Whimsical Writings

Viktor raggedly drew a breath into his lungs as his feet continued to pound across the overgrown forest floor. The hoof beats grew louder as the horse and rider came ever closer. The last of Thaddeus’ scouts had pursued him to the very edge of the city. He couldn’t recall exactly when he had become separated from Gerard and Wesley, the first charge into the city had disoriented everyone, even though the king and his sons had been prepared.

We saw them miles away and still they got the drop on us, Viktor wove around trees hoping that the rider would be incapable of finding a straight route to him, hoping that he didn’t have any range weapons.

            “Stop running, boy!” The scout’s rough voice cried out into the chilly winter night. Viktor turned briefly to see the frustrated rider trying in vain to catch up. Being on foot gave Viktor the advantage. He picked up the pace, throwing all his energy into powering his legs to an all-out sprint. He needed more distance between them. While he sped up, the hoof beats slowed and became more distant. Confident that he was far enough to disappear in the darkness, Viktor slipped behind a particularly large maple and rested for a moment. Sweat dripped down his face and into his eyes. His shaggy black hair hung limp from perspiration and he gasped to catch his breath, finding it difficult and painful to draw the chilled winter air into his lungs. A horn sounded in the distance, coming from the direction of the palace which the princes had just fled. Not far off, he could hear his pursuer curse then retreat. Viktor peeked around the tree and saw the horse and rider returning to heart of Marum and the king’s palace, now ransacked and occupied. He stayed put for a little while longer, catching his breath and trying to clear his head. He would wait to be certain that the scout did not return or have any companions scouring the grounds for him. The king’s forest lay within the city’s vast walls, reserved for the personal use of the royal family and stocked with the best game available in Lockwood. It also held the key to Viktor’s freedom from the city. Thaddeus had brought his conquering army into Marum in the middle of the night, hoping to catch King Erik unprepared but the royal army had seen Thaddeus coming from afar and warned their leader, who in turn sent his sons running. Viktor tried to shake the expression on his father’s face from his mind. Pain mingled with pride. Viktor had never seen such an expression on his noble father’s face and he knew before his father spoke that he was saying goodbye to his sons for the last time.

            “Do not return until the circumstances are favorable,” the king had urged them as he guided them to the secret tunnel that would lead them, unseen, out of the palace and into the king’s forest. How Thaddeus had caught wise and figured to send soldiers to the forest was a mystery but as soon as the brothers, several soldiers and others among their company emerged from the tunnel exit they were spotted. In the chaos Viktor had become separated from them but he knew what to do. When he was sure he would not be seen he bolted through the trees once more, thankful for his daily runs that provided him with an intimate knowledge with every inch of the wood. Even though he felt fairly certain his mind had gone into shock he was aware enough to know he couldn’t go directly to his destination, just in case an unseen pair of eyes watched him. The protective city wall loomed ahead of him, towering high into the night sky above him.

            “Where’s the tree?” He thought as he tried to remember what exactly he looked for. His father taught him from an early age all the hidden passageways in the palace and throughout the capitol city but he hadn’t been to this one in a long time. Coming to the intersection of the North and East walls, Viktor found what he sought, an enormous oak that towered far above the city walls. The tree served as a marker and behind it in the wall lay the key to his freedom. He counted stones in the wall down and then across then did so once more. Satisfied he had counted correctly after the second time, Viktor rubbed his right hand on his trousers to remove any grime, then pressed his palm firmly upon a particularly flat rock within the wall, the one at which his counting ended. A sudden jolt followed by coursing warmth filled him but the sensation didn’t last long as the ground beneath his feet vanished. Wind whipped through his hair, tunic and cloak as he fell further and further. His back slammed into a damp, earthy wall and a small cascade of dirt trickled into his collar as he continued to slide along the sodden slope.

            “Keep calm, Viktor,” he found his inner voice urging when he found himself unable to breathe. “You’ll get your air back in a tick. This whole thing will be over soon.”

            He’d been winded before after falling from a horse as a boy and he remembered the painful sensation of struggling to force air into his lungs. The panic of continuous plummet however set him ill at ease. He didn’t know for certain when he would reach the bottom since he had never entered this particular tunnel. Like all the other secret passageways of the palace and the city of Marum, Viktor’s father told him about it as a boy but warned him specifically to never use this particular tunnel unless he needed a safe place to hide in life or death circumstances. Viktor dutifully committed his father’s instructions to heart, memorizing the location of the entrance and the means for accessing it without ever seeing it or knowing if he would have occasion to use it.

            Finally the sliding slowed and Viktor felt his legs pushed forward on level ground. He stood up and brushed himself off with a few hasty swats to the seat of his pants and the backs of his shoulders. Though the tunnel remained unlit, Viktor’s eyes could see in the pitch black for having been in darkness so long. Taking off at a confident jog, he hurried down the tunnel, hoping to find his brothers and rest at the end.

After what seemed an eternity in the blackness, the ground began to slope upwards again and he could see the outline of a door lit in dim orange light not far ahead. Focusing on the light he ran a bit faster, knowing the end lay near. Viktor didn’t know where the tunnel ended but his father hinted at a safe house when he gave Viktor the instructions years ago.

“What if Thaddeus’ men are on the other side of the door?” Viktor thought as he drew closer. He could clearly see the door now, solid wood with a ring on the right hand side. Voices came from the other side, mutterings. Viktor listened intently. There was no yelling or clashing of weapons. He wrapped his hand around the ring and pulled. Nothing happened. Next he threw his whole weight behind his shoulder as he rammed against the door which gave way, swinging inwards and causing him to tumble to the floor. The sound of blades being unsheathed hit Viktor’s ears and wearily he glanced up to as several large soldiers thundered towards him.

“WAIT!” A familiar voice stopped the soldiers. As they slid to a halt mere inches from Viktor, a smaller, slender man with a mop of brown curls hanging in his eyes broke past them. “It’s my brother.”

            The soldiers slid their weapons back into their sheaths and went back to whatever they had been doing before Viktor’s entrance while Gerard tucked his arms under his brother’s and hoisted him to his feet. Viktor staggered from exhaustion but managed to keep his feet.

“We thought you’d been captured,” Gerard stated with little emotion in his tone or his grey eyes but Viktor knew from the way he’d been greeted that Gerard had been worried. Viktor simply shook his head, sweat dripping from his hair into his eyes and down his face.

