Chapter XVIII
I jogged through the grass, the long blades swishing against my legs. I shivered in the gloom without my jacket. Ahead of me, Phillip turned to gauge my pace. He slowed, allowing me to catch up.
"Where's your carriage?" he asked breathlessly looking about.
"We don't have one, sire. We came by train. We raced the man bringing orders for your death. There's much to discuss about today."
"Apparently," the man said soberly. "As to my own tale, I'm sure you're also curious."
"Of course, but that'll have to wait until safety." By this point we had reached the grove along the road. We stopped there and turned back to face the manor. The light from Phillip's room was still shining, but now other lamps had been lit. I couldn't hear pistol shots anymore. We crouched down into the recesses of the trees and waited.
After a short time our hope was rewarded and Logan came sprinting from the house. Of course, in the shade we couldn't tell who it was. I was preparing to advance and attack when he whispered my name.
"Logan?" I questioned back.
"And who else?" he said with that smug attitude I'd come to love.
"How'd you fare?"
"Good. After you left they tried twice more to leap from the windows. One man even switched rooms, but I saw him break the glass. I shot those down, but I've no idea how hurt they are. Then I waited only a few moments before chasing you. Some of them are sure to follow, so we'll have to discuss anything else as we run," he said, taking off down the lane away from Fielburg. He turned to Phillip. "Your Majesty. They're sure to be watching the roads. Is there anywhere we can hide?"
The other man huffed along for a few moments before replying. "I've been hunting here several times. Fox hunting. My brother and I own hunting lodges in the area, one not more than a few miles from here."
"Lodges you say. Is there anything smaller, anything more anonymous?" I pressed.
"Well . . . yes. There's a couple of hunting shacks we use for wayfaring stations. We store extra food and powder and the like in there. They're tiny affairs, and overgrown by now. I haven't used them in years, and I doubt anyone else has. They're royal property, but hardly popular."
"Perfect," I said. "And where are they?"
"That depends," he chuckled. "Where are we? I knew I was held near Fielburg, but nothing else."
Logan answered him. "You were a prisoner in a manor owned by the Faith. It rested a few miles west of the village, along this path."
He wrinkled his forehead in thought. "I know the place. Belonged to a family of wealthy merchants, but I'd no idea they were Courtiers."
"You likely wouldn't. I imagine they simply provided the lodging," said Logan. "So do you know where those cabins are?"
"I do. If I'm not mistaken the nearest is about five miles down this lane, in the rolling forest past the village of Octen. It's set back into the woods a bit, but it should be there, God willing."
"Good fortune at last," I said, my words in time with my feet. "Getting there is next. But first, we need to get off this road. They're sure to have horses, perhaps even dogs. It's likely they'll overtake us, and it wouldn't do to be found on this path." We stepped off the road.
Occasionally the moon would lance down and light our path through the fields. We moved parallel to the road, far enough away to avoid detection but not too far as to miss sight of any pursuer. The route wasn't difficult, and things were finally going our way. While he didn't speak, I knew that Phillip was longing to know of his brother and how he met his end. We wanted to know about the new king's captivity. How had he been taken, and to what purpose had he been held for so long? Eva had mentioned that Fuchs had used the man as a model for impersonation, but that was too vague. Questions burned within all of our hearts as we raced along through the shade.
At one point, the clatter of horse hooves pelted up the road. At the sound, we dropped instantly, burying ourselves in the long grass. Peering through those stalks, I saw two mounted men on the road. Their horses were powerful chargers and looked to be impeccably well-bred. I've no idea if we were seen, for the men slowed their mounts to a walk as they approached our hiding spot. Since they made no foray into the brush, I assumed their reduction in speed was more for the animals' sake than for the pursuit. Regardless, the two men looked furtively through the gloom, no doubt searching for us. These Courtiers were well armed, and I'd little hope that mercy would be offered if we were found. The stakes were too high. This great game of cat and mouse was being played for Riktenburg, and for the moment we were the mice.
