Champion of the Crown
by Melissa McShane
Copyright 2018 Melissa McShane
Smashwords Edition
Table of Contents
Cast of Characters
Map
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
About the Author
Cast of Characters
Willow North—former thief, now guardian to Felix Valant
Serjian Kerish—Deviser and Willow’s husband
Felix Valant—eight-year-old King of Tremontane
Ernest—Felix’s dog
Terence Valant—Felix’s uncle and usurper of the Crown of Tremontane
Giles Rafferty—rebel leader allied with Felix
Khurkjian Gianesh—Felix’s friend and tutor
Takjashi Soltighan—leader of Felix’s Eskandelic military escort
Hilarion—Felix’s former tutor, a wealth of proverbial sayings (deceased)
COUNTY HUDDERSFIELD:
Philippa Heath—Countess of Huddersfield
Dexter Heath—Lady Heath’s consort
Charity Heath—Lady Heath’s daughter and heir
Howard Ragland—chief political adviser
Lyle Carrington—dowser without an Ascendant
Cerise Nolanger—captain of the Huddersfield militia
COUNTY WAXWOLD:
Alric Quinn—Count of Waxwold
Richard Quinn—his son and heir
BARONY SILVERFIELD:
Donald Frazier—Baron of Silverfield
Letitia Frazier—co-ruler with her husband
Genevieve Frazier—their daughter
COUNTY CULLINAN:
Anastasia Harcourt—Countess of Cullinan
THE REBELS:
Bess and Rosie—Felix’s new heralds
Selina Rafferty—Giles’s wife
THE ASCENDANTS:
Lady Claudia Lovell—a healer and friend of Felix
Lord Severian Acasta—ally of Terence Valant
Lady Kendra Godfrey—swears fealty to Felix
Gillian Kent—the one all the other Ascendants are afraid of
THE CRIMINALS:
Rufus Black—“duke” of crime in Aurilien, Willow’s friend
Albie—thief in training
Map
Part Six
Chapter One
The plains of southern Tremontane, burned gold by the summer sun, lay still and quiet in the hot afternoon. In a matter of weeks, the weather would turn cooler, and after that the autumn rains would fall, turning gradually into the snows of winter. But for now, it was as hot as the fires of a baker’s oven, and the parched blue sky was a fine china bowl touching the horizon on all sides.
Willow pushed back her hat to wipe sweat from her brow. Hot it might be, but it was cooler than the desert wastes of northern Eskandel they’d spent the last two weeks traveling through. Worse was the dust kicked up by the riders ahead of her wagon and the long line of marchers behind, fine and red and getting into absolutely everything. She missed the paving stones of Aurilien, which soaked up the sun and radiated it back at you like a blow to the face, but at least didn’t make you feel grimy and in need of a bath.
“We’re about a day’s ride from Rannis,” Kerish said. He rode beside her on the wagon’s seat, his hand gently resting on her knee. “You should send a message rider to the Countess tonight.”
“I’ve been going over messages in my head all day,” Willow said, though the truth was she’d given up on it about an hour ago. She wouldn’t know what to say until she had pen in hand. It was funny how quickly she’d gotten used to speaking on Felix’s behalf in the two months since the Eskandelic Conclave had voted to support him in his bid for the Crown, when writing those words was still a challenge.
“Will you tell her I’m the King?” Felix asked. He hauled himself up from the bed of the wagon to stick his head between them. “And that she has to recognize me?”
“Among other things, yes.” Willow’s ostensible mission was to restore the Crown of Tremontane to its rightful ruler. What she really intended to do was evaluate the nobles of the kingdom and choose one to take Felix’s place, then sneak away with him and Kerish and become the family she’d never realized she wanted. But Felix wasn’t privy to this plan. He was only eight years old and not good at keeping secrets.
Kerish squeezed her knee. “Willow will make sure you’re safe.”
“So will you.”
“I promise to fight anyone who tries to hurt you.”
“Good.” Felix slid back down into the wagon and hugged his dog Ernest, who’d come bounding up begging to play. “May Ernest and I walk beside the wagon for a while, Willow?”
“It’s too dirty, Felix. We’ll stop for dinner in a bit and you can run around then, all right?”
“All right.” He really was the most obedient, well-mannered child she’d ever known, nothing like the scrawny urchins who ran screaming through the streets of Aurilien’s Lower Town. His tutor, Hilarion, had done a good job raising the boy, better than his wastrel father Edmund Valant would have done. Willow felt slightly guilty about not telling Felix his old tutor was dead, killed in the fighting when Terence Valant had murdered his brother the King. She’d sworn never to lie to him, and this omission came awfully close, but at this point it was awkward bringing it up. She’d figure something out when they were back in Aurilien.
Kerish scooted closer and put his arm around her. “I have to say I’m looking forward to Rannis. No more tent, no more worrying about privacy. Just the two of us, in a room with a lock on the door.”
Willow blushed. Even after two months, she was still sometimes caught off-guard by the realization that she was married, that she and Kerish were one. They’d be driving along, and he’d give her the tender look he was giving her now, and it would feel like being struck by lightning. And sex…Willow shivered.
