Tanella's Flight
A M Jenner
Copyright Statement
Copyright 2009, A M Jenner
Smashwords Edition
Print - Published April 2009, ISBN 978-1-4421-2966-5
Ebook - Published April 2010, ISBN 978-1-4523-3713-5
Second Edition published July 2011
This is a DRM-free ebook. Please respecy my hard work by purchasing it. Thank you for your honesty.
Preparing for her wedding to a man she's never met, Princess Tanella is kidnapped. Escaping the cottage wasn't difficult, but finding her way home alone and on foot is the greatest challenge she's ever met. She must return in time for her wedding, or there will be war. The only things standing in her way are the Black Army, the traitors at court, three hundred miles, and the Great Krakitts Mountains.
The fate of the Ten Kingdoms is at stake!
Map of the Ten Kingdoms
Chapter One
A Journey Commences
10th Day of Pleig, 2448
Lord Saunders strode down the steps of the Summer Palace in Renthenn and across the drive to where the coach waited. His eyes flicked over the coach, noting that Coachman Tysse had polished the royal crest on the door until it positively gleamed. Good. That would help identify the coach to any interested parties.
He climbed into the empty coach, ignoring the cheerful greeting of the young boy holding the door. Saunders quickly dipped his hand in the pocket of the rear seat and removed the single pistol he found there. Swiftly, he shoved it under the seat cushions of the forward seat and sat upon it, hoping no one had noticed his delay in seating himself. The pistol made an uncomfortable lump, but he'd only be sitting on it for a couple of hours, so it wouldn't be unbearable. He took a moment to check the pocket next to his seat and verify that his pistol was ready for use.
He cast his mind back over the explicit instructions he'd received last night, making certain he'd complied with every point. Everything he held dear depended on it. Saunders allowed his gaze to wander out the window, as though he were bored. Everything must appear normal.
Princess Tanella was now descending the steps in company with her maid, Shayla, and her Father, King Jameisaan. Shayla hastened directly toward the coach, and accepted the hand of the coach-boy as he assisted her to enter. She immediately sat on the rear seat and began arranging her skirts to suit her satisfaction.
The rustling noises annoyed Saunders and he scowled at her.
"Is aught amiss, my Lord Saunders?" She leaned toward him solicitously.
"No! Why would anything be wrong?" Saunders felt panic begin to twist in his guts. If anyone suspected, "'Tis only that the sun is bright this morning and I was up late preparing for this most unexpected excursion," he lied.
Shayla nodded and settled back against the seat, and Saunders forced himself to relax, if only outwardly.
He watched the king kiss his daughter farewell. His heart wrenched as he contemplated the events to come, and how he would feel, were he in Jameisaan's shoes. He glanced at the maid, Shayla, so like the princess in appearance. They were cousins, daughters of twins, and in fact, only a marriage or two from being his cousins as well. It was a mistake, Saunders reflected, to employ your relatives. Love of family far exceeded any vow of fealty, and could be used as a weapon against you.
At last, King Jameisaan handed his daughter into the coach. The princess seated herself and began settling her skirts while the king leaned through the door.
"Saunders, I'm so thankful you were available to act as escort for Tanella and Shayla," he said. "I've got too much happening right now to take her myself, and considering the time constraint we're under,"
Saunders squirmed within his skin. If his king knew what he'd done, but he daren't tell; lives depended on his silence and obedience. "I appreciate your confidence in me, Sire," he replied.
Jameisaan laughed. "If I can't trust my daughter to her mother's own kinsman, who may I place my confidence in? I know you'll take good care of her."
The king stepped back; the coachman's boy tucked up the steps and closed the door. Within seconds Saunders could hear the lad scrambling to his place on the roof among the baggage. The moment the boy was in place, Coachman Tysse started the carriage in motion and it trundled slowly down the drive, gaining speed only when they were on the road, the pair of blue and yellow liveried outriders easily matching the carriage's pace.
There were two outriders, just as he'd been told. Saunders breathed a silent sigh of relief. Thus far, all was proceeding according to the instructions he'd been given.
The two girls immediately continued what was apparently an interrupted conversation.
"Do you think he'll be handsome?" Shayla asked.
"It would be nice," Tanella replied, "but it's hardly necessary. The treaty states we're to be married on the 16th of Corith, as Kwenn and Jurat are joined into a single kingdom."
"But he's got to be handsome," Shayla nearly wailed. "Isn't there some sort of rule that all princes have to be handsome?"
Tanella snorted. "Prince Liammial isn't handsome. I met him yesterday while he, Papa and I discussed the treaty. He's nearly as old as Papa, and his eyes are, I don't know. When he looked at me, he made me feel almost," she paused as though searching for the right word, then continued, "violated. He's slimy. No, he's worse than that. I don't think there's a word vile enough to describe him. I'd rather kiss a snake than spend another hour in his presence."
Saunders knew exactly what she meant about Prince Liammial, and privately agreed with her assessment.
"Tanella! Who cares what Prince Liammial is like? You're not marrying him!"
"No, I'm marrying his nephew, Prince Fergan, on the 16th of Corith, which only gives us about six weeks or so to prepare."
"That's another thing I don't understand. Even weddings between common folk take longer than this to prepare. A royal wedding in only six weeks seems somehow indecent."
"Well, we don't have a lot of time," Tanella replied. "We've got to unite with Jurat, to protect us all from that army in Shuell." She glanced toward Saunders, but he made sure his face was averted. He carefully formed the appearance of staring out the window, even as he bent his ears to hear every word she spoke.
"According to the dispatches I read in Father's office last night, the army doesn't belong to Shuell; they've completely taken over Shuell, and nobody knows where they came from. I'll tell you this, though, if they capture Jurat, the other eight kingdoms haven't a chance of resisting them. Not only do most of the Ten Kingdoms share borders with Jurat, but you know that much of our food is grown there."