The three of us didn't move for a long time as our enemies trotted along before us into the night. Finally, with bated breath, we rose and moved onwards. Now our group had to be careful not to outpace the searching Courtiers. The three of us moved as shades, darting along like whispers in the night.
As the pale grey of pre-dawn arched across the sky, the two Courtiers returned on the road. Again they were betrayed by the clicking of their horses' hooves, and we had enough time to throw ourselves prostrate in the brush. It was fortunate that they lacked hunting dogs, or we'd been caught for sure. The moist dirt around me possessed that pleasant aroma one can only find in the country, and despite the danger, I nearly succumbed to the sleep which beckoned from that dewy earth. Only Logan's rough shake stirred me, and we rose once more. Glancing behind, I saw the two men just cresting a hill to disappear over its rise. Then we were off again, slinking through the silence.
At last, Phillip turned us further off the road. I was about to question him, but he pointed ahead. A scattering of rough-hewn buildings dotted the path in front of us. These shapes were blotches of darkness against the lightening sky, and none of their residents had stirred yet. According to Phillip, it was the village of Octen, and by its size, it was even smaller than Fielburg. We traveled around this place, hoping to avoid any contact at all. Until we learned more of Fuchs' intentions, spread the news of his treachery, and gathered men to oppose him, anyone could be an enemy.
Reaching the other side of Octen, Phillip again steered us further from the path. To the west lay rolling fields, perfect for riding and hunting foxes. On the other side, lit ever so faintly by the sun which waited to rise, were woods. This forest towered above us, the great trees looming ominously. Even at a distance I could hear faint whispers of leaves swirling about. Branches creaked against each other, and as we approached, a feeling of darkness swallowed us as we entered this forest.
Once a helpless prisoner, Phillip was now the leader. Grasping our arms to keep us close in the gloom, he led us expertly through the forest. By familiarity or shrewd skill, the man wound us under the hanging arms and through the grasping feet of the giants about us.
At last, we came to the hut.
As Phillip had mentioned, it was indeed overgrown. Rough brambles encircled the space, and vines had snaked their way across everything. In composition, it was mostly of stone, a feature which seemed amiss in the woods. Wooden beams formed the pointed ceiling, and several slits appeared in the walls around the structure. The door was massively thick. The place seemed more like a small fort than a supply depot. As the long tendrils of dawn crawled between the overhanging limbs, we pulled away the worst of the foliage from the blockhouse's door. Next, we were forced to batter the padlock which secured the place. Having broken through this, we took a step back and listened for any sounds of pursuit. Then the three of us ventured inside.
Like the exterior, the cabin's one room was in disrepair. Barrels of dried meats and other dry goods lined one wall. Another possessed a rack of muskets, pistols, and rifles, with powder and shot to accompany them. A pile of warm throws and furs filled one corner, and several outfits of clothing were folded neatly beside the cloths. Riding tack and saddle blankets formed another space, and in the center of the cabin rested a table and four worn chairs. Without pause, we dropped into these.
For many long moments, we just sat. Rescued and rescuers, we breathed the
musty, damp air. Finally, Phillip put out a hand and tapped it absentmindedly on the table. "Martin is dead. How?" he asked. The slits in the surrounding walls didn't allow much light through, so I couldn't make out his eyes. But I was sure they brimmed with pain.
I took one final breath and launched into the tale. To start, I explained who we were and where we came from. Logan's duel with Otto Fuchs came next, and the story of our subsequent chase through Europe followed. The masque ball. Di Luca's death. Our flight to Riktenburg. Logan added comments, and together, we related how we'd learned of the plot and Phillip's location, how the king had been murdered, and how we'd survived the eventful chase through the mountain pass. I omitted the details of Fuchs' impersonation for the moment; we'd come to that after Phillip's explanation. Through all of it the man remained silent, his face taut.
"We killed the footman and found you in the west wing. They sounded the alarm, and you know the rest," finished Logan, leaning back into his chair.
