The Crown Tower trc-1

by Michael J. Sullivan

  He pushed off, shoving away as best he could, and the forward momentum of the horse did help it move a step and a half forward before it landed. This left him clear of the knight, but the horse was big. The rear flank crushed Royce’s left leg into the mud and wrenched his hips. Royce cried out as his leg broke. The pounding in his head and ringing in his ears reached a maddening pitch as if all the bells of the world were ringing alarms and his head was the clapper. The horse rolled and kicked, trying to right itself, driving Royce deeper into the mud.

  “Royce!” He heard Hadrian and saw his figure moving toward him out of the gloom.

  He still held the kite shield, only now it had five arrows decorating it. He planted the shield in the mud and struggled to pull Royce free.

  “The knight!” Royce shouted.

  “He’s dead,” Hadrian said, digging in the mud to gain enough clearance.

  At the doorway he spotted Tom with his longbow, exchanging fire with bowmen near the barn.

  “Why isn’t the horse getting up?”

  “It’s dead too. The archers are lousy shots.”

  Royce let his head fall back into the muck where the rain pelted him in the face. “We needed that horse.”

  Hadrian slipped his arms under Royce and pulled. As his body slipped out from underneath the horse, as he felt the pressure subside, he heard another bee and Hadrian stiffened. Tom cursed and let another arrow fly and across the barnyard Royce heard a grunt.

  Hadrian, who was already down on one knee, fell forward. Royce caught him as best he could, his hands brushing the arrow shaft in his back.

  “That’s nine!” Tom shouted.

  Hadrian lay with his head across Royce’s chest, wheezing and coughing up blood. “Did you hear that … we won?”

  The rain poured.

  What had been a shower became a flood. The skies opened and an ocean came down. Royce couldn’t see. He couldn’t stand up. His leg was broken and buried in the muck. He and Hadrian were wallowing in a pool of brown water that had mixed with their blood, making it the color of tea.

  Hadrian collapsed on him like a wet rag. He’d stopped coughing, maybe breathing too. He had no way to tell.

  “Hadrian?” Royce gasped for air and got mostly water. He struggled to prop his head above the water. It wobbled like a broken wrist.

  Loud splashes and both Tom and Arthur were beside them.

  “Leave us,” Royce growled. He tried to stand on his own but couldn’t even sit up. The stitches were ripped. He could feel the skin on his side open. “More will be coming. Leave us or they’ll know you helped.”

  The world was swimming. Hadrian’s head lay still on his chest. Except for the mud and the blood, he might have been sleeping.

  “He’s alive,” Tom the Feather shouted over the crash of rain, maybe to his son, maybe to Royce. “Lucky the cheap bastards used bodkins instead of broadheads.” He pulled the arrow out. Hadrian didn’t even flinch.

  Tom had a cloth he stuffed under Hadrian’s shirt.

  Amidst the violence of the downpour came another sound-the clopping of horse hooves. It wasn’t the knight’s. His mount was still on its side in the mud. Sir Holvin looked to have drowned in a huge puddle after the horse crushed him. It was also possible he was dead before then. Royce had opened parts of his armor with Alverstone and his puddle was just as tea-like.

  The horse he was hearing was a new arrival. Reinforcements? That didn’t take long.

  “Over here!” Tom shouted, a note of desperation in his voice.

  Smart. Old Tom, you’re not as dumb as I thought. You got your wish, Hadrian … They’ll be fine, and it was a great fight. How did you manage to beat all of them while wounded? Arcadius was right about you. Too bad I didn’t see it earlier. But you were a fool. You should have left me on the tower. You’d be kicking back in some tavern by now, not dying in a mud puddle.

  Royce groaned as he felt himself lifted by strong hands. He was placed in a wagon.

  They really are taking me to trial! Joke’s on them. I’m going to die before then.

  Hadrian was moved and laid beside him and a tarp thrown over both. The pelting rain disappeared and was replaced by the loud patter on canvas two feet above his face. It mingled with the ringing and the pounding, and finally darkness closed in and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Not that Royce was fighting anymore-he was ready to die.

  He felt around and found Hadrian’s arm, patting it. “Old lunatic was right … We did make a good team.”

  CHAPTER 21

  HIM

  The halting of the cart woke Royce, and he wished it hadn’t. He was in agony, feeling like a horse had fallen on him.

  Oh, right.

  Royce opened his eye-only one responded; the other was swollen shut. Everything was dark and silent. Hadrian was still beside him and the canvas still over their heads. He reached up and pulled, but the tarp was tied. He felt around and discovered Alverstone had made the trip with him. The handle was crusted with dry mud.

  How long have we been traveling?

  With little effort, Royce cut a long slice through the canvas. Cold fresh air spilled in and overhead he saw stars. The rain and clouds were gone. Royce inched up and peered over the sides.

  Buildings. Dirty wooden shacks with mud splattered halfway up the sides. They were on a narrow dirt road, deep with ruts and still decorated in puddles. Royce turned his head, which made him woozy. More buildings. They were in a city. A crappy, miserable-looking town. A place he didn’t recognize. The buildings to either side were dark, the street deserted. Looking forward, he saw the driver of the cart was gone. No soldiers either.

