When Tika awoke, Hawley arranged for her to be bundled up in a supply wagon on a straw mattress. Rabella sat next to the still sleepy princess and while the nurse grumbled over and over about the indignities of travelling behind barrels of beans instead of a well-cushioned carriage, Hawley explained to the old nurse more than once in the princess' chambers that they needed to travel as plainly as possible.
Hawley tended to think Rabella was directing her attention to the discomfort of the wagon because it helped keep her mind off of worrying. The nurse had plenty to worry about. First was worrying about whether they could get the princess out of the city alive. Second was if they had a traitor among them. And third was whether the princess would even talk to Rabella. She had known about Tika's unusual arrival to Travanne as a baby, after all.
Maric had Hawley and Giordan disguise themselves as merchants with the rest of the soldiers as his guard. The how and when of Princess Tikorrah's departure had to be kept secret as long as possible, provided, of course, that those chosen to accompany the princess to Xanti were trustworthy. Hawley looked them over and sighed. It was a good thing they were traveling at night, because it was a thin disguise if examined too closely.
Since the poisoning, choosing the young woman's guard had proven harder than he expected. King Maric, Hawley and the Elven ambassador argued over the size of the group, who should go, and what time of day they should leave. Ambassador Heylann insisted they leave as quickly as possible to prevent the enemy from regrouping and attacking again. He also insisted only devout Rhavian soldiers be chosen, ones who would read prayers of protection over the camp. If the king thought it odd that an Elf believed prayer would help the princess, he didn't mention it. Hawley certainly thought it unusual.
The captain wanted to wait and find Winna in order to gather intelligence from her regarding the attack and who was behind it before blindly setting out. King Maric feared sending his daughter out in the open and exposing her to any number of possible attacks, yet he also feared his own guard could have been infiltrated. The king insisted, however, that he couldn't let her go with fewer than fifty soldiers, despite the risk of a traitor in the ranks. She needed protection from without.
Hawley chose not to reveal to his soldiers the nature of their assignment. Those that accompanied him were told it was a training exercise. The ruse seemed plausible as he frequently took his men out on training exercises to keep them fresh. He dispatched his men into three groups, sending them out of the city through different gates and assigning them separate rendezvous points. They were simply told to pack their gear and head out to their assigned meeting place for further instructions.
Only a couple of soldiers grumbled (they thought outside of his hearing) at having to march out at such a late hour, having just come off of a hard day of training with Jokkar. Crashing on a mattress in the barracks was what they had been dreaming of all afternoon, according to their mumbled complaints.
The group accompanying the princess ultimately consisted of: Rabella, who tended to the still weak princess; Ambassadors Heylann and Baalhar, who would meet up with them outside the city walls; and various soldiers hand-picked from the king's guard. The most surprising addition to the group was Prince Dhaved and Ivar from Soren. Ivar had insisted on meeting with King Maric. The next thing Hawley knew, he wasn't only entrusted with the safety of his Princess, but also saddled with the Sorenian Prince. If anything happened to Dhaved it would surely result in war between the two kingdoms. Not that King Maric wanted war, but King Baldor definitely itched to find any excuse to launch an all-out assault on any kingdom.
When Hawley questioned the king about the prince's presence, the captain was told to simply keep the boy out of trouble and keep a close watch on Ivar. Hawley had no problem watching the prince's Protector. The captain's hands clenched on the reins. The question remained, could he refrain from killing the Protector once they exited the city? There were so many places one could bury a body in the plains . . . never to be found. Ivar must have felt Hawley's gaze on him, for he looked over just then.
The Protector's eyes narrowed slightly, and his gaze slid away greasily. Hawley tried to relax his jaw and his hands. The aging captain felt fairly confident Ivar didn't recognize him from his youth. Hawley had been a peasant in Soren back then and beneath Ivar's notice after all, but he would never forget Ivar's face and the soldiers with him.
Never.
The captain would make sure that the princess didn't suffer the fate that his daughter had all those years ago. The only reason Ivar still lived was because of King Maric and the trust his king had in him.
Hawley ran his sand tiger up and down the column of soldiers and frequently checked the supply wagons, especially the one that contained the resting princess and her nursemaid. He hoped for the princess' comfort and didn't hear any sounds of complaint from her as they travelled over the cobbled streets of Travanne in the quiet hours of the night. He winced as the wagon wheels rattled over cobblestones and wished he'd thought to add rags to the wheels, not only to muffle them but also to make it a less jolting ride.
As the wagon jiggled and shook over the uneven rocks, he occasionally heard Rabella's grunts and groans of discomfort. She peeked her head out of the canvas no doubt to either give the driver of the cart a tongue lashing, or worse, take over the reigns herself, but he caught her eye and shook his head.
Captain Hawley brought his sand tiger up next to the cart and laid his meaty hand on Edom's shoulder, threatening quietly, "You have a couple of special passengers back there. For every bruise they get I'll give you two."
