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After being separated from Mauvin, Alric was dragged to Sir Tibil’s tent, which operated as General Quartier of the Northern Imperial Army. He stood there, hands tied behind his back, two soldiers flaked at his side, while Sir Tibil didn’t pay him any attention, too busy giving orders to his Captains and clerks in order to settle things now that the siege of Drondil Fields ended.
At first, Alric tried to follow the flow of the discourse, and relaxed when Sir Tibil confirmed no one inside the fortress would be armed and that they could send supplies and doctors inside to check on the wounded. But as the hours passed, the adrenaline dropped and the standing position made Alric’s legs hurt. At that point, he just wanted to lie down somewhere and close his eyes.
When, finally, Sir Tibil dedicated his attention to him, it was clear the man had no idea what to do with him: he scrutinized Alric from head to toe, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Then he sighed. Alric wondered if he would be executed on the spot.
“I sent dispatches to Aquesta for further orders,” Sir Tibil said, then. “I imagine Sir Breckton or Lord Ballentyne will join us, or even Regent Ethereld. Until that, you stay here. For your own safety, too.”
Alric found ironic that Sir Tibil was worried about his safety, when it was certain he would be executed in few days. Surely they didn’t want him to die before having a great feast about it. Yet, he nodded. The moment he signed the surrender of Melengar, he stopped fighting.
Alric spent the next days locked in Sir Tibil’s tent. The guards had found manacles they used to secure his wrist and ankles so he couldn’t escape – not that he had any intention to, but they didn’t trust him, or at least they wanted to give a clear idea he wasn’t more than a war prisoner now. The iron chains were heavy and hurt his skin, but at least gave him some movements.
Nobody spoke to him, and he didn’t ask: the only information he’d like to know was about Mauvin’s destiny, and he was sure they had no idea about it. Voices from the surrounding came to him thanks to the talking and whispered outside.
To his great surprise, he found out about Sir Breckton’s death. Apparently, the man had been killed by an unfortunate accident during the joust, fighting against a new, incredibly knight called Sir Hadrian. Also, Empress Modina married Ethereld, and he was the one they were waiting for orders.
There were insults against him, even if no one dared to enter the tent to vent their frustration at him directly, but they didn’t need to. They only needed to whisper enough near the tent to him to hear. They particularly enjoyed talking about the fact that, voices said, the witch of Melengar had been burned on the stake on Wintertide. Without the protection of the dark magic, Melengar fell.
Alric didn’t want to believe it, but it was hard not to. He hadn’t had news about Arista in months, she’d been seen in Ratibor for the last time before disappearing. The idea the Empire caught and executed her wasn’t so far-fetched. Hoping was pointless, yet he couldn’t force himself not to. There was nothing else to do at that point.
Five days after the surrender of Melengar, the Northern Army moved. Alric hadn’t received the visit of anyone, and he believed no one of the head of the Empire had actually come to Drondil Fields, they had just sent orders for the army to return. Sir Tibil would leave a contingent there to control the situation until the new governor and the Empress would decide how to organize the new province.
Alric was put in a dark, covered carriage used to transport prisoners, and his chains secured to the seat, the door locked. He was almost surprised the carriage was a closed one: he expected the Empire to parade him publicity and had everyone look at him as an example. That was what he would have done in their place.
They still parade him, of course, only in a more reserved way. When they reached Aquesta, the army marched elegantly and united in the crowded main street towards the Imperial Palace. Alric’s carriage was among the parade, around the ending, along with the very few treasures the Imperialist had stolen from Drondil Fields.
People cherish the returning soldiers, gathered to celebrate them, and after Wintertide and the imperial marriage, there was happiness around.
Alric started at the hard sound of something crashing against his carriage, and understood someone had thrown a rock at it. That first gesture spurred the anger of the crown, who started screaming insults in his direction. With a deep breath, Alric forced himself to ignore them, straightening his back and fixing his gaze in front of him.
Soon enough, his attention was lured by something more important than petty insults. In the main square just in front of the palace gate, stood a platform for execution, where two people had been recently burned. Their bodies were now reduced to only crumbled, dark and dry bodies, horribly twisted in the agony of death, burned chains still keeping them in a standing position around the pole.
The bodies were so disfigured it was impossible to distinguish who the condemned were, but Alric’s mind supplied it for him. He was sure, deep down, that he was looking at his sister’s dead body. The one that had no hands anymore, and not because of the fire.
He managed to resist until the ceremony for the victorious return of the army was complete; but once they locked him in one of the cells in the prison tower, he crumbled unceremoniously on the floor and cried.
Two days later, Emperor Ethereld came to visit him.
