“I intend to live very simply and quietly until the return of my royal husband. With King Olmigon’s permission, I’ll no longer require highborn ladies to assist with my social affairs.”
“Nevertheless—”
The princess gazed at her steadily. “Rusgann and the chambermaids will serve me well enough from now on. I have no doubt that Queen Cataldise will reward you for your years of devotion to me, and I will, of course, add my own token of appreciation to your boon.”
“But Prince Conrig himself charged me to take care of you—”
The princess spoke in a voice of ice. “If you stay, I shall not eat or drink. And King Olmigon will know the reason why. I accept being imprisoned behind locked doors, but no power on earth will compel me to endure your odious presence any longer. Now go away and never let me see you again.”
Sovanna inclined her head stiffly and swept out of the room. A moment later, the outer door slammed.
Rusgann peeped around the doorframe, grinning. “That’s telling the wicked old bladder!” She brought in the cup of beer.
Maudrayne laughed, but there was no joy in her eyes. “Now that my brain is no longer so muddled, I must make plans for my escape. But first, I must know whether or not my… secret is still safe. And unharmed.”
“It is, thanks to a little flagon of chicken blood I smuggled in here and dripped on the bedding!”
“Clever Rusgann.”
A ferocious scowl twisted the woman’s features. “To tell the truth, I worried about the health of the babe when they fed you that ungodly shite. But it’s fine.” The frown turned to a smug grin. “We old wives have ways of knowing.”
“Bless you for your kind reassurance! Now tell me how I’m guarded.”
“Well, the door to the corridor is locked and barred now, with two sentinels on duty at all times. I heard one of them say you’ll only be allowed out of here accompanied by an armed escort. You won’t escape easily, my lady.”
“Hmmm.” Sipping from the cup, the princess moved back into the sitting room. “Bring me the ivory casket where I keep my diary, and I’ll show you something.”
She took a seat by the fire, and when the maid returned with the box she opened it and removed a tiny green-glass phial. “I had this sleeping potion from my friend Ansel the shaman when I was troubled by melancholy. But I found I didn’t need it after all. If you somehow persuade the guards outside my door to drink it, then you and I can escape in disguise while they and the castle sleep!”
Rusgann’s eyes shifted. She reached into the pocket of her skirt and drew out a folded scrap of grubby parchment. “I don’t know what this says, for I never learned to read. But it comes from Red Ansel. I met him by chance in the market yesterday. He was supposed to’ve been sent back to Tarn, but gave the king’s men the slip and stayed to keep an eye on you. When I told him the alchymist and Lady Sovanna had left off dosing you with that devil’s brew, he gave me the message.”
Maudrayne opened it and read:
Stay where you are until I come. This is vitally important to both of you.
“Both of you,” the princess whispered, knowing at once that Ansel was not referring to Rusgann. “Futtered again!”
With a snarl of resignation, she wadded up the parchment and threw it overhand into the fire with a powerful gesture. “My friend, we’ll have to wait. Ansel is up to something, and he wants me to stay here until he comes to get me. Be assured you’ll be going along, too. Meanwhile, collect the things we’ll need for a long journey and hide them securely. When we do leave this damned place, we won’t ever be coming back.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mero Elwick, armiger and cousin to Count Feribor Blackhorse, had celebrated the taking of Castle Redfern with as much enthusiasm as the rest of the Cathran army. All throughout the previous day of rest, while the army and its animals recovered from crossing the mountains, he’d drunk and caroused with the best of them. But unlike many of his less fortunate fellow-squires, Mero was one of those hardheaded souls who rarely suffer a thick head after overindulgence. Instead he slept well, until he was jolted into alert wakefulness by the small sounds made by Snudge and his three companions as they rose before dawn.
“Hoy!” The big redheaded youth hauled himself onto his elbows. “What’re you up and about for? We’re not due to leave here until noon.”
A fitfully burning candlestub lit the scene. Four shadowy figures were tying up their bedrolls and gathering gear, while seven other man-sized lumps lay on the floor with Mero, snoring in their blankets.
“Be still!” Belamil whispered. “Go back to sleep.”
