“His brother is a little smarter,” Lady Barb commented, as they headed down the stairs. “But they can’t concede too much without surrendering everything.”
“I know,” Emily said. “And the rebels feel much the same way.”
She rubbed her forehead as they stepped into the bright sunlight. It was noon, more or less, but it felt much later. Her body clock was a mess. She’d have to make sure to get a good night’s sleep when they reached the city, if she couldn’t snatch a nap in the coach. She abandoned that thought as soon as she saw the coach itself. It was an open-topped vehicle, pulled by two black horses and flanked with white livery. She frowned as she joined Lady Barb in casting wards around the vehicle. If they weren’t careful, a single sniper could put a bullet through the driver’s head before they could react. Or hers.
Silent sat in the driver’s seat, holding the reins in one hand and the whip in the other. Emily hadn’t known she could steer a team of horses, although she supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. Void had good reason to want his servants to be familiar with the aristocratic world. Emily sometimes felt Silent blended in far better than she did. The maid certainly wasn’t pretending to be a great lady...
She winced, again, as Prince Hedrick stepped out of the inn and walked towards them. He scowled as he saw the carriage. “We need an escort.”
“We don’t want to look like an invading army,” Emily pointed out, crossly. She doubted anything less than a company of troops could protect them, if the rebels or bandits wanted them dead. “Our magic is all the protection we require.”
She clambered into the coach and sat on the chair. Someone had gone to some trouble to charm the vehicle, ensuring the passengers had a smooth ride even when the vehicle was racing down a bumpy road. Emily checked the defenses, then rested her hands on her lap as Prince Hedrick sat facing her. He hadn’t paid any attention to Silent, she noted. She wasn’t sure he’d even realized she was female. Silent was the kind of person who just blurred into the background, much like Emily herself.
That isn’t an option, she reminded herself, as Lady Barb sat next to her. I have to convince two factions to come to terms...
She gritted her teeth as the coach started to move, glancing from side to side as Silent steered the vehicle onto the royal road. It was meant to be reserved for the aristocracy - and diplomatic messengers - but she could see dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people making their way towards Dragon’s Den. Some were in coaches or carts, some were walking... their faces grim and worn as they plodded onwards. A handful of coaches looked as though they’d been through the wars. Emily shivered, despite the heat. They had been.
“My brother is camped north of Jorlem City,” Prince Hedrick said. “We can circle around the city and link up with him first.”
Emily shook her head. They’d discussed it time and time again and her answer had always been the same. She couldn’t link up with the Crown Prince, not until she’d spoken to the rebels. They’d think she was planning to sell them out and... she ground her teeth in frustration. Not knowing what was going on was always the worst. Prince Hedrick hadn’t been able to shed any light on who was really in charge of the rebels, if indeed there was an overall commander. The rebels might not have managed to put a government together in time to prepare for war.
Someone sent us a safe conduct, she thought, as she leaned back in her seat. And that means at least one faction is willing to listen to us.
She schooled her expression into calm as the coach picked up speed. There were fewer refugees on the road now, although it was hard to tell if that was a good thing. The locals might not want to leave their lands and set out on a chancy journey to Dragon’s Den or one or both factions might have ordered them to stay where they were. Prince Hedrick had claimed that two-thirds of the country was still in loyalist hands. Emily didn’t believe him. His wild optimism wasn’t particularly reassuring.
Although it might explain why he thinks the loyalists can defeat the rebels, she mused. He doesn’t realize he doesn’t have anything he can use for leverage.
She allowed her eyes to drift over the fields as they left Dragon’s Den far behind. It was high summer, yet the fields looked dangerously dry. Patches of healthy crops were surrounded by dying plants, starved of the water they needed to grow. The local watering holes were nothing more than mud, or completely dry. She spotted a handful of peasants in the fields, but there should have been more. There should have been a lot more. She could see crops rotting for want of anyone to harvest them. Her eyes narrowed as they drove through the remnants of a peasant hamlet. It had been burnt to the ground... not long ago, if she was any judge. No one remained to rebuild the hovels and tend the fields.
