The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge

by Cheryl Koevoet

  “You do not have a single good grace within you, Savino!”

  She turned on her heel and stormed away. One of the guards turned to follow her, but Savino drew him back. “Let her go.”

  Marisa flitted between the pillars, moving back to the main door. When she exited the hall into the vestibule, she spotted Matilda near the far end of the corridor. She hurried to catch up with her and gently pulled her into an alcove.

  “Marisa! What are you doing here?”

  “I need your help. Please keep silent and follow me.”

  She nodded and followed Marisa down the empty corridor. The air was cold and damp as they descended the spiral steps to the wine cellars at the lowest levels of the castle. Marisa entered the vaulted storeroom first, surprised to find one of Savino’s stewards assessing the wine inventory.

  The heavyset, graying man pushed his spectacles up onto his nose, smiling suggestively at his good fortune in finding her alone.

  “Good morning, Your Highness. I was just checking to see what we will be needing for the coronation banquet this afternoon.” He moved closer to Matilda, his eyes taking plenty of time to roam the pleasant curves of her bodice. “How may I be of service?”

  “Ah, yes, Master Frediano,” she said slowly, her gaze shifting questioningly back and forth between he and Marisa. “I would like to be alone.”

  He blinked with disappointment. “But of course, Your Highness.” He gathered up his basket and turned to leave. Matilda hastily closed the door, staring at her in amazement.

  “Why was he not able to see you?”

  “Because I am wearing this,” Marisa answered, holding up the pulsing, purple amulet. Matilda’s eyes widened as she took it in her hand.

  “Is that the pretty stone Eman gave you at the party?”

  “Yes. Do you remember that he told me that those with an impure heart would be blinded in my presence?”

  “I think so…”

  “Well, as long as I have this around my neck, I’m invisible to those with impure hearts.”

  “And it truly works? But—I can see you…”

  “You have a pure heart, and that means I can trust you. And I really need your help.”

  “But how can I help you?”

  “Arrie, Alessio, Cinzia, Helena, Tino, Cozimo and Eman are being held captive by Savino. We’re planning an escape just after the coronation, but I need you to get them out safely.”

  “I shall be pleased to help. I owe no allegiance to the monster who tried to poison me.”

  “I knew I could count on you.” She gave her a warm hug and then pulled away, searching her crystal blue eyes. “I must ask you something, though. How did Darian die?”

  She shook her head. “I do not know for I did not see him die.”

  “Tell me what you do know.”

  “We were ambushed. The warriors were hiding up on the rocks, waiting until we were just about to enter the Mychen Forest. I saw men falling everywhere around me, but there was so much happening that it was difficult to spot the survivors.”

  “But—I heard you tell Savino that his men killed the man who had been escorting you. I assumed you meant Darian?”

  “No,” she answered sadly. “I was referring to Bruno.”

  “He’s dead too?”

  She closed her eyes, nodding sadly.

  “Oh, no,” she moaned. “I’m so sorry.”

  “He was such a wonderful man. I believe that he truly cared for me. He shielded me with his body, taking an arrow in his midsection before falling to the ground. Then the warriors took me with them and I never saw him again.”

  Marisa’s face fell, saddened by the handsome young man’s untimely demise. He had given her valuable lessons in self-defense, but, in the end, had given his life to save another. “I don’t know what to say. He will be sorely missed.”

  Matilda’s eyes clouded over. “It all happened so quickly. One moment we were just riding along, chatting about his childhood in Snowton and the next I knew, we were being bombarded by arrows. It was so horrible!”

  “So then—I’m sorry—you didn’t actually see Darian die?”

  “No. I did not even know he was dead until I heard Deimos boasting on the way back. He bragged that he was the one who killed the mighty Prince Darian, but by the time his troops reached the body, it was trampled beyond recognition. Oh, it is too awful for words!”

  The blood drained from Marisa’s face. She sank down onto a wooden crate between the giant casks, not wanting to imagine the horrible way the love of her life had died. She didn’t want to visualize how his body had been trampled on and desecrated beyond all recognition.

