Within the Hollow Crown (10 page)

Chapter
16: Knowledgeable Birds

Two carrier pigeons flew in the silent night over the Avonshire-Deliem border. One was headed west, to Anuen, to inform the King that Prince Nathaniel was dead. The other was headed east, to Hartstone, to inform Prince Nathaniel that the King was dead.

Had those two pigeons stopped for a quick drink at the same fountain, and had they gotten into a quick conversation, they would have been the most informed beings in the Kingdom on the first night of summer.

But full comprehension of the assassinations would have to wait until the following day. In the meantime, Landos had quite a mess to clean up.

The first thing Landos did was send runners to Rutherford Manor, Bridgeport, and Fort Lockmey. These three strongholds stood at the west, north, and eastern-most parts of the County, and if
Deliem were under attack, they would know first.

Next, the most time consuming thing that Landos had to do, was get rid of the wedding guests. He had to clear the commoners out of the courtyard, which was hard, after all the excitement. Certainly, this would be talked about for months, all the way to the Spicy Kangaroo. Even the nobles didn’t want to leave.
Some legitimately wanted to help, but most just wanted gossip to share at the next
joust
.
Of all the foreign dignitaries, only Count Ralsean was allowed to stay to comfort his daughter.

Next, there were the dead and injured. Rutherford and four other minor nobles had died in the courtyard. Of the ten Royal Guards that had come with Nathaniel, nine were dead. And, of course, so was the Prince. It would take some effort to make his body presentable for burial.

There was only one injured. Lady Vye had taken more punishment than Landos would have thought anyone could endure. She was in the infirmary, but nobody could tell if she would make it. She should have been dead already. So either she was really close to dying, or nothing was going to stop her.

And finally, there was the assassin himself. It took two Guards to drag him to the dungeon. Gabriel saw to it that he was restrained in every way they could imagine. He also gagged the prisoner. Nobody knew how to stop someone who could use magic, but from what Gabriel was able to piece together, he needed to speak in order to do anything.

Landos watched the entire process. In his young life, he had never seen a Turin. But he knew they existed. He believed they were out there. But magic... He had also been taught, as was the common wisdom, that magic didn’t exist. Nobody could cross a continent through a shadow, immobilize a courtyard full of people, or kill with just incantations.

But now Landos was staring at this man, aware in some small way that the world was changing around him. Or rather, the way he looked at the world was going to have to change. And if it didn’t change fast enough, he wasn’t sure he would survive the turn in the road.

It was almost midnight when a guard informed Landos that Lady Vye was awake. He ran to the infirmary.

“Good morning,” Landos said, coming up to the side of her bed.

“Is it morning already,” Vye said, still coming to.

“Actually, it’s about midnight,” Landos said, “But I’ll take any time of day if you’re not hurt too badly.”

“I’m-HOLY SHIT THAT HURTS!!!” Vye said, as she tried to straighten up and rediscovered that a few of her ribs were broken. She collapsed onto her back and exhaled, wincing and holding her side.

“Umm… they said you shouldn’t move too much.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Listen, Vye, I’m glad to see you’re… mostly OK. But I need you to tell me what happened.”

“Where’s the guy?”

“What guy?”

“The guy? The guy with- The Turin. The assassin. Where is he?”

“He’s downstairs, in the dungeon.”

“You can’t leave him alone. You have to watch out for him.”

“We’re watching out.”

“He’s very dangerous.”

“We know. Gabriel has taken some special measures to make sure he can’t, you know, kill us with his mind.”

“Good.”

“But you need to tell us how you defeated him.”

“Oh, Landos, let me tell you, it was a hell of a fight.”

“Really?”

“He’s good. I mean, I’m good, but he’s goooood. You know what I mean?”

“I think you need some more rest.”

“Let me just tell you how I finally got him.”

“Sure.”

“You see, he was using this crushing stone thing, and then I got out of that, and then…”

Vye trailed off. Her memory stopped there. She was sure there was more, but at the moment, she was drawing a blank.

“You got out of that, and then…what?” Landos prompted.

“Hold on, I’m thinking.”

“Did you kick him?”

“No.”

“Hit him with the handle of the sword?”

“No.”

“Because there are no sword wounds, so we--”

“Flopson!”

“What?”

“It was Flopson. I didn’t beat him. Well, I did at the very end, but it was really Flopson.”

“Oh.”

There was a moment of silence. Landos was thinking about what this meant. He knew something about Flopson, and knew that he was a jester not to be crossed. Lady Vye was swimming in a place between splitting headache and apathetic euphoria. She closed her eyes. Landos saw this, turning to leave the infirmary.

