


A Royal Sacrifice

by slyc_willie



Category: Chain Stories
Published: 2007-05-31
Updated: 2008-04-17
Packaged: 2017-04-17 09:04:52
Chapters: 5
Publisher: literotica.com
Story URL: https://www.literotica.com/s/a-royal-sacrifice-ch-02
Author URL:
https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=748325&page=submissions
Summary: <p>1. Meet Bagdemagus . . . .</p>
<p>2. The wizard confronted, and heroes made.</p>
<p>3. A death in the castle, and the wizard's plans are made known.</p>
<p>4. Bagdemagus makes his move.</p>
<p>5. Midsummer's Day . . . .</p>
Erotica Tags: Bagdemagus, Chain Stories, Control, Evelyn, John, Magic, Oral,
Sacrifice, Swordfight, Viviane, Wizard
Average Rating: 4.57





TABLE OF CONTENTS


A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 02

A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 06

A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 12

A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 18

A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 22




        A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 02


_(I was blessed to be the first person Red told about this idea, and was eager
to jump upon this chain right from the get-go. I have always loved writing
medieval fantasy, and this idea was, literally, right up my alley. The
character of Bagdemagus – a charismatic, witty, yet ultimately evil figure –
had been brewing in my mind for years, seeking the right outlet. I hope you
all love and loathe him as much as I do.)_  
  
***  
  
_The Spectre That Walks. _That was what they called him, among other things.
Few ever spoke the name 'Bagdemagus' aloud, lest they garner his attention.
And no one desired that. For over a century, he had been the living embodiment
of the bogeyman; unruly children were often told that if they did not do all
their chores, they would be taken in the night by the baleful wizard.  
  
Bagdemagus chuckled to himself as he stood within the banquet hall of the
castle. _Now, whatever would I do with children? _He mused dryly.  
  
Ahead of him, upon the podium, the new Queen was being crowned. Bagdemagus
looked her over with approval. _Such a tasty young thing, he thought. As fair
as any story-book princess._  
  
His features darkened. _And likely just as innocent. That's good. That's very
good._  
  
He heard heavy footfalls behind him, and stepped aside just a member of the
Royal Guard came through. The man glanced to Bagdemagus but said nothing;
after all, he could not really see the wizard. Bagdemagus was well aware of
the decree set out decades before by King Richard – that Bagdemagus be
arrested on sight – and was thus always faded when he came to town.
Invisibility was a taxing spell, since it changed the properties of light;
Fade merely played tricks with people's minds. It was far easier to alter
perceptions than change the world.  
  
_Queen Evelyn,_ thought Bagdemagus as he returned his attention to the newly-
crowned monarch. _I hope you don't get too terribly comfortable in your new
finery. You won't be enjoying it for long._  
  
He watched her gaze sweep back and forth among the crowd of royalty and their
hangers-on. She seemed so timid, yet managed to keep her composure. There was
a hidden strength to her that was not easily or casually seen. Her eyes
settled upon a young man; her lips twitched in a slight smile. Bagdemagus
looked as well, frowning. _Ah, yes, the boy. What was his name? Cedric. Yes,
that's it. Cedric._  
  
The wizard sighed, slipping a hand beneath his cloak for his timepiece. Such
intricate mechanical works were rare in Vix, afforded only by the very well-
to-do. Bagdemagus noted the time, then returned the device. _Time to go_. He
looked one last time to the new Queen, giving a flippant salute. Evelyn's face
paled, the small smile vanished. She turned away for a moment, visibly shaken.  
  
_How odd_, Bagdemagus thought as he stepped away. _I do believe she saw me.
Now, that is interesting . . . ._  
  
***  
  
The halls were mainly empty within the castle, save for the occasional sentry.
The effects of _fade _made them ignore the billowing black cloak and the
sounds of his booted feet as he passed them by. They could not know how many
times the wizard had roamed these halls like a phantom, eavesdropping on the
whispered conversations of dukes and counts, chambermaids and guards.  
  
He stopped outside the doors of the royal chambers, noting the stone-faced
guards, in their finest royal red, oiled and polished halberds held upright at
their sides. Purely ceremonial weapons, Bagdemagus knew, though he supposed
they could deliver quite a whollop if need be.  
  
For a moment, he touched the hilt of the blade at his belt. A pair of quick
thrusts, and the sentries would be dispatched, never knowing who had slain
them. But that would be messy . . . besides, Bagdemagus had no business with
the Queen's bedchambers, not just yet.  
  