Alric had met him before, during the Wintertide feasts he’d spent in Aquesta with his family, and even after being crowned king. Ethereld was old, ugly, and under his polite surface boiled the violence of the warrior used to gruesome fights. Now that he was Emperor, that violence was only tempered by his gloating expression and his fine clothes, but it was still there.
With his dirty clothes, which hadn’t been changed since his surrender almost two weeks before, his unkempt beard and bloody eyes, the face still stained with the remainder of his tears, and sitting down in the straw bed, Alric looked nothing more than a mir begging at the street’s corners.
He didn’t care. His sister, the only family that he’d left, died. Mauvin, his best friend, was on his way to be executed for treason against the church, if it hadn’t already happened. He lost his kingdom for real this time. His pride wouldn’t bring back any of this. Deep down, he felt it was his pride that brought everyone to this.
However, he acknowledged Ethereld’s presence with only a slight turn of his head, but he didn’t stand up, even less knelled down. If he had to die because of his treachery, he would be that until the last moment.
While the guards seemed offended by his attitude, Ethereld didn’t mind. He reserved him only a quick glance before nodding.
“I’m sorry it comes to this, my boy,” he said. “I know your father well, you know. We didn’t get along, but-”
“Cut the crap,” Alric interrupted him. “There is no need for diplomacy anymore.”
“Very well.” Ethereld didn’t look please by the interruption, but he wasn’t good in diplomacy too. “You’re a lucky fellow. If it was for me, I would have burned you in front of everyone as we did with the others.”
The mention of his sister’s execution made Alric’s fist clenched in boiling rage.
“But I was convinced to let it go, for the sake of peace around the Empire.” He snorted, clearly displeased by the situation. “But I still confirm your execution, which is to carry out immediately. Poison or sword, you choose.”
Using his own hands as leverage, Alric stood up to face Ethereld. His hair had grown up a little, and he moved it aside to free his neck, tilting his head a little. He felt tears on his eyes again, but didn’t do anything to hide them.
“And make it quick.”
Ethereld had already the hand on the hilt of his sword, when a squire appeared on the hallway, painting for air. “Your Imperial Majesty!” he almost screamed, performing a deep bow. “Archibishop Saldur required your presence immediately.”
“Tell Sauly I’ll be there in a minute.”
“I really apologize,” the squire said, and he trembled a little. “He said it’s the utmost importance and it regards the Earl of Chadwick and the division of the Melengar Province.”
At the mention of Ballentyne, Ethereld twisted his tongue. He threw a look at Alric and at the guards, as he was trying to decide if let anyone else carry the execution. In the end, he shook his head.
“You’re a lucky fellow,” he commented, and left.
As Alric saw the door locked again, he didn’t feel lucky at all. Death was still the only possible outcome for him, with the difference that he had to wait again for it, while his mind would play for him the image of his head severed as he waited for Ethereld’s return.
With a sigh, he was about to sit down again and wait, then the door busted open, startling him.
“Come on, hurry.”
Alric blinked: the man in front of him was Hadrian Blackwater, yet he wasn’t him. Gone were his three swords, alongside his sloppy aspect. Now he looked like a knight, with a clean haircut, clean face, and expensive clothes.
Since Alric wasn’t moving, Hadrian grabbed him by the arm and dragged him, outside the cell, along the hallway, and Alric was so surprised he let being dragged like a doll.
“We don’t have much time. Ethereld will soon find out the decoy.”
“How…” Alric’s mind returned to his captivity ad Drondil Fields, the voices he’d heard then. “You killed Breckton? You work for the Imperialist now?” Now he was trying to resist at Hadrian’s pull.
“No and no.” Hadrian did not stop, as he pushed him into a trap door just at the bottom of the prison tower. “It’s too long to explain.”
He followed him and closed it over their head: they found themselves in another prison, with a row of cells. Unlike the tower, the smell here was worse, the sense of oppression given the complete lack of windows was almost unbearable. That place smelled of sweat and blood and death.
Only a small lantern illuminated the area, but it was enough for Hadrian to orientate himself: he opened the door of a cell and found a tunnel carved inside. Before walking inside, Hadrian sighed.
“I tried to save your sister. I failed. I’m sorry.”
Those words came out with difficult, as Hadrian was trying to resist crying.
Alric found out he believed him. He hadn’t had news of Riyria since he’d send them to stop Merrick Marius’ plan against Delgos. Since it failed, Alric was somehow convinced they had died, because in his mind only death would have stopped his miracle workers. But he saw them as mere humans, that tried and failed, and somehow it relaxed him.
