Myrren's Gift (24 page)

So while the King of Morgravia lost himself in pleasant thoughts of killing Cailech, King of the Mountain Dwellers, Arkol in Briavel smiled as he surveyed the mercenaries’ handiwork.

“Good work. men. Now muffle your horses’ hooves and any weapons. Get rid of anything that makes noise—we move silently toward the palace.”

“How do we get in?” someone asked.

“The messenger who arrived ahead of us is one of ours. He will kill the guards on duty at the gate and open the portcullis.”

“That easy, eh?”

“It’s better than easy. King Celimus has planned for another company to raid into Briavel and create a disturbance on the northwestern fringe of Werryl. Those men will draw away most of the Briavellian Guard while we storm the palace.”

“And the others left behind?”

“Will be drugged, if our man can pull it off. Either way, they will not be expecting a direct strike and we will only move when the night is late. We’ll catch them in their cups.” The soldiers laughed.

“And Koreldy?”

“Will die by my sword,” Arkol cautioned. “No one else is to take that arrogant, ever-smiling bastard.

Understood?”

They nodded and got busy with their horses.

Deep in the shadows of a small, nearby copse, Fynch shuddered. Despite Wyl’s cruel words of the previous evening, he had doggedly followed and watched with horror as the recent events unfolded.

Having heard the mercenaries’ plan he knew it was up to him alone to save more lives tonight.

“We have to get to Wyl,” he whispered to Knave.

They set off ahead of the soldiers, using the trees and undergrowth for cover and cutting across the fields so they could get to the palace before the killing spree began.

Wyl gambled everything. Appetites lost but glasses refreshed, he began to tell Valor and Valentyna of how he came to find himself here at their table. A shocked stillness had descended about the room as they absorbed the enormity of the General’s sickening tale of Celimus’s brutality and betrayal. When he haltingly described how his sister had been paraded among her new husband’s blood, Valentyna took Wyl’s hands in her own and when his voice broke, telling them of how Ylena was forced to carry Alyd’s blood-soaked head back to the dungeon, she moved to hold him close and even held him to her as she wept for people she did not know.

When Wyl had finished speaking. Valor stood and paced. “And that man you came with, who is he to you?”

Wyl desperately wished he didn’t have to move away from Valentyna’s sweet embrace. As he pulled his emotions together, he noticed with gratitude that she did not let go of his hands.

“My murderer.” he said flatly.

“What!” she exclaimed. “This is preposterous!”

He explained everything he knew about Romen and the deal they had struck regarding Ylena’s safety.

It was Valentyna’s turn to stride distractedly around the room. “No! There has to be another way. You will not bargain with your life.”

“My life is all I have to give.” Wyl admitted.

“Father!” she begged. “What do we do?”

“Celimus is obviously certain he will win our permission for the marriage.” Valor replied, looking to Wyl for confirmation.

Wyl nodded. “One way or another.” he said, ruefully. “As I think about it now I realize he will win it either way—with your consent or by force.”

“So it’s Briavel he wants, rather than my daughter?”

Before Wyl could respond they heard a commotion coming from behind the tapestry.

“What in Shar’s Name—” was all Valor could get out before the privy door burst open and a small boy covered in something unspeakable and smelling just as unpleasant toppled in breathlessly through the opening.

Wyl regained his wits first. “Fynch!”

The youngster had run so hard he could hardly speak. “It’s a trap. Wyl. They’re coming to kill you.

Koreldy and the King also. A man called Arkol leads them!”

“Who is this?” Valor demanded.

Wyl swung around to Valor. “Someone to trust. Where is the Briavellian Guard, sire?”

“On hand. I’ll rouse them.”

“Too late!” Fynch said. “Those who were supervising the mercenaries are all dead. And the bulk of the palace guard has already been lured away. Look out your window if you don’t believe me.” Valor and Wyl did just that, while Valentyna had the presence of mind to slide the two huge bolts into place over the main door before running out of the secret door, returning moments later with her men’s garb. She threw the bolts on that door as well, for a few in the palace knew of it and might be persuaded by pain to reveal it. She could hear the two men making noises of despair at the window.

The boy was telling the truth then, whoever he was.