He continued on his way, leaving the oblivious guards behind, and turned down
another corridor. For a moment, he paused before a portrait of the now-
deceased King Richard. The former monarch of Vix looked resplendent in his
golden armor, the impressive winged helmet tucked under his arm. _The epitome
of all that is good and just in the land, thought Bagdemagus wryly. What a
twit_.  
  
"If only you had heeded my words, so long ago, we would both have gotten what
we wanted," Bagdemagus said aloud. "But, no, you insisted that everything be
your way. Well, look where you have ended up: food for worms and caterpillars,
with an unwanted daughter as your only legacy."  
  
Bagdemagus shook his head sadly. "Now we have to do it the hard way," he said,
turning from the portrait. "I do hope you give your daughter a friendlier
welcome in the afterlife than you did in this one."  
  
***  
  
The door to the small bedchamber of the handmaiden was locked, of course,
though that posed little problem for a wizard more than a century old. Over
the years, Bagdemagus had made copies of the keys to nearly every door in the
castle. Easy enough to do for a man who could come and go as he pleased,
unnoticed.  
  
He unlocked the door, closed it quietly behind him. The new Queen's handmaiden
had spartan quarters; a simple bed, wash basin, a tiny vanity. A thick red
curtain indicated where the chamber pot lay. There was a single window, left
open to allow the breeze and a few flitting butterflies inside.  
  
Bagdemagus let the _fade _spell drop; it was taxing to keep it up for long,
and a few moments' respite was welcome.  
  
The wizard glanced around, finding what he desired upon the vanity. A finely-
made brush of ivory, no doubt a gift from the housemarm for the handmaiden's
service to the new Queen. Fine strands of dark hair were tangled around the
teeth. Bagdemagus lifted the brush, sniffed. _Hmm. Raspberries. How quaint._  
  
He pulled off several long strands, looped them together. From his belt he
took a small silver case, and slipped the strands of hair inside before
clicking it closed. He smiled to himself. It would take a few hours to prepare
the spell, but after that . . . .  
  
He slipped quietly from the room, locking the door carefully. An audible gasp
came from his right, and he snapped his head up toward the source.  
  
A member of the Royal Guard, making his rounds. He stared with young, round
eyes at the wizard, clearly aghast at what, or rather, who, he saw. While the
sentry had never seen the man's face – and the smooth-lined face and shoulder-
length jet hair was not what one would expect of an aged wizard – there could
be no denying that the dark-garbed figure before him was the one and only—  
  
"B-b-b," began the guard, drawing his sword. "Y-you're B-b-b—"  
  
The wizard rolled his eyes, made a casual, arcane gesture. He faced the young
guard – _how old is this one? Seventeen? Eighteen? By all that is Infernal,
they get younger every year_ – and planted his hands on his hips. "I'm what?"
he asked.  
  
The stuttering guard called out, gripping his sword defensively in both hands.
"To arms! To arms! Intruder in the castle!"  
  
Bagdemagus sighed tiredly. "Save your breath, boy," he said, his voice deep
and rich, echoing in the air between them. "I've surrounded us with silence.
You could scream at the top of your lungs – and you yet may – for all the good
it will do you."  
  
The young guard swallowed fearfully, admirably mustering his courage. A
lifetime of legends and stories about the dark figure before him whirled in
his mind. "Y-you won't have my fingers on your platter, wizard!"  
  
Bagdemagus frowned, cocking his head. "Excuse me?"  
  
The guard's features contorted. "Y-you know, fingers," he said. "Y-you eat the
fingers of those you kill."  
  
Bagdemagus looked amused. "I do? Oh, that's a new one. It used to be ears."  
  
The guard winced, breathing heavily through his nose. He shifted on his feet,
edging closer to the wizard.  
  
"You know, I simply do not understand where all these varied rumors about me
come from," Bagdemagus continued, apparently unconcerned about the sword
pointed his way. "If you were to believe everything you hear, I can turn into
a bat, I suck blood, I kidnap babies, and now, apparently, I have a fetish for
fingers. It's truly mind-boggling, what you people invent about me."  
  
"S-s-so, you're n-n-not going to eat my fingers?" the guard asked hopefully.  
  
Bagdemagus shrugged. "Let's see where my mood takes me."  
  
The guard let out a small groan, then abruptly raised his sword and prepared
to lunge forward.  
  
"I wouldn't do that," the wizard said calmly.  
  
The guard frowned, halting. "Why not? You're an evil wizard, and I'm a Royal
Guard. What do you expect me to do?"  
  
Bagdemagus considered the young man's words. "Good point," he admitted.
"However, do you really think you can slay me? I am a wizard, after all. How
many men do you think have tried to send me to the Abyss?"  
  
The guard chewed his lip, anxiety evident on his face. "Eh . . . more than
twenty?" he queried.  
  
