Michael Sullivan - The Crown conspiracy

Hadrian looked at Royce who stood silent. "Well," he began as he glanced at the floor. "I guess…we'd just grown kind of fond of you I suppose."

Alric smiled and addressed the room. "The life of the Prince of Melengar-the would-be king-was saved, not by his army, not by his loyal bodyguards, nor by a grand fortress-but by two treacherous, impudent thieves who didn't have the good sense to ride away."

The prince stepped forward and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "I am already deeply in your debt, and have no right to ask, but I must beg you now to display the same poor judgment once again and save my sister. Please, steal her from Braga's clutches and you can name whatever price you wish."

– 8 -"Another last-minute, good-deed job," Royce grumbled as he stuffed supplies into his saddlebag.

"True," Hadrian said, slinging his sword belt over his shoulder, "but this is at least a paying job."

"You should have told him the real reason we saved him from Trumbul-because we wouldn't see the hundred tenents otherwise."

"That was your reason. Besides, how often do we get to do royal contracts? If word gets around, we'll be able to command top salaries."

"If word gets around, we'll be hanged."

"Okay, good point. But remember, she did save our skins. If Arista hadn't helped us out of the dungeon, we'd be ornaments for the Medford Autumn Festival right now."

Royce paused and sighed. "I didn't say we weren't doing it, did I? Did I say that? No, I didn't. I told the little prince we'd do it. Just don't expect me to be happy about it."

"I just want to make you feel better about your decision," Hadrian said. Royce glared at him. "Okay, okay, I'll see about the horses now." He grabbed his gear and headed for the courtyard where a light snow was starting to fall.

Pickering had provided the thieves with two of his swiftest stallions and any supplies they thought they might need. Ella had a late night snack and a sizable travel meal prepared for them. They took heavy woolen cloaks to brace against the cold and dark scarves that they wrapped around the lower half of their faces to keep the chill of the wind off their cheeks.

"I hope we will meet again soon," Myron told them as they prepared their mounts. "You two are the most fascinating people I have ever met, although I suppose that isn't saying a lot is it?"

"It's the thought that counts," Hadrian told him and gave the monk a bear hug, which caught the little man by surprise. As they climbed into their saddles, Myron bowed his head and muttered a soft prayer.

"There," Hadrian told Royce, "we've got Maribor on our side. Now you can relax."

"Actually," Myron said sheepishly, "I was praying for the horses. But I will pray for you as well," he added hastily.

Alric and the Pickerings came out to the courtyard to see them off. Even Lenare joined them, wrapped in a white fur cape. The fluffy muffler was wrapped so high on her shoulders that it hid the lower portion of her face. Only her eyes could be seen.

"If you can't get her out," Pickering said, "try to stall the execution until our forces can arrive. Once they do, however, you'd better have her secured. I am certain Braga will kill her out of desperation. Oh, and one more thing, don't try to fight Braga. He's the best swordsman in Melengar. Leave him for me." The count slapped the elegant rapier he wore at his side. "This time I'll have my own sword, and the archduke will feel its sting."

"I will be leading the attack on Essendon," Alric informed them. "It is my duty as ruler. So if you do reach my sister and if I should fall before the end of this, let her know I'm sorry for not trusting her. Let her know…" he faltered for a moment, "let her know I loved her and I think she will make a fine queen."

"You'll tell her yourself, Your Majesty," Hadrian assured him.

Alric nodded and then added, "And I'm sorry about what I said to you before. You two are the best Royal Protectors I could ever hope for. Now go. Save my sister or I'll have you both thrown back in my dungeon!"

They bowed respectfully in their saddles, then turned their horses and urged them into a gallop. They rode out the gate into the cold black of night.

The morning of Arista Essendon's trial arrived along with the first snow. Despite not having slept, Percy Braga did not feel the least bit tired. Having set the wheels in motion the previous morning by sending the trial announcements, he had a hundred details demanding his personal attention. He was just rechecking his witness list when there was a knock at the door to his office and a servant entered.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir," the man said with a bow. "Bishop Saldur is here. He said you wanted to see him."

"Of course, of course, send him in," the archduke replied.

The elderly cleric entered, wearing his dress robes of black and red. Braga crossed the room and kissed his ring as he bowed. "Thank you for seeing me so early, your grace. Are you hungry?" May I arrange for some breakfast to be brought for you?"

"No, thank you, I've already eaten. At my age, one tends to wake early whether one wants to or not. What exactly did you want to see me about?"

"I just wanted to make sure you didn't have any questions about your testimony today. We could go over it now if you do. I've scheduled some time."

"Ah, I see," the bishop replied, nodding slowly. "I don't think that will be necessary. I have a clear understanding of what is required."

"Wonderful, then I think everything is in order."

"Excellent," the bishop said and glanced toward the decanter. "Is that brandy I see?"

"Yes, would you like some?"

"Normally I wouldn't indulge so early, but this is a special occasion."

"Absolutely, your grace."

The bishop took a seat near the fire as Braga poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to the bishop. "To the new Melengar regime," the archduke proposed. The crystal rang clear like a bell as their glasses touched. Then each took a deep drink.

"There's just something about a bit of brandy on a snowy day," Saldur remarked with a tone of satisfaction in his voice. The cleric had white hair and gentle looking eyes. Sitting in the glow of the fire, casually cupping the glass in his wrinkled hand, he appeared the quintessential kindhearted grandfather. Braga knew better. He could not have risen to his present position without being ruthless. As bishop, Saldur was one of the chief officers of the Nyphron Church and the ranking clergy in the kingdom of Melengar. He worked and resided in the great Mares Cathedral, an edifice just as imposing, and certainly more beloved, than Castle Essendon. As far as influence was concerned, Braga estimated that of the nineteen bishops who comprised the leadership of the faithful, Saldur must be in the top three.

"How long before the trial?" Saldur asked.

"We'll begin in about an hour or so."

"I must say you've handled this very well, Percy." Saldur smiled at him. "The Church is quite pleased. Our investment in you was substantial, but it would appear we made a wise choice. When dealing with timetables as long as we are, it's difficult to be sure we've put the right people in place. Each of these annexations needs to be handled delicately. We don't want anyone suspecting us of stacking the deck the way we are. When the time comes, it has to appear as if all the monarchies voluntarily accept the formation of the New Empire. I must admit, I had some doubts about you."

Braga raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised to hear you say that."

"Well, you didn't look as though you had the makings of a king when we arranged your marriage to Amrath's sister. You were a scrawny, pretentious, little-"

"That was nearly twenty years ago," Braga protested.