Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series

by Tove Foss Ford

  “I can’t,” Menders answered honestly, leaning over the bed. Katrin opened her eyes and somehow managed a smile.

  “I’ll get some more water,” Borsen yielded the chair he’d been sitting in to Menders, who sank into it gratefully. Menders reached out, catching Borsen around the waist with one arm.

  “Stay with me, my boy,” Menders whispered, needing Borsen’s calm presence.

  Borsen leaned against him, an arm around his shoulders.

  ***

  From Doctor Franz’s files –

  Captain Hemmett Greinholz

  Patient continuing extremely mentally unstable, showing signs of obsession, possibly even delusion. No-one has seen him sleep and he barely takes enough food to sustain himself. He will speak in circles, going over and over plans he is making to kill the Queen and Princess Aidelia.

  Having known Hemmett almost all of his life, I am aware of the underlying instability in his nature. He has a deep-seated sense of inferiority which evolved, I believe, from being raised with Katrin. His childhood difficulties with learning to read and write were in direct opposition to her abilities. Katrin has always learned with phenomenal ease while Hemmett, though as intelligent as she is, had a terrible time mastering academics.

  Unfortunately, due to their closeness and isolation at The Shadows, where there were few other childhood companions available, Hemmett developed romantic feelings for Katrin early on, complicated by his early physical maturation. Though they were separated a good part of the time by his attendance at the Military Academy, the feeling on his side has never entirely been resolved. Katrin does not show the same attraction, though she loves him dearly and is, to a degree, rather dependent on him.

  The trauma of the last few weeks has almost entirely unhinged this fine young man, and there is little I can do for him. I have remonstrated with Menders to confine him and possibly send him to the villa in Surelia for a while to get him away from the situation, to no avail. Menders is barely thinking rationally himself. Katrin is deathly ill and may yet sicken more and die.

  It is at times like that that I realize how very useless much of medicine is. There are no answers. I can only put out the fires as they occur, to the best of my ability and do all I can to prevent two men who are dear to me destroying themselves through unfounded guilt.

  Galanth, have mercy on us all.

  ***

  Eiren bent over Katrin, feeling her forehead, thankful that she was sleeping soundly. It had become difficult for her to rest as her wounds swelled and became painful. The fever wasn’t very high at the moment, though it would undoubtably climb as the night went on. It invariably did.

  Eiren turned toward Menders, who was asleep on the floor beside Katrin’s bed.

  She knelt, reached for a pillow and eased it under his head while whispering to him, so he wouldn’t be startled and wake suddenly. At least he was asleep.

  I must insist he have a mattress in here, Eiren thought, looking sadly at her adored husband, stroking his long silky hair. He’d tried sleeping in their bed but was so restive and had such terrible dreams that he’d given up. He would collapse beside Katrin’s bed when he could sit up no longer. Perhaps if he slept more, his mind would swing more in the balance.

  She stroked his cheek. A faint smile passed over his lips. She rose and left the room.

  As she had expected, Hemmett was standing silently at the end of the lounge, silhouetted against the window. He watched from it constantly. Though Eiren could not be afraid of him, she was wary. He startled easily and when he did, it was a guessing game as to what emotion might be elicited.

  He was looking at her, so she could approach him without fearing that she would come on him unawares.

  “Hemmett, could you rest on the sofa for a while? Katrin’s asleep and doing well.”

  “I’ll sleep later, thanks,” Hemmett replied, his voice emotionless. He looked back out the window, staring at the blooming moonlit orchard below.

  “Can I get you something – water, something to eat?” Eiren asked, feeling desperate. Hemmett was growing gaunt. He barely ate, just as he barely slept.

  “No thank you. I’ll just stay here a while. Go ahead and get some rest,” he answered.

  Eiren touched his arm gently before going to her own room. She stretched out on her bed and closed her eyes wearily.

  How was she going to help them? Menders, Hemmett – both in torment, torn by guilt and anguish. Poor Katrin, sick unto death, growing quieter and weaker every day as the infection coursed through her.