Edom gulped and attempted to take more care, wincing each time the wagon hit an unavoidable bump or pothole. Sweat poured down the side of the driver's face and neck profusely by the time they reached the center of the city.
At the Northern Wall the party paused for the gate to be opened. There were a few moments of delay as the guards at the gate questioned the lead soldier about their midnight excursion, but as soon as they saw Captain Hawley emerge from the dark night on his sand tiger they swallowed their questions and scrambled to open the gate. For all the guards' scrambling, however, the opening and closing of Travanne's outer gates consumed more time than Hawley wanted.
As soon as the North Gate opened and the bridge extended, the soldiers snapped to attention, and the group headed out of Travanne at a brisk pace. The horizon lightened with the approaching dawn, and Hawley urged his men forward before the road into Travanne became too crowded with people arriving for Market Day. The captain felt the tension between his shoulders ease slightly at leaving the city successfully. Perhaps it would be a smooth ride to Xanti after all.
***
Spider thought perhaps he'd been too hasty in cursing his bad luck. He patted his pocket and it jingled slightly. What were the chances he'd stumble upon the body of a woman with a full purse attached to her?
Literally stumble over it!
It wasn't odd to find a dead body in an alley. People sometimes left their dead to avoid the expense of a Leave-taking Ceremony. But it was odd to find a full purse. The gaping hole in her stomach would look strange to others, but was familiar to him. Unfortunately, Spider knew what, and who, could do that — and it sent a chill down his spine. He almost didn't take the coins. He doubted Hoforth would assume Spider would be the one to steal from the dead woman. After all, Spider wasn't the only thief in the city.
The young man thought he recognized the dead servant, though, from the palace from years ago when he used to accompany his mother to court.
What was her name? Winny? Winna?
The woman only stood out to him because she'd been particularly rude once to his little sister. And how had a servant come upon so many coins? They were his now. He didn't give the dead woman another thought, but focused on how to get out of the city.
Just as he feared that there'd be no way out of his situation with the noose of soldiers tightening around him, a couple of wagons appeared out of the dark of night. The men accompanying the wagons looked like beefy smugglers trying to pass themselves off as merchants. Stealing away with smugglers wasn't the safest of options, but they were leaving the city. There were always a few crooked soldiers whose palms could be greased, despite King Maric's tight rein on smuggling.
The wagons stood there like a siren song. Spider couldn't get any luckier, with soldiers on his heels, and a way out presenting itself. If he'd been a believer who prayed to Rhava, he would've thanked Him, but the thief had stopped believing in the One God long ago.
Spider watched as the "merchants" stood around, waiting for the North Gate to open. Should he take this chance? He thought he heard voices approaching from behind — probably Fink closing in.
Rule #4: Run.
So he did.
No one saw him slip quickly and quietly into the supply wagon, they were all so focused on watching the gates open.
As the wagon wheels rumbled over the hard, packed dirt of the road, Spider quickly realized his error and cursed his bad luck. He listened to the men talking and realized this wasn't a merchant caravan or even smugglers — he'd landed himself right in the middle of a group of soldiers on a training mission! He preferred his original theory of smugglers. Spider peeked out of the canvas, periodically looking for his chance to slip out of the wagon and hitch a ride with a group sporting fewer weapons. He knew hitching a ride with smugglers was risky, but soldiers? That was so much worse!
The wagon had seemed like a golden opportunity and Spider believed in using opportunities when they presented themselves. But now he was having a difficult time getting himself out of the wagon because the soldiers were on high alert, looking this way and that. After the first couple of hours of peeking out now and then to look for a chance to drop and run, Spider sat back and ground his teeth in frustration.
Hiding in wagons was only for the very brave, or the very stupid. A supply wagon was just that — a wagon of supplies. Eventually it would be opened as items were needed, and he'd be discovered. He couldn't stay hidden forever.
Unfortunately for Spider, dawn came altogether too soon, and trying to leave the wagon in broad daylight surrounded by so many vigilant men was challenging, even for him. Not impossible, but challenging.
Fate was proving to be unkind and he needed to wait it out a little longer. Although it was an uncomfortable wagon ride, he'd known much worse. On the other hand, it had been a long time since he'd eaten so well.
Rule #7: Eat whatever, whenever you can.
***
King Maric sat in his dimly lit bedchamber — alone. It was past time to have the everglobes on the wall recharged, but the king had too many other things on his mind to bother having them taken care of. It was something Isleen had usually paid attention to. How he missed her. She would have handled the situation with Tikorrah better.
A frown marred his handsome face as he thought about sending his daughter away, yet he knew if anyone could keep her safe, it was Hawley (and not because the man felt a feverish obligation to his king, but because Hawley was a fierce fighter and loved Tikorrah as his own).
