Throne of Llewyllan (Book 2)

by Ben Cassidy

  Kara and Maklavir threw down their blankets and quickly fell asleep, but Kendril remained seated by the dying fire, running a stone across the edge of one of his swords.

  The night grew long as Joseph finally got up from where he was lying. He rubbed his eyes and sat by the fire.

  “Can’t sleep?” Kendril asked. He continued sharpening his blade.

  “No. You don’t seem to be doing such a good job either.” Joseph craned his head around, looking at the sleeping encampment around them. “Looks like we’ll be in Balneth by tomorrow.”

  “Bathsby will hold the city against us,” said Kendril quietly. “Whitmore might try a siege, if his soldiers will follow him. He won’t win.”

  Joseph looked over at him. “You sound pretty certain.”

  “I am.” Kendril said. “It’s hopeless. Whitmore doesn’t have enough men to take Balneth.”

  “Nothing is ever hopeless, Kendril,” Joseph corrected.

  The Ghostwalker looked up and raised an eyebrow. “This is about as close as things get.”

  Joseph looked over at Kara, who was huddled under her blanket asleep. “Sounds like going back to Balneth is a bad idea, then.”

  Kendril flipped his blade over, examining the edge. “We don’t have a lot of choice.” He sighed. “Try to get some sleep. There’s no telling what tomorrow will bring.”

  Joseph nodded silently, then turned back to his bedding after a moment.

  The scraping of the sharpening stone continued on into the night.

  The next day the sky was still overcast, but the rain came only intermittently. The road they traveled remained mired in mud, and the air was constantly filled with the sound of slopping hooves and boots. Around afternoon the sun broke out, and the rain stopped, at least for the time being.

  Joseph was riding along next to Kara, trying to think of something to say to her, when he noticed that the column had halted. Grateful for the respite, the soldiers peeled off to either side of the road, resting their weapons against the surrounding trees and breaking out water canteens.

  Kendril rode up alongside them, glancing over at the column with a frown. “Stay here,” he said, then trotted off towards the front of the line.

  “Sounds good to me,” said Maklavir as he took off his cap and brushed back his hair.

  Not listening, Joseph urged his horse forward. He rode past soldiers on either side of the road, following behind the gray mule and its dark rider in front of him.

  Kendril stopped Simon short of the front of the column.

  Joseph pulled up alongside of him.

  Lord Whitmore and Sir Mulcher were talking animatedly with a well-dressed rider in the middle of the road. Joseph didn’t remember seeing him in the encampment before.

  “Someone from Balneth?” he whispered to the Ghostwalker.

  “Shhh,” Kendril shushed irritably. He spurred Simon a few steps forward, trying to catch the words of the conversation.

  Joseph followed him.

  “Married!” Sir Mulcher was saying in astonishment. “I don’t believe it.”

  Lord Whitmore clutched the harness of his horse, his face white.

  “Believe it or not,” said the well-dressed rider with a wave of his arm, “it’s happening tonight. The princess announced the plans for the wedding in front of an entire room of nobles. Lord Bathsby will become King.”

  “Serentha believes this nonsense about a conspiracy, then?” Sir Mulcher’s mustache bristled as he straightened.

  “I don’t know what she believes,” the rider confessed. “I only know what I’ve been told.” He turned to Lord Whitmore, who had not yet spoken. “Lord Bathsby has declared you a traitor, my lord. He has closed the city gates, and is preparing defenses against a possible attack.”

  Whitmore took a deep breath, his face still pale. “I see. Who can we count on inside the walls?”

  The rider paused. “Lord Bittlebur and his retinue will assist. Baron Yavin and Sir Corin are also at call. Many of the other nobles are still unsure of your loyalty. Lord Bathsby has been very convincing with his evidence, and now the princess herself has consented to marry him.”

  “Her Highness may very well be under duress,” snapped Lord Whitmore, the stress showing on his face. He composed himself again. “Can we take one of the city gates?”

  The rider sighed. “I am sorry, my lord, but even if we convince some of the other nobles to join, there are too few to take the gate, much less hold it for long. Too many men in the army remain loyal to Bathsby.”

