Chapter 36

Aremys had persuaded Wyl as far as the gates, hurrying Cailech’s bulky form down into the bowels of the palace. the guard accompanying them directed them to a little-used gate, which brought them out into a courtyard near the chapel.

When Aremys cursed their lack of weapons, Wyl remembered that Koreldy’s blue sword was stored in a secret spot in the chapel. Against the guard’s wishes they hurried in, startling Father Paryn.

A familiar voice greeted them. “Aremys!” Turning, they saw young Pil, who had escaped with Ylena from the massacre at Rittylworth.

“You know these men, child?” Father Paryn asked the novice.

“I know Farrow—we met at Felrawthy, Father. But I don’t know his friend.”

“Pil,” Aremys said, his voice spilling its relief. “This is—” Wyl would not permit it. “I am King Cailech of the Razors,” he said, bowing.

Father Paryn’s face drained of color. To his credit, young Pil recovered quickly and bowed. “Why are you here, your highness?” the novice asked.

“We’re running from King Celimus,” Aremys growled, hurling an angry glance Wyl’s way.

“King Celimus is here?” Father Paryn asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Wyl said calmly. “We must not be found or it will look bad for the Queen, you understand?” Clearly neither of them did, judging from their confused expression. Wyl pushed on; confusion could be helpful now. “Anyway, we need Romen’s sword.”

“No fighting in the house of Shar, King or not,” the priest cautioned.

“There won’t be, Father. We just want to take the sword and leave. I promise no blood will be spilled.” It was too late. There were shouts outside and the guard accompanying them shrugged. “I’m sorry, sire,” he said, “I shall have to turn you in. I’ve been briefed by Commander Liryk not to risk the Queen’s reputation.”

Wyl nodded. “I understand.”

“What?” Aremys roared. “Wait!”

“Be quiet, Aremys,” Wyl commanded. He turned quickly to Father Paryn and Pil. “Hide him,” he said, indicating the Grenadyne, “and help him escape the palace compound. I ask no more than that you give him Koreldy’s weapons. Queen Valentyna will thank you for it,” he added, then lied: “She has sanctioned it.”

Both holy men nodded dumbly, watching as King Cailech of the Razors strode out to meet the Legionnaires and the Briavellian Guard.

“Quick!” Pil said, and with no choice left to him, Aremys Farrow hung his head and followed the novice.

A few minutes later he heard the soldiers enter and receive a predictable roasting from Father Paryn for bearing arms in the chapel. They tried to explain but achieved nothing but the threat of damnation in Shar’s eternal fire if they did not leave at once. “Curse you all for disturbing a man at prayer,” the priest called after them.

Pil left Aremys in a small room behind the main chapel while he went for news from Father Paryn.

“Where did they take the King?” Aremys asked when Pil returned, wondering how he might free Wyl from a company of Legionnaires and the Briavellian Guard.

“I gather he’s in the guardhouse. There are soldiers everywhere. Is he really the King of the Razors?” Aremys looked sorrowfully at Pil and nodded before adding, “He was also Ylena Thirsk, Faryl of Coombe, and Romen Koreldy.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Wyl Thirsk!” he exclaimed in a hushed tone of wonder.

“That’s right. And now the King finally has him in his clutches.”

“What are we going to do?” Pil asked, terrified.

Aremys knew that trying to rescue Wyl right away was pointless. He needed time to think it through, and Celimus would not do anything too risky on Briavellian soil just before his wedding. No, he would save Cailech for some sort of spectacle after the marriage ceremony, no doubt.

“You’re going to stay here and keep our secret,” he told the novice. “And I’m going to take Koreldy’s sword and make my way to Pearlis.”

“That’s where he’ll be taken, I gather. To Stoneheart.”

“Good work, Pil,” Aremys said, knowing the praise would help the frightened young monk.

“Is there anything else I can do?”

“Lead me out safely and then let the Queen know that I’ve escaped.”

“Do you need a horse?”

Aremys shook his head. “Too risky and Celimus is too smart. No, I’ll go on foot and hitch a ride somehow.”

“There are plenty of nobles and merchants headed for Pearlis, Master Farrow,” Pil said excitedly. “I’m sure you can get a lift with one of them.”

The Grenadyne tried to smile but failed. “That’s what I’ll do, then.” Most of the nobles making the journey to Pearlis for the royal wedding had their own men for protection, but Aremys was counting on the strata of society below the nobles not having reliable security. A number of middle-class families had decided the opportunity to witness the marriage ceremony combined with the sight of the great city of Pearlis was irresistible, and were also preparing for the trip.

After lying low in the northern part of Werryl for a couple of hours and carefully watching the procession of travelers, Aremys offered his services to three couples who were obviously traveling together. Aremys knew he possessed one of those inherently honest faces, which in this instance won favor with the ladies—along with his suggestion that although Briavel was relatively safe, Morgravia was riddled with bandits who preyed on wealthy merchants.

And so Aremys found himself sitting alongside Mat, a purveyor of fine foods to the nobility, who was driving the carriage that carried the rest of the party, while another man, Bren, brought up the rear, riding one of the two fresh horses they had brought along.

“I’ve never seen a sword tinged with blue like that,” Mat commented.

“Aye,” Aremys answered, more sadly than he meant to. “It belonged to a friend who gave it to me as a gift.”

Mat whistled. “Some gift. Must have set him back a penny or two. My brother’s a craftsman in weapons, but I’ve never seen him work on anything like that.”

“I believe it was made by Master Craftsman Wevyr.”

“At Orkyld,” the man said in awe.

Aremys nodded. “He was a good friend.”

“I guess so,” Mat agreed, some irony in the grin he cast the Grenadyne’s way. The two men settled into a comfortable silence as the carriage cleared the city and headed onto the main road that led to Morgravia.