The Crown conspiracy trr-1

by Michael J. Sullivan

  The horses had built up a solid sweat and were puffing for air. When they reached the hedgerow lands, they slowed their pace. Eventually they reached the thickets, and there they stopped and dismounted. Alric found a spot clear of thorn bushes and sat down fussing with his tunic, which did not hang on him quite right. Royce and Hadrian took the opportunity to search the animals. There were no markings, symbols, parchments, or emblems of any kind to identify the attackers. Moreover, except for a spare crossbow and a handful of bolts left on Hadrian's mount, they wore only saddles.

  "You'd think they would have some bread at least. Who travels without water?" Hadrian complained.

  "They clearly didn't expect to be out long."

  "Why do you still have me tethered?" the prince asked irritated. "This is extremely humiliating."

  "I don't want you getting lost," Hadrian replied with a grin.

  "There's no reason to drag me around any further. I accept that you did not kill my father. My cunning sister merely fooled you. It is quite understandable. She is very intelligent. She even fooled me. So, if you don't mind, I would like to return to my castle so I can deal with her before she consolidates her power and has the whole army turned out to hunt me down. As for you two, you can go wherever Maribor dictates. I really don't care."

  "But your sister said-" Hadrian began.

  "My sister just tried to have us all killed back there, or weren't you paying attention?"

  "We have no proof it was her. If we let you return to Essendon, and she is right, you will be walking to your death."

  "And what proof do we have it wasn't her? Do you still intend to escort me to wherever she told you to take me? Don't you think she'll have another trap waiting? I see my death far more probable on the road there than on any other road. Look, this is my life; I think it's fair for me to decide. Besides, what do you care if I live or die? I was about to have you two tortured to death. Remember?"

  "You know," Royce paused a moment, "he's got a point there."

  "We promised her," Hadrian reminded him, "and she saved our lives. Let's not forget that."

  Alric threw his hands up and rolled his eyes. "By Mar! You are thieves, aren't you? It's not as if you have a sense of honor to contend with. Besides, she was also the one who betrayed you and put your lives in danger in the first place. Let's not forget that!"

  Hadrian ignored the prince. "We don't know she is responsible, and we did promise."

  "Another good deed?" Royce asked. "You'll remember where the last one ended us?"

  Hadrian sighed. "There it is! Didn't have to save it too long, did you? Yes, I did screw up, but that isn't to say I am wrong this time. Windermere is only, what, ten miles from here? We could be there by nightfall. We could stop at the abbey. Monks have to help wayward travelers. It's in their doctrine or code or whatever. We could really use some food, don't you think?"

  "They also might know something about the prison," Royce speculated.

  "What prison?" Alric asked nervously getting to his feet.

  "Gutaria Prison, it's where your sister said to take you."

  "To lock me up?" the prince asked fearfully.

  "No, no. She wants you to talk to someone there, some guy called…Esra…oh, what was it?"

  "Haddon I think," Hadrian said.

  "Whatever. Do you know anything about this prison?"

  "No, I've never heard of it," Alric replied. "Although, it sounds like the kind of place unwanted royals go to disappear when a conniving sister steals her brother's throne."

  His horse butted against his shoulder, and Royce rubbed its head while he contemplated the situation. "I'm too tired to think clearly. I don't think any of us can make an intelligent decision at this point, and given the stakes, we don't want to be hasty. We'll go as far as the abbey at least. We'll talk to them and see what they can tell us about the prison. Then we'll decide what to do from there. Does that sound fair?"

  Alric sighed heavily. "If I must go, can I at least be given the dignity of controlling my own horse?" There was a pause before he added, "I give you my word as king. I will not try to escape until we reach this abbey."

  Hadrian looked at Royce, who nodded. He then pulled the crossbow from behind his saddle. He braced it against the ground, pulled the string to the first notch, and loaded a bolt.