The tunnel was brought outside the palace, in the courtyard below where the stables were. The exit was neatly covered by brushes and a guard stood protective at its side. With a better look, Alric realized it wasn’t a guard at all, but Royce dressed as one.
There was relief in his face as he saw Hadrian, then it turned in a frown when he realized he wasn’t alone. Between the two members of Riyria passed a silent conversation, that years of partnership allowed.
“I only manage to grab another uniform,” Royce said. “We don’t have the time for another one, Merrick is looking for me and I have… you know.”
“Give it to him,” Hadrian stated shortly. “I’ll remain.”
“You’re not serious,” Royce replied, rolling his eyes as he didn’t believe him. Hadrian’s expression didn’t change, and Royce’s frown deepened. “It’s too big for him.”
“Make it works.”
“And then?” Royce demanded. “Melengar fall. Arista died. There’s nothing more we can do.”
“If he stays here, they’ll execute him.”
“And what do you think it’ll happen to you? Especially if they understand you free him, something I see as very probable. And Merrick could use you-”
“He wouldn’t.” Hadrian’s expression was serious. “Listen, I know you don’t understand. But I have to stay. Modina is in danger, now more than ever, and I want to try to save her at least. But this is my problem. I won’t ask any more from you and I won’t pretend you come back for me. Go, take Gwen and disappear where Merrick can’t find you.”
“So this is a farewell?” Royce spat. “Gaunt is dead and now you’ll prefer being suicidal?”
In the middle of that conversation, Alric felt like an intruder. He didn’t care they talked about him as it wasn’t present, or like it was luggage – at that point, he cared little about anything. But clearly there was something going on between them and the long history of their partnership was a lot more than what the legends said about Riyria.
“I’m sorry, and thank you for everything,” Hadrian said. His expression showed regret and sorrow, but still, he didn’t move.
Royce released an exasperated sigh. He shoved on Alric’s arms a bundle of clothes which, he realized, were an imperial guard uniform. “Put this on.” Then, he turned one last time to Hadrian and affirmed, “I’ll be back. Even if you don’t deserve it.”
With an affectionate smile, Hadrian nodded and disappeared back on the tunnel.
Alric dressed up, happy to get rid of his dirty clothes. As Royce anticipated, they were too big for him; they arranged it with ropes so at least they felt a little better around his arms and legs, then Royce went to fetch two horses.
Nobody questioned the two guards that left the palace. Usually, criminals tried to enter, not exit, and the simple sight of the symbol of Novron and the color of the uniform were enough to make the surveillance sloppy. Royce kept a slow pace until they reached one of the city’s gates. Then, he spurred his horse into a gallop and Alric followed, as Aquesta disappeared at their back.
They walked all day and even a good portion of the night, Royce in front, and Alric followed his direction without protesting, as he had no idea where they were. They stopped only to have their horses drank a little and once Royce made a quick escapade to a farm to steal some clothes for Alric. They weren’t perfect, and they remembered Alric the time he’d been kidnapped, but they’re his size. From the guard uniform, he only kept the sword.
Royce was silent all the time, as he rode in front of him, and Alric didn’t disturb him despite the number of questions he had in his mind. Only when Royce decided the horses were too tired to continue, and they made a little camp hidden in the tree around a small water pond, Alric dared to open his mouth.
“So?”
“So what?”
“What happened to you?”
“You lost the war because of Merrick, as I said you would.” Royce wasn’t looking at him, too busy to arrange the camp, and checked the surrounding for any sign of danger. “He tricked us, made us sabotage Drumindor so Delgos could be invaded.”
“It was your doing?”
Royce ignored him. “When we returned, we found out Arista and Gaunt was held in Aquesta and Hadrian tried to free them, failing spectacularly, as you see. And that’s about it.”
“What now?”
It was clearly a question about the future, but Royce decided to ignore it. “I’ll take the first turn of the guard, so I suggest you to sleep.”
The next morning, Royce shook Alric to wake him up. It was almost sunrise, but in the dim light Alric understood better their location, the silhouette of the Frendal Durant of Glouston visible in the horizon. His stomach grumbled and he rubbed his eyes to wake up.
“I got something to eat.” Royce pointed out at a small package placed at Alric’s side. “I also let you a knife and a blanket. If you go in that direction,” and he pointed out north, “you should find the Galewyn in two days. I suggest you to cut your beard and overall keep the hood on.”
Only then, Alric noticed Royce had already saddled his horse.
“Where are you going?”
“We depart way from here,” Royce replied. “I have other plans, which involved being as far as possible from Warric and Melengar. From now on, you’re on your own.”