“I came close,” he allowed Gerard to pull him further into the room, to a seat at a table. He plopped down on a rough wooden bench, glad to rest his feet. “One of Thaddeus’ scouts chased me nearly to the city walls. He took off back towards the palace at the sound of a horn.”

“Thaddeus is regrouping his men,” Gerard mused as he popped the cork off a bottle and poured a mug of pale red wine which he set before his brother. “How did you find us? I did not even know of the secret entrance through which you came.”

“The tunnel door at the Northeast corner of Marum,” Viktor stated as he lifted the mug to his lips and took a hesitant swig. Spices and honey mingled with the sweetness of berries tempted his tastes and without a thought he downed the entire mug of wine in a few hasty gulps, parched from his efforts. Gerard rose and went to the small kitchen and Viktor watched as his brother busied himself with something.

“You’re covered in blood, you know,” Gerard glanced at his brother from the kitchen and Viktor’s eyes drifted downward to his tunic and found his brother’s statement to be true. He pulled the normally green material away from his chest, feeling the weight of the blood that soaked it through, causing it to cling to his flesh, and stained it deep crimson.

            “I don’t think it’s mine,” Viktor felt his chest and arms for any sign of damage. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”

            “You weren’t seen were you?” Gerard returned to the table and set a plate of bread, cheese and some sort of roast meat in front of his brother then sat down across from him once more.

            “No one saw me enter the tunnel,” Viktor assured him and clapped him on the shoulder. “And I’m fine.”           

            “When you are finished eating you should change. There are clothes in the barracks, upstairs,” Gerard nodded towards a staircase to the right of the room. Viktor nodded as he slipped the tunic over his head and slung it over his shoulder, not wanting to feel the sticky blood on his skin now that he had become aware of it. He wolfed down his food, feeling strength and energy returning to his worn limbs.

            “Wesley is here, he’s safe, right?” Viktor paused from his supper, hand full of bread halfway to his mouth.

            “Yes,” Gerard nodded. “Wesley is safe. A few soldiers are missing but other than that, the company made it safely here.”

            “Who was lost?” Viktor could eat no more.

            “I don’t know,” Gerard sighed. “All I know is that our numbers are smaller than when we left.”  

            Viktor said nothing more but pushed his plate aside. Gerard took it and put it in the kitchen while Viktor downed another mug of wine.

            “Best go change,” Gerard instructed him. “Then we have to discuss our next move.”

            “Of course,” Viktor rose from his seat and shuffled towards the stairs that would lead him to the barracks. As he set his foot on the bottom step, two soldiers who had been coming down paused.

            “You two,” Viktor stopped two soldiers as they came down the stairs before going up, “I want you to collapse the tunnel. Use whatever tools you have or can find. Go far enough back to ensure that the ground atop of it doesn’t cave in as well. Do you understand?”

            “That is unnecessary,” a deep, peaceful voice drew everyone’s attention to the top of the stairs where a tall man descended, emerging from concealment. He had an imposing air about him, though nothing about his appearance would strike anyone as remarkable. He had short, grey hair and a wispy beard that nearly reached his chest. He wore simple green robes without ornament save for a brown leather belt in which rested a long narrow sword, as undecorated as his attire.

            “Alistair, precautionary measures must be taken,” Viktor stated but the soldiers remained still, awaiting the old man’s instructions.

            “Why do you defy his orders?” Gerard came to the foot of the stairs as Alistair entered the room. “It does not do well to openly defy us, Alistair.”

            “I am sorry, your highness,” Alistair nodded humbly. “But to destroy the tunnel would be a waste. It will have sealed directly behind Prince Viktor.” Alistair withdrew his hands from the folds of his robes. They were good strong hands, calloused from years of work and slightly wrinkled with age.

            “And if someone saw how Viktor entered?”

            “Inconsequential,” Alistair pulled a coin from a hidden pocket and began spinning it through and around his fingers. “Only those with a direct line of descent from the rightful king may enter the tunnel. All others will simply press on rocks until they become so flustered that they give up. A simple bit of magic, but very useful.”

            “And if they get shovels?” Gerard’s voice rose as he countered the old man’s logic and everyone in the room flinched. Everyone except for Alistair. Gerard motioned for the soldiers to carry out their task regarding the tunnel.

            “Do not foolishly destroy what may be necessary later,” Alistair chided. “If the enemy should try to dig up the tunnel, they would dig until exhausted and still find nothing.”

            “It makes sense,” Viktor leaned towards Gerard and whispered. “And Alistair is trustworthy as well as wise.”

            “Fine,” Gerard raked his fingers through his hair as he sighed. He nearly snorted with contempt as he gave the order. “Do not destroy it. Find some other task.”

            Alistair said nothing more but glided past the princes and multiple soldiers on his way to the kitchen. Glad to free himself of the confrontation, Viktor bolted up the stairs two at a time. The second floor landing opened up into a large room filled with chairs of various sizes and designs, some were strictly wooden while others had cushions to provide some amount of comfort. A good distance back from the landing a curtain of white fabric hung from the ceiling, separating the room with the chairs from another room, the only opening a small slit in the middle which parted quickly as Viktor stepped into the sitting room, revealing a mass of curly brown hair and big grey eyes set in the face of child.

            “Thank goodness you’re all right, Viktor!” The little boy sighed in relief upon seeing him. He stepped out of the other room and traipsed across the floor, giving his brother a quick hug. “I wanted to stay and fight those brutes that ambushed us but Maggie pulled me away before I could even draw my blade!”

            The little boy put a hand to the side of his mouth, his eyes darting to the curtain, afraid someone unseen would overhear.

            “She’s freakishly strong for such a tiny little lady,” Wesley whispered and Viktor laughed.

            “That’s why she’s in charge of you,” Viktor clapped his little brother on the back. “I’m sure you could have handled those soldiers though. For their sakes I’m glad you weren’t there to show them what for.”

            “Come on, you need a tunic,” Wesley grinned and led his brother back through the partition. The room they entered was bigger than the one before and filled with bunk beds in neat rows along the walls to the right and left. A row of windows broke the back wall and Viktor felt his stomach lurch at the sight that met him. In the distance a violent orange glow rose from the city of Marum. The roofs of houses burned like torches in the night making it appear almost as bright as the dawn. Candles and lanterns were remarkably absent from inside the bunk room and yet everything could be seen in the glow of the burning city.

