Darrick did not respond. He watched his captor finger his sword thoughtfully. The stench of Ulric's blood filled the room now, mingling with the mist of the storm.
"There is one more thing, if you please," Merodach said, as if the idea had just stricken him. "A trifle. An afterthought. Tell me, Darrick: if King Xavier determines that flight is his only hope of salvation, to where would he retreat? I understand that there are many fortresses at his disposal. Which would he choose for his stronghold?"
Darrick's brow lowered. Mustering all of his courage, he straightened his back and looked Merodach in the eye. "I'm through helping you," he answered in a low voice. "I will not be held responsible for your success in attacking the castle and routing out the King. My life is not worth the curse of such guilt or the deaths that would result."
Merodach frowned consideringly and then nodded. "I understand your predicament, my friend. If you answer my question, you may see your people destroyed. If you resist me, perhaps only you will be destroyed. Yes? But surely, you see the flaw in this, do you not?"
"I do not," Darrick replied, firming his resolve. "I am a soldier of Camelot. I am proud to offer myself for its preservation."
Merodach drew a deep sigh and shook his head slowly, almost regretfully. "I hate to disillusion you, Darrick, but I will succeed in my quest, regardless of what you deign to say or whether you choose to live or die. By remaining silent, you will neither save Camelot nor yourself. But by telling me the truth…" He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in a conciliatory gesture.
"There is nothing you can offer me that will make such treason worthwhile," Darrick said stiffly, turning away.
"Do you suppose," Merodach asked lightly, "that the Princess, your wife, would agree?"
Darrick froze. He stared unseeingly into the shadows, feeling the blood drain from his face.
"I understand that she is with child," Merodach added, sighing. "It may be that the babe, your son or daughter, is even now born. Is this not so?"
Darrick drew his eyes back to Merodach, his expression cold. "If you touch them…"
"Please," Merodach interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Idle threats are such an interminable waste of time. As I said, Darrick, I am a reasonable man. I am offering you a bargain. Answer me what I require, and when the time comes, I will see that your wife and child are spared. Refuse me, and… well, I really cannot be held responsible for what happens, can I? It is your choice."
Darrick glared at the hateful man before him. A long silence spread out between them, filled only with the shush of the rain and the faint crackle of the torch. Finally, Brom reappeared from below. He approached Merodach and handed him a small package, sealed with red wax. Merodach took it without breaking eye contact with Darrick.
Finally, in a rough voice, Darrick asked, "How do I know you will keep your word?"
Merodach grimaced again and lifted his right hand, gesturing vaguely with his sword. "You cannot, I am afraid. It is the nature of this type of bargain. But I will tell you this: it is the King that I want, and his throne. Once he is deposed, the Princess will pose no threat. There is no point in my harming her or the child she has borne you."
Darrick shook his head very slightly, his face contorted in a rictus of agonised indecision.
"I'll tell you what," Merodach said, taking a step forwards. "You don't have to answer aloud for all to hear. You may whisper your answer into my ear. It is that simple. Let me ask again: where, in the event of flight, will the King and his people retreat to? Answer me this, and your wife and child may live."
Merodach took another step forwards, cautiously, as if Darrick were a deer that might flee at the slightest provocation. Then, almost comically, he leant forwards and placed his ear next to Darrick's lips.
Darrick was silent for a long, horrible moment. And then, almost soundlessly, his lips moved. He spoke one word, and the expression on Merodach's face changed. His smile hardened, and his eyes grew dark. He stood up and straightened his cape and breastplate.
"I owe you my deepest gratitude, good Sir Darrick," Merodach announced, turning back to the table. "You have been of great help to me. I shall not forget it." He sheathed his sword with a ring of metal on metal. Behind him, Darrick hung his head. His sweaty hair fell over his face.
"What is the message?" he muttered.
Merodach glanced back, frowning slightly. "Excuse me?"
