2. Haldric
two
Haldric
Haldric stumbled in the churned-up dirt as his captors led him from the carriage. Numbness pervaded his mind and body, making it feel as if he was viewing everything through the distorted surface of a pond.
I’m in shock, he thought dazedly as more soldiers enveloped him, pouring out of his carriage and dismounting from his escort. And no wonder. One moment, he’d been enjoying breakfast with Benjin, and the next…
He squeezed his eyes shut against the image of Benjin’s terrified face, Benjin’s panicked shouts echoing in his ears.
Haldric had considered fighting. He’d always been the superior mage to Benjin. But what would resistance have done except get him or Benjin killed? Better to go along with this insanity until they could sort it out.
Goddess’ mercy, please let Benjin be okay.
His boot caught in a cleft in the road, and he lost his footing again, almost planting on his face. A deft hand caught his elbow, jerking him upright. Perhaps closing his eyes while walking hadn’t been the smartest decision.
He blinked and glanced over to find a stern-faced man standing at his side. The man’s crisp uniform marked him as a marshal in the royal guard. A faint hint of recognition tickled the back of Haldric’s mind, though he was fairly certain the marshal hadn’t been part of his original escort.
The marshal gave him a precise salute. “It’s good to see you again, Your Highness.” His gaze briefly lingered on Haldric before he turned, his alert eyes roaming the area around them. “Watch your step and keep moving. It’s not safe for you out here.”
Your Highness.
Haldric cleared his throat, his gut roiling as he allowed the soldiers to guide him up a forested path. “I don’t know who you think I am, but this is all a ridiculous misunderstanding. You have the wrong man.”
The marshal didn’t reply beyond a slight tightening of his lips.
“Please.” Haldric squeezed his arms over his chest to disguise the slight tremor in them. “Can’t you at least explain what’s going on?”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” the marshal replied without looking at him. “My orders are to bring you straight to the keep.”
The first flickers of anger ate away at Haldric’s confusion and fear. He jerked to a halt, relieved when his escort paused around him rather than shoving him onward. The marshal’s gaze locked on Haldric as Haldric drew himself up, trying to project an aura of authority.
“That’s not good enough! You’ve broken into my home, assaulted my husband, and kidnapped me against my will. I refuse to take another step until I get some answers, so unless you plan to drag me the rest of the way up this hill, you’re going to have to tell me what the Void is happening!”
The marshal’s face turned to stone. For a moment, Haldric feared he’d pushed things too far no matter the misplaced respect these soldiers seemed to have for him. Relief flooded him when the marshal finally shook his head and sighed.
“Please, Your Highness, don’t make this more difficult for me and my men than it already is. I assure you that all of your questions will be answered once we reach the keep. Until then, you have my word that you won’t be harmed.”
“And what about Benjin? Has he been harmed?”
The marshal startled Haldric by spitting into the dirt. “That lowborn wretch is a traitor, Your Highness. He doesn’t deserve your pity.”
Something tightened in Haldric’s chest. “That ‘lowborn wretch’ is my husband, marshal, and I’ll decide how I should treat him, thank you.”
The marshal opened his mouth to reply, then seemed to reconsider before abruptly turning away. Worry quickened Haldric’s heartbeat. How did Benjin fit into this absurd delusion of theirs? And just what did they intend to do with him? With either of them?
“The traitor lives,” the marshal said, though his tense posture and clenched jaw suggested he was none too pleased about it. “He escaped when we attempted to apprehend him, but we have patrols scouring the countryside. Runeflame or not, he won’t get far.”
Prove them wrong, my love, Haldric prayed with a savage spike of hope. Get as far away from this madness as you can.
The marshal beckoned impatiently for them to continue.
Glancing about at his armored escort, Haldric reluctantly obeyed. For now, playing along still seemed the best way to stay safe and get some answers.
“At least tell me your name,” he said as the soldiers led him up a sloping dirt path.
“Fendrel,” the marshal said after a lengthy pause.
The name sounded vaguely familiar to Haldric, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps he’d met someone with the same name during a recent trip to town?
He was still pondering the question when they emerged from a copse of trees onto a sprawling lawn. Though Haldric had never visited the local baron himself, he could only assume this was his manor.
