Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (29 page)

Resuming his complacent stance, Tessier took two goblets of wine from the page’s tray. “One mustn’t be ungracious in victory,” he said, smugly, offering the drink to the cloaked figure next to him. “Your Highness?”

“It’s very kind of you, Captain, sir,” said Laio, pushing back the hood of the cloak. “But I’m sure the Captain wouldn’t want me drinking on duty.”

Before Tessier could utter a word, Jenevra’s voice cut through the silence. “Quite right, Laio. Well done.”

“You …” Tessier spluttered.

“Have the Emperor. Yes, I do,” Jenevra smiled gently at him, while standing next to her cousin with a knife at his throat, dressed in a page’s uniform. “Doesn’t that mean I win, Commander?” She asked Raik sweetly.

“Not yet, it doesn’t,” Tessier said. Opening his mouth to call for his own men, he suddenly found Simon at his side, holding a knife.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you, sir,” Simon said politely. “Or I might be forced to hurt you.”

“What the …?” Tessier spun round, taken aback to see the whole of Shadow Flight standing, unbound, armed and ready, behind him.

“I think we’ll have to concede that the princess has won this one, Captain,” Raik nodded thoughtfully. “And you can put that knife down now, Jenn. We don’t need any Imperial Protector ‘accidents’ with the Emperor, do we?”

Grinning, Jenevra reversed the knife and handed it to Phillip, perching on the arm of his chair as she did so. “Nice work,” she told the Flight. “I know you didn’t like the plan, but you stuck to it, and we won; just like I told you we would. Now,” she said. “Anyone still feel like leaving the Flight?”

The men laughed, slapping each other on the back and generally congratulating themselves.

Phillip held a hand up to quiet the mass of people. As they began filing out of the tent, he moved across to where Blaise Tessier stood, dazed at the turn of events, and rage against the princess building once more. The Captain couldn’t remember anyone ever making such a fool of him; certainly never a woman. Something of his thoughts must have been showing in his face because Phillip quietly reminded him that some sort of congratulations was due to the princess from him. “I expect you to treat this like you would if it had been anyone else, Tessier. A firm handshake, and let it go. She beat you fair and square by using your own prejudices against you. You wouldn’t hold any resentment if it was Pichot or Manvi; you’d best not hold any for … what is it we’re calling her? Captain Couressime?” Punching him lightly in the shoulder, Phillip locked eyes with Tessier. “Don’t let me down, Blaise.”

Understanding the advice not to let his anger get the better of him, Captain Tessier congratulated the princess briefly, but politely, and left her to celebrate with her Flight.

Much, much later that evening, Captain Tessier was walking around the ground of the Palace, trying to clear his head from the surfeit of wine and ale he’d drunk in an effort to put the day behind him. He had drunk enough to begin to see some the funny side of the things that had happened, but not quite enough to forgive the princess for fooling him: certainly not enough to forgive her for tipping him into the river although, even as he thought about it, a smile began to break through. From the solemn child he had met at Frann, she was definitely showing more of a spark than he’d ever thought to see. Wandering along the path that ran around the lake, Tessier noticed that he was very close to the Imperial Family’s own Temple; a small, but beautiful building normally regarded as the private sanctuary of the Marissuns. Realizing that he could use some time sitting down to help clear his head, Tessier slipped quietly in to the Temple, slumping onto the nearest bench he could find in the shadows. The peaceful interior was lit only by two large prayer lamps, sitting on the altar, and he sat for some moments letting the green glow hypnotize him in his inebriated state. As his eyes began to close, Tessier heard voices entering the front of the Temple, and drew back into the shadows. Whilst not exactly forbidden to senior members of the Imperial staff, the Temple was, above all else, the private sanctuary of the Imperial family.

“… did well today, Jenn.” Raik Rabenaldt’s voice came into hearing. Tessier recognized the voice of his Commander, and perked up quickly.

“Really?” The sardonic answer was unmistakably from the princess. “And what is it, exactly, that you all gathered from today’s charade?”

The two walked in front of the altar, standing outlined by the green glow of the lamps. Jenevra leaned forward, cupping the incense and sending a silent prayer up. A third figure moved into sight.

“You ran through three Imperial Flights as if they weren’t there, and annoyed Tessier to a degree I’ve never seen before,” Phillip’s voice held an amused tone. Leaning back against the altar rail and folding his arms, he glanced across at his cousin. “Personally, I thought you were brilliant.”

“And you don’t have any problem with what happened … with what I did?”

Tessier wasn’t sure what the tone was in the princess’s voice, but it sounded strangely close to contempt.

