Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) (8 page)

I start telling her little bits, starting with the fight in the alley. I tell her about Loren and Finn and the vest. I tell her about Celli’s disappearance, and the secret meeting of peasants in Redstone Row. I tell her how I tracked Mikken and Griff and how they vanished in the alley. I have Saesa show her the coin. She turns it in her hand thoughtfully. After a long time, she tears her gaze from it and looks at me.

“Go and close the door, Saesa,” she says. “Make sure no one is snooping.”

Saesa does what she’s told. She comes back to us again looking both excited and intrigued. When Nessa says close the door, it’s obvious she’s about to trust you with a secret. I lean closer as she hands the coin back to me and tucks a brown curl behind her ear.

“There are whisperings,” she starts so quietly that I almost have to read her lips to make out what she’s saying. “Whisperings of conspiracies within the city. His Majesty’s guard is down. He is distracted, we all know. Some sympathize with the prince.

“This makes room for shadows to seep into the cracks of doubt among the people. Dark magic. Dark dealings. Some whisper that Prince Eron was in their grips all along. That their spell was weaved around him like fine clothing, all in a plot to take him from us, to break the king, to open the way, ever so slowly, to allow them to infiltrate the city. You see it working even now. Their actions are rallying some in the kingdom to consider taking action against the throne.”

“Who?” Saesa whispers. She leans across me, taken in by Nessa’s words.

“No one knows their true name. They’re cloaked in mystery. Rumor is the only source of information on them. Many don’t dare speak of them at all. Some simply call them the Order. I’ve heard tell that they call themselves Circle of Spires. That seems likely to me now, given your coin. It is an old order. Ancient, even. Its members were scarce and few. But now, based on what you’ve told me, Tib, they have grown bold. Perhaps they are stronger. Perhaps they’re simply desperate.” She looks at both of us and shakes her head. Gives me back the coin.

“I’m not foolish enough to forbid you to pursue this,” she sighs. “I know you’ll do what you will regardless of what I say. Nor do I doubt your capabilities. You two are both very strong-willed. You have powerful friends: the princess, Azi and the Elite. Trust in them. I beg you, though, to be careful. Please. And don’t speak of this around your brothers and sisters. I won’t have them frightened or involved.”

She grips my hand tightly until I nod in agreement. Beside me, Saesa nods too.

“We’re invited to the palace today,” Saesa says, “for luncheon. We’ll talk to the princess and warn her. We’ll see if she’s ever heard about this Circle of Spires. Right, Tib?”

“Yeah, of course,” I agree absently, thinking over the last few weeks since I started working on my project. Circle of Spires. I look at the coin. At the cloud and the spire. Could it be coincidence? Did I know on some level that my invention would be needed? Not for Cerion’s ships, but for something else? Something more important?

Out of nowhere, Zeze hops up onto my lap. She mews and kneads and purrs. She pushes her head against my hand as I curl my fingers around the coin.

“Well,” Saesa reaches to stroke Zeze’s back, “shall we go to My Lady Knight’s?”

“You go on,” I say, still thinking about air bladders and propellers. “I have to check on something first.”

“All right.” Saesa says. We both get up. Kiss Nessa’s cheek as she reaches for her book.

“Be careful,” Nessa calls after us. Zeze weaves around my ankles all the way out into the street. Saesa and I hug, agree to meet up later at the palace, and go our separate ways.

Azi

I rap softly on the circle hatch that connects my room to Rian’s and slide it open as quietly as I can. The sun is barely up, so I’m not surprised when I peer across his room and the nest of blankets on his bed groans back at me.

“Rian,” I whisper, and am answered with a loud snore. “All right, then,” I say a little louder. “I’m going down without you.” I leave the hatch open as a signal to him that I’ve gone.

Our visit from Flitt and Shush along with Rian’s confessions had me up all night worrying and thinking. Something has been off lately. I’ve felt it lurking beneath the somber mood of the city. Not just the trial, but something else. A hint of foreboding. Their arrival yesterday and the memories Rian shared only reinforce this nagging feeling. I wish I could pinpoint it. I try to convince myself that it’s in my mind. Maybe it’s boredom or a desire to be out righting wrongs, fighting the wicked. It has been too long since I’ve tasted adventure. I miss it.

Mum and Da aren’t in their bedroom or downstairs. I step out into the open corridor that connects our house with the rest of the guild complex and am greeted right away by the distant chatter of the guild gathered in the hall beyond. My heart races as I pick out the voices one by one: Mya, Mum, Da, Donal. It’s been a long time since they were all together in the hall, talking. Their urgent discussion is interrupted by a deep, booming voice that overwhelms the rest of them. I quicken my pace to a jog and reach the gathering just as Bryse finishes his tirade.

“Damn straight it’s wrong! That’s what we’ve been trying to say!” Bryse slams his fist on the table. Out of habit, everyone reaches to steady their goblets as the silverware clatters. Bryse is huge. Twice as broad as my da and nearly twice as tall, with stony gray skin and a glare filled with temper. Beside him, the much shorter, slender, brown-skinned Cort looks just as annoyed, which is out of character for him.

