The Maiden and the Mercenary
Autore
Nicole Locke
Letto da
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Capitoli
25
Chapter One
Biedeluue wiped the back of her hand against her mouth and concentrated on the tower of goblets stacked on the well-worn table before her. The chanting crowd around her and her challenger jostled for a closer position and she shoved back.
‘These hips of mine aren’t moving for anyone!’ She brandished the goblet in her hand and they all stepped merrily aside.
‘I’ll move your hips!’
Galen winked one eye, then the other much more slowly. Ah, not winking, but trying to focus through the haze of ale, like her.
‘Attempting to move my hips when drunken is how you first fell to misfortune, Galen.’ She pointed somewhere in the vicinity of his stack. ‘Now, let’s see how you apply yourself with smaller...goblets.’
‘As if he could be so fortunate!’ shouted Tess, from the baking ovens.
Someone clapped and everyone from the wafer maker to the cup bearer howled. The kitchens were normally bustling, but now, even the doorways were crammed with field people. The kitchens were as large as kingdoms, but even so, she heard a crash to her right as the crowd moved and several heads whipped around to see the destruction.
She didn’t, however—any quick movement was ill-advised. How many gulps of ale had she had? She’d stopped counting after twenty, trusting the betting crowd had their own vested interest to keep track of the game.
It was up to her to stack the goblets for each gulp of ale. She narrowed her eyes at the wavering mound. Ten...twenty? Oh, maybe twenty-five gulps of ale.
Which meant Galen, the challenger, had also had twenty-five... No, he’d just thrown back another and grabbed a goblet to stack on top of the tower he’d made.
Damn him, his height and those arms that were twice as tall and...twice as many as he had before. Four arms? An unfair advantage to be sure!
‘No helping!’ she called out as Henry sneaked a supporting hand to Galen’s back when he staggered backwards.
Henry lifted both his hands and she nodded her head at him in satisfaction. A mistake, which she fixed by widening her stance.
If Galen fell, she won. If Galen toppled his goblets before her, she won. And if she won, she got... She got...
She’d win! She liked that part the best. Right now she needed to win. It was important because she wasn’t winning at anything else and there was more at stake here.
A roiling wave to her stomach as her thoughts darkened. She blinked hard, peering at the raucous crowd and the goblets she had stupidly assembled entirely too high. She needed to put another on the top.
An easy task. All the tasks were easy. Stack the goblets, drink the drink and beat the brewer Galen, who reportedly hadn’t lost a game of drink since he was a babe.
That was a bet she could win because she hadn’t lost a game of drink since she was a babe and she was older than Galen. In fact, she was older than most of the servants in the Warstone kitchens. The only ones older than her were the ones already with babies and who lived in the village outside the fortress.
She was old enough for a husband and family of her own, too, but had been avoiding any such connections. Entirely because of the village men who’d enjoyed manipulating a girl whose father had abandoned her, her four siblings and their weakened mother.
Though she couldn’t imagine a family of her own, the one she had she’d do anything for. By the time she could, Biedeluue, after hours in the fields, helped her mother cook, clean and cuddle away the pain of scrapes and bruises of her siblings. When that wasn’t enough, she had left to earn coin and only returned to give her mother and siblings what she could to ease her family’s struggles.
All her siblings, save for one, were still in their village outside Lyon. And though she travelled to work, they still never left her in peace. They still needed her and she did what she could for them.
So when she received that scrap of parchment from the youngest, Margery, the one not at home, that she was in danger and to send their brothers immediately, Biedeluue didn’t hesitate to rush to her aid, just as she’d always done before.
Because out of all the hardships she’d had to endure to save her family...the fact she couldn’t save Margery from a worse fate pained her most of all. Margery, who always had to be protected because, when times became truly hard, the village men didn’t stop at just Biedeluue.
What had happened to Margery now? That message. Hastily scrawled so that Biedeluue could barely read it. Not even signed, but she knew who’d written it because of one distinctive loop. Always the beautiful loops in the writing even if the message was terrifying.
However, after asking for work and gaining the trust of the servants, she didn’t know how to aid her sister who was trapped here in this Warstone fortress. Bied had now been here for a fortnight and still hadn’t seen or spoken to her sister. Wasn’t even certain she was held captive because no matter whom she asked, no one knew a woman named Margery. No one...
What if she wasn’t here? She must be. This was Ian of Warstone’s personal fortress. One Bied recognised from the overt wealth, intimidation and malice in every stone and floorboard. She’d never met that man whom her sister had been overjoyed to have captured the attention of, but everything Margery had told her in that letter gave her goose pimples and not the good kind.
