Champion of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  She rolled again, this time getting on her feet in time to block the soldier’s swing with both crossed blades. The woman bore down on her, forcing her arms closer to her body and the deadly sword closer to her throat. She was a few inches taller than Willow, and heavier, and Willow had to take a step back toward heaven knew what kind of obstacles that might trip her. She took another step, then another, and with all her strength pushed her opponent back, freeing her knives and tumbling backward to fetch up against a tent.

  The soldier was atop her before she had a chance to do more than stand. Trapped against the tent, Willow slashed desperately at the soldier’s face, making her flinch. For a moment, the woman’s guard was down, and Willow stepped to one side and ran her wrist knife into that tiny gap between arm and leather. The soldier cried out and let her arm fall, and Willow shoved her hard, taking her to the ground. She slammed the butt of her long knife into the bones of the soldier’s wrist, making the sword fall.

  The soldier grabbed Willow’s throat with her other hand. “Think you’ve won,” she gasped. “Think again.

  Willow dropped her wrist knife and clawed the woman’s fingers, trying to break the grip. Spots floated before her eyes, and her vision began to close up. With her last remaining strength, she reversed her grip on her long knife and brought it down on the woman’s face, point first.

  The knife struck the woman’s cheekbone and skidded upward to bury itself in her eye socket. She spasmed, releasing Willow to grab the blade and bloody her hand trying to remove it. Willow rolled off and away, picking up her wrist knife and shakily pointing it at the soldier, but the woman was dead. Willow crouched for a few moments, coughing, until her vision wasn’t blurry and she felt she could stand. She cleaned off her knives and sheathed them, then knelt to search the dead soldier’s body. Maybe there was something that would tell her what this soldier had been doing so far from the battle. A deserter, perhaps?

  She found it in a satchel the woman wore on her back. It was a rolled sheet of paper in a scroll case, covered with scrawled writing Willow almost couldn’t read. Eventually, she deciphered the most important phrases: ambushed—secret magic—siege broken—send help. Hah. If this was the only message runner, which she couldn’t count on, Terence would have no idea what had happened to his troops at Kingsport. Let him wonder. Willow crumpled the paper and tossed it aside. Staggering with weariness, she made her way east and north.

  She found a few stragglers before running into the northern contingent of archers, which had moved westerly to keep pace with the foot soldiers. Willow looked in that direction and saw only a muddled mass of moving bodies. How did Soltighan manage to keep track of where everyone was, let alone tell them where to strike next?

  Someone shouted in Eskandelic, and suddenly the archers were running westward again. Willow cursed and hurried after them. Kerish was never going to be able to find her again. She spared a thought for her husband, fighting somewhere in the midst of all this, and prayed he would be safe.

  Cold wind ruffled her short hair and sneaked its fingers through the seams of her coat and trousers, but she was still warm from running and fighting, so it felt more like a gentle breeze. She hoped the illusion would last a while. She saw Rafferty limping along a short distance away and veered over to run beside him. “Glad to see you’re alive,” she said. “You’re wounded.”

  “Not much more than a scratch,” Rafferty said, though his right thigh was bloody to the knee.

  “Sensible of you to leave the fight.”

  “Selina insisted. Said she wouldn’t play nursemaid to an old fool when she could be spitting Valant soldiers instead.”

  “I’m worried about Kerish, too.”

  Rafferty grinned. “I took down enough Ascendants I don’t begrudge either of them their chance at a fight. Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know. I was following the archers.”

  At that moment, the archers came to a stop and raised their bows to send another volley of arrows streaking into the distance. Willow saw Kingsport in the distance, its gates wide open and a stream of men and women in scarlet and blue issuing from them. So Lord Quinn wasn’t going to sit on his ass and let this play out to his advantage, after all. Willow walked to the end of the line of archers, who stood waiting and watching now, and tried to see sense in the muddle of fighters the blue and scarlet flung themselves into. Soltighan was somewhere, directing his troops and the remaining insurgents, and she hoped he understood the melee better than she did.

