Wintertide In the darkness of the prison, Amilia lay cradled in Breckton's arms, pondering the incomprehensible-how it was possible to simultaneously drown in both bliss and fear.
"Look," Sir Breckton whispered.
Amilia raised her head and saw a weak light leaking around the last cell's door. In the pale glow, the figures in the prison appeared ghostly faint, devoid of all color. Princess Arista, Sir Hadrian, and Degan Gaunt lay in the corridor, upon a communal bed built from straw gathered from all the cells. The three looked like corpses awaiting graves. Sir Hadrian's torso was wrapped in makeshift bandages stained frighteningly red. The princess was so thin that she no longer looked like herself, but Degan Gaunt was the worst of all. He appeared to be little more than skin stretched over bone. If not for his shallow breathing, he could have been a cadaver, several days dead.
During the night, a man had broken into the prison in an attempt to free them. He opened the doors to the cells, but the plan to escape had failed. Now the man prowled around the prison.
"It's morning," Sir Breckton said. "It's Wintertide."
Realizing the light indicated a new day, Amilia began to cry. Breckton did not ask why. He simply pulled her close. From time to time the knight patted her arm and stroked her hair in a manner she could hardly have thought possible less than a day before.
"You'll be all right," he reassured her with surprising conviction. "As soon as the empress discovers the treachery of the regents, I am certain nothing will stop her from saving you."
Amilia pressed her quivering lips tightly together. She gripped the knight's arm and squeezed it.
"Modina is also a prisoner," Arista stated.
Amilia had thought the princess was sleeping. Looking over, she saw Arista's eyes were open and her head was tilted just enough to see them.
"They use her as a puppet. Saldur and Ethelred run everything."
"So she's a complete fabrication? It was all just a ruse? Even that story about slaying Rufus's Bane?" Breckton asked her.
"That was real," Arista replied. "I was there."
"You were there?" Amilia asked.
Arista started to speak, then coughed. She took a moment then drew in a wavering breath. "Yes. She was different then-strong, unwavering. Just a girl, but one determined to save her father and daunted by nothing. I watched her pick up a bit of broken glass to use as a weapon against an invincible monster the size of a house."
"There now, My Lady," Breckton said. "If the empress can do that I am certain-"
"She can't save us!" Amilia sobbed. "She's dead!"
Breckton looked at her, stunned.
She pointed at the light under the door. "It's Wintertide. Modina killed herself at sunrise." She wiped her face. "The empress died in her room, in front of her window, watching the sun rise."
"But…why?" he asked.
"She didn't want to marry Ethelred. She didn't want to live. She didn't have a reason to go on. She…she…" Overcome with emotion, Amilia rose and moved down the corridor. Breckton followed after.
Hadrian woke to the sound of Arista coughing. He struggled to sit up, surprised at his weakness and wincing at the pain. He inched close enough to lift the princess's head and rest it on his thigh.
"How are you?" he asked.
"Scared. How about you?"
"I'm great. Care to dance?"
"Maybe later."Arista said. Her body was bruised and covered with ugly red marks. "This sounds terrible," she said, "but I'm glad you're here."
"This sounds stupid," he replied, "but I'm glad I am."
"That is stupid."
"Yeah, well, I've had a run of stupidity as of late."
"I think we all have."
Hadrian shook his head. "Not like mine. I actually trusted Saldur. I made a deal with him-and Luis Guy of all people. You and Royce wouldn't have made that mistake. Royce would have used the time between jousts to break you out. And you-you would've probably figured some way to take over the whole empire. No, you two are the smart ones."
"You think I'm smart?" she asked softly.
"You? Of course. How many women could have taken a city in armed conflict with no military training? Or saved their brother and kingdom from a plot to overthrow the monarchy? And how many would have tried to single-handedly break into the imperial palace?"
"You could have stopped before that last one. If you didn't notice, that was a colossal failure."
"Well two out of three isn't so bad." He grinned.
"I wonder what is happening up there," Arista said after a time. "It's probably midday. They should have come and taken us to the stakes by now."
"Well, maybe Ethelred had a change of heart," Hadrian said.
"Or maybe they've decided to just leave us down here to starve."