But what about me, Alric was about to ask, and stopped. In the years Riyria had worked for him, he’d always considered them not quite friends, but at least loyal servants of his kingdom. Yet, he paid them for their service. It wasn’t surprising Royce wasn’t inclined to work without retribution, and Alric had nothing left to spare.
So he nodded. “Thank you.”
Royce acknowledged it with a nod of his head, before mounting and leaving without a last look.
Alone in the vastness of the land of a foreign kingdom, with the only sound of his horse movements, Alric had finally the time to reflect upon his situation. When Hadrian had come from him, everything happened so fast Alric hadn’t thought about the consequence of his escape.
What now?
He lay down, looking at the sky as its blue became lighter and lighter, with his hands below his head, and realized he had no idea what to do with his life. Royce had indicated him the way to return to Melengar, but what was there for him? The Pickerings might be still his allies, as they were against Braga, but Alric found himself upset at the idea of asking them for help.
Objectively speaking, Mauvin’s destiny wasn’t Alric’s fault. The church had asked retribution about the seret’s death even before the war’d started, and it was Alric’s decision to reject their request entirely. Yet, he couldn’t help but felt guilt about his best friend. If he would have been a better king, they would have won the war and Mauvin wouldn’t be forced to surrender to the church’s judgment.
Other nobles might still be loyal to him, but now that the war ended, Alric doubted they would be inclined to shield him, especially if they received the forgiveness of the Empress. And most of his people might actually be happy, since they believed in Novron.
Alone as he was, Alric wondered if there was something worth fighting for. He wanted his kingdom back, his father’s kingdom, the Essendon’s kingdom. He had no idea what to do: he was a kid, crowned too early and not ready for a coming war.
His stomach grumbled again, but he didn’t stand up. There was a brush of berries just next to his head, so he moved his hand to collect them.
Alric woke up the next morning, started by a sudden sound next to him. With his eyes still foggy by the sleep, he frantic searched his sword with his hand, until with relief, he met the familiar touch of the hilt.
“That was pathetic,” Royce’s voice came from behind him. As usual, the thief managed to slip soundlessly around people. “You’re in the run, remaining in the same place for so long is basically suicide. At least put on some defense. I could have you killed in at least three different manners before you wake up.”
“What… what are you doing here?” Alric asked, his mind still confused for the sudden waking up. “You said…”
“I know.” Royce sounded displeased. “But someone convinced me you’re going to die without my help and that I can’t let it happen. So I come back and luckily you were stupid enough not to move.”
Unaware, Alric smiled. “This someone must be very convincing.”
“Oh, she is.”
“She?”
This time, Royce didn’t supply any explanation. He checked Alric’s horse and also Alric’s condition with a critical eye.
“You could have at least cut your beard as I suggested.”
“I don’t have a mirror.”
Royce pointed at the pond. “You have.”
Alric looked at it with a disgusted look: the water was so muddy it made it almost impossible to see, and the wind moved the surface, making the image floating. Then he looked at the knife at his side.
“You have no idea how to shave by yourself, haven’t you?” Royce realized.
Lowering his gaze, Alric shook his head. He never had to, at the castle he had people doing it for him. He had people doing everything for him, even during the siege, he didn’t have to dress or shave or cook for himself. Sure, the situation was harsher, but not enough for the king to stop being served. Royce’s stare made it seem shameful.
With a snort, Royce took the knife from him, knelled down, and grabbed his face.
“Stay put.”
With the corner of his eyes, Alric could see the edge of the blade that brushed his skin as Royce shaved his beard. Alric wondered how many people had Royce killed with a knife like that. But he knew how to use one because he didn’t cut Alric once. When he finished, he stood up, gave back Alric his knife and mounted his horse.
“Let’s go.”
Royce lent him to a small village, and they left the horses tied up alone in the forest before walking insde by foot; Alric wasn’t able to orientate himself enough to understand the direction but definitely they were still in Warric and not heading towards Melengar at all. What now? Alric wanted to asked Royce, but didn’t dare to.
“Can’t we enter from the front door?” Alric asked once he noticed Royce was being very circumspect and had every intention to enter in a room at the first floor by climbing the façade.
“No, I don’t want people to know we’re here.”
“I’m not sure I can follow.”
Royce released a small sigh of irritation, but said nothing. He disappeared inside the room and returned a minute later, bringing a rope with him. The way he moved around never cease to amaze Alric; he was less amazazed when he realized Royce’s plan as he tied the rope in sort of a harness around Alric’s torso to help me during the climb.
He couldn’t believe he actually managed to do it, and crumbled on the floor as soon as he stepped over the window, panting hard. Royce landed next to him.
