Porfiro narrowed his eyes at him. “Your father worked for a magister?”
“Aye.”
“What did he do?”
“He served as his courier, delivering messages and goods. My father was gone most of the time; the magister was very kind to me. He taught me everything about dagger-dueling.”
“Dagger-dueling?” Porfiro rubbed his stubbly chin thoughtfully. “You are familiar with the ancient art?”
“Yes, Sire. And I am quite good at it, even if I do say it myself,” he answered proudly.
“You’ll have to give me a demonstration some time.” He eyed the boy warily, tossing some sticks onto the fire. He was just an innocent boy who had not known what he was being drawn into. But the fact that a magister had trained him in dagger-dueling could only mean one thing; someone was intending for him to become a Drychen sorcerer’s apprentice. It was his duty to inform the prince.
Nearly a quarter of an hour later, when Darian finally returned, the men were eating the last scraps of breakfast.
“Out collecting butterflies again, Your Highness?” Porfiro chuckled.
“In winter?” Darian answered. “Just taking my morning walk. My leg has been feeling stiff from lack of exercise. I thought taking a walk might help the healing process.”
“Walking is just what you need, Sire.” He turned to the young boy gently poking at the fire. “Squire, take the horses down and water them before we leave.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Your Highness, may I have a word with you?”
“Of course. What is it?”
Porfiro noticed the men watching them closely. “Alone.”
“Certainly. Walk with me.”
When Darian and Porfiro returned, the men stored everything on their horses and saddled up. Although they had much ground to cover that day, the fact that they were getting closer to Crocetta seemed to lighten their spirits.
That changed again; however, when they approached the Mychen Forest and the men began to grow anxious. Not because of the rijgen whom they knew were now all in hibernation, but because they would soon be returning to the horrific scene they had barely escaped a few days before. Each man secretly feared what he might find there at the base of the ancient trees.
For the next hour, Darian led them slowly through the woods that, at first, seemed peaceful. With almost no snow on the ground under the thick canopy of the trees, the small bits of white that were still left had begun to melt. But as they rode deeper into the forest, the silence there was eerie; the tension continuing to build until at last it could be sliced with a broadsword. Water dripped from the branches onto Darian’s shoulder, startling him. A few minutes later, he spotted the lifeless body of one of his men in the underbrush.
Raising a fist into the air to signal the men to stop, he climbed down off his horse and unsheathed his sword. Ferns covered the upper half of the body, and its lower half seemed strangely twisted, the legs turned to an unnatural angle. He drew back the ferns and gasped.
Forcing himself to look away from the horrible sight, he shuddered as the other men strained to see, each of them turning away too in obvious disgust. The body had been decapitated, and there was no sign of its head. Darian combed the surrounding underbrush but couldn’t find it anywhere.
Gone.
The men watched silently as he straightened the body, crossing the arms over the chest and covering the area above the neck with some ferns. Then he mounted his horse again and stared solemnly at the corpse. Why would someone remove the head? There were rules in wartime that every soldier followed. To die in the service of battle was honorable, but to desecrate another man’s body was dishonorable and incomprehensible.
He motioned for the party to continue as he walked alongside his horse. Soon they found another headless body, then another and then several more. Darian’s eyes moistened as he surveyed the collective carnage of the Mychen Valley. Bodies of men and knights were strewn everywhere, each of them missing its head. Pools of blood had frozen around the bodies, staining the ground in unnatural hues of red. There was a deathly silence that seemed far too peaceful for the horrific sight stretching out before them.
Darian swallowed hard and turned to Loris. “Take a good look around you, squire. This is King Savino’s doing. Behold the handiwork of the man your uncle is serving.”
The boy’s face scrunched up and he tumbled down from the saddle. He bent over, vomiting onto the side of the road not once but three times. When he straightened up again, his face was pale. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, quietly surveying the gruesome sight.
Darian’s eyes stopped on a trampled, disfigured body; its head absent and clothed in the torn, battered uniform of a Crimson Knight. He weaved around the other corpses and kneeled next to it, touching the sword still strapped to the body. “No, no, no,” he moaned. “Oh, Luca.”
“How can you tell?” Porfiro asked, his face twisted in disgust.
Suppressing a tear, he unsheathed the fallen knight’s broadsword. “This is the Paladin blade I had commissioned when he was first installed in the Crimson Court.”
“Of course,” Porfiro said, lowering his head. “I am so sorry.”
“He was my brother,” he whispered.
Removing the scabbard from the body, he slowly rose to his feet. He stared down at the beautiful weapon, his gaze finally shifting to Loris. “Squire, it is yours now. Please take it.”
As he laid the sword flat across the boy’s palms, Loris’ eyes widened in protest. “But this is the blade of a Paladin Knight! I cannot bear his armament of honor.”
“Was the sword of a knight,” Darian corrected sadly. “He has no need of it any longer and you have no weapon. We shall need every bladesman we can muster. Take it.”
Loris hesitated for a moment before finally accepting the sword and fastening it about his waist. His fingers stroked the ridges of the handle as he admired the silver details of its hilt.
