Throne of Llewyllan (Book 2) (26 page)

Pain erupted from his upper chest, stabbing like a hot blade into his flesh. He felt something heavy there, like a bandage, and the same on his leg and arm.

It all began to come back to him, ever so sluggishly. The chapel. Lord Bathsby. Jade.

He opened his eyes again and looked around the room. His gaze fell on a chair to the left of the bed.

Kendril stared, and wondered again if he were dreaming.

Jade was sitting there, her head leaning against the cushioned back. She was asleep, one hand limply draped over the chair arm. Her breathing was soft and steady, her chest rising and falling in regular intervals.

She was beautiful, Kendril thought with a sudden pang. Like the day he had first seen her, back in the Howling Woods.

It seemed like a lifetime ago now.

He lay there for a long while, trying to move as little as possible. The bed was comfortable and warm. It took him a while to realize it was a feather bed. For some reason that seemed particularly ironic.

After a few minutes Serentha began to stir, her eyes blinking open. She looked over at Kendril. A relieved smile formed on her face.

“You’re awake,” she said. She straightened in her chair. “I’ve been so worried about you. We all have.”

Kendril raised his eyebrows. “
We
?”

“Joseph and Maklavir. Even Kara.”

“Kara?” said Kendril with an incredulous smile.

“Yeah.” Serentha leaned forward and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “You’re lucky to be alive, you know. We weren’t sure you’d make it.”

“Word is that I’m a difficult person to kill,” Kendril said. He looked over at the princess. “What about you? Have you been here all night?”

She nodded, and put her hand on top of his arm under the blanket. “I…didn’t feel I could leave you alone. I wanted to make sure you would be all right.”

“What time is it?” Kendril tried to push himself up in bed, but the pain was so great that he quickly gave up the effort. “Have I been out all night?”

Serentha brushed back her hair. “You’ve been unconscious for four days, Kendril.”

He stared over at her. “Four days?”

She nodded. “You were badly wounded.”

Kendril glanced at the door to the room. “What about Bathsby?”

Serentha looked down at the floor. “He’s dead. Sir Reginald and some other officers are still awaiting trial.” She glanced back up. “There may be others involved as well, but Lord Whitmore is not pressing an investigation too hard. He needs the support of the army right now.” The young woman gave a weary smile. “All the nobles have pledged their loyalty to the monarchy. Even the officers of the two regiments that were heading for Balneth from the Calbraithan frontier claim they were coming to
stop
Bathsby, not help him.”

Kendril leaned his head back against the feather pillow. “Of course. All is well, then?”

She lifted her shoulders. “As well as we can expect, for now. From what I understand most of the Royal Guard loyal to Bathsby surrendered to Sir Mulcher and his men rather quickly, and there was no other real resistance. The noble families have backed Lord Whitmore, and right now he seems to be unopposed in line for the throne.”

Kendril took a long breath. His chest burned with the effort. “So what about the marriage?”

She looked up at him, a sudden sorrow in her eyes. “I’m…I’m to be married to Lord Whitmore tomorrow, Kendril. The coronation will be the following day.”

He shifted his head and looked out the window again.

“Llewyllan needs a King,” Serentha said quietly. “Lord Whitmore has all the qualifications.”

Kendril looked back over at her. “He’s a good man,” he said stiffly. “I’m sure he’ll make a fine King.”

Serentha nodded her head. She looked down at the floor and saying nothing.

For a long moment there was silence in the room, broken only by the pattering of rain against the windows.

“I should tell your friends you’re up and around,” she said at last. “They’ll want to know you’re awake.”

Kendril cursed as he stepped down another stair, leaning heavily on a makeshift cane.

“You’re doing fine,” said Joseph from behind him. “We’re almost to the bottom.”

“I’ll be happy to get rid of
this
as soon as I can,” Kendril growled. He moved the cane forward and hobbled down another stair. His other arm hung in a sling. “I feel like a bloody invalid.”

“That’s because you
are
an invalid,” said Joseph with a smile. “At least for the time being. If it makes you feel better I won’t be jumping any fences for a while either, at least until this wound of mine heals.”

They reached the bottom of the steps. The front hall of the palace stretched before them.