“All we’re saying is be careful.” Despite his scowl, Cort is much more soft-spoken. “The things we saw out there were far from natural. There’s something happening. Something strange. It could all be linked.”

“I don’t think it’s an unreasonable command, considering,” Mum says. I can feel her power drifting out from her center: a quiet peace that works to comfort and soothe those gathered around the table. “Nor does Benen. After all, no one expects His Majesty to carry out the sentence himself. Not this time.”

“Still, we must be careful,” Mya says, her melodic voice doing its own work to calm the group. “The command comes from His Majesty himself, yet once carried out, even the most reasonable man would have bitter feelings as a result. We could easily fall out of his favor.”

“Morning, Azi,” everyone says as I slide into the bench beside Da.

“Good morning,” I reply. I reach for a hot roll and pause as I spy the letter lying on the table. His Majesty’s seal is cracked open and his own hand fills the page. “What happened?” I ask, my heart racing. “Have they reached a verdict?”

“Not yet,” Mum says quietly, “but His Majesty is making arrangements.”

“Seems he’s finally seeing where it’s going,” Bryse says gruffly.

“He’s known it all along. He’s just coming to terms now.” Cort pushes the parchment across to me. “We got back just after midnight. There was a Page waiting outside the hall. He gave this to us and asked us to use discretion.”

I slide the letter close and turn it over. Three initials grace the outside: H.M.E.

“His Majesty’s Elite,” I whisper and flip it again to read the letter. Unlike the tight, neatly formed letters usually written to us by his scribes, the king’s hand is broad and loose. It’s more personal and intimate this way. I can almost hear his anguished voice echoing in my mind as I read the words on the page.

My dear, most trusted friends,

It is with a heavy heart that I write you this night. The verdict for my son is all but officially declared, and there is no question in my mind at this time that the judgment of my High Court will be just and fair. To my lament, I know it to mean that his remaining days are few.

As custom and law demand, it is the King’s duty to carry out executions by his own hand for treasonous charges. If he cannot fulfill this duty himself for any reason, he is permitted to name a Champion to do so in his stead.

I have spent many sleepless nights in distress thinking of my son, my wife, and my daughters. Perhaps I am weak. Perhaps a stronger man could carry out such a deed himself. I fear carrying out this sentence with my own hands would break our already broken family.

So I turn to you, yet again, my Elite, to do the unthinkable. To right a wrong that I cannot bear to face.

Thus I inform you that when the time comes, I shall name Sir Benen Hammerfel as my Champion. Benen, your arm is strong. I pray that your strength does not fail you. I pray that your ax flies swiftly, cleanly, and effortlessly. If I must lose my son, I pray it be done without his suffering.

Yours in deepest faith and confidence,

Tirnon
 

I don’t realize my hand is shaking until Da covers it with his own. I look at it over mine, broad and strong, scarred and calloused. The veins of his arm bulge out over his thick muscles. I understand immediately why His Majesty has made the choice he made. Da has been there throughout the trial. He has listened to my testimony, the prince’s, and that of countless others. He knows every fact, every accusation, and every bit of proof. Despite that, he has always remained calm within the gallery, even when others have been prone to outbursts. Sir Benen Hammerfel is known for his mercy, and for his loyalty to the king.

“Will you?” I break the long silence and look into his gray-blue eyes. He closes them slowly and nods.

“I will do as His Majesty bids. Always,” he says firmly as he looks across to the others. “I would bear this burden for him.”

I try to imagine my father swinging his ax against the prince, defenseless at the block. Unarmed and unable to fight back. I try to think of him as an executioner. A killer outside of battle. I wonder if it would change him, or change the way I look at him. Or the way others do. The thought turns my stomach.

None of us says a word about how much Eron deserves it. We don’t need to. We know we’re in agreement there. He has plotted against the king. His selfish lust for power has blinded him to any semblance of compassion or sense of right. He is lecherous, cruel, and twisted. He has no concern or love for his wife or his heir, and he never has. He has shown no loyalty to throne or his father. He would speed the king’s death so he could rise up and take his crown. All of this has been proved time and again in the trials. Eron is wicked. He threatens the peace of the Kingdom. He has no respect or reverence for his family’s line. He is a danger for the Plethores and for the future of Cerion itself. He is a murderer. He must be put to death.

“Eggs and sausages,” Mouli sings brightly as she bustles into the room with a steaming tray. Da quickly folds the letter as she sets down the food. “Sweet rolls for you, my dear. I know you’ve been hungry for them these few days,” she says to Bryse, who beams a smile at her.

“Rightly spoiled we are by you, Mouli,” he laughs. “I dreamed of your cooking every day out in the caves and mists.”

Bryse scoops a half-dozen of the large rolls onto his plate with his bare hand and Mouli smacks him lightly.

“Use the servers,” she clicks her tongue. “By the stars, you’re gone for a week and basic table manners are all but forgotten! I hope you at least washed!”

