by Ben Cassidy
“I should have seen it coming,” said Maklavir. He wrapped his hands around a pewter mug as he sat on one of the wooden benches by the bandit’s table.
“How could you have?” asked Joseph as he poured himself a cup of coffee. The first streaks of dawn were in the sky, and the forest was alive with the sounds of birds greeting the morning.
Maklavir looked down into his coffee. “Serentha.” He shook his head. “I knew she looked familiar, but I couldn’t place where I had seen her before. There were always little clues, of course, but I never managed to put them together.”
Joseph stood, the cup of coffee in one hand. His rapier hung once more at his side, returned to him by the soldiers of the Royal Guard.
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, Maklavir. None of us had a clue who she was.”
“But I had seen her before,” Maklavir continued. “Years ago. I went to Llewyllan on a diplomatic mission. One of my first, actually. I remember young princess Serentha. She couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve then.” He took a sip of coffee. “I should have known.”
Joseph sat down in the grass by the fire, and set the coffee down beside him.
Around them the white tents of the Royal Guard dotted the clearing, and sentries patrolled the perimeter of the meadow. Further away was the larger tent that Lord Bathsby had told them that Serentha was recovering in. Neither Joseph nor Maklavir had been allowed to see her yet.
The scout reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small book. He flipped it open, and started to read.
Maklavir raised his eyebrows as he saw the cover. “A religious man, eh?”
Joseph looked up in surprise at the question. “I suppose so, yes. You?”
The diplomat chuckled. “Oh, not exactly. I try to keep my options open.”
The scout looked down at the book. “You don’t believe in Eru the One?”
Maklavir shrugged. “I don’t disbelieve in Him.” He smiled. “So you read the Scriptures every morning?”
Joseph scratched his beard. “Every morning I can.” He held out the book to Maklavir. “You’re welcome to it, if you’d like.”
The diplomat took another sip of his coffee. “Maybe sometime.” His eyes rotated upwards. “Kendril?”
The Ghostwalker sauntered into their midst, his black cloak wrapped around him against the morning chill. He sat down heavily on one of the benches by the table, his face a mixture of frustration and disgust.
“They’re all dead.”
Joseph pocketed the book. “Who’s dead?”
Kendril leaned forward and looked at the fire. “The bounty hunter and his men.”
Maklavir wrinkled his nose. “I can’t say it’s any great loss.”
“I had a few questions for them,” Kendril said darkly. He bent his arm back with a grimace, and stretched his injured side.
Joseph gave the Ghostwalker a surprised look. “Questions about what?”
Kendril turned his head towards the scout, his hands still folded in front of him. “About who hired them, and why.”
“What exactly are you suggesting?” asked Maklavir. “Some kind of conspiracy?” He chuckled. “That’s a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”
“Is it?” Kendril stopped for a moment as two soldiers walked by. He waited until after they had passed, then lowered his voice. “Haven’t either of you wondered who hired the bounty hunters? Or who attacked Jade’s escort in the first place?”
Joseph raised his head. “Her escort was attacked?”
Kendril nodded. “Bathsby told me. Jade was coming back from a trip to Merewith. Her convoy was ambushed at the corner of the woods.”
Joseph took another drink of his coffee, his brow furrowed in thought. “You think the attackers knew she was coming?”
The Ghostwalker shrugged. “It makes sense. I think Bathsby suspects something as well, but he’s keeping his mouth shut.”
Maklavir sat back, waving his hands in front of him. “Hold on just one moment here. What you are suggesting, Kendril, is utterly fantastic. We have no evidence for it whatsoever. It’s all just speculation.”
“Last night, right before he was shot, that bounty hunter said he had been set up.” Kendril looked over at both of them. “Set up by whom?”
“One of his men?” Maklavir suggested.
Kendril shook his head. “He didn’t say sold out, he said set up. There must have been someone else involved, and it may very well be someone close to Jade.”
“Sounds bad,” said Joseph quietly. “We should keep our eyes and ears open, I think.”
“And trust no one,” added Kendril.
“Somehow,” said Maklavir dryly, “I doubt that will be much of a problem for you, Kendril.”
The Ghostwalker was about to respond when a shadow fell onto the ground. The three of them looked up to see a soldier standing above them.
“Her Highness will see you now,” he said simply.
Smoke from the numerous campfires dotting the clearing drifted lazily through the early morning air. Kendril glanced around him as the three of them trudged through the dew-covered grass towards the main tent where Serentha was staying. Groups of soldiers were gathered about the fires, in fours and fives, while mounted men patrolled the edges of the meadow. Beyond that, Kendril was sure, there were even more scouts. There had to be close to a hundred men or so in the clearing. It was quite a sizeable force.
The main tent stood on the highest point in the clearing, with soldiers standing guard all around. The royal banners of Llewyllan were planted in the ground to each side of the entryway, flapping and fluttering in the chilly morning breeze. Each was emblazoned with the symbol of a peacock. A small table had been set up nearby, and Kendril noticed Lord Bathsby seated at it with two of his captains, looking over a map.
“Good morning, gentlemen,”said Bathsby as soon as he caught sight of them. “I trust you slept all—” He stopped, staring at Kendril in amazement. “Tuldor’s beard, man! Are you quite all right?”