            “Thaddeus is looking for us isn’t he?” Wesley’s chipper face became serious seeing his brother stop short at the sight of the destruction. “He’s killing people to try to find us. How could anyone choose him to be king rather than Father?”

            “Your guess is as good as mine, Wes,” Viktor blinked trying to remove the images of destruction from his mind. Highlighted in the glow sat the figure of a small woman, perched on the edge of the windowsill. Wesley wandered over to a chest near one of the beds and began rooting through it.

            “Maggie,” Viktor spoke gently to the girl in the window but she didn’t respond. He wondered if she had gone into shock from everything that had happened that night. He felt on the verge of being overwhelmed so he could only imagine how a sweet girl like her would handle things.

            “Magdalena,” Viktor tried using the maid’s full name as he touched her shoulder and she jumped, finally turning her head away from the window. “You should come away from there. Have you gotten any rest?”

            Maggie stared blankly at him eyeing the tunic hanging over his shoulder, clearly bloodstained, and shook her head no. Viktor placed a firm hand under her arm and assisted her up from her seat on the windowsill, drawing her away to one of the beds.

            “They’ll find us soon,” Maggie moaned, barely lifting her feet as they walked. He made her sit down on the bed, keeping her turned away from the windows.

            “They can’t find us,” Viktor squeezed her hand to reassure her. “I am sure that Alistair has enchanted it so that anyone who sees this house will have no interest in it.”

            “You are sure?” Viktor saw tears beginning to pool in her green eyes.

            “I put the spell on it myself,” Alistair’s voice made Viktor jump. He turned his head to see the old man behind him, holding a thick slice of buttered bread. He took a bite and calmly strode over to the bedside. He pulled a candlestick somewhere from out of his robes and set it on a table beside Maggie’s bunk. With a wave of his hand a flame sprung to life on the wick, casting an unnaturally bright glow throughout the room.

            “Viktor, close those curtains would you?” Alistair requested. “No one needs to see what lies out that window. Not tonight.”

            Viktor rose and did as Alistair requested, agreeing fully that no one should be subject to witnessing the destruction of Marum. Drawing the curtain’s closed Viktor lingered momentarily to gaze out at his home. Nothing would be the same ever again. He jerked the curtains completely shut and returned to Maggie’s bedside, where Alistair had taken a seat on the edge of the mattress.

            “How can no one have interest in a military barracks in the middle of the woods?” Viktor heard Maggie ask as he returned.

            “Tunic?” Wesley held out a simple green travel shirt which Viktor took gratefully, beginning to feel a chill, and slid it over his head.

            “They’ll find us,” Maggie cried as she sat bolt upright in her bed. “We should be running. We might have a chance then!”

            “Lie back down,” Alistair laid a hand on her shoulder and she obeyed though the look in her eye showed her obedience did not come from her own will. “All anyone can see of this place, if they should somehow find it, will be an old hunting cabin, disused and uninviting.” He smiled kindly at Maggie the way a grandfather would a small child. “And do you want to know what they think when they see it?”

            Maggie nodded and Viktor saw a wry smile creep up Alistair’s lips.

            “They will think ‘Did I leave a fire going in the stove?’ Or some similar sentiment. The unwitting observer is overcome with the need to return home to ensure that fire has not reduced it to smoldering ash. By the time they set their fears aside they forget all about the cabin they saw in the woods.”

            “That is brilliant,” Viktor found himself grinning and Wesley snorted in laughter beside him.

            “One of my cleverer charms,” Alistair winked. “Now Maggie, it is time you rested. You are perfectly safe. Go to sleep.” Alistair brushed Maggie’s hair away from her brow. Instantly her eyes began to flutter then shut and her body relaxed as she curled into the blankets.

            “What did you do?” Wesley asked seeing his nanny in such a completely different state than before. He leaned closer to Maggie to check if she was all right and only sleeping.

            “I put her to sleep,” Alistair pulled the boy back. “She will have beautiful dreams and wake up fully rested.”

            “Wesley you should get some sleep as well,” Viktor stretched his arms behind his back, mentally preparing himself for a long night without sleep.

            “I’m not tired,” Wesley insisted. “I want to help.”

            “Would you like me to-?” Alistair pressed his finger tips to his forehead indicating he could put Wesley to sleep as he had Maggie but Viktor shook his head no.

            “No, thank you though, Alistair,” Viktor saw a look of panic followed by relief flash across his brother’s face. “Wesley will do as he’s told without the aid of enchantments. He’s exhausted.”

            Wesley hung his head with a frown, wrung his hands and turned his gaze up to Viktor, sticking out his bottom lip.

            “Bed,” Viktor pointed to the bed beside Maggie’s and Wesley slumped over.

            “Oh fine,” Wesley dragged his feet as he finally did as his older brother instructed. “Goodnight, Viktor, Alistair.”

            “Goodnight, little prince,” Alistair bowed then followed Viktor back downstairs. At the foot of the stair Viktor came across a familiar face from his time in the army.

            “Tomas!” Viktor clapped the fellow’s shoulder. “I am glad to see you among our company!”

            “And I you, Viktor!” Tomas grinned. “You gave us all quite a scare but I knew you’d turn up all right.”

            “I’ll go join the others,” Alistair excused himself and made for the sitting room where others were beginning to congregate.

            “Our unit did train the hardest at survival tactics,” Viktor smirked recalling the hours he, Tomas, and their unit has spent in the woods trying to out run men on horses and outfight large numbers. In that time, Tomas had proven himself a trustworthy and loyal friend.

            “Listen, if you’re going upstairs I have a task for you,” Viktor glanced up the stairs then towards the sitting room.

            “Ask anything, your highness,” Tomas nodded.

“See to it that Wesley stays in bed,” Viktor instructed. “He’s keen on joining the planning but he needs sleep. He’ll be worn out tomorrow if he doesn’t rest now.”

            “Of course,” Tomas nodded and took his leave of them, heading to the bedroom to see to the prince’s orders while Viktor joined Gerard and the other soldiers in the sitting room, where they all stood crammed around a small wooden table in the center, examining maps.

