Sir Baelan’s jaw tensed as he looked away. He slowly lifted his eyes toward Garrett, though his duty to the kingdom would never allow him to speak the truth about what he truly believed regarding King Haerad’s murder.
“He’s come to destroy our country, Sir Baelan!” Mirion cried, “He’ll kill our people and turn them into monsters! Jons died trying to stop him, but you can’t win against that kind of evil... not with honor.”
“Honor is all we have left, Mirion!” Baelan said, his eyes blazing as he turned upon the girl again.
Mirion shook her head, her eyes streaming with tears. “I have... nothing,” she whimpered.
Garrett suddenly wished he had never set foot outside of Wythr. His eyes fell to the dusty cobbles at the girl’s feet, trying to pretend that she was angry with somebody else... that someone else had killed her beloved master.
“Mirion,” Sir Baelan said softly as he stepped forward to put his hands on her upper arms, “He wouldn’t want you to throw your life away. Jons believed in you... He knew that someday, you would be a knight... that you would truly understand what it means to keep our oath.”
“He killed our king,” Mirion sobbed, “What good are oaths against that kind of evil?”
“The murder of King Haerad is another matter!” Sir Baelan hissed, “In time, justice will prevail! We have to believe that! But what happened to Sir Jons... he chose that fate, Mirion, he chose it!”
Justice will prevail? the voice in Garrett’s mind chuckled, This Baelan’s a bigger fool than I took him for!
“Hmn,” Garrett mumbled, but only Haven seemed to hear him, glancing back at him curiously.
“What justice is there, Sir Baelan?” Mirion demanded, “What justice when a beast like this can roam the land, slaughtering men of honor at will, and none will rise to stop him? Where is justice? Where?”
Sir Baelan stepped away, half turning from her as he drew in a breath as though too weary to retread a well-worn line of reasoning.
“She’s right,” Garrett spoke up.
“Huh?” Shortgrass said, spinning in the air to give Garrett a confused look.
“She’s right!” Garrett shouted, rising to his feet as an idea crashed over his troubled soul like a wave of redemption.
Mualip and the others stared up at Garrett, slack-jawed as he hopped down from the top of the overturned cart. Haven hurried to put herself and her knife between him and the prisoners.
“What are you doing?” she whispered worriedly.
“Trust me,” he whispered back as he stepped around her.
The Astorran girl flinched, falling back a step into a defensive stance as Garrett advanced on her. Sir Baelan narrowed his eyes as he turned to place his shoulder and a half-raised hand between the girl and the approaching necromancer.
The crowd gasped as Garrett drew his sword from its scabbard.
Baelan tensed as he took a step back as well, now defending the unarmed girl with his own body, a hint of fear in his eyes.
Garrett stopped and let the tip of his sword swing downward as he reversed his grip on the weapon. He offered it then, hilt-first to the stunned knight.
“I surrender,” Garrett said.
“What?” Diggs whined in confusion.
“Garrett?” Warren called out.
Similar cries of dismay swept through Garrett’s party and the assembled fae folk as Sir Baelan stared down at Garrett’s proffered blade.
“I surrender,” Garrett repeated, pushing the hilt of his sword against Sir Baelan’s chest.
Mirion’s lips moved as though she were trying to warn Sir Baelan of some trickery, but she could not quite seem to give voice to her mistrust.
Baelan lifted his hand slowly to take the sword at Garrett’s insistence, his confusion evident on his face.
“Just give me an hour or so to pass on command to someone else, and then you can escort me back to Braedshal to be put on trial for the murder of King Haerad,” Garrett said matter-of-factly, “Provided, of course, that you give me your word that you’ll get me there unharmed... just you and, uh, Mirion here.”
“Garrett!” Haven hissed.
“Do I have your word, Sir Baelan?” Garrett asked.
Sir Baelan looked wary. “I must remind you that I am still a hostage, Deathlord,” the knight said quietly.
“I’m letting you go,” Garrett said with a shrug, “and her too.”
Mirion’s eyes flared.
Sir Baelan breathed a sigh of relief, and then nodded.