"The message," Darrick repeated, an edge of ragged anger creeping into his voice. He lifted his head defiantly. "What is the message you mean for me to deliver to the King?"
"Ah, yes," Merodach replied, holding up the package in his hand and looking at it. The red seal looked like a blot of blood in the dimness. "You know, Darrick, you have been such a great help to me, such an excellent help," he said, drawing a short dagger from his belt, "that I think I may be able to deliver this message… without your help."
"And then," the page said, trembling, unable to meet either the King's or the Princess's eyes, "and then the beast… launched himself upon the Field Marshal. He bared his teeth like a sort of wild animal and struck with his dagger, not once, just to kill, but over and over, even after—" He choked a little and then raised his eyes imploringly. "Even after the poor man was dead. It was…," he admitted faintly, "the worst thing I have ever seen in my life. When it was over, Merodach stood over the body, panting, and—"
"Stop!" Gabriella said suddenly, her voice getting away from her so that it came out as a half scream of anguish. "Stop! I can hear no more! It is too much!"
Her father reached towards her throne and covered her hand with his own. Helplessly, Gabriella buried her face in her other hand. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stem the flood of emotion that was threatening to overwhelm her. She couldn't bear to share her grief with the court, with these seemingly random people, none of whom had known Darrick like she had, most of whom would see his death as merely another casualty, one more in a long line of deaths at the hand of the unholy brute Merodach.
"How did you escape?" the King asked the page gravely.
"Sir Ulric," the page answered, swallowing past a lump in his throat. "He had already arranged it. He had entrusted his personal retinue to be prepared to rescue us in the event of our capture. He knew of a hidden rear entrance to the tower, long buried in vines and most likely unknown to Merodach and his men. This door was unguarded, allowing Sir Ulric's remaining men to steal in by dark and release us. They killed the dungeon guard, and we were gone before anyone else came looking."
"Tell me, Master Brice," Toph said from where he stood on the other side of the King's throne, "I know this is not your purview, but in the absence of Sirs Ulric and Darrick, what is the final tally of those who returned with you?"
"Seventy-seven men at last count," the page answered, shaking his head slowly.
The King sighed deeply. "And what of the trebuchets and siege engines?"
"Captured or destroyed, Your Highness. None return with us."
There was a long, dreadful silence as everyone in the King's ready room considered this, realising the enormity of the threat they now faced.
"Your Highness," Percival, the chief of the palace guard, said carefully, stepping forwards, "we are left in a very unfortunate position indeed. There is no assurance whatsoever that Merodach will take time to gloat over his victory. Even now, we must assume that he is preparing to march upon the city."
King Xavier looked up at Percival as if the idea had not yet occurred to him. His expression conveyed nothing but grim uncertainty. Gabriella saw this with both pity and dismay.
Finally, the King looked away, frowning worriedly. "What do you suggest, Percival?"
"I see no other options, Your Highness," Percival announced hesitantly. "We must remove ourselves from the castle."
The King startled on his throne, his frown deepening. "Flee, you say? But surely, that will not be necessary—"
"With all due respect, sire," Toph interjected softly, "we are left with barely enough men
to stand watch over the city walls, unless we begin conscripting school children and the elderly. We cannot mount a thwart of any meaningful force nor withstand any determined siege of the city. Flight is, in fact, our only true option."
"But," the King said, his brow furrowing in consternation, "what of the people? Without us here to protect them, to watch over them…"
"In fact, Your Highness," Percival countered carefully, "it may serve them best if you are not here. We must assume that it is you the villain wants, not the castle or the city. With you absent, ruling in secret, if only for a time, Merodach may in fact spare the city."
"This is madness!" Gabriella suddenly exclaimed, unable to contain herself any longer. "He will destroy everything and everyone within the city walls! This man does not spare cities because they are unguarded and pose no threat! You heard what he did to Darrick! It is the same thing he has done to every village and town he has encountered in his bloodthirsty path! He burns and destroys as much for his own mirth as for any strategic benefit! He is a raving madman!"