The baron’s keep had seen better days. Crumbling stonework marred the two-story castle’s outer walls. The only spot of color was a tattered banner bearing the blue-and-green crest of Gerald’s Spring, flapping in the wind.
Around the keep stretched what appeared to be a makeshift war camp.
Rows of tents had been set up across the trampled grass, along with paddocks for horses.
Haldric had thought the few dozen soldiers that came to their cottage excessive, but there had to be nearly twice that again here, tending to their equipment or patrolling the grounds.
Someone had wanted an undeniable show of force.
As Haldric and the rest of his procession came into view, every single one of them turned to stare. Their expressions ranged from slack-jawed admiration to narrow-eyed judgment. Some bowed. Many more saluted. And a few simply watched him approach.
His face burning from the attention, Haldric ducked his head and stared at his feet. “Everyone’s staring at me,” he muttered.
He hadn’t really expected a response, but Fendrel said, “Of course they are, Your Highness. We’ve been searching for you for nearly five months. Everyone is relieved to have you back safe and sound.”
Not everyone, he thought, recalling the disapproval on some of the soldiers’ faces.
They reached the front of the keep without incident. Fendrel led him through the heavy wooden doors and into a modestly appointed stone hall. More soldiers stood arrayed here, these bearing the livery of the local town guard.
A man emerged from their ranks, stepping forward into a deep bow, and Haldric realized with a jolt that it was Baron Simmons himself.
The local ruler had never given Haldric more than a sneering glance before the rare times they’d crossed paths in the village.
Now, however, he oozed obsequious deferral.
“Your Highness, please accept my deepest, most sincere apologies.” The baron’s words spilled over each other in their eagerness to escape. “Obviously, I had no idea who you were or else I would’ve afforded you the respect you deserve.”
“And who exactly is that?” Haldric took a tentative step away from the baron, unsettled by his fawning attention.
Baron Simmons blinked, clearly confused.
With a firm grip on Haldric’s forearm, Fendrel propelled him onward. “I’m afraid we’re on important business and can’t stay to chat. Good day to you, my lord.”
“O-of course,” the baron said as they hurried past him down a nearby corridor. “Please give Duchess Janelle my regards.”
Like with Fendrel, the name stirred something in Haldric’s memory, eliciting a flicker of recognition. Perhaps the name belonged to an important noble he’d heard about? That would explain why there were so many soldiers here, though not all this Your Highness business.
Most of their original escort peeled off, leaving just Fendrel and four guards to guide him down a series of winding passages. Haldric struggled to squash his rising concern when Fendrel paused before a sealed door and knocked, waiting to open it until a muffled voice bid him to enter.
The room within was better appointed than the rest of the manor. Judging by its fine furnishings, Haldric guessed these were the baron’s private quarters. The baron must have given them up for the woman seated there at a table.
If this was the ‘Duchess Janelle’ Baron Simmons had mentioned, she appeared nothing like Haldric would have expected. Stocky and muscular, she wore full battle armor. A pair of twin axes sat on her hips, and a pale scar twisted down her cheek from her hairline to her jaw.
Despite her coarse appearance, she smiled broadly when she saw him. “Haldric! It really is you. By the Goddess, you’ve led us on a merry chase!”
Haldric was too stunned to move as she wrapped him in a rough embrace, squeezing hard enough to make his bones creak. A strange tickling sensation prickled the back of his mind. He couldn’t help but feel as if he knew this woman, had somehow met her before, even though that was impossible.
He stood ramrod straight until she released him, taking a couple steps back to regard him with a fond expression that made his skin crawl with its overfamiliarity.
“Thank the Goddess you’re all right. We need to get you back to Revesole as quickly as we can.
” A scowl split her face as she glanced at Fendrel.
“What of the traitor mage? Is he in chains where he belongs?”
“Escaped, Your Grace,” Fendrel replied with a crisp salute. “But he can’t have gone far. I have soldiers patrolling the entire area. We’ll root him out.”
The woman’s scowl deepened. “You’d better. Dismissed, marshal.”
With another salute and one last unreadable glance at Haldric, Fendrel strode from the chamber. That left Haldric alone with the too-familiar woman who may or may not have been a duchess.
Eyeing the pair of axes, he swallowed and asked, “Please, will you tell me what’s going on? Why does everyone care so much about me and Benjin? Are we…are we under arrest?”