"Please do, sir." Amilia's anxiety neared the breaking point.
"Everyone knows you are the closest to the empress. She confides to no one but you. Can you—have you—does the empress ever speak of me?"
Amilia raised her eyebrows in surprise. Under ordinary circumstances, the earl's hesitancy could have seemed quaint and even charming, but at that moment, she prayed he would just get it out and be done with it.
"Please, I know I am being terribly forward, but I am a forward man. I would like to know if she has ever thought of me, and if so, is it to her favor?"
"My lord, I can honestly say she has never once mentioned you to me."
The earl paused to consider this.
"I'm not sure how I should interpret that. I am certain she sees so many suitors. Can you do me a favor, my lady?"
"If it is in my power, sir."
"Could you speak to her about gracing me with a dance this evening at the ball after the banquet? I would be incredibly grateful."
"Her eminence won't be attending the banquet, sir. She never dines in public."
"Never?"
"I am afraid not, sir."
"I see."
The earl paused in thought as Amilia rapidly drummed the tips of her fingers together. "If you please, sir, I do need to be seeing about the empress."
"Of course, forgive me for taking up your valuable time. Still if you should perhaps mention me to her eminence and let her know I would very much like to visit with her."
"I will, your lordship. Now, if you will excuse me."
Amilia hurried back and found that the seamstress had finished the collar. It was tall and did indeed keep her chin up, although it looked horribly uncomfortable. Modina, of course, didn't seem to care. The cobbler, however, was still working on her shoe.
"What's going on here?" she asked.
"The new heel he put on was taller than the other," Nimbus told her. "He tried to resize, but in his haste he overcompensated and now it is shorter."
Amilia turned to Anna, "How long do we have?"
"About fifteen minutes," she replied gloomily.
"What about the headdress? I don't see it."
"It wasn't in the hall, or the bedroom, milady."
Anna's face drained of color. "Oh, dear Maribor forgive me. I forgot all about it!"
"You forgot? Nimbus!"
"Yes, milady?"
"Run to the milliner and fetch the headdress, and when I say run, I mean sprint do you hear me?"
"At once, milady, but I don't know where the milliner shop is."
"Get a page to escort you."
"The pages are all busy with the ceremony."
"I don't care! Grab one at sword point if necessary. Find one who knows the way and tell him it is by order of the empress and don't let anyone stop you, now move!"
"Anna!" Amilia shouted.
"Yes, my lady." The maid was trembling in tears. "I am so sorry, my lady, truly I am."
"We don't have time for apologies or tears. Go to the empress' bedroom and fetch her day shoes. She'll have to wear them instead. Do it now!"
Amilia slammed the door behind them and gave it a solid kick in frustration. She leaned her forehead against the oak as she concentrated on calming down. The gown would cover the shoes. No one would know the difference. The headdress was another matter. They worked on it for weeks and the regents would notice its absence. The milliner's shop was out in the city proper, and she had left it to Anna to pick it up. She could really only blame herself. She should have asked about it earlier and was furious at her incompetence. She kicked the door once more then turned around and slumped to the floor, her gown ballooning about her.
The ceremony began in minutes but there was still time. Modina's speech was last and Amilia was certain she would have at least another twenty, perhaps even thirty, minutes while the others addressed the crowd. Across from her, Modina sat stiff and straight in her royal gown of white and gold, her long neck held high by the new collar. There was something different about Modina she was watching Amilia with interest. She was actually studying her.
"Are you going to be alright?" she asked the empress.
Immediately the light in her eyes vanished and they fell out of focus once more.
Amilia sighed.
***
Regent Ethelred spoke on the colorfully bunted balcony for nearly an hour, though Amilia hardly heard a word of it. Something about the grandness and might of the New Empire; how Maribor ordained it and how it would unite all of humanity again as it once had. He spoke of the Empire's military successes in the north and the bloodless annexation of Alburn and Dunmore. He followed this with the news of an expected surplus in wheat and barley and an end to the elven problem. They would no longer be allowed to roam free and instead of turning them into useless slaves they would simply disappear. The Empire was gathering wayward elves from all over the realm. How they would be disposed of he did not say. The massive crowd below cheered their approval and their combined voices roared.
