“That was nearly twenty years ago,” Braga protested.
“True enough. However, at the time, all I noticed about you was your skill with a sword and your staunch Imperialist view. I was afraid that being so young, you might—well, who knew if you’d stay loyal? But you proved me wrong. You’ve grown into an able administrator, and your ability to adapt in the face of unexpected events, like this sudden timetable shift Arista caused, proves your capability to manage problems effectively.”
“Well, I’ll admit it hasn’t gone exactly as I planned. Alric’s escape was unexpected. I clearly underestimated the princess, but at least she was good enough to provide me a convenient means to implicate her.”
“So, exactly what are you planning to do about Arista’s little brother? Do you know where he is?”
“Yes, he is at Drondil Fields. I have several reports of the mustering of Galilin. Troops are converging at Pickering’s castle.”
“And you’re not concerned about that?”
“Let’s just say I wish I could have caught the little brat before he reached Pickering. But I’ll be turning my attentions to him as soon as I conclude with his sister. I hope to take care of him before he can bolster too much support. He’s been quite elusive. He slipped through my fingers at the Wicend Ford. Not only did he escape but he also took horses from my men. I thought he would be easy to find, and I had scores of troops watching every road, valley, and village, but for several days he just vanished.”
“And that’s when he got through to Pickering?”
“Oh, no,” Braga said. “I actually managed to catch him. A patrol picked him up at the Silver Pitcher Inn.”
“Then I don’t understand. Why isn’t he here?”
“Because my patrol never came back. An advance rider brought the news Alric was captured, but the rest of them disappeared. I investigated and heard some amazing rumors. According to my reports, two men traveling with the prince organized the locals and staged an ambush on the men bringing Alric in.”
“Do you know who these two men were who came to Alric’s aid?”
“I have no names, but the prince called them his royal protectors. I’m certain, however, they’re the same two thieves I set up to take the blame for Amrath’s death. Somehow, the prince has managed to retain their services. He must have offered them riches, perhaps even land and title. The boy is more clever than I thought. But no matter, I have made adequate arrangements for him and his friends. I’ve been bolstering the ranks of the Melengar army for the last several weeks with mercenaries loyal to my money. Amrath never knew. One of the perks of being the lord chancellor is not having to get the royal seal on all orders.”
There was another knock at the door, and the servant once again entered. “The Earl of Chadwick is here to see you, my lord.”
“Archibald Ballentyne? What is he doing here? Get rid of him.”
“No, wait,” the bishop said, intervening. “I asked the earl to come. Please send him in.” The servant bowed and left, closing the door behind him.
“I wish you had discussed this with me,” Braga said. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I have too much going on today to entertain a visit from a neighboring noble.”
“Yes, yes. I know you are quite busy, but the church has its own matters to attend to. As you well know, you’re not the only kingdom we administer to. The Earl of Chadwick possesses a certain interest to us. He is young, ambitious, and easily impressed by success. It will do him good to see firsthand just what kinds of things are possible with the right friends. Besides, having an ally on your southern border has benefits for you as well.”
“Are you suggesting I try and sway him away from King Ethelred?”
“Ethelred is a good Imperialist, I admit, but there can be only one emperor. There’s no reason it couldn’t be you, assuming you continue to prove yourself worthy. Ballentyne has many assets that could help in that endeavor.”
“I’m not even king yet and you’re talking emperor?”
“The church hasn’t lasted for three thousand years by not thinking ahead. Ah, here he is. Come in, come in, Archibald.” Archibald Ballentyne entered, brushing the snow from his cloak and stomping his feet. “Toss your cloak aside and come to the fire. Warm up, lad. The carriage ride must have been a cold one.”
Archibald crossed the room and kissed the ring of the still seated bishop. “Good morning, Your Grace,” he said, then turned and bowed graciously to the archduke. “My lord.”
He swept off his cloak and shook it out carefully. Perplexed, he looked around. “Your servant left before taking my cloak.”
“Just throw it anywhere,” Braga instructed.