The King's Blood (67 page)

"The message," the Queen prompted.
 

"My Lady, The Tower's Been Taken!" the Messenger shouted each word as if they'd been drilled into his head and tattooed on the back of his eyelids, "The Tower Of Ashar Has Fallen To Enemy Fingers!"

"Impossible," Moren interrupted, trying to stand. Aldrin rose with her and offered a hand, she tried to place her dead hand in it, but it refused to move. Instead, he lifted the hand and took most of her weight as they walked together towards the Messenger. "That tower cannot be taken, it has never been taken."

The Messenger mentally flipped through his script, "The Empire's Flag Was Flown At The Dawn Hour This Morning!"
 

"Kuchi sin, he has the King," she'd been spending too much time with her old kin, their manners and tongue were difficult to wrench free. "Why? Why is Vasska wasting troops and resources on this? He left nearly a hundred wounded men lying in wait on the beach for this."

"The sword!" Aldrin snapped his fingers as an epiphany grabbed him by his recently cultivated curlies.

"What sword?" Moren asked, raising her good hand to silence the Messenger who was about to repeat his message as if it would help.

"The sword of Casamir. That's what cuts the magic. Of course!" Aldrin spoke aloud to himself as if he were reading one half of the dialogue in a play. The Queen caught his excited eye and raised one eyebrow. "The sword of Casamir, it's real, and it's buried near here, very near. 'And at the Tower on Springday, all magic will'... something. I hadn't quite worked that part out yet. But the sword's the key."

Moren glared at the Messenger, who was holding his hand out for a tip. Instead, she pointed at the door and told him to get out. As the flap closed the Queen turned to her stepson, "How is a sword a key?"

"It," Aldrin dropped his head, deciding it was time to come clean, "I was tasked with finding Liam, the Sword of Cas who is actually Casamir but it got changed over time. It's not important."

"And who tasked you with this?" Moren asked slowly, wondering how much of his tale involved fairy farts after all.

"A witch that saved me life," Aldrin admitted, lifting up his tunic to show the still vivid scar running under his ribs.
 

Moren grimaced at it but nodded slowly. She'd had her own dealings with witches before, both times were unpleasant. "And why would Vasska care about this ancient hero's sword?"

"There's a prophecy, an old one, that puts Casamir's sword at the heart of the magical apocalypse."

"He gets the sword, he can stop the magic, he appeases Argur, he becomes a new prophet?" Moren carried on Aldrin's thoughts, "Sweet Scepticar, that man's just mad enough to throw this many lives away on a prophecy hidden inside a biscuit."

Aldrin nodded before lowering his eyes. A few thoughts banged against his head before he rose and looked deep into Moren's soul, appearing all the more like his father, "I must get the sword. I can use it to trade for Henrik and anyone else the Emperor has imprisoned in the tower."

"You believe your brother yet lives?" Moren asked.

Aldrin nodded, he wasn't that lucky. Besides, Vasska, despite his reputation, didn't kill those he found useful. A King chained up in his own dungeon could be very useful.
 

"Then I will dispatch a team of my knights to find this sword and..."

"No," Aldrin interrupted, "I must go."

"This is madness. Why?" Moren asked him calmly as if she were dealing with the mad Emperor now.

Because this is my quest to finish? Because I owe it to everyone who sacrificed so much to get me to this point? Because I need to see it to the end? "Because I said so," Aldrin finished, a power he'd never tasted before in his voice.

Moren's eyes searched his, trying to suss out a weakness, a breaking point that would reveal the terrified child hiding under this man's shell. But she only found determination. Even if she were to try to stop him, he'd probably sneak off anyway. It was the Ostero thing to do.

"Very well," the Queen responded, "But I will still send a bastion of my Knights with you. Five of the very best," she mentally went over her stock, "Five of my somewhat very best."