“I have your word then?” Garrett demanded, “You and her will take me straight to Braedshal, unharmed?”
“I swear it,” Sir Baelan said.
“Sir Baelan, no!” Mirion gasped, “It’s a trick!”
“I swear I will see you to Braedshal,” Sir Baelan growled as he turned his weary eyes upon Garrett again, “and there, I pray, justice will at last be served!”
Chapter Sixteen
“That is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard, Garrett!” Haven spat, stabbing her knife through the heart of the map of Astorra laid out on the table between them.
“Me too, Gar,” Warren sighed, “Those guys are gonna try to tear you apart the minute they see you!” The other ghouls gathered around the command tent muttered their agreement as Cenick stepped forward with a worried look on his tattooed face.
“Garrett,” the big necromancer said, “I understand your reasoning in this, but the risk is far too great.”
“Can’t you see, it’s perfect?” Garrett laughed, feeling better than he had in a very long time, “All this time, I’ve been looking for a way to get to Cabre without hurting anybody else, and all along, I’ve had a key to his front door.”
“If you live long enough to get there!” Haven shouted.
Garrett shook his head. “Sir Baelan kept the people of Braedshal from killing me last time,” he said, “he’ll find a way to get me there safely again.”
“If that girl doesn’t shiv you while you and Baelan are both asleep!” Haven snorted.
“I’m immortal remember?” Garrett laughed, “Right, Lady Ymowyn?”
Ymowyn raised her eyebrows, “Even a god may fall to pride, Garrett,” she sighed.
“I’ll be fine!” Garrett laughed, “You guys are the ones that need to be careful.”
“Yeah, since you’re sending us on a suicide mission!” Haven scoffed.
“It’s not suicide!” Garrett said, “I mean, you said you guys could get into Braedshal, right?”
“We can get in, yeah,” Warren sighed, “but it’s a big place, Gar! Who says we’ll be able to make it all the way to wherever they’re gonna burn you at the stake?”
“Quarter him,” Ymowyn corrected him.
“Huh?” Warren said.
“The punishment for treason is to have four horses pull you in four different directions at once,” the fox woman said.
“For how long?” Warren asked.
“Until one or more of the horses wins the tug-of-war,” she said, “Of course this is only after they’ve cut a few choice souvenirs from your body to pass out to the crowd of onlookers.”
“Ugh!” Warren shuddered.
“Look, nobody’s gonna get burned or quartered or chopped up!” Garrett said, “I just need these guys to get me close enough to Cabre so that I can settle things between us once and for all... Then it’s up to you guys to be there to help me... clean up the mess.”
“And this is the really stupid part of your plan!” Haven sighed in exasperation.
“Then make it the part where you all come and rescue me and sneak me out of there the same way you got in!” Garrett said.
“Assumin’ we can get in!” Warren groaned.
“We’ll get you in,” Luma laughed, and Mink nodded her agreement.
Garrett looked toward the two white-furred she-ghouls as they regarded him with amusement. He still wasn’t sure he could trust the White Pack, but he knew they had no love for the Astorrans.
�
��Great!” Haven said, waving her hands in frustration, “So Garrett goes in the front door, blasts the king to pieces with magic, and then probably has to kill Sir Baelan, little miss I have nothing left to live for, and like a hundred other knights before we can come running in to either get ourselves killed too or maybe just sweep up all the parts so Garrett can stuff the castle full of zombies, and then what? You think everybody left alive is just gonna drop to their knees and swear allegiance to you on the spot?”
Lady Ymowyn looked as though she might spring to Garrett’s defense against Haven, but Garrett hastened to head off any potential quarrel between the two women. “I don’t know how everybody’s gonna react when I beat Cabre,” he said, “I don’t know what’s gonna happen at all... All I know is that Cabre has to be taken off the throne, one way or the other!
“Maybe nobody will accept me as king. Maybe we’ll have to run for it, and we’ll be right back where we started at, but, if we don’t take that chance... if we don’t take Cabre down... nothing is gonna change! This is the best chance we’ve got of winning this without killing too many people, and you know I’m right.”