Darian mounted Obsidian and took the reins, surveying the carnage with regret. “We cannot possibly bury them all now. But once we have taken care of Savino, we shall return to give these men a proper burial.”
“The cold weather will preserve them,” Porfiro offered.
Darian dug his heels into Obsidian’s belly and the small band of men pressed onward, their morale at a new low.
“Gone?” Savino shouted from the dining table, slamming his knife down so hard that it slipped from his hand and fell onto the stones with a metallic clink. “How could they be gone?”
Lord Gaspar ignored the outburst, quietly dotting his mouth with a napkin as his eyes followed the two warriors before the king. The older guard stepped forward as if to take responsibility.
“Your Majesty, we do not know how they managed to escape, but it was sometime during the coronation banquet.”
Savino’s eyes were scathing. “And just what were you two doing when they managed to escape?”
The men exchanged sheepish glances before the younger one finally spoke up. “Your Majesty, by royal decree, everyone was requested to take part in the festivities. We thought we were following orders by enjoying a glass of wine.”
“Are all tribal warriors as incompetent as you?” Savino asked acidly. “That decree did not include men standing guard! Who is your commander? Talvan?”
“No, Sire. Deimos.”
Savino turned to Gaspar. “You shall see to it personally that this incident is made an example of. I want these two separated from their heads before noon.”
Both of the warriors gasped in horror.
“Yes, Sire,” Gaspar answered, rising from the table.
“And I want Deimos’ head brought to me on a silver platter.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” He motioned to the warriors at the door to take the men away who had been at fault.
“Oh, and, Gaspar?”
“Yes, Sire?”
“Do we have any prisoners left?”
“Only Cozimo.”
<
br /> “Well, after you have taken care of these two and brought me Deimos’ head, bring the old man to me. I want a word with him.”
“As you wish.”
“It concerns me not if you must break down every door in Crocetta, but I want those prisoners found!”
CHAPTER 28
TERRACINA
When Mark awoke the next morning, he immediately sensed that something was different. The ship no longer rocked to and fro, but gently bobbed up and down instead. Noticing that Celino and Adalina had already left the cabin, he jumped out of his hammock and hastily pulled on his clothes.
Bounding up the steps two at a time, his eyes squinted as they met the harsh glare of the morning sun. The temperature was much warmer than previous days and there wasn’t a single cloud in the clear blue skies. When he surveyed his surroundings, he gasped in surprise.
The ship was docked in the shallow, sparkling waters of a harbor nestled against a magnificent, mountainous city. Large but quaint cream-colored houses topped with blue terracotta roofs dotted the hillside, each of them reminiscent of the Spanish mission style. They were surrounded by large palm trees, lush tropical plants, and exotic gardens filled with colorful flowers.
Rows upon rows of these majestic villas with their grandiose patios lay staggered up a series of steep hills which stopped just short of rocky, white cliffs. Beyond the city and above the cliffs were a series of rolling green hills with tall, skinny trees pointing up to the heavens. Far in the distance, dark rows of parallel lines ran over the hills in near-perfect symmetry; the unmistakable patterns of vineyards cultivating their luxurious bounty.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Celino remarked, smiling at the view.
“It’s amazing.”
“I never pass up a chance to come here. It always reminds me of the California of my youth,” he said wistfully, staring down at the water. It was a dazzling color of azure blue and so clear that the multi-colored fish swimming around the bow looked as if they were floating under a magnifying glass.
“How did we make it here so fast?”
“We had a strong wind at our back. Shaved a full day and a half off our journey.”
“But we weren’t supposed to arrive for another two days.”
“Here, it’s not about sticking to a schedule. It’s about getting somewhere as fast as possible.” He pointed to the bustle of activity on the wharf as men offloaded their fish, spices and cargo. “You see all this trading, buying and selling going on? They’re just trying to get the stuff to market as soon as possible.”
“It’s a lot warmer here.”
“That’s because we’re hundreds of miles further to the south.”
“Are those vineyards there in the distance?”
“That they are. And they make some of the best wine. In fact, the Fiore vineyards are just over those hills.”
“Can we go see them?” Mark asked.
“Perhaps some other time. We need to find King Bertoldo today and figure out what we’re going to do with you two.”
“Good morning,” Adalina chirped. “Is it not beautiful?”
Mark smiled. “Morning, Adalina. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you. How wonderful that we are already here. And what a beautiful city this is!”
“So where do we go from here?”
“To the royal palace at Garibaldi.” He picked his bag up off the deck. “Let’s get going.”
They thanked the captain and walked down the narrow gangplank, stepping onto the dusty, gray cobblestone of the harbor’s main street. After strolling past the merchants’ stalls proudly displaying fresh fruit, fish, spices, basketware and leather goods, Celino spotted a carriage shop and was able to arrange for one that would take them to the palace immediately.
The short, no-nonsense driver said nothing as he opened the door and tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for them to step in. Slamming the door behind them, he leapt up into the driver’s seat and cracked the whip. Mark wasn’t seated yet when the carriage lurched forward, sending him into Adalina’s lap.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he stammered, retreating to the other side of the carriage where he finally plunked down, his face flushing.