"My God of mercy," let out Phillip, placing his head in his hands.
Not knowing what to say, I grabbed the man's shoulder, squeezing it hard. "Sire, you are the country's leader now, and your brother would be proud of you this night," I uttered at last.
He laughed, a short cackle of pain. "Hardly. To be in the situation at all was folly. But what happened is done already. There's no point hiding the story from you."
We nodded. "Your capture has been on our minds, yes," said Logan.
"I was hunting of course. I'm always hunting. As the spring came on, I traveled to Switzerland to hunt the stags. To be safe I took twenty dragoon guards and we traveled by rail. Once there, we set up in a nice hunting lodge that we'd purchased. It overlooked a beautiful valley, and the snow from the mountain around us was just receding with the sun. And we hunted. My guards and I would trek out into the wild in small groups, and we'd chase the stags.
"After several weeks of living like this, I took a dozen men out for a regular hunting trip. We'd been unsuccessful for nearly a week, and I was determined to track down our prey. I didn't know that we were being hunted as well.
"They hit us around a bend in the forest path. We'd normally ride to a clearing in the forest, dismount, and then stalk the deer by foot. While riding along this path, there's a sharp curve. After a while, it became part of the scenery. We rode along blissfully, stupidly. As we rounded the bend that morning though, two huge trees toppled through the forest. One fell before us, the other behind. We were trapped. My men are professionals, and they didn't wait for further evidence of treachery. Some dismounted and see off through the woods to find our attackers. Others formed a cordon around me, guarding me with their own lives. As fast as my men were though, the Courtiers were swifter. It seemed that the trees hadn't hit the ground before they were firing upon us from all directions. The scene was chaos. Wounded horses screamed and men moaned in pain.
"I was ordering my captain to seek better cover. We talked face to face when his body crumpled. He'd been hit in the neck; it was awful. One by one, they shot down my men from the trees. At the time I thought it was miraculous that the bullets missed me. Then with only a few of my guards left they charged us. I consider myself an excellent fencer, and I proved my mettle — the Faith lost three men to my saber that morning. But in the end, it came to nothing. They killed the others and this bear of a man tackled me from behind, pinning my arms. The manacles came next, and I've worn them ever since." With a chuckle, he held the chain that was still wrapped around his ankle.
"Speaking of which, we should find something to get that off," said Logan.
"Ha! I've almost grown fond of the damned things, I've worn them for so long. Anyway, they trussed me up and flipped me over. Standing above me were the Fuchs brothers. I'd known Aloysius of course; he'd been in my brother's government. And Otto I'd met once or twice at court functions. But seeing them there was quite a shock. The bastards didn't say a word. They bowed with vicious smiles on their faces and placed a blindfold over my eyes. I never knew what happened to the other guards in my detachment, but I fear the worst."
"Oh, yes," I said sadly. "Fuchs was sure to snip off the loose ends. I'm sure he killed them. In fact, your brother had been receiving telegrams for months. They were sent from Switzerland and all told of your good health and happy hunting."
Phillip nodded and continued. "Then we traveled. I was always blindfolded when we moved, but I still managed to pick up clues. For sure, we were in Luzern, Bern, and Paris. But I never found out why. Of course they didn't tell me anything, but I often didn't see the Fuchs brothers for several days at a time. Then on other occasions, the two wouldn't leave me alone, especially Aloysius. He'd wake me up at odd hours of the night. I assume the timing was just to be spiteful. Then he'd have me do the strangest things. I'd be forced to walk up and down the hall constantly. All the while, Fuchs would take notes. Then, after a while, he walked along with me, imitating my gait. At other times, he'd sit me down in a chair and draw my features over and over again. As I said, it was the most erratic behavior I'd ever heard of. When they hadn't killed me in the forest, I simply assumed I'd be ransomed, but the months went by and summer came. Still, he drew and studied my mannerisms. He even started to speak like me, using my turn of phrase; it was unsettling . . ." He trailed off.