“He’s here. Happy?”
Alric turned to see who Royce was talking to, and spotted a beautiful calain woman smiling sweetly at him. He recognized her as the owner of The Rose and The Thorn, Riyria’s lair, and his mind went back to Medford, asking himself how much of it still stood after the war.
“Your Majesty,” she greeted him, and, funny enough, Alric felt shame at being called that. “I’m Gwen.” He turned to Royce again. “Do you plan to leave now? Because Mercy is sleeping already.”
Royce frowned a little. “No, we’ll wait the morning,” he said at last. “But I just hope this delay won’t cause us any problem. I fear Merrick may be on our tracks already.”
Alric understood he was the delay. He was a burden with no purpose anymore.
Something licking his face woke him up. He startled and released a small yelp.
“Mr Rings!” a voice called, and the animal – a rat, a big squirrel, a raccoon? – jumped out of Alric’s bed and rished towards the voice. It was Mercy, the little girl Gwen had talked about the day before. Alric had noticed her little figure sleeping in one of the beds, but he wasn’t introduced to her yet. As soon as Mercy spotted he was awake, she hid a little behind the bed, eyeing at Alric with wide and curious eyes.
Alric made a little, reassuring smile and looked around: Royce and Gwen were nowhere to be seen. He stood up, brushing his face a little to cancel the last remnants of the sleepness and remained surprised at the fact he didn’t have the beard anymore, before realizing Royce had shaved him the day before.
Dim light arrived from the outside, and Alric leaped out the window to see which time of the day it was: he cringed when he realized it was barely sunrise. Gwen and Royce stood below the window and they stopped talking as soon as they spotted him. For some reason, Alric was sure they were talking about him.
Without a word, Royce climbed back into the room. “We’re leaving.”
“And what about breakfast?”
Ignoring him, Royce scooped up Mercy in his arms; the girl had one arm around the raccoon’s body and out the other around Royce’s neck. Alric hadn’t asked, but it was clear to him now, even if it was something unthinkable just a few days before, that Gwen and Mercy were Royce’s family. Somehow, seeing it made Alric’s loneliness even more deepen.
Royce climbed down, leaving Alric alone in the room, with only the rope to use to follow him. Alric had the clear impression Royce pretended from him to do it by himself. At least, if he broke his neck in a fall, he would have resolved most of his problems.
They rode in silence for hours, and they stopped only half an hour to eat something. The only conversation was for Mercy’s benefit, and only Gwen took part in it. Alric and Royce had their own horse, while Gwen rode with Mercy. Royce was on the front, leading the way; Gwen stayed mostly at his side, or just behind, while Alric ended the party. He was looking around, trying to understand where they were.
Of course, Royce was the first one to hear the horses’ hoof, even before they saw them, coming on the opposite direction. It was a group of five riders, and from that distance, Alric couldn’t definite who they are.
“Imperialists,” Royce suppled for him.
“Do you think they’re looking for us?” Gwen asked.
Royce threw a look at Alric, then shook his head. “I prefer to think they are until proved otherwise. We need to get outside the street.”
Unfortunately, they were facing an area with two few bushes and trees and, from that distance, the other party noticed their presence; if they moved, they would look suspicious, but they couldn’t afford getting to close to him. They didn’t know how recognizable they were.
“Go,” Royce said to Gwen, guiding her horse on the right side. “Gallop as fast as you can and don’t look back. Don’t stop.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll distract them. Don’t worry, I’ll find you.”
She smiled softly. “Of course.”
They both turned to look at Alric, and he realized he was waiting for instruction. “Go with them,” Royce ordered, before spurring his horse and heading directly towards the party of Imperialists that, at that point, had spotted them.
With a nod, Alric guided his horse to follow Gwen’s. Soon after, they were racing towards the lower brushed and snow, the run lifted splatted of dirty snow on their legs. Soon enough, they noticed two riders following them. Alric didn’t miss the slight frown of concern that appeared on Gwen’s face, but she didn’t slow, as she kept the reins with a hand and hugged a scared Mercy at her chest with the other.
No, Alric thought. Royce was just distracted by the others, but couldn’t keep five riders at once. He wasn’t dead, Alric still wanted to believe in his miracle workers.
But he realized that he’d envied Royce a little, the idea he still had a family when Alric had lost all of it without being able to do a single thing. Now, he felt he didn’t want the war to turn it into something ugly and, if he didn’t have anyone else, it didn’t mean Royce had to face the same fate.
He pulled the rein and halted his horse to a stop. He turned it so he would face the riders now, and pulled out the sword: it wasn’t his own, and it appeared light in his hand.
“Keep running!”
