Killingford: The Hieromonk's Tale, Book Two

by Robert Reginald

  “Then I heard the attack. Most of our boys were caught unawares. They were slaughtered in their beds. I could see hundreds of tents burning in the wind, and the unarmed men highlighted against them as they were run down by enemy troops. Some tried to escape in the river, and were swept away. Some were captured, I don’t know how many. Others fled. I don’t know what became of Duke Ferdinand. But the army of Mährenia is utterly destroyed as an effective fighting force, of that I’m sure.

  “So I rode east into the night, wanting to warn you, stopping only to steal a horse when the one I was riding threatened to drop.”

  Prince Arkády took the lead in questioning.

  “Sir Eumen,” he said, “you stated that you saw Duke Ferdinand’s army being attacked, but you also indicated that you were watching the battle from a distance.”

  “Yes, Highness,” the soldier said.

  “How much of a distance?” the prince asked.

  “Maybe a mile,” Eumen acknowledged.

  “Maybe more?” Arkády prodded.

  The scout slowly nodded his head.

  “Then how can you really know what happened?” Arkády said. “You’ve admitted that you didn’t see the duke taken, and you obviously don’t know whether or not the Mährenians were able to regroup. All you can say for sure is that there was a Pommerelian raid on the camp during the early morning hours. Why didn’t you spot the enemy forces sooner?”

  “I, well...,” the soldier stammered out.

  “You were asleep, weren’t you?” Arkády said.

  Eumen let his head drop.

  “Yes, sir,” he finally said.

  “Then tell me again what you do know,” the prince said.

  The soldier gulped audibly.

  “Well, sir, I had dozed off against a tree, when my horse snorted. I looked out from the grove and saw a large troop marching by, I don’t know how many. It was just too dark to see. I followed them at a great distance to avoid being detected, and heard them attack our camp. I did see some fires among the tents and noted a few men outlined against them who were cut down, but I don’t know how many. I fled the scene as quickly as possible, knowing I would be blamed.”

  “Very well,” Arkády said. “Sire?”

  The king grimaced at the task before him.

  “Sir Eumen von Lettów,” he said, “you are charged by us with malfeasance of duty and cowardice in the face of battle. How plead you?”

  “Guilty, majesty,” the soldier said.

  “Then it is the judgment of this court,” Kipriyán said, “that you be stripped of your titles, estates, and family name, and at the first light of morning, be taken to a place of execution, there to receive the ultimate punishment. But because you have made an effort to warn us of the dangers that we face, and because you have freely admitted your guilt to this court and council, we grant you the merciful kiss of the axe.”

  Eumen bowed deeply, and touched his head to the table.

  “I accept your judgment, Sire, and humbly beg your forgiveness.”

  “It is given,” the king said.

  Then he motioned to the guards.

  “Take him away.”

  The War Council spent the next two hours discussing their options.

  “If Ferdinand is dead,” Arkády said, “then we must act very quickly to have Prince Nikolaí declared king. We can’t allow Duchess Johanna to seize control of the government by proclaiming herself Regent for an underaged Princess Rosanna.”

  “And if he isn’t?” Nikolaí asked.

  Arkády smiled.

  “Then we might offend him most mightily, my dear royal brother,” he said.

  “I don’t want anyone to forget my second son,” Humfried said, “or his rights. If you proclaim Nikolaí King of Mährenia, then you must also declare Prince Norbert the new Duke of Nisyria.”

  King Kipriyán shook his head in frustration.

  “We will not forget, Cousin,” he said. “Gad, how could we?”

  Lord Gorázd waved his hand to get the king’s attention.

  “I think it would be wise, majesty,” he said, “to assume the worst, and to proceed with the official proclamations tomorrow. We have no way of confirming what exactly happened on the Kleine, but that a battle occurred there is now apparent. If Duke Ferdinand is dead or wounded, then clearly Prince Nikolaí is his lawful successor under the terms of our treaty. If our proclamation proves premature, we can apologize and step back a few paces. But not to proceed immediately might well leave a vacuum that someone less suitable could fill.”

  There was general support from around the table for this course of action.

