“Because I swore to protect you from all dangers,” said the Sombre Warrior.
“You swore many things, to many people. Including my father. Tell me the truth, sir Warrior. Why me?”
“Because you matter,” said the Warrior.
Catherine nodded slowly, considering his answer. “Take off your helmet, sir Warrior. Show me your face. Show me the truth.”
The Sombre Warrior slowly raised both his hands to his steel helmet and lifted it off, tucking it carefully under one arm. Catherine’s eyes widened, and she couldn’t hold back a gasp, as she took in his unmarked, undamaged face. He didn’t smile. It wasn’t the right moment for that. But he did meet her gaze squarely.
“So,” she said finally. “It was all just a story. A useful legend.”
“Yes,” said the Sombre Warrior.
She studied his features carefully. “I don’t know you.”
“No one does,” said the Warrior. “That’s the point. I’m not anyone anymore. No name, no past, no country to call my own. I’m the Sombre Warrior. A useful myth to send into battle, to inspire others to fight harder. Just a mask, that everyone could see themselves in. But I am your man, now, Princess. And your enemies are my enemies.”
“I still want to know why!” said Catherine.
“I chose you,” said the Warrior. “I have served so many masters, usually not by choice, but none of them were worthy of me. But I saw you, in the carriage, when we were attacked. You could have run, or screamed, or begged for mercy. But you didn’t. You stood your ground and fought back, killing the man who would have killed you. So I chose you, Catherine. I will serve you all my days, because you are someone who matters. My life is yours, my death is yours. Because you are worthy. I don’t matter. I never did, not really. But I can serve someone who does!”
“How can you say you don’t matter?” said Catherine fiercely. “After all the things you’ve done!”
“You don’t know what I’ve done,” said the Sombre Warrior.
Catherine held herself still, hearing the things he didn’t say. She could feel the passion in him—not love, or lust, but simple sincerity. This was a side of the Sombre Warrior she’d never seen before, and she didn’t want to say the wrong thing.
“Then you are mine,” she said. “Put your helmet back on, sir Warrior.”
He carefully replaced his steel helmet and bowed to her. “We all have to serve someone, Princess. The best we can hope for is to choose wisely. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to speak with the head of castle security.”
“Of course, sir Warrior,” said Catherine. “And . . . thank you.”
He bowed again, and then walked on. Catherine watched him go. And wondered . . . what she would do with him.
• • •
Laurence Garner, head of Castle security, was sitting at his desk, sipping a glass of the really good wine he usually reserved for special guests, because he was in a mood. He looked tiredly at the massive pile of paperwork before him, which he fully intended to do something about, any time now. And then the door before him slammed open, and in strode the Sombre Warrior. Garner put his glass down carefully and stared at the huge figure standing before him.
“How the hell did you find me? My room is always on the move, darting back and forth about the Castle, just so dramatic entrances like this can’t happen!”
“It’s the helmet,” said the Sombre Warrior. “It has all sorts of useful magics built in. How else do you think I see out of it?”
Garner scowled at him. “What else can it do?”
“Oh, I’m just full of surprises,” said the Warrior.
“So I’ve heard, from the Court,” said Garner. He made a point of lounging back in his chair, just to show how unimpressed he was. He didn’t offer the Sombre Warrior a chair, and the Warrior didn’t ask for one. Garner sighed inwardly. “Peregrine de Woodville has already been here, darting agitatedly round my office like his underwear was on fire, to tell me we are now at war. I love the we; I wasn’t consulted. He also informed me that you were his special agent in Redhart, all these years. And the Seneschal contacted me just now, to tell me you’ve named the Prince’s special chum, Clarence Lancaster, as a traitor. Thanks a whole bunch for that! That’s going to open up a whole world of trouble, once Prince Richard finds out. And you’re here . . . to offer me your services.”
“You’re very well informed,” said the Sombre Warrior.