Bagdemagus gave the young man a blank look. "Yes," he said dryly. "More than
twenty."  
  
"I-I still have to try," muttered the guard, his resolve weakening.  
  
Bagdemagus shook his head. "No, you don't."  
  
"I certainly do!"  
  
"No, you do not," iterated the wizard, stepping forward and glaring into the
guard's eyes. He touched the tip of the wavering sword between them.  
  
"But—"  
  
"Now, listen to me," interrupted Bagdemagus. "You are standing before a wizard
more than a century old. Every man, woman, and child quivers in fear at the
mention of my name. I have slain entire armies and numerous frightful beasts.
The powers of the elements are mine to command. I . . ." he frowned in
thought. "What was I saying?"  
  
"E-e-every man, woman, and child q-quivers—"  
  
The wizard snapped his fingers. "Right. So, considering that I have been alive
as long as I have, and been an enemy of the kingdom for as long as I have, do
you _really _think –" he stepped closer, looking down upon the frightened
guard with cold, grey eyes – "That you, with all your . . . _months _of
experience, have any chance at all of slaying me?"  
  
The guard trembled visibly, feeling his strength ebb as Bagdemagus pushed down
on the sword. He whimpered as he allowed the wizard to take the blade from
him.  
  
Bagdemagus effected a look of sympathy as the young guard shuddered before
him. He slipped a hand to the guard's shoulder. "There, there," he said
soothingly. "You've nothing to be ashamed of."  
  
"I'm a coward!" blubbered the guard, tears flowing down his ruddy cheeks.  
  
Bagdemagus gave the look of a stern father. "Now, you stop that," he said
firmly. "Is there shame for the mouse when it flees the lion? Of course not.
Now, buck up!"  
  
The guard sniffed, lifting his eyes fearfully. "B-but now you're going to kill
me," he said in a small voice.  
  
Bagdemagus sighed, waving the sword in the air, making the guard flinch. "Now,
why would I do that? What would I gain from that? You're no threat to me."  
  
The guard looked surprised as a glimmer of hope dawned in his eyes. He hastily
wiped his cheeks. "Y-you're not going to kill me?"  
  
Bagdemagus chuckled warmly, clapped the young man's shoulder. "Of course not,"
he said with a smile. "What's your name, young man?"  
  
The guard let out a heavy sigh of relief. "Rogers, sir, son of Rogers."  
  
"Well, Rogers, son of Rogers, why don't you run along now. I am sure you have
some pretty young thing waiting for you."  
  
The guard sniffled, shrugged. "Well, there is this one girl in the village . .
. ."  
  
Bagdemagus stoutly slapped the young man's back. "There you go," he said
encouragingly. "Buy her some flowers. Ladies always like flowers."  
  
Rogers, son of Rogers, nodded numbly, turning away from the wizard. He was
stunned with disbelief that the evil wizard Bagdemagus, the Spectre That
Walks, was allowing him to live. He managed a small smile. _Won't this be a
story to tell the boys?_  
  
"Rogers?"  
  
The guard turned about, looking back to the wizard. Bagdemagus held up the
young man's sword, an expectant look on his face. "You forgot something."  
  
Rogers smiled sheepishly, stepped up to the wizard, holding his hand out to
retrieve his sword. "Oh, right," he said. "Can't very well go back to my
captain without—"  
  
His words were cut off by searing pain that stabbed deep through his chest,
through his lung, and exploded from his back. Stunned, the young guard looked
down at his own sword, half of it buried in his body. The crimson tunic he
wore became steadily darker as blood flowed out.  
  
"Y-you said . . . you weren't . . . going to . . . kill me . . . ."  
  
Bagdemagus stared down into quivering brown eyes. "And you believed it?" He
clucked his tongue. "Hello, evil wizard here. You can't trust me."  
  
With a vicious tug, Bagdemagus jerked the sword from the guard's body. Blood
poured from young Rogers' mouth as he slumped to the floor, his eyes glazing.
He gasped and sputtered for several moments before he died.  
  
Bagdemagus tossed the sword to the floor with a rueful shake of his head. _He
actually believed I was letting him go, _he thought as he headed down the
hallway, once more engulfed in the arcane shroud of fade.  
  
_They really must train these boys better . . . ._  
  
***  
  
It is always popularly believed that wizards dwell in towers, with dimly-lit
stone walls and cobwebs in every corner. Certainly, some do; but not
Bagdemagus.  
  
Outside the city, shrouded in an apple orchard and laying upon a small stream,
lay a simple mill house. The large wheel beside the house turned lazily,
creaking as the paddles were moved by the slowly-flowing current. The house
itself was constructed of sturdy, if aged, wood, warped in places, with a
small front porch. A more unassuming abode for a wizard there could not be.  
  