“At the very least, it could plunge the nobles into a contest for the throne,” Ymowyn added, “Which could take decades to resolve.”
“You’d trade a weak-willed king for a civil war?” Cenick asked her.
The fox woman shrugged. “My country’s throne cries for fresh blood,” she said.
“It is the children that will cry when that blood begins to flow,” Cenick rumbled.
Ymowyn lunged forward so quickly that Garrett and the others drew back in horror. “My children are dead because of the monster that sat upon that throne!” Ymowyn snarled with the collar of Cenick’s robe bunched in her claws, “I will end his bloodline, as he ended mine!”
Cenick’s tattooed face pulled into a tight grimace as he faced the burning gaze of the mad fox woman at his throat.
“It’s all right, Ym,” Warren whispered as he put his shaggy arm around Ymowyn and gently, but firmly pulled her away from the big necromancer. Her fingers slowly released their grip on his robe, leaving behind little frayed slashes where her nails had torn through. She covered her face with her hands and wept as Warren guided her from the tent, whispering softly to her as they walked.
Cenick looked at Garrett, with a warning in his eyes.
“I know I’m asking you all to trust me right now,” Garrett sighed, “but... well, I’m asking you to trust me. Somehow, I just know that this is what I have to do. I can’t explain it really, just... trust me.”
“We’re with you, boy,” Bargas said.
“Yeah, Gar,” Scupp agreed, “We’ll be there when you need us... if we have to dig our way up through the floor.”
“It’s not that hard really,” Diggs added, waggling his long black digging claws.
“And I’ll be with ya, long before that,” Shortgrass spoke up from where he leaned against the Chadiri helmet they were using for a paperweight at one end of the map.
Garrett gave the little fairy a curious look.
“Me an’ a few others’ll be taggin’ along ta make sure the wee avengeress won’t try anythin’ unseemly while good Sir Baelan’s off waterin’ tha daisies,” Shortgrass laughed, “So’s you kin sleep a bit easier on tha road.”
“If she does try anything, she’ll be pushing those daisies up from the bottom of a shallow grave!” Haven said as she pried her knife out of the center of the table.
Garrett frowned at her.
“I’m not letting you outta my sight on this one, Garrett,” she said, twirling the knife between her fingers before replacing it in its sheath, “So don’t waste your breath arguing.”
“All right,” Garrett sighed, “Haven and Shortgrass are in charge of the sneaky, following me crew... Warren’s in charge of the busting into Braedshal crew.”
He turned to look at Cenick who was still giving him a weary and slightly disappointed look.
“Can you find a zombie to fit into that armor you found for me?” Garrett asked him.
“You want me to convince the Astorrans that you are still here?” Cenick asked.
“It might keep ‘em from giving Sir Baelan too much trouble,” Garrett said with a shrug, “There’s bound to be plenty of people like Sir Goat Guy who would try to take me from Baelan before I get to Braedshal.”
Cenick looked away, obviously troubled with the whole scenario. At last he sighed and spoke again. “I ask only one thing in return,” he said.
“What?” Garrett asked.
Cenick looked him in the eye again. “I ask that, when you face Cabre in the end, you will act as the man that Uncle Tinjin raised you to be.”
Garrett’s eyes fell as he remembered the old necromancer, wishing that he were here to tell him what to do, or even just to get mad and send him up to his room without supper or something.
“I’ll try,” Garrett said.
Cenick nodded.
*******
The big wolf whined as Garrett scratched him behind the ear.
“Not this time, Ghausse,” Garrett sighed, looking around at his friends who had gathered to see him off. Caleb, Timan, and Mujah stood together with Terrick and his Neshite companions, having been told only that Garrett planned to confront the king and settle their mutual conflict with as little bloodshed as possible. The first shadows of evening now stretched across the road ahead, where, a short distance away, the Kriessland berserkers held the six horses prepared for the three travellers journeying to Braedshal.
