Defenders of the Black Crown, #2, page 25
He offered his explanation as they kept up a clip through the halls. “It’s been nearly an hour, since before the sunrise. Seven men have been standing in a row beyond the gate, unmoving. The guards approached them and questioned their purpose. They will not answer or offer an explanation. We believe they want an audience, or perhaps they plan to conduct a demonstration, but their unwavering position gave us reason to be wary.”
Jonn-Del scoffed. “So, you’ve disrupted us because seven men are standing someplace? How’s that a matter worthy of yer Prince?”
Fjall glanced back in surprise but kept up his pace. “There’s an ominous tone to these men. They are not Ruvians, nor peasants, nor serfs. They are covered in pale robes and their skin is stained as purple as a plum.”
“Diacons,” Raena said.
“Are they?” Fjall asked. “The diacons of Libre have been confined to temples, I thought. I haven’t seen them ever look so...uniform.”
They were over the rampart and entered the north tower. The stairs wound like a serpent ahead of them, and Fjall bounded upward with the energy of a younger man.
Raena had to take two steps at a time to keep up, calling after him. “Their faces are painted now. I have seen them more than once. I’m not certain the reason, but they are growing in numbers and gaining followers faster than ever.”
“The rise in followers I understand,” Jonn-Del added, “the diacons offer protection from bandits to the serfs. But like anything, their loyalty comes at a price.”
Raena wasn’t sure what price he was implying, as the crown protected the serfs and the guards should have been sufficient to guarantee safety of all her subjects. Though, thinking back to Aven’s brother and the stories of the pig farms, Raena supposed her guards might not have been enough. What was more, she couldn’t fathom how a diacon would give protection from violent bandits, unless it were to hide victims within the meager temples scattered through Candeo.
“We ought to go to the third story window?” Fjall asked when they reached a landing.
Raena nodded, pointing the way.
The three of them abandoned the staircase and walked the length across the narrow tower. The windows in question were off a landing, alongside a section of library that Raena had never used. If they would have continued up the stairs they could have reconnected to the prince’s great room and another council chamber. Raena thought the library might be something for her to investigate at a later time. Her idea dissipated as she stepped up to the window, which was a broad opening at the furthermost north section of the citadel. Below them was the gate and outer curtain. Raena peered down to see a line of guards, legionmen, and archers gathered on the ramparts. It was far more men than needed, as though most of the castle’s defense had clustered in one corner to observe an event. Then she followed their attention beyond the gates, out to the sections of desert that opened and stretched as far as the eye could see.
The seven men were stiff as statues, and perfectly distributed in a row, as if they had been measured with a straight line drawn by the Almighty’s hand.
“There are seven Almighties,” Fjall whispered. He was at Raena’s left shoulder, and Jonn-Del was to her right.
Raena didn’t respond, observing the men for herself.
Their robes were indeed pale, matching the sand at their feet. The material whipped around them as the wind blew, but they remained rigid and composed. Each man had vibrant purple skin, flaring out against the beige backdrop. Their hair was covered by an attached hood, leaving only their faces and hands exposed.
It was eerie and unsettling, but no threat to her kingdom. Raena felt unnerved by her guards being so easily distracted from their posts.
“Where is the master-of-arms?” Raena asked.
Fjall and Jonn-Del were quiet for a moment.
At their lack of response, Raena spoke louder. “I want to speak with the master-of-arms, immediately.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Fjall said, bowing. “I will return here with haste.”
The moment he backed from the window, something happened in the desert. The diacon at the center of them all raised one arm, pointing upward, directly at the open tower. Raena couldn’t be certain, but she thought she heard a short yip much like a brush fox or even a child’s cry. At the sound, all seven men turned in-place, as though they were a tiny army responding to a marching command. The center diacon kept his arm raised, and Raena felt certain it was aimed in her direction.
“Wait,” Raena said over her shoulder to Fjall.
He returned to her side in a few steps and a mindful silence fell over them.
The wind whistled as it moved through the openings of the stone castle walls. There were a few clangs and knocks from the guards shuffling along the rampart below. Raena felt the festering heat of the desert air, not softened a bit by the occasional breeze.
The seven diacons held their new position, firm and expectant.
Raena mumbled to the men on either side of her. “Do you think they could hear me if I shouted from here?”
Jonn-del shrugged. “It’s worth a try.”
Raena squared her shoulders and pulled in a deep breath to prepare her loudest voice. “Men of Stratera, I am your ruler, Prince Trevin. Your assembly today outside our walls is alarming. Tell us, what is the meaning of this?”
The silence that followed was harsher, somehow; as though they defied their Prince by refusing to respond when addressed.
Raena felt her heart begin to quicken at the realization that so many of her men were now watching her, and she had no idea what to do.
Jonn-Del whispered, “Ought we order the archers to fire a few arrows of warning? They won’t stay still if their lives are threatened.”
“What good will that do?” Raena murmured back. “And our ‘archers’ are invalids and farmer boys. Look at them. They have been firing arrows for two seasons, at most. What if they strike a diacon by accident? You and I would be better candidates for firing the warning arrows, if anyone must do it.”
