverbank all the way to Roe, where the river joined the sea.

“Now do you believe me?” the prince asked.

“It only proves that someone is indeed trying to kill you and that they are not us. They’re not soldiers either, or at least they aren’t in uniform, so they could be anyone,” Royce told them.

“How can he see so much—the arrows, their clothing—I can only see movement and color from this distance?” Alric asked.

Hadrian shrugged.

The prince was now dressed in the clothes of the steward’s son: a loose-fitting gray tunic, worn and faded wool knee-length britches, brown stockings, and a tattered, stained wool cloak which was too long. On his feet, he wore a pair of shoes that were little more than soft leather bags tied at his ankles. Although no longer bound, Hadrian kept hold of a rope tethered around the prince’s waist. Hadrian also carried the prince’s sword for him.

“They’re moving in on the boat,” Royce announced.

All Hadrian could really see were shadowy movements under the trees until one of the men stepped out into the sunlight to grab the bow of the boat.

“It won’t be long before they discover they’ve only killed three bushels of thickets wrapped in old clothes,” Hadrian told Royce. “So I’d be quick.”

Royce nodded and promptly trotted down the slope toward the stock shelter.

“What’s he doing?” Alric asked in shock. “He’ll get himself killed and us as well!”

“That’s one opinion,” Hadrian said. “Just sit tight.”

Royce slipped into the shade of the trees, and Hadrian immediately lost sight of him. “Where’d he go?” the prince asked with a puzzled look on his face.

Once more Hadrian shrugged.

Below them, the men converged on the boat, and Hadrian heard a distant shout. He could not make out the words, but he saw someone holding up the Alric-bush complete with arrows. Two of the men remained with the boat while the others waded toward the bank. Just then, Hadrian caught sight of movement in the trees, a train of tethered horses trotting up the slope toward them. From the bank came shouts of alarm and cursing as the distant figures struggled to race across the field and up the hill.

When the horses drew nearer, he spotted Royce crouched down, hanging between the two foremost animals. Hadrian caught two of the horses, pulled the bridle off one, and quickly tied a lead line to the other horse’s halter. He ordered Alric to mount. Angry shouts erupted as the archers spotted them. Two or three stopped to fit arrows but their uphill shots fell short. Before they could close the distance, the three mounted and galloped toward the road.

Royce led them a mile northwest to where the Westfield and Stonemill roads intersected. Here Hadrian, and by default Alric, rode west. Royce, leading the train of captured horses, stayed behind to cloud their tracks and then rode north. An hour later Royce, with only the horse he rode, caught up with them. They turned off the road into an open field and headed away from the river, but still moved generally westward.

The horses had built up a solid sweat and were puffing for air. When they reached the hedgerow lands, they slowed their pace. Eventually they reached the thickets, and there they stopped and dismounted. Alric found a spot clear of thorn bushes and sat down fussing with his tunic, which did not hang on him quite right. Royce and Hadrian took the opportunity to search the animals. There were no markings, symbols, parchments, or emblems of any kind to identify the attackers. Moreover, except for a spare crossbow and a handful of bolts left on Hadrian’s mount, they wore only saddles.

“You’d think they would have some bread at least. Who travels without water?” Hadrian complained.

“They clearly didn’t expect to be out long.”

“Why do you still have me tethered?” the prince asked irritated. “This is extremely humiliating.”

“I don’t want you getting lost,” Hadrian replied with a grin.

“There’s no reason to drag me around any further. I accept that you did not kill my father. My cunning sister merely fooled you. It is quite understandable. She is very intelligent. She even fooled me. So, if you don’t mind, I would like to return to my castle so I can deal with her before she consolidates her power and has the whole army turned out to hunt me down. As for you two, you can go wherever Maribor dictates. I really don’t care.”

“But your sister said—” Hadrian began.

“My sister just tried to have us all killed back there, or weren’t you paying attention?”

“We have no proof it was her. If we let you return to Essendon, and she is right, you will be walking to your death.”

“And what proof do we have it wasn’t her? Do you still intend to escort me to wherever she told you to take me? Don’t you think she’ll have another trap waiting? I see my death far more probable on the road there than on any other road. Look, this is my life; I think it’s fair for me to decide. Besides, what do you care if I live or die? I was about to have you two tortured to death. Remember?”