  It felt so odd, standing there watching men fall screaming only a few hundred yards away. It was as if it were some unnaturally realistic dream, in which she felt the cold wind and smelled the smoke from the distant chimneys of Kingsport and heard the clash of metal, but with a sheet of Eskandelic glass between her and the fighters. The tiny figures were like dolls made to move by some unseen Ascendant. At any moment, she felt, they would turn, rushing toward her and the archers and sweeping them up like a bloody tide. She blinked, and rubbed grit out of her eyes, and the illusion vanished.

  The mass surged toward Kingsport and the oncoming Waxwold soldiers, then burst apart, scattering in all directions. A tremendous cheer went up, and Willow braced herself, because some of those fleeing soldiers were coming her way. Archers pushed past her, taking aim; some of the soldiers fell and were cut down further by their pursuers. Willow saw a man throw down his sword and raise his arms in surrender. Without thinking of her safety, or whether those archers might miss, she ran to him, shouting, “On your knees, and put your hands on your head!”

  The man—no, it was a woman with very short hair—did as she was told. Willow took the woman’s sword and said, “Swear loyalty to King Felix, or die a traitor’s death.”

  “I swear,” the woman said in a husky voice. “Don’t kill me.”

  Willow nodded and thrust the sword into her belt. Now what? She glanced around for ideas. A few other soldiers had surrendered…oh, wonderful, the Eskandelics who’d taken them captive were looking to her for advice. “Stand up,” she said, “and start walking. Northward.”

  She gestured to the others to follow her and prodded her prisoner with her knife. It was all plains here, and she didn’t want to go to the Valant camp, so when she reached a point near the end of the archers’ line, she told her prisoner to kneel again. She was starting to feel the cold, and controlled a shiver, thinking it might look like weakness. The woman didn’t look at her. Her face was set and pale, the face of someone trying not to show fear. Willow ignored her and watched the other captives approaching.

  “You three, watch the prisoners,” she said, enunciating clearly in case these were some of the Eskandelics who didn’t speak Tremontanese well. “I’ll return shortly.”

  The Eskandelic soldiers in their gray and white were regrouping alongside the battlefield. A few of them had taken prisoners as well, and Willow sent them to the temporary holding area. She was more interested in the other group of soldiers, the ones in blue and scarlet. They’d formed up ranks and were advancing on her army. She looked around for Soltighan; he had vanished, and she couldn’t see a single mounted captain anywhere. The Waxwold troops were moving more quickly now. “Form up!” she screamed. “’Ware attackers!”

  Faster than she would have believed possible, the Eskandelic soldiers fell into a fighting position. Willow turned to run for the archers. Why hadn’t they attacked when the Waxwold soldiers began moving?

  The blue and scarlet ranks stopped about fifty yards from the Eskandelics. The nine mounted soldiers leading the troops moved forward a few paces. “We seek Lady Willow North,” one of them shouted. The cold wind carried his words, making him sound closer than he was.

  Willow hesitated. This could be a trap. Lord Quinn might want to draw her out where his soldiers could kill her. It could be a ploy to make them let down their guard so the Waxwold troops could attack with surprise. Or it could be exactly what it seems. Before her suspicious brain could stop her, Willow walked towa
rd them, flexing her fingers against the cold.

  “I’m Willow North,” she said when she stood about twenty feet from the lead rider. “Does Lord Quinn wish a meeting? Or are we going to bloody our blades further?”

  “Lord Alric Quinn acknowledges the assistance your troops have given him,” the blond man said. He had a long, interesting face with sharp cheekbones and looked familiar, though she was sure they’d never met. “He wishes to meet with you for further discussion.”

  “I told him under what conditions we’d fight for him. There’s nothing left to discuss.”

  “Lord Quinn also acknowledges King Felix Valant as his sovereign lord and would like the opportunity to swear fealty to him. Is that acceptable?”

  Willow nodded. “I have to assess my troops, see what the casualties are—” Find Kerish —“and arrange for an escort for the King. We will send word before we arrive.”

  “We also must care for our wounded. Until later, Lady North.” The man saluted her, not as a noble but as one captain to another, and signaled his troops to stand down. Willow turned her back on him, her shoulder blades itching, and walked to where the Eskandelic troops still stood at the ready.