            “We should take this route,” a general with salt and pepper hair tapped his finger on the map in front of Gerard. “It would be the quickest way to Altis. The sooner we reach the Hall of Lights, the sooner we can return to Lockwood.”

            “You mean to go to Lothimir?” Viktor spoke up as he reached the table. “Do you think the Elves will send aid?”

            “It is our best option,” Gerard replied without even looking up from the map. “General this route will take us past several large cities within the kingdom. Do you think that wise?”

            “So long as we keep to untrod paths and remain concealed in the woods we should be fine. I know the areas well and we should be able to remain unseen in the thick of the forests.”

            “Hmm,” Gerard scratched at the stubble on his chin then swept his fingers through his thick, mahogany curls.

            “If we travelled close to cities we would be able to send someone in disguise to gather information or supplies if the need arose,” Wesley chimed in and the elders around the table looked up to find the source of the squeaky voice that spoke such wisdom.

            “Why aren’t you in bed?” Gerard asked seeing Wesley standing next to Viktor. The little boy stuck out his lower lip in protestation.

            “That is a good question,” Viktor mused as he turned to his baby brother. “I told you to go to sleep.”

            “I am sorry, your highness,” Tomas pushed against the crowd of soldiers trying to get to the table. “He slipped past me.”

            “It’s all right, Tomas,” Viktor sighed and glared down at the boy beside him. “Go to bed.”

            “I’m not tired,” Wesley insisted.

            “You will be as soon as your head hits the pillow,” Gerard insisted. “Viktor take him up to bed.”

            Soldiers were beginning to laugh, since many of them were older and had grown children of their own and understood the plight of arguing with an uncooperative child. Wesley turned his now mournful grey eyes up to Viktor and frowned, silently pleading to be allowed to stay. Viktor put a hand on his shoulder and turned back to Gerard.

            “Wes should stay, Gerard,” Viktor insisted. “He’s old enough to know what’s happening and as he just demonstrated, he can make some valuable contributions.”

            “I don’t doubt you have good ideas, Wesley” Gerard sighed, his sternness melting. “But you will be tired tomorrow and we need you to be alert while riding, so you won’t be caught off guard in case something should happen. Do you understand?”

            Wesley nodded and though he looked sore at being sent to bed Viktor could see in the boy’s eyes that he understood the gravity of the situation. Once Wesley disappeared around the turn in the stairs the discussions began again.

            “I don’t know if we can trust travelling this close to major cities, majesty,” one of the generals chimed in. “What if villagers who live, hunt or gather on the outskirts should see us?”

            “We have plenty of men to fend off any threat,” the salt and pepper general replied.

            “And if people do find us,” Viktor mused, “there might be a great number willing to join us. We need all the help we can gather. We’d be foolish to turn any honest men away.”

            “Very well,” Gerard slapped a hand down on the table. “We’ll take this route. Everyone should begin preparing to leave immediately. We’ll have a few hours for gathering up supplies and getting whatever rest we can. We must leave before sunrise, before Thaddeus can realize we aren’t trapped in the city as he believes.”

            The men all nodded then decided on who would stay up to make sure the others woke on time. After all was decided they dispersed to tend to their various tasks. Some went to the stable attached to the house, which they had had enough foresight to smuggle their horses into a few weeks before Thaddeus had arrived, in order to check tack and load up supplies. Others sharpened blades and found extra weapons in the house in order to better arm each soldier. Viktor and Gerard went from group to group making sure everything necessary was seen to.

            “It will be a long journey,” Gerard clapped his brother on the back. “I only hope it will be worth it.”

            “Do you think Lothimir will lend us aid?” Viktor asked as he helped to pack up sacks of food.

            “Let’s hope so,” Gerard ground his teeth. “He was a good friend to Father. I can only hope that he will help avenge his friend’s murder.”

            “You saw it too then,” Viktor sighed. “I hoped I was imagining things when I saw the look in Father’s eyes but now I know I wasn’t.”

            “Try to hold off telling Wesley, would you? I don’t think he could handle it right now.”

            Viktor simply nodded and went back to work, mindlessly cramming food into the rough cloth sack, his mind reeling over the notion that at eighteen he was an orphan. 

            A forceful shake pulled Christine from her sleep and she groaned, conscious enough to know better than to wince in pain at the jagged unkempt nails that dug into her shoulder.

            “Get yer lazy arse outta bed,” the rough uneducated voice of her cousin sputtered into her ear. She feared opening her eyes but knew that Harold would not be satisfied until she did. He shook her again, harder this time, digging his nails further into her flesh.

            “I’m awake!” Christine gasped in pain as her eyes flew open, tears balancing on the edge of them as her skin broke under her cousin’s nails.

            “Get to work,” Harold grunted prying his fingers from her flesh and wiping them on his leather smithing apron. “And be home on time terday. I have ter take an order ter Fording so I need ya to be here ter give other customers their orders.”

            “Fine,” Christine sighed before she could realize her mistake.

            “Are ya being sassy with me, girl?” Harold pounced on her, pulling her up from her bed by a handful of hair clenched in his fist. Christine tried not to scream, her scalp felt as though it were being ripped off her skull.

            “No, I’m sorry,” Christine could hear the pleading in her own voice, the cry for mercy evident in her tone. Harold released her and smacked her cheek.

            “Don’t ya be fresh with me again, understand?”

            “Yes sir,” Christine kept her eyes on the floor, which she noted needed to be swept. Harold grunted his approval of her answer and left, slamming the door behind him. Christine waited until she heard his heavy footsteps creak on the stairs down to the smithy then picked the flat pillow off her bed and flung it at the door, wishing she could yell. It hit the wood panel with a light thwap and slid to the dusty floor.

            “I wouldn’t have to work if you didn’t drink away what few commissions you actually get!” Christine grumbled. “Drunken bastard! Sorry Papa, but I had to say it.”

            She knew that if her father could hear her, he would be appalled at her language, but he was dead so it didn’t much matter. Still, she felt a twinge of guilt every time she cursed Harold, which seemed to happen on an hourly basis. She shuffled over to the door and picked up her pillow, tossing it back onto her bed with a sigh.

