Castle Walls (2 page)

Nodding, the dark haired princess looked up into the overhead foliage. "Get some sleep, Hector. Ilia and I will remain on watch." With a sad smile, she leaned forward and touched his shoulder. "It's good to see you, my friend. I'm glad you stayed alive."

Hector's face twisted into a smile. "And I am greatly happy to see you, High-… Katerin."

"Have you found her?"

Swallowing nervously, the captain shook his head at his sovereign's back. "Nay, we've not, Sire." In a gush, he added, "All but one of the men have reported back. And he's not been seen or heard from in two days."

Thoughtful, the Invader stroked his bare chin, staring out over the city with muddy blue eyes. He held himself with the power and grace of a man half his age; a scar marring his lower cheek drew his mouth into a permanent frown. His hair was turning gray with a vengeance, the rich mahogany color of youth fading away.

He was standing on a balcony, behind him the main chamber of the previous Dulce king - unwitting victim in the ordained destiny of the Invader. One of many who'd attempted to resist the inevitable. Below the Invader, tendrils of smoke still rose from outside the castle walls, smoldering remains of a long siege and welcome success. He inhaled deeply of the acrid scent reminiscent of so many other battles in his long and bloody career.

"In which direction was my man going before he disappeared?" he finally asked, voice gravelly from an old scar across his throat.

"Southwest, Sire," the captain piped, hard put to refrain from wiping at the sweat on his face. "I've already taken the liberty of sending a full patrol in that direction."

"Good." The Invader turned, eyeing the guardsman. "Catch up to them. If you don't personally bring her head back, I'll take yours in its place. Is that understood?"

Ashen, the captain nodded. "Aye, my liege," he whispered, swaying on wobbly knees. He flinched a bit when a hand waved at him.

"Get out." A worried frown crossed the Invader's face as he watched the man tumble out the door as though all manner of demon were upon him. Sardonic, he thought,
I suppose I'm close enough to that particular description.
He approached a large oak table in the center of the room. Beneath a layer of expensive, clear glass laid a map of the kingdom he'd just taken and he regarded it with partial satisfaction. Hearing movement, he looked up, seeing an aide standing at the door leading into the king's bedchambers. Frowning, the scar only made him look fiercer, he growled, "You said you'd take care of the royal family. I should send you out with my captain and the same instructions."

The man bowed obsequiously. "My apologies, Your Royal Majesty," he said, voice oily from too many years at court. "You'd be well within your right, though my success would be limited - I'm not well-versed at tracking errant princesses."

"Had you done as you bargained, no one would need tracking. If I recall, you were to drug the royal family and get my men into the castle with a minimum of fuss." The Invader studied the aide, disgusted with the finery the man insisted on wearing. "You failed, Dominic."

"Aye, sire," the aide responded with another bow before stepping further into the room. "But you'd still be outside the walls had it not been for my assistance. It's hardly my fault that Cook decided have a go at the stew before it was served."

Distastefully turning away, the Invader picked up a goblet of wine from the table and sipped at it. "What's done is done." He returned to the balcony, staring out over his kingdom. "Get out, Dominic. Pack your belongings and see my quartermaster for your reward before you leave."

The aide froze for long seconds before a flash of anger crossed his face. He took an automatic step forward as he spoke. "That's not what you promised me," Dominic insisted. "You said I'd remain as a member of your court when it was over."

"Aye," the Invader agreed, turning to glare at the dandy. "And you promised me that the royal family and a good number of the guard would be drugged before you opened the gates. Too many of my men died as a result. Since you failed on your end, I hardly need to hold up mine." His manner became that of a hunting beast as he padded closer to Dominic, circling him. "You betrayed a king to whom you had sworn allegiance. Do you think I can trust your oath of fealty to me?"

Dominic ground his teeth, not trusting himself to respond. Stories were rampant of this man laying waste to all in his path when angered, friend and foe alike.

"You're a traitor now and you'll be one in the future - you don't fool me." Stopping behind him, the Invader leaned close, voice soft. "Now get out, before I decide to add another head to my walls."

