“Our duty is to protect you from anyone and everything; whether they wish to kill you or just take you prisoner makes no difference,” replied the less talkative of the two men.
“What are your names?” she asked them, embarrassed that she hadn’t bothered to learn them before.
“Alan,” said the first guard. “Alan Wright, and this is Evan Brown.” He gestured at the other guard, who bobbed his head as if they were meeting her for the first time.
“Why do you ask, Your Highness?” questioned Evan.
“If people are going to give their lives for me, then I think I damn well ought to know their names,” she said in a fierce whisper.
The noise outside indicated that the invaders were returning from the office. “You there, have you seen Princess Ariadne?!” She guessed they must be questioning the messenger who had been in the hallway.
“Yes, sir, I have,” the man returned in a shaky voice. Alan and Evan both tensed, for the man was standing not far from the door they hid behind.
“Where?”
“She was in that office, when I came to bring her a message. She left after that. She was in a terrible hurry,” replied the messenger.
“Where did she go?”
“Up the stairs, sir, that’s the only way out of here!”
A thump resounded through the door, followed by a cry of pain from the messenger. “We just came down those stairs, you lying cretin! If you just delivered the message, we would have seen her!”
“Please, sir! I came five or ten minutes ago. I swear! She went ahead of me! I was just dawdling here. I knew they’d put me to work again as soon as I got back!” pleaded the messenger.
There was a brief pause, “You men, get your asses up the stairs double quick! Find her before she finds help! You three stay with me. We need to search this area, in case this idiot is lying to us.”
The sound of boots signaled the hurried pursuit of most of the armed men, but as soon as they had gone, Ariadne heard the one in the hall speak again. “If I find her down here, I’ll kill you for lying,” he growled at the messenger.
“No, sir! I’m too lazy to lie,” answered the man pitifully. Another thump and a howl rewarded him for his words.
Ariadne glanced at her protectors. Their swords were out, and their faces were grim. They knew there weren’t many places to search, and their hiding place would probably be the first to be examined. She put her hand on the door handle and nodded at Alan and Evan.
“Even if you’re truthful and lazy I…” began the invader but he was interrupted by a crash from behind him.
The princess flung the door wide with a bang while her two men at arms rushed out. The messenger lay on the floor less than ten feet away with four men standing around him. Two of them were wounded immediately as Alan and Evan leapt forward with their swords, hacking at the necks of those closest to them. Blood was everywhere, and the corridor was a chaotic mess of struggling bodies within seconds.
Despite their surprise, the fight soon became a deadly standoff as Ariadne watched her protectors trading blows with the men wearing Hightower’s colors. The combatants seemed evenly matched, and the invaders fought cautiously, defending themselves rather than aggressively pressing their attacks.
They only need to buy time. We’ll be outnumbered if their companions return, noted Ariadne grimly. That observation disturbed her deeply, for it meant that not only was she still trapped, but it also implied that the men felt they controlled the palace itself. They weren’t worried the palace guard might rescue her.
She needed to tip the balance in their favor, for time wasn’t on their side, but the only weapon she had was a steel bodkin hidden in her dress, a gift from Rose Hightower years before. She drew the blade out and held it in front of her. The weapon seemed small and inadequate in her hand when compared to the bulky men in leather cuirasses. Each of them bore a longsword that dwarfed her small blade, and she probably weighed less than half what the smallest of them did.
Searching frantically for something she could use to help her guardsmen, she almost failed to see the messenger’s next action. Both sides had ignored him once the fight began, but he still lay sprawled on the floor a short distance behind the invaders. He had been badly beaten, but he rose on his hands and knees, crawling toward the feet of his assailants.
Ariadne almost called to him before she realized what he meant to do, and then she closed her mouth quickly. Moments later one of the men backed into him, tripping over the messenger to fall awkwardly on the stone floor. Before he could regain his feet, the messenger wrapped his arms around him, ignoring the armored man’s kicks and punches as he struggled to free himself.
The fight was over quickly after that. Alan and Evan were easily able to overcome the remaining invader, before finishing off the one that the messenger was grappling with.
A ghastly silence came over them then, as they stared at the carnage around them. Her two protectors were gruesome to behold, and the messenger had a frightening collection of bruises and scrapes, one eye was rapidly swelling shut.
“What now, Princess?” asked Evan.
She stared at the three of them. In the space of a few short minutes Ariadne had seen more violence than she had since the attack on Lancaster years past. Her brain was numb and her inner observer took note. You’re going into shock.
“We need to get upstairs first. We’re trapped here with only one way in or out. Obviously there are more of them, and they seem to feel comfortable that the palace is largely under their control,” said a calm voice. It took a moment before she realized it was her own. “That indicates that my father has somehow been isolated and is unable to rally the defenders.”
“There may not be many defenders, Your Highness,” said Alan. “Most of the palace garrison were sick this morning. Hightower’s men were here to take up the slack.”
“Do you think Hightower is trying to stage a coup?” asked Evan.
Ariadne interrupted, “Enough speculation, we need more information before we can make assumptions. Take off your tabards.”
“Beggin’ you pardon, Princess, but why?” queried Alan.
