The Road of Kings: A Strong Woman in the Middle Ages (A Medieval Tale Book 8)

by Lina J. Potter

  All that was left was to stall, as always.

  "Go away!" Jerisson snapped, trying to imitate the duke's voice.

  A whimper came from behind the door.

  "Y-your Ex-cellency..."

  "I said, GO AWAY!" Jess bellowed.

  He glanced at the window and sighed. It was quite likely he wouldn't make it to dawn.

  Alcine, by his side, had already woken up and kept glaring at Jerisson. At least he was still silent. A gag was a handy thing in some circumstances.

  Jess sat down and grinned.

  "Want to talk?"

  The duke only closed his eyes.

  Jess pulled out the gag. There was no more reason to keep the man silent. In ten minutes, the entire palace would assemble behind the door.

  "Do you want to live?"

  Alcine's expression was indifferent.

  "You'll kill me anyway."

  "What if we trade? Death can be different: an easy one, a bad one..."

  He only got a mocking smile in return.

  "Too bad, I didn't finish off Gardwig's pups. Didn't get enough time."

  "And you won't," Jess gave him the good news. "You should pray to Aldonai if you believe in him. I'll kill you first."

  "What did you say about trading? I can offer you a chance to walk away on your own two legs."

  It was time for Jerisson to smile.

  "Do I look like an idiot?"

  The problem was, he didn't. Shame.

  Alcine clearly understood that. Well, it's not like it mattered. Who'd believe that swine anyway?

  "Know that my men will carve belts of your people just behind this door."

  "Were you planning anything else? Don't take me for a fool. And don't worry, my wife and my daughter aren't there. I'll survive."

  Alcine fell silent.

  Wellster might not have chess, but that didn't mean there could be no stalemate. What could any of them offer to each other?

  Nothing.

  Both sides had put everything on the line and had nowhere to go: only to die.

  That's what Jerisson expected to do, but he wasn't going to do it alone.

  He could still move something bulky to the door and prepare a few surprises for dear guests. Thanks to Gardwig, the room had enough weapons for a score of people and then some. To work!

  ***

  Truly, only fools were worse than chicken.

  At least, when it came to animals, Altres could snap their necks without any remorse. He couldn't do it with those women: after all, they were noble and highborn, someone's wives and daughters.

  Thankfully, they managed to get through the antechamber without a lot of noise, pinning the ladies down and gagging them, even leaving a man to guard that lacy camarilla.

  But how they glared!

  They also squealed and writhed. Altres couldn’t afford any noise, and approaching every one of them was a colossal waste of time.

  The only option was simply knocking them out for a spell.

  The maids did try to fight, but it wasn't clear whether they wanted to get away or not. The soldiers didn't waste time and rendered them senseless.

  Altres was sure that some of them worked for Alcine, but that would have to wait for after the victory.

  "Where's Alcine?"

  The question was addressed to the head lady-in-waiting.

  She answered almost immediately.

  "His Excellency occupies His Majesty's chambers."

  All Altres could do was to grit his teeth.

  So the duke hadn't just killed the lion, but also wiped his feet off on his hide? Just you wait, cur!

  On the other hand, the chambers of the king and queen were connected. Why not check?

  Nobody else knew the passage, so Altres led the way again.

  Alas, the chambers were empty: no guards, no servants, nobody. Where had Maldonaya taken that bastard?

  That said, the king didn't have only bedchambers in the palace. He also had rooms for official business, for rest, lots of them.

  For instance, he had a study. Maybe Alcine was there? It was possible.

  Unfortunately, no secret passages led there; they would have to go on foot. Or maybe some of the servants could check?

  Altres was deep in thought when destiny solved that dilemma for him. A clatter of boots came from the corridor: first quiet, then louder.

  The King's Butcher peeked out to have a look.

  It was clearly an alarm. Could it be Count Earton's doing?

  The men who answered it seemed busy, and all of them were headed somewhere west, where the king's study was located.

  That definitely warranted investigation.

  ***

  Unsurprisingly, it was none other than Baron Fremont standing behind the door.

  "Jess, don't be stupid!"

  Jerisson told the baron to go jump in a lake using rather imaginative vocabulary. Fremont listened with a measure of respect.

  "Is the duke alive?"

  "He hasn't kicked it yet!"

  "Let him say something!"

  "Alcine?"

  The duke gave every appearance of being ready to die before collaborating with the enemy.

  Jerisson took better aim.

  A curt kick solved the problem. The duke wailed like a cat being neutered, which wasn't far from the truth. Fremont believed his ears and started trying to convince Earton that such behavior was wrong.

  "Jess, you won't leave this place."

  "And neither would the duke!"

  "The duke?"

  "As soon as you start barging in, I'll slit his throat. Then I'll take down as many of you as I can." Jerisson wasn't about to give up.

  It might sound like what a terrorist would say, but really, it's not like anyone invited Alcine into the palace in the first place, the scum.

  Jess couldn't help himself and gave the duke another kick for good measure, this time aiming at his ribs. It was still pretty painful. Alcine howled once again, confirming that he was alive and close enough for Jerisson to reach him.

