Throne of Llewyllan (Book 2) (3 page)

He turned, just once, and she thought she caught a glimpse of him looking back at her.

Then he was lost amongst the tents of the Royal Guard.

Chapter 2

“You look like you’ve had it real rough.”

Kendril walked across the straw and dung-covered floor, carefully making his way towards the third stall of the stable.

Simon’s ears perked up as he saw his master coming. He gave a loud bray.

Kendril wrinkled his nose, stepping around a pile of horse manure. “Yeah, I hear you. Quiet down.” He stepped over to Simon’s stall, and gave the animal a hard rub on the nose.

The mule lashed his tail happily.

Kendril looked down into the eating trough. “Fresh hay? Oh yeah,
real
rough.”

Simon bumped his nose into the Ghostwalker’s chest.

Kendril gave him another pat on the nose.

“All right, settle down boy. We’re leaving soon. Here, I’ve got something for you. Though with all this hay I doubt you need it.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a half-eaten apple.

Simon took it eagerly, chewing noisily as he devoured it.

“They didn’t have any carrots.” Kendril said, leaning up against the stall. He rotated his shoulder, wincing at the ache in his side. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

Simon finished the apple, then began sniffing around in Kendril’s vest for more. He gave the Ghostwalker a questioning glance.

“No,” said Kendril, “we’re not leaving with the others. It’ll just be the two of us.”

The beast snorted.

“Oh, really? What, are you going to miss Maklavir’s charming company?”

 Simon huffed loudly.

Kendril chuckled softly. “Yeah, me neither.” He gave the mule a sharp glance. “Don’t tell me it’s
her
?”

The animal dropped his head in shame.

The Ghostwalker sighed, tapping the gate of the stall with his hand. “No attachments, Simon. That’s the rule.
Especially
with women.”

The mule gave a plaintive whine.

Kendril crossed his arms, staring at the trough. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, “I know.”

There was a long silence, with only the sounds of the soldiers outside and the birds singing.

“Am I interrupting anything?”

Kendril looked up, startled.

Serentha was at the far end of the stables, looking in through the open door. She stepped inside, negotiating carefully around some spilled chicken feed.

The Ghostwalker looked back at the wall. He shrugged. “No. I was just seeing how Simon was doing.”

She glanced at the mule. “He doesn’t look too bad.”

Kendril looked over at her. “Are you kidding? Those bandits treated him like a king compared to the rest of us.”

Serentha came up to the stall. She leaned over and scratched Simon behind one of his ears. The mule grunted happily. She looked over at Kendril.

“I guess you’ll be leaving soon?” she said quietly.

Kendril shrugged, kicking at some straw with his boot. “Who knows?”

She gave Simon a final pat. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She reached behind her back, and her hand emerged with a carrot.

Simon’s eyes widened.

Kendril raised his eyebrows. “Where in Zanthora did you find that?”

Serentha gave a demure smile. “Being a princess has its advantages.” She held out the carrot to the mule, who took it gratefully in his teeth. A second later he was munching it joyfully.

The Ghostwalker frowned at Serentha. “What are you trying to do, make me look bad?” He gave the mule a friendly swat. “Just remember who owns you, you great dumb oaf.”

The young woman glanced back at the door to the stable. “I should probably go. Bathsby seems to go crazy whenever I run around without an escort.”

The Ghostwalker smirked. “As well he should. After all, who knows what kind of disreputable people you might run into around here?”

She gave a half-smile. “I’ve heard there are Ghostwalkers out and about. It makes a poor girl’s heart tremble.”

Kendril nodded grimly. “I’d definitely stay away from any of them.”

“You’ve heard bad things?”

“The worst. Things you wouldn’t believe.”

She gave him a coy look. “You never know. I just might.” Her look dropped to the ground for a moment. “Look, Kendril, about earlier—”

“Yes,” said Kendril suddenly, “I wanted to talk to you about that.” He paused. “I’ve decided to…come with you to Balneth after all.”

Serentha looked up at him. “You have?”

He glanced back at Simon, who was fishing around in the trough for more vegetables. “I have some business there I had…forgotten about.”

She cocked her head. “Business?”

