Within the Hollow Crown (12 page)

Chapter 23: Magic

“How did you do it?” Lady Vye demanded, once again removing the gag from Halmir’s mouth. She was not supposed to be there. But Landos, Gabriel, and Sarah had all left, and Landos had put her in charge. She couldn’t resist the opportunity to get some answers.

“Please, tell me,” Vye pleaded. When it was clear Halmir wasn’t going to respond, she stepped closer and continued, “Listen. Listen to me. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m supposed to stay away. But I’m here. Not the Lieutenant. Not the Countess. Just me.”

“Why aren’t you in command?”

“I am.”

“Not now, I mean. Why aren’t you always in command?”

“Because I am a Lady, and this is the court of the Count.”

“You are the better warrior. Why have you not been promoted?”

“Well, I couldn’t anyway,” Vye said.

“Why not?”

“I’m a woman.”

“You’re a warrior.”

Vye couldn’t tell if he was legitimately praising her or trying to distract her.

“Why couldn’t you kill me?”

“Because you are more powerful than I am.”

“But you’re taller, stronger--”

“No. Not taller. Not stronger. More powerful. You are better at magic than I am.”

“That’s not true. I cannot use magic.”

“Do not mock me!” Halmir said, commanding the conversation as though he weren’t tied up. “You are a powerful sorceress. Only a handful of people in the continent could have withstood my attack.”

“I am not mocking you,” Vye said, “But I don’t understand.”

“That is the way of your people,” Halmir said. “To not understand.”

“We’ve been taught,” Vye said, “That there is no magic in the world. Our people think that it’s impossible.”

“Impossible?” Halmir said, forcing the accent to stay on the right syllable. “Why should it be impossible just because you don’t know how to do it?”

“We can learn.”

“You won’t have time.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because we’re coming for you now,” Halmir said. “And He has planned for too long to be stopped.”

“Who has?”

Halmir took glee in teasing her. Perhaps he would be executed for his part in the assassinations, but they would rue the day they incited the Turin to war.

“You will know is name soon enough,” Halmir gloated. “You will hear it whispered, in tales of terror and destruction. His named will be dreaded across your insignificant Kingdom. Perhaps a warrior like you might be lucky enough to face him. And you would have the honor to die at his hands.”

“What makes you think I’ll die? I’m powerful, remember?”

Halmir laughed. Vye was caught off guard by the laugh. A week ago, she had no opinions on the Turin. They lived too far north and had too little to do with her life. But Halmir had made such an effort to be distant. Unapproachable. She had sort of imagined he wasn’t capable of laughter.

“You were more powerful than me,” Halmir said, “You will never be as powerful as Him. You will all die as frightened animals. And then some small measure of justice will have been done.”

Vye was sure that she should have been able to intimidate the prisoner. Vye was sure she should have been able to strike fear in him, because his fate was most likely execution. But, it seemed that he was unafraid, and it seemed that even from the dungeon of their castle, deep in their territory, he was still able to strike fear back at her.

Vye wandered back up the stairs, giving the Warden a stern look to ensure that her visit would remain a secret from Landos. Then, she started pacing up and down the corridor, trying to work off a nervous energy that she didn’t know how to handle.

“Lady Vye,” Calvin called, running in and spotting Vye in the main corridor of the ground level, “Lady Vye, come quickly!”

Vye followed Calvin back out to the north courtyard, where the main gates were opening. A single horse was entering, but from this far, Vye could not make out who was riding on it. Actually, there were two people riding on it: Sir David Noble and Prince Anthony Rone, rightful heir to the Kingdom.

Chapter 24: Under the Old Oak Tree

The Island of Milos wasn’t very large. With a tall enough mast, you could have seen over the whole thing. But searching it tree by tree was still a daunting task. Jareld had hoped that there would be a clearing, a space that would seem to say to them, “This is where the King would have danced with his bride.”

But that party had happened
a hundred years ago. A lot can change in a hundred years. Old trees would have died. New trees would have sprouted. An inconvenient lightning storm could have wiped out a whole patch. If it had happened early enough, they wouldn’t even know it now.

Jareld had decided to take Herbert, the mouse, along with him to shore. He didn’t want the rodent to get lonely on the Leaking Tub. But as much as Herbert appreciated his caretaker, he would have preferred a peaceful day on the boat, rather than jostling around in Jareld’s
overstuffed satchel.