The privileged squires serving the royal brothers and the Heart Companions had been quartered in the small but relatively dry and flea-free chamber that had once housed Redfern’s castellan, while that worthy had spent the past two nights shackled in the remnants of the stable, along with the other prisoners of middle rank.
One of the prowlers cursed under his breath. “My damned gauntlets have gone missing.”
“Better find them, Saundar,” Snudge advised, “or you’ll have a devilish time with the cables and heavy chains.”
“What chains?” Mero demanded. He was wide awake now, shrugging into his tunic, pulling boots on over bare feet, and rising from his pallet. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“On Prince Conrig’s business,” Snudge said, “and none of yours.”
“Ooh! I’ll bet you’re off on the mystery mission, right? The one you nattered on about that night in Melora. Come on, stable boy, you can tell me!” Fast as a stoat, Mero hopped over a sleeping body, took hold of Snudge’s right wrist and elbow, spun him around, and hauled the pinioned arm up tight behind the boy’s back in a painful hammerlock.
Mero laughed at Snudge’s stifled groan. “Tell me all about it.”
“Stop that!” Belamil grabbed Mero by the hair and jerked his head back sharply before the taller armiger broke free, still with a tight grip on Snudge. Saundar came running with a fist cocked, but stopped short at Mero’s warning whisper.
“I could break the knave’s arm before either of you land a punch. Tell me what’s up!”
Gavlok’s mild, clear voice said, “We four are going to Mallburn Town in advance of the army to prepare the way. Princess Ullanoth of Moss is there already and requires help with her beneficial magic. We’re going to assist her to open the town’s bridge gate. Now let Deveron go without harming him.”
“Oh, why not?” The bully chortled. “I mustn’t deprive you of your gallant leader.” He flung Snudge away from him with such violence that the boy fell to the floor. Some of the slumbering squires had begun to stir and mutter.
Belamil said, “That was ill done, Mero. Your master will hear of it.”
The redhead sketched a mocking bow to Snudge. “I humbly beg your lordship’s pardon for damaging you a wee bit in our friendly tussle. All in good fun, of course! I’ll leave you to get on with packing while I go take a piss.”
He left the chamber with surprising speed.
Belamil said to Snudge, “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Let’s hurry and get out of here before the whoreson comes back. I think he may have more on his tiny mind than satisfying his curiosity.”
“My lord. Wake up. It’s Mero.”
Feribor and the other Heart Companions were sleeping in the castle’s cramped solar, next to the baron’s single private chamber, which had been taken over by Conrig and Stergos. The count roused himself with difficulty, blinking at the youth who knelt beside his pallet. “What the hell? Is something wrong?”
Mero spoke very quietly so as not to wake the other nobles, but he could not keep the excitement from his voice. “Not wrong. But four armigers, including the wretch Deveron Austrey, are about to leave the castle on what they say is an important secret mission for Prince Conrig. It’s to do with aiding our assault on Mallburn Town. They go to meet Princess Ullanoth and assist her with some magical conniving. There was
talk of opening the city’s bridge gate to our army. I thought you should know.”
Feribor cursed luridly. “For this you interrupted my rest? I ought to—” He broke off, seized by some arresting thought, then whispered, “You say Deveron is leading this foray?”
“Yes, my lord. He’s chosen Belamil Langsands and Saundar Kersey to accompany him—both great-hearted lads, you will agree. But his third choice is that wispy beanpole Gavlok Whitfell, who serves Vra-Stergos. The dreamy oaf can barely swing a sword! He’s not fit for combat. He’ll endanger the mission, whatever it may be. I beg you to speak to Prince Conrig. Let me go in Gavlok’s place! You know I’m the tilting champion amongst the armigers.”
Feribor gave an evil chuckle. “Scheming young glory-hog! Aren’t you afraid to get mixed up in magic?”
“Nay, my lord. Why should the Princess Ullanoth wreak harm upon her helpers?”
“Not Ullanoth, you young dunce. Deveron Austrey, Conrig’s secret wild talent!”
The armiger was aghast. “Deveron—a magicker? My lord, are you jesting?”