Shayla nodded. "I know Jurat is mostly farmers; but I don't want to talk any more about the fighting. I still want to know if Prince Fergan is good looking or not!"
Tanella laughed. "You've got a one-track mind. You know I've never met Fergan, nor even corresponded with him. In fact, I've never had much contact at all with anyone in any of the countries south of the Great Krakitts. The mountains make travel so difficult between each half of the land."
Shayla huffed and turned to look out of the window, and the princess opened the book she'd brought to read along the way.
Two hours or so later the carriage slowed and Tanella looked up from her book, a questioning look on her face. Saunders knew she was wondering why they were slowing to stop as it was not yet time for either a change of horses or the nooning meal. His nerves stretched to their limits, he made a show of peering out the window, then conspicuously took the pistol from its place in the pocket and checked its readiness to be fired.
Tanella watched his precise preparations with wide eyes. Saunders, noting the direction of her gaze, shifted uneasily in his seat.
"It may be nothing, Your Highness," he lied, "but better to be prepared in any event."
Tanella mutely nodded her understanding as the coach came to a complete stop.
Coachman Tysse's voice came down to them through the open window. "Overturned coach across the road, Your Highness. We'll be delayed."
Saunders watched Tanella relax back into the seat. Good. She had no reason to be suspicious of an overturned coach; his change to her planned shopping trip for her wedding was going well.
"Saunders, see if we can be of assistance and inquire if there were injuries."
"Yes, Your Highness," Saunders answered as he rose and tucked the pistol into his belt. He opened the door of the coach and stepped to the ground. Quickly striding to the toppled vehicle, he loudly called out to the other coach their intention to help.
He was only peripherally aware of the boy Crispin climbing from his place among the luggage. Once he'd gained the driver's seat, Tysse Coachman handed him the driving lines and climbed from the carriage to join Saunders in giving aid.
The outriders looped their reins around the pommel of their saddles and dismounted to lend their help.
Finding no injuries had been suffered, the men bent to their task along with the driver of the other coach.
Good, Saunders thought; everyone was in place now.
A shot rang through the air, the ball whistling just over their heads.
The overturned coach's horses started at the sound of the shot, but as they were still tethered to their vehicle, they couldn't go anywhere.
The boy Crispin was caught by surprise; though his animals reared and plunged, he managed to keep control of them. The outriders' mounts reared, pawing the air. Everyone looked about for the source of the shot.
A commanding voice called out from the edge of the woods, "Nobody move, and nobody will get hurt."
Saunders smiled to himself. Doubtless, the princess was just now discovering he'd removed the other pistol from the hidden pocket. She wouldn't think to look under his seat cushion in the short time she'd have to search.
Seven armed and mounted men rode from their concealment in the trees. All were dressed in black. Each man carried a pistol in one hand, while a second was prominently tucked into his sash, a sword belted at each waist.
One of them spoke. "Princess, would you and your companion please join us here on the road?"
Another of the men rode to the door of the carriage, opened it and kicked the stairs down. He pointed his weapon into the coach and grinned, making exaggerated gestures for the ladies to join them outside the coach.
With no other options, Tanella and Shayla stepped down from the carriage. Tanella looked like she was fuming, and Shayla was obviously frightened; both stood quietly where the mounted man indicated, his pistol still pointed at them.
The leader spoke again, this time to the rest of the party.
"Go ahead, finish righting the coach. We require the road cleared."
With six pistols trained on them, Saunders and the others obeyed the commands.
Within a short time they had the coach back on its wheels. The other coachman spoke softly to his horses while Tysse and Saunders inspected the vehicle for harm.
"No damage to th' wheels, nor nothin' to the coach, neither. An' no passengers in it. Never heerd o' a private coach like this abroad wit' no passengers." Coachman Tysse hissed to Saunders. "This were nowt but a trap, sure enough."
Saunders nodded. "Agreed, but now we've sprung it, do you see any way out?"
Tysse shook his head, distress in his voice. "Nay, an' 'em outnumberin' us, an' better armed to boot, there's nowt to do but give 'em what money an' jewels we've wit' us, or die and let 'em take it; an' atter they've kilt us, 'em as would harm th' princess, they would."
"Best to see what they want, first," Saunders said, frowning in mock thought. "Money might not be what they're after."
"What then? None knew her Highness would be a'comin' this way afore las' night." Tysse's voice betrayed his worry.
"If you're quite finished with your plots and discussion," The leader of the black-clad riders interrupted them, gesturing them to step away from the carriage. The sneer in his voice was evident as he spoke.
"You, sir coachman, are incorrect in thinking that none knew of this journey before last night. Although we shall relieve you of her money and jewels, we will also be relieving you of the princess and her attendant."
"Yer will not!" Tysse shouted, leaping toward the leader. Immediately, three shots rent the air and echoed around them.
The young coach boy controlled his horses, but the outriders' horses bolted. The silly boy whistled sharply, as if he thought a whistle would stop a frightened horse.
The other coachman had a tight grip on his animals where he stood at their heads; he'd been expecting the shots.
Saunders gazed around in confusion. Tysse Coachman lay crumpled in the roadway, blood pouring from the gaping wound in his skull. The outriders lay near him, moaning, clearly in the last few moments of their lives.
This wasn't happening the way it was supposed to; Prince Liammial had promised him nobody would be hurt. He'd said all they wanted was to hold the princess long enough to make her late to her wedding. Something clicked in Saunders' mind and suddenly he realized he'd been lied to all along.
It was his turn to shout at the mounted man. "Your people said no one would be hurt. You gave me your word!" Anger burned in his snarled words; rage was coursing through his veins.
The black-garbed man laughed. "You should have been less naive, my friend. Anyone who would hold your entire family as a guarantee of your cooperation would certainly not be bothered by a little killing. We do thank you for your help in obtaining the princess, however." The smile widened on his malicious face. "And now I think it's time you join your family."