“Something wrong?”
“Just thinking about that room with a lock on the door.”
“Mmm. Yes, having Felix in our tent has hampered our activities.” He ran his hand up her back to the nape of her neck, twirling her short locks around his finger.
“Kerish, you’ll make me drive the wagon off the road if you don’t stop.”
“It would be worth it.”
“Lady North!”
Willow cursed and brought the wagon to a halt. Kerish waved at the long column of marching men behind them, signaling a stop. A rider from the front of the line was trotting back toward them. “What is it, Soltighan?”
Takjashi Soltighan, captain of Felix’s Eskandelic troops, gave her an abbreviated salute. “There are carriages coming our way, Willow. A couple of big ones, accompanied by riders.”
“Sign and shield on the doors?”
“Yes, but I do not recognize your Tremontanan liveries. I apologize.”
“That’s all right.
I don’t know most of them either. How far away?”
“They will reach us in ten minutes, I estimate.”
“Pass the word back that I want Giles and about twenty of his people up here immediately.”
Soltighan nodded and spoke to one of the other riders, who set off toward the rear of the column. “You think they’re Ascendants?” Kerish said.
“I think there’s a good chance of it. Protect Felix, will you? I wish I had a horse.”
“You do not. You can’t ride.”
“Then I wish I knew how to ride so I could have a horse. Whoever those people are will respond better to a mounted rider. Well, it can’t be helped.”
Willow set off for the front of the line, passing Soltighan’s officers, who looked very official in their white headwraps and gray robes over hardened leather jerkins that must be miserable in this heat. Each was armed with a curved sword and a small but deadly-looking crossbow. Willow didn’t feel she looked official at all, wearing trousers and a sleeveless shirt of Tremontanan make. It was stupid to dress up when the roads were so dirty, but now she felt the lack of formal garb.
The carriages were still tiny with distance, and for a moment she wondered how Soltighan had seen the sign and shield at all, until she remembered the fine Eskandelic spyglass he carried. Kerish had made muttering noises about turning it into a Device, but Soltighan had flatly refused to let his heirloom be tinkered with, even by someone as skilled as Kerish. Willow watched them approach. “You know what?” she said to the officer nearest her. “Let’s ride out. I don’t want them to think we’re afraid of them.”
“Will you then walk, Lady North?” said the officer in barely intelligible Tremontanese.
“I’ll hang on behind you,” Willow said, trying to sound nonchalant. The truth was, horses made her nervous, but she trusted the Eskandelic soldiers to keep theirs under control even when they had an extra passenger.
She let him pull her up and settled herself behind him. At his cry, the horses stepped out. Willow watched over the officer’s shoulder. The carriages were moving faster than they were, and Willow, remembering other encounters with Ascendants and nobles, hoped they wouldn’t keep moving and expect their procession to step aside. Even if she’d been inclined to do so, they had a couple hundred men and women in their line of march who didn’t have anywhere to go if someone wanted to pass.
Up this high, she wasn’t eating dust the way she had been on the wagon—the way the soldiers and rebels on foot probably were. A cooling breeze ruffled her hair under her hat. She pulled its shading brim down over her eyes and watched the carriages. They were enclosed, each drawn by four horses, and another ten horses flanked them before and behind. The riders wore livery matching the sign and shield on the carriage doors—green and gray, with some kind of bird Willow couldn’t identify at this distance. Nobody she remembered stealing from.
When the carriages were a few hundred feet ahead of them, Willow called a halt and slid down ungracefully from the horse’s rump. Wobbling the first few steps, she went out in front of the horses and stood, waiting, her right hand resting gently on the slim wand holstered at her hip. She’d trained herself to use it with her off hand, in case she needed her knife in a hurry. “Be prepared to attack,” she said over her shoulder. Where was Soltighan? For that matter, where was Rafferty? If there was more than one Ascendant, she’d need help taking them down.
The carriages came on without slowing. Willow stood her ground and successfully kept from fidgeting. How far were those nobles willing to push their supposed privilege?
“Make way!” shouted one of the riders. “Make way for the Lady Evaine Ballard! Make way for his Lordship Gareth Wilde!”
“Stand down for his Majesty Felix Valant, King of Tremontane!” Willow roared.
For another long moment, the riders pounded toward them. Then, in a confusing tangle of horse limbs, the four riders ahead of the carriages pulled up short, forcing the carriage driver to pull to the side to avoid running into them. The lead carriage tilted alarmingly, then hit the road with a lurch. “What is going on?” a woman shouted from inside the carriage.
The lead rider wheeled around to approach the carriage door. A slim hand extended from it, gesturing at the rider. Willow crossed her arms over her chest and waited. Shortly, a boy dressed in green and gray hopped down from the back of the carriage and opened the door, then bent to extend folding steps to the ground. A woman dressed in pale blue muslin stepped out, followed by another woman wearing a similar full-skirted gown, but in emerald green. The woman in blue took a few steps toward Willow, then stopped. “Felix Valant is dead,” she said in a clear, carrying voice.