Bagdmagus slipped from the saddle of his pale-hued mare and headed toward the
rickety front door. He did not worry about whether the animal would remain; it
was a charmed creature, and thus would not leave except under duress.  
  
He stepped through the creaking portal, closed it behind him. The gloominess
of the interior slowly became defined as his eyes adjusted. There was the
mill, which dominated the room of the shack, cracking and groaning as it
turned. Around this the wizard went, stopping before a bare spot upon the
dusty wooden floor. A casual gesture of his hand, and a section of warped
wooden boards shimmered and vanished, revealing a stone staircase that
spiraled down.  
  
A flickering glow grew along the stairwell as Bagdemagus descended, finally
emerging into a large room with braziers lit in each of the four corners. The
walls were lined with intricate tapestries and simple wooden crates and
chests. In the very center, upon a dirty and faded rug, lay a single great
table, cluttered and covered with the expected paraphernalia of a wizard.  
  
Taking a little of this and a little of that, the wizard mixed together
various rare and unusual herbs and powdered crystals within a beaten copper
bowl. He mashed it all together with a pistle before pouring in some oils. The
final ingredient was the long, brunette lock taken from the handmaiden's
bedchamber. After chopping it finely with a long, heavy knife, Bagdemagus
sprinkled the hair into the mixture.  
  
He pushed back from the table after setting the copper bowl above the single
flame of a small burner. The potion would take time, he knew; a few hours.  
  
But after so many years, a few hours more were as nothing to him.  
  
***  
  
The guard had been tripled since the death of young Rogers that afternoon. No
one knew exactly what had transpired, of course, save that the youngest of the
Royal Guard had been slain by his own sword. Rumors abounded of spies,
traitors, assassins, revolutionaries . . . and, of course, of the Spectre That
Walks.  
  
"I heard the new Queen claims she saw _him _at the coronation," one guard told
another as they stood in the shadows behind the royal stable within the castle
walls. His lips were darkened by the stick of blackroot he chewed.  
  
"'Queen,'" snorted the other guard, more senior in both age and rank. He spat
out a thick glob of viscous fluid that spattered across the cobblestone.
"She's naught but a girl graced with ridiculous fortune. Sure, she's Richard's
only heir, but what does a _girl _know about ruling a kingdom? And to say she
saw the Dark One? Pah! It's rubbish! No one's seen the old spectre in ages.
Personally, I doubt he's still alive."  
  
"Oh? What about Rogers, then? Killed in the castle itself? Who but a wizard
would have the audacity to sneak in and slay a member of the guard . . . _with
his own sword?"_  
  
The older guard wrinkled his nose. "This is Vix, boy," he growled. "Nothing
new about a murder in the castle. These old walls have seen more blood than
some battlefields."  
  
"All right, then, if not the wizard, then who?"  
  
"Could have been a spy of Prince Drest. Now that's one bugger who's got much
to gain. He scores that new Queen of ours, and . . . ." the senior guardsman
shook his head. "Who knows what may happen."  
  
The younger one shrugged. "I have an ill feeling about all this," he muttered.
"We would not be facing any of this if Richard had only sired a son. How many
wives did he have? And not a bloody one gives him a male heir? Now that stinks
of dark magic, it does."  
  
The older guard grumbled. "Strange winds, lad, strange winds." He continued
mumbling to himself as the two guards wandered away, returning to their
rounds. Neither of them had seen the figure standing a mere arm's length away,
casually leaning against the stable wall. It was surely a good thing they had
not.  
  
Bagdemagus pushed away from the wall with a smirk upon his ageless face.
_Simpletons_, he thought with a dark chuckle. _But what else could I expect
from soldiers?_  
  
_Faded _once more, Bagdemagus made his way through the darkened livery toward
the rear of the castle's manor. He knew every inch of the grounds of Vix
Castle, including all the hidden passageways and secret doors that had been
forgotten by the majority of the successive residents. A touch upon a hidden
stone, and a narrow section of a wall grated inward, allowing Bagdemagus into
a tiny corridor, and thence to a hidden staircase.  
  
His obfuscated route eventually took him to the third floor of the keep, not
far from where he had slain young Rogers. The floors had been scrubbed and
mopped; not a single smear of blood remained to mark where the witless guard
had fallen. However, as Bagdemagus rounded a corner to peer down that selfsame
hall, he spied two pairs of Royal Guardsmen standing at attention, deceptively
alert.  
  
