A Crimson Frost (33 page)

“Do not linger on regret, my friend,” Bronson said. “Go forward and leave the past where it is.”

Broderick looked about the ground outside the smithy. The snow and mud were mingled. There were many footprints. His eyes searched—his mind battled as he studied the markings in the mud and snow.

“Here,” he said, squatting low and gesturing to a place nearby. “These are theirs…Monet’s and Sarah’s. Small…not so deep as the others.”

“Yes,” Bronson said. “It is hard to see…but they trod here.”

Standing, Broderick followed the tracks to the side of the smithy—to the bench against one wall.

“They took respite here,” Bronson said.

Broderick continued to frown as he looked about. Of a sudden, he slowly cocked his head to one side. “What is this?” he asked.

Bronson and Stroud gathered near to Broderick.

“A child?” Stroud asked.

Broderick nodded. “And an armored man.”

“How know you he was armored, Sir Broderick?” Stroud asked.

“The print is deep…and the shape…” Broderick said, tracing the print with his finger.

“The shape is that of a sabaton, Stroud,” Bronson mumbled.

“Foot armor,” Stroud said.

“Yes. And the print is deep enough in the mud that one can make out the rowel spur at the heel.” Bronson stood, frowning. “But what child is this? Surely we would be now alerted if there were a child missing from the village.”

Broderick looked at the tracks—studied them carefully.

“Here,” he said. “Leading toward the wood. The child was near dragged…yet Monet and Sarah led.” His heart began to hammer mad in his chest.

“He threatened the child’s life, no doubt,” Bronson said. “They went for sake of the child.”

Broderick nodded as he followed the tracks toward the wood. He thought of the day he had taken Monet into the grove of pines, near the holly cropping. His mouth watered at the remembered kisses they shared. He began to tremble, fear of losing his lover quick gripping him. Inhaling deep, he calmed himself, however. He would be no use to Monet if he allowed fear to own him.

“This knight would not be alone,” Bronson said, drawing his sword as they approached the wood. “At the ready, Stroud,” he growled.

Broderick heard Stroud draw his sword—drew the Crimson Frost from its sheath as he stepped between the trees.

Near instantly a soldier was upon him. Swift, the Crimson Knight blocked the soldiers down-thrusting sword, running the enemy through in the next moment. Another man appeared—then two more. Blades flashed, the sound of steel against steel echoing through the wood. Broderick fought fierce, as did Bronson and Stroud. It seemed mere moments before he stood, breathing heavy, gazing down at the four dead Rothbainian soldiers littering the ground—bleeding red upon the Ballain snow.

One Rothbainian moaned, and Broderick was quick upon him.

Placing a foot to the man’s throat where he lay, the Crimson Knight growled, “Where have they been taken?” The wounded soldier did not answer—simply glared at Broderick with proud defiance. Broderick removed his foot from the soldier’s throat, slipping the tip of the Crimson Frost through the space between his helmet and breastplate. “I will take your breath and bleed you slow out if you do not speak!” he shouted. “Where have they been taken?”

“Sir Broderick?”

Broderick looked up when he heard the child’s voice. From behind the cropping of holly, a boy emerged—and Sarah.

“Channing?” Broderick breathed as recognition fast struck him. The bruised and disheveled boy ran forward. Sobbing, Channing threw himself against the great Crimson Knight, and Broderick embraced him.

“Mother!” Broderick heard Stroud exclaim. Bronson was fast to his lover, gathering her in his arms and kissing her.

“Channing?” Broderick breathed. He fell to his knees, taking the boy’s face between his hands. “Where is Monet?” he asked—for fear gripped him once more. Sarah was well, and so was Channing—however he was brought to Ballain. Yet Monet—Monet was not with them. “Where is the princess?”

“Sir Broderick!” Channing cried. “They have taken her! Crimson Knight! They have taken the princess!”

“Rothbainians?” he asked—though he knew already it was true.

“Sir Fredrick and his men!” the boy sobbed.

“Fredrick,” Broderick breathed.

