The Apprentice (44 page)

He
attacked as he had been trained, but he acted slower than he normally would,
fear and indecision holding back his limbs as though he waded through water.
Because of this, Rowan failed to slay his opponent instantly. Instead, the
guard was able to raise his own weapon and parry the blow, though Rowan’s
strike bit him in the leg, drawing blood.

Facing
an opponent with a blade in hand, Rowan allowed his instincts to take over. His
muscles moved in a familiar rhythm, whipping the blade left and right,
parrying, blocking, attacking. He pushed the guard backwards, hacking at the
man and trying to knock him over.

From the
corner of his eye, he could see that Baird had felled another of the guards and
was overwhelming his remaining opponent.

Rowan
fought hard, but he could not land a blow. His opponent was gaining the upper
hand. Rowan could feel fear blossom in his chest. He was fighting with a real
blade and a mistake now would mean more than welts and broken bones. And he
fought unarmored. Where his opponent was protected by leather and mail, Rowan
had naught but a torn and bloodied tunic.

One
misstep would be the end of him. One false move. One stroke of the blade.

A
two-handed blow forced him to step backwards and left his arms numb, but he
recovered quickly, unwilling to allow his opponent to gain the upper hand. He
fought back and was able to overwhelm the man, forcing him towards the steps
where he tripped and fell backwards, striking his head on the stone and losing
his grip on his sword. Rowan stood victorious.

Yet now
he did not know what to do. In a practice bout or a dueling match, the battle
would be over and he could walk away. This was different. He had won, but he
did not want to kill this man. Not even after the man had fought to kill him.
Behind him, Rowan heard a muffled grunt and the sound of a body falling to the
ground. Baird’s battle had ended.

Rowan
lowered his blade and was beginning to turn towards his master when the man who
lay at his feet stirred. Acting on instinct alone, Rowan brought his sword
forward defensively and felt it meet resistance as it bit into the guard. The
guard dropped the knife he now held, a small blade with which he had sought to
end Rowan’s life.

Rowan
stared at the man in front of him, the weight of the body pulling against his
sword as it fell back to the ground. The blade slipped from Rowan’s grip.

“We must
hurry,” Baird said from behind him. His master was halfway up the steps before
he realized that Rowan had not moved. “Come, Rowan. We haven’t the time for
this. You must be strong.”

Silently,
Rowan followed his master, pulling his weapon free of the body. He hurried up
the steps and into the castle, driven by a sense of urgency, but he could not
seem to escape the feeling of death, the weight of a dead man’s body on his
blade. He could still feel that weight, he thought. The guard’s lifeblood still
stained the sword, weighing it down, and weighing Rowan down with it.

“We must
hurry. Our presence will not go unnoticed for long. The bodies we left will be
found any moment and I do not plan to be nearby when the alarm is raised.”

Rowan
followed his master through several corridors, taking turn after turn as though
they were trying to go in circles. Rowan guessed that his master was taking the
lesser known paths throughout the castle, trying to avoid any routes that were
likely to be guarded.

Baird
slowed only when they stopped to ascend a stairway that would take them to the
second story. The stairwells were the most likely places to be guarded, though
this was only a servants’ stair. Baird left Rowan at the bottom so that they
would not be taken unawares and caught between two groups. Baird signaled him
to follow when he found no guards and they resumed their hurried pace.

Rowan
found the halls of the castle much different at night. It was silent, more so
than would be usual even for such a late hour. The quiet was unnerving and it
took him several minutes to realize that it was the absence of any servants
that made everything seem so quiet. There ought to have been at least a few
people awake and tending to various tasks and chores despite the late hour.
With no one present, the castle was truly vulnerable.

“There
are no servants,” Rowan said. He had kept an eye out for anyone that they could
warn or who might be searching for them.

“I
noticed that as well. I do not know what it means, but it cannot bode well.” Baird
increased his pace so that Rowan was nearly sprinting to keep up with him.

Suddenly,
they heard shouts coming from the direction of the castle entrance. A short,
shrill whistle sounded. Once. Twice. The third blast was cut short abruptly,
returning the halls to a dead silence.

