Crown Conspiracy

by Michael J. Sullivan

  “I don’t understand what you mean,” Hilfred replied.

  “Is it true she went to visit them?” the lawyer questioned.

  “Yes, she did.”

  “And were you with her?”

  “I was asked to wait outside the cell.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Has she often asked you to wait outside when speaking with people?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Often?”

  “Not often.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “She called for monks to give last rights to the murderers.”

  “She called for monks?” the lawyer repeated with a clear note of skepticism in his voice. “Her father is murdered and she is concerned about the murderers’ souls? Why did she call for two monks? Was one not sufficient to do the job for both? For that matter, why not call the castle priest?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And did she also order the murderers unchained?”

  “Yes, to be able to kneel.”

  “And when the monks entered the cell did you go with them?”

  “No, again she asked me to remain outside.”

  “So, the monks could enter, but not her trusted bodyguard? Not even when the known killers of her father were unchained and free? Then what?”

  “She came out of the cell. She wanted me to stay behind and escort the monks to the kitchen after they were done giving last rites.”

  “Why?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  “Did you ask?”

  “No, sir. As a man-at-arms, it is not my place to question the orders from a member of the royal family.”

  “I see, but were you pleased with these orders?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I was fearful more assassins might be in the castle, and I didn’t wish the princess to be out of my sight.”

  “In point of fact, wasn’t Captain Wylin in the process of searching the castle for additional threats, and didn’t he make everyone aware he felt the castle was unsafe?”

  “He did.”

  “Did the princess explain to you where she was going so you could find her after performing your duty to the monks?”

  “No.”

  “I see. And how do you know the two you escorted to the kitchens were the monks? Did you see their faces?”

  “Their hoods were up.”

  “Did they have their hoods up when they entered the cell?”

  Hilfred thought a moment and then shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “So, on a night when her father is killed, she orders her personal bodyguard to leave her unprotected and to escort two monks down to the empty kitchens—two monks who decided suddenly to pull their hoods up inside the castle, hiding their faces? And what about the murderers’ possessions? Where were they?”

  “They were in the custody of the cell warden.”

  “And what did she say to the warden concerning them?”

  “She told him she was going to have the monks take them for the poor.”

  “And did they take them?”

  “Yes.”

  The lawyer softened his address. “Reuben, you don’t strike me as a fool. Fools don’t rise to the rank and position you have achieved. When you heard the killers escaped, and the monks were found chained in their place, did it cross your mind that maybe the princess had arranged it?”

  “I assumed the killers attacked the monks after the princess left the cell.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” the lawyer said. “I asked if it crossed your mind?”

  Reuben said nothing.

  “Did it?”

  “Perhaps, but only briefly.”

  “Let us turn our attention to more recent events. Were you present during the conversation between Arista and her uncle in his study?”

  “Yes, but I was asked to wait outside.”

  “To wait just outside the door correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Therefore could you hear what transpired inside?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it true the princess entered the archduke’s office, where he was diligently working at locating the prince, and informed him that Prince Alric was clearly dead and that no search was needed? That he would make a better use of his time…” he paused here and turned to face the nobles, “…to begin preparations for her coronation as our queen!”

  There was a decidedly unpleasant murmur from the crowd, and a few of the court whispered and nodded to one another.

  “I don’t remember her using those words.”

  “Did she, or did she not, indicate the archduke should stop looking for Alric?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did she threaten the archduke, insinuating she would soon hold her coronation, and once she was queen, he might find he was no longer the Lord Chancellor?”

  “I believe she did say something to that effect, but she was angry—”

  “That will be all, sergeant-at-arms; that’s all I asked. You can step down.” Hilfred began to leave the witness box when the lawyer spoke again. “Oh, I’m sorry…just one last thing. Have you ever seen or heard the princess cry over the loss of her father or brother?”

  “She is a very private woman.”

  “Yes or no?”

  Hilfred hesitated. “No, I haven’t.”

  “I am prepared to call the cell warden to corroborate the testimony of Hilfred if the court feels his account of the events is not truthful,” the lawyer told the magistrates.

  They conferred in whispers, and then the chief magistrate replied, “That won’t be necessary; the word of the sergeant-at-arms Hilfred is recognized as honorable and we will not question it here. You may proceed.”

  “I’m sure you are as perplexed as I was,” the lawyer said, addressing the bleachers in a sympathetic voice. “Many of you know her. How could this sweet girl attack her own father and brother? Was it just to gain a throne? It’s not like her, is it? I ask you to bear with me. The reason should become quite clear in a moment. The court calls Bishop Saldur to testify.”

  Eyes from the gallery swept the room looking for the cleric as the old man slowly stood up from his seat and approached the witness box.

  “Your grace, you have been in this castle on many occasions. You know the royal family extremely well. Can you shed some light on her highness’ motivations?”

  “Gentlemen,” Bishop Saldur spoke to the court and judges in his familiar warm and humble tone, “I have watched over the royal family for years and this recent tragedy is heartbreaking and dreadful. The accusation the archduke brings against the princess is painful to my ears for I feel almost like a grandfather to the poor girl. However, I cannot hide the truth, which is—she is dangerous.”

