CHAPTER 11

The next morning they rose before dawn. Yannick settled the bill and got directions to a stable nearby. The morning was overcast, with a fine drizzle raining down across the gorse bushes.

The stable master was overjoyed when Yannick offered to buy four horses. Dawn was breaking by the time they left the stables. It was the better part of a two day ride to the Cambercian border at Maesbury, and Yannick was keen to be past the border before someone realised the Tower was empty. He dreaded to think what the Sandingham Guard would do to them if they caught them.

The Sandingham Guard were likely no worse than the Antonic Constables patrolling Camberton - but then again, that was hardly a compliment. He counted himself lucky that he’d never fallen under their gaze. As a successful guild member with a high-profile husband, he’d always existed just out of their reach.

He doubted the Sandingham Guard nursed anything other than a bitter grudge against Cambercians, particularly those who snuck into their lands to free their prisoners. How long would it be until the Prince was reported missing? There hadn’t been anyone watching the Tower, though. The Towers were heavy with the strange magic of the Olds, magic that they only half-understood in the colleges of Camberton and Sandingham City. It was possible that Sandingham had discovered a mechanism for alerting them to escaped prisoners.

Yannick pushed the thoughts down. Paranoia would do them no good now. He needed to keep his focus in the here and now, lest something catch them unawares. The Guard was not the only thing to be on the watchout for.

He rode in the middle, behind Prince Rallo. The Prince was a fine rider, it turned out. Yannick could picture the man, a picture of the hale country lifestyle, sweeping across the large moors of his estate, hunting a buck. Yannick was, despite his dislike of the man, grateful - the Prince had been able to take Jeran on the back of his horse.

The poor priest, now relieved of his dominant hand, had no business holding the reins of a horse now. He looked deeply uncomfortable in sharing a saddle with the Prince. Yannick wondered how much more uncomfortable he’d feel if he knew about the Prince’s true nature.

The further they got from the Tower, the more the Prince seemed to open up. He was an amusing, if rather boisterous man. He had made Audie break into huge, whooping laughter a few times, telling a few ribald stories as they rode across the wet downland. It was a welcome sound - she’d been unusually quiet, consumed by her experience with the Sphinx since they left the Tower.

The Dusken Knight’s face was a mask of impassive stoicism, save for the occasional glare she passed around like sand scattered to the wind. Whether she had remembered her oaths in the presence of Kestria’s crown prince or was just jealous of Audie’s attentions, Yannick couldn’t tell.

That night, they stopped in a ruined chapel. The sky had cleared just an hour or two before sunset, leaving a blanket of stars twinkling overhead. They lit a small fire just inside the overgrown churchyard. Inside its broken walls a few crypts, smashed open and robbed, were growing moss. The silhouettes of cracked tombstones stood sentry around them, like so many broken teeth. Tendrils of ivy dripped from every tree and climbed over every stone wall.

“It is old, this place,” said Jeran. “It dates from well before the Schism.” He pointed to a small symbol on a gravestone, visible in the flickering light of the fire. Yannick could see the arced cross of Cambercia carved into it.

“That’s our cross,” said Audie.

Jeran shook his head. “Once, they shared our religion. Nowadays the Church of Sandingham prefers the straight cross.” Using a stick, he drew a similar design, but one with straight lines instead.

“Is that why this place is abandoned?” asked Audie.

“It’s too close to the border,” said the Prince. Yannick couldn’t see him - he stood just beyond the edge of the fire’s light. “During the split, this place would have been on the frontline. Cambercia took much of the area and butchered anyone who refused to take the sacraments, and even some who did. After the war, Sandingham evacuated anyone who remained.”

“We didn’t butcher anyone,” said Audie.

Prince Rallo laughed.

“What makes you so knowledgeable about the Great War?” asked Yannick.

“Being a prince isn’t just banquets and riding, you know. I studied military history in Camberton. Besides, all of these are war graves.”

Yannick peered at the tombstone in front of him. In the flickering light he could see another symbol below the arced crosses: a spear and sword, crossed.

“You studied in Camberton, your highness?” said Jeran.

“Indeed. I did a term in Duskharbour, too.”

“Duskharbour? Isn’t that the navy?” said Audie.

“It’s late,” said the Prince. “You go to sleep. I’ll keep the first watch.”

Yannick was too tired to argue with the Prince. He had never been a keen rider and at his age he found it tired him greatly. Besides, the Prince seemed indomitable: every day that passed he looked stronger and more vital, ever less the wasted figure they had rescued. They slept between what had once been the pews of the church, before time and the elements had worn them away. The crumbling walls of stone provided a crude shelter on two sides - better than nothing in the bitter Spring night.