Baird
stopped to listen and held up a hand for silence before Rowan could speak.
Rowan stood silent for a full minute before he heard what Baird was listening
for. The shouting and the distant sound of steel on steel were easy to
recognize, though hard to hear.

At once
the castle seemed to erupt and there were cries and other sounds coming from
different directions. Some sounded close to where they stood.

Baird’s
eyes snapped open and he seemed an entirely different person. His face was hard
and he gripped his blade tightly at his side, knuckles white.

“Rowan,
I fear that we may be too late. This will be far too dangerous if I must worry
for your safety.”

“I can
take care of—”

“Silence!”
Baird roared, his shout startling Rowan. “I cannot concentrate if my apprentice
is following me and I will not have your death on my hands. You agreed that you
would obey me in whatever I asked. I am not asking this of you. I am ordering
you to find someplace safe and stay there. If possible, escape the castle and
try to alert the trainers. They may be able to help.”

“Why are
you telling me this? I will not abandon you.” Rowan tried to protest but his
master spoke over him, voice hard and tone urgent.

“If all
else fails, head for Estion and wait there. If the capitol should fall while
the royal family lives, they will be found in Estion.”

Rowan
tried to speak but his master had turned his back and was already hurrying
away. Rowan sprinted after him. Baird rounded a corner and Rowan lost sight of
him for a moment. He turned and suddenly there was shouting. He ran into his
master from behind. Without so much as a backwards glance, Baird grabbed Rowan
and hurled him aside through an open doorway.

The last
thing that Rowan heard before he struck his head was his master’s shout. He
yelled only a single word.

Stay.

Chapter 46
                     
 

Rowan blinked and suddenly
everything changed and his head ached. He stared forward and wondered why Baird
no longer stood in the same spot, why the sounds of fighting had diminished.

He stood
up and found his head swimming. He felt woozy and the edges of his vision
tunneled and made the floor seem to sway. He reached out a hand and blindly
felt for something to steady himself with before he fell down again. It took a
few moments for the wooziness to lessen and the tunnel vision to leave him. His
head still swam but he could walk a straight line without falling over.

When he
reached the doorway, he stood still and listened, trying to discern how far
away the sounds of fighting were. The echoing of the halls made judging
distance difficult and he gave up trying. It hurt his head and as far as he
could tell, there was no one in the immediate vicinity.

Leaving
the room, he found that the castle walls and floor had a sickening coat of red.
What looked to be blood stained the stone and the carpet and the wood. Several
bodies lay spread out on the floor. The sight was nauseating and the smell was
even worse.

Rowan
made his way past, clutching the short-sword that Baird had given him. He did
not know what he should do on his own, but he refused to sit idly by while the
capitol was thrown into chaos and Gannon sought to kill the royal family.

Thoughts
of Princess Eliza came unbidden to his mind, her innocent smile and her golden
curls, and he knew he must find her. He hoped that she might find a knife to
defend herself. She had not built up the muscle to wield a true sword, but he
had taught her enough to be dangerous.

Rowan
turned left out of the room. He did not know where he should go, and without
Baird, he was much more cautious.

He
wandered the halls, checking rooms as he went, searching for anyone left alive
and trying to avoid being caught. He made every effort to hurry, but what had
once been a grand and welcoming castle had turned into a place of danger. His
heart pounded at every turn, hoping that no one was waiting for him around the
corner. He clutched the hilt of Baird’s short-sword as though his grip was the
only thing keeping danger at bay. The sword helped, but he had no illusions
about what would happen if he were discovered alone.

The
cries and sounds of fighting were distant, carrying through the halls and
bringing unwanted images into his mind.

The
first rooms that Rowan checked were empty, though all were in disarray. He
found several bodies, but none that he recognized. He stopped in one room where
some lord and lady had been slain while they were still abed. Rowan pulled the
blanket over the bodies to cover them and keep them decent.

He could
hear sounds throughout the halls as he proceeded, but he never came across
anyone. It was as though the castle was empty. So when he suddenly heard the
sound of footfalls coming towards him, he faltered.

The
sound grew closer and Rowan looked for a place to hide. In the direction that
he had been heading there were no doors. The hall continued on for a ways
before it turned, too far for him to reach, and there was little decoration or
furniture he could use for cover.