Amilia sat in the staging room, her arms wrapped about her waist. She could not even pace now. The empress herself appeared unconcerned by the approaching presentation and sat calmly as ever in her shimmering gown and massive headdress that mimicked a fanning peacock.
Nimbus managed excellent time reaching the milliner, although he apparently terrified a young page, having brandished his rapier at the lad. They also had good fortune in that the ceremony started late due to a last-minute dispute as to the order of speakers. Amilia managed to secure the headdress on Modina just minutes before the first speech.
The Chancellor spoke first, then Ethelred and finally Saldur. With each word, Amilia felt it harder and harder to breathe. Finally, Ethelred's speech concluded and Saldur stepped forward for the formal introduction. The crowd hushed, as they knew the expected moment was at hand.
"Nearly a thousand years have passed since the breaking of the great Empire of Novron," he told the multitude below. "We stand here today as witnesses to the enduring power of Maribor and his promise to Novron that his seed will reign forever. Neither treachery nor time can break this sacred covenant. Allow me to introduce to you proof of this. Here now welcome the once simple farm maid, the slayer of the elven beast, the Heir of Novron, the High Priestess of the Nyphron Church, her most serene and Royal Grand Imperial Majesty, the Empress Modina Novronian!"
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Amilia could feel the vibration of their voices even where she sat. She looked at Modina, pleading and hopeful. The empress' face was calm as she stood up straight and gracefully walked forward, the train of her dress trailing behind her.
When she stepped upon the balcony—when the people finally saw her face—the noise of the crowd did the impossible. It exploded. The unimaginably boisterous cheering was deafening, like a continuous roll of thunder that vibrated the very stone of the castle. It went on and on and Amilia wondered if it would ever stop.
In the face of the tumult surely Modina could not endure. What effect would this have on her fragile countenance? Amilia wished Saldur had allowed her to use the rope or accompany her onto the balcony. Amilia's only consolation was knowing that Modina was likely frozen. Her mind retreating to that dark place she had so long lived in, the place she crawled to hide from the world.
Amilia prayed the crowd would quiet. She hoped Ethelred or Saldur would do something to silence them, but neither moved and the crowd continued to roar with no end in sight. Then something unexpected happened. Modina slowly raised her hands, making a gentle quieting motion, and almost immediately the crowd fell silent. Amilia could not believe her eyes.
"My beloved and cherished loyal subjects," she spoke with a loud, clear, almost musical voice that Amilia had not heard at practice. "It is wonderful to finally meet you."
The crowd roared anew even louder than before. Modina allowed them to cheer for a full minute before raising her hands and silencing them again.
"As some of you may h
ave heard, I have not been well. The battle with Rufus' Bane left me weakened, but with the help of my closest friend, the Grand Imperial Secretary Lady Amilia of Tarin Vale, I am feeling much better."
Amilia stopped breathing at the sound of her name. That was not in the speech.
"I owe Amilia the greatest debt of gratitude for her efforts on my behalf, for I should not be here at all if not for her strength, wisdom, and kindness."
Amilia closed her eyes and cringed.
"While I am feeling better, I am still easily exhausted and I must keep my strength in order to devote it to ensuring our defense against invaders, a bountiful harvest, and our return to the glory and prosperity that was Novron's Empire," she finished with an elaborate wave of her hand, turned, and left the balcony with elegant grace and poise.
The crowd erupted once more into cheers and continued long after Modina returned inside.
"I swear I didn't tell her to say that." Amilia pleaded with Saldur.
"By publicly naming you as her friend and the hero of the realm, you've become famous." Saldur replied. "It will now be almost impossible for me to replace you—almost. But don't worry," he continued thoughtfully. "With such a fine display I would be a fool to do anything other than praise you. I am once more impressed. I wouldn't have expected this from you. You're more clever than I thought, but I should have guessed that already. I will have to remember this. Good work, my dear. Good work indeed."