“They fled into the Royal Forests,” Prince Hedrick said. “That’s against the law!”
Emily almost laughed, although it wasn’t funny. The monarchs had reserved vast tracts of land for their private use, banning the peasants from poaching for the food they desperately needed. It was easy to imagine bands of outlaws loose in the forest, slaying deer and wild boar as they pleased. Her lips twitched. There were plenty of stories about Robin Hood-like figures stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. She was fairly sure there was a grain of truth somewhere in the legend.
The trees started to close in as they drove on. Emily sensed eyes watching them... perhaps human, perhaps not. The deeper forests had always been unwelcoming to human life. She’d met people who claimed they had a special bond with the Other Folk, if not the Awful Folk, but... most of them had been trying to scare away outsiders. Here, though... she found herself wondering. There might be something to the story after all.
Prince Hedrick let out a gasp as they burst from the forest and passed a pile of burned-out debris. Emily followed his gaze. The manor had been huge, easily bigger than the largest building in Dragon’s Den, but now it was nothing more than rubble. A pair of bodies hung from nearby trees, so badly decayed that she thought they’d been dead for weeks. She shuddered helplessly, then looked past them. The fields beyond looked abandoned. She couldn’t see a single person in the distance, not one. The crops themselves were rotting under the sun.
“They should have been safe here,” Prince Hedrick said. “What happened to them?”
Emily said nothing, but she could guess. The peasants - the serfs - would have spent their entire lives in the manor’s shadow, resenting their overlords and nursing their grudges until they’d finally snapped. The aristocrat - he couldn’t have been very high-ranking or he would have owned a castle - might have been trained to fight, but his family and their personal guards would have been hopelessly outnumbered. The peasants hadn’t tried to winkle him out of his lair, she guessed. They’d merely set fire to the building and watched their former overlords die in the flames. Who knew who’d been hung outside? The overlord himself? Or two of his guards?
The wind shifted, blowing the stench of rotting flesh towards them. Silent cracked her whip, picking up speed as the horses neighed in disgust. Emily didn’t blame them. She hastily cast a spell to save her nostrils, then glanced at the prince. His face was grim. She wondered, suddenly, if he’d visited the manor in happier times. She wasn’t sure she wanted to ask...
“They were good people,” Prince Hedrick said, as though he’d heard her unspoken question. “They were never unkind to their serfs.”
“I think the serfs saw it a little differently,” Emily said, more tartly than she’d meant. She’d resented the richer kids in her school, when she’d been a child, and she hadn’t been a serf. She’d been free to leave, when she came of age. No one would have sent out policemen to drag her and her family back home if she’d tried to make a life elsewhere. “They probably couldn’t take it any longer and lashed out.”
“I was here once,” Prince Hedrick said. “The eldest son of the family was going to be one of my knights. We jousted all day and partied all night. His sister was a sweet thing who wanted to give herself to a prince” - he kiss
ed his fingers - “and I let her. Her mother thought I’d take her to court and present her to the queen. But it couldn’t be done.”
Emily glanced at him. “Why not?”
“She wasn’t a maiden,” Prince Hedrick said. He snickered, as if he thought it was the height of humor. “To present a sullied girl to the queen? Unthinkable.”
“Really?” It took all of Emily’s self-control not to lash out. “And what happened to her?”
“I have no idea,” Prince Hedrick said, blandly. “Her father was out of favor at court for some stupid reason. I dare say she was married off to someone desperate enough not to ask awkward questions.”
“Or she’s lying dead, back there,” Emily snapped. She felt a hot flash of hatred. It would be easy, so easy, to turn around and walk away. Or to side with the rebels and help them win the war quickly, before Crown Prince Dater declared himself the new king and started summoning help from his neighbors. “Why did you touch her?”
“She gave herself to me,” Prince Hedrick said. “What does it matter to you?”
Emily found herself stunned by the question. It shouldn’t have surprised her - she’d seen it before - and yet it always did. She’d been raised to believe that every life had value. She’d been raised to think there were limits to how people were treated, that certain things were morally and legally wrong and they’d be punished... she knew, deep inside, that how she’d been treated by her mother and stepfather was wrong, even if she had never been able to get away. But here... Prince Hedrick saw everyone beneath him as nothing more than property. He’d used the poor girl and discarded her...