The
footfalls grew closer still. Rowan turned around, panicked and frantically
looking for a way to escape. Behind him, nearly one hundred paces away, was a
door. It had been locked when he tried it earlier, but it was his only option.

He ran
stumbling towards the door. The footsteps seemed to be almost upon him and he
hoped that the nearness of the sound was just the hallway playing tricks on
him. He reached the door and tried to force the handle, but it would not budge.
With fear and adrenaline driving him, Rowan took a step back and then threw
himself against it. It held, but the way it creaked gave him hope. He took an
extra step back and threw himself at the door again. There was a crack and he
fell forward as the old door swung open. Hurriedly, he scrambled inside the
room and pressed his back against the wall.

“Did you
hear something?”

The
approaching footsteps slowed and came to a halt. Rowan guessed the men were
still at the end of the hall, but he could not be certain.

“I’ve
heard a lot of things. I still hear things. Be more specific.”

There
was grumbling before a man answered. “I thought I heard a crash, like something
fell over.”

Rowan
pressed himself against the wall. The door hung open and though he was hidden
from the sight of those in the hallway, if anyone were to stick their head in
the room they would find themselves staring him right in the face. Rowan looked
around but the room was bare and he feared that his movement might be noticed.
Cautiously, He loosened Baird’s short-sword in its sheath, hoping that he would
not need it.

“Look
around you, everything has fallen over or been thrown and broken. Don’t be
getting jumpy.”

“I could
have sworn—”

“I don’t
care! Others have been through here already and had their fun. We should keep
moving and find our own.”

There
was a brief silence and then Rowan heard the soldiers coming down the hallway,
towards his room. Without thinking, he moved to the other side of the entrance
so that he was hidden behind the hanging door. The footsteps came closer and
began to pass him, but one paused. Through the crack between the door and the
frame, a shadow moved. He gripped the hilt of his blade even tighter, ready to
pull it free.

A head
poked into the room, followed by an armored body. The soldier glanced from side
to side, his gaze falling just short of Rowan, who pressed himself against the
wall as though he were standing on a mountain ledge. He willed himself to be
smaller, for the shadows to hide him.

“There
is no one there, save perhaps a corpse or two. We should move on.”

After a
long moment, the soldier standing in the room turned to leave. As he did, Rowan
stood in full sight of him, hidden only by darkness. The man had only to turn
his head to the right and look closely.

“C’mon.
Stop trying to find things where there are none.”

The
soldier stepped through the door and the men continued on their way. Rowan
could see that they had been a group of five. Had he been noticed, had the
soldier looked more closely, he would have faced death.

Rowan
released his grip on the blade and allowed himself to breathe again. It was
with great courage that he managed to leave his hiding place. Fear held him,
but he knew he could not wait and hide. Once all sound of the soldiers had
faded, he left and followed them down the hall. But where he had heard them
turn right, he turned left.

His
search continued. Down several hallways, taking turn after turn and checking
rooms as he went. Within minutes he ran across a pair of soldiers. He stumbled
upon them by accident, not hearing them when he turned a corner. The two men
seemed even more surprised than he, which likely saved him. Rowan reacted
quickly and struck one man down before either could draw their blades. The
second soldier took him longer to deal with, as he wore armor and had drawn his
sword. Rowan took two cuts, neither life threatening, before he ended the man.
Two
more. Gods, what have I come to?

After
that, he made an even greater effort to move with caution. He made note of
hiding places as he moved. When he heard any sound, he would hide himself. He
knew that his luck would not last long, and his body pained him greatly. He
could not continue to defend himself without taking further injury and he had
no way of knowing who was friend and who was foe. Caution would be his ally.

Facing
the pair of soldiers, however, gave Rowan a sense of urgency. Eliza was somewhere
within the castle. If the Gods were good, Baird would have already found her
and King Alden and they would be safe. But Rowan would not leave Eliza’s fate
in any hands but his own or his master’s, and since he could not know what had
become of Baird, he would find the princess himself.

He
headed towards the section of the palace reserved for the royal family. He knew
where it was but had never been there. As he went, he found the halls that had
been so clean and lavishly decorated now lay in ruin, the carpets and
tapestries stained with the blood of loyal men, wooden doors and furniture cut
and splintered, and the air filled with the stench of death.