            “If only I had the nerve or strength to actually tell him off,” she examined her shoulder. Three bloody indents remained from her wake-up call. She licked her finger and wiped away the blood as best she could, hoping not to get any on her white shift. She waited until the wounds ceased bleeding to get dressed, not wanting to stain her work dress any more than her shift. She opened up her makeshift closet and pulled out the only dress she owned that could be worn in public. All the others had gotten so worn out that they were beginning to grow holes. Most of them had been patched so that Christine could wear them around the house to do chores but Harold didn’t allow her to wear them outside the house. He didn’t want anyone knowing the true state in which he kept his ward. Christine’s one nice dress brought her some small amount of happiness each time she put it on. The silky light blue material always sent pleasant chills through her as it breezed over her flesh. The color of it made her grayish blue eyes seem brighter and the way the fabric hung highlighted her feminine frame. The sleeves trumpeted at the ends and Christine felt almost like a noble lady of the royal court in such a fashionable gown. The warped mirror hanging on the closet door revealed red marks across her cheek from where Harold had slapped her and tousled honey blonde curls from the hair pulling. Christine hastily raked her fingers through her hair, wincing as they occasionally found a stubborn knot. When she finished she tied her hair back with the only ribbon she owned. Nothing could be done about the red marks. They would dull enough on their own to be unnoticeable before she reached work. Slipping her simple black leather shoes onto her feet she hustled out into the kitchen, eager for something to fill her churning stomach. The breadbox sat on the table and Christine’s mouth watered as she remembered the biscuits she had baked the day before. She lifted the lid of the wooden box on its delicate hinges, reached inside and scooped out a lone biscuit. Scowling she peered inside the box finding only two more biscuits and nothing else but crumbs.

            “I just made this batch of biscuits!” She couldn’t believe Harold had eaten the entire box-full. With shaking hands she tore her breakfast in half and bit into the bottom portion first, carrying it in her mouth, the other half in one hand. She picked up the empty breadbox with the other. That was when she noticed the folded piece of parchment. Christine set the box back down on the table, resting her biscuit atop of it. She brushed her fingertips on her palms and took up the paper, flipping it over and seeing the duke’s broken wax seal. Eyes darting to the stairs Christine hesitantly unfolded the letter, wondering if Harold had gotten himself into some sort of trouble. She scanned the top half of the letter, learning the duke intended to make some sort of exchange with Harold. She imagined that the noble must have commissioned some sort of work from Harold, until she reached the last paragraph.

            “In exchange for your ward’s hand, you will receive a monthly allowance of eight silver pieces. Yearly you shall receive an additional payment of ten gold pieces, paid only upon the anniversary of my son’s union to your ward, providing she has remained a dutiful and faithful wife-“

            Christine folded the letter up again with haste and set the breadbox back atop of it so Harold would not know she had seen. She felt sick to her stomach, no longer desiring her breakfast. So Harold had finally managed to find someone to marry her. She knew the day would come eventually but she had hoped not this soon. Even now most in Pulchria considered her an old maid at twenty years old. Apparently no one could afford to pay the exorbitant bride price her cousin demanded, save the duke.

            “I cannot marry the duke’s son!” She thought the walls began to spin around her. “He’s a horrible man, a horrible, terrible, filthy man.”

            More than one woman in the city had come forward pregnant or carrying a small babe she claimed to have been fathered by the duke’s lusty son. He had a wandering eye for beautiful women and he had his way with whomever he pleased, not caring about the shame it brought on a woman to give birth to a child out of wedlock, a very real possibility.

           “I refuse to get tangled up with that mess of a man,” she felt shaky and nauseous. “What will happen when he finds another girl he decides is prettier than me?”

            Some in Pulchria considered her a rare beauty because of her light features, her blue eyes and blonde hair but rare also came with an odd label. Most didn’t trust her because of her outlandish appearance. The people of Pulchria and the whole kingdom of Lockwood, it seemed, had dark features. As a child some of the local women used to tease that the wood nymphs had left her on her father’s doorstep, that she couldn’t possibly be his child. Rumors flew through the town about her, some telling of her powers to enchant men and turn people into various woodland creatures. It made the women quake in fear and men give her a wide berth. A few young brave men had called on her though secretive mutterings labeled them as being not in their right minds. The few who did come forward told of how her unusual beauty had enchanted them but Harold turned each of them away when they couldn’t pay him enough money.

            “It would figure that it would take a noble to meet that louse’s greedy demands,” Christine thought bitterly as she slinked down the stairs. Grunting came from the smithy and Christine knew Harold was distracted with packing up supplies for his journey so she knew she could slip out of the house without him noticing. She bolted out the door and into the chilly grey morning. The cobblestone streets remained peacefully empty in the wee morning hours and Christine relished the quiet; it let her think clearly as the cool air cleared her mind. Reaching a small square at the Southern city gate Christine pushed straight through, ignoring vendors setting up their carts and trying to hock their wares to her. She followed the wider main street a ways then turned to the right down a narrower cobblestone road and at the very end of the street on the right stood a solitary building apart from the rest. A wooden sign bearing the image of a horse with a gleaming saddle hung from the building. Scrawling handwriting carved into the wood read “The Silver Saddle”. Christine turned the latch on the door, swung it inward and stepped inside.  A cheery fire greeted her, crackling in the hearth along the far right wall. To the left and back the door to the kitchen stood open. From the fire in crackling in the hearth and the flicker of lantern light Christine knew that Tabitha had beaten her to work again. The smell of fresh cinnamon rolls wafted through the kitchen door. The wooden tables in the common area had been scrubbed to a gleaming shine in anticipation of the day’s hungry patrons.

            “You’re late again,” a soft voice came from the kitchen as Christine made her way back. An older woman whose raven hair was graying at the temples stood at a counter slicing pieces off a roll of cinnamon sugar crusted dough, placing the slices on a long metal pan at even intervals.

            “I’m sorry, Tabitha,” Christine pushed up the sleeves of her dress and immediately went to work putting together the ingredients for fresh sourdough loaves. “Have you had any word from Richard?”

            “None since the first letter,” Tabitha rubbed her hands on the apron that lay over her skirt and slipped the tray of cinnamon rolls into the large oven. “Since Marum fell it is nigh impossible to get a messenger out of the city.”

            Christine said nothing more but crinkled her nose as the tangy smell of yeast hit her while she mixed flour into a large bowl of starter. Tabitha’s only son, Richard, had journeyed to the capitol city to work as a fisherman when he turned eighteen, in order to help support his family. Two weeks ago he had sent word that the general Thaddeus was quickly approaching the city with an army, meaning to overthrow the king. Whispered rumors travelled through the kingdom long before hinting at the danger of the general who had blatantly challenged the king before all the royal court. Panic ensued once Thaddeus actually struck the king down and overtook the capitol city.