“Rise!” hissed a voice. “The Guard are coming!”

Yannick awoke with a start, blinking into the total darkness of the night - no, in the distance, there was a light coming over the hill accompanied by the thunderous sound of hooves on grass.

“Halt for the Guard!” cried a booming voice.

“Say nothing,” whispered Yannick, standing up as he did so. He waved to the guardsman, clearly visible in the glow of his swinging lantern. “Well met!” he called.

The guardsman slowed his horse to a stop and shone the lantern at them. Yannick squinted and brought his wrist up to cover his eyes against its blinding glare.

“What is your business here?”

“Just a place to sleep, sir,” Yannick said.

The man said nothing.

“Are you vagrants?”

“Merchants, sir. Just on our way back to Maesbury.”

“Maesbury? You’re Cambecian?” His tone, if possible, had become icier.

“Aye, sir.”

“Did you not think of an inn?”

“Well, sir, the truth of the matter is that we took an inn last night, on account of celebrating the signing of a fine contract down in Suthsea. And now, well…” Yannick lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “We’re rather low on funds, to tell you the truth.”

The man harrumphed and climbed down from his steed.

“Fine horses you have here,” he grunted. “Heard rumours about a set of outlanders buying horses. Not cheap ones neither.”

“Our masters are expecting us back at dusk tomorrow, in order to get the paperwork started before the Holy Day. The horses were budgeted for, yesterday eve… was not.”

The man held his lantern out and raked them with his eyes. He was a thin, wiry sort dressed in a neat grey tunic. He turned the gaze of his lantern to the horses. They huffed at the light.

“One for each of you, is it?” he asked.

Yannick was about to correct the man before he caught himself. Four of them stood here in the light and four horses stood tied to an old fence post. Where was the Prince? He’d been on watch, and he’d woken them - he couldn’t be far away. He felt his skin prickle. Should the guard explore a little, even in the dark, he’d be sure to find him…

“One for each of you, I said?” repeated the guardsman.

“Oh, yes. It’s a big contract.”

The guardsman nodded. He turned his gaze back to Yannick.

“Does the cripple ride by himself?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your man over there,” said the guardsman, shining the light at Jeran. “He’s only got one hand, hasn’t he? The stablemaster told me the priest was one handed and riding with somebody else. Where is he?”

Indeed, where was the Prince?

“I… Sir, I assure you, we’ve only ever been the four of us,” said Yannick. He was panicking now, his mouth dry.

The Guardsman rested a hand on the sword hanging from his belt. “I think you’d best tell me where he is.”

Suddenly, the guardsman let out a scream that was quickly muffled. The lamp dropped, clanking off the flagstones. His body came next, slumping heavily to the ground.

Prince Rallo appeared from behind the dead guardsman, his chest heaving and eyes wide.

“We should move,” he said. “Quickly.”

Yannick peered at the guardsman. He was dead, his neck twisted at an awful angle. Had the Prince done that with his bare hands? An incredible feat of strength if so, one impossible for most humans. And so quietly he had crept upon the man...

“You killed him!” cried the priest.

“He was onto us. They must know I’ve escaped. I’m not going back to that fucking place.”

“But he was just doing his job,” said Jeran. “And now…”

“The Prince is right,” Yannick said. “We should ride with haste whilst we still have the cover of darkness. If they are pursuing us, they will be back soon.”

“We should hide the body,” Audie said. “Might throw ‘em off for a bit.”

Yannick nodded to Virgil. “In the crypt.”

The Dusken Knight stepped forward. She was wearing her armour again. The faceplate covered the lower half of her face again, hiding any distaste she may have had at desecrating a crypt. She lifted the grown man as if he weighed nothing more than a limp rag doll, his head lolling at a grotesque angle.

She placed him in one of the open crypts, atop the missing bones of its inhabitant. She then took one of the great chipped slabs and placed it atop the crypt.

“The horse will attract attention,” said the Prince. He turned to Audie. “Give me your knife.” Prince Rallo took hold of the horse’s reins, patting its head and speaking softly into its ear. The horse whinnied and kicked, and then was still, the only noise the sound of its blood pattering onto the flagstones. The knife came back, glinting red. The prince wiped and handed it back without a word.

“You treated the horse with more dignity than the guardsman,” said Yannick.

The prince shrugged. “The horse wouldn’t have sent me back to the Tower,” he said simply.

They packed up as quickly as they could. Audie buried the remains of the fire, and was mounted on her horse before anyone else.

“We should ride across the open country,” she said. “Maesbury will be just over there. We should probably stay off the roads, too.”

“She’s right,” said the Prince. “They’ll be searching the roads soon.”