  Lord Whitmore looked down at the muddy ground, his expression drained of hope.

  Sir Mulcher’s dark eyes blazed. “We may still take Balneth, sir. My regiment will follow you to the Void and back, I can guarantee you that. We can’t give up now.”

  Whitmore nodded his head, giving a weak smile. “Of course not. Give the men ten minutes, Colonel, then let’s get on the march again.”

  Mulcher saluted. “Yes, sir.”

  Joseph and Kendril watched as the three riders in front of them turned back towards the column.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Joseph said as the two of them turned back towards where they had left Kara and Maklavir. “Why would Serentha consent to marry Lord Bathsby?”

  “I don’t know,” said Kendril tersely. His face darkened. “But I suspect there may be foul magic at work here.”

  Joseph looked over at him in surprise, but said nothing. They rode back along the road, coming up to where Maklavir and Kara waited.

  “What’s wrong?” Kara asked after seeing their faces.

  Kendril didn’t say anything, his jaw set and his gaze on the ground.

  “Serentha and Lord Bathsby are going to be married tonight,” said Joseph after a moment’s hesitation. “And the city is held against us.”

  Maklavir scratched the side of his face. “That does not sound terribly promising.”

  Kendril didn’t look up from the ground.

  “No, Maklavir,” Joseph said stiffly. “It’s not terribly promising. All the same, I think Whitmore intends to storm the city.”

  The diplomat gave Joseph a quizzical look. “Isn’t that rather pointless?”

  Joseph didn’t feel like answering all these questions. “Yes, Maklavir, I suppose it is.”

  Maklavir straightened his cap, and looked out over the troops around them. “Surely there must be some other option. Attacking Balneth will never work, and only cost more lives on both sides. What is Whitmore thinking?”

  Kendril still said nothing, staring down at the ground.

  Joseph wanted desperately out of this conversation. “I don’t know, Maklavir.”

  “I mean, just think about it,” continued the diplomat. “Even assuming Whitmore takes the city, which is highly unlikely, he would have to take the castle, too.” He shook his head. “At least Serentha can get out. Why she hasn’t already is beyond me.”

  Kendril looked up. “Get out how?”

  Maklavir gave the Ghostwalker a startled look. “What?”

  “Get out how?”

  “Through the catacombs,” said the diplomat with a strange look. “I’m sure Serentha knows about it. After all, she is the daughter of the King. Perhaps she really is determined to marry Bathsby--”

  “There’s a passage into the castle?” interrupted Kendril. He threw back his hood. “Where?”

  “I told you,” said Maklavir with a touch of irritation in his voice. “Through the catacombs. The whole hill is chock full of them. There’s a passage that goes from the castle basement, through the lower part of the catacombs, and out the cliff face on the eastern side.” He smiled. “An escape route, you understand. Most palaces have something similar. Monarchs can be rather paranoid people.”

  Joseph stared at the diplomat incredulously. “How in Zanthora did you find that out?”

  “Palora told me.”

  “The handmaid?”

  Maklavir gave a wry smile. “You forget, my dear Joseph. I’m a diplomat by tr
ade. Learning sensitive information is part of my job.”

  Kendril reached over and grabbed Maklavir by the lapel. “Does Bathsby know about this passage?”

  “I don’t think so. Please, Kendril, don’t wrinkle the shirt.” The Ghostwalker released him, and Maklavir fixed his collar. “He shouldn’t, anyway. The existence of the catacombs passage is a secret to all save the royal family.”

  “But Palora knew,” Kara commented.

  “Yes,” Maklavir responded patiently, “but Palora is also the princess’s handmaid. She’s privy to such things.”

  “Bathsby was the King’s top man,” said Joseph uncertainly. “Chances are he knows as well.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” said Kendril. His eyes sparkled with new life. “If you were the King, would you have told him?”

  “What exactly are you thinking here?” asked Kara slowly.

  “A passage that leads out of the castle also leads in,” the Ghostwalker said.

  “Surely Bathsby would have blocked it or put guards on it,” said Joseph doubtfully.

