The Maid's War (Kingfountain 0.5)

As Alensson rose, the flap rustled and a man came through it, dagger in hand. A poisoner, no doubt. The doctor quailed, letting out a moan of fear, and scrabbled away from the Maid. Alensson noticed a sticky substance on the tip of the dagger. The poisoner lunged at him, bringing the hilt down toward his neck to stun him, but the duke hiked up his shoulder and caught the blow that had been intended to knock him out. He kneed the poisoner in the stomach and grabbed at his face with his blood-slick hand, the one that had been staunching the wound moments before. Their two bodies collided as they wrestled each other for control. The poisoner’s knee slammed into Alensson’s groin, but he was protected by his armor, and when the dagger came slicing down at his forearm, it glanced off the metal bracer.

The duke swung his elbow around and caught the poisoner in the teeth, tearing his lip. Then he tackled the man to the floor and buffeted him on the face.

The dagger came stabbing at his side, right beneath the armor. The chain hauberk stopped it from piercing, but he felt the pain of the jab in his ribs. Alensson grabbed the man’s wrist and forced it down to the floor through sheer strength. The poisoner spat in his eyes, bloody spittle, and Alensson butted his forehead down on the man’s nose, breaking it. That finally stunned the poisoner, who groaned and went limp beneath the blinding pain.

The duke pried the dagger from his fingers and then brought the blade up to his throat. “Who sent you?”

The poisoner coughed and gargled something unintelligible.

“Answer me!” Alensson roared, pressing the flat of the blade to the man’s throat.

“Lord Bannion,” the poisoner said with a cough. “She was supposed to die at the wall!”

Lord Bannion was the king’s chamberlain.

Alensson was temporarily stunned: He knew who the order had truly came from. Was Chatriyon going mad already? Then he increased the pressure enough to nick the man’s neck with the blade. “Oops. I slipped,” he growled.

The poisoner’s face began to twitch in horror. Then the convulsions started to rack his body.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Abandoned





The Duke of Westmarch’s army arrived at Pree two days later, descending on the city like black storm clouds that promised to bring the lash of lightning. The rest of Chatriyon’s army had already melted away, but Alensson waited outside the sanctuary of St. Denys, a small burg on the outskirts of Pree, astride his horse, holding the reins of Genette’s steed, waiting for her to finish inside. She had demanded that he never speak of the miracle of her squire’s recovery.

“Shouldn’t we be on our way, my lord?” grumbled one of his captains, eyeing the road nervously for signs of outriders from Deford’s army. He stroked his graying red beard anxiously and glanced back at the sanctuary.

“Patience, Jeremy,” Alensson said, although it was a virtue he was struggling to find within himself. “She’ll be out soon.”

“I don’t have time for patience,” the soldier griped. The city of Pree was ominously silent, like a child waiting fearfully for the rebuke of an angry parent. The city had withheld the short-lived siege, but the many outlying towns, like St. Denys, would suffer the wrath for helping Chatriyon wage war. Alensson ground his teeth together, wishing with all his heart that the situation had been different. He had hoped they would already be in Pree by the time Deford arrived. How glorious it would have felt to repel him from the city. Unfortunately, it was not the Fountain’s will for his revenge to be satisfied.

“There she is,” Jeremy said with relief. “We cannot leave here soon enough.”

Alensson watched in surprise as Genette left the sanctuary wearing one of the royal tunics he had provided for her. She had gone in wearing armor, but it was missing.

Jeremy gave Alensson a puzzled look.

The duke watched her limp, seeing how her leg still pained her despite the scabbard she once again wore at her side. The Maid marched up to him, and there was an almost sour look of determination on her face as she took the reins.

“You left your armor?” he asked her softly.

Genette put her good leg up in the stirrup and winced as she mounted. “My work here was unfinished,” she told him. “So I left my armor in the fountain.”

That earned another baffled look from Jeremy, but Alensson nudged his mount closer to hers. “You put it in the water? To hide it?”

She gazed at him, eyes narrowing slightly, and then nodded. “The Fountain bade me to do this. It will be needed . . . later.”

“Will we take back the city of Pree then?”

She looked at him seriously. “Chatriyon will regain his palace, Gentle Duke.”

“We should be going,” Jeremy murmured impatiently. “Deford’s army is hardly more than a stone’s throw from us. Someone will warn him we’re still here.”

The Maid looked at the captain and snorted. “We are not in any real danger.”

She turned and looked back at the sanctuary, staring at the bubbling fountain set inside the doors. The sexton bowed his head to her from the doorway. Genette’s strength was returning slowly this time, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was because she was heartsick.

“Why did you send Brendin away?” Alensson asked her. “After the scabbard healed him? You will need a squire, Genette, even if you don’t have your armor.”

She gave him an enigmatic look. “Where I am going, I will not need one. Let’s rejoin the army.”

“And be quick about it,” Jeremy huffed, jerking the reins and starting out at a clop.

Alensson gazed at the walls of Pree rising over the cropped tree tops at the edge of the village. He saw the flags in the distance, taunting him.

“You’ll get your chance, Gentle Duke,” she told him, reaching out and touching his arm lightly. “If Deford is here, it means your lands are unprotected.”

She knew just what to say to make him smile.



The king had retreated to the royal castle of Montjuno, a fortress between Lionn and Pree. They had reclaimed it during their journey. Supply wagons from Shynom arrived regularly, as did a host of courtiers come to surround the king like so many buzzing flies.

When Alensson and Genette arrived from Pree, they found the mood much changed. Instead of treating the Maid of Donremy with the awe and respect they had once demonstrated, many of the soldiers greeted her with black looks, curled lips, and whispered conversations. Alensson had told the king he’d killed a poisoner who had been sent to murder the girl. But he had not told the king he knew who’d hired the man. Chatriyon had feigned shock and outrage and promised to send his captain to investigate, but nothing further had been done.

As they walked through the crowded hall, Alensson saw several courtiers bustle up to Chatriyon to warn him of their approach. The king wore his crown and a sumptuous jeweled doublet made of purple velvet and stitched with costly gems.

Genette was limping as she walked, and although Alensson would have slowed down to accommodate her, she kept a pace that forced him to keep up.

When she reached the king, Genette dropped down on one knee. Her wince was probably undetectable to anyone other than Alensson, but the king waved her back up.

“No need for that, my dear,” he said graciously. “Your leg is still troubling you. Cousin, help her up!” The king gestured for Alensson to assist her back to her feet, but she managed it on her own. “So you’ve managed to arrive at last. You took your time in coming.”

Alensson felt a hint of censure in the tone. “She was grievously wounded in the attack on Pree, my lord.”