“We could,” Jonn-Del said, “I will go to the rampart—”
“I was joking. Do not shoot arrows at them. For Almighty’s gifts, the last thing we need to do is start slaying our religious leaders when we’ve already let the people of Candor suffer against a failed war and a relentless onslaught of Ruvian bandits.”
Fjall shook his head. “Then what do you propose, Prince Trevin?”
Raena stepped forward so she leaned over the ledge. Her top half was exposed and clear to see from the ground, she was sure. It was from this angle she was able to make out another crowd of a different kind had gathered; peasants were tucked between the tower and the north curtain, clamoring to catch sight of the diacons through slits in the wall.
“We can’t have an attraction like this,” Raena whispered, “this sort of attention is likely what the diacons are looking for. They are making a statement about something.”
“And your people see you catering to it,” Jonn-Del grumbled.
Raena ignored her urge to lean back into the shadows at his accusation. Instead, she leaned further out, and raised her voice again. “Diacons! I am your ruler, Prince Trevin. If you do not explain yourselves to me, I will have no choice but to assume you are assembling for a...conflict! We will deal with you accordingly. My archers are standing by."
The center diacon lowered his arm. Even though he was half a furlong away, his face appeared somber. Raena felt the weight of his stare.
The diacon called out, "We do not bring conflict. We bring the end."
Jonn-Del muttered something indistinct beside her, but Raena held up a hand to silence him.
"Explain what the end is," Raena said.
"Your end. It is our beginning."
Fjall moved closer, speaking quietly. "Majesty, that's a threat on your life. You must strike them down for it—"
"Enough," Raena replied, then called out the window again. “You are here to ask for something. Tell me what your demands are so that we may move forward with this. I have other matters to attend to.”
The diacon shook his head. “The end is not a demand. The end is a debt, and it is already owed.”
Raena clenched her fists. The temptation to shoot them with arrows was building within her, and she might want to draw first blood. She thought back to that diacon—perhaps the same one—who gave her the cryptic message in the low chambers a season before. She thought of how his message seemed to allude to his knowledge of one person. She turned, her heart beginning to race, and stared Fjall in the eyes.
“I want you to fetch two people for me,” Raena whispered. “The master-of-arms, as I said. I also want you to bring my East Shore advisor. Her name is Duchess Avenna. She might be in the bailey, or near the inner pig barns. You need to find her.”
Fjall nodded, his brow furrowed. “Of course, my liege.”
As Fjall made a hasty exit, Jonn-Del scoffed behind Raena. “She’s no one. She’s nothin’. This has nothin’ to do with her.”
Raena spun, her eyes ablaze. “These diacons know something. One of them spoke to me about secrets of the bloodlines. They have information that you, of all people, will never want to leave their mouths. You’ve pulled me into this, don’t deny it. If I have to carry this and cover your secrets, then I will do it my own way.”
Jonn-Del’s jaw clenched. He spoke through his teeth. “Your threat is out there, beyond the curtain. Why don’t you focus on the matters at hand?”
“The diacons have not moved. For all I know, they plan to be statues in the sand. I won’t strike down men for standing.”
Jonn-Del muttered something under his breath, and Raena didn’t bother to ask.
She cast one more studious gaze out the window, scanning the outlines of their robes for possible hidden weapons, and finding no evidence. Her archers and legion men were restlessly shifting along the parapet without orders.
Then, Raena heard a new sound.
It was light through the desert wind, barely enough to make out. It was as though a whisper came from a sword in the distance and told a story of its conflict through the breeze.
But Raena heard it again, and again, growing in number.
“Jonn-Del,” she whispered, staring out. She searched for any clue; rising patterns of dust, bumps in the ground, shadows across the sandy horizon.
“What is it, Trevin?”
“Do you hear it?”
Jonn-Del shook his head.
Raena grabbed him, cupping her hand behind his ear and motioning him closer to the window. “Jonn-Del,” she repeated, “that sound. Blade on blade. That’s an army. Do you hear it now?”
His brown eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open with surprise and fear. He jerked backward, instinctively grabbing for his side sword. “I hear it. We must assemble the guards.”
Without waiting for instruction, Jonn-Del burst out of the room. Raena sprinted after him, only a few paces behind. They ran down the stairs, clamoring to get through the tower and out to the parapets.
“Everyone is assembled near the diacons!” Raena shouted at his back. “We have to spread them across the walls!”
“I know!” Jonn-Del yelled over his shoulder.
They continued to run and reached a landing that separated the wing into two corridors. One direction would lead to the parapet, the other would wind down to the stables and livestockery.
Jonn-Del was already sprinting through the corridor to the parapet. Raena thought to tell him of her destination, but waited until he had rounded the corner instead. Without a word, she turned and gave haste toward the stables.
As she ran down another flight of stairs, she met with a cluster of three knights, carrying pieces of armor, training weapons, and dressed for banquet.
“Majesty,” they greeted, out of breath.
“Go to the west corner,” Raena directed, not breaking her stride, “we have weak sides, you must defend them.”
“Defend from...?” a knight asked.
Raena was past them and yelled over her shoulder. “Get to the west, and take any men with you that you come across!”