With a swallow, the aide turned and backed towards the door, refusing to respond. Once there, Dominic intoned, "Your Majesty," before stepping into relative safety.

The Invader sighed and resumed studying the map of his new acquisition - the fourth in his military career. He was now master of more land than any remaining realms put together. Sipping his wine, he recalled the witch that had set him on his path.

Fidgeting on the stool, young Prince Germaine peered at the strange designs on the witch's cards. He wasn't supposed to be here; his father would have a fit if it were discovered his youngest son had visited a soothsayer. But when the teenager had rode past, he felt something call to him and here he sat.

The decrepit old woman cackled, rubbing stones together in her hands before casting them upon the cards. Leaning close to study them, she said, "You'll be a great warrior, a great king, young pup. You'll not be defeated in battle."

Germaine puzzled over this. "But I've two brothers before me in line for succession. How can I be king?"

"Never mind the present," the hag dismissed, waving a wrinkled hand. "You will be king."

Leaning closer, dread and fear and intense yearning filling him, the teenager asked, "Can you see my death? How will I die if I'm never defeated in battle?"

The witch clucked a bit, poking at this stone and that as she muttered to herself. "You will die by a sword, young kingling. It will be wielded by the child of your enemy, one of royal blood who will avenge those before and after."

After his brothers had been killed in assorted wars, his father gasping his last at the end of a spear, the Invader had begun his trek across the map. Of the four kingdoms he'd taken, all of royal blood were slain. There'd been an instance or two of trouble, but he'd been ultimately successful.

"And I'll be successful now," he stated, finishing his wine.

Stepping into the courtyard, Dominic cuffed a page that inadvertently impeded his path. He smiled in grim satisfaction when the lad yelped and ducked away from a further beating. The physical attack did nothing to ease the deep anger in his heart.

Bastard! How
dare
he toss me off as so much rubbish!

Dominic made his way across the crowded courtyard, ignoring the soldiers still in the process of sorting through the Invader's new wealth. "Wealth he wouldn't have if it weren't for
my
intervention."

"Eh? You say somethin'?" a passing guardsman asked, carefully balancing a large tapestry on one shoulder.

Startled, his anger deepening at his slip, Dominic growled, "Nothing for
your
ears."

The guardsman snorted derisively but held his tongue.

Dominic arrived at his destination, a low door on the east wall, without further ado. The hall he entered was dark with an aroma that was coolness and death, the usual scent of musty stone mingling with a coppery tang. As he closed the thick door behind him, the rattle and activity of the courtyard faded away.

Sighing in relief at the audible reprieve, Dominic moved silently through the hall. The aide sidestepped a dried pool of blood, thoughts intent on his abrupt dismissal.

Bastard would never have taken the castle without my help
, Dominic grumbled to himself.

Most of his life at court had been aimed at attaining power. Dominic wasn't presumptuous enough to desire the throne. He was a realist; no one would follow a king who had more interest in the fashions of the day than his people. But to be the man who had the king's ear... That was a worthy goal. Initially, things had worked in Dominic's favor and his career flowered as he progressed along the path to become the king's personal aide. All shriveled away when he ran into the stone wall called Queen Mugaion Caesarin Elizabeth Dulce Annaatje.

To say the queen disliked Dominic was an understatement of grand proportions. He was never sure whether it was something he'd done
or a distinct loathing for no other reason than he existed. Dominic assumed the latter for nothing he did or said seemed to alter the queen's distaste. Unfortunately for the ambitious man, Caesarin also had her husband's ear.

Dominic slipped into the small chambers he had called home these last few months. Throwing open an oak wardrobe, he looked at his clothes in dismay. There was no way Dominic could take all his belongings and he began weeding through the clothing as frustrated musings continued.

Every attempt at getting into the monarch's good graces was met with resistance. Dominic soon realized his future hopes were dashed and he began searching for another way to attain them. It had been a difficult decision but, with no other way of reaching the king, only one avenue remained. Moving on to another kingdom was out of the question - Dominic's network of informants and hoodlums couldn't be moved. Either find another throne, starting from scratch, or remain and bring another to power.