  "It's not that we don't trust you," Royce said as Hadrian prepared the bow. "It's just that we've learned over the years that honor among nobles is usually inversely proportionate to their rank. As a result, we prefer to rely on more concrete methods for motivations-such as self-preservation. You already know we don't want you dead, but if you have ever been riding full tilt and had a horse buckle under you, you understand that death is always a possibility, and broken bones are almost a certainty."

  "There's also the danger of missing the horse completely," Hadrian added. "I'm a good shot, but even the best archers have bad days. So to answer your question-yes, you can control your own horse."

  – 8 -They traveled at a moderate but steady pace for the remainder of the day. Royce guided them through fields, hedgerows, and forested trails. They stayed off the roads and away from the villages until at last there were no more of either. Even the farms disappeared as the land lost its tame face and they entered the wild highlands of Melengar. The ground rose, and forests grew thicker with fewer passable routes. Ravines led to bogs at their bottoms, and hills sloped up into cliffs. This rough country, the western third of Melengar, lacked farmable land and remained unsettled. The area was home to wolves, elk, deer, bears, outlaws, and anyone seeking solitude, such as the monks of the Winds Abbey. Civilized men shunned it, and superstitious villagers feared its dark forests and rising mountains. Myths abounded about water nymphs luring knights to watery graves, wolf men devouring the lost, and ancient evil spirits that appear as floating lights in the dense forest enticing children to their dark caves under the earth. Regardless of the legions of potential supernatural dangers, enough natural obstacles made the route one to avoid.

  Hadrian never questioned his partner's choice of path or direction. He knew why Royce stayed clear of the Westfield Road, which provided a clear and easy path along the riverbank to the fishing village of Roe. Despite its isolation at the mouth of the Galewyr, Roe had grown from a sleepy little dock into a thriving seaport. While it held the promise of food, lodging, and imagined safety, it would also likely be watched. The other easy option was to travel north up the Stonemill Road-the route Royce pretended to take by leaving enough tracks to hopefully mislead anyone who followed into thinking they were headed for Drondil Fields. Each path held obvious benefits, which anyone looking for them would understand as well. As a result, they plodded and hacked their way through the wilds, following whatever animal trails they could find.

  After a particularly arduous fight through a dense segment of forest, they came out unexpectedly on a ridge that afforded a magnificent view of the setting sun, which bathed the valley of Windermere and reflected off the lake. Lake Windermere was one of the deepest lakes in all of Apeladorn. Because it was too deep to support plant life, it was nearly crystal clear. The water shimmered in the folds and crevices of the three surrounding hills that shaped it in the form of a stretched, jagged triangle. The surrounding hills rose above the tree line, showing bald, barren peaks of scrub and stone. On the top of the southernmost hill, they could just make out a stone building. Aside from Roe, the Winds Abbey was the only sign of civilization for miles.

  The party aimed toward the building and descended into the valley, but night caught up with them before they were halfway there. Fortunately, a distant light from the abbey provided them a waypoint. The weariness of being up for two stress-filled days combined with hard travel and no food was taking its toll on Hadrian, and he assumed the same of Royce, though he showed it less. The prince looked the worst. Alric rode just ahead of Hadrian. His head would droop lower and lower with each stride of his horse until he nearly fell from his saddle. He would catch himself,
straighten, and then the process would begin again.

  Despite the warm day, night brought with it a bitter chill, and in the soft light of the rising moon, the breath of men and horses began to fog the crisp night air. Above, the stars shone like diamond dust scattered across the heavens. In the distance, the call of owls and the shrill static of crickets filled the valley. Had the party not been so exhausted and hungry, they might have described the trip that night as beautiful. Instead, they merely gritted their teeth and focused on the path ahead.

  They began climbing the south hill as Royce led them with uncanny skill along a switchback trail that only his keen eyes could see. The thin, worn clothes of the steward's son were a miserable defense against the cold, and soon the prince was shivering. To make matters worse, as they climbed higher, the temperature dropped and the wind grew. Soon trees began to shrink to stunted shrubs and the earth changed to lichen and moss covered stone. At last, they reached the steps of the Winds Abbey.

