Lord of the Rose

CHAPTER THIRTY — FIVE

These are the rooms of the duke’s residence, in this wing,” Selinda told Dram, gesturing to a long, high hallway paneled in dark wood. “His private apartments are down there.”

The dwarf and the princess, with the gnomes hurrying along behind, trotted down the castle corridor. Dram, his axe ready, looked alertly to the left and right, still uncertain if he could trust this woman. Just as they turned into the passage, a grizzled knight of Solamnia with the epaulets of a captain lunged into their path. The dwarf instantly recognized the officer whose company had discovered the companions in the apple grove, the very knight who had arrested Jaymes Markham. The man’s sword was out, and he advanced on the dwarf with a murderous glare.

“Thank the gods I found you, Princess!” cried Captain Powell, “Get away from her, you scoundrel!”

The knight closed in without waiting for a reply. Dram raised his axe and adopted a fighting crouch, ready to draw blood.

“Captain Powell-wait!” cried Selinda. The woman stepped between the two glaring combatants.

“Don’t be fooled, lady!” cried the captain. “It’s the same dwarf as accompanied the Assassin! They’re in this together! His comrade is in the castle, already under guard-let me take him, now!”

“No! I already know that Markham is here, too!” she declared. “We’re going to look for him now-and I don’t believe he’s an Assassin, any more than I believe you’re the master of the thieves’ guild!”

“What! Wait…” The captain glowered, feeling uncertain. “Didn’t you send for help… say you needed me urgently?”

“Certainly not,” she replied. “I’ve been pacing around like a caged animal, until I finally decided I needed to do something. I encountered Dram-and we are going to see the duke together.”

She frowned, suddenly. “Who told you I needed help?”

“Captain Reynaud.” Powell’s face darkened. He spun on his heel. “Come on!” he shouted, starting off at a run.

Dram and Selinda sprinted after, ignoring Sulfie’s plaintive cries to “Wait up!” The trio raced to the end of the corridor, turning into a dark-walled hall leading to the ducal apartment.

“By Joli-no!” shouted the captain. He sprinted ahead to kneel beside a wounded, motionless man. “Marck!” he cried.

It was Captain Marckus, who lay on the floor outside the game room, bleeding profusely from a wound to his back.

Selinda also rushed to kneel and touch the man’s pallid forehead. “He’s alive, but barely,” the princess said grimly.

Powell glanced at Selinda and Dram, who had joined them. “Either the Assassin did this, or…”

“Stop blaming everything on Jaymes,” said the dwarf angrily. “Can’t you figure it out?”

“It’s Reynaud!” Selinda said.

“Yes!” gasped Marckus. His eyes opened, glowing with a martial spark kindled by fresh outrage. “The traitor…”

“Don’t talk,” the princess whispered. “We’ll get a priest, a healer.”

Dram’s fingers tightened around the haft of his axe as he scrutinized the nearby door. It was banded with iron, made of stout oak timbers. Meanwhile, with Selinda’s help, Powell rolled his fellow captain onto his side as gently as possible. The Palanthian tore a strip from his own shirt to stanch the bleeding.

Marckus extended an arm toward the stout door. “In there…” he croaked.

“Your friend is in there too,” Captain Powell said grimly, glancing at the dwarf. “If he’s still alive.”

Dram hurled himself against the portal but fell back and tumbled to the floor. The dwarf raised his axe to chop at it, but he was stopped by Sulfie, who stumbled up to him, gasping.

“What?” he demanded.

“Your axe… will take too long,” she panted.

“Do you have any bright ideas?” He shook her off, spread his legs, prepared for a mighty blow.

“Pete… he’s got a little container of the compound.”

While the second gnome came staggering up from one direction, burdened by the weight of his backpack, four more knights raced into view, coming up the stairs from the great hall.

“One of you-get a cleric!” Selinda ordered. “One who knows some healing magic!” Immediately two of the knights turned and raced back down the stairs. Two knelt beside Marckus.

“Let’s get him away from here, around that corner,” Dram suggested. The four knights and the dwarf carried the wounded man away from the door. They set him down on a plush rug that must have cost a thousand steel in some eastern market.

The two newcomers identified themselves as Sir Rene and Captain Dayr and said they had made their way back to the castle after finding a passage up from the subterranean chambers beneath the Temple of Shinare. They shocked the others with their tale of a secret shrine located just outside the walls of Castle Caergoth.

“Temple to the Prince of Lies-here?” Selinda exclaimed in disbelief.