The Invader had been a difficult man to reach. Once their initial meeting was complete, however, Dominic felt a renewed sense of purpose; his proposals and offers accepted, a pact was made that would further his desires. That the Dulce king and his bitch would be dead was only added incentive.

With a frustrated sigh, Dominic slammed the wardrobe closed. Everything would have to be replaced. Opening a trunk at the foot of his small bed, he pulled out a travel pack. A few pieces of jewelry, a couple of changes of clothing and three small scrolls were all the space Dominic could afford.

Shouldering his bag, Dominic took a final look at his furnishings.
I must take the bastard Invader down.
Another frustrated sigh escaped him and he left the room.

Somewhere, there was a renegade princess on the run from a usurper. I wonder
, Dominic speculated,
What if I found her first?

A full day of travel had passed and Katerin was bone weary. Their pace slowed to a crawl now that night was upon them, the added smell of nearby wood smoke urging them to greater caution.

The trio kept to the forest, evading one patrol after another, with no chance to rest. The Invader was not content with spilling most of the royal bloodline; he was obviously hunting for the final heir between he and the throne. Fortunately, Hector had served in the guard as a younger man. His experience was invaluable as the need to hide their trail was tested again and again.

Wrapped in the only cloak, the women waited in the shadows of a large elm while the ex-soldier scouted the cause of the smoke. Stomach grumbling, the princess blushed in embarrassment at the din.
Just what we need - to be discovered by the noise from my belly.
Ilia heard it, as well, placing a hand on the young monarch's shoulder in a comforting gesture. Katerin's blush deepened, happy it was unnoticeable in the darkness.

Though the moon was full, the night was cloudy, sending intermittent splashes of light upon an encampment in the hollow below them. The sight of Hector ducking into the undergrowth was a welcome one; he'd been gone for some time and the princess was beginning to worry.

Moving close enough for the women to see, Hector held a finger to his lips, urging them further into the forest. Once far enough away, he whispered, "It's a caravan of some sort, Katerin. Maybe merchants. I couldn't tell in the darkness." He pulled two sacks from under his shirt. "But here's some food and water from one of the wagons. We can get more before we leave." He pulled foodstuffs from the sack - a half round of cheese, a loaf of bread and the leg of some sort of animal.

Despite the sudden ache in her belly, Katerin held her handmaiden back. "You stole it?" she asked, reprimand in her tone.

Drawing himself up to full height, Hector nodded. "Aye, your Ladyship, I did." He frowned, peering into her dark eyes with intensity. "We don't have the crowns to pay for it and it'll hardly be missed. I'll not have you starve out here in the wilderness! Your father would haunt me 'til the day I die."

Realizing the truth of his statement, the princess dropped her gaze. With a sigh and a nod, she gestured for Ilia to take the food. "You're right, Hector," she murmured. "We must survive at all costs." Glancing back down the hill, she vowed, "I promise to repay them… somehow."

The servants looked at each other behind her, worry lining their faces.

Much as she wanted to eat it all, Katerin knew it would be folly. As Ilia used the dagger to slice the cheese, the princess doled out a portion of meat, deciding to leave the bread for later. Filling the sack with the remaining items, she tied it shut, patting it gently.

They made short work of their meager allotments, sharing the water skin between them. Acid burned in Katerin's stomach as it demanded more, her appetite hardly whetted. With a sigh, she put the enticing smell of venison from her mind. "We need to find a place to sleep," she announced.

"Aye, lady," Hector agreed, glancing around with a calculating gaze. Pointing away from the encampment below, he said, "P'rhaps we can follow this ridge here and see if there's a safe place."

Nodding, the princess picked up her skirts with one hand and the food with the other. Beside her, Ilia gathered what few personal items they'd been able to scramble during the attack.
A lifetime ago
, Katerin mourned.

As the women stood, however, Hector grabbed both of them about the waist and pulled them back. Hissing their surprised gasps to silence, he cupped his ear and pointed up the hillside.