by Quinn Loftis
“Allete, is this true?” Lizzy questioned.
I nodded. “She speaks the truth, I’m afraid. Cathal was awful. He desires nothing more than a brood mare to break and bear his offspring, which he made perfectly clear.”
Lizzy’s expression reflected the horror I felt. Dayna recounted the events of our morning walk around the grounds with my future husband. Lizzy’s face burned brighter and brighter with anger as Dayna continued.
“You have to tell Father.” Lizzy pleaded.
“That is what I told her.” Dayna agreed.
I shook my head, once again explaining why that could not happen. “I will not cause him guilt over what cannot be changed. If Father backs out of the arrangement now, his actions would be a declaration of war, which our coffers cannot afford.”
“How can you sacrifice your happiness for us?” Lizzy asked. “Allete, your life will be one of anguish if you marry this fool.”
“Duty above all else.” Lidia interrupted. “She is so much like Father.”
My heart clenched painfully in my chest as I considered all I would be giving up by marrying Cathal. I would never see beyond the Tara castle walls, I would never fall in love, and I would probably never truly be happy again. Shaking off the fear and disgust, I pulled on the strength instilled in me by my royal parents.
“I will do what is necessary. Now,” I pulled my shoulders back and lifted my chin, “we have a banquet to attend and my future husband to embarrass. Let us take joy where we can.”
Dayna laughed and clapped her hands like an excited child. “I cannot wait to see his face when he lays eyes on you.”
Lizzy shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Tis sure to be an interesting evening. Lead the way, dear Allete. Lidia, please sing a funeral ballad. Our sister is walking straight into the arms of the devil, himself.”
“Always a ray of sunshine, Lizzy.” Dayna huffed. “I am sure your presence among the sick lifted their spirits immeasurably.”
I coughed to cover my laugh. If nothing else, the night promised to be entertaining. My sisters would make sure of it.
“Why is power so corrosive? I am learning that weak men seem to desire power more than others. Weak men are never satisfied, because they lack the strength to deny themselves what is not theirs to begin with. May the gods give me strength to quash my own weakness.”
* * *
~Torben
“Is our jarl going mad?” Brant asked as we walked through the cover of trees toward the English palace. Six of my closest warriors surrounded us, soldiers I knew I could trust without question.
I had been expecting such a question, having seen the mania that seemed to dance in Magnus’ eyes as he explained his month-long plan to infiltrate the English kingdom. To the surprise of us all, the jarl had made it clear that he wanted his spoils to include more than just English gold—if there was even any left. He wanted to bring the monarchy to its knees. Magnus was sure of the inevitable success of his plan, convinced that if we could infiltrate the ranks of the guards, we could cause the Britons to implode upon themselves. Perhaps with enough men, such a dangerous plan might be plausible, but it was not only the English army with which we had to contend. The king of Tara had arrived in Britannia ahead of us and would remain for some time, courting his future queen. While the state of Magnus’ sanity was debatable, but his intellect was sound. He had picked precisely this time to invade due to the presence of the second king. Two kings meant twice as much treasure, not to mention the bride-price that would be exchanged.
Even if Magnus’ invasion was a fool’s errand, the jarl still had too many loyal soldiers. My own soldiers and I would not be able to overthrow Magnus if dissent erupted within the clan. It was better to bide my time and wait for the others to grasp the danger into which their jarl was leading them. I only hoped they did not come to the realization too late.
“He is power hungry,” I told my lieutenant, my voice low as we drew closer to the palace walls.
“He will ruin us.” Amund joined in. “How can the others not see that?”
“They are blinded by their own greed,” Kjell said in the gravelly voice familiar to those who knew him.
“Why are we doing this, Torben?” Amund asked.
“Because, at the moment, we have no other choice.”
“Has the Oracle seen anything that would benefit us?” Brant asked.
I was tempted to tell them of the prophecy, but something stayed my tongue. I did not know if I was being protective of the female my mother claimed would be mine, or if I was afraid of altering the outcome. So, I shook my head and left it at that.
As we crested a small hill, I got a sinking feeling in my gut. There was something evil prowling inside the castle walls. I didn’t know how I knew, other than that I could feel an ominous presence. Even though I did not yet know the English princess, my instincts screamed to get her out of that dark place. I was still without any idea on how to persuade her to leave with me willingly, and I did not like the idea of abducting her, but kidnapping might be my only option.
I signaled for the men to follow me, and moved swiftly to the wall, not wanting to be seen by the guards patrolling above. Once our backs were pressed firmly against the stone, we began walking, our steps completely silent. The only thing threatening to betray our presence were the muted shadows of our forms following us on the ground.
I rounded a corner of the castle wall and my hopes were confirmed. An arched opening rested at the bottom of the structure—the main drainage system for the entire castle. While the walls of most palaces held a similar apparatus for removing castle waste, some had figured out ways to create drains that did not weaken the structure of the wall. Such an undertaking was expensive, and only the richest kingdoms upgraded to the stronger design.