  The king stated: “Very well, my lords. Tomorrow at tritê we will declare my second son King of Mährenia and Duke of Dürkheim, and Prince Humfried’s second son will be named Duke of Nisyria and Count of Cartágö. Agreed?”

  Without dissension, all concurred, and the meeting was adjourned.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “A FEW COUNTERS ON A BOARD”

  “Please, Tréssa.”

  Queen Polyxena was seated with her sister-in-law in a secluded corner of the bright, airy solar at Tighrishály Palace in Paltyrrha.

  “You must eat something,” she said.

  She held a tempting spoonful of rich broth to Princess Teréza’s pale lips.

  The princess tried to smile at her brother’s wife, but it came out all wrong. The crooked grimace that slashed across her wan face was ghastly.

  “I’m just not hungry, Xena.” Teréza shuddered. “I think I am, and then when I sit down and actually try a bite or two, my appetite suddenly goes away. It’s been like that ever since poor Dolph was killed earlier this year....” She stifled a sob.

  “I know, dearest, and I understand.”

  The queen reached over and tenderly brushed a lock of drifting hair away from her sister-in-law’s pinched face.

  “But you must try,” Polyxena said. “You must center yourself and really try this time, for Ezzö’s sake as well as your own.”

  “...And I had the strangest feeling, at Körösladány a few weeks ago...,” Tréssa rambled on, as if the queen had not spoken, “...that I’d never see my Ezzösh again. He shouldn’t have gone, Xena.”

  She gripped the other woman’s hand with her little claw.

  “He wouldn’t listen to me, so I sent Élla to talk to him, but he just kept saying that he had to go, that it was his duty.”

  Teréza looked around the lovely room, but saw nothing pleasant there.

  “He’s not well, you know,” she went on. “For the last year or so, he’s been forgetting things. Little things at first. One moment he’ll seem perfectly fine, and then he won’t remember an appointment he made a week ago, even though I’ve reminded him of it several times. He’s been worse lately. His great-grandpapá went the same way, I’m told.”

  She got up and began pacing the floor as she spoke.

  “I begged him not to go,” she said. “I got down on my hands and knees, Xena, and begged him. But he said he’d rather die in battle, if his time has come, than to linger like the old Humfried, not even knowing who he was. Oh dear sister,” she sobbed, flinging herself at Polyxena’s feet.

  “Tell me true, I must know,” Teréza said. “Is there any news at all from the front?”

  The queen’s face was grim as she helped Teréza back to her chair.

  “Things are not all that bad,” the queen said. “You know that Ezzö and Pankratz have taken Lockenlöd Castle in Einwegflasche, killing Count Iselin in the process. That’s good news, surely!”

  However, Polyxena also knew that Iselin’s son and heir, Lord Kortis, had escaped with a group of his men, but she did not mention that fact to Teréza.

  “Humfried and Kipriyán are still besieging Karkára in southern Einwegflasche, I’m told,” the queen said. “There’s been no word at all from Duke Ferdinand’s army, except that ‘they’re somewhere’ out in that godforsaken plain they call the Prüffenmark. ‘So far,
so good,’ as they say. Everyone seems satisfied with the progress we’ve made with ‘a minimum of casualties’.”

  “Then why do I sense you’re worried, too?” The princess stared deep into Polyxena’s eyes.

  “Because, my dearest,” the queen said, increasing her defenses just a bit, “I care about them as much as you do. I hate this war and what it’s doing to us. There are no certainties in battle. A great triumph one day can become a greater tragedy the next.”

  Once again she offered a spoonful of broth, and this time, soothed by Polyxena’s voice, Teréza accepted it, swallowing with some effort, but keeping it down.

  “Even if you ‘win’,” the queen said, “someone you love can be killed or maimed in the process. Our men never think of their families waiting for them back home. To them it’s all such a grand adventure. And when it’s all done with, why, then they can spin yarns about it around the bonfire. They can tell war stories to their grandchildren in their old age.”

  She kept spooning the broth into Teréza’s mouth as she spoke, like a mother bird feeding her chick.

