A Dog Among Princes

Chapter 25

The first week was almost like old times, aside from the fact that their group was small enough to stay at inns during the day. They’d been slowly switching over to a nocturnal schedule ensuring that they could travel unbothered. It was strange to be in Midland while there was no war going on. People were still skittish and more groups of bandits rode past them at night, now that there was no more call for soldiers, but grass had begun to grow over the muddy fields of battle. Life wasn’t normal, after one hundred years war had become normal for the people here, but it was slowly becoming peaceful. Their plan went off without a hitch, now it was time to wait for Charlotte in the dark of the cemetery.

Farnese was convinced tonight was the night. The three mercenaries stood around in the dark cemetery. It was nearing midnight, the hour when they’d likely start their dark ritual. Then she’d have proof. Proof that she was right and all of this hadn’t been for nothing. She knew the woman was a witch, she knew it! Who else would have enchanted her to feel this way? Why else did dark eyes haunt her during her prayers? It was unfortunate that she had been so weak, that god had not protected her from the witch’s snare, but once she was dead, this would all be only a bad memory. As she watched, she saw the mercenaries begin to move.

As the clock struck midnight, Pippin pushed aside the statue that Charlotte described, revealing a flight of stairs underneath. A light slowly grew larger in the darkness, eventually revealing Charlotte and a young woman who looked scared out of her wits. Casca extended her hand. “You must be Anna.”

Farnese watched as two hooded figures rose from the grave. They wished to raise an army of the undead! After the two figures exited the big man closed the grace back up again. Well, truly these undead knights must have been fearsome if they only required two of them!

Charlotte felt as if there were eyes upon her. It was probably just her nervousness and the lateness of the hour. Nevertheless it made her anxious to think that they might be being watched, especially if it was by her father’s men.

“Let us make haste.” She hitched her skirt and climbed up the stairs. “I would like to leave this place as quickly as possible.” Charlotte surveyed her rescue party for familiar faces. Casca she knew, but the other two she’d only ever seen around. She knew the big one was friends with the one a few years younger than her and the blond one trailed after Casca all the time, but other than that she didn’t know much about them. Yet, here she was putting her life in their hands. She could chide herself for her inattentiveness later. “Who am I riding with?”

One of the hooded figures mounted double behind Casca, and the other behind the bigger man. Both rode side saddle. That was odd. Perhaps this fight would be easier than she had anticipated. She beckoned for Azan to join her. “We attack when they leave the cemetery. We don’t need them raising more soldiers from the grave on us.”

“Understood, my lady.”

Casca felt that something was wrong. It was too quiet. Even in the dead of night there should have been crickets, the sound of small animals, but there was nothing. She put her hand on her sword. “Miss Casca, is there something wrong?” Charlotte held onto the back of her armor.

“I’m not sure yet, but I think there might be.” A knight with a chain embroidered tabard fell out of the bushes.

“Shit!” Judeau shouted as Casca drew her sword. More knights leapt from the darkness and they were surrounded.

“Casca?” Charlotte grabbed onto her shoulders. Casca dropped her weapon. She wasn’t Guts and there were at least a dozen of them. This wasn’t a fight she was going to win.

“So the witch surrenders.” Casca could see Farnese’s smug grin under the visor of that stupidly ornate helment. “Are you ready to admit your guilt?”

“These soldiers do not answer to your father,” Casca whispered to Charlotte out of the corner of her mouth. “Even if they capture us you will likely be safe, provided you make a show of your faithfulness.”

“What about you?” she whispered back.

“Don’t worry about me. I understood the risks when I came to help you.” Casca smiled sadly. She had just gotten her life together, she’d found a way to live and move on from Griffith and now she risked her neck for her, a useless princess. Charlotte removed the hood of her cloak and slid off the back of the horse. “Charlotte! I told you not to worry about me!” Casca hissed.

“You are Farnese de Vandimion, correct?” Her lower lip trembled as she stood before the mounted knight. “I have heard rumors of you, I thought them unfounded until this night.” The man mounted next to her lifted his visor squinting at her in the darkness.

“Uh, Farnese?” he said quietly.

“What would a creature of the grave know of me? Begone! Protect your foul mistress no longer! She must stand trial for her blasphemous practice of witchcraft.”

“Farnese, I really think you should-”
“A creature of the grave?” Charlotte covered her heart in shock. “Am I truly that much wasted away to be mistaken for a spirit? Or has your sadistic hatred clouded your eyes.” She clenched her shaking hands to steady herself.

“Mind your tongue monster.” Farnese pointed her sword between Charlotte’s eyes. “Consider your words carefully lest I cut it out. I saw you rise from the grave, animated by this woman’s hands. Again I say to you, defend your master no longer.”

“Farnese!” The young man tore the helmet from her head.

“Serpico! What is the meaning of this?!”

“Look!” Charlotte crossed her eyes looking at the tip of the blade. Farnese gasped.

“Princess Charlotte! My apologies!” She raised her weapon in Casca’s direction. “Kidnapper!”

“Will you listen to me damn it!” Charlotte stamped her foot in the mud. “Casca is not a kidnapper! I requested her service to escape from my homeland.”

“Do you truly expect me to believe that? You must think I am a fool. What could have possessed you to leave behind your position and your country if you were not being taken by force?” Charlotte’s resolve crumpled and she began to cry.