“I wish I were,” Feribor said viciously. He sat up and began donning his clothes.
“The young mutt did lead the spunkies to our army when we were struggling to reach the top of the pass,” Mero recalled. “Everyone was talking about it. But we thought—”
“Do you know that Deveron single-handedly managed to open Castle Redfern to us as well?” Feribor hissed. “Oh, there was some tale spun about Princess Ullanoth already being inside the castle and the boy merely plying the garrison with liquor. But I chanced to hear two of Catclaw’s knights talking in their cups. They said they found six fully armed guards knocked colder than codfish, lying within the gatehouse after the castle fell to us. This was supposedly done by Ullanoth’s magic—yet not a single prisoner I spoke to saw hide nor hair of the witch, nor any sign that Mossland sorcery was at work. The six guards were bludgeoned about the head, not sent sweetly to sleep by magical means. I don’t believe Ullanoth was ever here! But if she was not, then how did an ordinary youth overcome six armed men? There’s only one answer: he’s not ordinary. He has a wild talent that enables him to approach persons with uncanny stealth.”
“But can you be sure, my lord? Perhaps—”
“There’s no doubt. I was told of the brat’s talent by a close and trusted friend, one who had suffered greatly because of him.” The tall count rose to his feet, drawing his cloak about his shoulders. “Your boyish lust for adventure is very stupid, Mero. Any sensible warrior will tell you never to volunteer for a mission in which you will very likely perish. Nevertheless, I’m going to do my best to grant your foolish request.”
The armiger came closer. His eyes were alight with slyness. “You wish me to observe Deveron’s tricky ways and advise you what he gets up to in Mallburn Town?”
“I want more than that from you, my lad. Much more.” Feribor laid his hand on the brawny squire’s arm. His voice was barely audible. “Deveron’s dangerous. The prince has no notion how perfidious his little pet can be, but /know! And as Conrig’s loving friend and Heart Companion, I must do what I can to alleviate the danger—even if it means acting without the prince’s knowledge, to save him from his unwisely given trust. Can you be my agent in this grave matter, Cousin?”
“With the greatest pleasure, my lord.”
“Of course, nothing must happen to our talented stable boy until his mission has been accomplished. And the other armigers with you must never know his fate—nor Princess Ullanoth, either, if she should present herself to you lads during the fight for the city.”
“The low-born wight may be her secret minion!”
“Find that out if you can, before you move against him. Now go gather your things with all speed and meet me down in the bailey. I suspect Prince Conrig is already there.”
It was the hour of dawn, but the everpresent fog enveloping the small castle, and the deep gorge wherein it was situated, caused darkness to linger within Redfern’s ramparts. Working as quietly as they could, Snudge, Belamil, Saundar, and Gavlok saddled their horses and strapped on their equipment—which included a tarnblaze bombshell for each, hidden inside sacks. They had been given surcoats and shield-covers with the armorial bearings of Lord Maddick’s household knights, along with a lance bearing Redfern’s pennon. A case full of important-looking documents—scrawled up by Vra-Doman on the previous day and sealed with the baron’s own ring—was addressed to court officials at Holt Mallburn. It was hoped that the dispatches and the armigers’ disguises would prove sufficient to deflect unwanted attention from them once they reached the Didionite capital. Unlike Conrig’s army, which would invade the city after midnight on muffled hooves, the boys had to move about the approaches to Mallburn Town during the early evening, when soldiery and townsfolk would still be about. Even the thick fog could not hide them fully—or so all of them believed, except Snudge.
“I still don’t understand how we’re going to get close enough to the bridge works to bollocks them up,” Saunder grumbled. “There’ll be plenty of light around such an important structure. The guards are bound to be suspicious of young fellows poking where they have no business.”
Count Tayman’s squire was perhaps the brightest of the wellborn cohort, handsome, dark-haired, and deliberate in temperament. He was eighteen years of age and second only to Belamil in the respect of the other armigers.
“I have a way to get us close without notice, and in safety,” Snudge reassured him. “I can only beg you to trust me. My plan’s bound to work if you all do exactly as I say.”