  The voice behind the door grew quiet.

  "You're alone here! You'll never escape alive!"

  Jess snorted, realized that the door was too thick for him to be heard, and replied in a louder voice.

  "You weren't going to let me escape anyway!"

  It was hard to argue that. They weren’t; they planned to execute him.

  Fremont didn't waste time thinking.

  "What do you want? "

  "Freedom, of course," Jess said immediately.

  "And what if we let you go?"

  "As if I'll buy that for a minute!"

  "I guarantee that you can leave the palace. I'll also give you a carriage and an escort."

  Jess snickered.

  "So they'd butcher me somewhere in the woods later?"

  "Whom do you think we are?"

  "Lowlifes."

  Fremont cussed. Jess listened with a measure of interest.

  Really, he had no reason to hurry. And incidentally...

  "And what could have happened, I wonder, for you to need the duke so suddenly?"

  Fremont faltered.

  It's not like he could confess that Chantaine was at the doorstep, and not in the best of moods to boot.

  "None of your business! Get the door down, lads!"

  Jess praised himself for having moved the dresser to the door and started pushing an armoire in that direction as well. Ah, Your Majesty! Couldn't you have placed a secret passage into the study, too? He felt like a rat caught in a trap.

  Although that was to be expected, really.

  So he had captured Alcine. Who said that his own men wouldn't kill him? Has anyone ever seen noble rats? And in that case, he had a whole pack of rats. If their leader stumbled, another rat would immediately try to take the vacant spot—like, say, Baron Fremont. He might be only a baron, but people of even lower birth were known to rise to power.

  On the other side of the door, two men were loudly swearing a
s they tried to break the oak wood.

  Jess didn't have time to listen.

  He fortified the door as much as he could, grabbed Alcine, and dragged the struggling duke farther away to the desk. Then he set him up so he couldn't even flinch, even chaining him to the table with his own manacles. Unless he could unscrew them like Jess had, he'd never get out.

  "Rest a bit."

  "You're a dead man!"

  "Maybe. Still, you should lie down. If you get scratched, Altres will never forgive me. He has his own plans for your hide."

  "Altres?"

  "Lort. He's here," Jerisson informed Alcine, cheerfully watching his face turn pale as a corpse. A lovely sight, indeed. "He'd love to have a conversation with you, too—an intimate one!"

  The duke might have also soiled his pants.

  Jess didn't give a hoot.

  Your Majesty, why did you only use melee weapons to decorate the room? I really wouldn't have minded a dozen crossbows. Ah, what the hell, make it a score.

  But the count had to content himself with several throwing knives, which he wasn't on the best terms with.

  Now, Lily was pretty handy with knives, for a woman, of course.

  Too bad, she wasn't there.

  Too bad, he didn't get to see her one last time.

  ***

  There was only one reason why Edwin Fremont wasn't swearing for all he was worth: he didn't have time. He had to give out orders.

  Oh, that idiot!

  He meant Alcine, of course. Not Jess, who was simply a dirt bag of the highest order, but Alcine, the imbecile!

  He had let his guard down, thinking himself better than the rest of them. Fine, Fremont himself had made a similar mistake once, but really, how could he not realize that Count Earton was dangerous and stay alone with him?

  That said, nobody who had seen Jerisson in his previous visit to Wellster could ever expect that of him: a slacker and a womanizer who only had the prince's friendship to his credit. The rest was a pile of shortfalls.

  But somehow, he had managed to escape the cuffs and get to Alcine.

  The secretary told the baron that Robert had ordered his men to lead Count Earton inside and leave them.

  The baron suspected why: some things really didn't need any witnesses.

  But using your brain was a must!

  Everybody knew that a cornered rat could attack a cat, and the count was much bigger than a rat.

  Of course, he did everything to avoid the gallows!

  Fremont had no idea how to rescue the duke. If anyone thought that Count Earton wouldn't kill Alcine...that was far from certain. He just might.

  On the other hand...was Alcine really that important?

  Edwin had to confess to himself: yes, he was, important and necessary. The duke was a big player, while he was not much more than a pawn. Edwin was a not an especially respectable baron, but Alcine was entitled to revenge, having lands and money.

  There was also Albitta, of course. In truth, Edwin didn't believe in the queen. He knew better than that: she was a fool, a hissy skank, a harpy. The duke must be praised for tolerating her for so many years; Fremont would have strangled her to death long before.

  So if that's how things stood, there was only one choice.

  Edwin started slowly pulling back. Someone else could take command. He had to admit that the game was over. Better to make a run for it while he had a chance.

  When taken together, all of that sounded pretty fishy: Chantaine at the gates, the captive count...

  Was it just a coincidence?

  Despite his wanton ways, Count Earton was no fool. He wouldn't have taken such a risk, giving himself up to the enemy, exposing himself by capturing the duke, stalling... It could only mean one thing: help was on its way.

  Someone was coming to save the count.

  It didn't matter who and how. Alcine's fate was already sealed—Jess could cut his throat any minute. But even if they managed to get the duke out, nobody was stupid enough to grapple with the Armored Regiment. Edwin was in no hurry to die for Her Majesty Albitta.

