by Rob Preece
Mark had never seemed vain or even especially worried about what other people thought about him. She knew that something important had just happened but she couldn't figure out what the heck she had said or done, or what she could have done differently.
She kicked the apparently dead assassin to make sure he wasn't faking it, then cut some strips off the dead man's clothing and secured the living one.
He was moaning slightly by the time she'd finished tying his arms to his neck in a knot that would increasingly choke him if he tried to get his hands free.
So she kicked him in the ribs.
"Uh."
"Who sent you?"
He hawked and she kicked him again before he had a chance to spit at her. “All right, I'll do it Mark's way. Come on. I'm going to turn you over to the army."
* * * *
The assassin wouldn't talk.
Still, there was no disguising the freshly minted gold coins, each with Sergius's face on the front and the five-pointed star of the faith on the reverse.
He had come from the capital. Whether he'd been sent by Sergius himself, by one of the uncles, or by the bishop didn't really matter.
Mark assembled their leaders and let them blow off steam.
"Our ninja are trained killers,” Lart argued. “We need to set them loose. Kill Sergius, the uncles and the bishop. Then we'd be able to walk into Moray without having to fight at all."
Ellie shuddered. A year ago, she might have bought that argument. Been willing to believe that a single assassination could save the lives of thousands of soldiers. But that had been before Harrison had sent his men through the dimensions and murdered her parents. And before this attempt on her own life.
"Assassination is not honorable,” Arnold announced.
"Everyone knows you're still loyal to that killer,” Lart muttered.
"That isn't the point,” Mark said. “By Lubica standards, supporting the peasants and workers against the aristocracy is dishonorable."
"But assassination is different,” Ellie put in. She didn't know exactly how to explain this, beyond her personal feelings. But she knew she was right.
Mark nodded. “Sorry, I wasn't done. But you're right. It is different. Our goal isn't the simple defeat of Sergius and the replacement of one king with another. We need to establish a legitimate base for the political changes we're attempting to bring about. If our methods create a horror even in the people we're fighting this war for, our goals will be tainted. We'll set back the path toward democracy rather than further it."
"But Sergius started it.” Lart knotted his knuckles in a grip that would have choked the life out of any assassin foolish enough to get close.
Ellie looked around the table. The army had taken over the Duke's palace near the citadel. Unlike the medieval hulk of the keep, the palace was a renaissance style building with high ceilings, airy windows, and a conference room that would have made the most important Earth-bound CEO green with envy.
Lart's face was turning purple as he wrestled for self-control. Arnold looked thoughtful. More thoughtful than she had ever seen him. Most of the former bandits simply looked confused, and Mark looked confident.
"I agree with Mark,” she said. “Harrison began this campaign when he assassinated my parents and tried to kill me. Now he, or his allies, has tried again. He, Sergius, and Sullivan have no claim to mercy and no right to object should we reply in kind. But, if we do, we'll announce to the world that we're no better than they are."
"Fighting a war is going to get a lot of good lads killed. Women too,” Lart reminded the assembled captains. “So what if people think we're a little dirty. I've got friends in the army. I'd be willing to have strangers look at me funny and think I'm dishonorable if it kept them alive."
"That's the point,” Ellie explained. “If we simply assassinate Sergius and the others, we won't avoid war. Some aristocrat will announce that he's the legitimate heir and he'll continue the war. Sergius's army will be intact and spoiling for revenge. But even suppose we could follow up assassination with a coup while no one was looking? What do you think Rissel would do? What do you think the church will do? We'll be under interdiction, attacked by every nation on the continent. And every noble and half of the peasants and workers would be helping them."
Lart shook his head. “But Sergius can get away with it. That isn't right."
It wasn't right, but it was the truth. Sergius not only had a bigger army, he had a veneer of legitimacy that allowed him to get away with, well, murder.
And there was nothing Ellie could do about it.
That was something she intended to change.
Chapter 21
Snow muffled the sounds of Harrison City.
Ellie snuggled under her thick down comforter and tried to find the energy to get up and throw some wood on the fire.
It had been snowing for three days now and it didn't look like it was ever going to stop.
The worst part was, the blizzard wasn't quite enough to cut communication with the rest of the country. Despite the redoubled efforts of the new city guards, three more teams of assassins had infiltrated the city. One had wounded Mark. The others had come after her. And died.
The muffled sound from outside could have been snow falling from the peaked roof of her cozy half-timber house. But it could be something else as well.
She slipped out of bed, her bare feet almost burning from the cold where they touched the icy floor. She picked up her sword first and then arranged a couple of pillows under the comforter.
Drawing her sword, she stepped next to the door.
There was supposed to be a guard outside. Mark had insisted on that after the second assassination attempt. But that didn't mean she was safe.
Her door edged open and a cloaked figure slipped into the room.
Her katana swept down, almost as if under its own volition.
And the intruder blocked it.
"I don't have time for games."
Arnold? She didn't want to believe that he would become an assassin, but he'd given his word not to escape. He hadn't promised anything about not harming them.
