She hasn’t been crowned, and considering the present events, she might never be, but I’ve seen a woman become a queen today, thought Dorian with a bit of sadness. Whatever the outcome, the young girl he had always known as Marc’s younger sister would never be the same. Her change of tone had resonated with the other people in the room, and they were now on their knees.
“The King is dead. Long live the Queen,” pronounced one of the cooks softly.
The veteran knight studied the faces of those around him. He alone remained standing. Gazing seriously into Ariadne’s hard eyes he made his choice and fell to one knee. “I have served Lothion all my life. I served your father in good faith, and I will continue to serve the crown. You have my pledge of fealty…,” he paused there for a moment before continuing, “…Your Majesty.”
She looked calmly down upon him. “I accept your fealty, Sir Dorian. Please continue to use ‘Highness’, for I have not yet been crowned, and if my brother lives he will take precedence. For now, I will carry the burden of your sovereign, until Roland’s fate is known.”
Dorian stood at her signal, and he might have imagined it, but he thought he saw a flicker of emotion pass over her. She is strong, but this day will test her limits—if we survive. “I still advise you to escape, Princess. The palace is no longer safe.”
She disagreed, “I must see my father first, and if possible those who were to meet with him today.”
They made it back to the stairs and the second floor without meeting any resistance, a fact that bothered Dorian. He couldn’t help but feel that their situation must inevitably get worse. It was just a matter of ‘when’.
The hall leading to the small meeting chamber was empty, though they could hear voices through the door.
“Your opinion counts for nothing, Airedale! You’d best keep your thoughts to yourself if you plan to keep your head on your shoulders.”
The voice seemed familiar but Dorian couldn’t put a name to it.
“That’s Earl Balistair,” said Ariadne beside him. “Open the door, Dorian, we’ve found the viper’s nest.”
“We don’t know how many men are inside,” he cautioned.
She looked unconcerned. “It’s a small chamber. It couldn’t hold enough men to be a threat to you.”
It isn’t ‘me’ I’m worried about, thought Dorian. Pushing his worries aside he thrust the door open and entered with a rush, surprising the men inside.
The room turned out to be lightly occupied; only four men were within, and all of them were lords of the realm. Martin Balistair whirled to face the open door with shock registering on his face. The man he had been haranguing, Count Airedale, sat on the floor beside the bodies of two men, one of whom was surely James Lancaster. Two others sat at the table that occupied the center of the room, Duke Cantley and Baron Surrey. None of them looked happy, but Airedale’s face took on an expression of hope when he recognized Dorian. No one moved.
Dorian’s sword was in his hand as he moved purposefullly toward the King’s body. “Stand aside,” he commanded them, pointing at the back wall. “Over there if you please.”
Duke Cantley was the first to find his spine, “On whose authority do you give such commands, Sir Dorian?”
“Mine,” declared Ariadne as she entered the room. Alan, Evan, and Gerold had entered ahead of her and were maintaining their positions around her defensively. The rest of her band gathered in the doorway or kept watch on the hall.
Cantley and Balistair both blanched when they saw her appear, while Baron Surrey remained studiously silent. Only Count Airedale seemed glad of her arrival. “Thank the gods you’re alive, Princess,” he said with tears in his eyes. “Tremont said they’d killed you.”
Dorian motioned for them to move again, and this time Brad Cantley moved, taking his place against the wall while the knight knelt to examine James Lancaster’s corpse. It took little time to confirm the fact of his death, and Dorian looked at Ariadne with sad eyes to confirm her fears. “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he said.
She nodded and looked back at the lords standing along the wall. “Which of you were present when he died?” she asked.
None of them answered for a moment, until finally Airedale spoke, “We all were here, Your Highness. Tremont…”
“Silence!” she ordered. “I will ask the questions. Who slew my father?”
Cantley answered promptly, “Andrew Tremont, Your Highness.”
“How did he die?”
“The Duke ran him through as he sought to pick up a sword to defend himself,” answered Cantley again. “We didn’t expect…,” he started to continue, but she cut him off.
“One more word, Cantley, and I’ll have you put to the sword. Disobey me again at your peril,” she growled. “Do you understand me?”
He bowed quickly, “Yes, Highness.”
“Which of you tried to defend your King?”
Surrey finally found his voice, “It happened so quickly. Tremont had replaced the guards. There was nothing we could do!”
She nodded at Dorian, and he could see cold murder in her eyes. Stepping forward, he slammed the hilt of his sword into Baron Surrey’s stomach, using enough force to drive the wind from the older man’s lungs.
“I will ask again: Which of you fought to defend your King?” she repeated.
They remained silent.
“Then I pronounce you all guilty of treason,” she said bluntly.
“All of us?!” gasped Airedale.
Cantley was more forceful, shouting, “You cannot judge me! You have no authority, nor do you have any proof of such a preposterous charg…” His words cut off suddenly as Dorian treated him much the same as he had Baron Surrey.
She addressed John Airedale then, “Count Airedale, you alone seem surprised. Do you have something to say in your defense?”