            “Do you think Thaddeus will send men here?” Christine asked as she continued to stir. She shuddered to think of being under military rule.

            “I’d rather not think of it,” Tabitha sighed as she crackled dried herbs onto a roast.

            “We’re so close to the border,” Christine mused as she began mixing the bread dough with her hands, squishing it between her fingers to make sure it didn’t get too tough. “I would think he wouldn’t bother sending any troops here. It wouldn’t be wise to split up his force just to keep an eye on a piddly border city like Pulchria.”

            “Christine!” Tabitha slammed the pan with the roast onto the stove top so it would be ready to slide into the oven when the cinnamon rolls came out. “I do NOT want to discuss this! Unless the king himself comes beating down our door searching for refuge and a hot meal, I don’t even want to think about war.”

            “Sorry,” Christine’s shoulders slumped and she kept her focus on the bread dough as she tore it into small portions and placed them into greased loaf pans. The bell over the front door rang as someone stepped into the common room. Christine stretched her neck to see if she could get a look at the visitor from where she stood, but had no luck.

            “Can people not read the sign that says we’re closed?” Tabitha stepped away from the stove and hurried like an angry hen into the common room to shoo the person away. Once Tabitha had left the kitchen Christine wiped the flour hastily off her hands with a spare rag and tossed it onto the counter going to the door. She pressed her shoulder against the doorframe, careful not to be seen as she watched Tabitha fly into a tizzy. Barely visible behind the portly woman stood a petite lady who looked to be about Christine’s age, though she stood a foot shorter than Christine and had a slender frame.

            “No I’m afraid our apothecary has been closed up for a while and our only healer is out in the country for the next two days,” Tabitha clicked her tongue against her teeth as she answered the girl’s question. Christine felt her heart beat a little faster when she got a good look at the girl’s clothing and she had to bite her lip to keep from saying anything. Though coated with dirt and damp from the rain, the girl’s clothes were far finer than any Christine had seen. The coloring required expensive dye which only nobility could afford. Combining that with the pale hue of the girl’s skin, Christine could only assume the girl to be nobility or a servant of nobles.

Rumors ran rampant through the town and kingdom as a whole as to the whereabouts of the kings sons. Many theorized that Thaddeus held them captive while others guessed that they sought refuge from their mother’s father to the south, across the sea. Others still held out hope that the princes would find a way to aid the army and Christine, upon seeing this girl, wondered if they happened to be nearby. She needed to know for certain. Ducking back into the kitchen she drummed her fingertips on the countertop plotting her escape. Focusing on her appearance she tried to make her facial expression as droopy and groggy as possible, her eyes half closed and her mouth slightly ajar. She stood over the oven for a moment hoping to work up a sweat or at least make her skin warm to the touch. When she heard the bell ring once again, Christine knew that Tabitha would be coming back to the kitchen. She slinked away from the stove and leaned against the counter near the rising bread dough, propping her head up in her hands and trying to appear as miserable as possible.

            “I don’t understand why I work here,” Tabitha muttered as she walked back into the kitchen, paying Christine no mind. “I can’t stand people, especially lost people.”

            “Tabitha?” Christine groaned convincingly. The elder woman turned to her and gasped at the sight of her.

            “Heavens child! Are you well?”

            “I don’t feel very well at all,” Christine sniffed and then let out a wheezing cough for good measure.

            “Go home,” Tabitha insisted. “Go home before you contaminate the entire inn. Rest for a few days then come back when you are well.”

            “All right,” Christine dragged her feet and acted as though she didn’t wish to truly leave. “Are you sure you don’t need me? There’s so much to tend to today-“

            “I can manage without you, dear,” Tabitha kept the counter between herself and Christine. “Get well quickly.”

            Christine nodded wearily and shuffled out of the kitchen and across the common room, bumping into the edge of a table here and a chair there, just in case Tabitha watched her. She continued the ruse until she was well out of sight of the inn. She could see the girl with her curly brown hair and cloak billowing in the breeze just a bit ahead of her, making her way to the square in the grey haze of a light drizzle. Not wanting to draw any attention, Christine resisted the urge to run to the girl but instead picked up her pace walking as fast as she possibly could to catch up. She saw the girl turn to the left towards the southern gate. The girl disappeared around the corner and Christine panicked, not knowing if she would be able to catch up. Fighting to keep her composure she turned the corner and saw the girl slip out of the gate.

“Good morning, Harrison,” Christine nodded to the gatekeeper as she passed out of the city. “You seen Harold?”

“He left just a few minutes ago,” the gatekeeper informed her. “You following that girl there?”

“She dropped something when she stopped at the inn,” Christine lied feeling her stomach churn. If Harrison, a usually unobservant man, could recognize a pursuit, who else would? Surely the girl would know someone followed her.

“Well you’d best catch her quick,” Harrison grunted and went back to watching the few people coming and going out of the gate. Christine didn’t waste any more time with him and bolted after the girl who had reached the woods that flanked the city’s south and west walls. Breaking into the trees the girl disappeared. Christine searched for her but saw nothing, neither tracks in the ground, nor any sound of cracking branches or rustling underbrush. 

“I knew it was too much to hope for,” Christine shook her head wondering how the stranger had gotten away from her so easily, until something poked into her back.

“Why did you follow me?”

“I know who you serve,” Christine hoped she hadn’t misjudged the girl. “I heard you needed a healer, I may be able to help.”

“You seem to be honest and I’m desperate,” the knife point dropped away from Christine’s back and the girl stepped around to face her. “I’m Maggie.”

“Christine.”

“Come, I’ll take you to my master,” Maggie led the way through the woods. After traipsing through the rain several minutes they came upon a few armed soldiers bearing the king’s emblem on the right breast of their tunics. One hefted an axe while the other kept his sword drawn. They nodded at Maggie and let the two girls pass into a small clearing. Soldiers sat around, some eating, others sleeping but at the far end of the clearing sat a solemn young man in chainmail and a forest green tunic, stooped over another younger man who lay trembling on the ground, covered with blankets.

