The Princess in the Tower (Schooled in Magic Book 15) Page 8

  It was nearly two hours later before the convoy came to a halt beside a river. Emily noted the shallowness of the water–it was clearly a ford, even though it was half-hidden–and then returned her gaze to the trees. They were some distance away now, but she kept a hand on her dagger anyway. This time, no one was singing or running to the woods to search for mushrooms or herbs. The men carried weapons everywhere, while the women stayed close to the convoy.

  Jade strolled back to the wagon, his face grim. “They want to carry the body back to his family in Chatham,” he said. “Otherwise...they seem to have come through it all right.”

  “Good,” Emily said. She wondered if she’d come through it all right. Her hands were still threatening to shake. The bandits had wanted to kill the men, rape the women and loot the convoy of everything they could carry and she still felt guilty. “When are we moving again?”

  Jade looked at the sun. “Probably in an hour or two. We need to put some distance between ourselves and the bandits. If they were bandits.”

  “They were,” Cat said. “They weren’t prepared for trained swordsmen, Jade, let alone magicians. I think they had enough weapons to kill or intimidate the average set of merchants, but not soldiers. They probably didn’t know who we were.”

  “And they have no reason to think that we’re anyone worth betraying,” Emily added. It was unlikely the bandits would risk reporting them, even if they knew exactly who Jade and Emily really were. That would probably get them a hearty thank you, then a short trip to the gallows. Bandits were regarded as vermin. “They won’t see anything odd in me being there, will they?”

  “They might not have realized you were a girl,” Jade said. “A flashing sword does tend to concentrate the mind.”

  Emily snorted. Her clothes were loose, and her hair tied up in a headscarf, but someone would have to be blind to mistake her for a man. She just didn’t move like a man. Lady Barb and Frieda could pose as men, and do it quite effectively, but Emily couldn’t. It simply wasn’t one of her skills.

  And it would be worse if my chest was bigger, she thought, sourly. Alassa couldn’t hope to pass as a man.

  “They may just think I was a desperate woman,” she said. The bandits might not be able to tell the difference between training and desperation. They’d certainly been too ignorant to realize just how ignorant they were. “And they’re not going to confess to robbing convoys, are they?”

  “Let us hope so,” Cat agreed. He stood and jumped to the ground. “I need to find a tree.”

  Jade laughed. “You’re spoilt for choice.”

  Emily took a breath as Cat strode off. “What now?”

  “We keep going, of course,” Jade said. “And we try to make it to the next town before dark.”

  “I suppose,” Emily said. If the bandits were shadowing them, they might risk attacking a campsite. Attacking a town, on the other hand, would be far too dangerous. “Do they have an idea where to go?”

  “There’s a couple of towns,” Jade said. “We should be able to reach the first one before nightfall.”

  He looked back up the road. “Were they really bandits?”

  “I think so,” Emily said, choosing not to point out that Cat had already drawn the same conclusion. “We just had a stroke of bad luck.”

  “The convoy offers protection and anonymity, but it also offers risk,” Jade said. “We could have been forced to reveal ourselves.”

  Emily met his eyes. “But we didn’t have to reveal our magic. And if they’d had the slightest idea of who we are, they would have brought trained soldiers and magicians to the party, not a handful of bandits who barely knew which end of a sword to use.”

  She winced at the thought. It was unlikely, vanishingly unlikely, that anyone would connect the mercenaries they claimed to be with Baroness Emily and Prince Consort Jade. She was hardly the only girl calling herself Emily now, although most of them were babies; Jade was a fairly common name, even in Zangaria. And there was no reason to think that anyone was watching for a man called Cat. But the slightest slip could reveal their presence and then...

  Randor will send sorcerers after us, she thought. The king wasn’t a strong magician, but he had plenty to offer any sorcerer willing to enter his employment. Jade had been the Court Wizard, but he’d hardly been the only magic-user in Zangaria. And even if we won, we’d confirm our presence to everyone’s satisfaction.

  “I hope you’re right,” Jade said. “I’ll see you at the inn.”