With no reply forthcoming from Raik or Phillip, Jenevra spoke again. “So, it doesn’t concern you at all that, not only could I have effectively paralyzed the Empire this afternoon, but every last man out there was so busy trying to catch one solitary person, that they completely forgot about everything else.” Her anger raised a notch. “Three thousand men all focused on one objective—me— and you don’t see the problem? It was not a game! Anything could have happened today, simply because you felt some macho compulsion to make me ‘prove’ myself.”

“Hang on,” Phillip interjected. “It wasn’t exactly like that.”

“Yes, it was.” Jenevra snapped back at him. “Manvi and Pichot were so amused by the ‘game’ they couldn’t organize their Flights to do anything properly.”

Raik nodded, scratching at his beard. “True.”

“Tessier was so bound and determined to get hold of me that he made any number of stupid mistakes, including letting me get into your tent with a knife. How many times has that happened before; that he would make that kind of mistake?”

“Rarely,” Raik admitted. “But, Jenn, you have to understand. They needed to see what you can do. They wouldn’t have believed it otherwise.”

“They don’t need to!” Jenevra’s voice rose again. “It doesn’t matter what they think. Not for one minute. All that matters is that I can do the things Phillip needs, and keep him safe. I don’t care what your Captains think of me. It’s irrelevant. I’ve wasted an entire day on this stupid game, for what purpose? Manvi and Pichot still think I’m a joke, and Tessier will be looking for revenge of some kind. How is that helping me? How is that protecting Phillip? It’s just like being back on the Island,” she stormed. “It doesn’t matter how many times I prove myself; how many times I win, it will never be good enough. I will always have to justify myself to them. Well, I don’t have the time, or the patience, for that right now, so you’re all going to have to get over it!”

There was silence for a moment, and then some muttered exchange as Raik left them.

Phillip said. “All right, Jenn. Let’s get down to business then, shall we? Aleksander and Corros … you’ll send a full report back?”

Tessier could see the princess, faintly outlined by the glowing green smoke, turn to look at her cousin. “You didn’t write that down, did you?” She said, looking disbelievingly at a paper in his hands. “Honestly, Phil,” she sighed. “What’s the use of having your very own spy when you won’t follow the rules? Don’t write it down! It’s called plausible deniability—ask Lord Menzetti.”

Tessier could hear the princess teasing her cousin, as they turned to move out of the Temple again. Far more clear-headed after listening to this private conversation, he sat stroking his beard and contemplating what it might mean to him to know that the stubborn Princess was also the Emperor’s personal spy.

 CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Captains Manvi and Tessier led their Flights through the streets of Salanova in formal procession. Burnished helmets, spears and lances gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight as they paraded through cheering crowds who were now in the mood to celebrate anything emerging from the Palace.

From the top Council chamber in the south wing of the Palace, Jenevra watched until the two Flights began crossing the Plain of Salanova where they split; Manvi heading straight out across Maressia, Tessier turning north towards Bortka.

Brogan’s voice cut across her thoughts. “They’re ready to leave as soon as you are, Captain.”

“Tomorrow, at dawn, then. If Lady Menzetti’s traveling in a carriage it will slow us down a little, so the earlier we can set off the better.”

The gruff Sergeant nodded. “Captain, forgive me for asking, but are you going to be alright with this? Prince Mikhail, I mean. You know, after the other night …”

Acknowledging his concern, she nodded. “We’ve already talked about it. We both know where we stand, I think. It shouldn’t be a problem for this journey anyway. If you could tell the men the plan is to leave in the morning, I’ll go check Lady Menzetti’s going to be ready. I’ll see you and the rest of the Flight at sunrise.”

The mist was starting to lift as the Flight crossed the river and turned south for the first part of their journey, to Lady Menzetti’s family estate in the south of Maressia Major. The road was an easy one; most of Maressia was well served with roads built by an industrious Emperor in a previously peaceful time. With Lady Menzetti in a carriage they made good time, the men were relaxed and rested; their mood good. After the horror of Albor Jenevra thought it was probably a good thing Phillip had given them this task. It would allow some of them to put the massacred village behind them. Dillon would obviously take longer. She could see shadows under his eyes and Brogan had told her he’d been angry that they weren’t going back to Bortka. Some of the other less experienced and younger members of the Flight would also have been more affected, but not understanding it yet. As they rode, Jenevra talked it over with Brogan, making sure the older men Flight knew to look out for the others.

“And you’re dealing with it, Captain?” Brogan asked. “No, I’m not ‘mothering’ you, but you are younger than all of them!” He shrugged. “Just making sure we’re looking out for everyone.”

Jenevra looked straight ahead, her eyes distant. “I’ve seen worse, Brogan,” she said softly. “I was at Gassendi.”