  They were alone.

  Maybe it wasn’t soldiers at all. The wagon was small. It looked like a peasant’s cart.

  Royce heard him then. Hadrian was still breathing.

  Weak and wheezing, his breath struggled like he had a garrote tied around his throat. If they had lived this long, they might yet have a chance.

  Using the sides of the wagon, Royce drew himself upright. The pain in his midsection screamed again. He ignored it. His arms were all that held him up and they were shaking so badly they made the wagon quiver. He could think of no other way out of the wagon. He couldn’t climb.

  How long have we been in that wagon? How long does he have left?

  Hadrian sounded like he was choking, or close to it.

  For perhaps the first time in decades, Royce acted without a plan. Merrick had taught him never to make a move without a goal and a means of getting there. At that moment he had neither, just a vague sense that Hadrian was dying, and he needed to do something to stop that-and there was only one thing to do. He pulled himself up on the side guard and let himself fall over.

  He couldn’t help crying out as he hit the ground. The jolt was almost enough to send him back into unconsciousness, but this time he couldn’t let that happen. He sucked in a breath and pushed up with his good leg. On palms and one knee, dragging one leg, he crawled to the closest door and hammered the foot of it with his fist. No sound, no light. He moved back out into the street. The agony was becoming too much. He couldn’t think. His clothes had dried stiff, but there was a new wetness to his shirt. He was bleeding again.

  In desperation he cried out, “Help!” It didn’t sound like his voice. He couldn’t recall having used that word since boyhood. He hated the sound, hated the taste it left. “Help us!”

  He heard the slap of shutters against the upper-story windows. Whatever doors may have been open were now bolted. No one wanted anything to do with them.

  Royce lay in the street, his palms slapping the dirt, and he whispered, “At least save him … He didn’t do anything wrong. He just tried to help.” Tears formed in his eyes as he said it. “He doesn’t deserve to die with me.”

  In one last effort, Royce threw his head back and cried, “Help us!”

  He felt a hand on his arm, gentle and soft. “I’ve got you. You’ll be all right now-you’re safe.”


  Royce opened his eyes. The darkness was back again, closing in. The sea of pain was swallowing him once more, but in the haze at the center of the dark tunnel he saw a woman. Long dark hair, almond-shaped eyes, a kind face. She pulled him to her.

  “Hadrian … in the wagon. You have to-”

  “Dixon, hurry. Get the other one out of the cart.”

  Boots splashed through mud. Royce heard Hadrian cry out in pain.

  “How is he? Is he okay?” she called.

  “Alive-took an arrow,” said a man’s voice, deep and husky. “I think he’ll live.”

  “Get them both inside, then fetch the doctor-Linderman, from the Merchant Quarter, not Basil.”

  “On it.”

  The rain continued to fall, though Royce hardly felt it anymore. He was passing out again.

  “Save Hadrian,” Royce begged. “He…”

  “I know,” the woman said. “I know everything, and I’m going to save both of you. You’ll see. I’ve been waiting for you-I’ve been waiting for so very long.”

  CHAPTER 22

  WHAT’S IN A NAME

  Rehn watched as Professor Arcadius broke the wax seal on the dispatch and, pushing his glasses high up the bridge of his nose, began to read. The old man appeared visibly upset. Arcadius could never be described as neat and tidy, but the professor of lore had appeared more frazzled than ever before. His hair a wild storm of white, his robes even more wrinkled than normal-Rehn was certain that was the same jelly stain that had been on his chest before he left. As he watched, the professor’s shoulders drooped, the muscles in his neck relaxed, and his breathing went from short gasps to longer, deeper draws.

  Not knowing how long the document was, Rehn looked for a place to sit. As always, the lore master’s office was a disaster, and Rehn found a seat wedged in tight between a caged pigeon and a barrel of vinegar. He shivered. He’d paused the moment he’d entered the school to shake off most of the snow, but enough had melted to leave his clothes damp. He rubbed his arms for warmth, tapped his feet together to knock off the remaining flakes, and listened to the chatter of the caged animals.

  “Good news?” he asked, growing impatient. He had at least a little stake in this too.

  The professor only held up a finger, his eyes never leaving the page.

  Rehn slumped a bit and looked over at the pigeon. All white, with black eyes, maybe it wasn’t a pigeon after all. Might be a dove or some more exotic bird the professor had obtained from parts unknown.

  Where did all of this stuff come from?

  Rehn looked out the window at the still-falling snow that gathered on the sill and muntins-the first real snow of the year. It had been a long time since he’d seen snow.

  “They’re safe,” Arcadius said at last. Lowering the dispatch and pulling off his glasses, he leaned back with a great sigh. “At least there has been no report of them being killed or captured, so I have to assume they made it out alive.”

  “Where are they?”