Hadrian said nothing and Arista stared at him for a long time.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I want to ask you to do me a favor."
"What is it?"
"It's not an easy favor to ask," she said.
He narrowed his eyes. "Name it."
She still hesitated and then took a deep breath. Looking away at first, she said, "Will you kill me?"
Hadrian felt the air go out of him.
"What?"
She looked back at him but said nothing.
"Don't talk like that."
"You could strangle me." Reaching out, she took his hand and placed it to her neck. "Just squeeze. I'm certain it won't take long. I don't think it will hurt much. Please, I'm so weak already, and Royce didn't bring any food or water. I-I want it to be over. I just want this nightmare to end…" She started to cry.
Hadrian stared at her, feeling the warmth of her neck against his hand. His lips trembled.
"There's this rat, and he's going to…" she hesitated. "Please, Hadrian. Oh, please. Please?"
"No one is going to be eaten alive." Hadrian looked again at the marks on her skin. "Royce is working on a way out. This is what he does, remember? This is what we always do. We're miracle workers, right? Isn't that what Alric calls us? You just need to hang on."
Hadrian took his hand from her throat and pulled her close with his good arm. Feeling dead inside, only the stab wounds reminded him he was otherwise. He stroked Arista's hair while her body jerked with the sobs. Gradually, she calmed down and drifted back to sleep. Hadrian faded in and out as well.
"You awake?" Royce asked, sitting down next to Hadrian.
"Am now. What's up?"
"How you feeling?"
"I've had better days. What have you come up with? And it better be good because I already told Arista how brilliant you are."
"How's she doing?" Royce asked.
Hadrian looked at the princess, who remained asleep, her head still resting against him.
"She asked me to kill her."
"I'll take that as not well."
"So? What have you found out?" Hadrian asked.
"It's not good. I've been over every inch of this dungeon three times now. The walls are solid and thick. There are no cracks or worn areas. Even with Magnus doing the digging with his special chisels, it had taken over a week to dig in. No telling how long it would take to tunnel out. I found some stairs leading up to what I assume is the entrance, but there's no lock. Heck there isn't even a door. The stairway just ends at the stone ceiling. I still don't know what to make of that."
"It's a gemlock. Like Gutaria. A seret in the North Tower has a sword with an emerald in the hilt."
"That would explain it. The door I came through won't budge. It's not locked, so it must be jammed somehow. It's probably our best chance at getting out. It's made of wood, so feasibly we could try to burn it down. It's pretty thick, though, so I'm not sure I can get it to catch even by using the straw and oil from the lantern. And the smoke-if it doesn't kill us first-could signal our escape and guards would be waiting at the top."
"Arista and Gaunt can't climb out through a well," Hadrian pointed out.
"Yeah, but that's just one of the problems. I'm positive the rope isn't there anymore. I'm not sure if they grabbed Magnus or if he's responsible. Either way, anyone bothering to spike the door would take the rope, too."
"So where does that leave us?"
Royce shrugged. "The best I can come up with is to wait for dark and then try to burn down the door. Maybe no one will see the smoke. Maybe we won't suffocate before we can break it down. Maybe I can slip out unnoticed. Maybe I can kill the guards. Maybe I can rig a way to pull you out of the well."
"That's a lot of maybes."
"No kidding. But you asked." Royce sighed. "You got anything?"
"What about Arista?" Hadrian looked down at her sleeping face again, which he held cradled with his good arm. "She's weak but maybe-"
Royce shook his head. "There are runes all over the walls. Just like the ones in the prison Esrahaddon was in. If she could do anything, I'm pretty sure she would have by now."
"Albert?"
"If he has half a brain, he'll lie low. At this point he can't do anything but draw attention to himself."
"What about the deal Merrick offered?"
"How do you know about that?" Royce asked, surprised.
"He told me."
"You two talked?"
"We played chess."
Royce shrugged. "There's no deal. He'd already told me what I wanted to know."
They sat side by side in silence awhile. Finally Hadrian said, "I doubt this is any consolation, but I do appreciate you coming. I know you wouldn't be here if it weren't for me."
"Don't you ever get tired of saying that?"