“Shorry,” Bryse says around a mouthful of bread and icing. Mouli rolls her eyes and rushes out again as the others laugh.

“What did you find?” I ask Cort and Bryse, turning the conversation away from the prince for now.

“Wraiths.” Cort says simply as he loads his plate with potatoes and sausages.

“Wraiths and Undead. Skeletons. Imps. You know, the usual dungeon fare,” Bryse mumbles through another mouthful of sweet roll.

“Except not in a dungeon, that’s what was strange. They were just out in the village, terrorizing everyone. People were barricaded in. They had been for days. They were half-starved when we got there.”

“In the daylight?” Mya asks in surprise.

“Sort of,” Bryse replies.

“It was day, but dark. Mists all over. They had cover,” Cort says.

“Like it was put there, just for them,” Bryse nods.

“What did you do?” I ask, my heart pumping as though I’m there with them on the adventure.

“Chased ‘em out. Killed what we could,” Bryse spears a sausage with his knife.

“Yeah,” Cort nods. “Deep into the woods along the ravine. Far away from the village. It was dark. We think we tracked them all down. In the morning when the sun came out, the village was clear. No more mist. People were out and about. We called it a job done.”

“They tried to pay us, but this one refused,” Bryse elbows Cort.

“They needed it more than we do,” Cort shrugs, “they’ve been hit hard by the drought out there. Fields all dried up. Cows not milking. A day’s walk to the nearest working well.”

“That makes no sense,” Rian says from the doorway. “You said it was misty enough to provide cover for the wraiths. Mist brings moisture with it.” He crosses and rubs my shoulder and I make room for him to slide in beside me.

“Unnatural, like I was saying. Something’s off. I told you,” Cort says. “We were going to talk to Gaethon about it after a rest.”

“Something else,” Bryse says. “Tell ‘em,” he nudges Cort.

“Missing people,” Cort nods. “The villagers were telling us that when the mists came, they lost a few of their own. Vanished, they said. One moment they were there, and the next they were gone. Taken.”

“Taken?” Rian rubs his eyes and pours himself a strong cup of tea.

“That’s what they said,” Bryse nods. “We looked for them, but you know, we’re fighters, not trackers.”

“Maybe Elliot could sniff them out,” Mya suggests. “He should be back from his map scouting later today. In the meantime, Rian, please let Gaethon know we need his aid in the hall at supper. We haven’t seen him here in nearly a week.”

“Of course,” Rian says, sipping his tea. I try to catch his eye, but he avoids mine.

“Will you come with me to the palace at lunch?” I ask him. When the others look at me questioningly, I explain about the princess’s invitation.

“Odd timing,” Brother Donal, who has been unusually quiet, offers.

“I’ll try,” Rian replies. He drains his cup and takes a roll. “But I should go now if I’m going to make my escape later.”

“Have a plate first, Rian,” Mya says with a hint of worry as she eyes the way her son’s robes hang on his frame.

“Good lad. Listen to your mum,” Bryse says, “or you’ll be the next to disappear, from the looks of you.”

***

My reception at the palace gates is not as warm as it once had been. There was a time I would have had a friendly chat with the gate guards while waiting for Rian to meet me. Now they eye me with a hint of dislike, as though it’s my fault that their prince is being tried for treason and murder, and not his own. I find myself longing for Kythshire, for some reason. Unlike here, I always feel happy and welcome there. Thankfully, Saesa is her usual punctual self, and she arrives just in time to save me from the downward spiral my thoughts have begun to take.

Dressed in soft, airy green silk, she looks very different than I’m used to seeing her in the training square. By the look on her face I can tell she feels the same about my own choice of clothes. It didn’t seem like official guild business to me, so I opted for a simple sleeveless summer dress in yellow, with long slits and billowing white pants beneath.

Tib is the next to arrive, looking much the same as usual. His clothes are dark as always, but at least they’re clean today. He smiles his greeting and Saesa rubs a smudge of dirt from his cheek with the heel of her hand.

“Go in if you’d like,” I say. “I’m waiting for Rian.” I crane my neck to look for him along the road in the direction of the Academy, but there’s no sign of his blue robes among the crowds that bustle past.

“We’ll wait,” Saesa says.

“Sure,” Tib shrugs.

“Hello!”
Flitt’s voice pops into my thoughts, and I feel a tickle at my earlobe.

“Flitt!”
I push to her mind,
“I wasn’t expecting you back so soon. What a wonderful surprise.”

“I was invited, too. By Twig,”
she replies. I grin and nod. Twig is a fairy who has befriended Princess Margary. He and the princess have been inseparable for as long as I’ve known Flitt. They were the first to discover Eron’s plots and send me with Rian to investigate the threat of Sorcery against Kythshire. Two years ago feels like ages. That was a better time. A time when my visits with the princess were lighthearted and carefree and didn’t turn my stomach to knots.

“Perhaps he isn’t coming,” I say as I search the streets again. My heart sinks. It isn’t like Rian to miss something like this. When he tells me he’ll be there, he’s there. “We should go in,” I try hard to mask my disappointment, “or we’ll be late.”