  If she had any tears left, Eiren would have wept.

  ***

  “He was coming up the road.”

  Kaymar kept his voice carefully controlled, standing behind the Royal Messenger he’d waylaid and brought to Menders. “He has a letter directed to you.”

  It was obvious the man was terrified. Menders kept telling himself the poor bastard had nothing to do with what had happened. He rubbed his eyes, which felt as if they’d been poured full of ground glass, and took the envelope the trembling messenger proferred.

  “Get him off the place and wait to see he doesn’t try to come back,” Menders directed roughly, glaring at the messenger, who looked ready to faint. “There will be no answer to this message to be carried back by you. I’ll use my own courier,” he told the man. “Don’t return here for any reason.”

  “No sir.”

  Kaymar accompanied the messenger out, closing the door of Menders’ office behind them.

  Menders put the envelope on his desk and steeled himself. He fully expected it to be an order to return Katrin to Court or to appear himself to face execution for removing her without permission.

  If only he could take Katrin away, out of Mordania! They’d tried, very carefully bundling her up preparatory to transporting her to Surelia, but her suppurating wounds had opened when Hemmett and Ifor lifted her onto a stretcher. She’d bled so badly that Franz ordered them to abandon the plan. If she remained quiet in her own bed, she had a chance of surviving, albeit a slender one. Being moved would kill her.

  If this is a summons to bring her, I’ll go myself in secret and kill every one of them, Menders thought, picking up the envelope and breaking the seal.

  Lord Stettan,

  It is with regret that we have been informed Princess Katrin is so seriously ill. It is our hope she will improve with time and request that frequent reports of her condition and prognosis be forwarded to the Palace.

  At present, until the Princess’ condition is improved, the Succession will remain unchanged. We command you to do everything in your power to take care of her and keep her safe.

  H.M. Morghenna VIII

  Menders felt his mind collapse inwardly, spiraling down into darkness. His hand crushed the letter, the heavy wax seal shattering in his grip.

  “I was taking care of her and keeping her safe!” he roared, flinging the letter from him, ripping his knife out of its sheath on his belt. “I’ve done it from the night she was born, you unnatural bitch! I always kept her safe until you butchered her!”

  He felt his throat tearing again but didn’t care, determined to go, now, get to Erdahn, get to the Queen, tear her throat out and then go on to her demented elder daughter and gut her like a fish!

  Ifor burst into the office, followed by Franz. Ifor managed to catch the wrist of Menders’ knife hand. Menders fought like a langhur to get away, roaring at the absent Morghenna VIII, pouring out his hatred for her and Aidelia. Franz had his other arm and was shouting over him, trying to make his words heard.

  “Menders, stop! Katrin can hear you! Her room is right above us!”

  “Give me the knife, Menders!” Ifor shouted, taking cuts on his hands and wrists as they grappled.

  “That bitch is commanding me to keep Katrin safe!” Menders ranted. “I kept her safe! I kept her safe all her life until that drunken monster ordered her over there and tore her to pieces! I always kept her safe!”

  “Yes, you did,”
Franz said, still fighting with him. “Stop, Menders, Katrin will hear you!”

  Eiren ran in and stopped short, her eyes wide with horror. Menders felt blood gushing from his mouth, but didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything except killing Queen Morghenna VIII and Princess Aidelia. Ifor pounded on his wrist, trying to numb it so Menders would drop the knife. Ifor was finding out just what was involved in disarming the best assassin in the world.

  “Let me go, you bastards!” Menders bellowed, madly twisting in their arms, pulling free of Franz and then struggling with all his strength against Ifor’s grip.

  There was a loud snap. Menders heard his knife fall to the floor an instant before the pain stopped him in his tracks. Ifor kicked the knife away and wrapped his arms around Menders, holding him fast.

  “Be still now!” the big man commanded. Menders had no choice. His entire right shoulder and arm burned as if they were on fire.

  Eiren stepped forward, swept up a framed picture from his desk and held it before his eyes.