  He strolled off, one hand resting on his sword. Emily watched him go, feeling uneasy. Jade didn’t normally second-guess himself so badly, but now...now his wife and unborn child were in jail, while one of his friends was under sentence of death. Imaiqah might be dead by now–a treacherous little voice at the back of Emily’s mind reminded her that Randor had no reason to keep Imaiqah alive–and Emily wouldn’t know about it until it was far too late. Or at all. Randor could have had Imaiqah executed, cremated the body, scattered the ashes in the river and then had everyone involved silenced. Jade had plenty of reason to be worried...

  ...And he might do something stupid.

  She rubbed her forehead as Cat came back, buckling his fly. He looked calmer, at least, although there was a nasty cut on his face and blood on his leathers. But then, he had more reason to be calm. He’d come on the trip out of personal loyalty to Jade, not out of any desire to rescue the princess or overthrow the king. He wouldn’t do anything stupid just because he wanted to get his wife out of prison before it was too late.

  And I can’t even argue with Jade’s motives, she told herself, wryly. I just need to watch him.

  Cat scrambled up to join her, taking the reins as the trumpet blared again. “Are you feeling better?”

  Emily shrugged. “The sooner this part of the trip is over, the better,” she said. She understood Jade’s frustration. They were inching closer to Alexis when they could have proceeded in leaps and bounds. “Of course, the next part will be even more hazardous.”

  “Very true,” Cat agreed. He cracked the whip. The horses started to move, splashing through the water as they crossed the ford. “I’m quite looking forward to it.”

  He grinned. “If you want something mindless to do, go clean the weapons before Sergeant Miles catches us,” he added. “Or we’ll be in real trouble.”

  Emily had to smile. Sergeant Miles had lectured them, time and time again, on the importance of keeping their personal weapons clean at all times. The punishments for anyone who allowed their weapons to get dirty, when they had ample opportunities for cleaning them, were severe, but better than being killed because their weapons weren’t fit for purpose. Sergeant Miles was back at Whitehall, she assumed, yet the lesson had stuck. It was a poor soldier–or magician–who let his tools get out of shape.

  “Good idea.” She stood, carefully. “Should we have kept the weapons from the bandits?”

  “I doubt it,” Cat said. “They weren’t that good. And if we’d been caught with them...”

  Emily nodded in understanding. Their swords were clearly theirs, part of a mercenary’s toolkit, but carrying so many battered weapons around would probably have raised a few eyebrows. The difference between mercenary and bandit was smaller than anyone cared to admit, particularly the mercenaries. It would be the height of irony if they’d killed the bandits, then found themselves threatened with hanging for being bandits themselves.

  But we did leave them behind for someone else to find, she reminded herself. She had no idea if the bandits would bother to recover their dead, but if they did they’d be able to recover the weapons as well. And whoever does find the bodies may not have pure motives either.

  She shrugged as she knelt down in the back on the wagon and started to dig through the bags for the cleaning supplies. That was someone else’s problem. Right now, their concern was getting to Chatham before it was too late.

  And then we can start thinking about how to get into the capital city without getting caught,
she thought, grimly. That isn’t going to be remotely easy.

  Interlude One: Lillian Harkness

  BARONESS LILLIAN HARKNESS KNEW, WITHOUT FALSE modesty, that she was perhaps the single most powerful woman in Zangaria. Her older brother would have inherited–and she would have been married off to someone who would have benefited the family–if the idiot hadn’t managed to get himself killed falling from a horse. Lillian had inherited the title after her father died and enjoyed an unprecedented amount of freedom, right up until the moment the king had discovered her involvement in the attempted coup. He hadn’t killed her–she was a woman, after all–but he’d transferred her power to her milksop of a husband.

  But he didn’t realize just how much of a milksop Hedrick actually is, she thought, as she stepped into the hunting lodge. And just how many people had come to depend on me.

