King Callie: Callie's Saga, Book One (21 page)

“Because,” Sophine said, “They wished to be alone, as do we. I have something I wish to tell you, and no other,” she said. With the dishes set, Sophine nodded to the ladies’ maids to leave the room. They complied.

“Is it really so secret that Bevi cannot stay?” Caliandra said, suspicious. She glanced at her maid, who was walking to the door.

“This is one she cannot keep,” Sophine replied, and remained silent until Bevi had left the room. When they had, and the door was shut, Sophine motioned to Caliandra. “Come close. For this sort of secret, I trust only whispers.”

Caliandra put down her bread, and moved next to her mother. “What is it?” she asked.

“Royth saw a prophecy, on the night of your father’s passing,” she whispered, “About your future.” Caliandra bristled.

“I do not care what he has seen,” she replied, hostile. “That man is a traitor.”

“You will care indeed,” Sophine said, keeping the same quiet tone, but with greater sternness. “I do not argue that he is a traitor, or condone his reprehensible acts.”

“Then why do you let him live?” Caliandra protested. “How is this fair or just? He killed Valric!”

Sophine ignored her daughter’s protests; it pained her to suppress her own feelings on the matter, but she did it, all the same. “Your father had the same vision - and Royth believes it means you will be the next King,” Sophine said, gently, no louder than a mouse, “Even with his sin against our family, he has not been wrong before.”

“How did they both have the same vision?” Caliandra asked, lowering her voice. Sophine saw the suspicion fade into caution.

“I do not know,” Sophine said. “But Royth knew the details of it before I finished saying what your father’d seen.”

“Lies,” Caliandra said, in disbelief. “They have to be lies. He’s feeding them to you, so you’ll keep him alive. Why don’t you see that?”

“They are not lies. He had no visitors in the night. Kells made sure of that, and you can trust him. Kells’ loyalty has never faltered.” Sophine replied, as she dabbed the bread into her soup.

“Kells, I trust,” Caliandra said. “Royth, I cannot.” There was something else in Caliandra’s voice that struck Sophine as odd - not only bitterness, but… embarrassment. As if she wished to be past any mention of either.
Perhaps seeing the bladeswoman die in the dungeon was too much for her,
Sophine wondered.

“He made no attempt to escape from the castle when we were blind to his treachery,” Sophine replied. “He has asked to stay imprisoned. He bears great guilt for the crime upon his soul, and he wishes to help us out of loyalty, and to regain our trust - as an act of penance.”

Caliandra scoffed. “Penance?” she said. “Let him help if he wants, then. But do not expect me to trust him, even if I become King.”

“It’s not a question of if you become King,” Sophine said, “But when. And that, I believe, is of greater concern – Barra has not seen a female King. You must be prepared to rule it accordingly.”

“A pity, then,” Caliandra said. “That I had my upbringing, instead of Valric’s.” Her protest was both bitter and snide. Sophine glared at her daughter; then, she took a breath, and attended to her soup.
I’d never imagined she would be this difficult
, Sophine thought, as she brought a broth-laden spoon to her lips. Caliandra stared at her over a bowl of soup. Sophine brought a napkin to her lips, and spoke.

“There is little we can do to change that,” Sophine said. “But we must recover the axe, so that Marrol cannot hold the throne any longer than necessary. I’ve made arrangements with a mercenary company to find the pieces, which Kells will assist with. In the meantime, you must keep quiet, and share this with no one else.”

Caliandra’s disgruntled demeanor gave way to a kind of surprise. “You’re serious,” Caliandra said, surprised. “You actually believe him.”

“I do,” Sophine replied. “We have no choice. And when you take the throne, I hope you realize how important it is to act without allowing your emotions to blind you.” Caliandra was silent for a time, and Sophine gently sipped on soup while she waited for her daughter’s response.

“These mercenaries,” Caliandra said, at last, ceding the ground on Royth. “Why do you trust them?”

“They are reputable, and highly motivated,” Sophine said.