"Highness," Toph began gently, "there are few other options left to us. We simply do not have the manpower to mount a serious resistance."
"There are more than men in this city," Gabriella seethed, rising suddenly to her feet. "If given the opportunity to flee, cower, or fight, I daresay that every man, woman, and child within these city walls would choose the latter!"
"But we cannot win, Princess," Percival protested sternly.
"Then we die with honour!" Gabriella cried, overriding him. "Better that than to live in cowardice!"
"Daughter," the King said, raising his eyes to where she stood. His voice was soft, but the authority had come back into it. She stopped herself, fuming, and then looked back at him.
"Daughter, tell me, can you go stand amongst the people and tell a mother that she will soon watch her child die for the sake of honour?"
"I am a mother myself now, you may remember," Gabriella replied, trembling with anger and misery.
"I remember it well, dear one. But you were the Princess first, and as such, you are well-acquainted with loss and sacrifice. The others below may not be. Are you willing to make this choice for all? Are you prepared to order them all to their deaths and the deaths of their children? Some may indeed choose to stay and fight, but many more may come with us if we leave the city. The fortresses can hold hundreds, if necessary, for however long the siege may last. Still others will hide away in the surrounding fiefs and villages with distant family, safe from whatever may befall this city. Will you take that option away from them? Can you?"
Gabriella felt the weight of her father's words settling on her like sand. She tried to resist, but slowly, sadly, she realised he was right. Her knees weakened, and she drifted back into her seat.
"Sometimes, daughter," the King said quietly, "being Princess and King and Queen means more than sacrificing one's life. Sometimes, for the sake of all, it means sacrificing one's nobility."
Gabriella's face hardened at these words, but she did not reply. She gripped the arms of her throne tightly so that her knuckles whitened.
"How soon can we mount the journey?" the King asked, addressing Percival.
"If we post the edict today, Your Highness, we can rally the castle population within two, perhaps three, days. We shall conduct a lottery to determine who amongst the citizenry may accompany us based on those who express such a desire. The rest shall retreat to the country or stay in the city as they so deem. I would recommend leaving a small detachment to guard the castle entries, however, to protect against the rare looter."
"That soon," the King replied solemnly. "Is it necessary to go so quickly?"
"We cannot take chances, Your Highness," Toph pressed. "If Merodach and his men are on their way now, as we are forced to assume, then they will be here in a matter of weeks. We must not only be shut of the castle by then, but firmly established in whichever stronghold you choose."
"Which does bring us to the question," Percival nodded, peering closely at the King, "considering the tale of the unfortunate Sir Darrick's page, what stronghold shall we consider?"
"It is sadly clear, is it not?" the King said, glancing regretfully at Gabriella. "We must fly southwest, to the border fortress at Herrengard."
Gabriella sat up in her throne and turned on her father. "Herrengard? It is in no wise the best choice! It is smaller and far less defensible than the eastern stronghold at Amaranth!"
"Princess," Percival said in an attempt at a reasonable voice, "you heard the tale of the page. The Field Marshal revealed the primary choice of retreat for the King. Amaranth will be useless to us if Merodach knows that it is our destination. He will likely have men there lying in wait or even prepared to ambush us en route."
"His name," Gabriella said lividly, "was Darrick. Call him that if you mean to denounce him as traitor."
"Daughter," the King began again, but Gabriella spoke first, turning to him.
"Father, Darrick would not betray us. The page did not hear the answer Darrick gave when Merodach asked about a royal retreat. He would never have revealed our primary plan. He would have lied, sending Merodach and his men off on a useless chase!"
Toph shook his head. "We cannot know that, Princess—"
"I know it," she interrupted fiercely. "He was my husband! You have to trust me! He lied to the villain, gave him a false location! I assure you, he deceived them into believing that the primary retreat would in fact be Herrengard and not Amaranth! We will be fleeing straight into the arms of a trap, nullifying Darrick's attempt to save us all!"