So, when Jareld put his bag down to rest his shoulders, Herbert nibbled his way out and fled across the sand.

“Herbert!” Jareld said. Thor and Corthos looked around in alarm. Jareld had never told either of them the name he had given his pet, so “Herbert” didn’t mean anything to them. They watched Jareld dive to the ground, crawling and scrounging around the trees. Thor had never seen him so animated.

“The sun!” Corthos yelled, running up, “He’s gotten a fever!”

“I’ll get the water!” Thor yelled.

Corthos wrestled Jareld to the ground.

“Calm yerself, matey!”

“But Herbert. He’s under that tree.”

“Aye, I’m sure he be. Per’aps me Uncle Les be behind that there dune.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jareld yelled, thrashing against Corthos’ restraining arms, “Why would your Uncle be living on this island?”

It took a while to sort everything out. After Jareld caught his breath and drank some water, he explained that Herbert was a mouse who had burrowed under a tree.

“Which tree?” Thor asked.

“That one,” Jareld pointed.

They looked at the tree. It was clearly the oldest tree on the island, thick and sturdy. It could easily be two hundred years old. But just to drive the point home, there it was, posted on the tree with a single,
rusted nail. The poem in written in Atlinay.

“So, do you think Sir Dorn meant for us to open the trunk of the tree?” Jareld wondered.

Herbert popped his head out of under one of the roots. He had found a hollow space.
Jareld and Thor
exchanged looks.

“I’ll get the shovels,” Corthos said.

Chapter
25: The Wanderer

Landos insisted they take no guards. The information Gabriel had, that an old acquaintance of his had sent a message regarding Count Michael, was vague enough. He didn’t want soldiers or servants or drivers, anybody that could spread gossip, or divulge sensitive information. Landos didn’t trust anyone at the moment.

Truthfully, he would have preferred to go with just Gabriel, but he couldn’t avoid bringing Sarah along.
He could face
Michael
a
lone. He would feel guilty, but he could get through it. Encountering Michael while Sarah was there... He didn’t know how to deal with that.

Gabriel’s acquaintance, the man who had contacted him, was named Alderthorn the Wanderer. Alderthorn did not look like an old man, but he was older than anyone realized.
If you lined up ten people and asked them how old they thought Alderthorn was, they would all guess somewhere in his
forties or fifties.

Alderthorn lived deep in the Eliowode, a forest that covered the north end of Deliem and then leaked a little into Ralsean, Glastonshire, and Trentford. He was an apothecary by trade, a healer by practice. He lived in a small cave, deep in the woods
, and rarely interacted with the outside world. Despite his title, he was not nomadic. He just didn’t like standing still.

It was therefore appropriate that Landos, Gabriel, and Sarah first saw Alderthorn wandering up the road to meet them. The three of them halted their horses, as Gabriel and Landos took flank around Sarah.

“Ah, welcome to the Eliowode, Gentlemen,” he said as he stopped. Then he bowed to Sarah, “Your Grace.”

“Alderthorn,” Gabriel said, “Have you seen our jester?”

“Your jester indeed,” Alderthorn said, gently laughing, “I do not know that any person, man or beast, peasant or king, could claim domain over such a one as the jester. He seems to go about as he pleases.”

“Nonetheless,” Landos continued, “We need to see him, and quickly.”

“I do apologize,” Alderthorn said, “Both for my long speech and what I must now say. The jester has asked that only the Countess come forward. I realize it is not in his place, nor mine, to command such Nobles as yourselves, but as the Countess outranks you both, I do suppose we will all listen to her wish.”

“Well, Your Grace?” Landos said.

“I’ll go,” Sarah said, “Alone.”

She and Landos shared a glance. His was trying to say, “Please don’t go.” Hers was trying to say, “Don’t let me go.” But this would be the last moment they would share as unburdened lovers.

“Very well,” Alderthorn said, “Please come. You can trot the horse down the path or walk, if you like. I will be on foot, so we can go no faster than my weary legs anyway.”

“I’ll walk,” Sarah said, dismounting and taking up a step alongside the old man. Landos wondered what Sarah would find, deep in the shadow of the Eliowode.