“There are probably too many to fight through. I want you to put on their tabards. If necessary you can ‘escort’ me past them,” she explained.
Evan was aghast, “They’re covered in blood! Are we supposed to pass as corpses?”
“Take a look at yourself,” suggested Ariadne. “You’ve got as much blood on you as they do. Who is to say they didn’t win this fight?” She looked over at the messenger, “You too. Change your colors. Put some armor on as well. That fellow looks about your size,” she pointed at one of the dead men.
The messenger was visibly frightened. “But, Highness, I—I’m no warrior!”
“What’s your name?”
“Harper—Gerold Harper, Your Highness,” he answered.
She smiled at him, “Well, Gerold Harper, you’ve shown as much courage today as some men do in a lifetime. For now, you are my soldier, until the danger is past. Arm yourself and stand with me.” As she spoke she could almost see her father’s commanding figure, proud and tall. He definitely would have said that, she thought.
Changing tabards was quick and easy, but getting Gerold into unfamiliar armor took longer than Ariadne was comfortable with. Time dragged on, and with each passing second she feared one of the previous set of enemies would return. When at last they were ready, she was fairly chomping at the bit. “Let’s go,” she commanded, and without waiting she started toward the stairs.
The three men looked at each other silently behind her back, unspoken words passing between their eyes. “Just like her father,” said Alan, voicing the thought on all their minds. They hurried to catch up.
Alan and Evan positioned themselves on either side of her, while she urged Gerold to take the lead. “Take my arms,” she said, looking at her two guards. “If we encounter more of them, our story is that you’ve taken me prisoner.”
They nodded and held her arms, though it made them uncomfortable to take such liberties. Neither of them remembered having done the same only minutes before. Adrenaline had done the thinking for them at the time.
On the stairs they found five dead men, two wearing the King’s colors and three in Hightower’s. Ariadne was still struggling to understand what was happening, but she strongly suspected that the men wearing Lord Hightower’s livery were anything but ‘his men’.
They stopped at the first landing. The door there lead to the ground floor of the palace. “Are you sure we should exit here, Your Highness?” Alan asked her.
“If we go higher, we could be trapped,” she told him.
“There aren’t really a lot of easy ways in or out here either,” he countered, “the main gate and the two side gates are probably guarded by the enemy if they’ve come this far.”
She nodded, “We need to discover who controls the gates. That will tell us much about the state of the palace interior, and provide our only route to escape if it should prove necessary.”
“Shouldn’t we try to get to the King?” asked Evan anxiously. “The meeting chamber is two floors above us.”
Ariadne flinched inwardly at the thought. If the palace were under enemy control, she and her three companions might be the only ones capable of rescuing her father, while on the other hand if her father still retained some control reaching him might be the safest place she could find. Either he’s secure and trying to regain the palace, or he’s been captured, in which case that’s the last place I should go. There were too many uncertainties.
“We don’t know enough, but I doubt anyone would go this far without making sure they had the necessary resources to complete the job. To do otherwise is to sign your own death warrant. Therefore we’ll operate on the assumption that our best hope is to escape. We’ll know a lot more after we open this door,” she said firmly.
Gerold opened the door while her two ‘captors’ led her out into the long hall that was one of the most heavily trafficked on that side of the palace. It led to the inner gardens at one end and the formal throne room at the other. In between it met numerous cross corridors that led to servants’ areas, the kitchens, the laundry, and a miscellany of other rooms that kept the palace functioning. The barracks connected to the palace on the opposite side of the palace complex.
“Which way?” asked Alan quietly once they emerged. The hall was empty at the moment, but it probably wouldn’t be for long.
“Head toward the center, we can turn there and make for the kitchens. We might be able to get outside to the small garden,” she suggested. The small garden was the common name for the vegetable garden that the palace cook maintained. Unlike the decorative inner courtyard gardens, it actually connected to the outer ward, the area between the palace proper and the protective walls. It seemed like the most probable means for reaching the outer walls without attracting a lot of notice. The usual path around the throne room and through the great hall was almost certainly guarded.
They reached the wide common door to the kitchens easily, but once they entered they found a sea of staring eyes and silent fear. The cook, his assistants, the scullery boys, and most of the palace staff were gathered in the center of the huge room. There were two other doors leading into the kitchen, besides the one they had just used, and each was guarded by a pair of sullen faced men in Hightower’s livery.
The two guards at the door they had just passed through looked at them with interest. “You found her? Why’d you bring her up then? His Lordship said to kill her straight away,” questioned one of them.
A variety of things passed through Ariadne’s mind in an instant. The revelation that they meant to kill, rather than capture her, indicated that someone wanted to rid the kingdom of Lancaster heirs. That meant they would also be trying to kill her parents, and Roland. If they haven’t already.
Alan and Evan had gone utterly still, eyes on her as they tried to figure out whether she meant to keep up the fiction of her capture or try to run for it. The kitchen staff and other servants were also staring at her, unsure of what her presence portended.