Aldrin dropped his grip on her arm which fell with a thud as he bowed to the Queen. But she placed her good arm on his back and attempted a minor curtsey. "And, while you're gone we'll give that bastard what he's got coming."

Aldrin couldn't feel the warmth of the pair of hands tightening around his freshly armored midsection, but even knowing they were there was enough to send a small blush to his cheeks as he tried to steer his newly adopted horse around a set of fallen logs. The soldiers the Queen gifted them led most of the party while another hung back, his eyes keen on the assassin who smiled gamely at his horse and climbed aboard without a saddle.

Ciara squished herself tighter to Aldrin and called out over the pounding of hooves, "When does the bouncing stop?!"

"About an hour after you dismount!" he shouted towards his horse's ears, hoping some of it would travel back to her. His horse snorted in response and kicked her legs at that. The girl dug her fingers deeper into his armor and they graced across the prince inside the can.
 

Beside him, Kynton grinned wildly, spurring his horse out of his cantor into a wild gallop. His priestly eyes lit up with mischief when he saw the black beauty Bedros personally paraded before them, an Avarian bred for scouting. It was clearly meant for Aldrin, but a bay mare -- with more willing spirit than flesh -- nosed him in the back of the head. The prince spun about and received a set of long horse teeth gnashing on his hair. He giggled at the girl and patted the star on her head, making his choice of steed.

Bedros eyed the assassin suspiciously, not wanting his best horse to fall to the Dunner, and Kynton swooped after the opportunity. Without waiting for anyone to say a word, he hitched up his robes and climbed up onto the saddle, savoring the feel of hundreds of pounds of horse muscle beneath his thighs. It'd been years, but you never forget how to steer a pony.

Isa crossed her arms and glared at everyone mounting on their steeds. Aldrin slid up onto his bay, whispering something about carrots into her twitching ear and offered a hand to Ciara who was still shifting under the loaned armor that pinched her chest and hips. She let the gauntlets, nearly five sizes too big, slip off her hands for the final time and grabbed Aldrin's hand, rising behind him. The Bay shifted under the new weight, but obliged the addition. Ciara grabbed hard to Aldrin's middle and decided she wouldn't let go until they got to the tomb. It wasn't that horses frightened her; so long as they stayed in their stalls and didn't shit in the castle, she'd never seen much reason to go near one.
 

The witch; however, was a different matter entirely. Kynton shook the reigns of his Black Beauty and got him to dance on his hooves. Isa jumped away from the Avarian just as Aldrin's bay swatted her in the face with her tail. She spun about, ready to give the tail such a zapping when Kynton's horse nudged her in the back. "Oh Luscious Lotus, if you're quite finished playing with the ponies, we'd like to leave," the priest called to her and broke into giggles at the death glare beaming off her face.

"I'll walk," she muttered, trying to find a safe distance away from the animals who could sense her discomfort and were going in for the kill.

"You'll walk?" Kynton laughed at that. "Is the widdle baby afraid of the widdle pony?"

"May your horse slip and crush you beneath it," she muttered at him, her eyes flashing blue.

Ciara noticed the beginning signs of magic and said to the unmovable witch, "If you come with us, you travel on a horse." The blue glare shifted to her and the girl finished, "Unless you wish to remain so near thousands of dead."

Isa glared at her but she got the message. "Very well. I'd prefer one a bit lower to the ground," she announced to the soldiers as if she were putting in an order for a dress.

Bedros looked at the men, some of their best, who shifted cautiously in their saddles, uncertain why they were afraid of the tiny woman. "I am afraid, my lady, there are no other horses," the Commander said to her, and added another "my lady" for good measure.

What little color Isa had drained as she looked over at the assassin on his Pence horse and back to the priest patting his Avarian's rump as if it were a cushion. She cursed the gods in every language she knew, nearly ten if you include sow-avarian, and, batting away Kynton's hand, tried to scramble onto the Black Beauty. The priest smiled as her tiny legs kicked and jumped, unable to find purchase, when Bedros dropped to his knees and formed a step stool with his hands.
 