“Worse. It sounds as though the duke himself and perhaps one or two others have been corrupted,” explained Dayr. “The priest was gloating-had us all dead to rights. Till the Assassin pulled out a little crossbow and shot him.”

“Reynaud has fooled us all, serving this Prince of Lies,” Powell said, his face dark with certainty.

“The army…” Marckus said weakly. “Reynaud betrayed the army… on the plains.”

“Well, let’s get after the bastard, then,” said Dram.

They returned to the duke’s room. Salty Pete knelt at the door, carefully arranging a small cask. When he extended the fuse and brought out a large, sulfir-tipped match, Dram backed away.

“First, though,” the dwarf said to the lady and the knights backing away with him. “You might want to cover your ears.”

Coryn was choking on the gag the duke had twisted around her jaw. Jaymes was flat on his back, struck hard by a blow from Reynaud’s mailed fist. His head throbbed, and he tried desperately to clear his vision, but all he could see was the foggy outline of the game room and the four people in the room.

“Shall I kill him now?” Reynaud asked his duke, standing over his prone prisoner, triumphantly clutching Giantsmiter.

“No! Not so fast! Let us satisfy his curiosity first!” gloated Crawford.

“Hurry, then,” the captain snapped. “I’m eager to wet this blade with his blood!” Sir Reynaud twisted the hilt of Giantsmiter but snarled in frustration when the blade refused to flame. The captain angrily waved the blade close to the warrior’s face, almost cutting him.

“Lorimar!” Jaymes gasped, trying to focus through his pain on the face of the smiling duke. “Why did you have him killed?”

The duke’s answer astonished him.

“I didn’t! It wasn’t me!”

Coryn groaned through her gag, shaking her head in disbelief. Jaymes drew a slow, ragged breath. Reynaud, though he watched the warrior carefully, made no further attack.

Crawford continued to talk.

“Of course, I wasn’t sad when he was killed. I was a little sad about his daughter-she was a tempting morsel! I would have married her in a minute. Such a loss, that was. Really, a waste, but there are other wenches who know how to decorate a bedroom. The late Lady Martha wasn’t bad in that respect-my next wife, I vow, will be much better!”

The duke turned to the small closet in the side of the room. Jaymes spotted a mirror on the wall in the alcove, and Crawford peered into the crystal glass when he spoke next.

“My lord? I have them both here. Should I kill them now?”

All the warrior could see was a reflection of the room in the crystal mirror. Apparently the duke was disappointed, for he leaned close and stared earnestly.

“My lord?” he repeated. “Are you there?”

Crawford turned back to his prisoners, his expression strange. “I admit, it was a good thing, for me, that Lorimar died. That made me the only Lord of the Rose!” His expression turned wistful. “Of course, I didn’t obtain the green diamonds, but I could burn the Compact of Freedom! I did so right here, in this room!”

Suddenly, a stunning blast rocked the chamber. Fire and smoke poured in as the door burst, pieces smashing into the gaming table and hurling against the walls. The heaviest section of the panel tumbled sideways, and caught Reynaud in the back, knocking him down. Coryn was also thrown to the floor. The duke staggered out of his alcove, blinking, waving his hands to clear away the smoke that billowed everywhere.

Jaymes, still on his back, had been sheltered from the blast by the heavy table. He pushed himself to a sitting position. Head pounding, ears ringing, he staggered to his feet and stepped over to Reynaud. The traitorous captain was trying to rise to his hands and knees, but Jaymes gave him a swift, hard kick.

The sword Giantsmiter lay on the floor. Jaymes picked the weapon up, stabbed Reynaud, and turned his attention to the duke.

Crawford was staring fearfully at him. As Jaymes took a step toward him, the duke ducked back into his alcove, pulling the door shut. But this was no iron-enforced barrier-it was a mere panel of pine boards, and the warrior slashed it to splinters with one blow.

Jaymes followed the duke as he backed against a wall, vaguely aware of people spilling into the room behind him.

Someone, a woman’s voice, shouted “Coryn!”

“My lord!” the duke was crying, banging on the mirror-which had cracked from the force of the blast. “Help me!”

Crawford met only his own crazed expression-and saw the approaching warrior. He turned as Jaymes reached him. The warrior pressed the duke against the wall, holding Giantsmiter so that the tip of his sword pricked the duke’s skin above his heart.

“The green diamonds-they’re why you killed Lorimar, aren’t they?” he growled. “Tell me, why did you have him killed!”

“I’m telling the truth-I didn’t do it!” pleaded the duke, almost sobbing.

“Who, then? Who stole the diamonds?” The sword eased a fraction, though blood stained the duke’s dressing gown.