  Clouds had moved in, and the moon was no longer visible. In the darkness, they could see very little except the steps and the light they had followed. They dismounted and approached the gate. A stone arch set within a peaked nave lay open on a porch of rock hewn from the hill itself. There was no longer the sound of crickets, nor hooting owls; only the unremitting wind broke the silence.

  "Hello?" Hadrian called. After a time Hadrian called again. He was about to try a third time when he saw a light move within. Like a dim firefly weaving behind unseen trees, it vanished behind pillars and walls, reappearing closer each time. As it drew near, Hadrian saw that the strange will-o-wisp was a small man in a worn frock holding a lantern.

  "Who is it?" he asked in a soft, timid voice.

  "Wayfarers," Royce answered. "Cold, tired, and hoping for a place to rest."

  "How many are you?" The man poked his head out and swung the lantern about. He paused to study each face. "Just the three?"

  "Yes," Hadrian replied. "We've been traveling all day with no food. We were hoping to take advantage of the famous hospitality of the legendry Monks of Maribor. Do you have room?"

  The monk hesitated only a moment and then said, "I…I suppose." He stepped back to allow them entrance. "Come in."

  With only the bleak glow of the monk's lantern, which he kept low to light the floor, they could not see much beyond the stone walkway. By now, however, each was too tired for a tour even if the monk had been inclined to show off his home. The abbey had a heavy smell of smoke about it that prompted Hadrian to envision large, warm crackling hearths where beds might be.

  "We didn't mean to wake you," Royce said softly.

  "Oh, not me," the monk said. "I actually don't sleep much at all. I was busy with a book, right in the middle of a sentence when you called. Most unnerving I can tell you. It's a rare thing to hear someone shouting in the middle of the day up here, much less a dark night. You can sleep up this way-"

  "We have horses," Hadrian interrupted.

  "Really? How exciting," the monk replied, sounding impressed. "Actual riding horses, with saddles and everything? Oh, I would like to see them, but it's very late. Did you ride them here?"

  "Yes," Hadrian said. "We thought having them ride us would be silly." The monk paused with a peculiar look on his face. "I was making a joke," Hadrian said.

  "Ah!" the monk smiled. "Oh, yes-very funny. So, you can sleep-"

  "What I meant to ask," Hadrian interrupted again, "is whether there is somewhere we can stable our horses for the night? A barn or perhaps a shed?"

  "Oh, I see." The monk paused, tapping his lip thoughtfully. "Ah, well, we had a lovely stable, mostly for cows, sheep, and goats, but that's not going to work tonight. We also had some animal pens where we kept pigs, but that really won't work either."

  "I suppose we could just tie them up outside somewhere if that's all right?" Hadrian asked. "I think I remember a little tree or two."

  The monk nodded, appearing relieved to have the issue resolved.

  After they stacked the saddles on the porch, the little man led them through an opening into what appeared to be a large ornately framed courtyard. Columns of freestanding stone rose beneath a cloudy sky, and various black silhouetted statues dotted the space. The smoky smell was stronger here, but the only thing burning appeared to be the lantern in the monk's hand. They reached a small set of stone steps and the monk led the way down a set of two turns into what appeared to be a rough-hewn stone cellar.

  "You can stay here," the monk told them.

  The three stared at the tiny hovel, which Hadrian thought looked less inviting than the cells below Essendon Castle. Inside, it was very cramped, filled with piles of neatly stacked wood, tied bundles of twigs and heather, two wooden barrels, a chamber pot, a little table, and a single cot. No one said a word for a moment.

  "It's not much, I know," the monk offered regretfully, "but at the moment, it's all I can offer you."

  "We'll make do then, thank you," Hadrian assured him. He was so tired he didn't care so long as he could lie down and be out of the wind. "Can we perhaps get a few blankets? As you can see we really don't have any supplies with us."

  "Blankets?" The monk looked concerned. "Well, there is one here." He pointed at the cot where a single thin blanket lay neatly folded. "I truly am sorry I can't offer you anymore. You can keep the lantern if you like. I know my way around without it." The monk left them without another word, perhaps fearful they would ask for something else.