  “You can stand down,” she said. A ripple of movement went through the ranks as her words were relayed and, presumably, translated. “Does anyone know where Captain Takjashi is?”

  Though the battle was over, the battlefield was as tangled a mess of men and women, living and dead, as ever. It took Willow some time to find Soltighan, eventually tracking him down back where she’d started, at the patch of ground she’d designated a holding place for captured soldiers. “Willow,” he said, “greetings. Your insurgents fought well.”

  “Was it bad? Our losses?”

  “Not by comparison with the havoc we wreaked upon the enemy. We killed twenty-seven Ascendants, most of them before they could turn their powers on us. Surprise was on our side.”

  “Do you…have you seen Kerish?”

  “Not for many minutes, but he is alive. Injured, I think. I suggested he return to camp for healing.”

  “I should go there myself. Lord Quinn wants to meet with Felix.”

  “Go, go. We will deal with the aftermath.”

  They exchanged salutes, and Willow hurried away northward. Other soldiers were headed to camp, most of them wounded, and Willow nodded in passing but didn’t stay to help. Kerish, injured? It couldn’t be too bad if he could go back under his own power, but still…

  The camp was quiet when she reached it, with only a few people milling around, tending fires and doing other necessary chores. She met Kerish halfway to their tent. His left arm was bloody, and he had it strapped to his chest with a makeshift sling. Her heart gave a little leap to see him alive and mostly uninjured. “I’m so glad,” she began.

  “Willow, I can’t find Claudia,” Kerish said. “Or Felix. They’re both gone.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Willow felt the blood drain from her face. “Gone?”

  “Both tents are empty. Claudia’s pack is missing. Ernest isn’t anywhere in the camp. They’re gone.”

  Dizziness swept over her. She found herself crouched on the ground, one knee pressed to the earth, with no memory of how she got there. “She took him.”

  “They can’t have been gone for more than three hours. We can find her.”

  “In this forest?” Willow got unsteadily to her feet, welcoming Kerish’s support.

  “She’ll be taking him back to Terence. There’s only one road out of here.”

  “Kerish. She’s not taking—” She swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. “Why take him anywhere when Terence just needs him dead?”

  Kerish’s eyes went wide. “She wouldn’t…”

  “She could. She might. We ought to be searching for—” She couldn’t say it. Her whole body felt numb. The image of Felix lying dead under a tree somewhere, with Ernest snuffling at him, trying to rouse him, filled her vision.

  “Willow. It’s not true. Willow.”

  “It’s my fault,” she mumbled through numb lips. “I shouldn’t have trusted her. I was so stupid.”

  “Then it’s my fault for not insisting on staying behind.” Kerish grabbed her shoulder and shook her once, twice. “We have to look for him.”

  “He doesn’t wear any metal. Why didn’t I give him something metal? Something unique? I can track all of Giles’s insurgents, but I can’t track the one person who really matters?”

  “I’ll go north, and you go west. Try down by the stream. Maybe they just went to the stream—”

  “Willow! I almost caught a squirrel!”

  Felix’s cheerful voice cut through Willow’s numbness. She dropped to her knees and caught the boy up in her arms as he ran to her side, crushing him to her. Felix struggled free. “It came right up and ate from my hand, and I was going to catch it, but Lady Claudia—”

  “I told him you wouldn’t like a squirrel running around loose in your tent,” Claudia said with some amusement. She had dirt smudging the front of her shirt and a smear of it on one cheekbone.

  Willow snarled and launched herself at the woman, bearing her down with her arm across Claudia’s throat. “You took him—”

  Her muscles all locked in place, leaving her helpless. Claudia gently pushed her to one side and got to her feet, brushing herself off. “We went for a walk,” she said. “We caught a couple of fish down at the stream and Felix told me all about the animals we saw. But that’s not what you thought.”

  The paralysis vanished. Willow, still in a crouching position, lowered her head. “I came back to camp and he was gone. What was I supposed to think?”