In Alric’s mind, there was no way he could take two riders by himself. He wasn’t a good swordsman, and he barely knew how to do it on a horse and without a shield or armor. It was lucky the Imperialists hadn’t armors too, but it was barely the point. At least he hoped to slow them a little.
With sheer luck, Alric managed to avoid the first slash of one of the Imperialists and stabbed his horse with his sword. The horse shook its entire body and the movement made Alric lose the grip on his sword. But then the horse collapse and brought its rider with him. The other came at Alric and he realized he had no way to defend himself: he stood there, ready for the blow, when a rock hit the horse’s head and the movement stopped the rider for a second.
It was enough: Alric jumped from his horse and crashed against the imperialist. They both fall on the ground, but Alric had the upper hand, as his opponent had lost the sword and hit his head with the fall. Alric had with it the knife and, without thinking, he took it off and stuck it in the opponent’s neck. He gurgled, startled, and then stopped moving below him.
Painting, Alric crawled far from him and looked around. Gwen had not listened to him, and she was the one throwing the rock that had saved his life. Now she stood a few meters from her, Mercy grabbing her gown. The other rider’s body was still below his own horse, probably dead too.
He was sure he’d killed men before, if not during the battle or Medford at least during the Galawyn one. Yet, during wars it was different. Men dying like that looked at a lot more like execution, and Alric was sure he ordered and attended some, and never realized what it meant. In some way, yet, he didn’t regret any of it.
Royce trotted towards them in anxiety, a bloodied dagger in his hand, and relaxed visibly at the sign of the two fallen riders. He jumped to check the situation, reserving only a surprise look at Alric. For good measurement, he cut the throat of the fallen riders, then cleaned the dagger and hid it before getting near to Gwen and Mercy.
With trembling legs, Alric stood up. He verified his horse was fine and, keeping it with the reins, he joined the rest of the group. Gwen had Mercy in her arms and was cuddling her. Mercy was looking at Royce, who was keeping his distance.
“When I was upset,” Alric murmured, “my father used to take me on his shoulder and walk me around. The world seemed so small from there.” A flow of sadness passed through Alric, realizing that he hadn’t thought about his father for years, too busy with other things. He still missed him. “Sure, my father was gigantic, and when I was a child he looked-”
“Shut up,” Royce said, and Alric frowned.
“I was just-”
“Shut up,” Royce repeated. Still, he moved with uncertainty and took Mercy in his arms.
Since their meeting with the Imperialists, Royce became more prudent, or more paranoid. In any case, he forbade them to reach any town or village. They remained far away from roads, riding only on forests or very far camps, and there they slept despite the cold weather. They didn’t meet many people around, which was their objective, and they didn’t have to worry again about being caught.
At first, Royce was the only one to venture in town for stealing supplies or other things that might be useful during their travel. But after a couple of days, he invited Alric to come with him, despite complain about the lack of abilities to move soundless.
“You’re worse than Hadrian,” he grumbled, mostly to himself. Alric glared at him as he followed between the darkness towards a building that looked like a tavern, of course closed for the night.
Alric observed with curiosity as Royce picked the lock.
“Every lock needs different tools and different techniques,” Royce said. “With doors, it’s usually easier. The trick is to apply a small pressure against the pin…”
“Sound like you’re trying to teach me.”
“Because I am.”
“I don’t plan to become a thief.”
Royce finished opening the lock. “I’d like to remind you you’re a wanted man. As long as you’re alive, the Empire can’t be assured Melegar won’t revolt again. And they won’t be happy about your escape.” With prudence, he entered the tavern and looked for the pantry. “Besides, I hope you didn’t plan to keep along like a straw puppy for long.”
“Of course not!” Alric replied, crossing his arms, offended. He’d realized he was a stranger from Royce’s little family and, most time, he felt out of place.
But the question in his mind was always the same: what next?
“We’re almost there,” Royce announced.
Alric glared around: they were up north, norther than Melengar; a thick layer of snow covered everything and the temperature was pretty cold. Despite the whiteness of the surrounding, it was clear nothing was around: the remainings of a destruction were still clear by the fact that only lower stone wall remained, and the few trees were dark, as they had been burned.
“Where?” Alric commented. “There is nothing here.”
“Once, there was a village called Dahlgren.”
It was a familiar name for Alric, who narrowed his eyes trying to remember it. “Wait! Wasn’t it…?”
Royce nodded, even if Alric hadn’t finished the sentence. Funny, there were many way to end it: the Empress’ birth place, the town where she had slain the beast. For Alric, it was the place of Fanen’s death.
“Why here? What’s here?”