Before he stepped away from her bed, though, Vye grabbed his wrist.

“Landos?”

“Yes, My Lady?”

“Michael…he’s dead, isn’t he.” Vye asked, never opening her eyes.

“We’re not sure.”

Vye opened her eyes. “What do you mean, you’re not sure? Poke the body with a stick.”

“No, that’s the thing. We don’t know where his body is.”

Chapter 17: Alone

Landos paced the halls of Hartstone. He was exhausted in a way he never imagined he could be, and yet he knew he wouldn’t sleep. Not for many hours to come. There was still too much to do. And finding the Count’s body was one of those things.

Landos may not have know
n where the body was, but he had a good idea about who moved it. He suspected that it was with Flopson, the jester. Who was also missing. He knew Flopson intended no harm to the Count, so that was some comfort, at least. But even with the world turning faster than anyone could handle, it wouldn’t do to have Deliem without a clear leader. Without Michael, or an appropriate heir.

“Landos,” a soft voice tugged him out of his reverie. It was a voice he loved, but also a voice he dreaded.

“Sarah,” he turned to her. And Landos didn’t care if the Gods struck him down for thinking it, but she looked more beautiful than ever. Still in full wedding regalia, a violet in her blonde hair. A coral necklace to match her eyes. If he could be granted one wish, it would have been to stand there forever, beholding her in all her splendor.

But there were no wishes to be granted that night.

“Are you alright?” she asked, a hand on his arm.

“Me? I’m... fine. Of course. Are you...?” He didn’t bother finishing the sentence. She didn’t bother answering it.

“Umm…Sarah,” he said again, after he realized they’d both been silent for too long. “We should move over there.”

He was pointing to the stairwell, where a couple of guards were standing.

“What’s wrong with right here?”

“We should just move over there.” He didn’t say the real answer, “Because I can’t be alone with you.”

“I need to talk to you,” Sarah said.

“Well, talk to me,” Landos said.

“I need to talk to you alone.”

Landos’ mind raced with all the possibilities. But his convictions were stronger. For now.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Landos said, then scurried down the stairs. Sarah watched him go, her heart a volatile concoction of sorrow and guilt.

Chapter
18: A Man Of Habit

Sir Bucklander was one of the most useless people ever to exist. You know the type. No passions, no opinions, no skills, and no instincts. He just sort of was. As though the Gods had determined they needed one more person out there, and just jumbled him together with whatever leftover clay was around. He was a cosmic afterthought.

Unfortunately
, Sir Bucklander was a
nobleman
.
As such, he was allowed to rule a castle. Now, Count Maethran wasn’t an idiot. And Sir Bucklander’s father wasn’t proud. They both agreed that Sir Bucklander would best be suited serving where he could do the least harm. And so, he was appointed to Fort North.

Fort North was also kind of an afterthought. Even the name was a placeholder. It was so named because it was the northernmost fortification in Rone. Maethran was a large, land-locked County in the center-top of the Kingdom. The Fort was built to discourage Turin attacks. But it was kind of a joke. The Turin never attacked with siege equipment and ordered ranks. As far as the Rone were concerned, they were savages. Fort North was more of a statement than anything. “Hey, you guys. Turin-folk. We’re here. See our big, stone walls? Don’t fuck with us.”

Count Maethran felt comfortable giving the useless Fort to the useless Knight. What could go wrong?

So it was that on the first night of summer, Sir Bucklander sat down in the mess hall. He did this not because he was hungry, but because his to-do list was done and it was time to eat. The steward brought in a stew. Bucklander ate.

“How do you like the food?” the Steward asked.

“It’s OK,” Bucklander said, noncommittally.

“Do you want more salt?”

“Eh,” Bucklander shrugged.

Then, a soldier came running in, stood beside Sir Bucklander, and yelled, “Sir, we’re under attack!”

Sir Bucklander furrowed his brow and looked up at the man.

“Oh,” Bucklander responded. “Perhaps we should...hmm...” He sighed. This commanding a fort thing was exhausting.

“Sir,” the soldier said, “Perhaps you didn’t hear me. We are under attack. An army of almost thirty thousand Turin soldiers is marching over the north hill, and they are heading right for us. We are under siege.”

“Just hold on a minute,” Bucklander said, “Let me think.”

Another soldier came running in.

“Sir,” the second soldier said, “Our food stores have been sabotaged.”

“Sir,” the first soldier said, “I recommend we send runners now, before we are closed in.”

“No, no, just wait. I don’t want to do anything rash. Maybe I should finish dinner first?”