"You think you're ready to take me?” she demanded. She stepped back, shifting her guard. Arnold hadn't had to spend most of the past couple of months in meetings or as a judge. He'd worked out on the practice field, training with the best of their army's swordsmen. Honing his skills while her own talents rusted.
He was good. He might well be able to defeat her.
But she wasn't going to make things easy for her.
She stomped a feint, extended, and thrust.
Arnold knocked her blade away and, instead of countering, jumped back. “I'm not here to kill you, Ellie. I want to talk."
"That's why you snuck into my room in the middle of the night?” She didn't lower her guard but she didn't attack either.
"It isn't the middle of the night. It's just dark because of the snow. And I didn't sneak in. I was knocking for about five minutes."
Which might explain the muffled sounds she'd heard. Not snow falling from the eves after all, but Arnold trying to get her attention.
Maybe. She knew Arnold well enough to know that he could lie if he had to, if he felt his duty required it of him.
"All right. Stay on your side of the room. I'm listening."
She also wasn't putting her sword down. Crossing the room would take Arnold less than a quarter of a second.
"Do you want to put on some more clothes?"
"You want to talk to me about my wardrobe?” At least she hadn't been sleeping naked. A year in an army camp had cured her of that affectation from Earth. Of course, Lubica was a lot colder than Los Angeles.
"I get distracted."
She looked down and saw what the cold had done to her body. The flannel of her long nightgown didn't hide the chilled peaks of her nipples.
"Get out and I'll put something warmer on."
She didn't think he'd go, but he did.
If he thought she'd strip and give him a chance to strike when her face was covered by yards of fabric, he was mistaken.
She pulled a heavy robe over the nightgown, passing her katana from one hand to the other but definitely not putting it down.
"All right, you can come back in now,” she said.
He'd sheathed his sword—another good sign.
"Dafed arrived with news from the capital."
"Dafed? Here?"
Arnold nodded impatiently. “You can meet with him later. But Sergius has moved against my father."
"Is Ranolf all right?"
Arnold slammed a fist into the plaster wall of her bedroom. “Of course he's not all right. He's surrounded by Sergius's army. And it's because of me. If I hadn't had my head swelled with my honor, I could have gone back to Moray with the citadel guards. I was as good as inviting Sergius to attack me. And we both knew it."
She nodded. “Sit down, Arnold."
"I can't sit down. I've got to do something."
"Sit your butt down in that chair. We need to talk."
She could tell he didn't want to, but he finally complied.
"Here's the deal, Arnold. Sergius fooled us. He puts on this act of being a good guy and being honorable, but he's a snake, looking out for himself no matter who gets hurt. You can't make deals with snakes. I made a deal with him about the parliament and that bought me a spell as a Rissel prisoner."
"I know that. But this is my father."
"Do you really think I don't understand?” For her, this entire nightmare had started when they'd killed her father.
Arnold waved that away. “So you've got to free me from my parole. My father needs me to help him defend his Barony."
"We can't spare the forces to help Ranolf,” Ellie said. “If you went alone, Sergius would only kill you too."
Arnold's eyes looked half-crazed. “Do you think I care whether I live or die? He's my father, Ellie. And my sisters are with him. Sergius will kill him for sure. And either kill my sisters or give them to whatever of his knights he wants to reward. If I go and I die, he might be satisfied."
"Let's go talk to Mark.” Ellie walked over to her closet and pulled out a pair of pants and tunic. “You're reacting emotionally. I can understand that. But, you've got to do the best thing for your father, for your sisters, for yourself, and for Lubica."
"What's Lubica got to do with it?"
That was part of the problem, of course. The idea of a nation was still largely undeveloped here. Which was why Rissel could occupy significant parts of the country without any strong outcry from the people. In a way, Ellie figured that was to the good. She could think of plenty of examples from Earth history where jingoistic nationalism had led countries into needless wars. But they needed people to start thinking more broadly. She intended to start with Arnold.
* * * *
Dafed hugged Ellie, told her he'd brought most of his squad over, and sat down around the council table like he'd always been with them.
"Can we trust him?” Lart demanded, glaring at Dafed like he carried a stench from the capital.
"I trust him,” Mark answered. “Now let's hear all the details of Sergius's campaign against Ranolf."
Dafed didn't know the political decision-making, but he knew the mercenary companies Sergius had thrown into the fight. The king had kept his best troops to guard the capital, but he'd sent an army of more than a thousand soldiers, including a siege train, after Ranolf. Against maybe fifty guards and a not especially defensible manor house, Ranolf wouldn't last more than a couple of days.
"We're too late already then,” Arnold announced. He slumped at the table.
Mark tried to look sympathetic, but Ellie could see he was straining at it. “Sergius has made a terrible mistake. All of the nobles are going to have to wonder whether they're going to be next."
She tried to bite her tongue but Mark's tone made her suspicious. Mark wasn't above trying a bit of disinformation if he thought it would help the cause.
"Any idea why Sergius made that mistake?"