For a long time, Royce didn’t answer. Not until they reached the edge of the river, and the tall tower that stood in the middle of the cascade was visible. Mercy watched it with wide, incredulous eyes. Gwen appeared as she expected it.
“That.”
It was an incredible sight, but Alric didn’t feel prone to sightseeing. “Okay, it looked impregnable, but also…”
“It’s the only safe place,” Royce said. His hand lingered now on Gwen’s arm, and she turned to smile softly at him. “Here Merrick couldn’t touch us.”
“Surely no one can find us in this Maribor’s forget land.”
“Oh, no.” Royce shook his head. “I’m pretty sure Merrick will find us soon enough. I’m almost surprised he didn’t have soldiers wait here.”
Shocked, Alric asked, “then why?”
“Because, even if he found us, he couldn’t get inside.”
Avempartha wasn’t a comfortable place to live in. It wasn’t created to be a house and it lacked of any furniture useful for a person, let aside an entire family. In the first month of their stay, Royce and Alric made daily escapades to provide what they needed. It wasn’t an easy task, but Royce felt relaxed now that he was sure Gwen and Mercy were safer from Merrick’s grasp and brought Alric into some very hard thieving mission, where they were able to obtain supplies and furniture.
The result of their escapade was the creation of an almost complete and functional kitchen, a provided pantry and the possibility to cultivate something, a collection of clothes, towels, sheets for the ordinary sleeping and bathing. It was still far from a comfortable home, but it was better than the start.
“I’m returning to Aquesta,” Royce announced one evening, after they had managed to hunt down a deer and were feasting with its meat. “I need to save Hadrian.”
Gwen nodded, as she expected that. Alric had no doubt they had already spoken about it; he’d found them whispering and stopping the moment Royce noticed his presence, something that happened always because Royce had insane hearing. Sure, it was understandable since Alric now knew Royce was a mir, but it was still unnerving.
“I don’t expect to stay away long,” Royce continued. “But inside Avempartha you’re safe.”
“I know,” Gwen replied, and she sounded a little bit annoyed. A gaze passed between them, making clear for Alric that there was something they didn’t agree on. He didn’t inquire: in some way, they remembered Alric they own parents, and he hadn’t the habit to intrude in their affair.
“Shall I come?” he asked instead. It’s not like he had any plan for his future; the time spending with them just made him longing for ordinarily more, but that ordinarily didn’t exist anymore in Melengar. Melengar didn’t exist anymore.
“To do what?” Royce replied.
“I don’t know. I was just…” His voice trailed off. He just couldn’t stay there anymore, right? He always had the feeling that Royce didn’t want him around and barely tolerated him because Gwen had asked him too. It was one of the reasons he bore Royce’s lessons, in order to show him he wasn’t such a burden.
“No,” Royce said. “Gwen may need a hand while I’m away.”
Alric nodded. He’d always considered Royce and Hadrian as loyal servants, and this chance of their relationship unnerved him a little. But Royce was old enough to be Alric’s father and the fact he was trying to teach him something made Alric’s heart warm somehow. Gwen’s attitude towards him was very motherly too, despite the fact she still called him by his title, and Alric hadn’t feel so young in years.
But he didn’t belong with them. He had a family, and he lost it. What could he do about it?
“Do you need help, Your Majesty?”
Gwen reached for him in the room that was arranged as a training room for Alric; that was, at least, Royce’s idea, who had left him instruction to learn to open more difficult locks and climb walls.
At the moment, the hardest duty for Alric was to brush his hair. He hadn’t had them so long since he’d became king, and he never took care of them by himself.
“You should stop calling me that,” Alric said, but let her take care of his hair. Once, his mother had done it. “I’m not a king anymore.”
“You may have a kingdom anymore, but it didn’t change who you are.” Then, she sighed. “I’d like to tell you everything will be fine, but…”
Alric realized she meant her seer power. In a way, he was scared to ask her about it. What if his future told him his life would be without any meaning, or worse, that it would be very short. What if she saw his death by the Imperialists’ hands?
“What do you see in my future?” he asked, turning at her.
Gwen smiled softly, and caressed his har.
“I can guarantee you this, Alric. You’ll be happy.” Her expression fell. “But you’re right. You won’t be king anymore.”
Two weeks later, Royce returned. He was angry and Hadrianless.
“That idiot!” was the first time exclaimed once he stepped inside Avempartha.
Explanations had to wait, because Mercy missed his father and pretended he spent some time with her and Mr Ring, playing in Alric’s training room. Once she tired enough to be manageable, Royce’s humor had soothed a little, but not enough for him to not insult his best friends.