"They're not hurt then? My children are well? My wife?" A faint glimmer of hope sprang into Saunders' heart at the thought of his loved ones, safe, and no longer menaced by the men of this army.
The mounted man's laughter was full of evil, even as he kept a tight hold on the reins in his hand, his control of the horse absolute. "Your little family is not in pain, nor did they feel any. We dispatched them to their god with great speed, as soon as you had left for the palace."
"Murderer!" Saunders was overcome by his overwhelming grief. He sank to his knees as he assimilated the news his entire family was dead.
"No, my gullible but very useful ally, 'tis not murder when the kill is made in war, under orders, and for the best good of Milord and his Divine Army." He raised his pistol with his black-gloved hand, pointing it directly at Saunders' head. Saunders heard the shot, but he never felt the impact of the ball that carried his death.
Chapter Two
The Princess Plots
10th Day of Pleig, 2448
Tanella watched in horror as her retinue was decimated. She stood absolutely still, dumbfounded that Saunders could betray her father and deliver her to these men. Shayla's face was the color of weak porridge, her green eyes huge in her pasty face. A small whimper escaped her trembling; Tanella barely registered the sound.
Who were these men? They'd said they were at war. Were this "Milord" and his "Divine Army" the army now in Shuell? Why did they want her? Questions flew through her brain, but no thought stayed in place long enough for her to hold and examine.
Some of the men were busy removing her luggage from the roof of her carriage and transferring it to the other coach. She noticed Crispin was still sitting atop her carriage holding the horses in place while the men shifted the trunks. A small part of her mind registered he was unhurt, and she was glad.
The leader of the men dismounted, stepped nearer the two girls and sketched a low bow which befitted her station, yet managed to be insolent; a mockery of the true protocol. She drew in her breath at the insult.
When he straightened, a smile graced his thin lips, but wasn't reflected in his dark eyes. There was a sneering sarcasm in the tone of his voice as he motioned to the now-righted carriage which currently held her luggage.
"Your Highness, your new carriage awaits."
"I won't go with you." Tanella kept her voice calm with effort.
The man gestured at the corpses lying in the road. "Oh, I think you will, Princess. I was told to fetch you alive, if possible, or leave you dead. Your cooperation, or lack of it, will make that choice for me. One last chance: get in the coach or don't; I don't care which."
He drew his second pistol and pointed it straight at her heart, not even a ghost of a smile on his features. Tanella knew he was deadly serious.
Head held high, she swept across the intervening space to the other coach, Shayla scrambling in her wake. She very imperiously gestured to one of the black clad men to open the door for them. He obeyed immediately and without question. Tanella nodded an unspoken order to her maid. Shayla, white-faced and trembling, scampered into the coach, sinking automatically onto the rear-facing seat.
The princess put out her fingertips toward the man still standing at the door of the coach. Her regally commanding look challenged him to help her into the carriage and he instantly complied, closing the door respectfully behind her. Hard upon the door closing, she heard what sounded like a fist striking softer flesh, and a whuffing out of breath. With the carriage's windows covered, she couldn't see what was happening. Had the man been punished for helping her?
As she settled onto the forward-facing seat, Tanella wondered if she could use this sort of imperial manner to gain some small modicum of control over her life. If their leader were any measure, she highly doubted it would get her very far. Still, though, it may work with some of the other men, and possibly cause some division in their ranks. The thought warmed her heart ever so slightly, and gave her the first glimmer of hope.
The coach creaked and tilted as the driver clambered up onto the box. The whip cracked over the horses' heads, and the coach took off down the road with a lurch, pressing Tanella further into the seat. She could hear the clatter of hooves just outside her window, and knew that at least some of the marauders had accompanied her coach as outriders, or as guards to prevent her escape. She prayed they hadn't killed poor Crispin after she'd left. He'd had a difficult enough life fending for himself as an orphan, and she devoutly hoped it hadn't come to an end in the middle of a deserted road.
Gradually the shock wore off and was replaced by anger. There'd been no need for them to kill any of her people. She couldn't believe Lord Saunders had been willing to hand her over to these black-clad, black-hearted rogues. Saunders was understandably fearful for his family; but he could have gone to her father. They could have found a way to protect his kin and still retain his honor. Or, at least, the small voice in the back of her mind said, they could have protected Saunders' family if the blackguards hadn't killed them the moment he'd left for the palace.
The coach hit a deep rut and lurched to one side, nearly throwing Tanella from the seat. She reached out to steady herself, and accidentally knocked the covering aside from one of the windows. Almost immediately, one of the outriders appeared at the window snarling at her to keep it fastened and her head inside.
The warning their leader had given her regarding her choice between cooperation and death echoed in her mind. She quickly refastened the window shade and situated herself a little more firmly against the seat.
Tanella's brain raced apace with the coach, sorting and reviewing the few facts she held.
The man had said his orders were to bring her alive, if possible, or to kill her if they couldn't bring her. Why? What were they trying to accomplish? Alive, she was good for ransom, or as a hostage; a tactic they'd used before to their great advantage with Lord Saunders. Dead, her body could be used to start a war. She could think of no circumstance where she would be useful regardless of her condition.
The obvious conclusion was they belonged to the army which had recently swallowed up Shuell, but obvious conclusions weren't always the right ones.
Their seizure of her person had been too well-executed to have been thought out and set up in a single night. Someone must have known she would be leaving the palace.
"But I wasn't planning to go anywhere this summer," she mused aloud.
"Beg pardon, My Lady?" Shayla asked, wiping a shaking hand across her pale, tear-streaked face.
Tanella glanced up at her maid. "Nothing; I was just thinking out loud." A tight half-smile briefly touched her lips before she dropped her eyes to her hands and returned to her brooding silence.
