The innkeeper had seemed to be the perfect choice as a corroborator. One could not expect a woman like Sanura and a prince to sleep on the ground. They would’ve sought out a bed, a roof, warm food, the bath they so desperately needed. It would be perfectly believable that an innkeeper might overhear their conversation.
And yet the stubborn old man insisted on telling the truth, even now.
So far Vyrn had limited his blows of persuasion to the midsection, where the marks he made would not be seen. A bruised and bloody witness would not be as believable as one who appeared to be unharmed. Still, if the old man refused to cooperate . . .
“Are you looking for me?”
His heart skipped a beat as he straightened and spun about. The prince himself stood just inside the rear door to the rustic inn. Prince Alixandyr held a sword steady in one hand, and he was not at all surprised or concerned.
Vyrn knew that if he shouted loud enough, Rolf would hear and would come running to his aid, but it would be so much better if he could simply kill the prince and be done with it. That had been the plan from the moment he’d seen Prince Alixandyr enter Sanura’s tent, after all. Kill the princess, frame the prince for the deed, and then see him dead so he could collect that additional pay from his employer.
“Thank goodness I have found you, m’lord,” Vyrn said with a smile. He stepped toward the prince. “After you fled, we discovered the true murderer. It was Tari, that plain, mousy maid.” And that was true enough. How convenient that the woman he had chosen to use as his accomplice had been so eager to do her part. “She was jealous of the princess’s privilege, I suppose.”
He expected the prince to lower his sword in relief, but that did not happen.
The blasted innkeeper was no help. “Do not listen to him, m’lord! He means you harm.”
“Yes, I know,” the prince responded. “What I don’t know is why.” He moved forward, poised as if ready to strike, coiled like a venomous snake. “Why, Vyrn?” he asked coldly.
Vyrn drew his sword. It would’ve been easier to make his move while the prince was unprepared, but he was certain his skills were a match, even in a fair fight. After all, of late the prince had spent more time as a politician than as a soldier. Perhaps once he had been a fearsome opponent, but those days were gone.
“Sentinels receive a miserly pay, m’lord,” Vyrn said as he sidestepped, his eyes never leaving the prince’s face. “I found another who is willing to pay much more handsomely. ”
“You became a traitor to your country for money?” The prince sounded incredulous, as if the concept were unthinkable.
“Yes, I suppose I did.”
Vyrn lunged forward, hoping to take his opponent by surprise, but his maneuver was expected and easily evaded. Blades met, again and again, as they danced among and around the plain wooden furnishings and a bound old man who had proved most unhelpful. Vyrn soon found himself sweating, struggling to interpret and outwit the prince’s tactics.
Apparently the prince had maintained his sword-fighting skills more diligently than Vyrn had realized. Soon Vyrn was tiring more quickly than his adversary, his moves became entirely defensive, and he was unable to make a single offensive strike. Sweat trickled down his face, and his arm trembled. He backed toward the front door of the inn. If he could escape and call for help, the prince would have no chance. He would be no match for Vyrn’s sword when it was combined with the fury of a Tryfynian soldier who believed the prince guilty of murdering one of his own.
Vyrn stepped backward, his eyes remaining fixed on the prince’s intense face. He had not bargained for this. He had not bargained for real combat. Fairness was highly overrated, and had never been one of Vyrn’s sought-after attributes.
A few more steps, and he’d be able to make a run for it. Without warning the wind was knocked from his lungs and he hit the floor hard, with a weight atop him. The old man, bound to a chair and badly beaten, had found a surge of energy and had lunged forward to knock Vyrn to the ground. The man and the chair to which he was attached scooted away quickly, and then the prince was there, kicking away Vyrn’s sword and placing the tip of his own blade to Vyrn’s throat.
He opened his mouth to scream for help, and in answer the prince pressed the blade more deeply into Vyrn’s throat, drawing a little blood. “Shout, and you’ll be dead an instant later.”
He could not very well spend his hard-earned money if he was dead. “Don’t kill me! I’ll tell you everything I know. Please.” The prince looked as if he could do murder. In a small voice Vyrn said, “I surrender.”