The
royal suites were easily found, but difficult to navigate. He crept through the
corridors, trying to keep quiet as he searched. When he ran into more soldiers,
he slew his third and his fourth men. It was easier this time. They were clean
kills and he knew to not hesitate. Afterwards, he stumbled aside into a room
and retched before he continued his search.

Eventually
he found himself outside of the king’s royal study. Though Rowan knew Eliza was
unlikely to be found in the study, he had to check anyways. King Alden was said
to be fond of studying books and manuscripts late into the evening. He might
still be hidden inside.

He
opened the door a crack, just enough to see through, and peered inside. The
room was dark and he could not see a thing. He backed out and grabbed a fallen
torch that still had some life before returning.

The room
had two large windows built into the far wall, but thick drapes covered them
and kept out any light. In the darkness, the torch threw shadows across the
walls, shadows that moved and made Rowan wary. He kept seeing movement in the
corner of his vision as the flame burned and the shadows danced.

By the
light of the torch, he could see that the study had remained largely untouched.
The room was long but not deep. Stacks of books lay piled on desks alongside
quills and inkwells. Candles sat unlit, waiting to be used. By their size, he
could tell that they often saw use.

The many
shelves by the wall looked to offer ideal hiding places, and Rowan hoped that
he might find his princess hidden there, tucked safely away among the stacks.

As he
moved through the room, Rowan heard a sound coming from the back corner. He
paused, wary, but the sound was not of clanking mail. It was a coughing,
wheezing, gurgling noise that came forth from the darkness, a sound that set
his hair on end and made him sick thinking about it.

The
sound echoed through the room again, this time louder and accompanied by a gasp
seemingly of pain.

Rowan
cautiously stepped forward and held out his torch to light the space between
two book stacks. He found the body of an elderly woman sprawled on the floor.
The woman still lived, though judging from the pool of her life’s blood spilled
on the floor, Rowan knew that she was likely to die soon.

When he
flipped the woman over to prop her up against the wall, Rowan recognized her as
Eliza’s old caretaker. Gizelle, he recalled.

“Are you
conscious?” The only response he received was a groan. He found the wound, a
hole in the chest where she had been stabbed. Blood was not flowing freely, but
she had lost a lot already.

He tried
to use some of the fabric of the woman’s clothing to bind it. This caused her
to groan louder, worrying Rowan that the sound might alert more soldiers. But
the pain also brought her into a more lucid state, and after a moment she
quieted herself. Rowan tried to finish his binding, but she pushed him away.

“No. Too
painful.”

“What
happened to you?”

“Guards,”
Gizelle managed to choke out. She coughed, sending her body into a violent fit
as the movement pained her wound. A trickle of blood escaped.

“Guards…killing
everyone. Betrayers and traitors. Must escape…tell someone.” The pain of
speaking was clear upon her face, and her words came out as no more than a
whisper. Rowan wondered if she was completely lucid, but he had no time to
worry over that.

“What of
the royal family?” He asked with dread. Her expression was answer enough, but
he needed to hear the words. He waited but she would not speak, she would only
stare past him, her gaze fixed intently on some point in space behind him.
Rowan turned, thinking that someone might have snuck up on him, but there was
nothing.

“What of
the royal family? What of Princess Eliza!” Rowan cried, nearly to the point of
yelling. He received no answer, just the same dead stare. The elderly woman was
gone.

Rowan
dropped her body and let his shoulders sag with the weight of loss. Deep down
inside of him, he knew the answer to his question, but he had to be sure. He
could not give up hope.

He left
Gizelle’s body behind and resumed his search with a frenzied fervor. He no
longer cared whether or not he ran into guards. If anyone opposed him, he would
cut them down. He would not be stopped.

He found
his way to the royal chambers, where he could hear people. Outside of the
king’s chamber a battle was raging, or so Rowan thought at first.

He saw a
group of soldiers crowding the hallway. Opposing them was Baird, his armor
stained red and a mad look on his face. He was bleeding from many wounds, and a
gash had opened the left side of his face, making one eye useless.