The only way anyone could have known she would be leaving would be if they knew the terms of the treaty.
Tanella went cold clear through to her heart. The thought was nearly paralyzing as she realized the full implications of the inference. It meant there was still at least one traitor within either her father's inner council or King Fergasse's court, or more likely, in both. The documents regarding her wedding had only been agreed upon yesterday. There had not been sufficient time for Ambassador Liammial to return to Jurat and tell his king the treaty had been accepted, and yet the implications leaned heavily that Milord of the Army knew of the existence of the treaty, and at least one of the terms.
Feeling suddenly adrift, not knowing who, if anyone, she could trust, Tanella realized she, herself, was the single person she could rely on to get out of this situation.
A small movement in front of her as Shayla tried to get more comfortable on her seat, drew Tanella's eyes. Shayla had no advance knowledge of the treaty; her reactions as Tanella startled her with the news of the impending wedding stood as evidence. A small glow warmed her heart as she amended the assessment to include her maid, her cousin, her friend, as a person she could trust and part of her list of assets to aid her in escaping this intolerable predicament.
Tanella felt the first nibblings of an idea dancing around the edges of her brain, so she emptied her mind and busied her hands with adjusting her skirt just so, which allowed the idea to stew and mature until the finished product burst across her thoughts in the form of a plan.
Carefully checking it for obvious flaws and finding none, she decided it represented the best possible plan, given the resources she had at hand. Looking up at her unsuspecting companion, she grinned, her eyes now dancing with daring mischief, her spine straight and shoulders thrown back with full determination; every inch the princess. She'd do it!
Chapter Three
Crispin's Escape
10th Day of Pleig, 2448
Crispin watched, stunned, as Tysse and the two outriders were killed. Though both outriders' horses had spooked and run into the woods, he'd heard their hooves come to a stop when he'd whistled to them.
He was now the only one left to protect the Princess and her maid, but he knew they would kill him the moment he tried anything. Listening to their leader threaten his Princess, he realized he would put her life in danger if he tried something rash, but he couldn't just sit here, either. What should he do? What could he do?
Glancing desperately around, he noticed the men were ignoring him. For once in his life, his small stature was coming in handy. Nearly nineteen, his height was that of a lad of twelve or thirteen. Always he'd complained about his lack of inches and the youthful look he bore, until today. A callow youth wouldn't be a threat to grown men, so they were paying him no heed. How could he use this to his advantage?
Crispin remembered that one of the outriders' horses was Blaize, his personal favorite in the King's stables. He'd attended Blaize's birth and had worked with him since. If he could somehow get away, one more whistle would bring the horse to him; then he'd be assured of fast transportation back to the palace to get help.
He watched as the ladies were handed into the other coach, its door shut decisively. He held his animals quiet as five of the seven men surrounded the new coach in position of outriders. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from moving as the coach lumbered off down the road, taking his Princess away from him.
As her coach gathered speed and rolled out of sight, the two men left behind dragged his friends' bodies to the side, getting them out of the roadway. They grabbed Saunders' ankles and pulled, jeering at the dead man even as they dumped his body in the dry ditch at the edge of the road. The two men then began to rifle the pockets of the dead, seeing what trinkets they could find. Getting nothing from the outriders or Tysse, they moved over to Saunders, entering the ditch to reach him.
Crispin looked at the men inspecting Saunders' pockets for treasures. Suddenly, a plan presented itself to his mind. Thought and action became one. He slapped the lines to his horses' rumps, startling them into a hasty gait, surprising the two men. He drove straight down the road in the same direction as the princess's coach, spraying road dust and gravel over the men as he passed them by. He saw them leap up and run for their own horses as he slapped his livestock smartly on their rumps with the driving lines, urging them to greater speed.
Crispin allowed the horses their heads. They were well trained and needed no guidance to remain on the road between the trees. He watched behind him until he was certain the armed men had retrieved their mounts and were in pursuit.
Crispin knew this part of the road well; the closeness of the trees would keep his beasts on the proper path, and there were enough twists and turns the men wouldn't be able to see the front of the coach well for quite a few miles. Looping the lines loosely around the braking post, he cracked the whip over the horses' heads to hasten their galloping hooves.
Just beyond a bend in the highway, Crispin leapt from the coach onto the shoulder of the road and rolled into the brush. Scrambling quickly, he dodged behind the bushes which lined the roadway and lay flat, hoping the men's attention would still be on the coach ahead of them.
Hardly daring to breathe, Crispin lay still as the mounted men thundered past. The noise gradually lessened as the distance from him lengthened. He lifted his head an inch, listening. The air was now empty of sound. Getting slowly to his knees, he looked around carefully. Seeing nothing threatening, he rose and looked first in the direction the men had gone, then back to where they'd been.
Crispin prayed the now-driverless horses would stay ahead of their pursuers long enough for him to get away. He knew the men hadn't seen him jump, or they wouldn't still be pelting after the carriage. Somehow, he knew they intended to kill him if they caught him; that they wanted no living witnesses to what had occurred, and no alarm sounded. He vowed to do everything he could to disrupt their wishes.
Crispin ran back to the scene of carnage and gave a low whistle. At the edge of the woods, Blaize lifted his head, nodded once, and began trotting in his direction. The other horse, Boots, followed.
Reaching up to pat Blaize on the nose as he crooned his thanks, Crispin reached for the reins, which were still knotted to the saddle horn, and loosened them. Springing into the saddle, he grasped the reins tightly in his hand. He gathered Boots' reins in his other hand, lifting them over the horse's head in order to lead him. One last look up the road in the direction of the coaches and his Princess showed nothing headed back in his direction.
Crispin turned toward the palace and home, muttering an apology to three of the men still on the ground where they'd been dragged. Knowing he couldn't take the time to attend to them now, he softly uttered a solemn promise to bring others who could help him see to their proper burial.