Another soldier came running in. He stood beside the first two soldiers and yelled, “Sir, we’ve just received word that King Vincent, Prince Nathaniel, Princess Helena, and Prince Anthony are dead!”

Everyone in the room, already shocked at the news from the first two messengers, collectively gasped at this message. Bucklander nodded.

“Well,” he said, “That is news.”

And so it was that Fort North was summarily defeated. Everyone was slain. The structure was burned to the ground. And the Turin suffered almost no casualties. When they were done with the Fort, they marched south, toward the heart of the Kingdom.

Chapter
19: The Regicide

Vye sat up.

It was an incredibly painful maneuver. There was no part of it that didn’t hurt, severely. But she had to get on her feet.

Currently, Calvin, the Castellan with direction sense, was in the room with her. The reason Vye was sitting up was that Calvin had just given her some very disturbing news. The Royal Family was dead.

“Calvin,” Vye said, “What do you mean?”

“The King is dead,” he said, shuffling his feet, “Also all his heirs.”

“All of them!?”

“Well, we haven’t heard from Princess Emily in Brimford, but everyone else, at least.”

Vye discovered it hurt a lot just to take a deep breath. She put her hand on her ribs, as though to support them.

“Oh, my, that hurts,” she announced. She squinted. She tried to think about something else. She tried to pretend there wasn’t any pain.

“Lady Vye,” Calvin said. “We should probably put the army on ready alert, and--”

Vye looked to Calvin, to see why Calvin had stopped mid-sentence. Calvin was looking at Vye’s chest. Typical, she thought. Looking down her blouse while she was...

Vye looked down at her chest. Nope. He wasn’t checking her out. Turns out her hand was glowing. It wasn’t lighting up the room, but clearly, under her palm, it looked like there was a blue flame burning.

Funny, Vye thought, it does feel a bit warm. Not hot, but soothing. She thought, in her rational mind, that she should remove her hand quickly, but the sensation was so relaxing she couldn’t help but keep her hand there.

And then the glow just subsided and went away.

“Umm…” Calvin said. Vye looked up to him. “Umm…” he repeated.

Vye rotated her shoulder. There was no pain. There was mild stiffness, but there was no pain in her ribs.

“What, exactly, just happened?” Calvin asked.

“I don’t...” Vye said, “My ribs are better now.”

“How?”

Vye paused for a few seconds, thinking this over.

“Magic?”

Vye didn’t like that answer. There had to be another explanation.

“Well, I know it was magic,” Calvin said, “But…how?”

“I don’t know,” Vye said. “I didn’t think it was possible.”

“It isn’t, as far as I know.”

Vye’s mind twisted and turned. She was experiencing one of the universal facets of humanity. She had encountered an event, a series of events,
that didn’t fit into her worldview. And her brain was working overtime to make it fit. She had trained with Tallatos in the Hilwera Mountains. If she forgot everything else she ever learned in all her life, she would always remember one thing: There is nothing but steel.

And magic wasn’t steel. So there had to be a mistake.

“You’re right,” Vye admitted. “It’s not. I think my ribs were never broken in the first place.”

“You were in a lot of pain before,” Calvin pressed.

“Must have pulled some muscles in that fight. Good night’s rest was all I needed.”

“Your hand...”

Vye’s brain hadn’t yet accounted for the glowing hand. That one was a doozy. But in typical form for someone clinging desperately to a belief, she was going to make it fit rather than consider what it truly meant.

“I must have had some... you know, they doused me with perfume for the wedding. I bet it just caught fire for a second.”

Calvin looked skeptical. Vye felt skeptical. But her brain had set things right. She could go back to being the best sword-fighter in the County, and the world would keep turning, as it always had. Vye gave Calvin some orders, setting the standing army on ready alert and calling up some of the reserves. Then she headed for the basement.

“Julia!” Gabriel exclaimed when Vye burst into his room, “What are you doing up? Your ribs are broken.”

“Actually, I don’t think...”

Gabriel approached Vye to within a very uncomfortable distance. If Vye had any reasons to suspect him of ungentlemanly behavior, he would have been dead four feet earlier.

“Even if they were set by an expert, you couldn’t… What happened?”

Gabriel was pressing his hands against her ribs, feeling the ones he remembered to be broken.

“Stop it, that tickles.”

“Julia, your ribs aren’t broken.”

“I know. I think it was all a mistake.”

“Julia, I was with the healer when she was caring for you. It wasn’t a mistake.”

“You know what’s funny, is Calvin thought that I somehow healed them magically.”

