The Tower Princess, page 24
part #1 of Lost Fairy Tales Series
She met Old Anne running up the stairs. “Princess, it’s worse than we thought.”
At the same time, they said their news:
“Your father is dying,” said Old Anne.
“Herrick is tearing down the wall,” said Gressa.
They stared at each other. “My father is dying?” asked Gressa.
Old Anne cupped Gressa’s face in her hands. “’Tis the pestilence. The doctor says there is nothing he can do.”
Gressa shook her head. “It isn’t the pestilence. It only looks like it. Herrick purchased a poison from the trickster, I’m sure of it now. I gave the antidote to Manny for his mother, but it was too late. I still have it.” Her shoulders slumped. “It’s in the meadow. I have to find a way past Herrick. Please don’t stand in my way. I fear King Simon is already dead and therefore the peace treaty is over. Herrick can do as he pleases unless the people stop him.”
“I’ll come with you.”
As soon as Gressa and Old Anne reached the courtyard, the men had already broken through. Herrick pushed aside all his brothers and fighting men and he alone was tearing through the wall. The noise had brought out a number of townspeople, both those concerned for their ailing king, and those curious about what the Panther was doing to the wall this time.
Finally, with sweat pouring off his face, he stepped back. The hole was large enough for a man to crawl through. He turned to retrieve his torch from his closest knight.
Gressa held her breath. Would the meadow be there, or would it be lost to her forever?
As he turned, his eyes locked on her.
“Care to join me, dear sister?” He waved her over. “Don’t be shy. You can give me the grand tour. Show me what treasures lie within.”
She took one step forward and her knees locked.
Herrick grabbed her and pushed her toward the hole. “You first.”
Gressa climbed through, determined to run for her shelter—if it was there—and retrieve the antidote before Herrick could stop her. She fit easily through the hole. Herrick, with the torch and his larger bulk, struggled and took longer.
As soon as Gressa climbed through the hole she knew her meadow had not disappeared. The brook babbled merrily, as if unaware of the intrusion, and the breeze blew through the tree spreading its fresh fragrance. Using what little light the crescent moon cast, she stumbled forward. Herrick called out for her as she reached her shelter. He had made it through the hole.
Now, where was the vial? She felt around in the dark. She had to have it in the folds of her skirt by the time he got there. She searched through her pillows, her books, her drawing implements, dumping open all her boxes. Herrick was now at the door. His torch made his shadow as large as a monster as he loomed over her fragile lean-to.
“You cannot hide from me anymore, sister.”
In a flash, the shelter was torn from the ground, leaving Gressa and her private world exposed to the torch light. She shrank back.
Herrick laughed. “Someone needs to teach you how to build a better shelter. Now, up with you. Show me what is so special about this place.” He waved the torch in an arc around him. As he did so, the light glimmered against the vial near her pillows. Gressa scooped it up as she rose, tucking it into the folds of her skirt.
“This was the special part of the meadow. My own place, which you just tore apart.”
Herrick, still in a jovial mood, only smiled. “You know of what I speak. The magic. Where is it? How does it work?”
“I don’t know. I only came here to be alone.” How was she going to get away from Herrick? She needed to get the medicine to father. And King Simon.
Herrick scoffed. “Don’t you have enough alone time in your tower?”
“That’s different. Here I was free.” Herrick had stopped listening. He was too busy searching the meadow.
While he was preoccupied, she scuttled back through the wall and, ignoring all the inquisitive looks, raced to save her father.
CHAPTER 54
M anny was blocked from entering the Dividing Wall. He searched desperately to find the opening, but the stone was unyielding. Along with Sir Fletcher and several other knights, he tried to tear down the new wall King Simon had constructed, but could not remove a single stone. The magic that held fast the original Dividing Wall now held this new wall.
At the hole near the tournament, they found a new wall being hastily constructed by the North Morlaixers, knights guarding the hole with both armed men and hot oil to pour down on any who came too close. It seems friendly relations with the North were over.