Caliandra paused. “What if Marrol pays them to keep it from us?” she asked.

“That is a risk,” Sophine said, “But I have been assured that they are honor-bound to see it through.” She laid down the napkin. “You are, as well.” She watched as Caliandra drew a pensive breath.

“I suppose I am,” Caliandra said, as she looked down at her soup. “And I can tell no one?”

“Not a soul,” Sophine replied. “Not even your sister.”

“She’s already at risk,” Caliandra observed. “Those women came in with Mas’s retinue. If he should be imprisoned, it would put her in danger as well.”

“She does not need to know,” Sophine replied. “This is
our
responsibility. Not hers. She has her battles. We have ours.”

“Is this a battle?” Caliandra asked. “Or is this suicide? What chance do we have?”

“We have a chance,” Sophine said. “The axe cannot be destroyed, so far as I know. And not once has it been successfully removed from Barra. The White Stags will find it. You will become king. But we must be careful. We must be quiet. And we must not take any more risks than necessary.”

“Could I tell Mae, or Janni?” Caliandra asked. Sophine looked at her with incredulity. “You can trust them,” Caliandra insisted

“No, you cannot,” Sophine replied. “Even if you only told Mae, she would tell Janni, and it would spread like wildfire. She is quiet, but she cannot keep a secret.” She noticed that Caliandra seemed hurt by the insinuation. “I am sorry,” Sophine said, “But it stays within this room. Discuss it with no one except me.”

“Do you think I would be ready?” Caliandra asked. “To lead a kingdom?”

“More than your father was,” Sophine said. It was true; Caliandra was an educated lady, where her father was merely a soldier when he took the crown. He was older, granted, and had led men before… which gave him a certain advantage. Caliandra had the benefit of her father’s wisdom over the years, a sharp mind, and a noble upbringing.

But what worried Sophine more was that her daughter was willful; when Caliandra had something in mind that she wanted to do, she would set herself to it, even if it worked against her.
That alone,
Sophine thought,
may be more harmful than any man who stands against her.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Early the next morning, Kells stood in front of three long tables, each displaying two cold, half-naked corpses, for his examination – the tables buckling under the weight of the bodies. On the closest table were an assortment of daggers, and a strange sword on his belt - taken from the captive Sparrow. Cast off to the side were ripped shirts and armor, piled under a window. When he swore on the Axe to guard Barra’s secrets, and to seek out dangers to the kingdom, he’d never thought he’d resort to such vile measures - defiling the corpses of brothers in arms, for the sake of the truth.
And yet,
he thought,
here I am
.

The guard assigned to watch the room gave him an odd look, but said nothing more when Kells told him why. "The King's business," he said; the guard simply nodded, and ignored him from then on. Kells knew the secrets of the dead would remain untold, unless he acted with great quickness.

First, he looked at the bodies of the dungeon guards. They had the tell-tale signs of resistance - one had his throat pierced, and slashes across his arms. The other, wounds across his arms and body, with a final piercing through the center of his torso. Kells took the dagger and sword used by the Sparrows, and judged them against the wounds; the size and depth matched well. They were thin, precise wounds, with small marks of serration from the dagger-strikes.

The guards of the vault, however, had different sets of wounds - wounds that did not match the ones he expected to see. They had few, small piercing wounds - all cutting deep, with few signs of resistance. They also had curious balled bruises, neighboring each slit where the blade had entered, unlike the others.

Kells compared them to the dagger from the Sparrow - it bore the small design of a bird upon its pommel, but had no hilt - only iron and leather tightly wrapped around the handle. Furthermore, the width of the wound was smaller than the ones made by the Sparrow's dagger. The Sparrow's sword was much the same design, which puzzled him - the weight seemed odd in his hand, and the design curved slightly. It was for cutting, not for stabbing, and it bore no cross-guard.

"Hrm," he said to himself, which the guard at the hall's entrance took as invitation for conversation. Something Kells wished he'd specifically discouraged.