He gave the straw another kick. “Yeah. So I thought I’d go with you after all, if that’s alright.”

She smiled. “You can even stay in the palace, if you want. We have plenty of room.”

Kendril nodded. “That would be nice.”

Serentha gave Simon one last scratch on the nose. “Well, I should get going. If I know Bathsby we’ll be heading out soon. He doesn’t like to stay in one place too long.” She turned and threaded her way back to the door.

Kendril watched her until she disappeared from sight. For several minutes he didn’t move, lost in thought. Finally he looked over at Simon.

“Wipe that smile off your face,” he told the mule.

The weather held all through the rest of that day and into the next, with the sun shining brightly and only a few tufts of clouds to obscure its warmth. The camp had packed up and left the clearing by late afternoon, as soon as Bathsby was convinced the road was clear of dangers. The entire ensemble was soon heading east down the forest road.

Joseph offered his services as a scout, and before long was riding far ahead of the main column, galloping back periodically with his reports. Serentha rode in the royal carriage, and after much cajoling she managed to persuade Maklavir to ride with her and pass the time playing cards. On all sides of the carriage were soldiers of the Royal Guard. Lord Bathsby made sure several men patrolled the woods on each side in order to foil any further ambush plots.

Towards the back of the column came the prisoners. They were all tied to one another with ropes in a line. Several guards rode on horseback nearby, watching the bandits’ every movement carefully. The thief who was too wounded to ride was thrown unceremoniously in the back of one of the supply carts that made up the rear of the column. Even here the soldiers took no chances, but posted guards over him at all times. Kara could do nothing but trudge wearily along the dirt road, looking vainly for any chance for escape. There was none.

Towards the end of the column came Kendril, leading Simon behind him. He walked with his rifle slung over one shoulder, his eyes constantly watching the forest to either side of him with an untiring vigilance. The nearest soldiers kept their distance from the Ghostwalker, casting suspicious glances in his direction.

It was quite an ensemble of people, and one that was far too intimidating a target for any of the other groups of highwaymen that called the Howling Woods home.

In the late afternoon of the following day the group left the Howling Woods, the dark trees of the forest gradually disappearing behind them. In front of the lumbering column the road stretched east over rolling plains, with the glimmering white peaks of the Shadow Mountains just visible to the south. Another spout of rain hit just before sundown, and the night was a long and cold one. The following day rose on the wind-swept plains bright and clear, however, and the weather soon turned warmer.

The road continued east over the fields, and occasionally the column passed by a small town, where it was often greeted by playful children and barking dogs that followed the soldiers as far as they could down the road. Windmills dotted the landscape, their huge wooden fins turning slowly in the strong breeze that gusted perpetually over the golden grass of western Llewyllan.

Everyone seemed to feel freshly invigorated by the change from the stuffiness and closeness of the woods, Serentha most of all. She laughed more easily, waving to the local children who ran beside the carriage and playing cards with Maklavir with increasing skill. Still, at moments her face would cloud over despite the bright sunshine, and Maklavir noticed that she was often to be found glancing back towards the rear of the column.

It was towards the end of the third day when Joseph, riding far ahead of the rest of the group, noticed a group of horsemen in the distance, riding swiftly west down the road. As they got closer he noticed that there were about a dozen or so, the feathers in their hats fluttering in the breeze. The banner of Llewyllan flew in their midst.

He turned his horse around, and galloped swiftly back towards the head of the princess’ column.

Lord Bathsby rode out in front, his blue hat buffeted by the steady wind.

Joseph pointed back down the road as he drew his horse to a halt. “Twelve riders, my lord, coming fast down the road. They’re flying the flag of Llewyllan.”

Bathsby looked back at the royal carriage and the line of soldiers marching on the road, shading his eyes from the light of the setting sun. He nodded, then turned to one of the men beside him. “Captain, gather some men together.”

The officer nodded, then began barking out some orders to the mounted men behind him.

Lord Bathsby looked over at Joseph. “You will accompany us?”

“Gladly.”

Bathsby nodded. “Then let’s go. Captain?”

Thirty seconds later they were riding hard down the east road, over the slight rise that obstructed their sight. As they cleared the crest, they saw the riders approaching about a hundred yards away.