“What next, sire?” asked Sir Fletcher. He had left King Simon to the ministrations of the doctor, who had returned in a hurry, minutes after the king’s death. The doctor was to tell no one about the king’s death until morning. Sir Fletcher would make the announcement, unfurling the death banner and announcing Manny’s upcoming coronation at the same time. They couldn’t find Nigel.
Manny leaned back, staring into the night sky. He was now the king, but no one save Sir Fletcher and Nigel knew. Manny’s thoughts reeled. He needed to talk to his tailor father—not that he doubted King Simon’s words—but to get answers. And, being the king of South Morlaix, he had to prepare for the Panther’s attack, for that would be next. And Gressa. Sweet Gressa. He had to rescue her. It was likely King Jorvik was also dead by now.
Sir Fletcher shifted his weight. “Take all the time you need.”
Manny looked over at him. “Did you know who I was?”
“I suspected you were someone important to the king. After all, he put you in training with me over his son—that is, Nigel. That caught my attention and my suspicion. My interest was piqued further when we were attacked in the woods.”
“Do you think the Panther knows who I really am?” The thought chilled him.
Sir Fletcher shrugged. “It’s possible, but I doubt it. All I can say for certain is that he knew you had been singled out and that was enough to do you harm early on, before you received your full training.” He smiled, a rare sight. “You concerned him, and I’d not seen that before.”
Manny turned his back on the wall. “How would you advise?”
“Attack him first. It’s our only hope. We have not the force that he does, nor have we access to the power he has just secured for himself with moving the wall.” Sir Fletcher continued to stare at Manny. “Do you know what new power he will have?”
“No. There was nothing beyond the wall but a tree and a brook. It was…peaceful.”
After Manny sent Sir Fletcher on his way, he ran to the nursery tower. Taking a moment, he paused at the entrance to Nigel’s chambers. To think that he slept here as a baby. That he should have spent all his days here. Manny patted the door frame and moved on. There would be time for mourning his lost years later. Now was the time for action.
He held his torch high in the nursery prepared for a sister that never came. If this was where Gressa entered the castle, surely this would be the way back to her side. There was so much he needed to tell her.
Manny paced the back wall, looking for the opening. This wall was even more solid than the one outside. He searched frantically to no avail. He made himself slow down. Look, but not look. Try to catch a shadow to lead him through. It was no use. There was no way through. Something had changed.
He would have to join the men crossing the divide by boat and risk attack out on the sea where the people of North Morlaix felt most at home. He felt sure all they needed to do was to capture the Panther to charge him with King Simon’s murder. Then they would see how many true followers the Panther had.
As Manny left the room, his torchlight danced around the room and a shadow caught his eye. Without a second thought, he lunged toward the spot on the wall and stepped through to North Morlaix.
Immediately, he doused his torch and plunged the stairwell into darkness. He froze, listening. Based on the silence, he figured he was in a little-used corner of the castle. Thinking of the mirror image of South Morlaix, Manny hoped he had landed in Gressa’s tower. Eagerly, he climbed the stairs, feeling his way along the cold stone walls. At the first door, he pressed his ear to the wood. Silence. He opened the door and paused. He heard no sounds of sleeping. Soft moonlight entered through the window and he could make out a small bed with its trundle pulled out for the night. Near the window stood two embroidery hoops.
He closed the door and went on. With each step, his muscles tensed further. He reviewed his weapons supply: a knife in each boot, dagger at his side. His light chain mail protection was quieter than the heavy metal Sir Fletcher wanted him to wear. Manny’s plan was not to engage, but to sneak in, deliver a message, then lay low until the morning attack.
Where was everyone? Manny had been inside the castle of North Morlaix for a good twenty minutes and had yet to meet a soul. He had found several bedrooms, but they were all empty. He was beginning to expect the next door he opened to be a brightly lit room where he would be surrounded and taken prisoner. At least they wouldn’t know who he really was. No one on this side of the wall could know he was the king.