"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure this will be the last time. At least I finally got to Gaunt. Some bodyguard I turned out to be. He's nearly dead."
Royce glanced over. "So that's the Heir of Novron, eh? I sort of expected more, you know? Scars maybe, or an eye patch-something interesting-distinctive."
"Yeah, a peg leg, maybe."
"Exactly."
They sat together in the dim light. Royce was conserving the lantern oil. Eventually Breckton and Amilia returned and sat beside Arista. Lady Amilia's eyes were red and puffy. She placed her head on Breckton's shoulder, and he nodded a greeting to Hadrian and Royce.
"Royce, this is Sir Breckton Belstrad," Hadrian introduced them.
"Yeah, I recognized him when I opened the door. For a moment, I thought it was Wesley looking back at me."
"Wesley? You've met my brother?"
Hadrian said, "We both have. I'm sorry I couldn't say anything at the feast. Royce and I served with him on the Emerald Storm. Your brother had taken command after the captain was killed. I've followed many officers over the years, but I can truthfully say I never served under a more worthy and honorable man. If it wasn't for Wesley's bravery in battle, Royce and I both would have died in Calis. He made a sacrificial charge so others would live."
Royce nodded in agreement.
"You never cease to amaze me, Sir Hadrian. If that is indeed true, then I thank you. Between the two of us, Wesley was always the better man. I only hope I shall meet my end half as well as he did."
Saldur fumed as he started up the stairs to the fifth floor. It was past midday and they should have left for the cathedral hours ago. The Patriarch himself was waiting to perform the ceremony.
As far back as Saldur could recall, which was a good many years, the Patriarch had never left his chambers in Ervanon. Those wishing to see him, to seek his council or blessing, had to travel to the Crown Tower. Even then, he only accepted audiences on rare occasions. The Patriarch had a reputation for refusing great nobles and even kings. Even the highest-ranking members of the church never saw him. Saldur had been Bishop of Medford for nearly ten years without ever meeting the man. As far as the regent knew, even Galien, the former Archbishop of Ghent, who lived with the Patriarch in the Crown Tower, never had a face-to-face meeting. The fact that the sentinels made frequent visits to the tower was common knowledge, but Saldur doubted if any actually stood in his presence.
The fact that the Patriarch had left the Crown Tower for this auspicious occasion was a personal triumph for Saldur. He genuinely looked forward to meeting the great leader of the Nyphron Church-his spiritual father. The wedding was supposed to be a wondrous and moving event, a lavish production complete with a full orchestra and the release of hundreds of white doves. This day was the accumulation of years of careful planning, dating back to that fateful night in Dahlgren when the plan to elevate Lord Rufus to emperor had failed.
At that time, Deacon Tomas had been raving like a lunatic. He claimed to witness the miracle of a young girl named Thrace killing the Gilarabrywn. Seeing as how Saldur himself had proclaimed that only the true Heir of Novron could slay that beast, the deacon's claim was perceived as a problem. Sentinel Luis Guy planned to erase the incident by killing both the deacon and the girl, but Saldur saw other possibilities.
The Patriarch had wanted to name Saldur as the next Archbishop of Ghent to take the place of Galien, who had died in the Gilarabrywn's attack. The position was the highest in the church hierarchy, just below the Patriarch himself. The offer was tempting, but Saldur knew the time had arrived for him to take the reins of shaping a New Empire. He abandoned his holy vestments and donned the mantle of politics-something no officer of the church had done since the days of Patriarch Venlin.
Saldur weathered the condemnation of kings and bishops in his battle against ignorance and tradition. He pressured, cajoled, and murdered to reach his goal of a strong, unified Empire that could change the world for the better. With his guidance, the glory of the Old Empire would rise once more. To the feeble minds of Ethelred and his ilk, that just meant one man on one throne. To Saldur it meant civilization. All that once was would be again. Wintertide marked the culmination of all his efforts and years of struggle. This was the last uphill battle and it was proving to be a challenge.
Saldur had expected the peasants to tire themselves out overnight, but their fury seemed to have increased. He was irked that the city, which had been quiet and orderly for years, chose this moment to rampage. In the past, people had been taxed penniless, starved to provide banquets for kings, and had their children taken to fight in wars. Despite all this, they had never revolted. The fact that they did so now was strange, but moreover, it was embarrassing.