Chapter
26: The Line of Kings…

Prince Anthony ate very well. Like a Prince he ate. But also like a hungry boy who hadn’t had a satisfying meal in several days. More than a week, in fact.

Sir Noble gave Vye a full account of the events in Anuen over dinner. Of course, she had already heard bits and pieces, but now she was getting the details. Now she was hearing an account very much like her own. A tale of magic, swordplay, and death.

Noble briefly described their journey to Hartstone. They stayed off the roads. Dressed down. Ate very little. Anthony, who had been silent when Noble was describing the events at the capital, jumped in with occasional details about the trip. At the age of six, his stories were still haphazard, and cared little for chronology. Noble had to keep interjecting, so that Vye knew what part of the journey Anthony was talking about.

After Prince Anthony ate well, he was escorted upstairs, where he slept well.

“I haven’t told him yet,” Noble confessed to Vye, as soon as they were the only ones in the room. “I tried, the first night out of Anuen, but I don’t think he understood. Then, I just couldn’t. I had to make it a sport for him. I had to pretend it was a game.”

“Were you followed?” Vye asked.

“I don’t think so. I don’t know.”

“Well, you made it here,” Vye said. “That’s something, at least.”

“It was terrible,” Noble said. “They all died. I couldn’t save anyone.”

“You saved him.”

“As soon as I was out of Anuen, I thought I should get to Nathaniel. Of course, I heard on the road that he was killed on the same day. But I still wanted to keep moving. I figured Hartstone would be a haven, if nothing else.”

“I guess it’s as safe as anywhere these days.”

“It was all too well planned. Somebody wants to destroy our Kingdom.”

“I keep waiting for the other boot to fall,” Vye confessed. “I have the assassin in the dungeon, but he--”

“You have the assassin?!”

“Yes, but Landos wants to wait for the Royal Council to interrogate him.”

“The Royal Council? Half of them died under the canopy, with the Queen. And besides, you don’t need the council. You have the de facto King.”

“He’s six.”

“He’s all we have. If we don’t present the country with a single person to stand behind, there will be chaos.”

“I agree,” Vye said. “And if it were any other circumstances-- If the King had died from sickness, for example, then I could imagine crowning a boy that young. But he will be coming to power in days like these. I wouldn’t wish that upon any man, let alone any six-year-old.”

“I agree that it’s not ideal,” Noble said, “But I am weary, and cannot think of any other way. In these desperate times... We need to crown him, even if it’s only to use him as a banner. As someone to rally behind. He won’t truly comprehend what’s happening, but he may have no choice.”

“I hope you’re wrong. But I suspect you’re right.”

---

Time was indeed shorter than either of them imagined. In Vye’s mind, having studied her Kingdom’s past, she thought of wars taking years, sometimes decades. If the Turin had their way, this one would not last a full, calendar year.

The army that swept so effortlessly through Fort North had made short work of all the outposts in the Country of Maethran. Count Maethran himself had abandoned the territory, and left his armies there to die. It was cowardice, but it made little difference. He was not a good enough general to defeat such a concentrated and well-trained force. He didn’t have enough warning, enough soldiers, or enough time. His defeat had already been calculated.

Civilians fled as fast as they could, but the Turin were ruthless. They slaughtered every refugee they could find. The Turin didn’t think of women as innocents, and they only thought of children as threats waiting to grow up. It took nine days for the Turin army to raze Maethran, destroying every fortification, killing every citizen.

Once Maethran was undone, the Turin army struck east, to Cornwile. Perhaps someone would have argued that they should have gone south, to Anuen. The Kingdom of Rone was amassing a large, standing army near the capital. A preemptive strike there might be a better move, a strategist would argue.

But the Turin had been too thorough in their preparation. They understood the Rone way of thinking. It wasn’t one, massive army waiting near Anuen. It was two smaller armies. Duke Avonshire’s soldiers rallying around Castor Rone. Duke Brimford’s armies showing their support for Lord Timothy. As the Turin had predicted, diplomacy had failed. After the funeral for the previous King, both men declared themselves the new King. Insults were thrown. Nasty insults about people’s mothers, fathers, and similarity to or affinity for certain farm animals. It got ugly. It ended in a declaration of war.

So, while Avonshire and Brimford should have been helping their neighboring lands, they would instead be occupied with fighting one another. Just as the Turin had hoped.