A haze of rage passed through him as he looked at the fourth man, the traitorous Lord Saunders. He didn't care if the man ever saw a burial plot. Wolves tearing the flesh from his bones seemed too good a fate for such a one as would betray his own kin, and his princess, to boot.
* * * * *
Allowing Blaize to pick his way through a copse of trees not far from the palace grounds, Crispin's brow was furrowed in deepest thought. The brigands had said they were at war, and they'd recruited the king's own kinsman, Lord Saunders, to help them. That meant there could be others at the palace helping them. How could he get word to the king without alerting any of the traitors?
His greatest desire was to rush into court and raise the alarm. He could envision himself, bursting through the doors and announcing to all and sundry the horrible things he'd witnessed that morning.
Reason raised its level head and he laughed at himself. In the first place, a coach boy would never make it past the grand doors into the court.
Second, and most importantly, it had been no secret that he'd left with the princess this morning. If any other traitor saw him return, they would kill him on sight, then raise the alarm among their own people, and possibly kill the princess. No, his best ally was stealth.
Crispin sighed and slapped at a bug which had landed on his thigh, flicking the crushed insect from his breeches. His mind continued to work frantically.
Who could help him? Who could he trust? The remaining stable staff wouldn't yield anyone. The oldest retainers had just lost their lives and three other trusted men had left yesterday on different errands. The others at home were fairly new to the king's service. Crispin didn't know them well enough to trust them with his own insignificant life, let alone the princess's vital and indispensable life. He couldn't think what the kingdom would be, indeed, what the world would be, without Princess Tanella. One thing he did know, though. The events of the morning had begun a war, and he was the only free and living witness.
Looking around him, the trees were thinning, vegetation becoming sparse on the ground, the nearby brook narrowing to just a trickle. Within a few minutes he would be at the edge of the trees. He looked at the position of the sun to measure how much of the day had been used and reckoned it was early afternoon.
Pulling Blaize to a halt, he dismounted, leading both horses to the water for a drink. He bent down, taking his neck cloth off and wetting it with the cool stream water. He scrubbed at his face. His wish that he could scour the morning's horrid scenes from his mind with mere water caused him to rub rather more fiercely than necessary to clean the dust from his face and cool his brow. He choked a sob into the dripping linen, and let his tears for Tysse and the others mingle with the stream's water.
They'd been good men; dedicated men. Now, because of loyalty to their princess, they were dead. Crispin shook his head, anger bringing control over his tears. Wiping his face once more, he turned to the horses and gathered the reins. He mounted Boots, this time leading Blaize, his mind again fully focused on the task ahead.
Pausing at the edge of the copse but still within the cover of the trees, he looked around. The palace was merely minutes away. His mind ran over others in the king's household. Working in the stables and coach house since he was six years old didn't allow much contact with the household servants, but there were a few he was confident of.
Old Quins, the middle butler, was loyal. He'd proven himself many times. Toft, the palace carpenter, and Larandiin, the king's page, were to be trusted, he'd bet his life on it. Actually, he was betting his life on these few men. The problem was going to be reaching them without being seen. Who else could help?
An image of his sweet Polly came easily to mind, bringing a smile to his lips. He could trust her fully. She would also be easier to reach at her work in the milking barns, and she would have easier access to the house staff than a mere stable lad, as her duties included delivering the milk to the kitchens each day.
Clicking his tongue, he gave the horse the command to move. Keeping to the far edges of the fields, Crispin carefully made his way through the small valley and up the gentle slope of the rolling hill at the other end. Over the brow, he knew another small wood was nestled there and he made for it cautiously, knowing he was now entering the king's estate.
Making his way through the woodlands, Crispin's distress over his princess warred with his feeling of urgency to inform the king. The annoying little voice of caution entered the battle to hold him at the edge of the trees, where he dismounted and tethered the horses, leaving them where they would not be found, and where they could graze on such undergrowth as they could reach.
The palace was now in his sight and he watched people coming and going throughout the balance of the afternoon, chafing at the necessary delay. At last, dusk began to blur the edges of the day. Crispin left the horses and made his way on foot over the last of the outer fields and to the milking barns.
Polly, laden with full milking buckets, exited the door and turned toward the palace.
"Pssst, Polly!" Crispin's voice was quiet, but the maid had no trouble hearing it.
Turning her head swiftly, she was startled, slopping milk from the full buckets as she recognized him.
"Crispin! What are you doing here? I thought you left this morning with the princess. Why are you hiding in the shadows? What is it, my love?"
She set the buckets down as her eyes took in his furtive manner and the look on his face. She moved out of the light spilling from the barn's open doorway. Her voice became quieter. "Crispin, what's happened?"
Moving to the side of the barn, to remain unseen by any from the palace, Crispin tersely told Polly of the morning's events, of his worry for the princess, and of his desire to tell the king but his fear of alerting other traitors among the servants.
"Often, as I take the milk inside, Quins is near the kitchens. He appreciates the fresh milk for his sour stomach. He'll know the best way to get you to the king without anyone else knowing you've returned. Wait here for me." She turned, hurried to the doorway where she'd abandoned the buckets of milk, picked them up once more and scurried up to the palace.
Crispin settled back into the deep shadows, his mind once again reviewing the horrific events of the day.
Chapter Four
Deceptive Presence
10th Day of Pleig, 2448
"Shayla," the princess said softly to her maid.
"Yes, Highness?" Shayla's voice was still a little ragged around the edges, showing how deeply affected she'd been by the morning's events.
"Come, sit here with me." Tanella scooted over, moving her skirts aside and patting the seat beside her. Shayla did as her princess bade and joined her on the forward-facing seat.
Tanella placed an arm around her cousin's shoulders and leaned close to speak quietly in her ear, her desire for secrecy absolute.