Even Merrick had been surprised by the reprisal, which appeared to come out of nowhere and everywhere at once. Saldur expected some disappointment at the outcome of the joust and anticipated a few troublemakers. He knew there was a chance that one of the knights would live, and supporters of the fallen champion might lash out. What he had not counted on was both competitors surviving. With no obvious crime, their arrests appeared unwarranted. Still, the response was curiously impassioned.
At first he thought it would be an easy matter to contend with, and ordered a dozen heavily armed soldiers to silence the agitators. The men returned bloodied and thinned in ranks. What they met was not a handful of dissidents but a citywide uprising. The whole matter was frustrating, but of no actual concern. He had sent for the Southern Army, and it was on its way to restore order. That would take a day or so. In the meantime, Saldur proceeded with the wedding.
The ceremony had been delayed a few hours, as Saldur needed the morning to arrange armed escorts for the carriage's trip to the cathedral. That had gone well and now he just needed to transport the bride and groom. He was anxious to get the final procession under way, but Ethelred had not returned with Modina. If he did not know better, Saldur might have thought Lanis was exercising his husbandly rights a bit early. Whatever the delay, he was tired of waiting.
Saldur reached the empress's bedroom and found two guards posted outside the door. At least Nimbus was following orders. Without a word to either guard, Saldur threw the door open, entered, and halted just past the threshold. The regent stood shocked as he took in the grisly scene.
The first thing he saw was the blood. A large pool spread across the white marble floor of the chamber. The second was the broken mirror. Its shards were scattered like brilliant islands in a red sea.
"What have you done!" he exclaimed before he could catch himself.
Modina casually turned away from the window to face him, the hem of her white nightgown soaked red to the knee. She looked at the regent without qualm or concern.
"He dared to place a hand on the empress's person," she said simply. "This cannot be allowed."
Ethelred's body lay like a twisted doll, an eight-inch shard of glass still protruding from his neck.
"But-"
Modina cocked her head slightly to one side like a bird and looked curiously at Saldur.
She held another long, sharp shard. Despite it being wrapped in material, her grip was so tight blood dripped down her wrist.
"I wonder how a feeble old man such as yourself would fare against a healthy, young farm girl armed with a jagged piece of glass?"
"Guards!" he shouted.
The two soldiers entered the room but showed little reaction at the scene before them.
"Restrain her," Saldur commanded.
Neither of them moved toward the empress. They simply stood inside the doorway, unmoving, unheeding.
"I said restrain her!"
"There's no need to shout," Modina said. Her voice was calm, serene. Modina moved toward Saldur, walking through the puddle. Her feet left macabre tracks of blood.
Panic welled in Saldur's chest. He looked at the guards then back at the empress, who approached with the knife-like glass in her hand.
"What are you doing?" he demanded of the soldiers. "Can't you see she's crazy? She KILLED Regent Ethelred!"
"Your forgiveness, Your Grace," one guard spoke, "but she is the empress. The descendent of Novron. The child of God."
"She's INSANE!"
"No," Modina said, cold and confident. "I'm not."
Saldur's fear mingled with a burning rage. "You might have these guards fooled, but you won't succeed. Men loyal to me-the whole Southern Imperial Army-are already on their way."
"I know," she told him in her disturbingly dispassionate voice. "I know everything." She nodded at the guard and added, "As is fitting for the daughter of Novron.
"I know, for example, that you killed Edith Mon for aiding Arista, which incidentally she didn't-I did. The princess lived for weeks in this very room. I know you arranged to have Gaunt captured and imprisoned. I know you hired Merrick Marius to kill Esrahaddon. I know you made a deal with him that handed the port city of Tur Del Fur over to the Ba Ran Ghazel. I know how you bargained with a dwarf named Magnus to betray Royce Melborn in exchange for a dagger. I know you convinced Hadrian to kill Sir Breckton in the tournament. I know you slipped Breckton a war tip. Only neither knight killed the other. I like to think I had a hand in that.