“What in the names of all seven gods were you doing there?” Brogan was truly horrified. “How? Why were you there?”

Gassendi was in the Jantara region: a Duchy with indistinct boundaries that had caused a serious dispute between two neighboring nobles. The situation had escalated rapidly into a siege of one castle. The town surrounding the castle had been starved and massacred, with the bodies thrown into the besieged castle causing disease and the swift surrender of the Duke of Gassendi. That hadn’t been the end of it, though. The attacking duke had shown no mercy to anyone in the castle, slaughtering all within its walls horribly, including the Duke of Gassendi and his entire family. Not a servant, not even an animal had been spared. Imperial troops riding to break the siege under Arrilia Neilla’s orders had ridden in to a charnel house of death and disease. No-one who had seen Gassendi ever forgot it. In the recent history of the Empire it was without doubt one of the worst incidents; a prime example of why Phillip wanted to let his nobles know that his hand was firmly on them.

“I went with my mentor,” Jenevra told Brogan. “We’d heard there would be a siege, and we knew that the Duke of Tabor was mentally unstable.” She nodded as Brogan raised his eyebrows at this. “The Order gets all kinds of information, Brogan. It’s not all military. Tabor had a disease that was eating his brain away. What he did was appalling, but he really had no cognition of his actions. His men should have stood up to him, but they knew he would kill them too.” She paused as Mikhail cantered forward to join them; welcoming him coolly with a glance. “We were just discussing Gassendi.”

Mikhail’s face grew grim. “Was Albor like that?”

“No, thankfully. It was bad enough, but nothing could compare to Gassendi.”

“But why were you at Gassendi, Captain? I don’t understand what purpose your Order had in sending you there.” Brogan frowned. “What did they hope to achieve?”

“We hoped to be in time to break the siege—maybe even preventing it before it started.” Jenevra looked across at Brogan who had his next question forming on his lips. “Our ship didn’t get us there in time. It was almost over by the time we reached them. We did what we were sent to do anyway.”

“Which was?” Brogan prompted.

“To kill Tabor.” She said simply. “If we’d reached Gassendi on time we would have killed him before he could set the siege up. But we didn’t. Killing Tabor after the event was just putting him out of his madness before the Empress had a chance to do it.”

“So you were going there to assassinate Tabor?”

“Exactly,” Mikhail said. “It’s often the most effective way to stop problems happening. Take away the person giving the orders and the plan just crumbles.”

“So, you were what?” Brogan did some quick calculations in his head. “Seventeen, eighteen? That’s crazy. Sending anyone that age into that situation, much less a—”

“Girl? We’re not back to that are we?” Jenevra glared at him. “Seventeen, actually. Without that experience you’d probably have had hysterics on your hands at Albor, so you really should try to appreciate the benefits of my training, obscure though its reasons may seem to you.” She swung her horse around. “I’m going to see how Lady Menzetti’s doing.”

Laio was driving the team, having suggested that they would need him along to look after the horses on an extended trip like this one. Reluctantly, Jenevra had agreed. He was good at what he did, and Bernardo seemed to be taking the young lad under his wing too. Laio grinned as the Captain rode up alongside. The princess was on her regular horse, a dappled gray with a smooth pace. Most of the Flight now rode gray or black horses, although Wulfgar’s bulk made him difficult to mount on anything smaller than large carthorses.

“Lady Menzetti!” Jenevra called in through the open window of the carriage. “Is everything alright? Do you need anything?”

Graea Menzetti’s head appeared, bright gray eyes gazing clearly at the princess. She smiled. “Actually, Your Highness, I’d really like to get out of this for a while. Do you think I could ride?”

“Oh,” Jenevra was startled by the request. She couldn’t think of any other lady she knew who was still riding in her seventies; but she was starting to think that Lady Menzetti wasn’t like too many of the other ladies she’d ever met. “Er … Laio, do we have anything suitable for Lady Menzetti to ride? I don’t think we have any sidesaddles with us though, Lady Menzetti,” she apologized.

“That’s fine, Princess. I always rode astride when I was a girl, you know. I’m very accustomed to it, even if my family seems to think I’m too fragile to be allowed to get on a horse these days.”

“Captain,” Laio said from his position at the front of the carriage. “I really think your horse would be the best for Lady Menzetti. He’s the best size and temperament. You could ride any of the spare horses we brought. There’s a really frisky black I think you’d like back there.”

“Fine, I’ll go get it. Are the spare saddles in Bernardo’s wagon?” She cantered off to the back of the column where several of the men were towing strings of horses behind them. Spotting the black horse being led on his own by Kallan Bana, the horseman from northern Maressia, she rode over to Bernardo’s wagon and grabbed a new saddle and bridle.