“Tell your knight, boy,” Bronson said, kneeling beside Channing. “Tell your great Crimson Knight the tale…and he will champion her.”

Channing nodded—brushed tears from his cheeks.

“I-I was sent on an errand from the castle. I was sent to the village…with information for the Minstrel Marius. The king dressed me as a peasant and bade me find Marius…that I might deliver his instructions,” Channing said.

“Penned instructions?” Broderick asked.

Channing nodded. “But I dropped them. With purpose I dropped them as I was being carried to King James.”

“You are wise far beyond your years, boy,” Bronson said.

“Go on, Channing. Tell me the tale,” Broderick prodded.

“A soldier came upon me before I reached the Emerald Crown…before I reached Marius,” Channing said. “He struck me, put me on his horse, and took me to an encampment…King James’s encampment in the north. He beat me, Sir Broderick. He beat me, and yet I would not tell them of the king’s exile of the princess,” he cried. “I endeavored to tell them nothing, Sir Broderick,” Channing whispered. “I tried not to tell them of the exile…and they beat me more…so long and so hard did they beat me…and then…and still I did not tell them. But then…then they swore they would kill her!”

“They meant to kill Monet?” Broderick asked. The others had gathered around—listened well. Broderick’s breath came labored. Had he been so wrong? Did James truly mean to have Monet murdered instead of simply taken?

Channing shook his head. “No…not her…the other princess…the one they had taken already. They held her before me. They…they cut her deep at one shoulder. They…they said they would kill her if I did not reveal what I knew. I could not watch a princess bleed out, Sir Broderick! I could not!”

“Of course not, Channing,” Broderick said. “Of course not.”

“And so…I told them the princess had been sent into exile with her husband. This I told them…though I did not tell them you are her husband, Crimson Knight,” the boy sobbed. “I-I told them the king had wed her to old Lord Shelley…my grandfather. I did not tell them the Crimson Knight was the Scarlet Princess’s husband.”

“That was wise, Channing. Very wise,” Broderick whispered.

“What other princess is this they have, boy?” Bronson asked.

“Princess Anais…King Rudolph’s daughter,” Channing said.

Broderick looked to Bronson as full understanding met them both.

“He would use the daughter to own Alvar’s legions,” Bronson said.

Broderick nodded. He looked back to Channing then.

“This was near Karvana they beat you, Channing…yes?” he asked.

Channing nodded. “At the encampment without the village.”

“And the other princess…and King James…they remain near Karvana. Sir Fredrick and his men brought you here…but they remain?”

Again Channing nodded. “They did not know where to look for Princess Monet,” he explained, “for I did not know where you had taken her. Others were sent to look…but Sir Fredrick chose to look in Karvana Far…and then Ballist. In Ballist there was a minstrel. He sang for the people…the ballad of a ‘The Crimson Frost’…and then a new ballad…one I had not heard before.”

“‘The Champion’s Prize,’” Broderick mumbled.

Channing nodded. “Sir Fredrick did not so much listen to the ballad as he did watch the minstrel,” he said. “I heard him say the minstrel put him much in mind of another…of Marius…whom he had heard once in Karvana. Sir Fredrick suspected the minstrel of…I do not know his thoughts, only that he ordered his men to beat him. And then…they let him escape. Sir Fredrick and his men followed the minstrel to Ballain. They brought me…for they knew the princess would not see me harmed.”

The boy began sobbing then. “It is my fault, Sir Broderick. I have failed the king and the kingdom. I am traitor to the crown for I have caused that my princess is in danger!”

“No, Channing. No,” Broderick assured him.

“Somehow they knew I was from the castle. It is my fault Princess Monet is gone!”

“Channing,” Broderick began, “do you know why you were there…in the princess’s bower the day we were wed? Do you know why only you, the friar, Marius, and the king himself knew of the exile?”

Channing shook his head—wiped tears from his cheeks.

“Because I chose you, Channing,” Broderick said. “You have ever been the princess’s pet…have you not? Does not she delight in your friendship? Does not King Dacian trust you with his most important of messages?”