  “If he knows about it. And even if he does, why should he guard it? It’s a secret, isn’t it? No one in this army should know about it.”

  “Good heavens,” said Maklavir suddenly. “You can’t be seriously suggesting that we go looking for this thing? Palora may have been mistaken, for all I know. There may not even be a passageway in the catacombs.”

  “Maybe not,” said Kendril. “But it’s worth the chance if there is.”

  “If we can take the castle,” said Joseph, beginning to catch Kendril’s excitement, “we could control the whole city.”

  “And if we catch Bathsby we can end this whole takeover here and now,” finished Kendril.

  “I can’t believe you’re seriously discussing this,” said Maklavir as he glanced from one face to another. “It’s pure madness.”

  “You’d better hope not,” said Kendril. “Because you’re coming with me.”

  Chapter 14

  Sir Mulcher shook his head. “I can’t do it,” he said quietly.

  “A hundred men is all I need. A company. Surely you can give me that.”

  The officer plucked at the end of his large mustache, eying Kendril carefully. “You’ve talked to General Whitmore about this?”

  The Ghostwalker hesitated. “No. I didn’t want to distract his attention with something that could turn out to be a false lead.”

  Sir Mulcher sighed, and leaned back in his foldout chair. His command tent was behind him, and the banner of his regiment drooped on its pole, lacking any wind to bring it to life. The soldiers of his regiment were camped all around, with fires already springing to life across the wooded glade they were in. From the road a few hundred yards to the right the cathedral tower of Balneth and the pinnacle of Castle Dunhill were just visible in the fading sunlight.

  Whitmore had encamped his army a few miles from the city, stopping for the evening to consider his next move. Bathsby had made no move towards them, nor did Kendril expect him to. With Balneth locked up tight and reinforcements likely on the way, Bathsby no doubt intended to merely wait Whitmore out. There would probably be some emissaries riding into the camp early the next morning, demanding Whitmore’s surrender and arrest, but not much more.

  “I can’t spare even a company, Kendril.” The nobleman leaned forward. “What you say is intriguing, but it’s all hearsay. I can’t risk the lives of my men on such sketchy information.”

  “If the passage exists, we’ll find it,” said Kendril confidently. “It should be somewhere on the eastern base of the cliff, leading up into the catacombs. If it isn’t there, we haven’t lost anything. We’ll just return to camp before morning.”

  Sir Mulcher folded his hands on the portable table before him. “I need my men well rested. Who knows what will happen in the morning?”

  “Fifty men,” said Kendril desperately. “Give me fifty men and I can end this war right now.”

  “I appreciate all you’ve done for us,” said Sir Mulcher carefully, his dark eyes watching the Ghostwalker, “but you’re not an officer, Mr. Kendril. I won’t give you command over any of my men.”

  Kendril cursed, stepping back from the table. “I can’t believe you’d throw this chance away,” he said. “Don’t you think that—”

  “I said I wouldn’t give you command over any of my men,” interrupted Sir Mulcher, “and I won’t. That is why I intend to come with you tonight, with a hundred of my men. Is that good enough for you?”

  Kendril took a breath, his anger evaporating. “Certainly.”

  “I’ll inform General Whitmore of our intentions,” Mulcher said, smoothing out one of the maps on the table. “Assuming he gives his consent to this insane plan, we can depart in an hour.”

  Kendril gave a grim smile. “Thank you, Colonel. You won’t regret this.”

  The nobleman bent over the map. “Let’s hope not.”

  “Look, Kendril,” said Maklavir in a rather nervous tone, “I think it would be rather better for all of us if I stayed here in the camp. I’m not much of a fighter, you know.”

  Kendril shoved a loaded pistol into his belt. “Trust me, Maklavir, I know. But you’re still coming.”

  Maklavir’s face fell. “But why, in Eru’s name? I’ve told you everything Palora told me.”

  Kendril gave Simon a final rub on the nose. “You’re still the closest thing to a guide we have. If this passage exists, you’re going to help us find it.” He turned, buckling on his swords.