  “I am so sorry,” Matilda said, kneeling down and putting her arm around her shuddering frame.

  “This cannot be happening.” Her hands flew to her face, weeping softly as Matilda hugged her tight. They would have to retrieve the body eventually, but she couldn’t bring herself to think about that yet. Too many others were depending on her now.

  Her head snapped back up and she wiped her eyes with her skirt. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself. She would have the opportunity to mourn him properly some other time, but for now, she needed to focus on the task at hand. She looked into her cousin’s sad eyes.

  “Matilda, there will be time for us to mourn our men later, but I cannot stand to think about what we have lost right now. Time is ticking away and we need to plan our escape. Listen close; this what we’re going to do…”

  Darian awoke the next morning with an uneasy sensation in his gut. It felt deep, dark and heavy; almost as if some evil force that dwelled within the castle walls was trying to penetrate his body. He felt weary as he stood up to get dressed.

  With cloudy skies and no direct sunlight to speak of, it was difficult to tell exactly what time it was. He had to get the men back on the road and return to Crocetta as quickly as possible. With every moment that passed, Savino was digging in deeper. Darian only hoped that they were not already too late.

  He got dressed, gathered his belongings and hurried down to the kitchen area where the men were sitting around a heavy oak table.

  “Baron Porfiro, would you see that our men are ready to go after breakfast? I should like to move out as soon as possible.”

  Porfiro nodded. “As you wish, Sire.”

  “Sire, I would like to come as well.” Loris’ adolescent voice piped up behind them.

  “Ah, that is not a good idea, squire,” Darian answered. “It is not safe for a lad such as yourself.”

  “I understand your reluctance, but I would still like to go. I could carry your things or whatever you need me to do. Please may I come?”

  When he looked into his eager young face, Darian was instantly reminded of himself at the same age. Clearly the boy hadn’t seen much of the world and perhaps it might toughen him up a bit.

  “All right, you can come.”

  “Thank you, Sire!” He jumped up, grabbed his satchel and his cloak, and ran out the door. Darian shook his head, smiling in spite of himself at the boy’s unbridled enthusiasm.

  Less than a half hour later, the men had gathered their tack and saddled up for the long journey back. Darian had been contemplating the route they would take back and he concluded that they had no choice but to return the same way they came. It would not be wise to attempt to traverse the Styrian Ice Caves in winter and, since Loris would be coming along, he did not want to take any unnecessary risks. He could not easily forget how Marisa had nearly plunged to her death after falling into the cavern and how he had been forced to save her from a hideous yarmout.

  But going back the same way also meant returning to the place near the Mychen Forest where the men had been ambushed. He hoped there weren’t any warriors camped out permanently, but decided it was highly unlikely since they would have all moved on by now.

  The band of eight men from different walks of life mounted their horses and departed the deserted castle of Abbadon. But in stark contrast
to the last time, there would be no fanfare, no kisses and no waves. They were on a mission to retake Crocetta where victory would be nearly impossible. Savino had the numbers in his favor and, no matter how many men Darian could muster, it would never be enough to defeat his army of giants. A third of the Crimson Court had already defected to Savino’s side and several more had died in the attack along the way. To return to Crocetta was a fool’s errand, but, as Paladin Knights of the Crimson Order, their honor dictated that they at least make a stand.

  While his horse slowly edged through the snow that covered the rocky mountain path, Darian thought about Marisa and wondered if she had been able to escape from Savino. He had always heard that a person could sense the departure of a loved one as their soul left this world and, as he gazed out at the snow-covered peaks ahead of them, somehow he knew that she was still alive. The helpless girl that he had found lost and injured on the road all those weeks before had managed to escape death. She was wearing Eman’s amulet, after all, and he had promised that it would protect her.