“That’s what Terence wants you to believe,” Willow said. “Felix is alive and has returned to claim the Crown.”
The woman fixed her attention on Willow. “Who are you?”
“Lady Willow North.” The lie was growing easier each time she said or wrote it. And it wasn’t a lie, because Felix had made her a Lady before leaving Umberan. It only felt like one. “King Felix’s chief political adviser.”
An amused smile touched the woman’s lips. “I’ve never heard of you.”
“This is some trick,” said a man emerging from the carriage behind her. He was dressed in courtier’s clothing, all except the embroidered formal coat, and was followed by another woman, this one elderly and dressed in lemon yellow satin that had to be too hot for this weather.
“Indeed,” said the woman. “An impostor, a column of Eskandelic warriors—this looks like an invasion to me. Eskandel wishes to take advantage of Tremontane’s turmoil to attack us.” Green light glowed beneath the thin sleeves of her gown. “They need a reminder of why that is a terrible idea.”
“If you attack his Majesty’s forces, you’re in open rebellion against him,” Kerish said. “Or have you forgotten what Felix looks like so soon?”
Willow closed her eyes and silently cursed. If Kerish had brought Felix where he could be seen, he could be attacked as well—but then these nobles, these Ascendants, needed a chance to swear fealty to him. Even if Willow hated exposing the boy to them.
The man had raised his arm as if he had a wand of his own, but lowered it. “Prince Felix?” He sounded utterly amazed.
“Hello, Lord Wilde,” Felix said. “Hello, Lady Ballard.”
Lord Wilde and Lady Ballard exchanged looks. “So the rumor is true, and Felix survived,” Lord Wilde said to his companion. “Terence will need to know about this.”
“I’m offering you a chance to pledge your loyalty to the true King.” Willow’s hand edged closer to her wand. It was about fifteen inches long and had an invisible gold core that to her magical senses burned like a banked fire. With her left hand, she dipped into her pocket for a fizzing silver disc about the size of a ten-guilder coin with a hole punched through its center. She was accustomed to carrying a handful of these after two weeks’ journey, and was now able to ignore the fizzing sensation, or at least push it to where it didn’t disturb her.
More looks. “The true King already wears the Crown,” said Lady Ballard. “And you will never reach Aurilien to contest it.”
The green light flared brighter. Lord Wilde raised his hands again. Willow jammed a silver disc over the tip of her wand, pointed it at Lady Ballard, and twisted the ivory cuff circling its fatter end. “Fire!” she shouted.
The green light went from blindingly bright to dark in seconds. Willow’s silver disc blazed green. She flicked the wand, sending the disc flying, and then some unseen hand picked her up and hurled her backward into the horses. The animals shied away, stamping their feet and nearly trampling her. Willow rolled to safety and got to her knees. The vanguard riders were trying to bring their animals under control, but a few of them leveled crossbows at the Ascendants. Bolts flew and shattered against a pale green wall, curved like a bubble, surrounding the Ascendants and their companions.
Willow jammed a disc over the tip of her wand and aimed it again. The wall
wavered and then vanished. “Shoot now!” she screamed, not knowing who could hear her over the sounds of horses neighing and stamping their feet and the rush of soldiers running past her. At least the Eskandelics had no fear of Ascendants.
Felix, where was Felix? She couldn’t see him or Kerish. If the Ascendants had targeted them… She got to her feet and staggered out of the way of the soldiers. The wands didn’t work through physical barriers, including flesh. She had to get in front of them.
The green wall went up again, then vanished, then reappeared. Rafferty or one of his people had made it to the front. Willow circled the melee until she could see Lady Ballard and the woman in green. The second woman stood behind her Ascendant, her hand resting on Lady Ballard’s shoulder and her head bowed, presumably dowsing for her. Half a dozen soldiers went flying with a gesture of Lady Ballard’s hand, then two horses with their riders. Screams of pain, human and equine, filled the air. The wands were working. They just weren’t working fast enough.
Willow aimed her wand at the woman’s back and saw her convulse—with shock, not pain, since the wands didn’t cause physical harm. But having source sucked out of you was disorienting, as Willow could attest.
She flicked away the imbued disc—she’d have to hunt it down later—and slapped another on the tip of her wand. “The dowser, shoot the dowser!” she said, not that anyone could hear her. Cursing, she used the wand, rid herself of the imbued disc, and let her knife fall into her hand. So long as that dowser could funnel source to the Ascendant, the wand wielders would be at a stalemate.
Nobody else had been tossed through the air for several seconds, and the green wall was down. But the crossbows couldn’t be fired into the mess without possibly hitting one of their own. Lady Ballard had her hand out in front of her in a warding gesture, and it looked like the soldiers couldn’t approach any closer. The green traceries of light on her arms were going dark, then light again as unseen wand wielders targeted her and her dowser replenished her source. Willow couldn’t see Lord Wilde and prayed that meant someone had taken care of him.
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