Chapter Twenty-Six
Archer had traveled Cesta Road, the old trade route between the kingdoms, twice before.
Both times he’d been heading toward Silas: the first time to meet him, the second time to save him.
Now that Archer was riding away from the man he loved, the wide road, trampled path, and easy passage earned his ire rather than his gratitude.
Archer knew he needed to eliminate the advisers and the threat they posed to both Arnsveld and Bellacosta as soon as possible. It didn’t make the rapidly increasing distance between him and Silas any more bearable.
The green blur of soldiers surrounding Archer reminded him that he wasn’t just on the hunt for traitors, he was also returning home.
The parts of his heart that hadn’t stayed behind with Silas still ached for the mountains.
Archer just wished Silas was coming with him, so he could safeguard all of his heart in one place.
When they reached a fork in the road, Archer held up his hand to signal everyone to stop. It was early in the day for a break, but the army would be splitting up soon, and he needed to ensure everyone understood their instructions.
Archer sought out Captain Kern first. Several inches over six feet, the man was easy to find in the crowd of other soldiers.
From afar, Kern and Archer could be mistaken for each other.
Kern had a long, bushy black beard, thick black curls, and the same tall, sturdy build as Archer.
Up close, the differences were more obvious: Kern was a few years older, his beard already threaded with silver, and his gregarious nature spilled over to his companions.
People gravitated toward him during break times and begged to be assigned to his unit.
Much different from Archer’s quieter, sterner personality.
Even now, laughter bubbled among the young soldiers surrounding Kern. When he caught sight of Archer, he excused himself from the group and bowed at the waist. “Your Majesty.”
“Captain,” Archer said, nodding once. “Are you ready?”
“At your service, as always,” Kern replied, a smile peeking through his thick beard.
The first time they’d marched through Bellacosta, Archer had a similar beard, his hair also shoulder length.
Recently, he’d allowed one of Litus’ barbers to trim several inches from both his hair and beard.
The people further from the capital wouldn’t know about these changes, including the advisers and soldiers who had scampered off at the first sign of trouble.
Kern followed Archer to the front of the troops and took Hugo’s reins from one of the other soldiers. The horse nickered and nudged Archer’s shoulder, silently demanding answers for this change of riders.
“He’ll take you home,” Archer promised, stroking the horse’s velvety nose. The huge black horse was too recognizable, and Archer couldn’t risk any traitors identifying him from a distance.
“What should I expect?” Kern asked. “Assassins? Bandits? Angry townsfolk cursing your name?”
Archer shook his head. “It should be a safe journey.” Though he trusted Kern’s skills in battle, Archer didn’t need the man to fight in his name. He just needed people to witness the King of Arnsveld returning home.
“I certainly won’t complain about an easy mission. Shall I give the queen-mother your love when we return home?”
Archer glowered at the captain. His father had passed a little over a year ago, leaving Queen Helena a widow. The mourning period had ended right before Archer sent his first letter to Silas. More than one soldier had commented on Helena’s beauty when they hadn’t realized Archer was listening.
Kern held up his hands in a sign of peace. “No offense meant, sir. Purely filial expressions of love. How long am I pretending to be you?”
“To the gate,” Archer confirmed. “In case anyone is watching from a distance.”
Kern nodded. “Whatever your mission, sir, I wish you full success.”
Archer left Kern and his horse at the front. The more distance he put between himself and the fake king, the more the soldiers around him pretended indifference to his presence. The deception worked best if they showed Kern the same deference they would have shown Archer.
Next, Archer found Sergeant Gable. The sergeant was taking a few moments to shake a rock out of his boot. When he noticed Archer approaching, he straightened to attention. Surrounded by his fellow soldiers, any onlookers wouldn’t catch the slip-up.
“You understand your assignment?” Archer asked, keeping his voice low.
Gable nodded and quickly recited, “I’ll look for the Witch in her cottage and relay your message if I find her.” He patted his chest where he’d stashed the letter under his uniform shirt.
During Arnsveld’s campaign against Bellacosta, Adelaide and her daughter had moved into their second home in Casselarn.
They usually spent the winter in the more populated city so they were available if someone needed Adelaide’s healing magic.
However, Archer wasn’t sure if they had stayed in the city, returned to their cottage in the foothills, or moved somewhere else altogether.
The brief scraps of paper Adelaide had re-used to send her letters implied she was far away from either of her workshops.
If she could have accessed her supplies, she would have sent more details about the danger Archer was returning home to.
If Griselda’s theory was correct and Emmaline’s father had found them, they had probably fled.
Finding them on the road would be nearly impossible.
The best Archer could do without more information was search for the mother and daughter in either of their homes.
Gable would head to the cottage, and Kern would deliver any messages to Adelaide if she remained in Casselarn.
“If the barrier is broken, or you find signs of a struggle, send a message to Kern immediately,” Archer ordered.
“Do you want me to try to track them?” Gable asked.
Archer’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Not alone. Choose two other soldiers as backup.” Three messengers seemed excessive, but they had no idea how dangerous their opponents might be.
“Yes, sir.”
Confident Gable understood the importance of his mission, Archer continued toward the back of the line.
Private Carolin followed behind with a chestnut horse on a lead.
Scout had seen better days. He was a picky horse who only really liked Penn.
Ever since he’d been separated from his rider, he’d stubbornly resisted the Bellacostan grooms’ efforts to care for him.
There were tangles in his mane and the tail swishing rapidly behind him.
None of the other soldiers could ride him, and when Archer approached, Scout glared at him balefully.
Archer took a sugar cube from his pocket and offered it on the palm of his hand. Scout grudgingly accepted the rare treat, and accepted Archer’s hand on his neck, the tight muscles marginally relaxing. “I’ll reunite you with your rider,” he promised.
There were many things Archer hoped to find at Sparrow Hill: traitors, deserting soldiers, Penn and Valerian.
Archer could have sent a squad of soldiers to investigate, but he needed to see for himself what troubles the small town hosted.
Who had sent the letters? How many disgraced soldiers threatened his borders?
The situation could change in the blink of an eye, so he couldn’t wait for scouts to gather information and report their findings.
While most of the army would return to Arnsveld under Kern’s command, three soldiers would join Archer. He’d spent a long time selecting who should accompany him. Too large of a group would attract attention, but he needed enough people to defend against whatever force they met in Sparrow Hill.
Carolin, Mahler, and Norwin all had years of mercenary experience, so they were used to working together in small groups and navigating the unknowns of their quarry.
With their fellow soldiers acting as a shield, Archer and the others stripped out of their uniforms, replacing their Arnsveldian colors with Bellacostan styles.
A farming town like Sparrow Hill wouldn’t have the same fussy fashion sense as Litus, but they still preferred lighter fabrics in more layers.
Once they finished changing, Archer’s group guided their horses off to the side of the road, putting some distance between themselves and the soldiers.
Because of the similarities in their appearances—browner skin tones, darker hair, military postures—they still appeared part of the group, even out of uniform.
But once Archer and the others separated themselves from the army, the average Bellacostan citizen shouldn’t immediately recognize them as Arnsveldians.
From the front, the fake King of Arnsveld called for everyone to head out. Archer closed his eyes and pinched his nose in exasperation. Hopefully, any outsiders watching wouldn’t know about his quiet reputation or Kern’s cheerful orders would give the game away before the end of the day.
The army marched on, continuing down Cesta Road, leaving Archer’s group behind.
Archer waited until the departing soldiers turned into a hazy sea of green, then coaxed Scout into allowing him to mount. The horse shifted beneath him, unused to his new rider’s weight, but he didn’t buck or try to throw Archer off. A small victory to start their arduous journey together.