“You know,” Royce paused a moment, “he’s got a point there.”

“We promised her,” Hadrian reminded him, “and she saved our lives. Let’s not forget that.”

Alric threw his hands up and rolled his eyes. “By Mar! You are thieves, aren’t you? It’s not as if you have a sense of honor to contend with. Besides, she was also the one who betrayed you and put your lives in danger in the first place. Let’s not forget that!”

Hadrian ignored the prince. “We don’t know she is responsible, and we did promise.”

“Another good deed?” Royce asked. “You’ll remember where the last one ended us?”

Hadrian sighed. “There it is! Didn’t have to save it too long, did you? Yes, I did screw up, but that isn’t to say I am wrong this time. Windermere is only, what, ten miles from here? We could be there by nightfall. We could stop at the abbey. Monks have to help wayward travelers. It’s in their doctrine or code or whatever. We could really use some food, don’t you think?”

“They also might know something about the prison,” Royce speculated.

“What prison?” Alric asked nervously getting to his feet.

“Gutaria Prison, it’s where your sister said to take you.”

“To lock me up?” the prince asked fearfully.

“No, no. She wants you to talk to someone there, some guy called…Esra…oh, what was it?”

“Haddon I think,” Hadrian said.

“Whatever. Do you know anything about this prison?”

“No, I’ve never heard of it,” Alric replied. “Although, it sounds like the kind of place unwanted royals go to disappear when a conniving sister steals her brother’s throne.”

His horse butted against his shoulder, and Royce rubbed its head while he contemplated the situation. “I’m too tired to think clearly. I don’t think any of us can make an intelligent decision at this point, and given the stakes, we don’t want to be hasty. We’ll go as far as the abbey at least. We’ll talk to them and see what they can tell us about the prison. Then we’ll decide what to do from there. Does that sound fair?”

Alric sighed heavily. “If I must go, can I at least be given the dignity of controlling my own horse?” There was a pause before he added, “I give you my word as king. I will not try to escape until we reach this abbey.”

Hadrian looked at Royce, who nodded. He then pulled the crossbow from behind his saddle. He braced it against the ground, pulled the string to the first notch, and loaded a bolt.

“It’s not that we don’t trust you,” Royce said as Hadrian prepared the bow. “It’s just that we’ve learned over the years that honor among nobles is usually inversely proportionate to their rank. As a result, we prefer to rely on more concrete methods for motivations—such as self-preservation. You already know we don’t want you dead, but if you have ever been riding full tilt and had a horse buckle under you, you understand that death is always a possibility, and broken bones are almost a certainty.”

“There’s also the danger of missing the horse completely,” Hadrian added. “I’m a good shot, but even the best archers have bad days. So to answer your question—yes, you can control your own horse.”

They traveled at a moderate but steady pace for the remainder of the day. Royce guided them through fields, hedgerows, and forested trails. They stayed off the roads and away from the villages until at last there were no more of either. Even the farms disappeared as the land lost its tame face and they entered the wild highlands of Melengar. The ground rose, and forests grew thicker with fewer passable routes. Ravines led to bogs at their bottoms, and hills sloped up into cliffs. This rough country, the western third of Melengar, lacked farmable land and remained unsettled. The area was home to wolves, elk, deer, bears, outlaws, and anyone seeking solitude, such as the monks of the Winds Abbey. Civilized men shunned it, and superstitious villagers feared its dark forests and rising mountains. Myths abounded about water nymphs luring knights to watery graves, wolf men devouring the lost, and ancient evil spirits that appear as floating lights in the dense forest enticing children to their dark caves under the earth. Regardless of the legions of potential supernatural dangers, enough natural obstacles made the route one to avoid.

Hadrian never questioned his partner’s choice of path or direction. He knew why Royce stayed clear of the Westfield Road, which provided a clear and easy path along the riverbank to the fishing village of Roe. Despite its isolation at the mouth of the Galewyr, Roe had grown from a sleepy little dock into a thriving seaport. While it held the promise of food, lodging, and imagined safety, it would also likely be watched. The other easy option was to travel north up the Stonemill Road—the route Royce pretended to take by leaving enough tracks to hopefully mislead anyone who followed into thinking they were headed for Drondil Fields. Each path held obvious benefits, which anyone looking for them would understand as well. As a result, they plodded and hacked their way through the wilds, following whatever animal trails they could find.