“Yes,” Channing said.

“I chose you, for there would be two witnesses to any marriage…that it may be sure,” Broderick continued. “Marius was one, for he had a part to play in our exile. You were the other, for I never imagined the enemy would suspect you of owning such secrets of war.”

“You chose me?” Channing asked.

“I did,” Broderick said.

“And I failed you!” the boy sobbed.

“No, Channing. You championed us all. You are the bravest page any kingdom has ever known! You did not reveal all to Sir Fredrick. In causing him to think Monet is wed to your grandfather, you have ensured that he will not expect how wholly he has vexed the Crimson Knight…her true husband.”

A small smile curled Channing’s pale lips. “And the Crimson Knight will lop off Sir Fredrick’s head if he harms Karvana’s princess,” he said.

Broderick smiled as well, tousled the boy’s hair, and added. “Yes. You have proven I choose my allies well, Channing.”

“Truly?” Channing asked.

“What other boy in all the world would have the wit and courage to lie when being beaten?” Bronson said, his booming laughter echoing through the forest.

“Indeed,” Broderick said.

“Will you go now?” Channing asked. “Will you rescue our princess at once, Sir Broderick?”

“Yes,” Broderick said, “though I will first return to the village for my armor and horse.”

“Your armor?” Channing asked. “But I saw your armor, Sir Broderick. I was the one who moved it from the princess’s bower when you had gone. The king bade me bring it to him.”

Broderick smiled. “Do you think a knight would wed a princess wearing his battle armor?” he asked. Channing’s young brow furrowed. He was sore perplexed. “It was my armor worn at banquet and celebration you took to the king. My battle armor is here with me. Ever it has been.”

“But you have no horse,” Channing said.

Broderick was astonished by the change in the boy. For one so young, he mustered courage and hope well.

“Oh, I am not without a horse, Channing,” he said. “Though I hold no charger here…I brought the fastest horse my stables have ever bred. His name is Tripp.”

“And you will ride…lop off Sir Fredrick’s head, and rescue the princess,” Channing said, smiling.

Bronson chuckled, and Broderick looked to see Sarah brush tears from her cheeks.

“She was brave, Broderick,” Sarah said. “She held a dagger at her own bosom that the boy and I should be left safe.”

Broderick’s massive body shuddered as he thought of Monet in the hands of Sir Fredrick Esmund—in the arms of King James.

“She is wise and witty, Broderick,” Bronson said. “She will know how best to keep herself safe until we arrive.”

Channing turned then. “You are familiar to me,” he said, pointing to Stroud.

“I am familiar?” Stroud asked. “How so?”

Channing looked to Sir Bronson. “Even you are in my mind, sir.”

“The boy is battle-worn, Broderick,” Bronson said. “We must get him warmed…fed and rested.”

“Come, darling,” Sarah said, taking Channing’s hand. “You and I have endured much together. Let us keep company the rest of the way.

“I know you now! A likeness of you hangs in my mother’s room!” Channing exclaimed, of a sudden. “You are she! The lost princess of Karvana! You are banished Princess Eden!”



“His mother was my greatest friend,” Sarah explained to Broderick as she sat stroking Channing’s sleepy head where it lay in her lap. Though desperate to begin, to find Monet and strip her from King James’s evil grip, Broderick listened well as he armored himself—as the lost princess of Karvana spoke.

“Lord Shelley’s youngest daughter, Joy.” Sarah sighed, a soft laugh escaping her throat. “How merry we were, we two silly girls…endlessly fawning over the handsome knights of the kingdom.” Sarah closed her eyes. “It was all so long ago.”

Broderick nodded as Stroud secured the Crimson Knight’s left gauntlet.

“Dacian was healthy…in line for the throne,” Sarah said. “Thus, when Ackley and I…we went to my father, King Seward…told him of our love and our desire to wed…my father granted permission. Sir Ackley Carrington was the son of Prince Phillip of Devshire. Though not in line for the throne, yet he was worthy…and of royal blood. Father consented…and then…and then came James of Rothbain. “