No, regrettably, her sister must be here. The chambermaid let slip that if the mistress kept weeping, no amount of cold water would ever get her swollen lavender eyes lovely again.
Lavender eyes. Margery was the only one of her siblings to have eyes that colour. Her sister. Trapped and fearful. So close and... Mustn’t think dark thoughts. Mustn’t...
Biedeluue swallowed hard, tasting the ale and her worry.
‘If you’re wanting to spew,’ Henry said, ‘there’s a goblet right in your hand.’
‘Or a...few...in front of you.’ Galen belched.
She narrowed her eyes. Galen needed to fall and soon. Except... Swinging her attention back to the tower in front of her, she saw that the goblets hadn’t got smaller in her reverie. There was over a...a lot of them...and she still had one in her hand.
Where had that come from?
‘I have been sent on many missions before,’ Louve of Mei Solis said, ‘but this is by far the most foolish one yet.’
‘At least you said foolish and not dangerous,’ Balthus of Warstone said. ‘That lends hope.’
Louve loosened his hands on the reins, but the horse beneath him pawed the earth. No doubt it felt the unease from him and his men. It was the wait weighing on them. It was the fact that by going forward, some would be killed.
And this was one of the easier of days after hard travel gathering men and supplies, which took far longer than it should, so by the time they investigated the area they were plagued by rain and frost. Now they were supposed to penetrate an impenetrable fortress and either procure information which would end wars or capture the man who held such important secrets.
Given the fortress and a certain man were surrounded by hundreds of well-trained warriors, the task was not a simple one.
‘When I said foolish, didn’t that imply the mission was dangerous?’ Louve said.
Balthus shrugged. ‘How am I to interpret your vague and insouciant descriptions? We’ve known each other less than a month. Even that has been too much.’
Louve ignored the insult. Balthus had made it obvious since the beginning of this journey from Troyes he didn’t want Louve’s company. In that, he was exactly like the rest of his family. ‘I learnt vague from your brother Reynold.’
‘Whom, in my entire life, I have spent less time with than you.’
Louve could hear both the accusation and the curiosity in Balthus’s voice. Even if he had a lifetime, he couldn’t describe Reynold, one of the four brothers of the Warstone family, and the man who’d hired him as a mercenary. Over the years, Reynold had become a friend to Louve, though Reynold continued to deny it.
The fact he could even call such a man friend was an irony, since Reynold of Warstone was an enemy of his only other friend, Nicholas of Mei Solis. Also, the Warstones were secretly undermining the King of England. An act Louve couldn’t fathom given he wasn’t from nobility or familiar with the intrigues of court.
Intrigues which had led him here on the same mission that Reynold had borne his entire life. To stop the Warstone family from gaining the power they so hungrily garnered. Their wealth, their reach already could cripple monarchs, and still they weren’t satisfied. They were also...evil.
Husband against wife. Brothers raised separately. The Warstones only combined against kingdoms. Then Reynold had broken ranks, turned on them all.
Somehow Louve, of no noble blood, whose skills were more with ledgers than daggers, was in the middle of it all. For a man who dreamed of a little land of his own and a gentle wife who accepted him, how did he end up in these conspiracies? Because he wanted to earn enough coin so he could acquire the quiet life he yearned for.
Where did that leave Balthus, brother of Reynold? Was he a friend? No, nor did Balthus desire to be. But the younger man was growing on him and that in itself was a worry.
Because the man they were here to steal from, or torture for information, whichever became necessary first, was the last Warstone brother: Ian. Four brothers, one already dead. All raised to be enemies against each other. Reynold and Balthus finally combined against the last, but Ian was reported to be the most diabolical.
As far as Louve was concerned, that could be applied to any one of them. In the time he’d spent with the two Warstones, he knew they had much commonality between them: greed, arrogance and an unnerving intelligence. Every bit of it Louve felt penetrating him as Balthus stood at his side.
‘Are you watching me?’ Louve said.
‘You went unnaturally quiet and stared unblinkingly at a barren tree,’ Balthus said. ‘You do this, and I worry for your reasoning. I worry for mine since I’m trusting you with my life.’
He wondered if he was going mad as well and only more so lately as he debated his choices. First was leaving his home to become a mercenary for Reynold, the next was agreeing to go on a mission with a Warstone he didn’t know. Recognizing that he needed coin, and that becoming a mercenary was the more effective way to do it, did little to mitigate the aggravation of the situation.
