the last. Therefore, if you will have peace, you must first deplete this reservoir of evil that resides among us. We can only end the fire by burning all that fuels it. Even the almighty God cannot forgive without blood.
“Yet what else can we do? For if we do not win this battle, men, our Atilta will be no more; and our forest will sink beneath the weight of its wrongs. If we do not kill our enemy, I say, we will ourselves be killed. So prepare yourselves: for tonight we march!”
The men did not cheer, but fell silent and went away to their homes for a final farewell. In an hour they would return and the march would begin. Blaine Griffith, however, remained beside the Admiral.
“Where do we march, sir?” he asked.
“To the rebel harbor. Meredith is there and the fleet will be repaired. Did you see
“In the forest, before the lock down.”
“Indeed,” the Admiral remained stolid. “But we cannot help them. We must go to the Western Marches to reinforce Alfonzo. You will speed ahead, bringing him this letter and your service: he will need a forest man more than I.” The Admiral wrote for a very short time, using his arm as a desk, such was its hardness. “How many ships do you think Gylain can amass?” He asked after a moment.
“I am no seaman, but it will be more than ours by far.”
“We must have the French!”
“The king will bring them,” Blaine said, and his voice was the voice of faith.
“You are a blessed man among the cursed, Blaine. But I cannot expect him to return within twelve days, if he returns at all. It is simply too much of a journey, regardless of the obstacles.”
“He has beaten the Montagues, Gylain in his own castle, and de Casanova in France. If he has done miracles before, he will do so again.”
“To bring a dead man to life is a miracle, but to bring death to a live man is human nature. And it will take more than either to recover the Holy Graal.” He paused and looked to a dark patch of sky, far above. “Yet he will have help enough. For where de Casanova goes, there is another who follows. I do not know him, but I remember myself, when I was young. Love and lust are as dangerous weapons as they are foes.”
“Of whom do you speak?”
“Of Patrick McConnell! The rebellions will unite, as will the tyrants.”
Chapter 57
The night was a hole in the ground. Though the moon was full – and though it shone clearly and lucidly – the trees on every side of the meadow blocked its rays as it sank across the horizon. The shadows thus created pulled themselves over the plain and converged in a circle just outside the walls of Milada’s castle, covering the town beyond them. Already, the lights were put away, except those from the guard towers and the tallest, central tower. Beyond this, the darkness was not wounded. To the north the waters of Thunder Bay could be seen, lonely in the moonlight.
The silence was destroyed by the sound of a galloping horse, drawing nearer through the forest. At last it emerged into the open plain and continued its feverish pace until it came into the low, wooden walls of the town. Yet even after this it galloped, until it came upon the very threshold of the castle.
“Who goes there?” a voice came, “Stop or be slain!”
“Tis I! Open at once, Osbert – I bring word!”
“Blaine? My word, you bring word!” he turned to those below, in the tunnel into which the door opened, “Throw open the doors.” He ran along the parapets and came down the stairs that led to the wall, entering the inner courtyard just as Blaine did, his horse having already been taken. “I will lead you to Alfonzo myself.” Behind, the gates closed with a thud, and the two men walked arm-in-arm to the upper castle, to the lighted tower above.
“Word of what?”
“Do I read the letters I am sent to deliver?”
“No, but do you discover the intelligence to be reported?”
“Perhaps, but I cannot speak it but in Alfonzo’s presence.”
“No doubt.”
By this time, they had reached the second story, as high as the outside stair led. Several guards were posted at the door, but they made way for their superiors to pass. Inside, the walls were of glass – arranged in small, triangular panels – and it was evident that several panels on the western side had been recently replaced. Several bookshelves were spread across the room and the chairs were equipped with miniature dragon heads at the end of each leg. A company of five guards stood around the large pillar in the center of the room, in which were the doors that led to the towers above. Four doors were positioned on each of the cardinal points and made of a strong wood, while a larger, stone door was set in the center, facing the door to the outside stairway. The captain of these guards – while recognizing Blaine and Osbert – did not step aside at once.
“We have orders not to disturb their sleep. Lord Milada is not well, you know.”
“Yet their light burns; and we have word.”
“Word!” the captain and his men drew closer, “Of what?”
“We will not know until we deliver it.”
“Ah, the devil! You can pass, but you must let us know if it is about her. We would die if something happened to the angel of the Western Marches.” With that, the soldiers parted and opened the door.
“Of course – if we can!” and Blaine and Osbert went up the steep staircase beyond. There was a room after twenty stairs, a small armory with another set of guards. Yet they did not question the two, having overheard the conversation below. Osbert rushed by in his hurry, but Blaine stopped and clasped hands with one of them, a gingerbread man whose features were hidden by his helmet. All that could be seen was a blazing red mustache that came out through the gratings in the front.
“Lorenzo! Is that the garb of a church man?”
“No, but I am also a citizen of Atilta. Long live the king!” Lorenzo stood with emotion as he spoke.
“By ginger’s head and beadle’s bread – I have heard that you have word!” said the other guard, who had also risen.
“Innkeeper!”cried Blaine “This is an unlikely guard, I admit, but I would not trust anyone more. Are you both away from your occupations?”
“I am laying down the robes for a time,” said Oren Lorenzo. “Not that I am no longer an abbot, mind you, but I am wearing armor, for now.”
“And I have no inn to tend, as my establishment has since met its end” the Innkeeper said.
“Many things have been lost in the struggle for freedom. But I must hurry, for I have word.”
“He has word, indeed!” Osbert called from the stairs above. “Come, Blaine, for we will dine with these fine fellows soon enough – after the word has been given.”
“I give my word, we will,” Blaine finished as he ran up the stairs.
The two rushed up the stairs as if they were chased by a horde of barbarians and dashed against the door as Osbert turned the handle. It swung open under the force. The two men stumbled into the room. The door swung closed by itself. Alfonzo sat at the desk beside the wall and stood to greet them. His goatee was well-trimmed, his cheeks clear from rubble. His hair was out of its usual pony-tail and left to stream down his back and around his face.
“Blaine, you have returned to my side.”
“Sir, I bring word from the Admiral,” and Blaine took an unsealed note from his inner pocket and handed it to Alfonzo.
“Have you read it?” Alfonzo asked.
“No, though I know what it contains, as he spoke with me as he wrote it.”
“Yet why did he send you, when a lesser ranger would do?”
“It was I who brought the intelligence to him, Alfonzo, and you will know further when you read the message.”
Alfonzo turned his face to the note. As his eyes met the words his face lost its color, though its expression remained unchanged.
Lord Milada – laying on the bed across the room – sighed to himself, “Then she has left us! What poor, poor fate! What terrible destiny!” and his limbs wiggled weakly around the bed.