His head was down as he replied, “No, Your Highness. I have no defense except to say that I knew nothing of what they had planned. I was a coward and failed to act in James’ defense.”
“Do you honestly think you can lock us up?” said Cantley from the floor. “Tremont has an army. He controls the capital now!”
Ariadne held up a hand to forestall Dorian before he silenced the errant lord. “You bring up a good point, Lord Cantley. You will not be imprisoned. The punishment for treason is death.”
“But we haven’t had a trial!” cried Martin Balistair.
She looked straight through him, “That was your trial, Lord Balistair.” Turning to John Airedale she continued, “I find you guilty of treason as well, Lord Airedale, but I will show you a small mercy; rather than execution, you shall be banished from Lothion. You are hereby stripped of all land and titles. If I find you again within our nation’s borders your life will be forfeit. If I determine later that your heirs had no part in this, I may pass your title to them. You have five days to get across the border.”
Airedale seemed surprised, “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Get out of my sight,” she responded, and she kept her gaze upon him until he had left the room, then she turned her attention to Dorian. “I have made my judgment, Sir Dorian. These three are guilty of treason. They are condemned to death. Carry out the sentence.”
Dorian blanched at her command. While he had fought and killed many over the years, he had never killed in cold blood. The three men she had ordered put to death were technically armed, but they had put up no resistance. In truth they were as helpless before him as lambs at a slaughter, whether they wore swords or not. He hesitated.
“Sir Dorian?” she asked, “Must I repeat myself, or would you rather I take this task upon myself?” She held out her open hand, as if to take his sword. Her eyes burned into him with icy resolve.
She would do it. He could see that plainly enough. The condemned men stared at him in stark fear, eyes bulging. Waiting longer would only prolong their suffering. His arm moved with such speed the eye could hardly follow, and Balistair and Surrey were falling, their h
eads no longer attached. Cantley’s hand almost reached his waist before he too died. Dorian wiped his blade clean before sheathing it again. As he did so, he noticed several drops of blood on Ariadne’s face, but she turned away before he could mention it to her.
“We need to keep moving if we are to find Tremont,” she said.
He nodded and followed.
They continued along the corridor, checking other rooms as they went, but they found no one aside from frightened man-servants and two maids. The few that they encountered elected to join them.
Ariadne began to wonder if Tremont, by some miracle, had decided to abandon the palace to them. Dorian didn’t relax though, and his fears were borne out shortly thereafter. A group of ten emerged from a side hall, and they didn’t seem surprised. The enemy had wised up, and now they were hunting them.
Dorian was at the front of the princess’ band, and the enemy soldiers charged into them from behind. The cooks and other servants did their best, but they were no match for the well-equipped mercenaries. The enemy had the initiative here, and the fight turned ugly in seconds. Dorian struggled to get to the rear of the group, but many of the princess’ followers fell before he could reach the fight.
Shouldering one of the laundresses aside he charged over the fallen bodies, disrupting the enemy’s advance as they suddenly found themselves on the wrong side of his sword. Steel flickered in the light, and blood splattered the walls as he butchered them. He fought like a demon, impossibly graceful and lethally efficient. The end result was a floor that looked as if it belonged in an abattoir rather than a palace.
Two of Tremont’s men turned and fled before he got to them. Rather than give chase he let them go, heartsick already from the killing he had done.
“They’re getting away!” shouted Ariadne.
Dorian nodded, disgust written on his features. Many of her followers were wounded now, and at least ten had died. One woman lay silently gaping, struggling to keep her intestines from spilling out. Most of the enemy were dead already, and those that weren’t were rapidly bleeding to death. Everywhere he looked Dorian saw nothing but death. “They’ve lost their will to fight,” he said simply. “If I go chasing them, the next group may take your life before I can return.”
“What if they warn the others?” asked Alan.
“They already know. Those men were looking for trouble. We’ve outstayed our welcome. The rest will be on us soon enough,” returned Dorian. He felt old. In the past he had fought monsters, except in the war with Gododdin, and that had been a far more clear-cut fight. Now he had gone from protector to executioner—to butcher.
Ariadne was staring blankly at the wounded maid. “Help the wounded up,” she ordered those that were still standing, but her attention never left the woman clutching desperately at her stomach.
Dorian leaned close. “She will not live, but she might survive for several days if she doesn’t die of blood loss,” he said softly in the princess’ ear.
“What are our options?” she asked.
He grimaced, “Tell her the truth and offer her a clean death, either at my hand or her own, or we attempt to carry her with us. Without magical aid she will surely die, but the strain of being carried might kill her as well.”
She knew they had little time, and so James Lancaster’s daughter knelt beside the dying woman. “What is your name?” she asked.
“Nancy, Your Highness,” the woman answered between clenched teeth. The fear and pain in her eyes would haunt the princess for the rest of her life.
“Nancy, I’m told you will not survive this wound, but you might live another day or two. If we try to move you, it might kill you outright; if we leave you here I don’t know what our enemy will do. The choice is yours to make,” she explained. Ariadne’s face remained clear and steady as she spoke.