  “I hoped you’d think better of me than that.” Claudia extended a hand to help Willow up. Willow ignored it and pushed herself to her feet.

  “You still don’t trust me,” Claudia said. “I understand.”

  “No. I’m sorry. I don’t—” Willow stopped when she saw Felix’s face, his mouth fallen open in surprise. He had a couple of fish clutched to his chest, fish that looked a little squashed from where Willow had held him. “I’m sorry,” Willow repeated, sincerely this time. “I don’t trust easily, especially where Felix is concerned.”

  “No, I really do understand,” Claudia said. “You were afraid. It makes sense.”

  “Don’t you like Lady Claudia?” Felix said.

  Willow regarded Claudia, whose gray eyes looked back at her without a trace of anger or fear. “I do,” she said. To her surprise, it wasn’t a lie. “I was worried when you were gone.”

  “I was safe. Lady Claudia showed me how to tickle fish. But she said it doesn’t work for anyone but her, because she can kill them with a touch. I think that’s interesting, don’t you?”

  “I’m sure Lady North doesn’t want to hear about that right now,” Claudia said. “Why don’t you take those to the camp kitchens and see if someone will cook them for your breakfast.”

  Kerish cleared his throat. “It’s true, it’s still just breakfast time,” he said. “I’ll go with you.”

  When they were gone, Willow said, “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry we gave you any cause for concern. I didn’t think we’d be gone so long, but Felix gets excited when he sees animals.”

  “I know. He wants a zoological collection of his own, featuring all the animals we come across in our travels.”

  Claudia seemed to notice the dirt on her shirt for the first time and tried to brush it off. “I take it the battle went our way, since you’re here.”

  “It did. Lord Quinn wants to meet with Felix. He says he will swear to him. I’m not sure how sincere he is, but his troops didn’t attack ours, so that’s something. Will you…come with us?”

  “You think my presence will make a difference?”

  “Lady Claudia Lovell is well known and respected throughout Tremontane. I think, if you are on Felix’s side, it might impress Lord Quinn.”

  “And I can cause him bodily harm if he tries any
thing.”

  “I wasn’t going to bring that up, but…yes.”

  Claudia smiled. “You are a strange woman, Lady North. You don’t trust me, but you don’t mind using me for your purposes.”

  Willow flushed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I mean to prove my trustworthiness. I care about Felix, too.”

  “I know. And the truth is, I do trust you. But when it comes to Felix’s safety—”

  “A mother’s love for her son makes her dare much.”

  “Felix isn’t my son.”

  “Your heart doesn’t know that.”

  Willow gaped at Claudia. “I trust you too, Lady North,” Claudia went on. “And I’ve given Felix my allegiance. I hope you’ll understand that.”

  “I do,” Willow said. “And…call me Willow.”

  ***

  The wagon was looking battered, Willow thought, though she’d had someone scrub the worst of the mud off. But it was of Eskandelic make, which meant it still looked more like a King’s conveyance than any Tremontanan wagon would.

  She’d dressed in her North blue gown for this meeting. Kerish was wearing his finest shirt with the full sleeves and an embroidered vest that was a cut-down version of a noble’s coat. Felix wore Valant colors, and his golden hair gleamed in the gray sunlight; clouds had come up during the morning, and rain seemed imminent. Claudia, in her spare shirt and trousers, was the least well-dressed of all of them, but then her reputation was better than a gown.

  Soltighan and his captains rode an escort around them, their white headwraps and gray tunics making them look fierce and exotic. She hoped they were warm enough. Their clothes were meant for a much hotter climate than a Tremontanan autumn. They might need to erect the canopy for the ride back to camp, if it did more than drizzle.

  Magrette had been a young, vibrant city. Kingsport was old, two hundred years older than Aurilien and built to last another two hundred more than that. Its stone buildings hunkered like sleeping bears on every corner, towering over the narrow streets and putting some of them in permanent shadow. The smell of the ocean overrode the nearer smells of wood smoke and waste, both human and animal. It transported Willow back to Umberan, though Umberan’s sanitation was better and the briny smell there was warm and comforting. This just stung the nostrils and made her resolve to leave as soon as possible.