  “They never think of their women waiting, always waiting, growing old wondering if they’ll ever return in one piece,” she said. “Oh, yes! They call us ‘foolish’ for worrying about them. They march off to battle, still believing in happy endings, the poor fools. They think that by moving a few counters on a board, they will prevail, as if any of that really mattered. Whatever happiness we find in our lifetime, Tréssa, is paid for with our suffering. Only women understand that little secret. So that is why you must eat, sister. You must still be here, strong and smiling, when your hunter finally comes home from the hill.”

  Teréza grimaced. “And if he doesn’t come home? What do I do then? I’m not strong like you, Xena. Sometimes I feel as if I’ve already experienced all the sorrows a person should be made to bear in a lifetime. Five children, Xena, five children. First it was little Emíliya, dead of the spotted pox. She was only five. Then came my other girl, Triféna, struck down by paralysis at age eleven. Then poor Kóstya was killed in that stupid duel. Then this thing with Dolph. Now only Humfried is left, and he’s cruel and unfeeling. Oh yes, I know my son’s faults better than anyone. I know what the people think of him. But he’s still my son, sister, my only surviving son. If he and Ezzösh don’t return, I don’t know if I can bear it, I just don’t know anymore....”

  “Then let us do the only thing left to us. Pray with me, Tréssa,” Xena said, “pray with me for the safe return of our loved ones. Let us pray most earnestly, for their salvation and for our own.”

  The two women clasped hands and bowed their heads, one dark and one light, to pray to their Lord Jesus Christ. Their urgent whispers rose up like sweet-smelling incense, and commingled with the myriad tiny twinkling motes floating aimlessly in the sunlight. They stayed there for some time, beseeching their God to send their brave, foolish men home safe to them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “A LOST SOUL”

  Elsewhere in Tighrishály Palace, the governess Márissa had summoned the Princesses Dúra and Arrhiána to the nursery to comfort little Rÿna, who had awakened screaming from her afternoon nap.

  “Mamá, Mamá!” the child called out in terror.

  “What is it, Rÿna?” her mother said, gently shaking her awake. “What on earth is the matter with you?”

  “I saw him!” The little girl panted, clinging for dear life to her mother’s hand.

  “Whom did you see?” Arrhiána knelt on the other side of the princess’s canopied bed, and reached across to stroke her niece’s perspiring brow. “What are you talking about, dearest?”

  “The Da-Dark-Haired Ma-Man!” Rÿna said.

  Crystalline tears etched a bright path down her perfect, heart-shaped face.

  “Try to tell us exactly what you saw,” said Arrhiána, probing the child gently with her mind, finding the beginnings of defenses, but nothing sophisticated. Then she siphoned away some of Rÿna’s fear.

  “He was big and hairy,” the girl began, calmer now, “and he was chasing poor Grandpapá ’round and ’round the council table, and Grandpapá was huffing and puffing and going slower and slower, and the Dark-Haired Man was getting closer to him, and I was afraid, so I screamed, and then the Dark-Haired Man stopped and looked right at me!, and I wet myself.”

  She stopped, pink with embarrassment.

  “Oh, Mamá, I’m so sorry.” She started to cry again.

  “Listen to me, little one,” Dúra said. “It’s all right. Don’t worry about the bedclothes. I don’t mind. It’s easily taken care of....”

  Dúra crooned to her daughter, rocking the child back and forth on her shoulder. She looked past her to Arrhiána and shook her head.

  Arrhiána tried another tack.

  “Rÿna, look at me,” she said. “Rÿna!”

  The girl slowly turned her face towards her aunt, who continued speaking quietly.

  “There is no Dark-Haired Man,” Arrhiána said. “It’s a story, that’s all, something that one of the bards or troubadours made up while sitting around a campfire so that people would give him food or shelter. He doesn’t exist, any more than hobgoblins exist. They’re just fanciful tales.”

  Rÿna canted her head like a bird.

  “Oh, no, Auntie Rhie,” she said in her little singsong voice, “you’re wrong! He is real. I know he is.”

  Arrhiána was perplexed at the child’s certainty.

  “How do you know, dearest?”