"Yes, that was excellent!" Ethelred said. "We can now put the fiasco of the coronation behind us. I can't say I approve of the self-aggrandizement, Amilia, but seeing what you've done with her, I can't begrudge you a little recognition. In fact, we should consider rewarding her for a job well done, Sauly."
"Indeed," he replied. "We'll have to consider what that should be. Come, Lanis, let's proceed to the banquet." The two of them left, talking back and forth about the ceremony as they went.
Amilia moved to the empress' side, took her hand, and escorted her back to her quarters. "You'll be the death of me yet," she told her.
Chapter 16
The Battle of Ratibor
Hadrian sat in the rain. Heavy chains shackled his ankles and wrists to a large metal stake driven into the ground. All day he waited in the mud, watching the lazy movements of the Nationalist Army. They were just as slow to decide his fate as they were to attack. Horses walked past, meals were called, and men grumbled about the rain and the mud. The gray light faded into night and regret consumed him.
He should have escaped, even if it meant shedding blood. He might have been able to save Arista's life. He could have warned her that the Nationalists would not cooperate and have her call off the attack. Now, even if she succeeded, the victory would be short-lived and she would face the gallows or a beheading.
"Gill!" he shouted as he saw the sentry walking by in his soaked cloak.
"Ah yes!" Gill laughed, coming closer with a grin. "If it isn't the grand marshall. Not so grand now, are you?"
"Gill, you have to help me," he shouted over the roar of the rain. "I need you to get a message to—"
Gill bent down. "Now why would I help the likes of you? You made a fool out of me. Sergeant Milford weren't too pleased neither. He has me running an all-night shift to show his displeasure."
"I have money," Hadrian told him eagerly. "I could pay you."
"Really? And where is this money, in some chest buried on some distant mountain, or merely in another pair of pants?"
"Right here in the purse on my belt. I have at least ten gold tenents. You can have it all if you just promise me to take a message to Ratibor."
Gill looked at Hadrian's belt curiously. "Sure," he said. Reaching down he untied the purse. He weighed it in his hands, the bouncing produced a jingle. He pulled open the mouth and poured out a handful of coins. "Whoa! Look at that. You weren't joshing; there's really gold in here. One, two, three…damn! Well thank you, marshall." He made a mock salute. "This will definitely take the sting out of having to stand two watches." He started to walk away.
"Wait!" Hadrian told him. "You need to hear the message."
Gill kept walking.
"You need to tell Arista not to attack," he shouted desperately, but Gill continued on his way swinging the purse around his finger until his figure was obscured by the rain.
Hadrian cursed and kicked the stake hard. He collapsed on his side, lost in a nightmare of frustration. He remembered the look on Arista's face, how hopeful. It never crossed her mind that he would fail. When he first met the princess, he thought her arrogant and egotistical—like all nobles—grown up brats, greedy and self-centered.
When did that change?
Images flooded back to him. He remembered her hanging out her wet things in Sheridan. How stubbornly she slept under the horse blanket that first night outside, crying herself to sleep. He and Royce were both certain she would cancel the mission the next day. He saw her sleeping in the skiff that morning drifting down the Bernum and how she had practically announced her identity to everyone when drunk in Dunstan's home. She had always been their patron and their princess, but somewhere along the way she became more than that.
As he sat, pelted with rain, and helpless in the mud, he was tormented with visions of her death. He saw her lying face down in the filthy street, her dress torn, her pale skin stained red with blood. The Imperials would likely hoist her body above Central Square, or perhaps drag it behind a horse to Aquesta. Maybe they would cut her head off and send it to Alric as a warning.
In a flash of anger and desperation, he began digging in the mud, trying to dislodge the stake. He dug furiously, pulled hard, then dug again—wrenching the stake back and forth. A guard spotted him and used a second stake on the chains connected to his wrists, to stretch him out flat.