For now
.
“HOW
many?” Alix asked crisply. Vyrn’s former prisoner responded.
“One other.”
Alix knew he could easily take care of two, but his mind sought another way. For all he knew, Vyrn was the only one involved in the scam. The others likely believed him guilty of murder, and he could not imagine killing a good man for believing what he’d been told—what he’d been shown.
“Sanura,” he called in a slightly elevated voice, “it’s safe to come in.” She had been waiting outside the rear entrance, and was inside the room before he’d finished his sentence. “Free the prisoner,” he instructed.
She did as he’d requested, taking Alix’s dagger from his belt and then dropping to her knees to cut the bonds. The older man and his chair were on the floor, both lying to one side.
The freed captive needed to be assisted to his feet, and he gladly took Sanura’s hand for that assistance. “The sentinel said you were blue,” he said as he rubbed his reddened wrists. “I should’ve known he was mad.”
Sanura did not respond to that comment, but remained silent and tense.
“Tie him up,” Alix ordered, his eyes flitting briefly to Sanura and then to the remains of the bonds Vyrn had used on his prisoner.
He was distracted for only a moment, but it was enough. Vyrn burst into action. He rolled toward the door, grabbed for his sword, and screamed loudly for help.
Alix made sure that Sanura and the gray-haired man were behind him and safe. “I will kill you,” he promised the traitorous sentinel.
The door burst open and the Tryfynian soldier Rolf entered the room, his sword ready, his eyes blazing with anger. “You murdering bastard,” the big man said as he stepped forward.
“No!” the gray-haired man behind him shouted. “The prince is innocent. I heard the sentinel himself admit as much.”
“The innkeeper is lying,” Vyrn said through clenched teeth.
“He said it was someone named Tari,” the innkeeper added.
“Don’t listen to him,” Vyrn snapped. “No doubt the prince has offered this poor man a nice reward for such lies. Who knows how much the old man has been paid for his assistance?”
The innkeeper’s words had made the Tryfynian doubt what he believed to be true. Alix could see the uncertainty in his eyes, in the set of his mouth and, most important, in the way he held his weapon.
“We were made to look guilty by those who want death and war,” Sanura said softly. There was strength and serenityin her voice. Who would not believe her when she spoke so? “Do you want war, Rolf, or do you want the truth?”
The soldier heard the truth in Sanura’s voice, just as Alix did. Rolf’s brows drew together, his sword fell. For a moment, one fleeting moment, Alix believed this could all be over very soon. If Rolf believed, then others would, too. He never should’ve run from camp and made himself look guilty... but then, he had not actually been the one to run. That had been the other, the darker half of himself. His moment of relief did not last long, as Vyrn swung about and ran his blade through Rolf’s midsection.
Rolf fell, realizing too late whom he could trust and whom he could not.
Vyrn backed toward the door. He did not like being outnumbered. He faced Alix’s sword, the innkeeper’s raised chair, and Sanura’s knife. Alix made to follow, sure he could take the man on his own, but at that moment a thin, gray-haired woman rushed into view.
The traitorous sentinel grabbed her by the collar of her dress and held her body before his. “This is no longer a fair fight, m’lord.”
“I did not know you were interested in fairness.” Alix stopped his pursuit when Vyrn’s stance changed and he held the edge of his sword to the woman’s throat. One gentle motion, and she’d be dead.
“You should not have killed Rolf, m’lord,” Vyrn said loudly, his words meant for the ears of those who streamed onto the boardwalk. “You should not have killed that poor boy who lies on the street.” He smiled.
“Lies,” Alix said. “And these people know it.”
Vyrn made his way toward his horse. “These are
your
people, m’lord. They would likely say anything you ordered them to say. Do you really think the Tryfynians will believe their words of defense? Do you think the king who will soon bury his precious daughter will believe you to be innocent simply because your own people spin a protective tale?”
Vyrn made the woman he held hostage unhitch his waitinghorse, and with the sword steady he put a foot into the stirrup and sat a well-worn saddle. The long blade of his sword remained threatening until he drew it away swiftly, then turned and spurred his horse down the street. The people watched him go. More than one held their breath as the man who had terrorized them escaped.