“Your majesty,” Maggie addressed the man who sat beside the ill young man. “I have brought what aid I could find.”

            “I wonder who the man is that so much concern is shown for his wellbeing,” Christine wondered. His face remained turned away from her the whole time she had stood in the clearing and with blankets pulled up to his nose, Christine had not a chance of identifying him. She waited, limbs shaking, both from cold and nervousness, and watched as Prince Gerard pulled aside a soldier, then gestured to the ill man, clearly giving him directions.

            “Do not hesitate to act if you send anything amiss,” Gerard told Tomas. “We must move tonight but we will meet up with you tomorrow, north of the city. There is an old, disused watch tower where I will send men to meet you in the morning.”

            “We will be there, sire,” Tomas bowed then stooped to pick up his unconscious friend from the ground. Gerard walked beside him as they passed through the clearing. Though he did his best hide any signs of distress from his men, Gerard felt his stomach lurch as he noted the pallor in his brother’s face. Viktor rarely fell ill and when he had in the past, his illness lasted only a few days. This sickness gripped him like a vice, lingering and refusing to give up the hold on its victim, ravaging Viktor’s body with fever that refused to bate and kept him from retaining nourishment and even water.

            “Don’t leave us too, Viktor,” Gerard could not bear the thought of adding his brother to the list of family members taken too soon by death. When the downtrodden trio reached the girl at the edge of the clearing, Gerard realized he’d probably be required to compensate her somehow.

            “Tell me one thing before you leave, Miss Lucas, what do you gain from this?” Gerard’s gaze penetrated through her like hot metal, scorching and piercing all at once. She had to think quickly. What would she want in return for helping the future king? Her thoughts turned to the note hidden under the bread box and she shuddered.

            “Harold won’t be back from his journey for three days,” she calculated. “Longer if he decides to spend his earnings at the pubs along the way. It’s too risky to travel alone, but with the king’s army? I could go with them as a healer also…”

            “Speak your piece, woman!” Gerard snapped at her. “The matter is urgent. What is your price?”

            “Safe travel among your army and a position as a healer on the battlefields,” Christine focused on keeping her speech unhurried. “Surely you must need women to tend to the wounded and keep camp?”

            “If you return my man in good health then I will give you what you have asked,” Gerard assured her. “I am sending men to meet you on the north eastern road a little ways from the city tomorrow morning. They will guide you to us. We will leave shortly after dawn, so do not be late.”

            “I understand, your highness,” Christine curtsied then turned and led the soldier carrying his unconscious companion back to Pulchria. The hairs on the back of Christine’s neck stood on end for the duration of their silent trek back through the woods to the city wall. Invisible eyes seemed to peer at them from all directions, though they existed only in Christine’s imagination. Christine led the guard to the city wall instead of to the gate.

            “What are we doing?” The guard asked warily but Christine ignored him, searching for the stone that identified the secret door into the private courtyard behind her house. She found the small thread of silver, barely noticeable in the grey stone of the city wall, and pressed with all her might. A door, blended seamlessly into the wall, swung inward and Christine ushered the man through, closing it behind her.

            “My father liked to be able to come and go as he pleased without city guards keeping track of him,” Christine grinned but her face soon fell when the guard refused to show any sign of amusement. She knew they needed to get the soldier out of the rain and cold so she hurried into the house and led the man upstairs to her bedroom.

            “Do you mind getting him out of those wet clothes?” Christine asked. “He should wear something dry and warm.”

            “Whatever you need me to do, m’lady,” the guard bowed his head, still holding the incoherent prince in his arms. Christine felt like laughing at his stern expression and grim obedience but simply nodded instead.

            Gerard eyed the girl from head to toe. She didn’t look like a healer or anyone who knew anything about medicine. As he pushed his dripping hair out of his eyes he wondered what Maggie could have possibly been thinking. She didn’t even look to be from Lockwood with her blonde hair and blue eyes. Gerard thought she might be a mercenary.

            “Kill her,” Gerard ordered and two nearby soldiers drew their weapons to carry out his instructions. The girl didn’t even flinch or tremble at the sight of the weapons, it seemed as though she almost welcomed the idea of her own death.

            “Unafraid in the face of death. Truly a trained warrior,” Gerard thought but wondered why she didn’t try to defend herself.

            “Don’t kill her, Gerard!” Wesley burst through the trees and into the clearing, darting in front of the girl protectively. The soldiers wouldn’t dare to swing their weapons near the youngest prince for fear of striking him by accident.

            “Wesley, move,” Gerard kept his voice flat but the anger showed through in his lips pressed firmly together and his clenched jaw. “I believe her to be a mercenary. She would only bring us harm.”

            Wesley looked up at Christine who studied him with equal curiosity. He smiled kindly then turned back to his brother.

            “She can’t be a mercenary,” Wesley insisted. “She doesn’t even have a weapon.”

            “That doesn’t mean anything, Wesley. Now stop defying me and move.”

            “Someone will come looking for her if she goes missing,” Wesley warned in a childish, chiding tone of voice. “How will you explain to her family that you killed an innocent girl?”

            “You can’t know she’s innocent,” Gerard groaned, as he rose from his seat. He strode over to the defiant child who crossed his arms over his chest and took a defensive stance.

            “I promise you sire, I am as the boy says,” Christine finally spoke up on her own behalf. “Would you like me to swear an oath in blood that I am loyal to the king?”

            “It wouldn’t hurt,” Gerard paused a moment. One did not make oaths lightly, especially not blood oaths. He pulled a small knife from his boot and handed it to her, pulling Wesley out of her way, just in case. Without so much as a blink she ran the edge of the blade across her left palm then held it up so he could see the crimson stripe, little drops sliding down her wrist.

            “Satisfied?” Her tone of voice clearly issued a challenge that Gerard refused to accept. She wanted him to argue against her but instead he nodded.

            “What is your name and what have you come here for?”

            “My name is Christine Lucas. I am not a healer, but our town healer has taught me nearly everything she knows. This man appears to be within the range of my capabilities.”

            “Tell me then, Miss Lucas, what do you recommend for this man?” The prince’s suspicion remained evident but he sat down once more. His brother Wesley immediately sat beside him.

            “Medicine and some rest with a roof over his head. I have a home in town where I could tend him,” Christine offered but regretted it the instant the prince’s face contorted. His upper lip curled and twitched as his jaw clenched.