Embarrassed by the smile of amusement on her lips, he turned his attention out the window toward the palm trees, cypresses and exotic wildflowers that filled the lush landscape. The carriage climbed the steep hillside, taking them higher and higher above the level of the sea. When he glanced back behind them, he gasped in awe at the breathtaking view of the ocean, perfectly punctuated with rays of sunlight dancing and sparkling on the tips of the waves.
Although they had been traveling for more than an hour, it seemed like only minutes when the carriage turned off the main road and onto a long gravel driveway toward the royal palace of Garibaldi. An imposing, wrought iron gate embedded with a large, curling G guarded the entrance.
Hearing their carriage approach, a brawny, uniformed soldier wearing a bronze breastplate emerged from the guard house. As it slowed to a stop in front of him, Adalina leaned her head out of the window.
“I am her Royal Highness, Princess Adalina Fiore,” she announced. “I have come to beg the assistance of King Bertoldo.”
The soldier nodded, motioning for them to pass. The other guard pulled the gate open, allowing them to enter, and the carriage drove onto a long lane flanked on both sides with tall cypress trees that pointed toward the sky.
With Adalina’s attention distracted out the window at the breathtaking scenery, Mark quietly admired her profile. In the way she sat with her hands clasped neatly together on her lap, she seemed so much older than her fifteen years. The girls he knew in school were so immature that they seemed light years behind her.
He gazed out the window as they approached the palace, his jaw dropping in amazement. At the end of the road, there was a round driveway with a white marble fountain in its center. Built of alternating white and gray marble, the front entrance consisted of seven large columns arranged in a semicircle around a rotunda foyer. The palace was four stories high with more than fifty windows all overlooking the ocean; each of them offering additional magnificent views of the palace grounds and adjoining estate.
“Welcome!” A man wearing green robes of thick brocade and a golden belt hurried down the marble steps to meet them. In his late thirties, the short, dark-haired gentleman held his hand out to Adalina as she stepped down from the carriage. “Welcome, honored guests.”
“Good morning, Sire. I am Her Highness, Princess Adalina Fiore of Crocetta. This is His Royal Highness, Prince Marcus Fiore and our advisor, Celino.” Adalina’s chin rose slightly. “Our home city has been captured by hostile forces and we have come to beg for assistance.”
The man bowed deeply. “We are most honored with your presence, Your Highnesses. I am Rinaldo, His Majesty’s Lord Chamberlain and Head of household. I shall take you at once to see the king.”
“Oh, so then he is at home? We had not expected to find him in residence at this time.”
“His Majesty is present and shall be most happy to welcome you, Your Highness,” Rinaldo answered. He bowed to her and stretched out his hand, motioning for them to step inside.
He led them into a stunning rotunda with an intricate mosaic floor depicting the colors of the sea in colorful shades of aqua blue, cobalt and turquoise. In its center was a marble table containing an exotic yet simple flower arrangement. On the round ceiling high above them, a large, glass dome provided natural light while painted, golden flowers curved and swirled in elegant, sweeping patterns around it. Tropical plants and trees in porcelain vases dotted the foyer and free-form marble sculptures of women adorned each alcove. Beyond the rotunda was a broad marble staircase that split into two, leading up to the family residence on the second floor.
Rinaldo led them through a columned corridor into an airy sitting room where he motioned for them to sit.
“Please wait here while I inform the king.” He disappeared d
own the corridor, leaving them to admire their surroundings.
“Wow, this is really something,” whispered Mark, glancing around at the luxuriously-appointed room.
“I would have no problem living in a place like this,” Celino stated, crossing his arms and chuckling to himself.
“I hear the hot springs here are divine,” Adalina chimed in.
“Hot springs?” Mark asked.
“Yes. They are known for their cleansing, healing properties. My brother absolutely swears by them.”
“Darian has been here?”
She nodded. “This is one of his favorite retreats.”
“I don’t blame him,” Celino commented.
“Your Royal Highnesses, to what do I owe this honor?” A voice boomed at them from the end of the hall.
King Bertoldo was a portly man in his mid-fifties with reddish-blonde hair graying slightly at the temples. His animated brown eyes crinkled in the corners and his dimpled smile displayed kindness and generosity.
“Your Majesty,” Adalina began, bobbing a curtsey. “We come to beg for your help on behalf of my brother, Prince Darian, and the Princess Regent, Maraya Fiore. Our cousin, Savino da Rocha has attacked the citadel and ousted the royal family. He means to crown himself king by force. I fear for both my brother’s and Maraya’s lives.”
Bertoldo took her hand and kissed it. “But of course I shall help you, my dear. I am most glad to welcome you into my kingdom. I only wish that it was not under such dire circumstances.”
“Your Majesty, we had not expected to find you here. Were you not planning to attend the coronation?” Adalina asked.
“Coronation?” he asked, his face puzzled.
“The invitations to my sister’s coronation were sent weeks ago by royal courier,” Mark added. “Didn’t you receive it?”
Bertoldo shook his head. “I received no invitation to a coronation. I would not have missed it for the world.”
The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge Page 26