"We cannot take such a chance, Princess!" Percival insisted, becoming impatient.
"It is no chance!" Gabriella cried, standing again. "No other southern or eastern fortress is near enough or defensible enough as Amaranth stronghold!"
"No fortress is solid enough to save us if the villain is already within it!"
"If you refuse to believe me," Gabriella shouted, tears of anger welling in her eyes, "then we will all die, and Darrick's sacrifice will have been for nothing!"
"Silence!" the King commanded, striking the arm of his throne with his fist. The echo of his voice rang through the room as the others fell quiet. Gabriella remained standing, her eyes firmly on Percival, breathing harshly through her nose. Percival dropped his own gaze and pressed his lips into a thin line.
"I will not have any member of my council speak to my daughter in that manner," the King said with quiet emphasis. "Percival, you forget yourself."
"Yes, Your Highness," Percival answered immediately, his eyes still on the floor. "I apologise profusely. Please accept my humblest regret."
The King lowered his head and closed his eyes. Gabriella looked back at him. Her father seemed to be deep in thought, his brow pinched in a tight frown. Finally, after a long silence, he lifted his head again.
"Post the edict," he said sombrely. "The royal family of Camelot will disembark from the castle and the city proper in two days and two nights. Those who wish to accompany the journey will apply to the chief of the palace guard, who will give preference to those with children, the women, and the elderly, in that order. Those who remain may evacuate to surrounding fiefs or villages or stay within the city walls at their own discretion."
He paused, ruminating, and then went on. "Should any of those who remain choose to mount a defence of the city or the castle itself, they will be duly honoured, even in the event of death, by His Highness, King Xavier, and his daughter, Princess Gabriella. Until our return, let it be known that even in absence, the royal family still rules seamlessly and properly over the Kingdom of Camelot until the day of our triumphant return."
Percival nodded, making mental notes of every point. Finally, he raised his head and looked directly at the King once more. "Very good, Your Highness. And to which destination shall we prepare to journey?"
The King drew a deep breath and looked at Gabriella. "Have the remaining soldiers prepare an escort march to Herrengard
," he said. "But do not reveal the location to anyone else."
Gabriella felt her stomach drop within her. She met her father's gaze, speechless.
"Herrengard it is, Your Highness," Percival nodded again. "We shall begin preparations immediately."
The King ignored him. "I'm sorry, Gabriella," he said, but she turned away from him. She was too furious to reply. She was still standing, uselessly now that the council was finished. The room was full of subtle motion as the council members gathered themselves and prepared to leave.
"Daughter," the King said, raising his voice slightly.
"I have packing to see to," Gabriella replied evenly, her voice a low monotone. With that, she gathered her skirts and turned towards the side door, leaving before he could speak again.
She did not pack that day, however. She returned to her quarters just as the Little Prince was waking up. Sigrid approached the crib, but Gabriella called her back, meaning to greet her baby herself. She scooped him carefully from his bedding and laid him over her shoulder. He was still sleepy, but his cries stopped as he rested his head against her shoulder. He sighed, shuddering, and relaxed in her arms.
She thought of Darrick.
"Can I get you anything, Princess?" Sigrid asked softly.
Slowly, without looking at her, Gabriella shook her head.
There was a breath of air and a soft click as the older woman left the room.
Tears filled Gabriella's eyes again. As always, she resented them. She blinked, squeezed her eyes shut, and moved towards the window. It was open, admitting a fresh autumn breeze. The air was blissfully cool, filled with the scent of crisp leaves and distant storms. The curtains belled softly. The baby shifted, coming fully to wakefulness.
Gabriella used her hip to push the rocking chair closer to the window. Then she sat, cradled her baby, and began to nurse him.
Again, she thought of Darrick.
He'll never see this, she mused helplessly, testing the waters of her grief. He'll never watch his wife feed his child. Never hold the boy in his own arms, never feel this tiny fist wrapped tightly around his finger.
Ruins of Camelot Page 11