  It galled her to know that her gender always put her at a disadvantage, when it came to dealing with powerful men. She would almost have preferred to be executed, rather than be reduced to a powerless wife. The king could easily have had her marriage dissolved and then married her off to one of his supporters, if he’d taken her at all seriously. But then, he’d probably been fooled by her husband’s protestations of loyalty. Hedrick didn’t have an imaginative bone in his body. He wouldn’t be able to consider defying the king, let alone go through with it. If she hadn’t known he was the only man who’d ever lain with Simon’s mother, she would have wondered who had truly fathered the bastard. Simon was everything his father wasn’t and more besides.

  A man just like my father, she thought. It wouldn’t be long before Simon started wanting a bigger role in running the barony himself, although she was fairly sure he would remain loyal to her. Adopting her husband’s bastard had been a risk, but one she’d had to take. And someone more than capable of taking my place when I die.

  “My Lady,” Baron Gaillard said. “Are you sure we are safe here?”

  Lillian resisted the urge to say something cutting about his manhood. He was, after all, risking his life, while the worst she had to fear was being dispatched to a temple and told to spend the rest of her days praying to a god. But then, Gaillard had never been a particularly brave man. He knew how close he’d come to disaster, when the last coup attempt failed spectacularly. He’d be trustworthy until the king held a sword to his throat, whereupon he’d switch sides with terrifying speed. Lillian honestly didn’t know why Gaillard hadn’t been murdered by his younger brother. He was simply incapable of looking after his family’s interests.

  “If we are not safe here, we are all doomed,” she said, dryly. It had taken weeks of preparation before she’d felt comfortable calling the meeting. Ideally, she would have preferred to avoid something as incriminating as a face-to-face discussion, but she wanted to look into their eyes and gauge their level of commitment for herself. “I believe the king has no idea where we are.”

  “I have gone to some trouble to create the impression that I am inspecting the outer reaches of my estate,” Baron Silversmith grated. “Might I suggest we hurry? Time is not on our side.”

  Lillian nodded. “The latest intelligence from Alexis is not good. The Crown Princess is behind bars, while the king has been moving more and more troops into the city. I think it is just a matter of time before he demands that we disarm–or else.”

  The others muttered to themselves, which Lillian completely understood. Once–only ten short years ago–the barons had been strong enough to dictate to the king, if they hung together. Now, the combination of the New Learning and the fallout from the failed coup had been devastating. Lillian commanded thousands of men, but she was grimly aware that most of them were neither trained nor equipped for the new way of war. Simon had made it clear to her, more than once, that most of their armsmen were unable to stand up to the king’s army. And Lillian was sure Randor knew it, too. It wouldn’t be long before he decided to crush the remainder of the overmighty aristocracy, once and for all.

  “We know what is at stake,” Baron Gaunt said. Beside him, Baron Thornwood grunted agreement. “But can we win?”

  Lillian met his eyes. “Do we dare not fight?”

  She looked around the table. “Our world is changing. The king is tightening his grip on our lands, while the peasants are showing signs of ideas above their station. Their insolence grows ever stronger, while our ability to respond to it weakens. It will not be long before we are reduced to nothing more than powerless names, while the king takes our lands and shares them out amongst his supporters. And it is all because he clutched that viper to his bosom!”

  “The king can be induced to be reasonable,” Gaillard said.

  “The king has no reason to like or trust us,” Lillian countered. She didn’t blame Randor for wanting the barons brought to heel. She didn’t like them herself. “How many of us lost family to the purge after the coup?”

  “Too many,” Thornwood growled. “But if we fail this time, we will lose everything.”

  “And if we do nothing, we will also lose everything,” Lillian said. “We are being slowly suffocated, My Lords. We are being choked to death. We fight now–we must fight, with all the force we can muster–or we lose.”

  “And who takes the throne?” Gaillard asked. “The Crown Princess?”

  “No,” Gaunt said, flatly. “A sorceress on the throne?”

  Only because she turned you down flat when you asked to marry her, Lillian thought, with a flicker of amusement she was careful to conceal. Princess Alassa could hardly be faulted for refusing to marry a man old enough to be her father, a man who was powerful and stubborn enough to attempt to dominate her. And none of us would have tolerated the match anyway.