"I have an idea which just might get us out of this mess," Tanella quietly began, "but it's going to take a lot of luck, a fair amount of deception, and buckets of courage. Are you game?"
Shayla turned, pulling far enough away to gaze into the princess' green eyes. She nodded, wiping tears from her lower eyelids and taking a deep and steadying breath.
"Good." Tanella's still-quiet voice was firm. "First off, we need to exchange our dresses and cloaks."
Shayla's eyes opened wide and she gasped. "Tanella, this isn't a game where we can just trade places!"
Tanella smiled grimly. "No, it's not a game, but think on this: no one save Quins; not even my father, has ever been able to reliably tell us apart. I can't count the times that you, or Janna or Colette played my part while I worked in the inn for the day. Remember the Beltane festival when the four of us wore our matching peasant dresses? Even Quins couldn't tell us apart that day, and he had the four of us to look at all at the same time."
Shayla gave a hesitant nod. "But why do you want me to be you? I'll do it, you know I will; I'll die for you if I need to, but I want to know why."
"Well, I've never been sure if it was bravery or stupidity, but my ability to think quickly and move just as fast was generally the most helpful in getting us back out of trouble during our youthful escapades. We proved it time and again. I'm counting on that talent to get us out of this trouble now. I really don't think they'll kill us," Tanella said, "because the one man said we wouldn't be injured if I cooperated. I think he's under orders to deliver us in one piece and in good condition; otherwise, why would they bring you along to safeguard my virtue?"
Shayla shrugged her shoulders, their eyes still on each other.
Tanella unhooked the fastening of her cloak, slid it off her shoulders, then leaned forward a little and presented her back to her cousin. Shayla automatically began unlacing the back of the princess' gown.
Tanella busily removed the jewelry adorning her wrists and fingers.
"Now, I want you to call me 'Sorenn', Tanella continued, speaking quietly over her shoulder as she wriggled out of her bodice and began to don the top Shayla had already removed. It's my second name, and I'm more likely to answer to it than to your name. Remember when we would dress alike and go into the village? We'd all use our second names to try and confuse everyone. It worked well then; I'm counting on it working just as well now. Additionally, those were people we knew and who knew us well enough to catch us out. These are people who don't know us at all. It should be even easier."
Shayla quietly answered, as she presented her own back to her cousin and held as still as possible while the princess laced the dress closed.
"Also," Tanella continued, "and I think this will be the hardest part for you, my dear cousin, you must not forget that you are the princess! You must act the part of a snooty brat, and let me be your humble servant."
"But," Shayla began, "I can't treat you like a servant, it would never work. You never even treat me like a servant."
"Shayla." Tanella paused in her dressing and turned her cousin to face her, somber green eyes gazing steadily into matching serious green eyes.
"If you fail to treat me as a servant, and a rather dull-witted one, at that, we will be undone. I now give you a royal command from Tanella Sorenn, Crown Princess of Kwenn; you must do your utmost to carry off this deception. It is the only way we'll have even a chance of escaping. If we are discovered, it may cost us both our lives. Do I have your promise?"
There was a long pause while eyes searched the other's eyes, then Shayla dropped her gaze and nodded. "Yes, your Highness; you have long held my vow of fealty. I will do my best, but I tell you now, I think this scheme is madness, pure and simple. These aren't the simple villagers we used to flummox. I fear for your life. What if I fail you?"
Tanella hugged her cousin fiercely, a whispered 'thank you' breathed barely loud enough to be heard, before she pulled away again to look at her faithful maid.
"You won't fail me, dear Shayla. I know you won't. Now, let's finish changing."
Both girls turned their attention to their skirts, each undoing the fastenings at their waists and removing their belts. It took a lot of effort to stand without falling in the continually moving, swaying coach so the exchange of skirts could be made.
After a time, the interior of the coach looked much as it had before. One red-haired girl occupied the rear seat, dressed in a blue traveling gown and very fine cloak, wearing rings, a necklace and the matching tiara which proclaimed her royal status.
The other girl, her flaming curls tucked demurely beneath a lace-trimmed cap, rode on the front seat, facing backward befitting her position as a servant and wore a gown in the blue and gold livery of the royal household. She was wrapped in a plain but serviceable cloak and demure bonnet, and her manner was deferential. Naturally, she was devoid of jewelry.
Tanella breathed a sigh of relief; they'd effected the switch without being caught in the act. Now that they had exchanged clothing and identities, it would be very difficult for any who did not know them well to even notice the substitution.
Over the next few days, the coach stopped only at abandoned barns and lonely copses of trees, but at each stop, there were fresh horses and provisions.
Shayla, according to the plan, did a marvelous job of appearing to become progressively ill-feeling and weakened as they traveled, while Tanella had made a great show of fussing over her mistress and seeing to the welfare of "Her Highness," portraying a devoted but obtuse servant. Tanella prayed their role-playing was convincing. Their plan, in fact, their very lives, hinged on the deception being wholly believable.
Chapter Five
New Conspirators
10th Day of Pleig, 2448
Polly entered the kitchen, carefully carrying the evening milk to the cooling pantry. Quins wasn't in evidence, so she visited a few minutes with Cook, trying to delay her departure and hoping that Quins would arrive while she was still there. If he didn't, she'd have no reason to approach him without raising suspicions.
She'd run out of excuses to stay and was just turning back to the doorway when Quins eased his spare frame through the kitchen doors. A gnarled hand pressed to his mid-section, his face revealing the pain of his sour stomach, he glanced at her and managed a small smile.
"Ah, Polly, lass, could you pour me a cup o' fresh milk?" he beseeched her.
"Certainly, Mr. Quins." Polly hoped her small sigh of relief at the sight of Quins had been covered with the noise of the general bustle around them. She turned quickly, grabbed a cup and ladle, then opened the door of the cooling pantry and dipped out the white beverage.