We hurried forward and pushed against the iron grate. The stone overhanging the arch shielded us from above, and even though I suspected that no one would see us in the shadows of the crevice, I didn’t want to linger. A small trickle of water flowed past our feet, eventually spilling into the castle’s moat. There, it would enter a drainage ditch that would most likely take it to a nearby river. Pushing aside all thought of what might be drained through the mote, I focused on finding the hinges I hoped were on the sides of the grate.
“Are there hinges on that side?” I whisper-yelled to Brant, who stood across from me on the other side of the drain.
He nodded, and I scuttled across the water to stand next to him. There were five large metal tubes housing large pins that held the grate in place. We needed only to force the heavy grate upward high enough to pop it loose.
“It will take all of us to lift it,” I said as I motioned for the five other men to join Brant and I at the grate. We each grabbed onto the metal bars and lowered our legs for leverage.
“On three,” I told them. “One, two, three.” All at once, we pushed up, using our arms and shoulders to lift. It did not budge.
“Again,” I said once I had let them rest. I counted, and we strained once more against the iron, grunting as silently as we could. Again, the grate refused to move.
“It’s no use,” Brant said. “The hinges have rusted. Who knows how long it has been since this accursed grate has been opened, if ever. Let me go to work with Eve, and it’ll soon be loosed.” Brant fingered the quarter-stone sledge that hung from his belt. The warrior named all his hammers after women. I’d asked him about this once, and he replied that the only thing that could break a man quicker than a hammer blow was a woman. Because of the covert nature of this mission, we’d all left our battle weapons back at the camp, which is why he wasn’t lugging his huge war hammer, Bertha. Each of us carried only a dagger with us, save Brant, who, of course, had no use for “maiden pokers,” so he carried his small hammer, Eve.
“Way too loud.” I grunted. “Do you want to bring the whole of the king’s guard down upon us?”
“Let them come,” he said with the growl of a wolf.
“We need a distraction.” Rush suggested.
“Any ideas?” Amund asked the five other men.
“Fire?” Delvin asked.
“Why are you always looking for reasons to burn stuff down?” Rush asked with a sly smirk.
Delvin shrugged. “I like fires. Fires are pretty and warm, just the way I like my women.”
“They also burn you,” Amund pointed out, “which is also just like your women.”
“As intellectually stimulating as this conversation is, I personally don’t want to spend all night in the castle muck talking about Delvin’s love life,” I said while glancing up to make sure we had not been spotted by any English soldiers. “Now, listen up.”
My men moved in so our heads were close together as we huddled around each other.
“Delvin, do you have your flint and steel?” I asked him.
“Always,” he answered with the kind of grin that concerned me every time I saw it. Brant thought the man had an unhealthy fascination with flames, and while this was probably true, every clan needed a match man.
“You, Rush, and Kjell head for the trees. I want you far enough away that the fire will not spread to the palace grounds, but close enough to be of concern to them. While the palace staff busies themselves with putting it out, the rest of us will work on the hinges.” I looked at Brant, who was giving me his own fearsome grin. If Delvin was fascinated with fire, Brant was keen on blunt-force destruction.
I gave a silent command for Delvin and the others to move out, and I watched them slink through the drainage ditch until it joined the moat. They then lowered themselves into the water and swam across, emerging on the other side. By that point, I could barely catch a glimpse of them as they took cover in the tall grass and slunk toward the trees, soundless as a pack of wolves tracking their prey.
“I’m not sure if they will sound an alarm at this time of night, so we wait until we see movement toward the fire,” I said to the others. Brant had a tight grip on Eve, waiting for my signal.
A quarter of an hour later, smoke was rising high into the air, and the rumblings of concerned citizens began. As soon as the first soldiers carrying buckets of water emerged from the gates, Brant shot me a grin.
“Feel like hitting something?” I asked him.
“Always.” He chuckled.
The sound of Brant’s hammer on steel echoed like a high-pitched cannon in the confined space. I constantly looked toward the top of the battlements, sure someone would hear the loud banging and find us attempting to break through the grate. So far, the gods had been with us. Everyone was too concerned with putting out the blaze to worry about us. Ten minutes of agonizing bashing later, which felt like ten hours as I stood watch, Delvin, Rush, and Kjell popped up a few feet from me, each of them smiling from ear-to-ear.
“That was fun,” Delvin said a little breathlessly.
Amund shook his head. “And you wonder why no woman can stand to be with you for longer than a week.”
“Hey, they just can’t handle the heat,” replied Delvin.
I rolled my eyes and patted Brant on the shoulder, who was still grunting and pounding on the iron bars. “Easy, big guy. I just want the grate hinges loosened, not the entire castle to come down on top of us.
“Hopefully, they are ready,” Siv, the quiet one of the bunch, said as he stepped to the middle of the grate and gripped the bars.
Each of us moved to surround the grate, Brant and myself closest to the hinges on either side. “On three,” I said once again. “One, two, three.” Our grunts and groans were finally rewarded as the large pins lifted from the hinges. The grate was as heavy as the dead weight of a bear and just as awkward to carry. “Lean it against the wall.” I grunted. We set the heavy grate aside and, one-by-one, climbed through the opening of the drain.