“Tell me,” Emily snarled. “Do you even remember her name?”
Prince Hedrick snorted, as if she’d said something so stupid it didn’t deserve an answer, and sat back in his seat. Emily turned her attention away from him and concentrated on studying the landscape. They were passing a dozen homes, some of which looked empty and others boarded up. The handful of people they saw looked away, unwilling to meet their eyes. Emily suspected they didn’t know who was going to win, not yet. They probably wanted to keep their heads down and hope for the best. She pitied them. The rebels had a cause, and a good one, but a lot of innocent people were going to be killed before a winner truly emerged.
They approached a town, surrounded by heavy barricades. Someone had dragged a handful of carts into the road, then constructed makeshift barricades out of wood, soil and whatever else they could find. Emily couldn’t tell which side held the town, if indeed any side held the town. The locals could be trying to keep out both sides. She couldn’t help noticing, as they rounded the rear, that a handful of buildings had been burned to the ground. A ditch was filled with bodies. She shuddered, trying not to be sick. They’d have killed the aristocrats first, then started paying off old grudges. Anyone unlucky enough to be caught by the mob wouldn’t stand a chance.
Prince Hedrick muttered something as they resumed their drive. Emily couldn’t make out the words. She didn’t want to ask, not after... she shook her head. She’d do everything she could to mediate the situation, to resolve the crisis without unleashing a brutal slaughter, and then she’d walk away. She’d go back to her apprenticeship and not look back.
The first thing the aristocrats need to learn is that all lives have value, she thought, sourly. Everyone values their lives.
The light started to dim as they passed through a crossroads and headed towards Jorlem City, driving through a handful of midsized towns. The population seemed wary - she spotted groups of armed men standing guard - but appeared to let them pass without challenge. Emily wondered, idly, if they respected the safe conduct or if they merely thought the coach was heading straight into a trap. The bridges seemed unguarded, something that puzzled her. She’d seen enough fighting to know that securing the bridges was the easiest way to prevent an enemy from marching an army onto your land. The guardposts on each side of the crossing were abandoned. It was eerie. There was no sign of visible damage.
She kept her eyes open, silently noting dozens of other burned-out buildings. She assumed they’d been looted, before they’d been burned, but it was still odd. The buildings could have been captured and repurposed, surely. She dismissed the thought with an effort as they crossed two more bridges, heading towards the city itself. More people were on the streets, but they looked emaciated. The tension in the air gnawed at her. Even Prince Hedrick seemed diminished. He hadn’t suggested they circumvent the city and head straight to the army camp for hours.
Silent slowed the coach as the city came into view. It was odd, for a city so close to the Craggy Mountains. There were giant city walls, of course, but there were buildings on both sides of the walls. Emily had been told, more than once, that such buildings provided all the cover an attacking force could desire as it approached its target. Jorlem City was hopelessly vulnerable, if someone brought the city under fire. It looked as though the walls were nothing more than a giant white elephant.
She tensed as she saw soldiers milling around the gatehouse. They didn’t look very professional, although they carried rifles and muskets rather than spears and swords. Their uniforms were nothing more than green shirts and dark caps, perhaps an attempt at camouflage. The concept of wearing colors that matched the local surroundings wasn’t new, but it was rare. Kings and city fathers preferred their troops to wear fancier uniforms, even if they made them easier targets. She hadn’t seen the point until Sergeant Miles had pointed out that they wanted their men to showcase their power, in hopes of making sure they didn’t have to use it.
Lady Barb cleared her throat. “Try not to scare them,” she said. “It’ll be harder to get everyone sitting at the same table once the bullets start flying.”
“Try not to scare them,” Prince Hedrick repeated, sardonically. He twisted in his seat. “By the gods!”