“I am head of Castle security! I know everything!” Garner smiled briefly. “In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s part of the job description. Actually, I already knew about Clarence. He wasn’t nearly as careful as he should have been when he visited you. I left him alone because he is a close personal friend of the Prince, and one must tread lightly in such matters, and because he wasn’t exactly a danger . . . But now we’re at war, that will have to change. It would seem he’s managed to disappear for the moment, but my men will find him soon enough. The Castle’s locked down; there’s no way he can get out. But with so much of the old place lying empty, there’s a lot of unoccupied rooms to search. We’ll find him; and then we’ll find out what he knows.” Garner looked thoughtfully at the Sombre Warrior. “Are you here to give me more names, of more Redhart agents, to make my life even more difficult?”
“I don’t know any more names,” said the Warrior. “William always did believe in keeping his cards close to his chest. He never told me anything until he thought I needed to know it. I didn’t even know about Lady Gertrude until it was almost too late.”
“Then what use are you to me?” Garner said bluntly.
“I have served many masters,” said the Sombre Warrior. “From the Forest to Redhart and back again. As a result, no one can ever really trust me. So you can use me to do all those things that need doing, that your regular people might balk at. I’ll kill anyone. I don’t care. I never have. And during a war there will be many dirty deeds that must be done. That those in power need never know about.”
“And your price, for these services, sir Warrior?”
“Money. Lots of it. And . . . Catherine must never know.”
“Agreed,” said Garner. “I’m running my people ragged anyway, setting up proper defences for the Castle. I’ve been given access to the Armoury, so I have all the weapons I could hope for, but I don’t have nearly enough people.” He smiled briefly. “Do you know who I’ve got running the Castle defences? Mercy Forester—Sir Kay, that was. And I think it’s fair to say none of us saw that one coming . . . She just turned up here and volunteered her services, and she’s been a godsend. Organised the guards like she was born to it. And given her lineage, she probably was . . . Though you won’t hear me saying that in front of Prince Richard. So, sir Warrior, time to go to work. This helmet of yours—think it could find Clarence Lancaster for me?”
“Almost certainly,” said the Sombre Warrior.
“Good,” said Garner. “Track him down, arrest him, don’t bring him back alive.”
There was a knock at the door.
• • •
Peter Foster, who had been a soldier, and then Prince Richard’s friend, and most recently his bodyguard, walked down a corridor that no one used, to a room that no one lived in, and knocked on a door that no one knew about. He didn’t look around; he’d have known if he was being followed. The door opened quickly, and Clarence looked out. The minstrel’s face was pale and strained, slick with sweat. His eyes were wide and wild. Like an animal brought to ground. He grabbed Peter by the arm and hauled him inside, and then quickly shut and locked the door behind him.
Peter looked around him. Not much to see. The mostly empty room was lit by a single candle. A few pieces of furniture, covered in dust sheets. A single chair pulled up to a side table, which bore only an empty wine bottle and a half-full glass. The room stank of fear, and desperation.
“Thank God you’re here, Peter,” said Clarence. He hugged the soldier suddenly. Peter let him. He could smell the wine on Clarence’s br
eath. After a while he pushed Clarence away, and the minstrel did his best to straighten up and pull himself together.
“It’s not much, is it?” he said, gesturing roughly at the room, trying to smile and not quite managing it. “But traitors can’t be choosers. I had to go into hiding, Peter. Everyone’s looking for me! They want me dead!”
“I know,” said Peter. “Your old Redhart ally, the Sombre Warrior, is now one of us. And he gave us your name. You idiot, Clarence. How could you?”
“You’ve got to help me!” said Clarence miserably. He was only ever a moment away from tears. “You’ve got to talk to Richard, on my behalf, work out some sort of deal for me. I’m not a traitor! Not really. I was just . . . so angry at Richard. For abandoning us for the Princess, for leading us into the Darkwood . . . for making me afraid of the dark again. I just wanted to get back at him! I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. Not really. You were there in the Darkwood too, Peter. You know what it did to us! He should never have done that to us . . .”