  “The city of Medford in Melengar, but as far as the church is concerned, they’ve disappeared. The search for the thieves of the Crown Tower has been called off. Officially they are saying the burglary never happened. Internally, Ervanon authorities are baffled. They have half a dozen dead tower guards, but also the returned book. They can’t figure out what happened or why.” The old professor displayed a self-satisfied grin. “The only clue they have is the testimony of a tavern keeper in Iberton saying Royce and Hadrian had been there and were badly wounded.”

  Rehn leaned forward, nearly knocking the pigeon cage over. “How badly?”

  “Hard to say. The tavern keeper mentioned that Royce was barely conscious and that Hadrian stitched him up on one of the tables.”

  Rehn didn’t care about Royce. “What about Hadrian?”

  “He was wounded, too, but Royce was worse. It couldn’t have been too serious, as it wasn’t worth noting. One odd thing is that a patrol under the command of Sir Holvin-a Seret Knight-disappeared in the same area.”

  “Disappeared?”

  Arcadius shrugged.

  “How many in the patrol?”

  “Ten, including Sir Holvin.”

  “Ten?” Rehn said, surprised. “You don’t think…”

  The professor smiled and nodded. “I suspect the metal has been tempered at last.”

  “But ten? And Hadrian and Royce were wounded.”

  The professor got up and, using a soup bowl, he scooped birdseed from a bin behind his desk and went to the cages, sifting the seeds through the cage bars. “We won’t know what happened for certain until they return.”

  “Are you sure they will? It’s been a long time.”

  “Royce knows better than to come back here right away. He’ll play it safe. Wait a year, maybe two.”

  “But hang on,” Rehn said over the flutters and squawking. “If the church lost track of them in Iberton, how do you know they reached Medford?”

  Grinning, Arcadius looked over his glasses and winked. “Magic.”

  “Seriously?” he replied with a smirk.

  “Oh, absolutely.”

  “Okay, don’t tell me.” Rehn sighed. It was just like the old man. Working with him was like teaming with a stone.-Arcadius refused to give anything away, but Rehn guessed he had his reasons. They all did. “So then I can-”

  “No.” The professor shook his wild head of hair. “We can’t take the chance of them coming back unexpectedly and finding you here. You’re dead, remember?”

  Rehn frowned. “Please don’t tell me I have to go back to Vernes.” He slipped into the voice. “I am not so much the believing this is a good idea, yes?”

  “No, not Vernes.”

  “Why did you send both me and Royce there anyway?”

  “Because when I send Royce to fetch someone, I never know if that someone will arrive on their feet or in a box, and I can’t trust his account. You were my eyes and ears.”

  “So if not Vernes, then where?”

  Arcadius set the bowl of seed down on the tall pointy hat that Rehn had never seen the professor wear. “Nowhere.”

  “You’re cutting me loose?”

  “For now.”

  Not like he didn’t expect it, but still Rehn couldn’t help feeling disappointed. The sudden depression surprised him. He’d never been all that interested in anything beyond his own survival before.

  “That’s the nature of this work. You know that. That’s the way it has always been.”

  Rehn continued to frown, looking at the dirty puddle at his feet.

  “You did a good job,” the professor offered in a sympathetic tone.

  “Ha!” Rehn mocked. “I couldn’t even get on the stupid barge. Blasted disguise was a little too good. And then I let Hadrian catch me reading in the dormitories. I thought I’d ruined everything.”

  “And then there was the pie.”

  Rehn frowned. “You said you wanted me to get on his good side. I thought defending Hadrian was a good way to do that. That and Angdon is a royal ass. I’m surprised you didn’t reprimand me earlier.”

  “I thought the beating was punishment enough, and it worked. One can’t argue with results. You secured his trust, his sympathy. If it wasn’t for Pickles, Hadrian never would have gone.”

  “Then why did you tell him Pickles was dead?”

  Arcadius let go of the parchment and took off his glasses to begin cleaning them. “I couldn’t risk Hadrian having divided loyalties. You were quickly becoming his adopted family.”

  Rehn smiled. “I like Hadrian.”

  “He liked Pickles too. I could see it in his eyes-that’s why the little urchin had to die. Hadrian needed to be just as alone, just as isolated as Royce for this to work.”

  “Was a risky gamble.”

  Arcadius rolled his eyes and took a moment to stroke his beard. “If this could get any whiter, it would have.”

  “Why’d I have to be executed? Why not an accident?”

  “Royce wouldn
’t have bought it. He’d be suspicious. In his world real accidents don’t happen. On the other hand, vicious, irrational deaths are expected. It also increased the heat, got Hadrian on edge. It takes a lot to get under his skin.”

  Neither one said anything for a time. Rehn glanced out the window. “I should be going, then, before the snow gets too deep.” He stood up and faced the professor with an honest face. Perhaps the most honesty he’d shown anyone in years. “By the way, did you get what you needed from the book Royce stole? What was so important about it?”

  The professor smiled again. “Absolutely nothing at all.”

  “Huh? Then why?”

  Arcadius bobbed his head in a whimsical manner, that childish twinkle in his eyes. “Just an impossible goal-the furnace to forge a bond.”

  Rehn nodded. “Say, I want you to know how grateful I am to you. I don’t know what I would have done.”