  And he would die, too.

  Heavy cavalry would make mincemeat out of mercenaries, who, despite being heavily armed and well-equipped, were no regular army able to crush an uncoordinated enemy.

  It was decided then.

  He would grab all the money, assets, and promissory notes he could get his hands on and flee as fast and far away as possible.

  Then a short stay with trusted friends in the capital, and he'd be gone with the wind.

  And thus, the baron disappeared in one of the corridors, leaving the mercenaries to break the door. Let them have their fun and also delay any pursuit while they were at it. The Baron held no doubt that it would happen.

  ***

  Altres Lort walked through the palace, not bothering to hide himself, not scared of a dagger in back or a crossbow bolt. Behind him, with firm tread, marched the soldiers. Their scarlet cloaks fluttered, distracting any potential audience from the dirt they had collected underground. They had prudently carried those into the palace folded, only to put them on their armor after getting outside. Hopefully, they would lessen the impact of a blow or two.

  But nobody was there to attack them. Alcine's army was all mercenaries: people paid to fight, not to die. What use would corpses have of money? Some tried to mount a resistance, but most of them preferred to skulk into the darkness like cockroaches and scuttle away.

  Of course, if Alcine was free, he might have rallied his men, and who knows what might have happened? Even vermin might be dangerous if they had a leader. Without one, however...

  Count Earton had done everything right, capturing Alcine as a hostage and holding him inside the royal chamber, buying time. He helped Altres, and Altres and his men would help him in turn. Sometimes, help came too late. That time, it was different.

  The scene around the study was a funny one. The mercenaries were busy breaking the door, having already made a medium-sized hole in it, and kept jabbing their spears inside, mostly at random, swearing enough to turn the air blue.

  Altres would have spent more time admiring the sight, but he had no time. Instead, he whistled.

  The mercenaries turned around, priceless expressions on their faces. For three seconds, Altres kept quiet, letting the circumstances dawn upon them, and then said loudly, "Those who surrender will live. The others die. You have my word. "

  Altres' reputation was good enough.

  Nobody in their right mind wanted to argue.

  Slowly, one by one, the men dropped their blades.

  Altres coughed.

  "Are you alive there, Count?"

  "Don't hold your breath!" Jerisson retorted. "Yes, I'm alive, and Alcine still hasn't dropped dead yet."

  To Lort's credit, the first piece of information made him happier than the second.

  "Count, you're priceless! Open the door!"

  "You'll have to wait for that. I've piled up quite a bit of furniture," a merry voice said.

  Something rumbled inside the room.

  Altres sighed and turned to the soldiers.

  "Get busy, gentlemen."

  He didn't have to ask twice.

  Some started picking up dropped weapons, while others escorted mercenaries into suitable rooms.

  There wasn't much point in tying them up: they could just as well sit tight behind locked doors. After all, it's not like they had anywhere to run.

  Their lives would be spared, but nobody had said anything about their freedom.

  The mercenaries knew that but didn't resist anyway. Forced labor was something they were used to anyway, if not in Wellster, then somewhere else. As long as they survived, it didn't matter; unlike Aldonai's watch, one could escape from any camp.

  At last, the final barricades fell, and Altres stepped into the study. He appreciated the count's preparations.

  "Commendable, Your Grace."

  Jess shrugged.

  "What else could I do, surrend
er? And this is for you."

  He dragged out Alcine by his collar without a drop of politeness.

  "What a meeting, Duke!" Altres looked happy.

  The duke clearly wasn't overjoyed, but who cared about his feelings? That only served him right.

  Altres nodded at the soldiers.

  "Take this one to Albitta and guard him with your life. If he dies, I'll hold you responsible."

  Four men took the duke and carried him toward the queen's bedroom to rest inside the secret passage. Where else would they take him?

  At least in a place like that, finding him would take a while, even if his accomplices started looking for him.

  "Wellster won't forget your help, Count."

  "Thank you, Your Grace."

  Jess stretched.

  Altres looked around the room.

  The wind was blowing a piece of parchment across the floor.

  He picked it up, read carefully, and snorted a laugh.

  Wellster, Cardin, the date...

  I hereby confirm that Duke Alcine is a pesky and detestable wretch whose place is...

  Jess had expressed himself with flowery language worthy of a criminal standing before the gallows, although he was forced to be brief because of time. All in all, it was a respectable specimen of sailors' language worthy of being included in academic papers. What else could he write, a confession to His Majesty's murder?

  As if!

  Altres threw the parchment on the desk, turned around, and left. There was much to be done yet.

  ***

  As it turned out, winning was only half the solution.

  Sorting out the mess made by the usurpers was a much more time-consuming and challenging task.

  How many men had Alcine bought off? How many turned traitors? How many nobles would have to be killed or banished from the court?

  Altres wasn't even trying to count. He simply perused the receipts and the protocols found in Gardwig's study and decided to remove everyone mentioned from the capital, not caring whether they were guilty or not.

  Executing seemed too much. No matter how you looked at it, Albitta was a queen.

  That was his fault, too. He had missed it once. But how could he know? He couldn't have crossed half of the country to put her down personally. He had people for that.