Kendril glanced down. His pants and shirt were covered with dried blood. He smiled. “I’m fine. Just an old wound from one of our run-ins with the bounty hunter and his men. I haven’t had a chance to clean my clothes yet.”
Bathsby shook his head incredulously. “I’m amazed you’re still alive. You must have a remarkable constitution, my friend.”
The Ghostwalker tilted his head towards Joseph. “I have him to thank for that. Joseph here is quite talented at treating wounds.”
“I see.” Bathsby turned his head, squinting in the morning sun. “Well, I can certainly get you a change of clothes before you see Her Highness. It’s the least I can do to thank you for all that you have done.”
Before Kendril could object, Bathsby had called an orderly over. After a few barked commands, the man rushed off again, returning a few minutes later with a new shirt and trousers. Kendril reluctantly changed, but still kept his black hooded cloak on, bloodstains and all. When Maklavir started to say something about it the Ghostwalker gave the diplomat such a glare that he quickly stopped himself. After Kendril had finished changing, the three men entered the tent.
What they saw made all of them stop in their tracks.
Serentha wore an elegant blue dress, sparkling with pearls at the edges. Her hair, no longer matted and mud-stained, was tied back into a ponytail held in place by a sapphire clasp. On her head was a simple circlet of gold with a single diamond set in the center. She was sitting in a cushioned traveling chair towards the back of the tent. Her face lit up as she saw the men enter, and she rose to her feet. Two maids who had been assisting her bowed their heads low and retreated a step.
For a moment no one spoke.
Finally Maklavir stepped forward, whipping off his hat and bowing low. “Are you well, Your Highness?”
Her face seemed to fall just slightly. “Yes, I am,” she said, her eyes drifting over towards Joseph, and then to Kendril. “Thanks to all of you,” she added, her
face steadying again. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am for what all of you have done. You each risked your lives for me.” She clasped her hands in front of her, as if unsure what to do with them. “I’ve remembered…well, everything. It’s all come back to me in a rush.” She unclasped her hands nervously. “I hope you will all accompany back to Balneth. I know it is a few days journey from here, but I wish to properly reward you for your courage and kindness.”
“Of course,” said Maklavir, keeping the hat in his hand. “I would be most honored, Your Highness.”
Joseph nodded as well, fidgeting a little as if feeling slightly ill at ease. “Thank you.”
Kendril said nothing, staring at Serentha coolly.
The princess glanced down at the ground. “Wonderful.” She looked up again, her eyes falling on Kendril. “Thank you again,” she said. “For everything.”
Maklavir smiled. “We would do it all over again, Your Highness,” he said.
Serentha smiled as well, and for a moment some of the sadness seemed to lift from her eyes. “I know you would, Maklavir.” She looked at all of them. “If there’s anything you need, please ask Lord Bathsby.”
Maklavir nodded, and bowed again. Joseph dipped his head as well, rubbing his sweaty hands on the legs of his trousers. Maklavir rose, and then exited through the flap of the tent. Joseph followed after him.
With a quick glance at the princess, Kendril turned to go.
“Kendril,” Serentha said quickly, “could I speak with you a minute?”
The Ghostwalker hesitated at the edge of the tent, but said nothing. He turned back around, lowering his hood.
Serentha glanced at both of her maids. “Leave me for a moment.”
They bowed, and then exited the tent.
Kendril and Serentha were left alone, standing awkwardly apart from each other. The sides of the tent rolled softly in the morning breeze, the sun shining through the fabric.
The princess motioned towards a pitcher on a small table. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No,” he said.
She looked away for a moment. “How is your wound?”
“Better,” said Kendril.
Serentha looked at the Ghostwalker, her eyes filled with a quiet plea. “I didn’t know about any of this, Kendril—”
“Yes,” the young man said with an edge to his voice, “you couldn’t remember.” He looked her up and down, a vague look of distaste on his face. “You seem to be remembering things just fine now.”
Serentha’s face flushed. “I never meant to deceive you, Kendril. You have to know that.”
The Ghostwalker’s eyes grew dark. “The result is the same though, isn’t it?”
Hurt showed in the beautiful young woman’s eyes. “I’m still the same person you know, Kendril. I’m still me.”
“Really?” said Kendril, his voice filled with venom. “And who exactly would that be? Jade or Serentha?”
“Enough,” she said. “I’m Jade, Kendril.”
“And I should call you that, I suppose? Lord Bathsby out there might have a problem with that. And most of your kingdom, too, I’d wager.” The Ghostwalker swore softly, looking away. “Things have changed, Your Highness. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”
There was silence between them for a moment. The only sound was that of the wind outside the tent, and the flapping of the flags just outside the entrance.
Kendril looked down at the ground by one of the tent sides. He took a deep breath.
“I should go,” he said. “I need to track Simon down. That dumb mule is long overdue for a carrot.”
Serentha sank into the chair, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes on the ground in front of her. She nodded, but said nothing.
Kendril hesitated for a moment, then raised his hood and turned towards the flap.
“Kendril?” Serentha said quietly. “Will…you come back with me to Balneth?”
The Ghostwalker stopped, one hand on the opening. He looked down at the ground, but made no reply.
Serentha looked up, her voice suddenly hard. “I see. Be sure to see Bathsby before you go, then. He’ll pay you for your services.”
Kendril glared back at her for a moment, then exited the tent.