  “Menders!” she commanded. “Look!”

  He did. It was the sketch he had made years ago, when Katrin was only three. He’d taken her for a ramble to the Giants and lifted her into the enormous stone hand that thrust up from the soil. Katrin laughed with delight and his pencil caught the moment. The sketch had been on his desk ever since, flanked with two other sketches, Hemmett and Borsen, both in the same stone hand.

  Menders drew in a deep, rasping breath and stood completely still, Ifor’s arms still around him.

  “Your shoulder is dislocated,” Franz said behind him. “I want you to sit down and let me put it back into joint. The sooner we do it, the easier it will be. Sit down, Menders. Your chair is right behind you. Sit down.”

  Eiren sank down into Katrin’s chair across the desk from Menders, still holding the framed sketch. Ifor guided him down into his own chair. Then Franz had a hand under his arm while Ifor held him still. There was a steady, agonizing pull and a sickening sliding, crunching feeling as his arm went back into joint.

  “Done,” Franz said gently, suddenly removing the knife Menders wore in a sheath at the back of his trousers. “How many more of these do you have on you?”

  “Please don’t take my knives,” Menders said, staring at the sketch.

  “Menders, you are not in your right mind,” Franz said very deliberately and firmly. “After what has just happened, I can’t trust you with weapons. I’m sorry. I know you’re the Head of Household here, but I’m your doctor. In this matter, I am overriding you. Ifor is going to take your knives for now. If you fight, I will put your arm back out of joint.”

  Menders looked at Eiren.

  “Please – Eiren, don’t let them do this,” he whispered desperately.

  “Leave them! You may as well cut pieces out of his flesh,” she said sharply to Franz, standing abruptly. “He’s all right now. He’s back to himself. Please leave us.”

  Franz began protesting but the look Eiren leveled at him reduced him to silence. Ifor relaxed his grip on Menders’ shoulders and stepped back.

  “Leave us,” Eiren said again, taking the knife from Franz. The two men obeyed her, though Menders could see Franz was reluctant to do so. Eiren closed the door behind them and shot the bolt before she bent and retrieved the knife Menders had dropped in his struggle with Ifor.

  She came round the desk, secured the knife in the sheath at the back of his trousers, then replaced the knife he’d taken from his side sheath.

  “There darling, there are your knives,” she said gently, kneeling and putting her hands on his arms. “I won’t let anyone take them.”

  Menders, ignoring the pain in his right shoulder, threw his arms around her and held onto her desperately. She held him close, her head nestling under his chin.

  After a moment, the tears he’d held back since the night he brought Katrin home finally came, running down into Eiren’s beautiful red hair.

  ***

  “Menders, you need to get up to the battle room now,” Villison said, coming into Menders’ office abruptly and closing the door behind him.

  Menders looked up wearily. “Why?” he asked.

  “Hemmett’s got the rest of Katrin’s Guard up there, working out a plan to go to Erdahn to kill the Queen,” Villison replied.

  Menders rose immediately. “Come with me.”

  They went quietly up the three flights of stairs to the top floor, where Tomar and Borsen’s workshop and the planning room, also privately known as the battle room, were. Menders saw the door of the tailor shop open. Borsen looked out, making signs to indicate that he’d wedged the battle room door shut from the outside.

  Menders listened, able to hear Hemmett’s voice, muffled but clear, through the door.

  “There’s a passageway not marked on this plan, right about here. It leads to Bartan’s rooms. We’d be able to reach any part of the Palace from there. The Royal Apartments are here, not far. The Guard there is pathetic, toy soldiers, slackest bastards I’ve ever seen. We could do it in ten minutes, kill the Queen and Aidelia and be out again …”

  Menders silently worked a pick in the lock. He could see from the light shining around the door that Hemmett did not have the bolt down, an absolute indication of his unhinged mental state. Exploding through the door was not the answer. Hemmett and half the men in the room would react instantly and kill him before they knew who he was.

  He nudged the weighted chair Borsen had placed under the doorknob aside, making as much noise as he could. He twisted the doorknob slowly and stepped into the battle room.