“We will,” Belamil said firmly.
Gavlok uttered a gasp of dismay. “Bazekoy’s Beard! Here comes Prince Conrig—and look who’s with him!”
To avoid the most crowded part of the ward, where watchfires tended by squads of thanes still burned among the ranks of picketed horses and mules, the four had been making preparations near the closed inner portcullis of the gatehouse. Conrig and his companion moved purposefully through the throng of men and animals.
“It’s Mero.” Saundar’s voice was full of disbelief. “And he’s armed and carrying his gear!”
They waited in stunned silence. Finally Snudge stepped forward to greet the prince, hoping desperately that he was not about to hear the thing he feared. “Your Grace, we’re ready to depart. Do you have any final orders for us?”
“A slight change of plan.” Conrig flashed an easy smile. “It’s been pointed out to me that Gavlok might be better employed in his usual task of guarding Vra-Stergos. Now that we’re about to ride into combat, the Doctor Arcanorum must be shielded from any possible peril, since he’s our principal windvoice link to Cala Palace. I’ve decided that Mero will take Gavlok’s place in your company. As you know, he’s a splendid young warrior. He’ll serve you in good stead and follow your orders faithfully.“ He turned to the armiger, who stood blank-faced at his side. ”Isn’t that so?“
“On my honor, Your Grace!” Mero avoided catching Snudge’s eye.
“Splendid! Gavlok, strip off your surcoat disguise and shield cover. Help Mero transfer his things onto your mount… Deveron, step over here. I have instructions for you.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” He couldn’t hide his dismal expression.
When they were beyond the others’ hearing, Conrig said, “This is for the best. I know Gavlok’s your good friend, but I had doubts about his suitability even before Count Feribor spoke to me.”
“Prowess in martial arts isn’t the skill most important to this mission. To make a success of it, I need people with brains… and loyalty.”
“Feribor is one of my staunchest Companions,” the prince said stiffly. “Mero is his cousin, for whom he has extremely high hopes. The boy swore to me he would follow your orders as he would my own. And he’s not stupid, even though he’s over-fond of brawling and a bit too ready with the rough edge of his tongue.“
“I understand, Your Grace. We’ll take Mero with us.” And leave him
trussed in a ditch if he makes trouble…
Conrig clapped Snudge on the shoulder. “I knew you’d accept the change in good spirit. Here is the map you requested, and a diagram of the bridge machinery.”
Snudge took the folded parchment and tucked it into his belt wallet. “Is there anything else?”
“The Princess Ullanoth bespoke Vra-Stergos late last night. Her windspeech was still weak, but she says she’s recovering and will surely be able to open the palace stronghold to us. I’ve told her I’m sending infiltrators to deal with the bridge gate, but she doesn’t know you’re the one leading them. Don’t go anywhere near her during the fighting! Even though our own alchymists are unable to recognize your talent, we can’t be certain about her.”
“Beynor knows all about me,” Snudge reminded the prince glumly. “But I doubt he’d tell his sister. Still, Red Ansel the shaman had no trouble at all spotting me as an adept. A Mossland sorceress might do the same thing if I came close to her.”
“After you lads hit the bridge, attempt to discover if Ullanoth is also doing her part at Holt Mallburn. She may be too occupied to keep in constant wind-contact with us. She intends to approach the palace while invisible, but in the fog, you may be able to scry her body’s outline, knowing what to look for.”
Snudge nodded. “Inside the lighted palace gatehouse, she’ll cast a shadow. It may take some time for a single person to disable the portcullis machinery, open the gates, and contrive to keep them open—even using sorcery. I’ll know if she’s at work because of the commotion amongst the guards and palace engineers trying to repair the damage. And I’ll also know if she comes to grief…”
“Bespeak tidings of your progress and that of Ullanoth to Stergos when you can. He’ll keep you notified of the army’s position. We hope to arrive at the riverside about an hour after midnight. The palace is only a league or so from the river. Coordinate your effort with that of the princess if you are able.”
“Your Grace, what if she should prove after all to be too frail to accomplish her mission?”