Alric and the Pickerings came out to the courtyard to see them off. Even Lenare joined them, wrapped in a white fur cape. The fluffy muffler was wrapped so high on her shoulders that it hid the lower portion of her face. Only her eyes could be seen.
“If you can’t get her out,” Pickering said, “try to stall the execution until our forces can arrive. Once they do, however, you’d better have her secured. I’m certain Braga will kill her out of desperation. Oh, and one more thing: don’t try to fight Braga. He’s the best swordsman in Melengar. Leave him for me.” The count slapped the elegant rapier he wore at his side. “This time I’ll have my own sword, and the archduke will feel its sting.”
“I’ll be leading the attack on Essendon,” Alric informed them. “It’s my duty as ruler. So if you do reach my sister and if I should fall before the end of this, let her know I’m sorry for not trusting her. Let her know …” He faltered for a moment. “Let her know I loved her and I think she will make a fine queen.”
“You’ll tell her yourself, Your Majesty,” Hadrian assured him.
Alric nodded and then added, “And I’m sorry about what I said to you before. You two are the best royal protectors I could ever hope for. Now go. Save my sister or I’ll have you both thrown back in my dungeon!”
They bowed respectfully in their saddles, then turned their horses and urged them into a gallop. They rode out the gate into the cold black of night.
CHAPTER 8
TRIALS
The morning of Arista Essendon’s trial arrived along with the first snow. Despite not having slept, Percy Braga did not feel the least bit tired. Having set the wheels in motion the previous morning by sending the trial announcements, he had a hundred details demanding his personal attention. He was just rechecking his witness list when there was a knock at the door to his office and a servant entered.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” the man said with a bow. “Bishop Saldur is here. He told me you wanted to see him?”
“Of course, of course, send him in,” the archduke replied.
The elderly cleric entered, wearing his dress robes of black and red. Braga crossed the room and kissed his ring as he bowed. “Thank you for seeing me so early, Your Grace. Are you hungry? May I arrange for some breakfast?”
“No, thank you, I’ve already eaten. At my age, one tends to wake early whether one wants to or not. What exactly did you want to see me about?”
“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have any questions about your testimony today. We could go over it now if you do. I’ve scheduled some time.”
“Ah, I see,” the bishop replied, nodding slowly. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I have a clear understanding of what is required.”
“Wonderful, then I think everything is in order.”
“Excellent,” the bishop said, and glanced toward the decanter. “Is that brandy I see?”
“Yes, would you like some?”
“Normally I wouldn’t indulge so early, but this is a special occasion.”
“Absolutely, Your Grace.”
The bishop took a seat near the fire as Braga poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to him. “To the new Melengar regime,” the archduke proposed. The crystal rang clear, like a bell, as their glasses touched. Then each took a deep drink.
“There’s just something about a bit of brandy on a snowy day,” Saldur remarked with a tone of satisfaction in his voice. The cleric had white hair and gentle-looking eyes. Sitting in the glow of the fire, casually cupping the glass in his wrinkled hand, he appeared the quintessential kindhearted grandfather. Braga knew better. He could not have risen to his present position without being ruthless. As bishop, Saldur was one of the chief officers of the Nyphron Church and the ranking clergy in the kingdom of Melengar. He worked and resided in the great Mares Cathedral, an edifice just as imposing as, and certainly more beloved than, Essendon Castle. As far as influence was concerned, Braga estimated that of the nineteen bishops who comprised the leadership of the faithful, Saldur must be in the top three.
“How long before the trial?” Saldur asked.
“We’ll begin in about an hour or so.”
“I must say, you’ve handled this very well, Percy.” Saldur smiled at him. “The church is quite pleased. Our investment in you was substantial, but it would appear we made a wise choice. When dealing with timetables as long as we are, it’s difficult to be sure we’ve put the right people in place. Each of these annexations needs to be handled delicately. We don’t want anyone suspecting us of stacking the deck the way we are. When the time comes, it has to appear as if all the monarchies voluntarily accept the formation of the New Empire. I must admit, I had some doubts about you.”
Braga raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised to hear you say that.”
“Well, you didn’t look as though you had the makings of a king when we arranged your marriage to Amrath’s sister. You were a scrawny, pretentious, little—”