Mere months ago, Balthus, the youngest, approached Reynold for an alliance against Ian. Louve was there for it all, knew what was at stake and accepted the consequences of which he knew there would be many. Alliances between madmen wasn’t a secure beginning.
Still, in the hopes for peace in his own life, Louve humoured the two brothers. Warstones. The name implied it all. ‘Your brother is too cunning to hire foolish men.’
‘How am I to know of my brother when you tell me nothing?’
‘You won’t know any more than he tells you himself,’ Louve said.
‘Years in his employ and you won’t share something?’
‘Not if I want to keep my head. Your brother wouldn’t appreciate it. If you’re truly curious, look to yourself for answers,’ Louve said. The fact both were curious and refused friendship, but still held some sense of honour and loyalty, fascinated Louve.
‘Damn you, you know I would be curious about this,’ Balthus said.
‘Your thoughts will keep you well occupied, unlike this hope you talk of. Hope, I remind you, we have no use for.’
Balthus shrugged one shoulder. ‘Hope is better than this wait. I liked the journey here, for at least then we wagered and raced horses. Now I’m just cold out here.’
‘I thought you hated those wagers because you always lost to me,’ Louve said.
‘Everyone lost to you and I hate this wait more.’
‘You simply don’t like paying men when there’s no profit.’
‘Who would? It took us too long to find them all.’
‘We couldn’t use Reynold’s men, and you couldn’t entirely trust your own. We needed many new mercenaries.’
‘Now my pockets are empty. If we could have travelled farther to that estate—’
‘Mei Solis,’ Louve offered.
‘I’ll never remember such an odd name,’ Balthus said. ‘However, if we could have stopped there first, I’d have some coin.’
Louve had a chest of his own, but Balthus was used to enormous sums. Sums which were in abundance in Mei Solis coffers. An estate that was weeks away and in another country. Balthus would have to get used to being poor, which was almost enjoyable.
‘You’ll simply have to suffer with the coin given to me,’ Louve said. ‘We received your brother’s message to come here. Plans change.’
‘We received that message less than a day after leaving Troyes. I’m still not certain if Reynold already possessed the information and was too cowardly to tell us in person.’
Louve couldn’t fault Balthus for trying to get an answer from him, but his tactic was too obvious.
‘Not willing to divulge anything more?’ Balthus sighed. ‘You were different in Troyes. You talked—I think you even smiled.’
He’d been different in Troyes, he’d been different at Mei Solis, but the more risks he took for someone else’s games, the less he found humorous. There was nothing light-hearted about his vow to protect Balthus of Warstone. Facing this dark fortress of death could be his doom as well.
‘If you’re concerned about finances,’ Louve said, ‘I’m certain some of your own great fortune you left behind is inside the fortress.’ Louve indicated with his chin. ‘You could walk through the gates and greet your brother. After all, you are a Warstone.’
‘One Ian tried to kill, so no thank you to your idea.’
‘Ian doesn’t know you know of his treachery.’
‘Still, why would I show up and remind him I’m alive?’
‘Thus, we are left with my original scheme.’
‘Which I disagreed with,’ Balthus said.
‘We are out of any options. The routine of the watch guards is never consistent, and they are frequently rotated. We know they train. Can see their inflicted injuries even from this distance.’
‘Ian must leave the fortress at some point. His wife and two sons aren’t in residence.’
‘Which implies he is a loving father and husband who misses his family. Given your familial history, that’s unlikely. Further, he hasn’t surfaced since he killed the messenger at Reynold’s gates. Reynold is too aware of him now for him to risk exposure. Will you tell me why your brothers are determined to kill each other?’
‘Reynold and I are not,’ Balthus said.
‘You and Reynold aren’t trying to kill each other...yet.’
‘I’ll prove my honesty to him,’ Balthus said.
Louve had his doubts, but then he mistrusted many people, including himself because nothing he had done over many years felt true. He wanted coin to earn something of his own and dreamed of finding a woman to accept him, yet here he was, spying over an impenetrable fortress and scheming to destroy its owner.
‘I am Reynold’s brother in heart and will prove it with my deeds,’ Balthus repeated.
Louve pointedly looked at Balthus’s wrapped hand. ‘Mere words.’
Balthus lifted his left hand. ‘This means nothing.’
‘If so, why do you keep it wrapped? Why not show what your mother did?’
‘The wrapping is a reminder, that is all.’