This time, Alric was permitted to participate at their discussion.
“What did he do?” Gwen asked, and sounded tired. Alric had the impression they had had similar discussions about Hadrian in the past.
“He refused to listen to me,” Royce grumbled. “He thinks he can make a difference, staying there. Helping Modina, he said. I can’t believe the entire fiasco with Gaunt and Arista didn’t teach him anything.”
The mention of his sister’s name made Alric flinch.
“He’s planning a revolt, can you believe it?” Royce continued. “He had someone unhappy with the Empire, and he’s trying to contact the remaining the nationalist in Delgos and Calis. He’s a prisoner in the palace! And the least inconspicuous person I know. Insanely ability in fighting can’t save him from treason. I’m pretty sure Merrick is keeping him alive only because he hopes to use him against him, and he doesn’t understand.”
“That’s why you need to help him,” Gwen stated, serious.
“No. Not this time.” Royce shook his head. “I know you talked about the death of the person I love most, but it already happened. I saved you, right?”
“And it made me the happiest woman in the world.” She smiled and placed her hand on his shoulder. “This isn’t about my prevision. This is about our family. Do you realize we can’t stay here forever?”
“Not forever. Only until Merrick dies.”
Gwen glared at him. “And how much time it’ll pass? I know you could never kill him. This is the life you want for us? For Mercy?”
“To be honest? Yes. That’s all I always asked for. You, our child, very far away from everything and everyone.”
“And do you think Mercy will be happy? I…” She sighed. “I’ve abandoned her for long, and even if I felt I had no choice, I regret it. She’s still young. She can have a nice childhood.”
“She has two parents. It’s more than we had.”
Alric felt he was listening to a private conversation he had nothing to do about. He stood up. “I shall leave.”
“No. Stay,” Gwen said. “What do you think about this?”
Royce glared at him and Alric felt bad about being interrogated. He sighed. “If there is someone that can overthrow the empire, it’s my miracle team,” he said. “But I don’t have a family to lose anymore, so I don’t know.”
He didn’t wait for an answer from them and this time, he left. The thought of climbing relaxed him, so when Royce reached for him, he was two meters above the floor, grabbed to the wall. He climbed down, with nothing of Royce’s grace.
“I’ll help Hadrian,” Royce stated.
“Gwen convinced you?”
“She knew how to be persuasive.” He eyed Alric. “What about you? You know, the Empire is pretending you were secretly executed, so they can’t search for you directly. You’ll have more space for moving around, even if I’m sure they’re looking for you. We may need a revolt in Melengar, and you may get your kingdom back.”
Alric brushed away the sweat from his forearm. “How are things there?”
“From what Hadrian told me, Ethereld gave the Province of Melengar to Ballentyne.”
“I hate him,” Alric commented. He could image how much Ballentyne was gloating, especially considering the little trick Alric had played on him when the idea of the heir of Novron was just a legend.
“You’re not the only one. Ethereld did it to shut him up, but most of the nobles retained their land back so Ballentyne’s power is limited. He had to share it with the Lanaklin, the Jerl, the Reds, the Extereds and, fo course, the Pickerings.”
“So it didn’t change much for them, just that now they had Ethereld as king instead of me.”
As much as Alric dreamt about being the king of Melengar again, he felt he couldn’t ask anymore to his nobles. They looked actually better without him. A part of him feared to go to them and being welcomed with angry looks, realizing they didn’t mind his death at all.
And there’s Gwen’s prophecy too.
What next?
“Mauvin is dead,” Royce stated then.
Alric knew it, deep down, but hearing it was different, just like it was with his sister’s death. So Leopold didn’t manage to do anything. “They executed him?”
Royce shook his head. “He killed himself before the process.”
That shocked Alric. In his mind, even despite the years of mourning for Fanen’s death, Mauvin was always life itself: bright, loud, happy. A boy like him shouldn’t have been forced to kill himself.
“It can’t be true.”
“They said it was to not bring shame over his family’s name.” Royce shrugged. “But they could have killed him and pretended it was suicide.”
Without thinking, Alric slammed his fist against the wall and ignored the pain it generated. The Empire killed his mother, his father. His sister! And Fanen. Destroyed his kingdom. And, now, Mauvin. They systematically destroyed everything Alric cared about for their gain of power. What now that he didn’t have anything to defend?
“I want them to bleed,” he said. “I want to see the Empire fall and crumble. Saldur, Ethereld, Ballentyne… Luis Guy. I want them dead, possibly horribly. I want them to suffer, bleed, and die.” He looked straight at Royce. “Can you teach me that?”
Royce’s expression was unreadable, but it nodded. “I can.”
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