“Yes,” said Peter. “I was there too. I understand.”
“I could go into exile,” said Clarence. “Not to Redhart, of course, but there’s always Lancre . . . I could go away and never come back . . . Oh God, Peter, this will kill my father! He always had such hopes for me . . . You’ve got to help me, Peter! There isn’t anyone else I can turn to! I can’t go to Richard myself, not after what I’ve done. I couldn’t speak to him. Couldn’t look him in the eye. I just couldn’t . . . You’re my friend, Peter, my oldest friend, apart from the Prince. I knew you’d come if I got word to you. Please, you’ve got to help me . . .”
“Of course I’ll help you, Clarence,” said Peter. “That’s why I’m here. That’s what friends are for.”
• • •
There was a knock on the door of Laurence Garner’s office, and he and the Sombre Warrior looked round sharply as the door swung open and Peter Foster came in, carrying a large wooden box held shut with leather straps. He nodded to the Sombre Warrior, entirely unsurprised, and put the box down on Garner’s desk. Then he stood back and nodded brusquely to the head of security.
“Peter has been working for me for some time,” Garner said to the Warrior. “Keeping an eye on the Prince for me, and keeping him out of trouble. As much as possible.”
“How did he find your office?” said the Warrior.
“All my people have a talisman that brings them right to me,” said Garner.
“I want one,” said the Sombre Warrior.
“Of course you do,” said Garner. He pulled open a drawer in his desk, took out a simple bone charm, and tossed it to the Sombre Warrior, who plucked it neatly out of midair. He studied the elaborate symbols carved into the wooden charm, then tucked it neatly away about his person.
“With events escalating as they have, it made sense for Peter to present himself as Richard’s personal bodyguard,” said Garner.
“That was my idea,” said Peter. “I was Richard’s friend long before I agreed to be your agent, to protect him from all the trouble he was getting into. I’ve always been his friend first, Garner, and don’t you ever forget it.”
“I have to wonder why you aren’t at Richard’s side right now, where you’re supposed to be,” said Garner, pointedly.
“I brought you a present,” said Peter.
He undid the leather straps around the box and opened the lid. Reached in, and brought out the severed head of Clarence Lancaster. The man who only ever wanted to be a minstrel. His face had a sad, resigned look to it.
“You killed your friend?” the Sombre Warrior said to Peter.
“I killed him because he was my friend,” said Peter. He reached out with his free hand, to brush aside a long lock of hair that had fallen across Clarence’s face. “He was a traitor, so he had to die; but I couldn’t let a stranger do it. Couldn’t leave him to the headsman’s block and a public execution. In front of his family. The Prince doesn’t need to know. His family doesn’t need to know. Let them all think he got away somehow, and vanished into exile. Kinder for all concerned. I’ve always been there, for Clarence, cleaning up his messes.”
There was another knock at the door. Peter placed the severed head back in its box. Garner glowered at the closed door.
“Far too many people know where to find me. I’m going to have to do something about that. Come in!”
The door opened, and in strode the black-clad figure of Raven the Necromancer. Without quite knowing why, everyone’s eyes went immediately to the new sword hilt sticking up behind his shoulder. Raven had nothing to say about that. He just smiled and nodded easily to all concerned.
“We have been summoned to attend the King, at Court,” he said. “King Rufus wants us all there, right now. Everybody, no excuses. I knew you were all here together, so I said I’d come and get you.”
“How did you know . . . ?” said Peter.
Raven looked at him pityingly. “The same way I know whose head is in that box. I know everything I need to know.”
“Hold it,” said Garner. “King Rufus summons us? Not Prince Richard, on his father’s behalf?”
“No,” said Raven patiently. “If I’d meant Richard, I would have said. No . . . surprisingly, I do mean King Rufus. He’s . . . changed. Taken a quite remarkable turn for the better, in fact. Don’t ask me how. But before we all go rushing off to obey our good King Rufus’ summons, do indulge my curiosity. Why do you have a minstrel’s head in a box? Is it some new kind of musical toy? I understand they can do amazing things with clockwork these days.”