  Almost as a visible confirmation of his thoughts, it began to snow lightly, taking him back to the moments they spent on the balcony together. The snow blanketed the ground in an innocent sea of pure white, in stark contrast to the dark death and destruction they had witnessed just two days earlier.

  The party traveled single file down the side of the mountain, each man mustering every ounce of concentration he could find to guide his horse’s footing. It would take only one wrong step for both horse and rider to slide off the path and tumble down the side of the mountain. And that was the last thing they needed.

  Baron Porfiro stayed at the rear, ensuring that the men made it safely down the mountain. The fifty-something warrior’s gray wisps of hair together with the deep creases on his forehead betrayed his advancement in years but his strong square jaw and steely-blue eyes exuded an inner, youthful spirit. Despite the countless wars and conflicts he had been drawn into over the course of his lifetime, it never failed to amaze him that somehow he always managed to survive.

  To the men under his command, Porfiro preferred to maintain the illusion that he was impervious to any sort of pain, whether it be physical or mental. It was, after all, the hallmark of a Crimson Knight. But as he watched Loris steer his mare down the rocky path, the squire’s sandy hair, eager brown eyes and tall stature began to evoke painful memories of the son he had lost years before. And although he had managed to stash the guilt, grief and bitterness away for many years in a place where no one else could find it, all at once and without warning, it had begun to resurface, slowly seeping back into his conscious. Just one look at the young lad was enough to send shockwaves of sorrow through him, stabbing him to his very core.

  He diverted his gaze and steeled his resolve, determined not to let the ghosts from his past distract him from ensuring that the few survivors returned home again safe and sound. And yet, something stirred within him that he could not ignore. Emotions and feelings that he had denied himself for so long were already chipping away at the hard shell surrounding his heart whether he wanted them to or not. But for the sake of the men, he would not lower his guard.

  He straightened in the saddle and gazed around at the weariness in their pale faces, knowing they desperately needed nourishment and a time to relax.

  “Your Highness, this would be a good place to rest,” he suggested, motioning to the men.

  Darian nodded to him. “We shall stop here for a while.”

  Darian climbed off his horse, noticing that they had stopped in the very place he had comforted Marisa after Deimos and the other soldiers had mocked her without shame. After the warrior had made a snide remark about her not belonging on a man’s journey, Darian had been tempted to inform him that he was mocking a Fiore princess. But because he was not at liberty to reveal her identity yet, he only held her in his arms, comforting her the best way he knew how.

  Of one thing Darian had become absolutely certain; he never wanted to be apart from her again. All of their arguments and disagreements seemed so trivial now. He had been pushing too hard for her to marry him sooner rather than later, but if they ever survived this mess, he would never force anything on her again. He would let her decide when and where.

  “Squire, tend to the horses.”

  “Aye, Your Highness.”

  As Loris walked the horses down toward the stream two at a time, Darian thought about Raniero. If the traitor had indeed returned to Carnelia and was still loyal to Savino, then Marisa, Mark and Celino were all in terrible danger.

  Watching as the lad lifted a seed bag up to one of the horses, Darian wondered if he should tell him the truth about his uncle. Clearly, he respected Lord Raniero like a second father and in order for him to believe the truth, he would first have to build up the boy’s trust. He decided to wait with telling him about his uncle until the time was right.

  But with only two more days before they reached Crocetta, time was running short.

  CHAPTER 26

  ESCAPE

  Less than half an hour before the coronation ceremony, Marisa crept up the spiral staircase at the rear of the Knight’s Hall. As she peered down from the organ bay high above the ceremony floor, a wave of dizziness filled her head and she quickly pulled away from the edge.

  Why did I have to pick a place so high to hide?

  She squeezed her eyes shut, took a couple of deep breaths and gripped the railing, attempting to steady herself with her shaking hands. She had yet to conquer her fear of heights, and each time she flew into a panic, it made her feel stupid and weak. Of all the things to be afraid of, why did she have to fear being in high places?