Mark just stared at her for a moment, his face completely free of guile. “Who knows what went through the tyrant's mind? Anger over Arnold's honor? Perhaps. Or greed for rich fiefs near the capital? Or perhaps, he simply tired of having someone urge him to keep his word."
Mark held up a hand just as Ellie opened her mouth. “Whatever reasons Sergius might have, no one held a sword to his throat and insisted. His own greed, shame over broken promises, and unwillingness to accept a strong honest voice in his council drove his decision. Arnold's honorable behavior and own revolt might have given him the excuse, but he is solely responsible. He may have been pushed, but he went willingly."
Arnold swallowed hard but nodded, then drew his sword. “Sergius's attack has absolved me of my oath. I will join your revolt and cast the false King to hell where he belongs."
The man had charisma oozing from every pore. Most of the guerilla leaders were ex-bandits and outlaws, men who had been oppressed by Arnold's class and culture from their childhood. But the knight's words had them on their feet cheering, slapping him on the back, and kissing him on the cheeks with their garlic-ridden lips.
Mark waited patiently, like a spider that had trapped a fly. “In the history of my own world, there was a King who seized the holdings of one of his Dukes. By violating the laws of inheritance, he showed himself to be no fit King. And the Duke cast him out and became King himself."
Which had led, unfortunately, to one of the great civil wars of history, the War of the Roses. But Mark didn't go into that. He was setting Arnold up.
"It is true that a King must not arbitrarily strip a Baron of his fief,” Arnold said.
Ellie was torn. Arnold was her friend and Ranolf had helped her when she and Mark had arrived alone and friendless. She didn't like Mark's manipulation, but Mark was right. Whatever hints Mark's spies might have sent him, Sergius had already moved against Ranolf. She would have to make the best of it—and watch Mark like a hawk afterwards. He might decide the movement needed a martyr after all.
Now, though, it was time to assert the illegitimate nature of Sergius's hold on the thrown.
"Did you notice that the flail and hammer gave off no spark of magic when Sergius was crowned?” she asked the room. “I must think, even then, that Lubica rejected him as King because he was an oathbreaker in his heart. The land needs a new King. Someone of noble blood, of course. Someone who can rally the aristocracy to our cause, joining with the workers and farmers to cast out this evil pretender and to create a nation that is ruled by law rather than by arbitrary decisions."
Arnold looked at Ellie and opened his mouth, but Mark beat him to the punch. “Long live King Arnold."
* * * *
Between them, they thrashed out a constitution. A single set of laws for both people and the nobility. Feudal property rights would be respected, but the peasants would own their lands outright subject to modest taxes paid to the Barons for protection. Since monasteries didn't have military responsibilities, peasants working lands formerly enfiefed by the monks would own their lands outright and pay taxes directly to the central government.
The King would be commander in chief of the army, could appoint judges, subject to confirmation by parliament, and would have the authority to grant any feudal fiefs that eschewed to the nation as a result of a noble line dying out. But he wouldn't be an absolute monarch, couldn't declare war, and couldn't raise taxes without parliamentary approval.
It wasn't a bad constitution and Ellie felt proud of it, even with her knowledge that Mark had written much of it out well before Sergius had attacked Ranolf.
Once they'd created a constitution, Ellie figured it was time to pay Arnold back some of what she owed him.
"I'm going to take the fight to Sergius.” It was only one day after she, Arnold, the ex-bandit leaders, and a couple of minor barons who'd struggled into Harrison signed the new constitution but there was no point in waiting. �
��The ninjas and I will leave tomorrow."
Arnold nodded. “I'll come with you."
Mark held up a hand. “We need you to help form a cavalry, Your Majesty. Of everyone we have, you've got the most experience with heavy cavalry."
"But—"
"I'll try to free your father and sisters,” Ellie offered.
Arnold's face turned red. “If I am King, even a constitutional King, surely I can decide whether to lead my soldiers in battle."
Mark gave Ellie a nasty look. “I can't control either of you guys. If you both want to go out and get killed, there's not a lot I can do about it. But think about this, Arnold. Ellie is a natural at guerilla war, but she can't help build a real army. Her martial arts training doesn't really mean much when it comes to the size of army we need to build to take on Sergius. Her strategic skills are about on par with those of a mosquito. And she's already done the big thing she needs to do, which was to create the idea of a nation and government that is for the people rather than for the King. Taking the fight to Sergius, making his life a bit miserable, giving some encouragement to the fighters we've already got in the field, and possibly freeing some prisoners and recruiting a few more nobles over to our side is the kind of thing she would do a great job at. If she dies, you and I will be sad, but she'll be a martyr to the cause.
"But you are different. If we lose you, most of the army and all of the nobles are going to think it's over. You know how the nobles react, and you've got the sense to help us build an army that can stand against them and defeat them."
Arnold looked at Ellie. “Tell me that I should come with you."
She shook her head. “You know Mark is right, Arnold. I mean, Your Majesty."
"You can always call me Arnold, princess.” He sighed, toyed with the sword on his belt, then sighed again. “Go in my place, then, Ellie. I will stay here and work."