“If there was any other option, believe me, I would take it.”

“Farnese. I believe her majesty speaks the truth.” A stout older man with a mustache put his hand on her shoulder. Farnese shrugged it off and looked away.

“They may be coaching her.”

“All I want is safe passage to York. Accompany us if you doubt my volition, let me prove that I have not been compelled, but do not impede our progress.” She challenged the knights with her teary gaze. Farnese sheathed her sword.

“My knights and I will accompany you. If we find any evidence to suggest that you are being held ransom, we will not hesitate to rescue you.”

“You will not, I guarantee it.” The demon child would be a difficult adversary, Charlotte thought as she mounted Casca’s horse once again. She did not have the same strength that the soldiers that once terrified her did, but the fire in her eyes burned brighter than even Griffith’s. She had conviction of such strength it bordered on madness. Casca would not be able to save her here. No, it was Charlotte that would have to protect Casca.

Pippin took the first watch that morning along with a few leering holy chain knights. He was used to that. People tended to see him and see a challenge to overcome. He was a pretty big guy, and what that meant was that he got a lot of guys trying to start fights with him in taverns to prove that they were men to their friends. Princess Charlotte stayed awake as well. She couldn’t sleep, her eyes were rimmed with red from crying. Pippin allowed her her space, she would come when she was ready. Instead he focused on rendering the piece he was working on.

His art style was rather unconventional. He chose to render form with a bent towards semi-realism rather than the more stylized figures used by most illuminators. It was closer to the style that had begun to emerge in Paneria, influenced by intimate knowledge of anatomy and a focus on form. He wished to give his comrades more weight and presence on the page than a flatter illustration could. Of course to do so was hand breaking labor. Zodd proved to be as much of a bear as he was in real life with all that fur. That was the labor he tackled now, slowly inking small black triangles over and over again. There was something almost meditative about it, making the same motion over and over with slight variations to size and angle to give the illusion of muscle underneath. Someone passed over his shoulder blocking his light.

“Quite the fearsome beast. You’d better make sure Farnese doesn’t see it though, she’ll have a fit.” The young man who dressed himself like a bird but had the bearing of a fox. Those he served with seemed to treat him with all the dignity of an errand boy, but the way he carried a blade, he might be a match for Guts given the right circumstances.

“I wouldn’t think a woman of the cloth would object to depictions of people fighting demons.”

“She’s looking for any excuse she can find.” Serpico said under his breath. Pippin withdrew a blank piece of parchment and began a study of Charlotte. Her long hair and elaborate dresses presented their own unique challenges. “That’s a pretty good likeness.”

He liked to talk, this one. No, more accurately, he wanted to be heard. There was almost a desperation to it, as if he feared he would disappear the moment he fell silent. “If you want to talk, I might not respond, but I’ll listen.” Serpico looked at him, something swam behind his eyes. Fear of recognition.

“I don’t really have much to say if it is just myself speaking,” Serpico said. Pippin shrugged, returning to his sketch. “What was the purpose of the image you were working on earlier.”

“It’s for a chronicle.”

“Of what?”

“Our lives.” Pippin looked around for Farnese. She was probably asleep at the moment but he couldn’t be too careful. When he was confident she wasn’t about, he retrieved the illustration from the folio he stored the pages of the manuscript. He pointed at the sketchy, half rendered figures before Zodd. “That’s Griffith and Guts.” A standing figure in the line of crossbowmen. “That’s Judeau.” Another man standing there half ready to run in the opposite direction. “That’s Corkus.” A lone woman at the back, her fist clenched around a sword as she directed the men to shoot. “That’s Casca.”

“They all fought that thing?”

“Tried to. Didn’t end well. Guts broke a bunch of ribs, dislocated his arm, and ended up with a concussion, Griffith broke his leg, and these men here,” He pointed to a few in the front of the artillery line, “all died. Only those two managed to actually hurt him.”

“Before the accident?” Pippin nodded and Serpico let out a low whistle in appreciation. “Can’t say I’ve done much monster hunting in my time, but I imagine a beast like that would be a difficult opponent.” Pippin could see the gears turning in the teenagers head. Room full of pillars, better for an agile weapon like his own than Zodd’s cleaver, he was smaller too, harder to hit, maybe if he could get underneath him…

“Good.”

“What’s good?”

“That you never had to fight a monster like that.”

“I’d rather fight a new monster every week than-“ he stopped himself. Pippin filled in the rest in his head, than participate in the murder of those who can’t fight back. The kid probably had his reasons, but he had the mind of a duelist first and foremost, not an inquisitor. He could fight, seemed to enjoy it even, but what he seemed to like most was the strategy of it. The overcoming of an opponent with a clear advantage by use of cunning and skill. “Witches” did not provide that challenge. Witch hunts only ever provided misery to those that could see them for what they truly were. “I think I speak too much.” He recoiled back into himself.

“I would like to read your chronicle if you are willing to share it.” Pippin hadn’t noticed Charlotte get up. “I have realized as of late that I know very little about the people I have thrown in my lot with, though I ought to have sought out more when you were under my father’s command.” Pippin handed her the folio. She could use it more than him right now.

“My name is Pippin by the way.”

“Thank you, Pippin.” She smiled.