“Find something of interest, sir?” the guard asked.

“I will let you know in a minute,” Kells said, as he put the dagger down, and walked back to the table where his other daggers were laid out. He pulled each out of their scabbard, and ruled two out immediately: the Kersikki vol, which had one serrated edge, and rigid construction; and the nasatda, an Erimeni dagger which curved and swayed along its length like a winding river – and was far too wide. That left three others. Two of which he had at his disposal, on the table, and one he did not - but which he could find nearby. He did not know whether that was a comfort, or cause for alarm. Kells walked away from the table, and over to the curious guard. He looked the young man in the eye, and held out his hand.

“Give me your dagger, please,” he demanded. The guard obliged, removing it from its sheath, and handed it to Kells. Kells returned to the table and the body, dagger in hand. He thought for a second as he eyed the dagger's length, carefully measuring the distance.
Yom help me
, he thought, as he turned the dagger over in his hand, and lined it up with the wound. Kells took a breath, and slid the dagger in to the vault guardsman's body.

“Sir! What are you doing?” the guard started, aghast. “That’s… it’s dreadful bad luck you’re bringing on us.”

"Back to your post,” Kells said, examining the fit of the dagger in the wound – not bothering to turn around. “I’ll not ask twice.” He drew the dagger from its morbid scabbard, and then re-inserted it into the other wounds – much to the chagrin of the guard, Kells imagined. The sound of iron being freed from its sheath gave him a moment’s pause.

“Take your damn daggers and leave, Sir,” the guard said, as Kells heard his footsteps come closer. “You’ve done enough of that.”

“You know what’s
truly
bad luck?” Kells asked. His hand lingered on the handle of the guard’s dagger - the blade still deep inside of the body, but ready to strike if called. “This dagger you’ve given me is a perfect fit to the wound… and issued to every guard in this castle, and every soldier in the King’s army.”

The guard took a furious breath. “That’s not true,” the guard said. “They wouldn’t.”

Kells shook his head. “They did,” he said. “Look at the dagger. Look at the fit, and tell me it’s wrong. And think on who could walk as close to a Barrish soldier, without worry.”

The guard held on to his sword, and kept it pointed at Kells. He glanced over at the body, and blinked; he grimaced, slightly. The sword lowered slightly.
Yes
, Kells thought.
Even if he didn’t, now he knows
.

“Do you see?” Kells said. The guard nodded, reluctantly. “These men were killed by their brothers. Barrish soldiers or Barrish guards have killed their own.” It was a leap, to be certain; but not one made without cause. “So think on that, and leave me to my work.”

The guard silenced himself, and turned to face the hall; Kells saw a disturbed look on his face, before he looked away. Kells tested the remaining two daggers, just to be sure. And, unfortunately, he was.

Kells cleaned the dagger, and handed it back to the guard. “Have the bodies removed, and the tables washed,” Kells ordered. As he left the barracks for the dungeon, he passed guards resting in their quarters. Mixed in that group were the men who stabbed their own brothers-in-arms. He knew it.
And yet none will come forward. They’ll hide their guilt well… but for what goal, and why?

He mused on that idea as he headed for the dungeon, and enjoyed a brief respite in the sun before heading into the dark. Marrol would be there; and though he distrusted the King, it would not hurt to find out what he had learned from the captured.

Kells arrived in the dungeon and found Marrol, alone and wounded, with another dead guard laying on the floor.

“They’ve escaped,” Marrol said, unconvincingly; his eyes had no panic in them. “Now help your King.” But Kells kept a cautious hand on his sword; Royth and the Sparrow may have been freed, but his gut told him it was the King’s doing.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Royth was not surprised to see Marrol stride down the dungeon stairs, with a guard walking several paces behind him. “What a pleasant surprise, Minister,” Royth joked. Marrol held his head higher than normal - as if an invisible crown floated above his head, and he rose to meet it. He looked down at Royth, and at the remaining Sparrow, both imprisoned.