Maric sat down on his bed with his head in his hands. He wished Willem were back. Perhaps Willem's smiles and cheery nature could lift the black mood that had settled on the castle. But what did Willem have to smile about? With his mother dead and his sister gone, Maric feared it would sour even Willem's cheery nature for good.
Willem had sent a message by bird expressing his anger that Maric had gone forward with Isleen's funeral before the prince's return. But Maric could not wait any longer. Isleen's soul deserved to return to Rhava as soon as possible. Maric expected the same when he died.
The king felt so alone. He missed his wife terribly — as though there was a deep void in his heart he could not fill . . . could never fill until he could be with her again. On top of this, his children's anger towards him cut deeply. Maric was just trying to do what was best, and he hoped in time their hearts would soften towards him.
Tikorrah had a right to be angry. He tried to put himself in her place — to find out you had another set of parents — to have the truth kept from you. Maric felt angry too . . . angry that Isleen had kept the truth from him, angry that she had died and left him, angry that he could not hold her in his arms. He punched his bed with his fist.
His anger turned to guilt. Poor Tikorrah. He had never been easy on her. Isleen was always the soft one. She seemed to know the right things to say to focus their daughter's attention. He had always felt frustrated with what he thought were her made-up stories and wild behavior. With his new knowledge of her heritage, her past behavior now made more sense. She had experienced things he could never understand, could never know, because her nature was different from his. How he wished he had known. What a different father he would have been.
Their conversation in his study had not gone as he planned, but then nothing with Tikorrah ever went as he wanted it to. She was so stubborn. So . . . different. He had never understood her as Isleen did. Now it was too late. They had argued again, when all he had really wanted to do was tell her he loved her, in spite of Isleen keeping the truth from all of them. She was still his daughter. But she would not hear him. It did not help that he told her Rabella knew from the beginning, and that Ambassador Heylann had been the one to bring her to Isleen when Tikorrah was a baby.
Maric was hurt too that his wife did not tell him, but there was little he could do about it now. She was right, though. As king he would have been required to inform the council about the adoption, and then others would have found out about his daughter's origins — putting her in danger from the very beginning.
The whole point in Heylann bringing her to Travanne was to hide her and keep her safe. The attempted poisoning had happened right after she had found out the truth about who she was. Maric had a hard time believing his daughter could be Azetha. But others did believe it and it had put her in danger from her very birth.
The king was jolted out of his thoughts when he heard the scraping of stone on stone coming from the other side of the bed. His heart sank as he realized the implication of the sound. Only the royal family and the Keepers knew of the secret passages in the castle. The Keepers did not have permission to use the passages in this section of the castle, however, and Tikorrah and Willem were not in Travanne. That could only mean one thing.
Assassins.
Maric looked across the room to where his sword lay in its scabbard, discarded across a chair. It seemed miles away at the moment as the black-clad assassin stepped on silent feet into the room.
Maric did not even have a chance to cry out for his guards when the cold-hard eyes of the assassin locked on his, raised a thin tube to his mouth and shot a dart with deadly accuracy, hitting Maric in the neck.
In an instant the king fell helpless to the floor, his body rendered immobile by the contents of the dart.
He watched as the man in black walked soundlessly around the bed, and removed the dart from his neck, being careful not to break it off in the skin. The unknown man placed the princess' royal ring into the king's hand, and then using a staffa knife from the royal armory, he stabbed the king in the stomach leaving the knife in place. Maric felt the blood wetting his shirt, felt the coolness of the ring in his hand, and felt a hot tear of frustration fall as he watched the man quietly scatter a few things around the room as if to indicate a struggle. The stranger then left the room the same way he came in.
Out in the hall there was a commotion followed by the sound of soldiers' feet running away from his chamber door. With their attention distracted away, the scene inside the room would seem more believable. Maric understood the implication of his daughter's ring in his hand and the knife in his side. If he died here, now — after the fight with Tika the other night and her sudden stealthy disappearance from the city — the people would believe that she had killed him. Even if they could not find Tikorrah to execute her, she would never be able to return to Travanne. Someone had planned this well.
Maric fought to live, hoping someone would find him in time. Breathing was becoming harder, but he had to stay alive for his daughter's sake.
He heard footsteps approach his room, and his eyes closed in relief. Because of the effects of the dart, he still could not move his limbs or talk, and he hoped Keeper Bryain could be brought in time with a prayer of healing. The door opened and the advancing footsteps stopped. Hope burgeoned in his heart. He opened his eyes and looked up at his sister-in-law, Duchess Collina, with her Tyomnian priest standing over him.
Hope shriveled and died.
"It seems we have arrived just in time. Poor Maric does not appear to be much longer for this world." Collina frowned and pulled her skirt away from the pool of blood on the floor.
"I would have to agree," the priest replied in an oily voice.