Maklavir strode up, decked out in a fine new suit. “Kendril! I must say I’m delighted to see you’re still alive, despite all your efforts to the contrary. How are you feeling?”

The Ghostwalker leaned on his cane. “I’ll survive. How about you?”

The diplomat beamed. “I can’t complain. Lord Whitmore has had a bit of a need for my talents recently, mostly in clearing up some matters of a rather delicate nature with some of the noble families. I’m glad to say, however, that we have secured support from almost everyone.”

Kendril gave a sardonic smile. “I’m glad to hear that, Maklavir.” He made the slow journey towards the palace doors, wincing with each step. “What about Kara?”

Joseph walked beside him as Maklavir fell in on the other side. “Whitmore has given her an official pardon for her assistance in putting down this little plot of Lord Bathsby’s.”

“Little plot?” said Kendril. He looked over at the diplomat. “Is that how this whole thing is going to go down in Llewyllian history?”

“Failed attempts to overthrow governments rarely receive much press or praise,” Maklavir commented.

They exited through the doors.

The rain had stopped, and tendrils of blue sky appeared above. The castle courtyard still bore some of the signs of the battle that had occurred there just a few nights before, but much had already been cleaned up and replaced.

Sir Mulcher was standing at the bottom of the steps, wearing the white uniform of the Royal Guard. His left arm ended at the elbow, the empty sleeve pinned back to the shoulder of his uniform.

“Mr. Kendril,” he said with a smile. “Glad to see you up and well. A bit touch and go there for a while, eh?”

“I guess so.” Kendril gave Mulcher’s arm a weighty glance. “It looks like you’ve had a bit of ‘touch and go’ yourself.”

Mulcher glanced down at his arm. “Oh, that. Musket ball shattered the bone to pieces. Physicians had to remove it, don’t you know?”

“I’m sorry,” said Kendril.

Mulcher made a face. “Don’t be. This old soldier still has plenty of fight left in him, I can assure you that.”

Joseph came up beside Kendril. “Lord Whitmore has appointed Sir Mulcher the new head of the Royal Guard.”

Kendril inclined his head. “Congratulations.”

Mulcher beamed. “Her Highness has put a carriage on hold for you, for the trip to the cathedral. I’ll have it brought over, if you’re all ready.”

Maklavir nodded. “I think we are.”

Sir Mulcher turned and headed across the grassy courtyard.

“Joseph,” said Kendril quietly, “whatever happened to Lady Bronwyn?”

The scout looked over at his friend. “Who?”

“The black-haired woman wearing the amber amulet.”

Joseph thought for a moment. “Oh, yes, I think I remember her. I haven’t seen her around anywhere. She certainly wasn’t with the prisoners that were taken. Why?”

Kendril frowned, leaning on his cane. “She must have escaped in all the confusion,” he said.

Maklavir gave a hearty shrug. “Either way, I doubt we’ll be hearing from her again.”

The Ghostwalker nodded, but said nothing.

“Ah,” said Maklavir as the coach rumbled towards them down the tree-lined avenue. “Here comes our ride.”

The wedding ceremony was truly an epic event. The road to the cathedral was lined with a cheering crowd, and even the sun came out for a bit. The church itself was packed with onlookers, and the nobles were dressed in their finest attire.

Maklavir, Kendril and Joseph found that seats had been reserved for them uncomfortably close to the front. Kara was already there, wearing a beautiful silken gown instead of her usual green cloak and trousers. Her red hair dangled down in delicate curls, each finely combed and set.

Joseph stopped cold when he saw her, his mouth open and his eyes wide with astonishment.

Kara cocked her head as she saw his reaction. “Try not to stare too much, Joseph. You’ll start making me feel self-conscious.” Her voice was stern, but she couldn’t hide the smile on her face.

For a moment Joseph nervously fumbled with a reply, but a smiling Maklavir pushed him down into his chair, gave a gentlemanly bow to Kara and then sat himself.

Serentha and Lord Whitmore were married at noon, the church bells ringing loudly as they finally kissed.

Kendril watched the whole ceremony in silence, his eyes always on the princess. When the newly married couple walked down the central aisle of the cathedral, she glanced over for one brief instant, and caught Kendril’s gaze.

And then, just as quickly, she looked away.

