“Degan Gaunt’s Nationalist movement proved that the people themselves have strength. Earls, barons, even kings are afraid of the power which that commoner can gather. A word from him could launch a peasant uprising. Lords would have to kill their own people, their own source of revenue, just to keep order. This presents them with the undesirable choice of accepting either poverty or death. The landholders will do almost anything to avoid such an event. What if we tapped that? The peasants already revere the church. They follow its teachings as divine truth. How much more inspiring would it be to offer them a leader plucked from their own stock? A ruler who is one of them and able to truly understand the plight of the poor, the unwashed, the destitute. Not only is she a peasant queen, but she is also the Heir of Novron, and all the wonderful expectations that go with that. Indeed, in our greatest hour of need, Maribor has once again delivered unto his people a divine leader to show us the way out of darkness.
“We could send bards across the land repeating the epic tale of the pure, chaste girl who slew the elven demon that even Lord Rufus was powerless against. We’ll call it Rufus’s Bane. Yes, I like it—so much better than the unpronounceable Gilarabrywn.”
“But can she be made to play her part?” Guy asked.
“You saw her. She’s nearly comatose. Not only does she have no place to go, no friends or relatives, no money or possessions, she is also emotionally shattered. She’d slit her own wrists, I suspect, if she gets a knife. Still, the best part is that once we establish her as empress, once we have the support of the people so fervently on our side, no noble landholder would dare challenge us. We can do what we planned to do with Rufus. Only instead of a messy murder that would certainly invite suspicion and accusations, with the girl, we can simply marry her. The new husband will rule as emperor and we can lock her in a dark room somewhere, pulling her out for Wintertide showings.”
Guy smiled at that.
“Do you think the Patriarch will agree?” Saldur asked him. “Perhaps we should send a rider back today.”
“No, this is too important. I’ll go myself. I’ll leave as soon as I can saddle a horse. In the meantime—”
“In the meantime, we will announce that we are considering the possibility that this girl is the heir, but will not accept her unconditionally until a full investigation is conducted. That should buy us a month. If the Patriarch agrees, then we can send out rabble-rousers to incite the people with rumors that the church is being forced by the nobles and the monarchs to not reveal the girl as the true heir. The people will be denouncing our enemies and demanding that she take the throne before we even announce her.”
“She will make the perfect figurehead,” Guy said.
Saldur looked up, picturing the future. “An innocent girl linked with a mythic legend. Her beautiful name will be everywhere and she will be loved.” The bishop paused and thought. “What is her name, anyway?”
“I think Tomas called her … Thrace.”
“Seriously?” Saldur grimaced. “Well, no matter, we’ll change it. After all, she’s ours now.”
Royce looked around. There was not a single sentry left outside. Several still moved about on the hilltop, but they were far enough away to ignore. Satisfied, he ducked through the flap of the white tent. Inside, he found Tobis, Hadrian, Mauvin, and Hilfred on cots. Hadrian was naked to his waist, his head and chest wrapped in white bandages, but he was awake and sitting up. Mauvin, though still pale, was alert, his bandages bright white. Hilfred lay wrapped like a mummy and Royce could not be sure if he was awake or sleeping. Arista stood bent over his cot, checking on him.
“I was wondering when you would get here,” Hadrian said.
Arista turned. “Yes, I thought you would have arrived much sooner.”
“Sorry, you know how it is when you’re having fun. You lose all track of time, but I did locate your weapons, again. You know how upset you get when you don’t have your swords. Can you ride?”
“If I can walk, why not?” He raised an arm and Royce offered his shoulder, helping him to stand.
“What about me?” Mauvin asked, holding his side and sitting up on his cot. “You’re not going to leave me, are you?”
“You have to take him,” Arista declared. “He killed two of Guy’s men.”
“Can you ride?” Royce asked.
“If I had a horse under me, I could at least hang on.”
“What about Thrace?” Hadrian asked.
“I don’t think you need worry about her,” Royce told him. “I was just by the bishop’s tent. Tomas is demanding that they declare her empress.”
“Empress?” Hadrian said, stunned.
“She killed the Gilarabrywn right in front of the deacon. I guess it made an impression.”
“But what if they don’t? We can’t leave her.”
“Don’t worry about Thrace,” Arista said. “I’ll see she’s taken care of. Now you all need to get out of here.”
“Theron wanted at least one of his children to be successful,” Hadrian muttered, “but empress?”
“You need to hurry,” Arista said, helping Royce pull Mauvin to his feet. She gave all three of them a kiss and a gentle hug and then pushed them out like a mother sending her children to school.
Outside the tent, Magnus arrived with three saddled horses. The dwarf looked around nervously and whispered, “I could have sworn I saw guards watching this tent earlier.”
“You did,” Royce replied. “Three horses—you read my mind.”
“I figured I needed one for myself,” the dwarf replied, pointing at the shortened stirrups. He looked at Mauvin with a scowl. “Now it looks like I’ll need to get another.”
“Forget it,” Royce whispered. “Ride with Mauvin. Take it slow and make sure he stays in the saddle.”
Royce helped Hadrian up onto a gray mare, then started to chuckle to himself.
“What is it?” Hadrian asked.