  The diplomat spread his hands, his face aghast. “Tuldor’s beard, are you trying to get me killed?”

  Joseph gave his rapier a few practice swings, then sheathed it and glanced over at Maklavir. “Just duck off to one side when the shooting starts. You’ll be fine.”

  “As long as you’re not wearing anything noticeable. Like a purple cape, for instance,” commented Kara with a smile.

  “Yes, yes,” said Maklavir drolly, “very amusing. How funny will it be when I’m dead?” He crossed his arms, his face sour. “You’re all a bloody bunch of lunatics.”

  Sir Mulcher walked up to them, wearing a large buff coat with a pistol tucked into his belt. He looked over at Kendril. “The light’s beginning to fade. Are you ready?”

  Kendril nodded. “All of us are.”

  Mulcher stared over at Kara in surprise. “You’re taking a woman along?”

  She glanced up, her face curdling.

  Kendril gave Mulcher a knowing look. “She can handle herself just fine, Colonel, believe me. Now let’s stop wasting time and get going.”

  The nobleman gave Kara one last doubtful look. “Right then. Let’s find this bloody passage.”

  “The nobles are arriving.” Sir Reginald stepped back from the palace window.

  Bathsby straightened the lace at his collar, took one last glance in the mirror, then strode to the window himself. He glanced out across the castle lawn. Several coaches were already arriving through the main gate, and the first nobles were beginning to enter the palace chapel. The sun was setting in the west, and had already dipped below the level of the castle wall. He smiled.

  “Everything is still on track?”

  Reginald gave a quick nod. “For now. We have told the noble families that the wedding must take place here in the castle for reasons of security.”

  Bathsby stiffened his neck, and pulled at the lace again. “But of course. Whitmore’s assassins are still on the loose.” The smile faded from his face. “Get down to the chapel. I’ll be there shortly.”

  The nobleman gave a quick bow, hiding his smile, then walked out of the room.

  “Blast!” cursed Maklavir as he stumbled over a loose rock. He wavered for a moment and reached out a hand to steady himself against the cliff wall. “I can’t see where I’m going here, Kendril.”

  The Ghostwalker ignored him, scrambling over a large boulder as he searched the cliffside to their left. Behind them was a long line of soldiers, with Colonel Mulcher
himself at their head. To their right the low plains stretched to the east, with the first of the Dagger Hills just visible in the fading light. The cliff to their left stretched up hundreds of feet to the wall of Castle Dunhill.

  Maklavir cursed again as his cloak caught on some brambles. He tenderly pulled it loose, careful not to tear it.

  Kendril looked back over his shoulder. “Keep it down, will you?”

  The diplomat pushed his cape out of the way of some nearby vines. “The castle’s three hundred feet up, Kendril. They’re not going to hear us.”

  “They won’t if I cut your tongue out,” growled Kendril. “Now keep it down.”

  “Yes, sir,” Maklavir said sarcastically. He tripped over another stone and stumbled a few feet forward. “Kendril?”

  “What?” the Ghostwalker replied irritably. He began crawling up the surface of a large boulder.

  “What about over there?” The diplomat pointed to a thick group of bushes against the cliff face.

  Kendril slid back down the rock, looking at Maklavir questioningly. “You see something?”

  “Well, no,” he confessed, “but I think Palora mentioned something about bushes covering the entrance.”

  “Bushes?” Kendril stepped closer to the diplomat. “You never said anything about bushes.”

  “Yes, well I had forgotten,” said Maklavir, moving closer to the tangle of vegetation. “Besides, I might be wrong.”

  Kendril muttered something under his breath, then moved towards the cliff face himself, pushing aside some of the tangled shrubs.

  Joseph and Kara came over the large boulder behind them, followed quickly by Mulcher and two of his men.

  “Found something?” the nobleman asked curiously.

  “We’ll know in a minute,” said Kendril as he grabbed one side of the bushes. He pulled on it, swatting branches out of the way as he tugged at the leaves. “Maklavir, grab the other side.”

  The diplomat hesitated, then reached cautiously for the wiggling plants in front of him.