  This brought a round of whispers between the spectators.

  “I can assure each of you she is no longer the sweet innocent child whom I used to hold in my arms. I have seen her, spoken to her, watched her in her grief—or rather the lack of grief—for her father and brother. I can tell you truly her lust for knowledge and power has caused her to fall into the arms of evil.” The bishop paused, dropping his head into his hands and shaking it. He looked up with a remorse-filled face and said, “It is the result of what happens when a woman is educated and in Arista’s case, introduced to the wicked powers of black magic.”

  There was a collective gasp issued from the crowd.

  “Against my advice, King Amrath allowed her to attend the university where she studied sorcery. She opened herself up to the forces of darkness, and it created in her a craving for power. Education planted an evil seed in her, and it flowered into the horrible deaths of her father and her brother. She is no longer a princess of the realm, but a witch. This is evident by the fact she hasn’t wept for her father. You see, as a learned bishop of the Church, I know—witches cannot cry.”

  The crowd gasped again. From somewhere in the
gallery, Braga heard a man say, “I knew it!”

  The lawyer called Countess Amril to the court, and she testified that two years earlier Arista had hexed her when she told the handsome squire Davens that the princess fancied him. Amril went on to describe how she suffered horribly for days of sickness and boils as a result.

  Next, the lawyer called the monks, who like Countess Amril, were eager to relate how they had been illused by the princess. They told how she had insisted the thieves be unchained despite their assurance it was not necessary and explained they were attacked the moment she left the room.

  The crowd’s reaction grew louder, and even Lord Valin looked troubled.

  Percy Braga observed the audience with satisfaction from his seat at the rear of the magistrates. The faces of the gentry were filling with anger. He had successfully coaxed the spark into a flame and the flame would soon be a blaze.

  In the crowd, he spotted Wylin moving in the wings toward him.

  “We have them, my lord,” Wylin reported in a whisper. “They are gagged and locked in the dungeon. A little banged up by two of my overzealous men, but alive.”

  “Excellent, and has there been any movement on the roads? Has there been any indication nobles loyal to the traitor Arista may attack?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I came directly from the sewers.”

  “Very well, get to the gate and sound the horn if you see anything. I’m concerned there may be an assault from Pickering of Drondil Fields. Oh, and if you see that wretched little dwarf, tell him it is time to bring the princess down.”

  “Of course, your lordship.” Wylin pulled a small parchment rolled into a tube from his tabard. “I was passed this on my way in. It just arrived via messenger addressed to you.” Braga took the missive from Wylin and the master-at-arms left with a bow.

  Braga grinned at the ease of it all. He wondered if the princess in her distant tower prison could sense her coming death. Her own beloved citizens would soon be begging—nay demanding—her execution. He had yet to present the storeroom administrator who would attest to the stolen dagger that was later found in Arista’s possession. And then of course, there were now the thieves. He would hold them until the last and drag them out to the floor gagged and chained. The mere sight of them was likely to start a riot. He would have Wylin explain how he apprehended them trying to save the princess. The magistrates would have no choice but to rule against Arista and grant him the throne.

  He would still have to deal with the possibility of Alric attacking, but that could not be helped now. He was certain he would defeat Alric. Several of the more disgruntled eastern lords already agreed to join him the moment he was crowned king. Once the trial was complete and Arista dead, he planned to hold the coronation. By tomorrow, he would marshal the kingdom. Alric would cease to be a prince and become a fugitive.

  “The court calls storage clerk Kline Druess,” the lawyer was saying, “who was in charge of keeping the knife used to kill the king.”

  More damning evidence, Braga thought as he unrolled the scroll that Wylin had presented him. It had no seal, no emblem of nobility, only a simple string tie. He read the message, which was as simple as its package.

  You missed us in the sewers.

  We now have the princess.

  Your time is growing short.

  The archduke crumpled the note in his fist and glared around at the numerous faces in the crowd wondering if whoever wrote it was watching him. His heart began beating faster, and he stood up slowly trying not to draw attention to himself.

  The lawyer caught sight of his movement and gave him a curious look. Braga dismissed his concern with a slight wave of his hand. He left the court, forcing himself to walk slowly and calmly. The moment he passed out through the chamber doors, and out of sight of the crowd, he trotted through the castle halls, his cape whipping behind him. In his fist, he held on to the note, crushing it.

  It wasn’t possible, he thought, it couldn’t be! Hearing footfalls approaching rapidly from behind, he stopped and spun, drawing his sword.

  “Is there a problem, Braga?” Archibald Ballentyne inquired. He held his hands up defensively before the point of the archduke’s blade. Braga silently threw the crumpled note at him and resumed his march toward the dungeon.

  “It’s those thieves, those damned thieves,” the Earl of Chadwick called out as he ran after Braga. “They’re demons! Magicians! Evil mages! They are like smoke, appearing and disappearing at will.”