Carefully bringing the full cup to him as he eased himself onto a chair at the scrubbed main table, she bent over it and whispered, "Mr. Quins, Sir, it's urgent I speak with you privately as soon as possible. Lives are at stake."
Quins looked deeply into her eyes as if searching her heart. To her great relief, he nodded imperceptibly. She flashed him a grateful look, straightened and turned back to the milk pail. She removed the dipper, washed it, and hung it back on its hook.
Setting a clean cloth over the pail, she stepped away from the bucket and closed the pantry door behind her. She turned back into the kitchen and walked slowly toward the back door, not daring to look at Quins.
"Miss Polly, have you had your dinner yet tonight?" Quins' voice halted her progress across the kitchen. She turned to look at him, feigning surprise.
"Not yet, Mr. Quins. I still need to tidy up in the barn just a bit afore I'm through with my chores for the night."
It was a well-known fact Quins hated to eat alone, and guessing from the pile of dishes being washed on the far side of the kitchens, they had both missed eating with the bulk of the servants. "If you could see your way clear to eating first, I'd appreciate the company," he growled. "The king was later than usual with all of his appointments, and I couldn't get away in time to eat with the masses."
Polly laughed briefly at his references to 'the masses' as she was meant to do. Quins always teased the household about having so many servants in this small palace taking care of the very small royal family that the servants equaled in number the rest of the entire kingdom. Several other maids and the pot boy laughed with her at the long-standing joke.
She hurried to the cupboard for plates for the both of them, and filled them from the various pots hanging at the edges of the fireplace. Placing the plates on the table, she poured a cool glass of water for herself, sliced off two chunks of bread and placed them along with the butter dish next to their plates. The other workers continued with their clearing and washing chores as Polly took her place at the table.
"What is it, Polly?" he said softly, watching her closely as they ate.
She kept her eyes on her plate as she answered him. "The princess is betrayed and has been taken. Tysse Coachman and the outriders who left with her this morning are dead." Her voice shook as she quietly mouthed the words; she stopped and swallowed. She glanced up at him. There was a flicker of pain in his eyes, but he kept his impassive butler's mask in place. Polly hurried on.
"My Crispin was gone with them this morning, is returned this evening, and said Lord Saunders was a traitor, but he doesn't know who else might be. Tysse Coachman and all them that went with her is dead, 'ceptin' my Crispin and Miss Shayla. Mr. Quins, they threatened to kill the princess!" Her voice was quiet, but definite.
"Where is Crispin now?"
"I left him out by the milk-barn. He doesn't want anyone seeing him, a'cuz he's supposed to be gone."
"That's a very wise man you've betrothed yourself to, Miss Polly," Quins said. "Find him a place to sleep in the barns tonight, and I'll see you here when you bring the morning milk. I'll know then what the King would have us do." His voice was so low, Polly hardly heard any sound. "Now, let's talk and be happy as usual, or it will be noted." With that, he raised his voice a little and told Polly jokes as they ate, creating as closely as possible a normal dinner atmosphere.
Polly could hardly swallow any food, but forced herself, knowing anything less than a usual amount of dinner consumed would be remarked upon. The food tasted like straw because she was that worried about the Princess. She was pleased Mr. Quins covered her lapses in conversation so the others wouldn't notice.
Finally finished, she gathered their dishes, secreting some bread and cheese in her apron pocket. She took the plates to the scullery maid to wash and hurried out towards the barn and her beloved Crispin.
Chapter Six
Jameisaan's Plans
11th Day of Pleig, 2448
Crispin sat in the small pile of hay he'd slept in last night. Though he'd wakened at dawn, he had kept to his hiding place in the loft of the dairy barn and waited while Polly had milked the cows and taken her buckets to the kitchen.
He heard steps on the path outside and tensed. Polly entered and loosed the cows, turning them over to the herder boy for the day. Once both boy and cows were gone, Polly lost no time in climbing the ladder to the loft.
Crispin stood and took his beloved into his arms and kissed her soundly.
"Good morning, my hero," she whispered and then kissed him once more, lingeringly and warmly, sizzling the very air surrounding them.
"Good morning, my very own Dairy Princess. Am I dreaming still, or is this real?"
"It's real, but not long, I'm sorry to say. Mister Quins says you're to be in the library in ten minutes. You're to come in through the garden doors. His Majesty will hear you then." She gave him one more quick buss.
As she moved away from him, her words percolated into his mind. His Majesty himself would hear him? He grabbed up his breeches, and beat the straw off them as he turned his back and slid them up. He tucked in his shirt and worked the fastenings of his breeches as quickly as his shaking fingers could manage them. He turned back for his tunic, and found Polly holding it out for him. Pushing his arms through the sleeves, he tugged the tunic down.
Polly smoothed the wrinkles out of the blue and gold fabric and brushed the hay off while Crispin tightened and tied the lacings. From her pocket, Polly produced a wooden comb. Gratefully, he took it and ran it through his dark blonde hair, scattering more bits of hay everywhere.
"An audience with the king! I never thought it. I thought as how Quins would tell His Majesty what I say and there'd be the end to it." He handed the comb back to Polly, fear and excitement coursing through every vein.
"Polly, what do I say to the king? I've never spoken to him afore! He always talked to Tysse Coachman, never to a lowly stable lad! Do I look all right? How do I tell him his kinsman was a stinking traitor? How did I get in this mess? Will you tell me that? How much time do I have? Am I late?" Crispin stopped for a breath, an apprehensive look still on his face.
Polly gave a short, soft laugh. "You look beautiful to me; you're not late; an you're in this a'cuz you're loyal to his majesty and our princess. Now, kiss me once more and we'll be off." She stood before him; face tilted up, lips pursed for his kiss.