“Will you give chase, m’lord?” the innkeeper asked.
Alix longed to do just that, but with Sanura riding with him he’d have no chance of catching Vyrn, and he refused to leave her here unattended. If Vyrn turned back... if the other soldiers came here and found her... “No. ” He sheathed his sword and turned to face the innkeeper. “When I arrived, Vyrn was attempting to coerce you into admitting that you heard my confession. I can see for myself that he hit you several times. He might’ve killed you. Why did you not simply give him what he wanted?”
In spite of his pain, the old man smiled. “You don’t remember me, do you, m’lord?”
“Have we met?” Alix searched his memory and came up with nothing.
“During the war with Ciro and his Own, you and a handful of other sentinels came to my rescue. More rightly, you came to my daughter’s rescue. She was only nine years old at the time. You stood toe-to-toe with a monster and protected us.”
The man’s face was familiar, in a vague way. “I fought my share of monsters during the war, as did many others,” Alix said, “but I was never in this village.”
“No. I lived near my wife’s family at that time. We moved here three years ago.” The innkeeper gave Alix a belated and oddly graceful bow. “There are many who do not know that a soldier who fought Ciro and saved many became prince, but as I spent some time in Arthes, I know. I saw you in a holiday procession there shortly before I settled in this small town. Yours is a face I will never forget. I owe you a debt.”
“Consider that debt paid,” Alix said.
The old man grinned. “Not quite yet, m’lord.”
PAKI
did not care for the sentinels or the Tryfynian soldiers who believed the blessed Sanura was capable of murder. Still, following the heathens would likely be the easiest way to find the woman he protected. It certainly would make no sense for them to return to Tryfyn without her.
Sooner or later they would find Sanura and the man who had dared to touch her. She, they would protect with their lives.
The prince would die.
Paki and Kontar both felt shame for losing their weapons to the prince, for however brief a time, so they remained vigilant. They were confident that they would find Sanura, one way or another.
When the soldiers had paired up and gone in four separate directions, Paki and Kontar had chosen to follow the two they disliked the least. The Tryfynians and the Columbyanans were not well suited to one another. They did not trust one another—which was why each group of two was made up of a representative from each country. All those who searched had become frustrated at the fruitless-ness of their efforts, and they snapped at one another over the smallest matters.
Paki and Kontar traveled at a short distance from the others. They did not care about the murder of the princess; they cared only for Sanura and the fact that the heathen prince had touched her, openly and defiantly.
More than once during this leg of the journey Paki had suffered a rush of fear. Would a man who would stoop to butchering a defenseless princess do the same to Sanura? Was her body somewhere in the woods along the road they’d traveled for the past two days?
He wondered if Kontar had considered that possibility. “Do you think he killed her?”
“Perhaps.” Kontar’s face remained calm, but his fingers flexed. “His eyes were less than sane when he took our weapons from us. Men with such eyes are capable of any atrocity, I would imagine.”
Paki did not like being reminded of that dishonorable moment when they’d had their weapons taken away. “We have failed miserably in our task. What if we don’t find her?”
“We must,” Kontar said. “We must find her. Dead or alive, she is ours to protect.”
Paki patted the distended saddlebag where Sanura’s box of implements rested. When they found her, she would need repair of her blue. The heathen prince had smudged the paint when he’d dared to grab her.
The soldiers who led this small party changed direction and headed toward a farmhouse which sat in the distance. Gentle puffs of smoke rose from the chimney. It appeared to be a peaceful and simple home.
“If he is here and alone, don’t kill him immediately.”
“Why not?” Kontar asked, outrage in his voice.
“We must know where Sanura is, even if she no longer lives.”
Reluctantly, Kontar nodded in agreement. “He will tell us all we wish to know, and then we will kill him.”
“Slowly,” Paki said.
“Of course.”
“WE
can’t stay here very long,” Alix said as he followed Sanura up the stairs of the inn where they’d spent most of the day. “Vyrn could come back with others, and if he does...”