  Archibald caught up with Braga and they descended the stairs to the detention block where the door guard dodged aside just in time to avoid the archduke. After trying the door and finding it locked, Braga hammered on it. The warden promptly left his desk and brought his keys for the red-faced archduke.

  “My lord, I—”

  “Open the cell to the prisoners Wylin’s men just brought in. Do it now!”

  “Yes, my lord.” Fumbling with his great ring of keys, the warden moved quickly to the cell hall. Two castle guards stood watch to either side of a door and promptly stepped aside at his approach.

  “Have you two been here since the prisoners were brought in?” Braga asked the guards.

  “Aye, my lord,” the guard on the left replied. “Captain Wylin ordered us to stand guard and to allow absolutely no admittance to anyone except him or you.”

  “Very good,” he said. Then, to the warden, he added, “Open it.”

  The warden unlocked the door and entered the cell. Inside, Braga saw two men chained to the wall, stripped to their waist with gags in their mouths. They were not the same men he saw the night of the king’s murder.

  “Remove the gags,” Braga ordered the warden. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  “M-m-my name’s Bendent, your lordship, I’m just a street sweeper from Dock Street—honest—we weren’t doing nothing wrong!”

  “What were you two doing in the sewers under this castle?”

  “Hunting rats, sir,” the other one said.

  “Rats?”

  “Yes, sir, honest, we was. We was told there was a big event here in the castle this morning and the castle kitchen was complaining about rats climbing up from the sewers. ’Cause of the cold, you see, sir. We was told we’d get paid a silver tenet for every rat we done killed and brought out—only…”

  “Only what?”

  “Only we never seen no rats, your lordship.”

  “Before we found any, we were knocked out by soldiers and brought here.”

  “See? What did I tell you?” Archibald told Braga. “They took her already. They stole her right from under your nose just like they took my letters!”

  “They couldn’t have. There’s no way to get up to Arista’s tower. It is too high, and it can’t be climbed.”

  “I’m telling you, Braga, these men are skilled. They scaled my Gray Tower well enough, and it is one of the tallest there is.”

  “Trust me, Archibald. Arista’s tower can’t be climbed.”

  “But they did it,” Ballentyne insisted. “I didn’t think it was possible when they did it to me either, not until I opened the safe and my prize was gone. Now your prize is gone, and what will you do with that crowd out there when you have no princess to burn!”

  “It’s just not possible,” Braga repeated, pushing Ballentyne out of his way. “You two,” he said to the guards still standing outside the cell as he walked out, “come with me and bring one of those gags. It’s time the princess came down for her court appearance!”

  Braga led them through the castle and up six flights of stairs to the residence level. The hallway here was empty. All of the servants were gathered with the others, listening to the proceedings of the trial.

  They passed the royal chapel and continued up the hallway to the next door. “Magnus!” Braga shouted, throwing the door open. Inside a dwarf with a braided brown beard and a broad flat nose lay on a bed. He was dressed in a blue leather vest, large black boots, and a bright orange puffed sleeved shir
t that made his arms appear huge.

  “Is it time?” the dwarf asked. Hopping off the bed, he yawned and rubbed his eyes.

  “Is there any chance someone could have gotten up in her tower and stolen Arista out of there?” Braga asked urgently.

  “None whatsoever,” the dwarf said with a tone of total confidence. Braga looked back and forth between Ballentyne and the dwarf, scowling.

  “I have to know for certain. Besides, she needs to come down for the burning anyway and I must get back to the trial. Archibald, go get Wylin, my master-at-arms; he’s stationed at the castle gate. Tell him to come to the royal residence wing and provide assistance guarding the princess. I need tight security on this girl. Do you understand me, tight!” Braga now turned his attention to the dwarf. “You’ll have to fetch her. Take these guards with you, one of them has a gag. Make sure they use it before bringing her down.” To the guards the archduke added, “The princess has been corrupted by dark magic; she’s a witch and can play tricks with your mind, so don’t let her talk to you. Get her and bring her to the court.” The guards nodded and the dwarf led them down the hallway in the direction of the tower.

  “I’ll do as you say, Percy, but I’m sure she is already gone,” Archibald insisted. “These bastards are incredible. They’re like ghosts, and they have no fear at all. They work right under your nose, steal you blind, and then have the audacity to send you a note telling you what they have done!”

  Braga paused in thought. “Yes, why did they do that?” he asked himself. “If they took her, why let me know? And if they didn’t, they must have suspected I would immediately check to…” He glanced over his shoulder in the direction the dwarf had gone. “Get Wylin up here, now!” he shouted at the earl and shoved him on his way.

  Braga ran up the hallway, following the dwarf and the two guards. They were just entering the north corridor, which led directly to the tower when he caught up to them.

  “Stop where you are!”

  The dwarf turned around, with a puzzled expression on his face. The guards responded differently. The larger of the two pivoted, drawing his sword, and moved to block the archduke’s passage.

  — 4 —

  “Time to move, Royce,” Hadrian said, casting off his helm. The standard issue sword of the Melengar guard felt heavy and awkward in his grip.