“It was Bakkard du Chagne! The Lord Regent has them-he is making a crown for his daughter! He intends to make her queen of Solamnia!”

“Bakkard du Chagne?” Jaymes’s head ached profoundly. “How did he get the diamonds?”

“Because the assassins were his agents! He sent them! He ordered the death of Lorimar!”

“Why? Why did you help him?” the swordsman said. “You are still trying to help him.”

“He’s my lord! And I’m going to marry his daughter-the princess!” Crawford exclaimed frantically. “That’s our agreement. Then I’ll get to be the new king! Listen, you’re a good man. I could make you my captain-my captain-general! Please, don’t hurt me!”

Jaymes snorted. “You and Reynaud left good men-lots of good men-on the battlefield to die. Every one a better man than you.”

“I had to get away!” croaked the duke. “I wanted to live! I still want to live! Please!”

“Too bad,” replied the warrior.

The tip of Giantsmiter slipped through skin and flesh, slid between two ribs, and cut through the arteries around his heart.

Duke Crawford died very quickly.

Jaymes let him fall into the spreading pool of his own blood.

When the warrior emerged from the alcove, Captain Marckus was stretched on the gaming table, and a priest of Kiri-Jolith-panting and out of breath-was administering a healing spell. The duke’s miniature armies had been unceremoniously swept onto the floor.

Coryn was sitting in a chair, rubbing her wrists. Her gag and bonds had been removed by Selinda and Captain Powell.

Dram and the two gnomes rushed up the Jaymes, who had sheathed his sword. One gnome hugged each of the warrior’s legs, and even the gruff dwarf looked a little relieved and happy.

“Glad to see you’re all right,” he growled.

“You timed it a little close,” Jaymes replied, clasping his companion’s hand with both of his.

“I offer my apologies,” Captain Powell said, bowing stiffly to Jaymes, then to his princess. “And gratitude to you, my lady. If you had let me hang him when I wanted to, I would have made a grievous mistake, and a great injustice would have been done.”

“Enough of that. We are still in the middle of a grave crisis,” snapped Selinda.

“Yes,” agreed Captain Dayr. “All the dukes are dead, and the three orders are in dissarray. An army of barbarians is gathered on the plains-and already has defeated the forces of Sword, Crown, and Rose.”

“We need a leader who can lead us against Ankhar. Someone who has proven his worth in battle,” Sir Rene said thoughtfully. “Someone who can command all the orders of the knighthood.”

“Yes. It must be someone we can all serve-not just the captains, but the men in the line,” said Captain Powell bluntly, staring at Jaymes challengingly. “Someone who has not been tainted by all this madness. In short, Jaymes, we need you.”

“Are you all crazy?” asked the warrior, shaking his head dismissively. “Is this more of your magic?” he asked Coryn.

“No,” she said, somewhat ruefully. “This is not my doing, though I can’t help but agree.”

Marckus waved a hand, ignoring the protests of the priest urging him to stay calm. Yet his voice was strong. “The men will follow you… they know you are the one who saved the army, at King’s Bridge.”

“You don’t belong to any of the orders,” Selinda said, “but in your own way you follow the Code and the Measure, and you know its power.”

“Est Sularus oth Mithas?” Jaymes murmured in disbelief.

“You shall become the Lord of no Sign.” Coryn looked at him frankly, her hands on her hips. Her face was smudged with smoke, her black hair was in disarray. Then, as ever, she looked very beautiful. “Just as the prophecy foretold…”

“Prophecy?” the warrior shot back skeptically. “That myth spread by hedge wizards and beer-pot witch-doctors! You know as well as I do what I think of that prophecy. Dara Lorimar herself though it was ridiculous when people predicted her as the Princess of the Plains. It’s even more of a joke, with me as a lord!”

“The common people, even many of the knights, believe the prophecy,” said the white wizard, “and they will accept you. That is what is important now. The princess and these captains, are right: You’re the only one who might be able to unit and command this army, bring all three orders together to stand against Ankhar.”

She glared at him as if daring him to argue. She lowered her voice. “Or would you rather Lord Regent du Chagne appoint someone else?”

He blinked, realizing that she must have heard what the duke had told him, seconds before he died. “No. I don’t want that bastard to appoint anyone,” he hissed.

“What?” asked Selinda, not quite certain of what she had heard.

Jaymes turned to say something to her, but Coryn grabbed his arm and gave him a sharp look.

“Later,” said Coryn.

Jaymes turned to Dram, holding up his arms in frustration. The dwarf just chuckled. “Ironic, ain’t it?” he asked with a wink.