  “The Crown Princess is too stubborn to be a good monarch,” she said, instead. “She would attempt to wield real power. Given time, she might restart the civil wars. And, let us not forget, she has powerful friends.”

  “Her son, perhaps?” Gaillard asked. “She’s supposed to be pregnant.”

  “If the rumors are to be believed,” Lillian said. She knew better than to take them for granted. Besides, even if Princess Alassa was pregnant, there was no guarantee that the child would be a boy. “We cannot rely on her giving us a child. And besides, a child on the throne...”

  She allowed them to consider the prospect for a long moment. In the short term, it might be useful; in the long term, it would be disastrous. No one would take a child-king seriously, not unless he had a truly powerful regent...and appointing a regent would open up a whole new can of worms. It would be impossible to trust him for very long. Lillian had no illusions about her peers. They were ambitious as hell. They’d take the regency and twist it into something no one had ever intended.

  “I have a better idea,” she said. “There is one other potential heir left...”

  Chapter Eight

  CHATHAM WAS LARGER THAN EMILY HAD expected.

  The town stood on the river, a cluster of houses, warehouses and a handful of factories that looked strikingly new. It was clear that it had expanded rapidly in the last few years, after the New Learning had been introduced; even now, with the threat of civil war looming over the country, Chatham looked remarkably prosperous. The streets were clean, the population looked well-fed, industrious and happy. She hadn’t seen anything like it outside Cockatrice itself.

  And yet, there was a nasty edge in the air. It wasn’t something she could put her finger on, but it was there. Broadsheet criers walked the streets, inviting people to buy their wares; men and single women carried weapons, their eyes flickering from side to side as they hurried about their business. She couldn’t see any reason for them to be fearful, but fear hung in the air like a cloud. It was all the worse, she thought, for not having an obvious cause.

  “Nice town,” Cat commented, as they passed through the gates. “I could take it with a hundred men.”

  Emily nodded, shortly. Chatham’s walls were largely pro forma. They’d keep out bandits, she thought, b
ut little else. The town was effectively undefendable, even against a pre-gunpowder army. Randor would have no difficulty force-marching his army up the river and taking the town in an afternoon, if he wished. It wouldn’t even leave his city defenseless long enough for anyone to take advantage of the opening.

  Jade hopped down and hurried over to speak to Coffman. Emily wondered, absently, just what they’d say to one another. Coffman had been urging Jade and Cat to stay with the convoy, even dropping unsubtle hints about how Jade’s wife could join them too. She wasn’t really surprised, despite the merchant disdain for sellswords. Jade and Cat had actually behaved themselves on the trip.

  “We could take a boat down the river to Alexis,” Cat offered. “Or simply hitch a ride to the city.”

  “We’ll see,” Emily said. She’d never realized how much logistics went into traveling even a relatively short distance. Teleporting made it so much easier. Or cars...she thought, wistfully, of cars and buses and trains. It would be a long time before the railway line was extended to Chatham. “We’ll have to pick up the local chatter first.”

  Jade came back, looking amused. “We have guaranteed employment if we want to rejoin the convoy in a week. They’re heading to Cockatrice.”

  “It might be a good way to escape, if we can pull off a prison break by then,” Cat pointed out, seriously. “No one would expect us to take the risk.”

  “Because we don’t have to take the risk,” Emily countered. “Once we grab Alassa, we can teleport to Cockatrice or Swanhaven.”

  Jade cleared his throat. “In any case, we are now dismissed from the convoy,” he added, wryly. He scrambled up into the front seat and cracked the whip. “We need to go find an inn.”

  Emily waved to Linder as the wagon lurched into motion, heading down the main road. The streets were crowded, although nowhere near as bad as Alexis or Beneficence; they had no difficulty navigating the roads. She kept her eyes open, noting the presence of armed guardsmen at crossroads, watching for trouble. There didn’t seem to be many mercenaries in the city, as far as she could tell, but that didn’t stop worried glances being aimed in their direction. A couple of mercenaries were two too many, as far as the town was concerned.