  "He didn't even ask us our names," the prince said.

  "And wasn't that a pleasant surprise," Royce pointed out as he moved around the room with the lantern. Hadrian watched him take a thorough inventory of what little was there: a dozen or so bottles of wine hidden in the back, a small sack of potatoes under some straw, and a length of rope.

  "This is intolerable," Alric said in disgust. "Surely an abbey of this size has better accommodations than this pit."

  Hadrian found an old pair of burlap shoes that he cleared out before he lay down on the cellar floor. "I actually have to agree with the royal one there. I heard great things about the hospitality of this abbey. We do appear to be getting the dregs."

  "Question is why?" Royce asked. "Who else is here? It would need to be several groups or a tremendously large party to turn us out to this hovel. Only nobility travel with such large retinues. They might be looking for us. They might be associated with those archers."

  "I doubt it. If we were in Roe, I think we'd have more reason for concern," Hadrian said as he stretched and then yawned. "Besides, anyone who is here has turned in for the night and probably not expecting any late arrivals."

  "Still, I'm going to get up early and look around. We might need to make a hasty departure."

  "Not before breakfast," Hadrian said, sitting on the floor and kicking off his boots. "We need to eat and I know abbeys are renowned for their food. If nothing else you can steal some."

  "Fine, but His Highness should not move about. He needs to keep a low profile."

  Standing in the middle of the cellar with a sickened look on his face, Alric said, "I can't believe I am being subjected to this."

  "Consider it a vacation," Hadrian suggested. "For at least one day you get to pretend you are nobody, a common peasant, the son of a blacksmith perhaps."

  "No," Royce said preparing his own sleeping space, but keeping his boots on. "They might expect him to know things like how to use a hammer. And look at his hands. Anyone could tell he was lying."

  "Most people have jobs that require the use of their hands, Royce," Hadrian pointed out. He spread his cloak over himself and turned on his side. "What could a common peasant do that monks wouldn't know the first thing about and wouldn't cause calluses?"

  "He could be a thief or a whore."

  They both looked at the prince, who cringed at his prospects. "I am taking the cot," Alric said.

  Chapter 4: Windermere

  The morning arrived cold and wet. A solid gray sky cast a steady
curtain of rain upon the abbey. The deluge streamed down the stone steps and pooled in the low pocket of the entryway. When the growing puddle reached Hadrian's feet, he knew it was time to get up. He turned over on his back and wiped his eyes. He had not slept well. He felt stiff and groggy, and the cold morning air chilled him to the bone. He sat up, dragged a large hand down the length of his face, and looked around. The tiny room appeared even more dismal in the drab morning light than the night before. He moved back away from the puddle and looked for his boots. Alric had the benefit of the cot, yet, he did not appear to have fared much better. Despite having a blanket wrapped tightly around him, he lay shivering. Royce was nowhere to be seen.

  Alric opened one eye and squinted at Hadrian as he pulled his big boots on.

  "Good morning, Your Highness," he said in a mocking tone. "Have a pleasant sleep?"

  "That was the worst night I have ever endured," Alric snarled through clenched teeth. "I have never felt such misery as this damp, freezing hole. Every muscle aches; my head is throbbing, and I can't stop my teeth from chattering. I'm going home today. Kill me if you must, but nothing short of my death will stop me. A grave is certain to be better than this misery."

  "So that would be a no?" Hadrian jested, rubbing his arms briskly. He got to his feet and looked out at the rain.

  "Why don't you do something constructive and build a fire before we die of the cold," the prince grumbled, pulling the thin blanket over his head and peering out as if it were a hood.

  "I don't think we should build a fire in this cellar. Why don't we just run over to the refectory? That way we can warm up and get food at the same time. I am sure they have a nice roaring fire. These monks get up early, probably been laboring for hours making fresh bread, gathering eggs, and churning butter just for the likes of us. I know Royce wants you to stay hidden, but I don't think he expected winter would arrive so soon, or so wet. I think if you keep your hood raised, we should be fine."