The warrior’s head ached worse than ever. He sat down, as Captain Dayr and Sir Rene dragged the duke’s body out of the closet and dumped it unceremoniously next to Reynaud’s.

Coryn rose and looked around. After a cursory inspection of the game room, she went into the duke’s alcove, stepping around the pool of fresh blood. She emerged holding a long box made of shiny, dark wood.

“I recognize this chest. It was stored in Lord Lorimar’s strongbox,” Coryn said. “I saw him put the compact and the green diamonds in this box.”

She set it on the table. It was locked, but a touch of her finger and a murmured word of magic popped it open.

“The stones are gone-but now I think I know where they are,” she added, flashing a warning look to Jaymes. He nodded.

“The Compact of Freedom?” he asked.

The white wizard shook her head. “I heard the late, unlamented duke claim he burned it, and I’m sure he did-at the first opportunity. There is one thing. Something still left, from Lorimar’s legacy.”

She pulled out a white cloth. “For you, Jaymes,” she said, handing the silken bundle to Selinda. “I think the princess should bestow it on you.”

The Princess of Palanthas drew out the long pennant. It was a war banner, white, with several emblems in bright golden thread.

“Crown, Sword, and Rose, on one banner,” Selinda said in wonder. “As in the days of the old Empire.”

The princess bowed slightly and extended the banner to Jaymes, who took it with a grudging expression.

“Raise it over your head,” the princess said encouragingly. “Lead the Army of Three Signs into the field against the foe.”

Bakkard du Chagne’s mirror was dark. His four pawns, the lords he had raised to great heights, were dead. Lorimar had been slain at his command and the other three were destroyed by Lorimar’s avenger.

Du Chagne had seen all that had transpired in the duke’s game room, and he knew that his most closely held secret had been revealed to two important enemies: Jaymes and Coryn.

Action was required, but he was temporarily out of tricks. The mirror in Thelgaard was smashed, broken by the barbarian horde, and Caergoth’s, cracked and damaged, was in the hands of his enemies. As to the mirror in Solanthus, the lord regent had no contact there-the silly slut of a duchess used it mainly for primping.

He was not a man given to violent outbursts, but he suddenly, impulsively, smashed his fist into the glass, shattering it and bloodying his knuckles.

Coryn watched as the Army of Solamnia, under the Banner of Three Signs-Jaymes Markham’s banner, now-marched out of Caergoth. The troops, as she had predicted, had rallied enthusiastically to a new leader hailed by their veteran captains as the Lord of No Sign. Knights had rushed from barracks and rooming houses, survivors of earlier battles had their morale lifted, and recruits had come from all quarters of the city to swell the ranks again.

Now the vast columns of the new army were leaving the city and advancing eastward along the King’s Road. They were prepared to stand against the horde of Ankhar, encouraged by reports that the horde had not yet ventured south of the Garnet River. Cold winds blew from the south, and perhaps this stalemate would last through the winter, but none doubted the campaigning season would bring honor and victory to the knighthood.

The white wizard stood atop the city gatehouse tower, watching the marching soldiers accompanied by drummers, pipes, and the rousing cheers of the populace. Horses pranced, chariots rumbled, and newly built catapults rolled toward the battlefield. In the pageantry of the march, the legacy of recent defeats-and the ignominious deaths of the dukes-seemed to vanish in the wind.

Jaymes Markham cut a dashing figure at the head of the army. He wore a helm of gleaming silver, marked by a pair of curving bull’s horns. The people shouted as he rode past, and he needed an escort of knights on each side to prevent them from rushing forward just in the hope of touching his boot, his leg, his horse. Coryn smiled wryly, thinking what a contrast the sight was to Jaymes the Assassin-though she had always known his destiny.

She looked over to a section of wall where Lady Selinda was smilling and waving to the army commander as he rode past. The princess, with her royal bearing, her golden hair, her supreme beauty and confidence, had grown into a leader as much as Jaymes. When the people were not cheering Jaymes, they shouted their accolades toward her. Coryn felt that uncomfortable flash of jealousy, which momentarily brought tears to her eyes.

Lady Selinda was blissfully in the dark about her father. When she learned the truth, she might yet lose her smile.

Coryn turned away, but not before she spotted Jaymes waving back at the Princess of Palanthas. The crowd also saw the eyes of the princess and the Lord of No Sign meet, and their cheers increased, soaring up from the walled city, swelling into the sky, through the heavens. Indeed, it seemed, across all of Solamnia.

Unable to watch any longer, the white wizard disappeared.