Putting her finger to her mouth, she unbuttoned the gown, ripping it in her impatience and to Fynch’s wide-eyed surprise, stepped out of it and proceeded to pull herself into her preferred working clothes.

By the time her father and the General turned back from the window, she was just fastening the buttons on her shirt.

“Right, that gets rid of the Princess,” she said grimly and turned toward a cupboard.

Opening it with a key from a nearby drawer she took out three swords. “I hope you keep these blades keen, Father.” She locked the cupboard from habit as she spoke.

“Sharpened each moon, child.”

“Good.” she said, turning toward the two men. “We’re going to need them.” Wyl began shaking his head. “Not you, highness.” he said to her. moving quickly across the room.

“Don’t you dare, General Thirsk,” she cautioned, her eyes glittering with anger. “This is Briavel, not Morgravia. The women here do not shirk from duty. I may be a Princess but I am my father’s daughter. I fight alongside him.”

She’s magnificent
, Wyl thought. He wanted to kiss her then and there and almost laughed at the realization that he would probably have to stand on tiptoe to do it. “I meant,” he said gently, “that we have to get you away from here, Valentyna. You are too precious to risk.”

“He’s right,” her father commanded. “My death is coming soon anyway, child. We have already discussed this.”

Telltale tears began to leak from her eyes at her father’s words but she fought them down. “No! We both flee if we must. I am not leaving without you, Father,” she said.

Valor shook his head and smiled. Then his face became gravely serious. His voice cold. “You will do exactly as I command. Valentyna. I am your King first. Don’t forget what I have always taught: you embody all of Briavel’s hopes for its future.”

Valentyna bit back the words she was about to hurl at her father. There was no mistaking his tone. This was no longer her indulgent father talking to her. A sovereign was speaking now.

She folded her arms defensively. “There is no escape, anyway. Not from this chamber. If they have the front gate—” her words trailed off.

Fynch looked around at their beaten, resigned expressions. “There is a way out.” he blurted. The trio turned back toward the small boy. “The same way I got in,” he added, shrugging.

“Of course!” Wyl said. “Fynch. you are an inspiration. Quick, your highness, follow the boy. Is Knave down there?” Fynch nodded. “Good, tell him to protect her with his life.” Valentyna was still contemplating the ugly passage out when she asked. “Who’s Knave?”

“My dog. Believe it or not, he will understand the message. Hurry, Valentyna, this is our only chance.” They could now hear the fighting raging beneath them. It would not be long before the mercenaries reached this chamber. Banging had started on the door. The King looked at Wyl, wondering if it was already too late.

“It’s Romen, ignore him.” Wyl said grimly. “We’ll deal with him later.” They stepped inside the privy.

“I’m not sure I can.” Valentyna admitted, looking down and feeling disgusted by the thought of what encrusted the walls.

Wyl had no time for this. “He did it to save your life. Now you’ll do it, your highness, or I’ll throw you down there myself. Don’t be misled by my height—I am far stronger than you credit.” She could tell he meant it and she appreciated his forceful directness—in fact, she admired this Morgravian General for everything he had said and done here this night. But still she hesitated.

“Don’t make me pick you up, Princess,” Wyl threatened, urging her down the drophole.

“He is damnably strong, your highness,” Fynch echoed. “Please, I’ll go first and you can follow. Breathe through your mouth—it will help.”

Valentyna nodded, fighting the urge to scream. She glanced toward her father with a pained expression as Wyl helped her to clamber into the drophole. It was more than wide enough for the Princess’s slim frame.

“You’re next Father.” she warned, her eyes peeping over the edge as she gulped air, not daring to breathe through her nose.

The King nodded his encouragement at her. knowing full well his bulky body would not be able to fit the width of the opening. Wyl knew it too and diverted her attention by telling her to concentrate on the small footholds in the stone. She called down to Fynch in the shadows and he whispered his reply as she began her descent.

The banging on the door increased and now Romen was bellowing at Wyl. They ignored it still, focused only on Valentyna’s safe journey down. They could not see her once she was consumed by the darkness but they heard Fynch call up the all-clear.

“I have her. She’s safe, sire.”

“Father, be careful, it’s slippery.”

There was a pause.