"That's how they did it," said Logan sadly.
"How they did what?" asked Phillip.
"Finish your story first sire, and we'll tell the rest of ours."
He nodded. "These sessions continued for many weeks. I would be roused, and Aloysius would have me instruct him in something about court life. I wondered what was happening, and suspicions were forming. But they seemed too far-fetched to me. No one could try them and get away with it."
I leaned forward. "They did try it, and they have gotten away with it, Your Majesty. It seemed like they wanted to impersonate you?"
"Yes! Exactly! But the thought would be too ludicrous to even attempt. They'd be found out in moments."
"Or one of the best stage-actors in Riktenburg would succeed, and the country would fall under the Faith's tyranny," said Logan dryly.
Phillip looked at him. "You don't mean . . ."
"Of course," I answered. "Fuchs didn't just kill your brother. He is your brother. With makeup, extensive studying, and the most pernicious dash of gall this country has ever seen, he became the king. Fuchs now looks exactly like each of you. Then as the king, he announced to the whole court that you'd been murdered in Switzerland. Next he accused us of the deed, and we'd have been executed for it if not for Eva's rescue. In the meanwhile the messenger sent here was to kill you. If that Courtier had succeeded both of you would be dead, no one would've been the wiser, and Fuchs could rule the whole of Riktenburg how he desired."
Phillip sat there, stunned. No one spoke for long minutes as the sun continued to rise. Then the new king leaned forward, small tears lining the corners of his eyes. "He's gone. He's really . . . gone."
There was nothing for us to say.
"Why'd they keep me alive?" Phillip asked at last.
"I assume to keep you as insurance. If the plan had failed and Fuchs and his gang were captured, they had a way out. Your brother would gladly trade you for them."
"He won't have the option now."
"But you will," said Logan. "You have the option. We'll gather resistance and gut the dog."
"Or simply show myself in court. He said I was dead. If I show up, he'll be called a liar."
"Sire, there's no possible way you'll get anywhere near the palace. The guards will be replaced, and Fuchs will shoot you down before you can speak. He'll claim you're an imposter, and they'd believe him. As you said, the entire idea is ludicrous, and now that he's in the king's place, he's the king for the moment," I said.
"But not for long," began Logan again. "We need to get Jacob and Eva from the city. Besides, the Kleins will want to help. We can't leave Mercedes to die."
"Mercedes?" asked Phil
lip, confused. We explained the role of the minister of war and how his daughter had been taken as leverage. Logan didn't mention his fondness for the girl, so I refrained as well.
"Joseph must know people who'd fight with us," my friend continued. "We'll find where she's held, rescue her, and take Fuchs when he's traveling or alone. He did it to Martin, and we'll offer him the same." Logan hit the table with his fist.
"For now though, we haven't slept," I said with a yawn.
"Agreed," said Logan standing. Phillip remained at the table, not moving. At last, he stood and stretched, the chain still wrapped about him.
"But before anything else, let's remove that." I pointed. We looked about the room for anything that might snap the chain. After a bit, we settled upon a large file. Despite our tiredness, we took turns attacking the fetter. With willing hands and no threat of detection to slow us, we worked feverishly. The metal shavings fell about us, and the filing was the only sound in the room. Our tortured emotions held our tongues from further talk. It took long, delicate filings to proceed; we had to avoid grating Phillip's leg. With a last scrape we cut through the manacle. I flung it aside.
We collapsed like shattered husks about the room. Two cots rested along the floor, and I demurred to the others to take them. For my part, I piled blankets and furs on the floorboards and nested among them. What followed was perhaps the deepest, most fulfilling sleep I've ever experienced. Even as I succumbed to rest, my mind drifted through a cathartic appraisal of our situation. We'd rescued Phillip and kept our lives in the process. All was not hopeless. All was not lost.
With these gentle thoughts I drifted into unconsciousness, not daring to dream.
The Faith: Book I of the Uprising Trilogy Page 21