The pool of blood inched closer and she tutted in disgust as she took a step away from the dark red fluid reaching out for her. Maric wished with all his might that at least one drop could mar the perfection of the woman's cream-colored gown. Just one. He doubted he would get his wish, however.
"In my last conversation with Maric, he recanted his religion, and indicated that if he was ever close to death he would like to receive the Rite of Ascension," Collina told the priest, looking down on Maric with a feral smile on her lips.
Maric's mind screamed in horror as he realized what Collina intended. He would not be able to return to Rhava, and he was powerless to protest, for his mouth still refused to work. His body lay there limply, unable to move — except for the blood that continued to automatically pump out of his wound. It seemed to him she took pleasure in his distress.
"I am sure that you have a lot of questions, Maric. Unfortunately, there is no time for explanations. Perhaps Tyomna will be gracious enough to give you the answers once you reach Artaith. And do not worry, I will watch over your family — Willem that is. After all, Tikorrah never was family, was she? Somehow I believe I always knew. She never did belong here, did she?" Collina stepped back towards the door that the priest held open for her. Her dress remained spotless (unlike her soul, as far as Maric was concerned).
"I wish I could stay for this part, but unlike you, it is not my time to move on. This is a great honor for you, Maric. It is just too bad my sister did not accept it. She simply died instead of moving on to a higher existence, so it appears the two of you must be parted forever." The priest closed the door on Collina and turned back towards Maric.
The secret door opened again, and this time three people wearing robes walked into the bedchamber. One of them, a female, said, "We need to hurry, I do not want Sha'Yaban realizing I am here. He considers Travanne his territory."
Sha'Yaban? A Sha'andari lived in Travanne?
It was one thing to read about the Sha'andari of legend — to learn about the horrific things they had done in the past. But to discover that one still survived, thrived even, and lived in Maric's own city preying on his people. He understood Isleen's reasoning even more . . . why she kept Tikorrah's identity a secret.
"We are keeping careful watch, Sha'Idriina, your presence has not been detected."
Another Sha'andari? How many were there?
Sha'Idrinna stood to one side while the two men in robes who accompanied her lifted Maric's body up and carried him out of the room and through the secret passage down into the depths of the castle. The king was still helpless to do anything, and his head hung back as the men carried him through the dusty corridors.
Maric was surprised at the confidence the Tyomnian priest showed in guiding the robed individuals through the passages. It was obvious he had walked these halls many times and knew their paths. How many times had the man passed by the king's room? passed by Tikorrah or Willem's room? The thought was chilling.
He also wondered what the connection was between Sha'Idriina and Collina's Tyomnian priest. Did his sister-in-law realize that her priest was taking orders from a murderous magic wielder? And did the connection go further than just these two? Perhaps the whole religion was corrupt.
They were now deep down in a very old section of Castle Travanne. Maric vaguely remembered exploring this part of the castle when he was a boy. He recognized the old cells where King Striden had kept his prisoners. The metal bars on the cells were now red with rust and crumbled to dust at the touch. The robed men carried him past cell after cell and on the floor of each cell Maric noticed faded X's drawn in chalk on the ground along with some fresh ones.
"No one has accidentally stumbled upon this have they?" the woman asked.
"No, Sha'Idriina, this area remains a secret. No one else comes here."
"See that it remains so," she replied. "I would hate for anyone to come down here and discover this place. You have been careful to mark each cell that has been used?"
"Yes."
"Good. I have no problem seeing the distortion in the cells we have already used, however, one of you might accidentally walk into one, and I will not waste my magic trying to heal you.
They passed several cells with X's drawn on the floor until they eventually came to a blank one. The priest entered first, and pulling out a piece of chalk he drew an X exactly like the ones in the other cells. Maric realized that whatever was going to happen to him had already happened to many before him.
The men who carried Maric entered the cell and set him down on the cold stone floor on top of the X. The king had no idea what the robed men intended to do with him and although he was afraid of what lay ahead, he at least felt comforted knowing that Tikorrah was well guarded and on her way to Xanti.
"What about the princess? Did you arrange for the prayer to be slipped to one of the soldiers as I asked?" Sha'Idriina stood with arms folded and her fingers tapping as she waited for the answer.
"Yes, I did as you asked. If the soldier uses that particular prayer, their circle of protection will not be complete. Mortan should be able to find the princess without any difficulty."
Maric's heart constricted in fear for his daughter. He had not done enough for her after all.
"Good. I fear one of the other Sha'andari may get to her first; however, the sorcerer has me too busy with other things." She turned her full gaze on Maric. "I do not know what is so important about this man that we should bother with him." She sighed.
The Elf then pulled out from her robe a red gem suspended on a gold chain and began whispering.
Maric silently prayed for Rhava's help, but nothing prevented the Sha'andari from opening a window of light and taking the king into a world of terror.
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