"You thought you had anticipated everything, but you hadn't expected a riot. You didn't know about the rumors circulating through the throngs of the city to expect treachery at the joust as proof of your treason. Yesterday's crowd wasn't watching for entertainment-but for confirmation of that rumor.
"I also know that you were planning to kill me." She glanced down at Ethelred's body. "That was actually his idea. He doesn't care for women. You, on the other hand, just wanted to lock me up again in that hole. That hole that nearly drove me mad."
"How do you know all this?" Saldur felt real fear. This girl, this child, this peasant's daughter had slain the Gilarabrywn. She butchered Ethelred, and now she knew-she knew everything. It was as if…as if she really were…
She smiled.
"Voices came to me. They told me everything." She paused, seeing the shock on his face. "No, the words were not Novron's. The truth is worse than that. Your mistake was appointing Amilia, who loved and cared for me. She freed me from my cell and brought me to this room. After so many months in the dark and cold, I was starved for sunlight. I spent hours sitting beside the window." She turned and looked at the opening in the wall behind her. "I had nothing to live for and had decided to kill myself. The opening was too small but when I tried to fit through it, I heard the voices. Your office window is right below mine. It's easier to hear you in the summer, but even with your window closed, I can still make out the words.
"When I first came here, I was only a stupid farm girl, and I didn't care what was being said. After my family died, I didn't care about anything. As time went on, I listened and learned. Still there was nothing to care about-no one to live for. Then one day a little mouse whispered a secret in my ear that changed everything. I learned I have a new family, a family that loves me, and no monster will ever take them from me again."
"You won't get away with this! You're just a-a-"
"The word you are searching for is-empress."
That morning Archibald woke feeling miserable, and his spirits only fell as the day progressed. He did not bother going to the cathedral. He could not bear to see Ethelred taking her hand. Instead, he wandered the palace, listening to the sounds of the peasants shouting outside. There was the blast of an army trumpet coming from somewhere in the city. The Southern Army must be arriving.
A pity, he thought.
Even though he would fare poorly at the hands of the mob, should the rioters breech the gate or walls, he still reveled in the knowledge that the regents would suffer more.
He entered the Great Hall, which was empty except for the servants readying it for the wedding feast. They scurried about like ants, feverishly carrying plates, wiping chairs, and placing candles. A few of the ants bowed and offered the obligatory My Lord as he passed. Archibald ignored them.
Reaching another corridor, he found himself walking toward the main stair. Archibald was halfway up the first flight before he realized where he was headed. The empress would not be there, but he was drawn to her room just the same. Modina would be at the altar by now, her room empty. A vacant space never to be filled again now that she was…he refused to think about it.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the movement of figures. Turning, he spotted Merrick Marius standing at the end of the corridor, speaking to someone Archibald did not recognize-an old man wrapped in a cloak. When they spotted him, the pair abruptly slipped around a corner. Archibald wondered whom Merrick was speaking with, as he was always up to no good. Just then, a commotion overhead interrupted his thoughts. Hearing a man cry out, he ran for the stairs.
When he reached the fourth floor, he found a guard lying dead. Blood dripped down the marble steps in tiny rivers. Archibald drew his own sword and continued to climb. On the fifth floor, he discovered two more slain guards.
In the corridor ahead, Luis Guy was fighting another palace guard. Archibald had almost reached them when the sentinel delivered a quick thrust and the guard fell as dead as the others.
"Thank Maribor you've arrived!" Saldur's voice echoed from Modina's room as Guy entered the chamber. The regent sounded shaken. "We have to kill her. She's been faking all this time and eavesdropping. She knows everything!"
"But the wedding?" Guy protested.
"FORGET THE WEDDING! Ethelred is dead. Kill her and we'll tell everyone she is still sick. I will rule until we can find a replacement for Ethelred. We will announce the new emperor married her in a private ceremony."
"No one will believe that."
"We don't have a choice. Now kill her!"
Archibald peered in. Guy stood, sword in hand, with Saldur. Beyond them, near the window, was Modina in her red-stained nightdress. Presumably the blood belonged to Ethelred, who lay dead on the floor. Sunlight glinted off a shard of glass gripped tightly in the empress's hands.