The reception was held at the palace that evening. Music poured out of the open ballroom windows, and fireworks exploded into the night sky above Castle Dunhill, their red and purple tails sparkling down with fizzling pops.

Kendril escaped the celebration early, limping his way across the castle courtyard with the help of the walking stick. He found the stables against the northwestern part of the wall, and made his way inside. The stalls were dark, heavy with the scent of hay and excrement, but the muffled sound of laughter and music from the palace could still be heard through the loosely boarded walls.

The Ghostwalker stopped in front of a stall, and pulled back his hood. There was a snort, and then a dark shape lumbered forward, giving a soft bray.

Kendril smiled and smacked the mule fondly on the nose. “Hey there, mush-for-brains. You getting the royal treatment here again?”

Simon gave a wag of his head. Straw fell from his nostrils.

“Well don’t get used to it,” said Kendril. “We’re going.” He opened the stall door and led the mule out.

Simon buried his face in Kendril’s shirt, gave another loud snort and lashed his tail back and forth.

The Ghostwalker sighed. “You’re spoiled, you know that?” He reached into his cloak and pulled out a carrot. “Here. Just one, though. You’re not getting any more.”

Simon took the vegetable, chomping noisily on it as he lashed his tail even harder.

Kendril took the mule’s bridle, leading him back towards the stable doors. He looked up, and stopped.

“I thought you might leave,” came Serentha’s soft voice. “I was hoping you’d at least say goodbye.”

Kendril looked away. A waltz from the palace drifted out on the night air. “I guess I don’t like long goodbyes,” he said simply.

Serentha stepped forward. “Neither do I.” She paused awkwardly, then shifted a long package that she held in her arms. “I have something for you. To…remember me by.”

Kendril took a cautious step forward, and took the wrapped gift. He gave Serentha a questioning look.

“Open it,” she said.

He did, tearing away the paper that the object was wrapped in.

It was a rapier, shining brightly even in the tiny amount of moonlight that penetrated the stalls. The wire rim hilt was covered in gold, twisted around into the shape of a peacock with its tail feathers outstretched. Blue and green jewels glittered in a dazzling array along the wings of the bird and down the handle as well.

Kendril ran a finger down the steel blade. It was razor sharp, made of fine Balneth steel. He looked up at Serentha. Torn emotions showed on his face.

“Jade, I can’t—” he began, standing with the sword awkwardly in his hands.

She nodded quickly. “I know.” She looked into his eyes. “It’s for when you find your redemption.”

Kendril stood silently for a moment, then took the sword firmly in his hands. “Thank you,” he said.

Serentha nodded. She looked away quickly. Kendril could see a sparkle of tears in her eyes.

“I suppose this is goodbye, then,” she said without looking at him.

Kendril merely nodded.

Jade looked at the ground for a moment, then looked up at him, her voice shaking.

“Goodbye, Kendril. I will never forget you.”

Before he could respond she had turned, walking quickly out of the stables and away across the castle courtyard.

Balneth was quiet as Kendril walked through the cobbled streets. Most of the aristocracy was at the palace celebrating, and the rest of the common folk were either up late at the taverns or snug inside their beds at home.

He reached the northern gate, nodding to the guards as he passed through to the dark road that stretched beyond.

Simon gave a soft whine as they stopped along the side of the path a little ways from the city gate.

“Just a moment, boy,” said Kendril. “We’ll be going soon enough.”

He stepped back to the mule, and took the sword in his hand. He drew it from its sheath and held it up in the moonlight. The balance was almost perfect, the steel light as a feather. He gave it one or two quick swings. The blade sang as it carved through the night air.

He had never seen a finer weapon.

For a moment he held it, looking down the blade in silence. Then he slid it back into its sheath, wrapping the whole weapon again in the paper it had come in. He slid the sword onto the pack on Simon’s back with his good hand, and secured it as tightly as he could. Taking his cane, he started down the long road.

“Well, well,” came a voice from behind him, “you’re out awfully late.”

Kendril turned in surprise.

It was Joseph, sitting on his horse. The scout gave a quiet smile. “Which direction are you headed?”

The Ghostwalker shrugged, still getting over his surprise at finding the Joseph here. “North, I suppose.” He looked down the dark road. “To Calbraith, or maybe Arbela.”