            “He will not leave this camp,” Gerard spoke up after a tense pause. “You will bring whatever medicine he requires back here. I will send a soldier with you to ensure that you go nowhere else.”

            “With all due respect, your highness,” Christine tried to remain calm. The man trembling on the ground needed more than what a soldiers’ camp could provide. “This man needs to be inside, out of the rain, by a warm fire.”

            “It is too great a risk,” Gerard argued.

            “I can get him into the city unseen,” Christine stated noticing the eyes of soldiers lingering on her. They waited tensely for a decision from their leader. Gerard looked to Wesley, whose mournful gray eyes stirred something within the elder prince. He hung his head and sighed, his hands falling to hang near his knees.

            “He’s not getting better under our care,” Wesley pointed out with a quiet unwavering voice. Gerard turned his gaze to his brother and gave a small nod, then listed his chin to look Christine in the eye, making certain she understood the gravity of the situation.

            “I will give him to you for twenty-four hours,” Gerard finally conceded. “All we require from you is to break his fever, nothing more.”

            “As you wish,” Christine curtsied.

            “Also,” Gerard continued. “I will send one of my men with you for safety’s sake. I still don’t trust you and let me clear that whoever I send will not hesitate to kill you at the slightest hint of foul play.”

            “I assure you, you shall receive your man tomorrow, well and ready to travel.”

            “Wait over there for a moment,” Gerard pointed to the rim of trees at the far side of the clearing. Christine did as he instructed but kept a wary eye on the goings on in the prince’s circle.

            “Give me a moment,” she stated and stepped out of the room, going to Harold’s room. She carefully rifled through her cousin’s wardrobe and found a clean pair of trousers and a simple white shirt. She took the items back into her bedroom where the guard still held Viktor, both men soaked through from the rain were creating puddles on the floor from their dripping garments.

            “I should have gotten you some dry things too,” Christine frowned but the man shook his head. “What is your name?”

            “Tomas, m’lady,” he inclined his head once again.

            “Thank you for your help Tomas,” Christine smiled and laid the dry clothes on the bed. “Come and get me once you are finished.”

            Tomas nodded and Christine left the room, shutting the door behind her. She couldn’t waste any time. Bustling into the kitchen she added a few choice logs to the sleepy embers in the portly black stove, atop of which sat a kettle full of water. From a nearby shelf she pulled down a wooden mug then poked around glass jars full of herbs on another shelf.

            “Where is it?” The jars clinked together as she pushed them around until she finally found what she looked for.

            “Echinacea,” she smiled triumphantly, pulling a heaping pinch out of the jar and dropping it into the bottom of the mug. Next she turned her attention to finding a clean rag, searching though the few kitchen drawers, hoping that Harold hadn’t used the last clean one to wipe his face after working the smithy yesterday.

            “M’lady?” Christine halted her search momentarily to see Tomas standing sheepishly in the doorway to the kitchen. He held Viktor’s wet clothing in his hands. “I’m going to keep watch downstairs. I thought you might want to hang these somewhere warm.”

            “Very good,” Christine wasn’t entirely sure how to respond but took the clothing from him and hung them over the back of a chair near the stove. “Thank you, Tomas.”

            The kettle whistled as Tomas disappeared down the stairs and Christine hurried to fill up the mug to steep the tea that would break Viktor’s fever. Since the tea would take time to brew, Christine set about filling a small bowl with icy cold water from the barrel Harold always kept filled in the kitchen and, after a bit more searching, she found a clean rag which she slipped into the cool liquid. Gathering up the mug and bowl, Christine made her way back to her room.

            Her patient lay under the tattered blanket on her bed, shaking, sweat dripping down his face. Christine set down the medicine and the bowl on her bedside table and went to the wardrobe where she pulled out another thin blanket, wishing she had something more to keep him warm. She spread the blanket over him and tucked him in as best she could.

            “Who are you?” Christine muttered, knowing he couldn’t hear her question and therefore wouldn’t mind her curiosity. “Are you a high ranking official? A soldier of renown? Or perhaps an informant…” 

            She plucked the rag out of the bowl and rung out any excess water then folded it into quarters. With gentle strokes she wiped and dabbed away the sweat and forced a hint of coolness into the prince’s fever scorched flesh. She brushed his hair back trying to keep it out of the way.

            “You are very well kept,” she thought as her fingers ran through the jet black tresses, which felt soft and smooth, as though they’d recently been washed. His clothes were fine too. After a few more dabs and turning the rag over several times to find a cool patch, the fabric began to take on a sickly heat so Christine dropped it back into the bowl to cool off again. She pressed her palm lightly but firmly to the man’s forehead to see if her efforts had done any good.

            Tiny speckles of silver light began to float before Christine’s eyes as the corners of her vision faded to black. A dizzying strange sensation filled her head and a fog covered the remainder of her vision that hadn’t turned to black.

            “What’s going on?” She wondered if she might be falling ill as well, but knew she couldn’t have possibly been in contact with the man long enough to catch whatever plagued him. Her heart began to pound as she fought the surge of panic that caused her stomach to jump to her throat. The blackness crept into more of her vision while the silver flecks danced more rapidly. Weariness hit her like a wave and threatened to force her under into a heavy sleep. Her head grew unnaturally light and the room swayed. Just before the blackness completely consumed her sight, she saw the soldier’s eyes pop open as he gasped for breath and turned to see who stood over him.

            Chipper eyes the color of the sky on a brilliantly sunny March afternoon peered down at Christine when she finally regained her vision. Groaning she squinted and made to sit up, realizing she was lying in her bed, but a strong hand on her shoulder carefully pushed her back down.

            “Uh uh uh,” her former patient chided. “You hit your head pretty hard. I don’t want you to risk passing out.”

            “I passed out?” Christine blinked a few times and slid a hand behind her head, gingerly pressing her fingertips to her skull. She winced at the tiniest bit of pressure on her scalp.

            “I must say,” he sat down on the edge of the bed and grinned impishly, a spark dancing in his eyes, “I’ve only ever seen girls swoon like that at the sight of my brother, Gerard. I am very flattered.”

            Even though she recognized the joke, Christine scowled at his words. And then recognition hit her. She sat up, despite the young man’s look of panic.

“Your brother?!” Christine gulped then whispered, “You are Prince Viktor?”