After a particularly arduous fight through a dense segment of forest, they came out unexpectedly on a ridge that afforded a magnificent view of the setting sun, which bathed the valley of Windermere and reflected off the lake. Lake Windermere was one of the deepest lakes in all of Apeladorn. Because it was too deep to support plant life, it was nearly crystal clear. The water shimmered in the folds and crevices of the three surrounding hills that shaped it in the form of a stretched, jagged triangle. The surrounding hills rose above the tree line, showing bald, barren peaks of scrub and stone. On the top of the southernmost hill, they could just make out a stone building. Aside from Roe, the Winds Abbey was the only sign of civilization for miles.

The party aimed toward the building and descended into the valley, but night caught up with them before they were halfway there. Fortunately, a distant light from the abbey provided them a waypoint. The weariness of being up for two stress-filled days combined with hard travel and no food was taking its toll on Hadrian, and he assumed the same of Royce, though he showed it less. The prince looked the worst. Alric rode just ahead of Hadrian. His head would droop lower and lower with each stride of his horse until he nearly fell from his saddle. He would catch himself, straighten, and then the process would begin again.

Despite the warm day, night brought with it a bitter chill, and in the soft light of the rising moon, the breath of men and horses began to fog the crisp night air. Above, the stars shone like diamond dust scattered across the heavens. In the distance, the call of owls and the shrill static of crickets filled the valley. Had the party not been so exhausted and hungry, they might have described the trip that night as beautiful. Instead, they merely gritted their teeth and focused on the path ahead.

They began climbing the south hill as Royce led them with uncanny skill along a switchback trail that only his keen eyes could see. The thin, worn clothes of the steward’s son were a miserable defense against the cold, and soon the prince was shivering. To make matters worse, as they climbed higher, the temperature dropped and the wind grew. Soon trees began to shrink to stunted shrubs and the earth changed to lichen and moss covered stone. At last, they reached the steps of the Winds Abbey.

Clouds had moved in, and the moon was no longer visible. In the darkness, they could see very little except the steps and the light they had followed. They dismounted and approached the gate. A stone arch set within a peaked nave lay open on a porch of rock hewn from the hill itself. There was no longer the sound of crickets, nor hooting owls; only the unremitting wind broke the silence.

“Hello?” Hadrian called. After a time Hadrian called again. He was about to try a third time when he saw a light move within. Like a dim firefly weaving behind unseen trees, it vanished behind pillars and walls, reappearing closer each time. As it drew near, Hadrian saw that the strange will-o-wisp was a small man in a worn frock holding a lantern.

“Who is it?” he asked in a soft, timid voice.

“Wayfarers,” Royce answered. “Cold, tired, and hoping for a place to rest.”

“How many are you?” The man poked his head out and swung the lantern about. He paused to study each face. “Just the three?”

“Yes,” Hadrian replied. “We’ve been traveling all day with no food. We were hoping to take advantage of the famous hospitality of the legendry Monks of Maribor. Do you have room?”

The monk hesitated only a moment and then said, “I…I suppose.” He stepped back to allow them entrance. “Come in.”

With only the bleak glow of the monk’s lantern, which he kept low to light the floor, they could not see much beyond the stone walkway. By now, however, each was too tired for a tour even if the monk had been inclined to show off his home. The abbey had a heavy smell of smoke about it that prompted Hadrian to envision large, warm crackling hearths where beds might be.

“We didn’t mean to wake you,” Royce said softly.

“Oh, not me,” the monk said. “I actually don’t sleep much at all. I was busy with a book, right in the middle of a sentence when you called. Most unnerving I can tell you. It’s a rare thing to hear someone shouting in the middle of the day up here, much less a dark night. You can sleep up this way—”

“We have horses,” Hadrian interrupted.

“Really? How exciting,” the monk replied, sounding impressed. “Actual riding horses, with saddles and everything? Oh, I would like to see them, but it’s very late. Did you ride them here?”