Finally, he made his way to where he thought the king’s chambers would be. A dangerous move, but he had to find out what was going on in this abandoned castle. No guards were stationed, and the door was open, letting out soft light. Manny eased forward and looked around the edge of the door.
King Jorvik lay on his bed, eyes closed, but visibly breathing. He was yet alive! At his side stood his wife, and Gressa crouched forward on a chair, her head on the bed. Behind her, a friar stood, head bowed. And Old Anne sat plaintively in a chair by the fire. Manny didn’t mean to, but when he saw the king still alive, he gasped.
The friar lifted his head.
Before Manny could react, the friar had pinned him against the wall. Manny made a mental note to never turn his back on a friar.
“Who are you?”
“Why, that’s Manny. From South Morlaix.” Gressa tugged on the friar’s arm. “Release him, Siguard, he’ll do us no harm.”
For several seconds Manny stared into Gressa’s welcoming eyes. She looked well. No sign of the pestilence on her.
“What are you doing here? How is your king?”
“Dead.” Manny’s voice caught. He wanted to tell her he was the king’s son, but not in front of her family.
Gressa’s eyelashes fluttered. “I’m sorry. I had no way to get you the balsam. Herrick has changed the wall.”
Manny nodded. “I crossed over…” He glanced at the friar and caught himself. “The way you did. The other way is gone.”
“You must go back. He can’t find you here. He’s called off the tournament and has resealed the wall.” She looked up at Manny with frightened eyes. “He has been to the meadow. He plans to discover the magic and use it against South Morlaix.” She looked at her father and continued. “He tried to kill father, but failed. He will try again. We don’t know what to do. We have to hide him.” Her face grew hopeful. “Would King Nigel permit us refuge in South Morlaix?”
What Gressa was asking was not part of Manny’s plan. He studied the three faces looking at him and the pale face of the sleeping king. Manny did have the authority now to make such a decision.
“Yes. Your castle is deserted, so no one should see us if we move quickly. But can we get to a boat without being seen?”
The queen frowned as she rolled up the blankets under the king to create a stretcher. “We have no choice. All the knights are loyal to Herrick. The castle is deserted because everyone is examining the Dividing Wall.”
Manny and Siguard grasped the rolled blanket near King Jorvik’s head while Ingrid, Gressa, and Old Anne readied themselves to carry the blanket at his feet.
“Everyone, pull the blanket taut,” Siguard said. “Now, lift.”
King Jorvik was not a light man. Manny’s trained muscles strained under the weight and the women struggled at their burden. They shuffled out the room and into the hall. Inch by inch they moved the king. As they stepped into the great hall, the doors banged open, and Herrick stood there with his arms outstretched as if claiming the space as his own. There was no place to hide.
Herrick’s black gaze took in the king, still breathing, and his family members obviously trying to move him to hiding. He shook his head. “Not dead yet? Father, what does it take? Do you care so little about me and this kingdom that you cling to life needlessly?”
No one spoke.
The knights, coming in now behind Herrick, saw the king alive and many began to shift their feet uncomfortably.
“No wonder the magic is not coming to me. You are still alive.” Herrick’s hands clenched. He looked around the room as if deciding what to do next. He waved his hands. “Seize them all and put them in the dungeon until I decide what to do with them.”
Several of his knights burst forth and grabbed the women. Manny and Siguard quickly but gently set the king down on the ground. Manny pulled his dagger, ready to fight, while Siguard took up a defensive position beside him. Having felt Siguard’s strength, Manny was grateful for the support.
“Brothers,” Siguard called out. “Our father is yet alive. Do not serve the Panther in this way. He is not our king but a traitor.”
“Axell?” questioned Gressa, looking at the knight who pinned her arms behind her back. “Why are you doing this?”
“Hush, sister.” He backed away with her, returning to the king’s quarters. “You need not be a witness.”