  “Ouisa told me,” the little girl said, on more familiar ground now, “and she never lies.”

  “But Ouisa’s just your doll, isn’t she?” her aunt said. “She’s not alive, not like we’re alive. She can’t really talk to you.”

  “Oh, yes, she can!” Rÿna said. “We talk all the time, ’bout lots of things. She’s a, a lost soul or something like that. That’s what she says, anyway.”

  “‘A lost soul,’ is she?” Rhie snorted. “Well, bring her to me. Let’s just see how well she talks to me!”

  “I don’t know, Auntie,” the girl said. “She never talks to anybody else. But I’ll go get her and see.”

  Rÿna climbed down off her bed and ran over to the corner of the room, where her toys were arranged in a tall cabinet stenciled with fanciful designs. She rummaged around until she found her favorite rag doll, and carried it back to her aunt.

  “You won’t hurt her, will you?” she asked, handing over her prized possession.

  “No, Rÿna. I promise I won’t hurt her,” Arrhiána said.

  Rhie turned the doll over, and carefully examined it from every angle, moving its jointed limbs back and forth, and removing its well-worn clothing to reveal a stuffed cloth body. But she could discover nothing unusual about the toy. She tried a mental probe, but sensed only emptiness. No! There was something more, almost a bleakness, a quality less than nothingness. Suddenly the doll twisted in her hands.

  “Ouch!” she said, pulling her right hand away.

  On her palm was a spot of blood. Arrhiána turned Ouisa over and felt very carefully along its spine.

  “What is it, Rhie?” Dúra asked, clearly concerned.

  “Ah,” her sister-in-law said. “Here it is. Just a needle poking through the fabric.”

  “A needle!” Dúra drew nearer to see. “What in the world is that doing there?”

  Arrhiána carefully extracted a shiny metal sliver about an inch long from the stuffed body.

  “Wicked little thing, isn’t it? It’s good that I found it. You could have been hurt, Rÿna.”

  “Ouisa would never hurt me, Auntie,” the child said, “only....”

  She paused a beat, as if debating the wisdom of what she was about to say.

  “Only what?” Arrhiána said. “Speak up, child!”

  “Ouisa would only hurt someone else if they were trying to hurt me.” Rÿna drew herself up imperiously. “She said no one can hurt me ever again. She promised I won’t be lonely ever again.�
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  “Dearest!” Arrhiána said.

  She stooped down to the child’s level, so she was looking straight into Rÿna’s blue eyes.

  “There are worse things than being lonely. There are worse things than feeling pain. Someday you’ll understand, I hope. You have a mother and a father who adore you more than anything in the world. And I love you too. You’re the best little girl I know.”

  She gave her a comforting squeeze.

  “Now, please tell Ouisa she’s not to go about hurting people,” Rhie said, “that’s not a very nice thing to do. I think it’s time you forgot all of this, and went outside to play in the garden.”

  Arrhiána gave her a mental nudge, blurring her memory of the nightmare.

  “There, that’s a good girl,” she said, as her niece went scampering off with Ouisa, chattering away to the doll.

  “Thanks for your help, Rhie. You have a real way with her,” Dúra said, shaking her head. “Sometimes I can’t help wondering if she was left on my pillow by the fairies. She’s so smart, it frightens me. I wasn’t at all like that at her age.”

  “Well....” Arrhiána laughed, “I have to tell you that she’s a lot like me, when I was young. Kásha, too, if you want the truth. I’m afraid she just inherited that Tighrishi bloody-mindedness that you see so often in our line. You didn’t know what you were getting into when you married Kásha, did you?”

  “I didn’t have much choice, did I? Not when your father and my father sat down together at the bargaining table!”

  Dúra smiled at her sister-in-law.

  “I have to admit, though,” she said, “that marrying Kásha was the best thing that could have happened to me. I couldn’t have chosen a better husband for myself. He’s strong-minded, all right, I admit that, but he’s also kind and gentle, and oh so handsome! My heart still skips a beat whenever he enters the room. Oh, yes, it does!” she continued, when Arrhiána made a disgusted face at her.

  She reached out on impulse and patted Arrhiána’s hand.