Nancy groaned, a tear creating a smudged track down the side of her cheek. “I would stay with you if I could. I’d like to see my children again, but you can’t run with me bein’ like this. Leave me a knife, milady. Get away and don’t look back.”
Ariadne stood suddenly, turning away as her resolve cracked, twisting her visage with grief. Dorian could see her heart breaking, and inwardly he wept for both of them. This is the end of innocence, if there was any left. Stepping forward, he sheathed his sword and squatted beside the dying woman. “Godsdammitt,” he cursed under his breath. “If possible, I will see you to your family. It’ll hurt, though.” Carefully he eased his arms under her and gently lifted.
She gasped as he stood, cradling her to his chest like some overlarge child. He was already gory from the fighting, but almost immediately a fresh trail of blood began leaking, over his midsection and down his legs.
“Let’s go,” said Dorian as he began walking down the hall moving in the direction of the nearest stairs. The others followed without argument.
Elise Thornbear was leaning on one of the cooks as she watched her son carry the dying maid. Her heart was filled with a confusing welter of emotions, pride and despair warring within her for precedence. No matter what else, Gram, she thought, addressing her dead husband, our son has become a man to be proud of, just like his father.
“How’s he going to fight like that?” Gerold asked Evan in a whisper.
“Shut up,” said Evan.
Chapter 24
They reached the ground level without interference. Evan, Alan, and Gerold had taken positions around Ariadne, while the rest of the palace servants clustered protectively around Dorian and his burden. Though he respected their sentiment, he knew realistically that when they encountered more enemy troops he would be forced to surrender his charge to someone else.
The main door leading into the courtyard was guarded, but only four men held the position, and before he could give Nancy to someone else, the servants charged them. They were full of anger and a desperate need to find some way to act. Another of them was killed in the short fight, and two more were mildly wounded, but the rest overwhelmed the four men before they could ready themselves. More blood covered the tile floors of the palace.
It never ends, thought Dorian morbidly, and I am tied to the cycle by iron, blood, and hatred. Forced to kill and kill again, until they finally put an end to me. What will Mort think of me then? Will Rose weep for me? And what of my son, will he follow in his father’s footsteps, to find himself cursed by violence as well?
“The courtyard is full of men!” said Alan loudly as he peeked through the now unguarded doors.
Dorian shifted the woman in his arms so that he could lean over enough to look through the crack in the doors. She didn’t moan this time. Nancy appeared to have fallen asleep. Then her head rolled back in a wholly unnatural manner. She’s dead, he realized.
Bending down, Dorian gently laid Nancy’s body on the ground. His face was wet, though he didn’t remember when he had begun crying. Of all the violence he had seen that day, for some reason it was Nancy’s that had finally undone him. “Let me see,” he told Alan.
No one commented on his tears.
“Tremont is out there,” he told Ariadne after a moment. “He must have taken them out to recapture you after we snuck back in. The gate’s open too. There’re at least five hundred men out there now.”
The princess’ jaw was agape now. “How could he have so many?”
“Your father and I spoke regarding this just a few days ago. Lord Hightower had suspicions that someone was sneaking men into the city, but none of us expected something like this,” admitted the Knight of Stone.
“What in the name of the gods is that?!” exclaimed Gerold who had taken Dorian’s place as soon as he moved away from the doors.
“What?” Dorian shoved him quickly aside to get another view. It took only a moment to spot the source of Gerold’s confusion. A large creature was entering the courtyard, having just passed from underneath the gatehouse. It stood nearly nine feet in height and walked on two legs, like a man, but the resemblance ended there. It had four arm
-like appendages connected to a slender trunk. The overall coloring was a deep brown, but its skin looked thick and almost bark-like. The head was small, without a mouth or any other features besides six eyes that circled it, providing vision in a three hundred and sixty degree arc.
A number of thoughts percolated through his mind then as Dorian looked at the crowd of people around him. His mother was barely conscious now, supported by a man on either side. Ariadne was uninjured, but the rest of them sported a variety of wounds. There is no way for me to get these people out of here. His eyes met Ariadne’s, “You need to put that man’s clothes on and the armor as well.”
She glanced at the dead mercenary he was indicating. Although he was one of the smaller ones, his armor would still be too large for her. The only bright side she could see was that rather than chainmail he wore a simple leather hauberk. It was heavily stained with blood. “You have a good reason for this I assume?”
He motioned her to step aside with him, and speaking softly he outlined his plan. As she listened her eyes grew moist but she knew there were no other options. It was a day of damnation, and she was already covered in blood.
She returned to the others, and ignoring their stares, she stripped herself out of the soiled remains of her dress and began donning the oversized clothes and armor. She also directed the two men helping Elise to put one of the soldiers’ tabards over the lady’s dress, followed by a cloak. She used her own knife to cut Lady Thornbear’s skirts to knee length so that they wouldn’t be readily apparent. She completed the haphazard disguise with one of the men’s steel caps.
The two of them now looked, on casual inspection, to be just a couple more of Tremont’s mercenaries. Gerold, Evan, and Alan, moved closer—their larger frames would help the two women to blend in better.