The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge (27 page)

“I thin
k so…”

“Well, as long as I have this around my neck, I’m invisible to those with impure he
arts.”

“And it truly works? But—I can see
you…”

“You have a pure heart, and that means I can trust you. And I really need your
help.”

“But how can I help
you?”

“Arrie, Alessio, Cinzia, Helena, Tino, Cozimo and Eman are being held captive by Savino. We’re planning an escape just after the coronation, but I need you to get them out sa
fely.”

“I shall be pleased to help. I owe no allegiance to the monster who tried to poiso
n me.”

“I knew I could count on you.” She gave her a warm hug and then pulled away, searching her crystal blue eyes. “I must ask you something, though. How did Darian
die?”

She shook her head. “I do not know for I did not see him
die.”

“Tell me what you do
know.”

“We were ambushed. The warriors were hiding up on the rocks, waiting until we were just about to enter the Mychen Forest. I saw men falling everywhere around me, but there was so much happening that it was difficult to spot the survi
vors.”

“But—I heard you tell Savino that his men killed the man who had been escorting you. I assumed you meant Da
rian?”

“No,” she answered sadly. “I was referring to B
runo.”

“He’s dead
too?”

She closed her eyes, nodding s
adly.

“Oh, no,” she moaned. “I’m so s
orry.”

“He was such a wonderful man. I believe that he truly cared for me. He shielded me with his body, taking an arrow in his midsection before falling to the ground. Then the warriors took me with them and I never saw him a
gain.”

Marisa’s face fell, saddened by the handsome young man’s untimely demise. He had given her valuable lessons in self-defense, but, in the end, had given his life to save another. “I don’t know what to say. He will be sorely mi
ssed.”

Matilda’s eyes clouded over. “It all happened so quickly. One moment we were just riding along, chatting about his childhood in Snowton and the next I knew, we were being bombarded by arrows. It was so horr
ible!”

“So then—I’m sorry—you didn’t actually see Darian
die?”

“No. I did not even know he was dead until I heard Deimos boasting on the way back. He bragged that he was the one who killed the mighty Prince Darian, but by the time his troops reached the body, it was trampled beyond recognition. Oh, it is too awful for w
ords!”

The blood drained from Marisa’s face. She sank down onto a wooden crate between the giant casks, not wanting to imagine the horrible way the love of her life had died. She didn’t want to visualize how his body had been trampled on and desecrated beyond all recogni
tion.

“I am so sorry,” Matilda said, kneeling down and putting her arm around her shuddering f
rame.

“This cannot be happening.” Her hands flew to her face, weeping softly as Matilda hugged her tight. They would have to retrieve the body eventually, but she couldn’t bring herself to think about that yet. Too many others were depending on her
now.

Her head snapped back up and she wiped her eyes with her skirt. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself. She would have the opportunity to mourn him properly some other time, but for now, she needed to focus on the task at hand. She looked into her cousin’s sad
eyes.

“Matilda, there will be time for us to mourn our men later, but I cannot stand to think about what we have lost right now. Time is ticking away and we need to plan our escape. Listen close; this what we’re going t
o do…”

Darian awoke the next morning with an uneasy sensation in his gut. It felt deep, dark and heavy; almost as if some evil force that dwelled within the castle walls was trying to penetrate his body. He felt weary as he stood up to get dre
ssed.

With cloudy skies and no direct sunlight to speak of, it was difficult to tell exactly what time it was. He had to get the men back on the road and return to Crocetta as quickly as possible. With every moment that passed, Savino was digging in deeper. Darian only hoped that they were not already too
late.

He got dressed, gathered his belongings and hurried down to the kitchen area where the men were sitting around a heavy oak t
able.

“Baron Porfiro, would you see that our men are ready to go after breakfast? I should like to move out as soon as poss
ible.”

Porfiro nodded. “As you wish,
Sire.”

“Sire, I would like to come as well.” Loris’ adolescent voice piped up behind
them.

“Ah, that is not a good idea, squire,” Darian answered. “It is not safe for a lad such as your
self.”

“I understand your reluctance, but I would still like to go. I could carry your things or whatever you need me to do. Please may I
come?”

When he looked into his eager young face, Darian was instantly reminded of himself at the same age. Clearly the boy hadn’t seen much of the world and perhaps it might toughen him up a
bit.

“All right, you can
come.”

“Thank you, Sire!” He jumped up, grabbed his satchel and his cloak, and ran out the door. Darian shook his head, smiling in spite of himself at the boy’s unbridled enthus
iasm.