Another reason why Balthus could only be trusted so far. The pain of the injury should be enough of a reminder. Balthus’s mother, a woman bent on defeating her husband and the King, required her sons to repeatedly hold their left hand over a flame to prove their loyalty.
Which begged the question, one that directly affected him. ‘Is it healing?’
‘If it comes to a battle of swords, it won’t matter if my left hand is healing or not.’
‘Until your sword arm is rendered useless, then you would be useless to me. I care very much how well you fight.’
‘Should we prove ourselves to each other again, Louve? Last time, I was restraining my full skills.’
‘Mere posturing. All I know with certainty was that I was holding back,’ Louve said. ‘I have no knowledge of your skills.’
‘I told you—’
‘It’s not only your sword arm I worry about—I’m concerned you won’t be able to perform the hand signals,’ Louve pointed out.
‘Those are useless,’ Balthus said.
‘Not if we’re stuck in the room, but unable to talk. We may need to divide the room on attack and it’s best to know what we’re doing without letting the enemy know.’
‘The enemy being my family.’ Balthus exhaled loudly. ‘What makes you think you can get into Ian’s fortress?’
‘I was something else before your brother hired me.’
‘Your estate management,’ Balthus scoffed.
Not his estate, but a childhood friend’s. For now, though he had much coin, he needed more for the estate he wanted for his lineage.
‘Disdain it all you want, but my experience will save this wretched mission,’ Louve said. ‘I’m approaching the fortress and asking for work. No mercenaries, no reinforcement. Ridiculous though they might be to any of you, my past skills will be useful.’
He might be a mercenary now, but before he’d only managed another’s estate. He wanted his own; he wanted land. If he kept to that plan, if he remembered what all this intrigue was for, perhaps he’d keep his head.
‘You won’t get to use your skills when they gut you.’
‘They don’t know who I am.’
‘They know!’ Balthus said. ‘They always know.’
Reynold had often argued the same. ‘Fair enough. They know, and they’ll let me in as some form of amusement, or they gut me. But what other choices do we have? None. You can’t go and the rest of the men only know how to swing swords. It will be me who completes the tasks. It always was.’
‘If they let you in and you find work, what then?’
‘I search all the rooms for this mysterious parchment Reynold insists Ian must have.’
‘It won’t be merely lying about, and what happens if it doesn’t exist?’
‘Then we capture Ian and you can torture him for information.’
‘Why am I talking to you? You’re a dead man...’ Balthus exhaled ‘...who shouldn’t be worried about some great treasure no one knows about except Reynold.’
‘We don’t know if no one knows of it. Ian might have already guessed, given he’s got the parchment, and your parents probably know, too.’ Louve shrugged. ‘If they know of the Jewell of Kings and the parchment and put them together... You appreciate neither Ian nor your family can gain any treasure that can fell countries.’
‘It’s foolish going after treasures,’ Balthus said. ‘What will truly tip the balance is to acquire the legend. We should be pursuing the dagger and jewel, not information. Why can’t you or my brother understand the Jewell of Kings resurfacing has changed everything with the war against Scotland?’
‘Which is why your family wants it and so does the King of England. But the legend only holds if there’s something to support it. Hence the treasure. As much as King Edward believes it is, the gem isn’t truly magical like Excalibur.’
Louve couldn’t believe the weight of the world and his hope of a peaceful life rested on legends, but they did. Over the last years, the Jewell of Kings, a green gem, much compared to Excalibur, resurfaced thanks to the Warstones’ intrigues. The legend was that whoever held the gem held Scotland. Whether true or not, the perception of it was enough to sway everything to King Edward’s side. Since the Warstones wanted more power than the King, they coveted it as well.
But Reynold had studied the gem, which had been hidden in the hollow handle of a dagger, and was certain it had another meaning. Together they’d point the direction to enough wealth to bring all monarchs to their knees. Reynold didn’t want anyone to have any of it. In that, Louve agreed.
‘We must obtain the gem, the dagger and any written words leading to the legend or to any treasure. We’re here to obtain at least the parchment hidden somewhere in Ian of Warstone’s fortress.’ Louve loosened his hands on the reins. ‘We can’t let your family obtain more wealth or power.’
Balthus scoffed. ‘Some stupid legend, some gaudy gem and here we are, breaching a fortress for a scrap of paper, and have no strategy to get out.’
‘I’m to go in as a humble servant. We’re agreed to my plan?’ Louve said.
‘No,’ Balthus said. ‘But we are resolved.’
