AllFreeNovel
Share Us
An arrow through the brain sealed his fate. Its wooden shaft pierced one side of his head and came out the other. She’d never know whether an enemy, friend, or God was to thank for that.
She limped on, sticking to the walls and shadows again, terror rising inside her.
“Follow the curve—the curve—of the castle,” she murmured simply to keep herself conscious. “Down those well-hidden stairs… down to the left… next… next to the buttery…”
The Lord was on her side for once that evening. She remained below the notice of the rebels and traitors as she painfully clambered to the secret stairwell. The buttery was empty except for the rows of barrels lining the walls. A brazier had been lit, and she thanked the Lord for that small mercy too.
Shadows crawled up and down the walls. Her trembling hands ran along the uneven stones, feeling for the hidden crevice… the one which would give way to the spiral stairwell… if only she didn’t lose consciousness… if only…
I’m not mortally wounded. The pain is dire, but it also means I’m still alive, still drawing breaths. Still able to stand and fight and journey on.
Please don’t be sealed off.
She slipped through the stairwell… through the tunnel… through and forward.
I shall not allow the darkness to seize me. Not while my mother and father may still breathe. Not while my brother’s death and the attack on my kingdom remain unavenged.
She reminded herself of that every time she sensed her strength flagging and the darkness fighting for her. She felt it reaching, reaching, reaching. It clawed within the night, waiting around every corner, hiding in every crevice, and glaring down from each murder hole. A lifetime seemed to pass before moonlight shone at the mouth of the tunnel and the blessed rush of the river washed over her.
Horror and relief swept through her by turns. Dead bodies were strewn about the forest floor—servants, peasants, soldiers. On the bank of the river sat a rickety rowing boat. Her mother and father waited inside it, three guards flanking its front. Light shimmered off their gold cloaks and helms, and Blanchette felt an equally vibrant spark of hope burst inside her. Strange, her mind absently registered, seeing her king father dressed in mere bedclothes and not some fancy doublet. Have I ever seen Father out of embellishment and finery?
Do I even know this man?
The river itself was a wild torrent. Rain fell from a black iron sky, pelting at the tumultuous water. Trees poked out from the river, their naked limbs reaching out like the arms of drowned men. The rain swelled the river, and it flooded the bank. Traveling it would be perilous, perhaps mortal, but escaping on foot would mean certain death.
Blanchette limped toward her parents, sobbing. Her tears mixed with the rainwater as her mother clambered out of the boat. Exhaustion was visible in every line of the queen’s beautiful face. Blood matted her blond hair, and her bedclothes were torn and tattered. She stumbled over a rock and into the rushing river. A guardsman helped her up.
Blanchette embraced her queen mother, tears of horror and gratitude and love spilling down both of their cheeks. After a moment, Queen Joanna held her at arm’s length and gently stroked her daughter’s face.
“Grandmother. Willem. They are?—”
“Yes. They are gone, which is why we must fight. This is why you must fight, no matter what… no matter how fleeting hope may seem. Do you understand me, Blanchette? We never stop fighting. Never.” Her mother smiled sadly, her hands cupping either side of Blanchette’s head. She ran her thumb across her wounded cheek, making Blanchette wince.
“Your cheek. Oh, my sweet girl. You’re covered in blood!” She glanced down. “And your leg. You?—”
“It’s okay. I’m fine, Mother. Really, I am.”
The din of the raging battle rode the thin, whistling wind and filled the woods.
“We must go,” the queen commanded, and her guards rushed into action.
One guard aided Blanchette to her feet and into the rowing boat. But nothing was to come quickly or without a fight. The woods itself seemed to roar to life. She heard the peasant soldiers before she saw them. She listened to their yells and erratic commands. Those sounds mated with the wind and the mournful bay of far-off kennel hounds.
Then the woods seemed to split, to part like the Red Sea in the pages of Exodus. A score of peasants rushed toward the bank, their excited voices a rough thunder that thickened the mayhem. Blanchette scanned the faces—more farm boys, a steward, a cook—finding so many she knew. The number of traitors alarmed her.
Her heart grew as cold and hard as ice.
The king of Norland drew his longsword and proudly stood inside the rowing boat. “Kill them, guards! Kill them all! I want them dead. I want this river to run red with their blood!”
He’s a fool, she realized for the first time in her life. A fool whose cruelty has killed us all.
Steel kissed steel while the song of battle rang out. The guards easily cut down the peasants, but they were vastly outnumbered. A few swarmed the boat as Blanchette, her mother, and a guard rowed it downstream. Her father thrust his longsword down and pierced one of the farm boys through the eye. He withdrew the blood-soaked weapon and kicked the body into the river. Blanchette watched as the current turned red and swallowed the boy up.
Blanchette and her mother held each other. She watched through the wind and rain and her tears as the last of their guards was taken down with arrows. Watched as her king father cut away two more peasants, and the face of the castle grew farther and farther away. The trees seemed to come together, a great dark curtain closing at the end of some farce.
The water ran red, just like King Bartholomew had promised.
Yes. This is all just pretend… a farce.