“Clarence Lancaster was named a traitor by the Sombre Warrior,” said Garner.
“Ah yes,” murmured Raven. “I did hear. Justice is swift, isn’t it?”
“Richard must never know,” said Peter.
“Well, quite,” said Raven. “So . . . you need someone to make your late friend disappear completely, yes? Both the head and the body, removed so absolutely that not even a trace of him will ever be found. Luckily for you, I feel the need to do a good deed, to balance out a rather darker burden I’ve taken upon myself. I blame my uncle’s influence. Anyway . . .”
He gestured almost lazily, and the head and its box just vanished, gone in a moment, without even a disturbance in the air to mark the passing.
“Where did you send him?” said Garner. “Tell me you didn’t just dump him in the moat! He has to disappear completely!”
“Please,” said Raven. “I am a professional. I sent him back in Time. Far, far back into the past. I have done it before, when I had . . . old projects that needed to disappear completely so as not to embarrass me. There are sometimes . . . strange side effects. But nothing you need to worry about.”
He didn’t offer any details, and no one asked for any.
“That is a neat trick,” said Garner. “Any chance you could do that to the whole Redhart army? Just send them away, into the past?”
“Unfortunately, no,” said Raven. “The bigger the object, the harder it is to move through Time. A small thing, like a body in two parts, I can send back hundreds of years. An army, consisting of thousands of bodies . . . I’d be lucky to send them back a few seconds. Magic has its rules, and its restrictions.”
“Even Wild Magic?” said Peter meaningfully.
Raven smiled at him. “I couldn’t say. Now, let us all get a move on, with a shake of our tails. The King is waiting.”
• • •
Sir Jasper the ghost was outside Forest Castle, walking alongside the moat. He’d been everywhere inside the Castle, most definitely including all the places he wasn’t supposed to go, and nothing he’d seen anywhere had brought his memory back to him. Some things looked familiar, some places stirred thoughts or feelings, and there were moments when it seemed everything was just on the tip of his tongue . . . but all he had to show for his travels was a sense of déjà vu powerful enough to give him a headache. If he’d still had a head. So he left the Castle and went for a little walk outside.
He could have gone walking on the waters of the moat, just skipping across the surface . . . but he was trying hard to feel more human, because it helped him feel more focused. So now he tried to avoid doing things that reminded him he wasn’t alive. He decided he did like being outside, because it meant nobody bothered him. The clearing was open and empty and quiet, and even the surrounding woods grew silent as the evening approached. It was all very peaceful, but Sir Jasper didn’t trust it. The more he looked at the Forest, the more its blank green face seemed like some ancient mask, with a threatening face hidden behind it.
He deliberately turned away from the Forest to look back at the Castle; and then he stopped where he was, as the Lady of the Lake rose up out of the moat’s waters. Blue flesh in a blue dress, and all of it formed out of water. She rose up and up, creating herself from the moat’s contents, until she stood poised and elegant on the surface. She shook her head briskly, and heavy droplets flew from the ends of her long, watery hair. She looked at Sir Jasper, and smiled at him, and he felt his heart lurch in his chest. And it was a measure of how moved he was that he didn’t realise how strange that was.
The Lady of the Lake strolled across the moat to stand before him, her feet merging seamlessly with the surface of the dark water. Sir Jasper moved forward to meet her, stopping at the very edge of the moat.
“Well,” the Lady said briskly, “took you long enough to get here.”
“Do I know you, Lady?” said the ghost. “I feel I should, but I have to tell you that my memory is not what it should be. I look at you, and it does seem to me that I know you from somewhere . . .”
The Lady looked at him, with an expression he knew but couldn’t place. “You’ll remember when the time comes. I am the Lady of the Lake these days. Wherever water flows through the Forest Land, I am there. I’ve been waiting for you to turn up here. You have a duty and a destiny to fulfil.”
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