Less than a half hour later, the men had gathered their tack and saddled up for the long journey back. Darian had been contemplating the route they would take back and he concluded that they had no choice but to return the same way they came. It would not be wise to attempt to traverse the Styrian Ice Caves in winter and, since Loris would be coming along, he did not want to take any unnecessary risks. He could not easily forget how Marisa had nearly plunged to her death after falling into the cavern and how he had been forced to save her from a hideous
yar
mout.

But going back the same way also meant returning to the place near the Mychen Forest where the men had been ambushed. He hoped there weren’t any warriors camped out permanently, but decided it was highly unlikely since they would have all moved on by
now.

The band of eight men from different walks of life mounted their horses and departed the deserted castle of Abbadon. But in stark contrast to the last time, there would be no fanfare, no kisses and no waves. They were on a mission to retake Crocetta where victory would be nearly impossible. Savino had the numbers in his favor and, no matter how many men Darian could muster, it would never be enough to defeat his army of giants. A third of the Crimson Court had already defected to Savino’s side and several more had died in the attack along the way. To return to Crocetta was a fool’s errand, but, as Paladin Knights of the Crimson Order, their honor dictated that they at least make a s
tand.

While his horse slowly edged through the snow that covered the rocky mountain path, Darian thought about Marisa and wondered if she had been able to escape from Savino. He had always heard that a person could sense the departure of a loved one as their soul left this world and, as he gazed out at the snow-covered peaks ahead of them, somehow he knew that she was still alive. The helpless girl that he had found lost and injured on the road all those weeks before had managed to escape death. She was wearing Eman’s amulet, after all, and he had promised that it would protect
her.

Almost as a visible confirmation of his thoughts, it began to snow lightly, taking him back to the moments they spent on the balcony together. The snow blanketed the ground in an innocent sea of pure white, in stark contrast to the dark death and destruction they had witnessed just two days ear
lier.

The party traveled single file down the side of the mountain, each man mustering every ounce of concentration he could find to guide his horse’s footing. It would take only one wrong step for both horse and rider to slide off the path and tumble down the side of the mountain. And that was the last thing they ne
eded.

Baron Porfiro stayed at the rear, ensuring that the men made it safely down the mountain. The fifty-something warrior’s gray wisps of hair together with the deep creases on his forehead betrayed his advancement in years but his strong square jaw and steely-blue eyes exuded an inner, youthful spirit. Despite the countless wars and conflicts he had been drawn into over the course of his lifetime, it never failed to amaze him that somehow he always managed to sur
vive.

To the men under his command, Porfiro preferred to maintain the illusion that he was impervious to any sort of pain, whether it be physical or mental. It was, after all, the hallmark of a Crimson Knight. But as he watched Loris steer his mare down the rocky path, the squire’s sandy hair, eager brown eyes and tall stature began to evoke painful memories of the son he had lost years before. And although he had managed to stash the guilt, grief and bitterness away for many years in a place where no one else could find it, all at once and without warning, it had begun to resurface, slowly seeping back into his conscious. Just one look at the young lad was enough to send shockwaves of sorrow through him, stabbing him to his very
core.

He diverted his gaze and steeled his resolve, determined not to let the ghosts from his past distract him from ensuring that the few survivors returned home again safe and sound. And yet, something stirred within him that he could not ignore. Emotions and feelings that he had denied himself for so long were already chipping away at the hard shell surrounding his heart whether he wanted them to or not. But for the sake of the men, he would not lower his g
uard.

He straightened in the saddle and gazed around at the weariness in their pale faces, knowing they desperately needed nourishment and a time to r
elax.

“Your Highness, this would be a good place to rest,” he suggested, motioning to the
men.

Darian nodded to him. “We shall stop here for a w
hile.”

Darian climbed off his horse, noticing that they had stopped in the very place he had comforted Marisa after Deimos and the other soldiers had mocked her without shame. After the warrior had made a snide remark about her not belonging on a man’s journey, Darian had been tempted to inform him that he was mocking a Fiore princess. But because he was not at liberty to reveal her identity yet, he only held her in his arms, comforting her the best way he knew
how.

Of one thing Darian had become absolutely certain; he never wanted to be apart from her again. All of their arguments and disagreements seemed so trivial now. He had been pushing too hard for her to marry him sooner rather than later, but if they ever survived this mess, he would never force anything on her again. He would let her decide when and w
here.