"How do I know you're not going to just saddle me with both their murders?"
"Do you see another way out of this? If we let her live, we are all dead men. Look around you. Look at the guards you just killed. Everyone believes she really is the empress. You have to kill her!"
Guy nodded and advanced on her.
Modina took a step back still holding the shard out.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," the Earl of Chadwick announced as he entered. "I hope this isn't a private party. You see I was growing bored. Waiting for this wedding is very dull."
"Get out of here, Archie," Saldur snapped. "We don't have time for you. GET OUT!"
"Yes, I can see you're very busy, aren't you? You have to hurry up and kill the empress, but before you do-perhaps I can be of assistance. I would like to propose an alternative."
"Such as?" Saldur asked.
"I've wanted to marry Modina for some time-and still do. Now that the old bugger's dead," he looked down at Ethelred's body and offered a wry smile, "why not choose me? I'll marry her and things can go on as planned, only with me on the throne instead of Ethelred. Nothing has to change. You could say I dueled him for the right of her hand. I won and she swooned for me."
"We can't let her leave the room. She'll talk," Saldur said.
Archibald considered this as he strolled around him. He eyed the empress, who stood defiantly even though Guy's sword was only a few feet away.
"Consider this. I'll hold the point of a dagger at her ribs hidden by my cloak during the ceremony. She either does as we want or dies on the altar. If I kill her in front of all the crowned heads, neither of you will be held responsible. You can claim innocence of the whole affair. Her death will fall on me-that crazy lunatic Archie Ballentyne."
Saldur thought for a moment then shook his head. "No, we can't risk letting her out of this room. If she gets to people, she can take control. Too many are devoted to her. It has to end here. We'll pick up the pieces afterward. Kill her, Guy."
"Wait!" Archibald said quickly. "If she's going to die-let me do it. I know it sounds strange, but if I can't have her, I will take some satisfaction from denying her to anyone else."
"You are a twisted little git, aren't you, Ballentyne?" Guy said with a disgusted look.
Archibald moved closer. For each step he took forward, Modina took another step back until she had no more room to retreat.
Archibald raised his sword and while keeping his eyes focused on Modina, he plunged the blade toward Luis Guy. The sentinel did not see the attack coming, but Archibald's ruse prevented an accurate strike. His thrust landed poorly. Instead of piercing Guy's heart, the blade glanced off a rib and merely sliced through his side. Archibald quickly withdrew his blade, turned, and tried to strike again. The sentinel was faster.
The earl felt Guy's blade enter his chest. The last thing Archibald Ballentyne saw before he died was Modina Novronian running past Saldur, slicing his arm as he unsuccessfully tried to stop her.
Royce's head turned abruptly.
"What-" Hadrian began, but stopped when Royce held up a hand.
Getting to his feet in one fluid motion, Royce paused mid-stride on a single foot, listening. He waited a moment and then moved swiftly to the cell door, which admitted the light. He lay down and placed his ear to the crack at the bottom.
"What is it?" Hadrian asked.
"Fighting," he replied at last.
"Fighting? Who?"
"I can't hear the color of their uniforms." Royce smirked. "Soldiers though. I hear swords on armor."
They all looked at the door. Soon, Hadrian heard it, too. Very faint at first, like the rustle of leaves in autumn, but then he picked out the sounds of steel on steel and the unmistakable cry of men in pain. Within the prison, new sounds rose-the main entrance opened, shouts rang out, and footsteps echoed down the hall.
Royce picked up the sword he had brought and held it out toward Hadrian.
He shook his head. "Give it to Breckton. I doubt I can even hold it."
Royce nodded, handed the weapon to the knight, and raced down the hall with Alverstone drawn.
Breckton left Amilia's side and moved to stand in front of them all. Hadrian knew whoever was coming would have to kill the knight to get by.
Hard heels and soles echoed off the stone. A man cried out in terror.
"By Mar!" he heard Royce say. "What are you doing here?"
"Where is she?" responded a young man's voice. Hadrian recognized him but could not understand how he could possibly be there.