Sir Baelan wore a homespun woolen cloak over his weapons and armor, trying to look as inobtrusive as possible. Sir Jons’s sword hung in its scabbard from his saddle beside him. Garrett’s sword hung on the opposite side. Mirion the squire wore the clothing of a peasant and rode, weaponless on the horse next to Baelan’s. The hood of her cloak covered her face, a fact for which Garrett was most grateful. He couldn’t stand the way she looked at him, and was already fearing the long road to Braedshal. At least there, he hoped to be rid of the girl, once and for all.
“I must insist that you engage the services of a reputable attorney upon your arrival in the royal city,” Timan said, a look of genuine concern in his caprine eyes.
Caleb groaned and rolled his eyes where he stood, just behind his satyr grandson.
“I’ll be all right,” Garrett chuckled.
“Representing oneself in court is the act of a madman!” Timan warned Garrett, “I cannot stress this strongly enough, Master Garrett!”
“I’ll find a good lawyer, if I need one,” Garrett promised.
“I’ll bet you won’t even need one,” Mujah said, handing Garrett a folded piece of parchment.
“What’s this?” Garrett asked, looking down at the parcel. For the King was scribed in neatly inked handwriting on the paper.
“I wrote to the King about how you were a good person, Garrett,” Mujah said, “Well, Mister Timan wrote it down for me... I don’t really know how to write in your language very well.”
“Thank you,” Garrett said, nodding at the Lethian boy and the Cashuunite satyr, “both of you.”
“I told him about how you saved us all from the dragon, and how he shouldn’t tell other people that you killed the King, because you would never hurt anybody,” Mujah said.
“Thanks,” Garrett said, slipping the letter into his shoulder bag. He patted Mujah fondly on the shoulder before turning to Terrick.
“Remember Siriman’s words in your hour of need, Garrett,” the young shaman said, his tattooed face taut with concern.
“Uhm... don’t bite my own tail?” Garrett asked, trying to recall the whispering snake’s cryptic message.
Terrick smiled and nodded. “The spirits’ wisdom will guide you to safety,” he said.
“Thanks,” Garrett said, taking the shaman’s hand in parting. Carack and Radda, Terrick’s companions, took his hand each in turn.
Garrett looked toward Haven last. The ghouls and the fai
ries had already scattered to make their preparations, even as Cenick had already gone in search of a zombie to play Garrett’s double. Haven, however, lingered with the others for a last chance to say goodbye.
She leaned close and kissed him softly. “If you need anything, just call my name,” she whispered, “I’ll be there.”
“Thanks,” Garrett whispered back.
“Just be careful,” she sighed as she stepped back to look at him with worried eyes, “I’m scared that something’s gonna go wrong.”
“I’ll be all right,” he said, squeezing her hands gently.
“If you aren’t, I’m gonna personally face-stab everybody in this stupid kingdom,” she laughed through fresh tears.
Garrett laughed with her as he pulled away, but Haven reached out and pulled him back, kissing him hard on the lips.
“I’ll be like ten feet away,” she whispered with her face pressed against his, “fifteen tops.”
“I have to pee sometime!” he chuckled.
“Just try not to think about how many fairies will be watching you go,” Haven giggled wickedly.
“Thanks,” Garrett sighed, “I guess I’ll hold it.”
“You’d better get moving,” Haven said, lifting her chin toward the waiting Astorrans, “I think your new girlfriend is getting jealous.”
Garrett glanced back to find Sir Jons’s squire watching him, her eyes invisible in the shadow of her hood, but the bitter scowl on her lips all too visible.
Haven giggled viciously.
“That’s not funny,” Garrett grumbled.
“Just remember,” Haven whispered into his ear, “I’m always watching.”
Chapter Seventeen
The Monastery of Gau Behr
Marla awoke to the sound of Alyss lightly breathing in her sleep in the only other bed in the small stone chamber. The dim glow of daylight crept in beneath the hinged door panel, faintly illuminating the sparse but clean bedchamber.
Marla sat up, pushing aside the soft down-filled blanket and dropped to the floor as quietly as possible, trying not to wake Alyss as she searched through the stack of folded robes that her father had provided for their use. Zizi poked her head out from beneath Alyss’s blanket and trilled questioningly.
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