The cramped space felt much like I imagined an underground tomb would feel, and I had no desire to dawdle. “Let’s slide it back into place, but prop it against the hinges so it looks as though it hasn’t been tampered with.”
Even pushing the grate across the muck was no easy task, having to pull the large grate back into place from inside the opening using only the strength of our upper bodies. Luckily, everyone outside the drain was still too focused on the fire to notice the struggle going on in the crevice of the castle wall. As soon as the grate was again resting near the hinges, we turned and let our eyes adjust to the dark tunnel ahead. “Delvin…” I started to say.
“Already ahead of you, Commander,” he said as I turned to see him working on a small torch. Once the torch was glowing, we could see about ten paces in front of and behind us, and we slowly began our journey into the belly of the castle grounds.
“Amund,” I called out. “Keep count of our steps.” Knowing the approximate distance of our escape route could help us know whether to hide or to flee, should an emergency arise.
We continued relative silence, only commenting occasionally in hushed tones. I assumed the others were, like me, trying to ignore the smells we’re breathing into our lungs.
After what felt like an eternity, I began to hear hurried footsteps and muffled voices. Soon, we reached a ladder built into the stone, which extended up to a grate on the sewer roof. As quietly as I could, I ascended the ladder and peered out into the moonlit darkness. The fresh air could not have been more welcome. I pressed my face against the grate, straining to get a good look at my surroundings. With my visibility limited, I could see only the night sky above me and a few paces of cobblestones in each direction. We would need be careful exiting the drain. Our task would have been much easier had we been able to procure guard’s uniforms before entering the grounds, but no such opportunity had presented itself. Now, we had to emerge inside the castle gates covered in waste from the knee down, and three of us dripping wet.
I waited until I could hear no one close by. Then, I reached up and carefully pushed the grate up and away, wincing as it ground nosily across the stone floor of the courtyard until the opening was wide enough for us to get through. I motioned down to the others to follow, and I clambered out of the hole, quickly ducking behind an empty cart against the wall. I didn’t have to tell the others to make themselves scarce—we would all find a place to hide.
One by one, my men propelled themselves out of the drain, each waiting to surface until there were no voices or footsteps. A few times, I heard signals given in our private battle language, meaning either halt or go now.
Finally, Siv, the last man, appeared and replaced the grate before sneaking off to find his own hiding place. We all rested for a few minutes, watching each other in the darkness. Eventually, when I felt the coast was clear, I give a hand signal for my soldiers to follow me. I rose and began to walk down a narrow alley, knowing that each of my warriors would covertly follow at their own pace. Then, a voice stopped me in my tracks.
“Oy. There is a fire outside the gates. We need all able-bodies. Where are you going?”
I turned and shrugged, narrowing my eyes and cocking my head to the side as if I hadn’t heard him.
“Don’t play dumb with me.” He barked, marching quickly toward me. Five figures sprang into the alley behind the soldier, who was so intent on dressing me down that he didn’t even hear my men lining up behind him. As he neared, the man’s eyes widened as he took in my appearance. I imagined I was quite a sight. We looked nothing like their people. The soldier was clean-cut and clean-shaven, not traits that would have describe any of my warriors. I then realized we were all going to have to cut our hair and shave our beards if we were going to have any hope of blending in with the English. Long hair and beards were a sign of strength in my clan. The thought of cutting either stirred my ire. Damn Magnus and his need for power,
“Who…” the soldier began, but I cut him off as I slid my hand around his throat.
“I am sorry about this,” I said in a low growl. I did not want to kill him, but I had no other choice. To save my clan, according to the prophecy
, I had to take this foreign bride. Magnus ordered me to infiltrate the castle and, for now, I must obey him. Our mission would have been doomed to failure if I left the poor man alive. I twisted my hand, breaking his neck instantly, and found a small amount of comfort in knowing his death had been quick.
“Siv, he looks to be about your size,” I said. “Move quickly.” We stripped the soldier of his clothes and Siv began putting them on. The others then pulled the body behind some barrels of mead that lined the alley. My mind was a mix of duty and guilt. I knew of the tough decisions a clan leader must make, which is why I had never sought the post for myself. The responsibility of such decisions was the curse of holding power, and mistakes affected not only the leader, but those who depended upon him.
“Ready?” Brant’s voice came from behind me. I turned to behold Siv, who, other than his hair, now looked somewhat like an English soldier.
“We have to cut our hair.” I told them gruffly.
“I hope you know what you are doing.” Brant grumbled.
“I’m keeping us alive,” I said, my blood suddenly hot with anger. The burden of the prophecy and the weight from the heinous act I had just committed suddenly settled heavily upon me. Killing men in battle, men who would kill me if they got the chance, was entirely different from what I had just done. Even though it was done under Magnus’ orders, I had committed murder.
Brant held up his hands and lowered his head. “You have always put the clan first. We trust your judgment, hersir.”
My jaw clenched as I looked at each man who had pledged his loyalty to me. “I am doing the best I can with the information the Oracle has given me. When the time is right, I will share it with you, but that time has not come.” They each nodded.
“Now, we need to find a quiet place out of the way so we can observe the guards. We need five more uniforms.” We let Siv take the lead as he would draw the least attention.