Gabriel paced in a circle. He was like Vye in many ways. His brain, too, had tried to make all the facts fit into his neat little world view. The one where magic wasn’t a real thing. But he was too smart for his brain.

“Did you?”

Vye was flustered.

“Master, I... I don’t even know... I wouldn’t know how...”

“You were the only one who survived the fight with the Turin. He arrived in Deliem using magic. He almost defeated our entire Castle with spells. And, according to your own account of events, he killed the Prince with a flash of light.”

“Yeah, but that was... Look, I’m sorry to bother you.”

Vye spun around, striding for the door as fast as she could go and still technically be walking. Just before she could leave, though, Gabriel spoke again.

“It’s dangerous, Julia,” Gabriel said, very calmly. “Obviously this magic comes from some dark source.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Nothing that powerful comes without a price.”

Vye left, letting Gabriel have the last words. Those words clattered around in her head, her mind in a fog, racing with thoughts and dreams and half-understood riddles. Before she knew where she was going, she stood in the darkest corner of the dungeon, facing the Turin
soldier. The assassin. The wizard.

Halmir was a brute of a man, by the standards of the Rone. He was tall and muscular, and his broad shoulders looked capable of holding the world upon them. Even restrained and gagged, Vye flinched when he stared at her. It wasn’t a spell, but Halmir was able to transmit pure hatred from his eyes to hers.

She motioned to the guard to open the cell. The guard, on another day and in another situation, may have been inclined to say something silly like, “Nobody’s supposed to see the prisoner,” or, “I’m under orders.” But Vye’s expression forced him to swallow his objections.

Vye stepped into the cell, standing over the Turin agent. She waited for the cell door to close behind her. Then, she let the silence sink in.

“I’m going to remove your gag. You know you can’t hurt me, right? Nod if you understand what I’m saying.”

Halmir narrowed his gaze, his piercing eyes boring into Vye’s. He nodded, but he wasn’t happy about the situation. Vye pulled the gag from his mouth. He spat and coughed, flexing his jaw. Vye backed away. Not a time to take any chances.

“What’s your name?” Vye said.

Halmir
responded, but not with his name. He spit out a string of curses, insulting Vye’s questionable heritage, and her
definitively incestuous heritage
.
He spoke in Turin, so Vye didn’t know the words, but she got the general gist.

“I’ll ask again,” Vye said, stepping closer, “What’s your name?”

Halmir said some other things in his own language, none of which was the proper thing to say to a Lady. Vye waited out his rant.

“I’m just asking for your name,” Vye said. “Or do you prefer I gag you again?”

After a moment, he answered, “Halmir.”

“Wasn’t that easy? Let’s keep it that way, Halmir. Now, moving onto the next question: What’s the rest of your plan?”

Halmir started cursing Vye again. Vye introduced him to the back of her hand. Her right hand, to be precise.

“Typical Ronish brutality,” Halmir spat.

“Ronish brutality? You just assassinated the Royal Family.”

“So kill me. Get it over with
.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get to it eventually.”

“So, do it now, I’m ready,” Halmir lowered his head, exposing his neck, as though he expected Vye to decapitate him on the spot.

“Stop it,” Vye said. “I’m not going to kill you here.”

Halmir looked up, confused. “Why not?”

“Because that’s not up to me,” Vye said. “Even us brutes have laws. I just hope you get the worst barrister in the history of our Kingdom.”

“Vye!” Landos charged into the dungeon, breaking Vye’s concentration. She gagged the prisoner and waved to the Guard to let her out. Yeah, she knew she shouldn’t have been down there. She walked alongside Landos as he began his scolding.

“Lady Vye, what are you doing?”

“I’m asking him some questions.”

“He killed the Prince. He’s a prisoner of the Kingdom. We just keep him locked up and keep him alive. Wait!”

“What?”

“Your ribs…”

“They’re better now.”

“OK.”

“Landos, we need answers from him. And we may not have time to wait.”

“What do you--”

“I mean I don’t think these assassinations were the endgame. Do you think the Turin organized this whole attack just to make us angry? There must be a next step, and if there is, then we have to assume they’re already at least that step ahead of us.”

“I do wish Michael were here. At the end of the day, he was always the guy with the plan. Do you think he’s alive?”

“I always assumed he would live forever. But for now, we have to make do with what we’ve got. And we’ve got your smarts and my sword. And if we ask nicely, we have Gabriel’s sage wisdom.”

Landos and Vye shared a small laugh. Just a little one, amidst the chaos that had so suddenly overtaken their young lives. They were charged with deciding the fates of the people and the Kingdom, yet they had not fifty years between them.

Landos sighed, “Well, let’s find out if what we have is enough.”