“Yes,” Hadrian said. “We thought having them ride us would be silly.” The monk paused with a peculiar look on his face. “I was making a joke,” Hadrian said.

“Ah!” the monk smiled. “Oh, yes—very funny. So, you can sleep—”

“What I meant to ask,” Hadrian interrupted again, “is whether there is somewhere we can stable our horses for the night? A barn or perhaps a shed?”

“Oh, I see.” The monk paused, tapping his lip thoughtfully. “Ah, well, we had a lovely stable, mostly for cows, sheep, and goats, but that’s not going to work tonight. We also had some animal pens where we kept pigs, but that really won’t work either.”

“I suppose we could just tie them up outside somewhere if that’s all right?” Hadrian asked. “I think I remember a little tree or two.”

The monk nodded, appearing relieved to have the issue resolved.

After they stacked the saddles on the porch, the little man led them through an opening into what appeared to be a large ornately framed courtyard. Columns of freestanding stone rose beneath a cloudy sky, and various black silhouetted statues dotted the space. The smoky smell was stronger here, but the only thing burning appeared to be the lantern in the monk’s hand. They reached a small set of stone steps and the monk led the way down a set of two turns into what appeared to be a rough-hewn stone cellar.

“You can stay here,” the monk told them.

The three stared at the tiny hovel, which Hadrian thought looked less inviting than the cells below Essendon Castle. Inside, it was very cramped, filled with piles of neatly stacked wood, tied bundles of twigs and heather, two wooden barrels, a chamber pot, a little table, and a single cot. No one said a word for a moment.

“It’s not much, I know,” the monk offered regretfully, “but at the moment, it’s all I can offer you.”

“We’ll make do then, thank you,” Hadrian assured him. He was so tired he didn’t care so long as he could lie down and be out of the wind. “Can we perhaps get a few blankets? As you can see we really don’t have any supplies with us.”

“Blankets?” The monk looked concerned. “Well, there is one here.” He pointed at the cot where a single thin blanket lay neatly folded. “I truly am sorry I can’t offer you anymore. You can keep the lantern if you like. I know my way around without it.” The monk left them without another word, perhaps fearful they would ask for something else.

“He didn’t even ask us our names,” the prince said.

“And wasn’t that a pleasant surprise,” Royce pointed out as he moved around the room with the lantern. Hadrian watched him take a thorough inventory of what little was there: a dozen or so bottles of wine hidden in the back, a small sack of potatoes under some straw, and a length of rope.

“This is intolerable,” Alric said in disgust. “Surely an abbey of this size has better accommodations than this pit.”

Hadrian found an old pair of burlap shoes that he cleared out before he lay down on the cellar floor. “I actually have to agree with the royal one there. I heard great things about the hospitality of this abbey. We do appear to be getting the dregs.”

“Question is why?” Royce asked. “Who else is here? It would need to be several groups or a tremendously large party to turn us out to this hovel. Only nobility travel with such large retinues. They might be looking for us. They might be associated with those archers.”

“I doubt it. If we were in Roe, I think we’d have more reason for concern,” Hadrian said as he stretched and then yawned. “Besides, anyone who is here has turned in for the night and probably not expecting any late arrivals.”

“Still, I’m going to get up early and look around. We might need to make a hasty departure.”

“Not before breakfast,” Hadrian said, sitting on the floor and kicking off his boots. “We need to eat and I know abbeys are renowned for their food. If nothing else you can steal some.”

“Fine, but His Highness should not move about. He needs to keep a low profile.”

Standing in the middle of the cellar with a sickened look on his face, Alric said, “I can’t believe I am being subjected to this.”

“Consider it a vacation,” Hadrian suggested. “For at least one day you get to pretend you are nobody, a common peasant, the son of a blacksmith perhaps.”

“No,” Royce said preparing his own sleeping space, but keeping his boots on. “They might expect him to know things like how to use a hammer. And look at his hands. Anyone could tell he was lying.”

“Most people have jobs that require the use of their hands, Royce,” Hadrian pointed out. He spread his cloak over himself and turned on his side. “What could a common peasant do that monks wouldn’t know the first thing about and wouldn’t cause calluses?”

“He could be a thief or a whore.”

They both looked at the prince, who cringed at his prospects. “I am taking the cot,” Alric said.