He pulled her close, kissed her fiercely, and then set her a step away, looking at her solemnly. "When this war is over and our princess is safe, I'm going to marry you, my lovely Polly. You mark my words!" Before she could respond, he pulled her close for a last kiss, taking his time about it, then stepped to the ladder leading down into the main part of the barn.
Seeing her beautiful face watching him closely, he smiled as he said, "Stay here until five minutes have passed behind me. If I'm seen, I want there to be no connection atwixt us. You must keep safe, my love."
Polly, love shining from her eyes, nodded, saying in a soft voice full of awe, "Be careful, my own love. I'll be waiting for you."
With a last grin at her, Crispin left, quickly moving down the ladder and through the gardens. He saw no one, and made it to the library's garden doors ere five minutes had passed. He took a deep breath, smoothed his hair once again, unnecessarily tugged his tunic straight, then tapped on the closed door.
It opened immediately. Quins, a serious look straining his aging features, motioned him into the book-lined room.
Crispin entered and Quins closed the door and then led the way across the room. Crispin, a respectful two steps behind, swallowed nervously to moisten his suddenly dry throat.
Quins stopped before one of the large leather chairs beside the fire, gave a small bow and announced, "Sire, this is Crispin, Tysse Coachman's apprentice." His voice caught as he said Tysse's name and Crispin found a lump in his own throat as he knelt, giving liege to his Monarch.
"Rise, Crispin," came the low, pleasant sound of the king's voice. Crispin did as commanded, clasping his hands behind his back, his head still bowed in reverent respect. A long moment passed in complete silence.
"Crispin, please sit in the chair beside me," the king said as pleasantly as before. Crispin's head came up in shocked surprise; his lips parting just a bit as he fully looked his sovereign in the face.
Jameisaan chuckled, a low, cheery sound. Then he said, "Even as short as you are, I'll get a crick in my neck if we talk long as we are. Come," he said and motioned to the matching chair beside his, a smile wide on his face.
Crispin glanced quickly at Quins, who nodded, before he finally dared to perch gingerly on the edge of the seat and wait for the king to speak again.
The merriment left the king's face and he looked gravely at Crispin. "Quins has brought my ears quite a tale this morning, lad, and I would that you'd tell me in your own words all you know. There's no need to fear reprisal. You weren't responsible for anyone's choices, nor could you have anticipated the events of the day. Come, Crispin; speak openly between us."
Crispin drew breath, looked into his beloved king's serious eyes, and began his sorry tale. It took him but a scant few minutes to outline what had happened when they'd come upon the overturned coach, including his escape and return journey to the palace.
"I wasn't certain who could be trusted, Sire, other than Mr. Quins," he concluded, "so I asked my Polly if she could get his ear for me."
When the facts were given, questions asked and answered, the king motioned for Crispin to stay where he was, then rose and began to walk around the room. He stopped here and there to pick up a trinket or an ornament, gaze at the object absently, and set it back in place. Nearly three parts of an hour were spent thusly, the silence thick and deep. Neither Quins nor Crispin spoke nor stirred.
At last his majesty turned and resolutely strode back to his seat.
"Quins, bring Tinne in with writing implements. Yes," he answered their unspoken question. "I need him to bring me the supplies. I must prove his loyalty, I must now prove the loyalty of everyone around me, but I have ways to do that, and I'll take care of it. In the meantime, we must be moving forward." He looked up at Quins. "Bring him."
Quins bowed automatically and left the room. Jameisaan turned to Crispin, who was warmed by the kind look he saw in his king's blue eyes.
"I'm sorry about Tysse, lad. I know what you meant to each other. Accept my sincere condolences. Also, young Crispin, you must accept my apologies in advance, but know I don't like what comes any more than you will. The blackguards are right; we're at war. They've taken our princess as a prize, and we must win her back." The king stopped, cleared his throat, then continued, as Crispin looked at his own hands, clenched together in his lap, then looked back up into the king's face, his teeth lightly gnawing the inside of his cheek.
"Crispin, lad, I'm afraid you're going to finish growing up faster than I'd have liked, but there's no help for it." The king looked keenly at Crispin, his eyes piercing, accessing.
"Thank you for your actions and level-headed thinking; you may have saved Tanella's life up to now. Although it pierces my heart, however, we must leave the dead to lie in the roadway."
Crispin started in surprise and dismay. He opened his mouth to protest, however, the king's scowl stopped his protest before it was offered. Jameisaan continued.
"Mark my words, they'll pay before we've finished this thing, but for now, we cannot allow them to see us honor the dead. They must think you've just run and hidden yourself. If we go back, they'll either attack the burial party and more lives will be lost, or they'll guess you've made it back to tell the tale, which puts Tanella's life in even more danger than it is at present. Can you comprehend this, Crispin?" The king's eyes hadn't left Crispin's face.
Reluctantly, Crispin nodded, biting his inner cheek hard enough now to taste warm blood. He'd made the same decision himself yesterday, to leave them lie; it had been necessary then, and it was more so now.
"You've proven to be loyal, Crispin, and I'm impressed with your quick-thinking and resourcefulness. I've a commission for you. Do it well and we may be able to avert an all-out war even while we get my daughter back alive. Do it poorly and we may all lose our lives."
The steadiness of the king's gaze told Crispin more than his words did, that the next few days would be critical for himself, the king, the kingdom, and especially for his princess. Crispin swallowed hard and nodded wordlessly, his own gaze now steady on the king's face.
"Good." The king's voice became harder now, all business. "I'm going to give you two fresh horses because speed is of the essence." He grimaced and continued.
"I mean to promote you to the post of courier. You'll carry a message for me to King Fergasse of Jurat. I'll give you my signet ring, so Fergasse will know whom you represent. He must also have conspirators in his court; none could have planned the kidnapping so well or so quickly without advance knowledge."