"Still trying to get away and cause mischief are ya?" the guard said. "Well, that taint gonna happen. You killed Gaunt. You'll die for that, but until then you'll stay put." The guard spit in his face, but the effect was hardly what he sought as the rain rinsed it away. It crushed Hadrian knowing it was Arista's rain washing him clean. Lying there, he saw the first sign of dawn lightening the morning sky and his heart sank further.
***
Emery could see the horizon as the faint light of dawn separated sky from building and tree. Rain still fell and the sound of crickets was replaced by early morning stirrings. Merchants appeared on the street far earlier than usual pushing carts and rolling wagons toward the West End Square then, neglectfully, left them blocking the entrances from King's Street and Legends Avenue. Other men came out of their homes and shops. Emery watched them appear out of the gray morning rain, coming one and two at a time, then gathering into larger groups as they wandered aimlessly around the square, drifting slowly, almost hesitantly, toward the armory. They wore heavy clothes and carried hoes, pitchforks, shovels, and axes. Most had knives tucked into their belts.
A pair of city guards working the end of the night shift—dressed only in light summer uniforms—had just finished their last patrol circuit. They stopped and looked around at the growing crowd with curious expressions. "Say there, what's going on here?"
"I dunno," a man said, and then moved away.
"Listen, what are you all doing here?" the other guard asked, but no one answered.
Barefoot and dressed in a white oversized shirt and a pair of britches that left his shins bare, Emery strode forward feeling the clap of the sword at his side. "We are here to avenge the murder of our lord and sovereign, King Urith of Rhenydd!"
"It's him. It's Emery Dorn!" the guard shouted. "Grab the bastard."
As the guards rushed forward they were too late to realize their peril as the groups closed around them, sweeping together like a flocks of birds.
The soldiers hastily drew their swords swinging them.
"Back! Get back! All of you! Back or we'll have the lot of you arrested!"
Hatred filled the faces of the crowd and excitement crept into their eyes. They jabb
ed at the soldiers with pitchforks and hoes. The guards knocked them away with swords. For several minutes the crowd taunted with feints and threats, and then Emery drew his blade. Mrs. Dunlap found the sword for him. It had once belonged to her husband. In all the years of service, Paul Dunlap, carriage driver for King Urith, never had occasion to draw it. The steel scraped as Emery pulled the blade from the metal sheath. With a grim expression and a set jaw, he pushed his way through the circle and faced the guards.
They were sweating. He could see the wetness on the upper lip of the closest man. The guard lunged, thrusting. Emery stepped to the side and hit the soldier's blade with his own, hearing the solid clank and feeling the impact in his hand. He took a step forward and swung. It felt good. It felt perfect, just the right move. The tip of his sword hit something soft and Emery watched as he sliced the man, cutting him across the chest. The soldier screamed, dropping his sword. He fell to his knees, his eyes wide in shock, clutching himself as blood soaked his clothes. The other guard tried to run, but the crowd held him back. Emery pushed past the wounded man and with one quick thrust stabbed the remaining guard through the kidney. Several cheered and began beating the wounded men, hacking them with axes and shovels.
"Enough," Emery shouted. "Follow me!"
The guards' weapons were taken and the crowd chased Emery to the flagstone building with the iron gate. By the time they arrived, Carat was already picking the lock. They killed those on duty only to discover most of the rest were still in their beds. A few got to their feet before the mob arrived. They stabbed the first confused man through the ribs with a pitchfork that he took with him when he fell. Emery stabbed another and an axe took a third's shoulder partway off, lodging there so that the owner had to kick his victim to pull the axe free. Swords and shields lined the walls or lay in pine boxes. On shelves sat steel helms and chain hauberks.
The mob grabbed these as they passed, discarding their tools of trade for tools of war. Only ten men guarded the armory and all died quickly, most beaten to death in their beds. The men cheered when they realized they took the armory without a single loss of life to their side. They laughed, howled, and jumped on tables, breaking plates and cups and whatever else they could find as they gleefully tested out their new weapons.
Nyphron Rising Page 29