She reached the lower chambers and broke into the hallway outside one group of servant quarters. Raena stopped; her way blocked by dozens of peasants assembled to wait in hope for a meal. They wrapped and piled up like grains in a trough, spreading too thick to count and winding through every archway. They may have filled every chamber and corridor beyond, possibly out to the bailey. Raena calculated her next move, wondering where she could run, knowing it was likely she would only have one chance to flow through the packed crowd.
“Make way!” Raena bellowed in her best princely command voice.
The peasants nearest scattered, pushing one another aside. They muttered “it’s the prince” in hushed whispers. It had been loud with the echoes of their conversation, but now it was deafening as their panicked voices rang off the uncovered walls.
Raena pushed into the crowd, continuing to demand they make way for her. She hated the way they cowered and apologized, as though she was someone to fear.
“Majesty!” a distinctly noble voice called from behind her.
Raena felt a hand on her elbow and glanced to see Sir Taygar, a knight of renown.
“Prince, you need an escort,” Taygar said, grumbling a bit. “These peasants are hungry and volatile. They are liable to turn against you.”
Raena bit her tongue, knowing she was behaving foolishly. “We must prepare the castle. There is something afoot—”
“Yes, I have just seen Fjall. He is a panicked mess. I sent him onward to the master-of-arms.” Taygar held out his arm to hold back a few peasants, shouting for them to clear aside for the prince. He kept one hand back to guide Raena as he took the lead.
Then Raena heard the sharp blast of the battle horn. The master-of-arms must have been found, and was alerting the troops for battle.
Pandemonium broke out. The peasants around reacted to the horn with panic and screams. Raena felt them begin to push from all sides as they disregarded her presence in their fear.
“Majesty!” Taygar shouted, his hand the only part visible through the crowd, reaching backward. Raena grabbed his fingers and clung to them while a particularly strong peasant boy collided with her ribs. She managed to not let go of Taygar, and he pulled her forward.
Taygar shouted again for the crowd to clear. It was enough to break through the remaining few panicked serfs blocking the archway. Raena followed close behind and they burst out into the open bailey. There were still far more peasants out in the courtyard than ought to be, now running and scattering, trying to scramble for their belongings and get to safety.
“Sorry, Your Majesty,” Taygar said, out of breath, “the people are desperate for food. I’ve never seen them so defiant.”
“It’s alright,” Raena dismissed, searching the bailey for any sign of Aven.
“Where do you need to be, Prince Trevin? May I help you get to the legions? They will be awaiting your orders by now.”
“No, first I need to find the Duchess Avenna. Do you know her? Can you help me search for her?”
Taygar nodded. “Aye, the pig farm girl. We all know her; she’s oft around the training grounds. Is she...to help with the battle?”
Raena shot the knight a glance, trying to say her authority ought not be questioned. But she was met with an open expression of curiosity from young Taygar. “Perhaps,” Raena answered, “she may need protection. I need to find her.”
“Aye,” Taygar muttered. He joined Raena in scanning the bailey, a difficult task with the many people running about. “I can’t see much from here. I could climb the guard ladders and get a better look. Will you wait here a moment, Majesty?”
Raena glanced at his weapons. “Do you mind lending me your short sword, in case the walls are breached?”
“Of course,” Taygar said, “it would be an honor.” He smiled as he brandished the sword, presenting the blade with a bow.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure. I will return in a moment,” Taygar said, then he scurried toward the edge of the bailey.
Raena waited, searching, grasping and weighing the new sword in her hands. Something about gripping the hilt of a sword gave her a bit of peace in the midst of her fear. She would need a better weapon if the walls were breached, something that would expand her reach, like a poleax. For now, this was a hint of sanity and control among the chaos.
“Prince Trevin!”
Raena glanced about.
“Prince! Up here!”
She looked higher to see Taygar, dangling from the ladder with one arm. His other arm extended, pointing to the far eastern edge of the bailey. “There! At the carts!”
Raena snapped to follow his gesture, unable to see. Without wasting a moment, she darted into the direction he indicated. She shouted “pardon me” as she dodged a horseman, then a mother gathering up her screaming child. Raena nearly clipped an old man lugging a grain sack, only to step to the side and barely miss a pack of guards running together, shouting for everyone to move aside.
Another horn blast.
This was a blast of three distinct calls, trilling over the citadel. It was followed by the booming beat of drums.
The war drums.
The castle was indeed under attack, and the walls had been breached.
Raena broke into a dead run, sprinting through the bailey. Shouting continued all around her, and there was no point in trying to yell over it all. She was halfway across the generous grounds when she spotted the familiar figure of Aven at a distance.
The duchess seemed trapped in time, still, with her hands to her chest. She indeed stood near the carts, filled with wares and supplies to be counted for the castles’ stores. Uneasy guards were in a ring around the carts, watching the panicked citizens, prepared for the worst.
Aven was a beacon, and Raena was the ship in the storm, steady onward to her destination.
“Prince! You must get to safety!” Raena heard someone cry. It was a familiar voice, perhaps Jonn-Del?
She wasn’t turning back now. She had to reach Aven.