Bathsby pulled his men to a trot and then a full halt as the riders in front of them came close.

They slowed as well, their peacock banner drifting in the wind. The rider in front took off his hat, and rode forwards towards them. He was a handsome man, wearing an elegant silk coat with fancy ruffles on the sleeves and buttons made of ivory on the cuffs. Long blond hair curled down to his shoulders, blowing softly in the breeze.

“Lord Bathsby?” the rider said, his hat still in his hand.

Bathsby nodded stiffly. “Lord Whitmore. I trust all is well with the King?”

“As well as can be expected.” Whitmore leaned in eagerly, replacing his hat. “What news of the princess? Have you found her?”

“We have.” Bathsby eyed Whitmore carefully. “She’s back there, riding in the carriage.”

“Thank Eru,” breathed Whitmore, leaning back in his saddle. “She’s all right, then?”

“For the moment,” said Bathsby. He pulled his horse’s head back to the front. “She was being held by bandits. We took care of them.”

Whitmore shook his head. “Bandits? That’s quite astonishing. I wouldn’t have thought they had the strength or courage to attack a royal convoy.”

“Yes, well apparently they did.” Bathsby cocked his head. “What news from the frontier?”

The nobleman shook his head heavily, the curls in his hair swaying. “Not good. Two settlements have been completely destroyed, and another evacuated. It looks like the Jogarthi are in open revolt again.”

Bathsby scowled. “That is ill news indeed.” He looked out towards the darkening fields with a heavy sigh. “I suppose we should make camp for the night here. If we’re lucky we should make Balneth by tomorrow evening.”

Lord Whitmore glanced back eagerly at the royal carriage. “The princess is in her carriage, you say? I was hoping to have a word with her.”

Joseph saw Bathsby’s face grow rather thin. “Yes, she is,” he said slowly.

“Splendid,” said Whitmore. “I shall speak to her without delay.” He touched the brim of his hat in salute, then gave his horse a kick.

The band of riders rode past, their horses kicking up dirt in their wake.

Joseph caught a quick glance of one of the riders in a long blue cloak and black hat, who gave him a chilling stare before passing. Surprised, the scout looked after the man, but he did not turn around again.

“Captain,” said Bathsby in a low tone, “make camp here for the night. Double the guard.”

“Yes sir,” replied the rider, then wheeled and rode back towards the column as well.

The rest of the horses turned, clopping their way down the road towards where the column had stopped. Before they were halfway there the soldiers began making camp. Fires began to appear as bright dots against the dark backdrop of the fields around them, and tents began to rise up like ghostly shapes. Joseph pulled his horse up until he was riding along next to Bathsby.

“This Lord Whitmore,” said Joseph quietly to Lord Bathsby, “he is a friend of the princess?”

The nobleman looked over with a snort. “Friend? I suppose so. Though I shouldn’t doubt Whitmore desires more.”

A breeze caught the mane of Joseph’s horse, tossing it gently. “You sound as if you don’t approve of the man.”

Bathsby glanced over at Joseph again, his eyes as hard as steel. “Lord Whitmore is a man of opportunity, if you get my meaning. He means to have the throne.”

The scout blinked. “I’m sorry?”

Bathsby’s face darkened. “The throne of Llewyllan. Whitmore is from one of the oldest and wealthiest families in the nation. His blood is almost as blue as that of King Nathan himself.” He glanced down at the ground with a sigh. “Our King is in poor health. He has been for a long time. Whitmore hopes to secure his own future before His Majesty’s passing.”

Joseph felt a chill in the pit of his stomach. “Serentha is the King’s eldest child?”

“His
only
child.” Bathsby returned the salute of two of the camp guards as they rode past. “Whitmore means to marry her and claim the throne.” He gave a bitter chuckle. “He’s a snake, that one. As oily and reptilian a creature as you’ll ever find.”

They were in the camp now, riding down the main road as tents were being set up all around them. The sun had completely set in the western sky, and the night was beginning to thicken all the more.

Joseph was lost in thought for a moment. “The man in the blue cloak who was riding next to Whitmore,” he said at length, “do you happen to know who he is?”