The knight holding the queen tried to drag her away, too, but she refused. “I am still your queen. I must stay with Jorvik.” She fought him until he let her return to the king’s side.
Manny concentrated on the fight in front of him. First, he had to save the king. Then, he would rescue Gressa.
Everyone drew their weapons and someone shoved a blade into Manny’s hands. Some of the knights broke rank with the Panther and joined the protection around the king. Manny and Siguard fought hard to stay between the king and the Panther.
Together, they parried blow after blow from the Panther until Manny thought his arms would fall off from the strain. If he’d been fighting on his own, the Panther would have won by now.
Manny let his guard down for a second and the Panther’s blade pierced his chain mail, cutting through to his flesh. Reflexively, Manny sucked in a breath and took a step back.
Then the knight Gressa had called Axell lunged into the fray, blocking another attack aimed at Manny.
“Thank you,” said Manny, surprised.
He was wondering what happened to Gressa when she slipped in through another door and quietly made her way to her father. He wished she’d stayed where Axell had sent her, but seeing what she was doing, he understood. She was trying to keep her father alive.
The tide was turning against Herrick, and he was fuming. “It’s only a matter of time. I will remember who was loyal to me!” He then noticed Gressa giving the king more medicine. He spun away from the fighting, lowering his weapon. He strode over to her and snatched the bottle. “What is this?”
“A balsam,” she whispered.
Herrick stared at the bottle. It was the same amber glass vial with the emblem of a leaf on it that Gressa had given him to help his mother. That seemed like such a long time ago. So much had changed.
Again, Herrick looked around the room, as if he were figuring out a puzzle. The light from a torch glinted off Old Anne’s necklace from where she stood bravely by the queen. He turned and gazed at the hilt of a knight’s sword. The symbol swinging from the friar’s belt. He looked at his feet, where there was a tile mosaic of a tree.
Manny cocked his head. The leaf symbol was even in North Morlaix.
Silently, Herrick turned and went out into the courtyard. Everyone followed to see what he was doing. He stopped at the door frame of the blacksmith’s shop and brushed his fingers over a carving of a leaf in the wood.
“That cursed tree! It binds the kingdoms together and blocks me from what I want.”
CHAPTER 55
Herrick smashed his way into the blacksmith shop, grabbed an ax, and led a curious crowd toward the Dividing Wall.
Gressa’s heart sunk. There was only one thing to do with an ax in the meadow. She raced after him, with Manny beside her. They maneuvered their way to the front of the crowd, but by the time they crawled through the tunnel, Herrick was lunging toward the tree with the ax high above his head.
The tree, which held such warm memories for Gressa, stood tall in its beauty. With the light of the torches illuminating its branches, it seemed to grow and fill the space in the meadow. Tiny pinpricks of light played in and out of the branches, like fireflies dancing. It was the prettiest sight Gressa had ever seen.
The first swing cut cleanly through one of the lower branches with a loud crack. The branch she had learned to climb on fell to the ground, and the tree groaned. Gressa echoed the groan deep in her throat. No.
Herrick chopped and chopped at the trunk, striking wound after wound into the tree and leaving deep white scars with each strike.
“No!” Gressa tried to run forward to stop him, but Manny held her back.
“You can’t. Not now.”
The tree was leaning, slowly falling, beyond saving. The tiny lights began to swarm around Herrick as if attacking him, yet Herrick continued to hack at the tree, his fierceness bringing it to the ground where he continued to slash even though his wild swings often missed and dug into the ground instead with deep thuds.
He tossed the dull ax aside and grabbed the closest torch and lit the tree on fire. A burst of heat flooded the area, and firelight danced on everyone’s shocked faces.
Old Anne caught up with them and put her arm around Gressa. “A rowan tree,” she whispered. “It was a rowan tree.” She spoke louder. “A rowan tree!” She ran to the brook and began scooping up water and splashing it on the flames. “A rowan tree!”