Ariadne pulled her arms loose from Alan’s grasp, jerked the long knife from Evan’s belt and drove it through the thick leather of the enemy guard’s chest with both hands. Surprised, the man staggered back, too shocked even to cry out as he slumped to the floor, dying. Alan and Evan were quick to respond, and drawing their swords they dispatched the second guard before the man realized they were his foes.
That left four invaders, two at each of the other doors. They were drawing their weapons now, shouting for the staff to stay still while they advanced toward the princess and her three guardians from two directions.
They had taken no more than a couple of steps when her voice rose above the confusion, “They’re here to kill the King! Take up arms and drive them out!
No one moved. Frozen by fear, the kitchen staff and maids watched as the swordsmen closed on their princess and her three protectors. Gerold was visibly ill at ease with his weapon, and being outnumbered, it was likely that Evan and Alan would be overwhelmed quickly. Making matters worse, two more of the enemy appeared in the doorway behind them. It was now six to four.
“Careful boys, the bitch has teeth!” shouted one of the invaders, pointing at the man Ariadne had stabbed.
Desperate, Ariadne leapt sideways toward one of the stoves, before the circle could close in. Snatching a boiling pot from it, she ignored the sudden pain in her hands as she flung the contents at one of their foes. The boiling broth hit him solidly in the face. Blind and screaming he fell back.
Her attack seemed to galvanize the castle staff into action. Coming out of their paralysis, the cooks and maids began snatching up pots and pans, skewers and knives. The kitchen had no shortage of potentially deadly implements. Several grabbed soup pots and flung them at the warriors in Hightower’s colors.
Their enemies were surprised and surrounded before they could adjust for the sudden change. The brawl that followed was rapid and ugly as they were struck by thrown pots and long skewers from one side, and Alan and Evan’s swords when they turned their backs on them. Amazingly, neither Ariadne nor her guardians were injured, although one of the scullery boys received a bad burn to one of his arms when some thrown soup struck him by accident.
The servants were energized by their violent success, and Ariadne seized the moment. “Pick up their swords. Take their armor if you can wear it. Skewers and knives, use whatever you can find to arm yourselves! They won’t take us without a fight,” she said grimly.
They quickly did as she said, but one man voiced their uncertainty, “I’ll gladly fight for you, Princess, but do you think we can win?” Everyone paused, waiting to hear her reply.
Ariadne Lancaster straightened up, instinctively making the most of her five foot three inch stature. She was a small woman, barely more than a girl, and her dress was ripped and bloodied. “It doesn’t matter if I can win or not. The question is whether they can convince me that I should give up,” she said in a quiet voice, barely loud enough to be heard.
It was a trick she had learned from watching her father address his men, whether they were powerful lords or simple servants. The room grew quiet as everyone tried to hear her, and she had their full attention now.
More loudly she repeated herself, “I’ll say it again. It doesn’t matter if we can win. The only thing that is important is whether they can convince us to give up. It doesn’t matter if they have more swords, or men! Can they invade our home and trample us under? Is it our place to be obedient to the will of an aggressor simply because we don’t think we can win?”
The room was deathly still now, and they had all unconsciously moved back a few feet, creating a clear space around her. Turning she looked each of them in the eye, one by one, letting them see her conviction.
“I say it is not!” she shouted, answering it for them. “I don’t give a damn, whether they have more men or
swords. I will fight. I will make them fight for every inch, and if I am beaten—I will spit in their eyes!”
A shout went up from the castle staff as they brandished rolling pins and iron pans above their heads.
“It doesn’t matter if we can win! They cannot make us surrender!” she shouted, finishing her speech.
Chapter 19
The dragon was veering off to the right again, ever so slightly, sending us more northward.
You’re changing course again, I told him mentally to avoid the complication of all the wind noise. You need to head due west from here.
I am heading due west, he argued.
No you aren’t. The magic is interfering with your mind again.
I would sense something if there were magic nearby, and dragon minds are highly resistant to the types of magic that affect human minds, he informed me.
I sighed inwardly. There are no ‘dragon minds’, you are the only one. Regardless, this magic isn’t of human creation. We need to shield your mind with an enchantment, simple spells won’t work.
How do you intend to create an enchantment up here? I cannot simply stop. I am far too large to hover, he responded with a sarcastic note to his thoughts.
Then maybe you need to go on a diet! I shot back angrily. Once again I found my anger seemed to appear for very little reason, despite the fact that my overall level of emotion had been slowly dropping for the past two days.
Moira’s amusement came across lightly. I doubt a skinny dragon could carry both of us.
Fly close to the water, I told him, ignoring her joke. I will make a place where we can land and take care of the necessary enchantment.
How?
Just fly low and slow, I instructed him.
A few minutes later we were skimming just a few feet above the surface, although our speed was still considerable. I removed my gauntlets and gave him one final instruction, flare your wings as if you were landing.
The wing beats stopped as he complied, and we dropped toward the surface of the water. Uttering a short phrase in Lycian, I used a bit of magic to make the waves stop. The ocean surface was as hard as stone now for a distance of some twenty yards in every direction. It was similar to what I had unknowingly done years ago when I first discovered my magic. Correction, when he first discovered magic, I thought. Keeping up with the distinction was tiring.