“Father?” Her voice traveled eerily from the dark beneath them.

“No, my darling. I cannot.”

Before she could raise a noise, Wyl interrupted and his tone was firm. “Valentyna, listen to me, now. The opening is too small for the King. But I will remain with him and I swear I’ll die trying to fight him safely to freedom. You must, however, for all our sakes, follow our plan and flee. Listen to Fynch. He will guide and protect you. I am dropping a purse, Fynch—use it to hide yourself.” The King disappeared and reappeared with a larger pouch, which he warned he was dropping.

Wyl continued: “Princess, you must hide your hair, disguise all features that might give away who you are.”

“How will you find us?” her voice called harshly up from the depths.

“Somehow, I will. Knave will find us—be assured. The mercenaries won’t remain here long. They are a raiding party—whether they succeed or not. they will not tarry. Now run!”

“Father—”

“Go, child. Remember who you are and that I couldn’t love you any more than I do.”

“General.” she said, her voice trembling, “thank you for being honest and a friend to Briavel, despite your loyalties. Keep your promise and save him or die trying!” Valor and Wyl thought they heard a stifled sob but it was Fynch’s voice that whispered up now. “Good luck. Wyl.”

“You’re a brave lad. Fynch. I thank you—and I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean a word of it. I just wanted you to be safe.”

Fynch’s spirits lifted as he heard the words. Then he turned and took Valentyna by the hand, looking for Knave, who suddenly emerged from the shadows, startling his companion.

“Don’t be afraid of him,” Fynch whispered. Then he spoke to Knave softly, telling the dog what had happened and explaining that their task now was to protect this woman.

The three of them began to run. heading through the orchards and on toward Crowyll, north of Werryl.

Valentyna was glad of the dark so none would see her tears.

The King looked at Wyl. “Save yourself, boy. You can. It’s your chance.”

“Perhaps. But there is unfinished business here, sire. And I will not leave you here alone.” Valor felt the swell of admiration for the young General. “Whoever thought a Thirsk would fight on the side of Briavel, eh?”

Wyl had to smile at the irony of it but there was no way he would let this good man perish, knowing what he did about his own faithless and conniving King. He would not be able to hold his head high if he did nothing to help. Anyway, how would he ever face Valentyna?

He walked to the door. “Romen!”

“It’s a trap” came the resigned reply.

“How many?”

“All ten, I think.”

“They’re under orders to kill you. Arkol apparently.” Wyl warned.

“Hmm—I suspected Celimus might do something like this.”

“And still you came?”

“A seer once told me I would lead a dangerous life,” Romen replied and then barked a laugh. “I guess this is its end, then.”

Wyl unbolted the door and dragged a surprised Romen in. “No. If we die, then we die honorably, fighting the enemy.”

Romen was taken off guard. He had not expected the General to permit him entry. He had already accepted his own death. He bowed to Valor. “Your majesty, I would not have been a part of this had I known who the real target was.”

“But you would accept payment to murder a man just as good, just as valuable to his kingdom,” Valor snarled.

“Well, right now it looks as though we’ll all die fighting for different reasons, sire. Forgive me if I don’t enter a philosophical debate with you just now.”

“When this is over, mercenary, if I still breathe, I’ll kill you myself.” Romen let it be. He looked to Wyl. “How did you find out?” Wyl shrugged. There was no way he would reveal Fynch.

His companion grinned his acceptance of Wyl’s reticence. “All right. Our deal sticks. Just so long as you understand I never go back on my word,” he said, taking the offered sword.

“So you keep reminding me. Now hush!” Wyl cautioned. “Here they come.” Clutching their weapons, they faced the door. It was only a matter of time before several axes and some beefy shoulders would smash through it.

Valentyna had run until the breath burned in her lungs. She stopped, sitting down heavily against a boulder, hardly noticing her clothes’ ripe smell. Knave trotted back and licked her face. It was that tiny show of affection that broke her heart. The Princess buried her head in her own lap. Fynch, breathless too, tiptoed back and sat alongside her. They were both filthy but she no longer seemed to care, he noticed, about what clung to their clothes and boots.

“Why, Fynch? Why? They’re going to die. I know it.” She banged her fist against the ground in anger.