Summoning whatever dignity remained after this month long trip to madness, Isa rose onto the steed and tried to hook her thighs along the horse's bony rump, its spine digging into her tailbone. Kynton smiled and looked over his shoulder at her.

"All on?" he asked, "Good. Clutch tight!" and spurred his horse with all his might. "Lets see what this baby can do!" he shouted as Black Beauty went from 0 to 20 in ten seconds. Isa screamed and instinctively grabbed onto Kynton's robes to keep her body upright. The horse, priest, and witch burst through the camp and onto the battlefield as people scattered out of the way.

"Does he know where he is going?" Bedros asked, watching the retreating figures.

"No," Aldrin said calmly, turning his bay around towards the supposed tomb. "He'll catch on soon enough," the prince said before guiding his horse into a cantor.
 

Most conversation was light, only the occasional scream from Isa and laugh from the priest crossed over to the riders and they tried to hide their chuckles. Kynton seemed hell bent on crashing his horse into a tree. When they all stopped for a break to water the horses, the humans and keep the witch from shaking to death, Aldrin talked to the soldiers.

One was a local boy; he spent near his entire life growing up only a few acres away from the Tower. He looked at Aldrin's maps, nodded along with the other illiterate soldiers as they tried to track their destination, and said quietly, "You means the ol' Crypt?"

"You've heard of this place?" Aldrin asked, afraid they would waste days hunting for a stack of rocks 'Wat looks a bit like a boar's pizzle but not.'

The soldier nodded, "Sure, we were always sworn off it by mam, but most of us olders would use it to...you know..." He looked over at the few members of the fairer sex in their party who were currently rubbing their sore backsides, but doing it in a fair fashion, "have some alone time."

"How can you be alone if you're with others?" Aldrin pressed.

The other soldiers, who also grew up under more controlling parents concerned about feeding and housing unwanted branches off the family tree rubbed their necks and tried to whistle nonchalantly. This had the opposite effect on the prince certain now he missed some important detail. The local soldier glanced at the others, hoping for someone to save him.

"He means they had sex," Ciara called out, breaking the stalemate.
 

"Oh, oh, right, jolly good," Aldrin said, trying to save face and slightly relieved that every man turned bright pink. "So you can take us to the se...the tomb, then?"

"Sure! No problem. It's less'en a day's ride from here," he said, happily switching the subject.

"Does this mean we have to get back onto the flea bags?" Isa asked Ciara loud enough the fleabags could hear. Black Beauty snorted at the witch, lodging a wad of horse snot in her hair.

"Mount up," Aldrin ordered, which led to a good five minutes of giggling before they could finally set out to the tomb and hopefully the sword of Cas(amir).

"It's smaller 'en I expected," Kynton said, peering over the map and back to an unimpressive hole in the ground. Well not entirely the ground, at least part of the hole was still vertical. Time was not kind to doors.

The local soldier dismounted quickly off his horse and dashed to the crypt, long abandoned as most of the local kids who would never share their secret with nosy younger siblings grew up or out of it. He hauled away a stack of false branches piled over the entrance by some of the more ingenious lovers who didn't want to deal with a draft. Sticking his head in quickly, a familiar scent of candle wax and lamb membrane wafted back. "This is the place!"

The land here crested as if the earth waves broke upon invisible cliffs, spreading out with scattered rocks and grass. Valleys could become death traps if one didn't know where one was walking, especially while trying to run from a paramour's pitchfork collecting father. The tomb was near invisible if you didn't know where to look, shrouded under the giant swell of a land wave in the middle of a storm. Aldrin unrolled his maps and tried to search for the rocks, the trees, all landmarks that were long since lost to time and the intrepidness of peasants facing starvation. Ciara stepped beside him, running her finger over the map searching for the same proof that this was the place they'd nearly lost everything to find.