  When she finally felt calm enough, she peered back down at the sea of commotion below her where the guests were searching for their places. Thirty chairs on the right side of the hall had been reserved for members of the Crimson Court, but, by the time the ceremony started, only four were occupied. The rest of them remained empty. A dark cloud of oppression seemed to have taken over the citadel, covering everything in a thin layer of gloom.

  The processional music began and the guests rose to their feet. From where she sat, the music was deafening. It wasn’t the ideal place to hide, but she couldn’t risk being seen by anyone who knew her. Most of the dignitaries and foreign guests that had arrived from the four corners of Carnelia had been surprised to discover that, in spite of the invitations they had received weeks ago for Maraya’s coronation, Savino da Rocha was the one who was being crowned. Believing that they would be celebrating their beloved princess’ installment that day, the kings, queen and members of the Carnelian nobility felt tricked and deceived, some of them even questioning the legality of the ceremony. When one prominent guest in particular was conspicuously absent, rumors spread of treachery and wrongdoing. If King Bertoldo Macario of Terracina had not come to Crocetta for the coronation, then something was clearly wrong.

  Marisa wondered herself why King Bertoldo never showed up for the coronation. She prayed that something hadn’t happened to him and that his fleet could still rescue them from Savino’s clutches. If Bertoldo failed them, theirs was a lost cause. He was her only hope.

  Arrie, Alessio, Cinzia, Helena, Tino and Eman were escorted into the Knight’s Hall by a group of Savino’s warriors, dressed in their finest robes and soberest faces. They trudged toward their seats with less enthusiasm than if they were being led to the gallows. With great ceremony, Matilda rose from her seat in the royal box and weaved her way around the rows of candelabras to sit down next to Cinzia.

  Good girl, she thought, wondering what Savino would do once he saw that his sister had chosen to sit with the Fiores and Macarios. What should have been a solemn, joyous and dignified occasion had been reduced to a cheap dog-and-pony show. It was a taste of things to come under Savino’s reign.

  Observing them all from a distance, Marisa pinked away a tear, lamenting the fact that it should have been her coronation instead of Savino’s. She fought agains
t the sobs rising in her throat, missing Darian as she pondered his untimely demise. Perhaps it was a good thing he wasn’t alive now to see her cowering in the organ bay like a frightened kitten.

  When several men in dark, hooded cloaks strolled down the aisle into view, a chill rippled down her spine. Floating in the air above them were more of the same ghastly creatures that she’d seen hovering around Savino, snarling and swiping at each other as they each jockeyed for the best position. The ugly beasts controlled the men with their tangled masses of strings and directly behind them was Gaspar.

  Dressed in strange black garb that covered his body all the way to the floor, he clamped his hand securely over Cozimo’s shoulder as if to prevent the elderly man from escaping. A wave of anger spread through Marisa at seeing the kindly old man who had aided generations of Fiore monarchs before her being forced to crown Crocetta’s illegitimate ruler.

  Savino marched solemnly down the aisle, his tall frame towering above the crowd as his ceremonial robes brushed across the ancient stone floor. Ascending the altar, he stopped abruptly as the cloaked men took their places in the Crimson chairs and removed their hoods. Marisa gasped, recognizing Raniero’s face among them.

  After the guests had sat down in the pews, Gaspar began to speak in a strange, mystical language. For the next several minutes, she watched the proceedings below her with a peculiar detachment, almost as if she were watching a movie on television. Although it should have been her being crowned, in her mind, this was not the end. Savino would not win this war.

  As long as she still had fight in her body, she would do all she could to stop his evil reign. Living from one moment to the next, she wasn’t thinking about weeks, months or years from now, but only how to survive. All of her plans for the future had been flung out the window. Her only hope was to trust that Garon would give her the strength she needed each day. Desperately wanting to believe her life would turn out all right in the end, she couldn’t stop doubt from creeping in. How could Garon possibly turn the situation around for her and her family now that an evil man was being crowned? She hadn’t even had the chance to mourn Darian’s death and yet she sensed that she would be forced to move on much sooner than she was ready.