Emily followed his gaze. A cluster of severed heads, mounted on pikes, had been placed just past the gatehouse. Blood dripped from their wounds, pooling on the ground below. They hadn’t been dead very long... they couldn’t have been, unless someone had charmed the blood to keep it from clotting. Her head spun as she stared, feeling sick. One of the faces was almost familiar. Was it...?
Her blood ran cold as she remembered someone she’d met in happier times. “Is that...?”
Lady Barb nodded in grim confirmation. “King Jorlem. Dead.”
Chapter Eleven
“MY FATHER,” PRINCE HEDRICK SAID. His voice shook. “They... they killed him.”
Emily felt a stab of sympathy, despite everything. Alassa hadn’t wanted her father dead, despite everything he’d done to her. Prince Hedrick’s father hadn’t been a monster, by all accounts. He certainly hadn’t been that kind of monster. Stiff-necked, stubborn, too wedded to his royal rights... but not a necromancer like Alassa’s father Randor. He hadn’t threatened to turn his entire country into a slaughterhouse. And yet...
She shuddered. The king had been a man, but he hadn’t just been a man. He was the law of the land, if the royalists were to be believed. He was the kingdom in his person... she cursed under her breath. If the rebels had wanted to ensure there was no hope of compromise, of coming to terms with the royalists, they could hardly have picked a better way to do it. The king’s death by beheading would make it impossible for the princes to do anything but seek revenge. There would be blood.
And there’s nothing I can do to stop it, she thought. Crown Prince Dater had never struck her as being cold-blooded enough to overlook his father’s death. He’d go to war... no, he was already at war. She was tempted to turn and leave, on the grounds the mission had already failed, but it would lead to a bloodbath. She had to do something, but... What the hell am I going to do?
“Monsters,” Prince Hedrick growled. “I’ll kill them.”
Emily looked up. The rebels were closing in, carrying a dizzying array of weapons from muskets to breadknives and pitchforks. They all wore a little cloth cap, something that nagged at her;
their faces were twisted with anger and hatred as they spied Prince Hedrick. Emily would bet half her fortune that everyone in the city knew him by sight, rather than paintings. They’d have good reason to hate him, if his chatter along the way was any indication. She reached for her magic, unsure what to do. If they were in a trap, and had to fight their way out, there would be no hope whatsoever of completing the mission. But the rebels themselves might have already made it impossible...
Hedrick drew his sword and leapt out of the coach, landing neatly on the cobblestones. The crowd hissed in anger - “kill the royalist scum” - and lunged forward. Emily braced herself and cast a freeze spell, striking Hedrick in the back. His entire body froze. He tumbled forward and hit the ground with an almighty crack. The impact wouldn’t hurt him - the spell would see to that - but it would be embarrassing. The crowd hooted and jeered, waving their weapons in the air. It felt as if the slightest misstep would be enough to trigger a riot.
Emily stood, drawing on her magic. “I am Emily,” she said, carefully. She took advantage of the sudden pause to levitate Prince Hedrick’s frozen body back into the coach. “Take us to your leader.”
The crowd seemed to hesitate, as if they were as uncertain as herself. Emily waited, sensing Lady Barb’s magic coiling behind her. If the rebels came for them, or demanded Prince Hedrick’s head, they’d have to grab hold of the prince and teleport out. Silent had her own teleport amulet, but would she realize the danger in time to escape? Emily cursed under her breath. She should never have agreed to take the maid. It wasn’t as if she needed someone to lay out her clothes, help her dress and generally treat her like someone who couldn’t do anything without help.
“Emily,” a new voice said. “Welcome to Freedom City.”
Emily looked up. A middle-aged man was walking towards them, wearing a little cloth cap and a dark outfit that looked like a cross between an apprentice’s trousers and a soldier’s tunic. It was strikingly drab, but she suspected that was the point. His face was nowhere near as handsome as Prince Hedrick’s - he was unshaven, with scars on his right cheek - but he had character. His voice was calm and compelling, the sort of voice - Emily conceded ruefully - that made you believe in the man and his cause. The crowd opened up to allow the newcomer to walk up to the coach. She saw a dozen admiring glances thrown at his back.
The Right Side of History (Schooled In Magic Book 22) Page 11