  The men surrounding Hemmett looked up as one, startled, with guilty faces. Hemmett stood at the end of the table, leaning on his hands. His eyes were hollow, and in their depths, mad. His face had grown skull-like in the two months of Katrin’s illness. Even a man as large as Hemmett would eventually grow gaunt without sufficient food.

  Menders reached through the cluster of men, snatching up the plans of the Palace in one fist and crumpling them into a ball, which he handed behind him to Villison.

  “No.” he said fiercely.

  The soldiers stepped back a pace, avoiding his eyes. Hemmett began to stare him down.

  “Hemmett, order your men out of this room,” Menders directed.

  Hemmett did not move. His eyes glittered in the lamplight.

  “Don’t make me give the order myself. This is your command,” Menders continued after a long thrumming silence. “Tell them to go with Villison.”

  Hemmett continued glaring from beneath his brows, his breath noisy in the room.

  “Command them now, my son, or I will,” Menders stared back at Hemmett.

  Hemmett blinked and then spoke defeatedly.

  “Go with Villison, men. Stay there until further notice.”

  “Come on, lads,” Villison added softly.

  Hemmett’s Guard filed silently from the room. Villison closed the door behind them, leaving Menders and Hemmett alone.

  “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Menders said, his voice like a diamond file.

  “I’m going to kill them both,” Hemmett responded, his voice cold.

  “If you do that you will push this country into anarchy!” Menders answered fiercely. “Katrin would become Queen. Since she is unfit physically, there would be a scramble as to what cousin to put on the Throne! The next in line is only twelve years old, which would lead to her father being Regent. He wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate Katrin, as she would have a stronger claim on the Throne. Carry out this plan and you kill Katrin. She will live if we’re careful but if you carry through with this madness, she is certain to be murdered!”

  Hemmett said nothing. He continued leaning on the table, his arms like tree trunks. Menders could feel hatred and madness radiating from the younger man. His own mind began moving toward the red fury that was Hemmett’s.

  Menders turned away and walked across the room.

  “I have been mad with this too, Hemmett,�
� he said softly, his throat still stiff and painful. “I want them dead. I want to have them helpless and terrified and kill them slowly. I want to enjoy every minute of inflicting every torment I can devise on them. Everything you are feeling, I have already felt and still feel now.”

  He turned back to the young man and saw that his expression had changed ever so slightly, away from the distorted face of rage.

  “But like you, I have a sacred duty to something more precious than satisfying my desire to destroy them,” he continued gently, as if he was explaining something to the little boy who had come to The Shadows with him. “Katrin. You and I, all her life, have been taking care of her. We must continue to do so. If you go to Erdahn and do this now, it will be the end of everything, your life, hers, everyone’s here.”

  Hemmett began to sag, then collapsed on a chair. Menders walked slowly back toward him, until he stood beside him.

  “You must let this desire to kill them go,” he said softly. “It’s understandable. It’s even laudable, but you are a well-disciplined soldier. As your superior officer I am ordering you to let it go. You can put it out of your mind if you allow yourself to do so.”

  Hemmett shook his head but Menders saw it was the gesture of a stubborn child. Hemmett had been a very stubborn child and Menders had learned how to deal with him long ago.

  “You must, for Katrin’s sake. Franz expects her to live, though she will be very sick for a long time. We have to begin again, Hemmett. It’s hard to do, but we can. I have done it before. Things will never be exactly the same but there is still a life with her so long as you sacrifice your desires to assure her safety.”

  Hemmett was determinedly keeping his face turned away. Menders could see the spasm in his jaw as he fought for control.

  “Go ahead and cry,” Menders said firmly. “I’ve seen men cry before. It doesn’t frighten me. I’ve cried over what they’ve done to our girl.”

  Hemmett managed two more long, trembling breaths before the weight of the agony he carried became more than he could bear. Menders was relieved as the terrible sound of a big man weeping tore through the room. Hemmett slumped forward on the table and sobbed violently.