Torch light filled the hall, growing brighter as footsteps hurried near. The group appeared first as dark silhouettes, everyone wincing at the brilliance. Hadrian raised an arm to shield his eyes.
"Alric? Mauvin?" Hadrian asked, stunned, then quickly added, "Breckton, STOP! Don't fight!"
The King of Melengar and his best friend were leading a party of men into the dungeon. Renwick, Ibis Thinly, and several others Hadrian did not know, crowded the stone corridor. When Alric Essendon saw the prisoners, he wavered and a sickened expression crossed his face.
"You two-go back," Alric barked orders to his retinue. "Fetch stretchers." He raced to his sister's side. "Arista! Good Maribor, what have they done to you?" Over his shoulder he shouted, "Bring water! Bring bandages and more light!"
"You're not looking too good, my friend," Mauvin Pickering said, kneeling beside Hadrian. Mauvin was dressed in shimmering mail, his blood-spattered tabard bearing the crest of the Essendon falcon.
"They have indeed treated you poorly, sir," Renwick agreed, looking distraught. He was also dressed in bloodstained mail, and his face and hair were thick with sweat.
"I don't understand," Royce said. "Last we heard, Drondil Fields was under siege and about to fall."
"It was," Mauvin replied. "Then the damndest thing happened. The flag of truce went up from the vanguard of the Northern Imperial Army. A rider advanced and asked permission to speak at the gates. He explained that new orders had arrived along with a personal message to King Alric. If that wasn't strange enough, the personal guard of Empress Modina had delivered them." He nodded toward a palace guard who was providing water to Amilia. "His name is Gerald. Anyway, the message said that Regents Ethelred and Saldur were traitors, and they were keeping the empress a prisoner in her own palace. It also said the war against Melengar was their personal quest for power, and that their commander, Sir Breckton, was either dead by treachery or falsely imprisoned and awaiting execution."
Hadrian started to speak, but Mauvin stopped him. "Wait…wait…it gets better. The orders commanded the acting leader of the Northern Army to cease all aggression against Melengar, extend the empress's sincerest apologies to King Alric, and return to Aquesta with all haste. The messenger went on to explain that Arista was scheduled for execution on Wintertide, and Empress Modina requested Alric to send whatever assistance he could spare."
"What did Alric say?" Hadrian asked Mauvin, as the king was consumed with aiding his sister.
"Are you kidding? He figured it was a ploy. Some trick to get us to come out. We all thought so. Then Alric yells down, more as a joke than anything, 'To prove you are telling the truth, lay down your weapons!' We laughed real hard until the commander, a guy named Sir Tibin-who's a decent enough fellow once you get to know him-did just that. We all stood on the parapet watching in disbelief as the Imperialists made this huge pile of spears, swords, and shields.
"That convinced Alric. He told them that not only would he send help, but he would personally lead the detachment. We rode day and night and expected to have a rough time breeching the city walls, but when we arrived the gates were open. The people were rioting in the empress's name and shouting for Ethelred and Saldur's heads. We stormed the palace and found only token resistance-just some foot soldiers and a few seret."
"Your sword has blood on it," Hadrian noted, pointing to Mauvin's blade.
"Yeah, funny that. I was determined never to draw it again, but when the fighting started, it just kind of came out by itself."
"What about Modina?" Amilia asked. "Is she…is she…"
Gerald's face was grave.
"What?" Amilia begged.
"There was an unfortunate incident in her bedroom this morning," the guard said.
Tears rose in Amilia's eyes. "Did she…"
"She killed Regent Ethelred."
"She what?"
"She stabbed him with a piece of broken glass from her mirror. She escaped an attempt on her life and ran to the courtyard. She rallied the soldiers who were loyal to her. When we arrived, she was ordering her men about like a seasoned general. Her troops managed to open the palace gates for us. Along with the Melengarians and the Northern Army, we suppressed the remaining seret and the palace guards loyal to the regents."
"Where is she now?" Amilia asked.
"She's on her throne, accepting vows of allegiance from the monarchs, nobles, and knights-everyone that had come for the wedding."
Men with stretchers appeared in the hall. Amilia turned to Sir Breckton. With tears in her eyes, she let out an awkward laugh and said, "You were right. She did save us."