Kallan quickly saddled and bridled the horse while Jenevra held its head, speaking softly to it all the time. He was quite a big horse and restive, prancing lightly on his front hoofs all the time: his coloring an unusual mix of coal black coat with an almost silver mane and tail; four silver socks and a blaze of silver down the front of his nose. The horse jumped around as Jenevra swung up easily onto his back. Kallan grinned at the look of delight on his Captain’s face as she felt the horse’s strength. “Give him time, Captain,” he said. “He’s a good horse, just needs to be ridden regularly to settle him down.”

“Will you take my horse back up to the carriage for Lady Menzetti, Kallan? I think we need to go for a bit of a run to get acquainted.” She patted the horse’s glossy neck with one hand. “Tell Brogan not to panic. I won’t go far.” Turning the horse, she took off at a full gallop, thundering out across the Plain, exulting in the power and freedom this horse brought her.

As Brogan noticed the black horse disappearing off to his right, he looked around, frowning. Kallan was coming towards him, having left Finn Corrigan helping Lady Menzetti. “Captain Couressime is just stretching out her new horse, Sergeant,” Kallan called as he drew near. “She said not to worry, she’ll be back soon.”

Brogan shook his head and sighed. “Follow her, Kallan. Don’t come back without her.” He turned to Mikhail. “I know that I know the answer to this question, but is she always like this?”

“Yes,” Mikhail laughed.

As their laughter subsided, Brogan asked, more seriously, “Was Gassendi really as bad as they say? I mean, Albor was bad, but she just seemed to be angry, not upset.”

Mikhail considered the question. It was the first time the brusque Sergeant had really directed any comment towards him, and Mikhail still wasn’t sure exactly where he stood with him. The rest of the Flight was icily courteous, but had obviously not forgiven him for challenging their Captain. “Gassendi was horrific,” he said simply. “None of us slept properly for weeks afterwards; but Jenna was no worse than any of us. She dealt with everything she had to when we there. The Order doesn’t allow any difference for age or gender. Ability is the only thing you are measured by; and she’s one of the best … in every way.” He chuckled ruefully. “It was a little galling to have a young girl come in and achieve what had taken most of us years of training in about half the time. I’d already been training for over three years when they made her my training partner, and I have to admit I wasn’t too happy about it at first. Some of the other trainees tried to do anything they could to make her fail. Most of them ended up being the one who failed. She can be very determined when she wants something. But rarely upset. I don’t think I could honestly say I’ve ever seen her upset. Angry … oh yes … but not truly upset. But she’s totally committed to the duty the Order laid on us, and she tends to work through her emotions. Like this,” Mikhail gestured around at the Flight; a tightness around his eyes. “Give her something to work on and she can put most things, or people, behind her. It’s uncanny at times just how focused she can be. Not to mention a little hurtful when you find out your own less than central place in her great scheme of things.” His eyes shadowed as he thought about his own diminished relationship with the princess.

“Behind, or just buried?” Brogan wondered. “I know she’s self-reliant. She has been since she was very young. But what if all these things are just building up inside her? One day it might all just come pouring out—or she’ll crack under it all.”

“Well, just make sure you’re not in her direct line if and when that happens,” Mikhail advised. “And try to keep her away from breakable things, like people, cities, small mountain ranges, you know …” Mikhail’s grin vanished as he broke off suddenly, clutching at his chest, his face turning ashen.

“Your Highness! What is it?” Brogan grabbed at the Prince who seemed about to fall out of his saddle. “Mikhail! Talk to me. Damn it, Baudoin,” he barked at the curly-headed climber riding on the far side of the Prince. “Get the other side of him!”

Mikhail was hunched over, almost unconscious; his breathing shallow and erratic.

“Laio!” Brogan roared. “Get that carriage up here now!”

As they dragged Mikhail from his horse and into the carriage, Laio pulled back the soft leather front of the roof to let more light into it.

“Gods, he looks awful,” Brogan sounded worried. “The Captain’ll be furious if anything happens to him while she’s supposed to be getting him home safely.”

“You don’t think any of the Flight would have …” Baudoin suggested, miming tipping a bottle into Mikhail’s mouth.

“Risk the wrath of the Captain, after Theiss? Absolutely not.”

“Out of the way, gentlemen; I’ll deal with the Prince.” Graea Menzetti pulled up outside the carriage. “I have an idea what’s wrong with him, and it’s not poison. If it’s what I think it is, then the princess may also be in trouble. You go—” she looked after them as they flung themselves back onto their horses and raced off. “And find her.”