The wizard just smiled, not the least bit perturbed. He had expected this. He
slipped back around the corner, muttered an incantation, dipped his fingers
into a pouch upon his belt. Stepping into the middle of the intersection of
the two corridors, he cast the dust into the air, watching it scatter forward
upon ethereal winds, reaching out to each of the guardsmen in turn.  
  
For a moment, there was no discernible effect. Then, one by one, the guardsmen
yawned, their eyes growing heavy. They swayed slightly on their feet, then
more noticeably. Seeking support, they slapped gloved hands to the walls, to
one another's shoulders. Faces grew slack, then blank. They fell against the
walls or collapsed upon the floor, degenerating into slumber within seconds.  
  
Bagdemagus smiled smugly to himself and made his way down the hall to the door
of the handmaiden's chambers. Once more, he turned the key within the lock,
and stepped inside amid arcane stealth.  
  
The room was largely dark, with only a broad shaft of light that fell across
half the simple bed. The handmaiden was deep within the realm of dreamland,
her pale-skinned body partially exposed to the brilliant purity of the
moonlight. It was a humid night, warm with the imminent arrival of summer, and
in her slumber, Rebecca had pushed away the majority of her covers. The slinky
gown she had worn to bed rode high on her thighs, was bunched between them.
Her sublime young face was angled toward the moon, as if seeking its favor.  

"Such a creature," mused Bagdemagus beneath his breath. Certainly, the
handmaiden paled when compared to her new Queen, yet there was no doubting
this girl's simple beauty. Trained to serve the aristocracy, she had been able
to borrow from them a bit, and thus enjoyed smooth, creamy skin and soft,
luxurious hair of a rich, dark hue. Her ripe, full lips were slightly parted,
pleasantly moist.  
  
The wizard took a phial from another pouch upon his belt and leaned over the
girl. The liquid within the clear glass glowed with a brilliant vermilion
radiance. Bagdemagus pulled upon the stopper, noting the large bubble of fluid
that clung to it. Carefully, he touched the end of the stopper to the
handmaiden's lips. The crimson liquid seeped into her mouth; Rebecca licked
her lips reflexively. Her brow furrowed slightly as she slept.  
  
Bagdemagus sat upon the edge of the bed and settled the back of his hand upon
the handmaiden's forehead. She murmured in her sleep, her features contorting
slightly and twitching. He lifted her head, brought the mouth of the phial to
the girl's lips. "Drink," he whispered.  
  
Dutifully, controlled by the wizardry already at work within her, Rebecca
lifted up just enough, taking the phial in her hands and pushing it against
her lips. She drank greedily, consuming the potion with repeated swallows. At
last, she lay back, breathing heavily. The phial was empty.  
  
Bagdemagus took the small bottle and set it beside the bed, then touched the
young woman's face. Rebecca was about the same age as the new Queen, he knew,
perhaps even a year older. Like the monarch she served, Rebecca was sweet and
pale, apparently untouched. Bagdemagus could not resist the temptation to
confirm the idea.  
  
"Lift up your gown," he whispered in Rebecca's ear. "All the way above your
legs, and part your thighs wide."  
  
Eyes still closed, the handmaiden did as she was bade, pulling upon the satiny
fabric of her sleeping gown. Bagdemagus watched as slender, alabaster thighs
were fully revealed, then the girlish hips, and the thick pelt of russet down
that coated the young woman's sex. As she been instructed, Rebecca spread her
lean thighs wide. The faint aroma of her femininity reached the wizard's
senses.  
  
"You are mine, I command thee," whispered Bagdemagus, settling his hand upon
the girl's right thigh. "Open yourself for me."  
  
Rebecca frowned in her sleep, perhaps trying to fight he magical compulsion
that guided her. But she could not resist, and slid her hands down her body,
over the bunched-up gown beneath the full swell of her breasts, to her naked
abdomen and lewdly-displayed sex. With a soft sigh borne of natural arousal,
her fingers eased through the downy dark curls and pulled at the hair-lined
lips.  
  
Bagdemagus craned his neck, looking upon the girl's exposed treasure. _Such a
simple and beautiful thing, _he thought, and placed his own hands over
Rebecca's plump pink lips. The girl hissed in response, then sighed deeply,
her mouth falling slack.  
  
Fingers – both hers and his – caressed the fleshy labia, bringing the smallish
clitoris to prominence within its hood. Bagdemagus grinned upon feeling the
girl becoming slick, her fragrance stronger in the air. Gently, he pushed a
finger inside her.  
  
Rebecca moaned, and lifted her hips, just a bit, spreading her legs even
wider. Subconsciously, she pushed against the wizard's hand, forcing the
finger to delve even deeper. She whimpered as the barrier within blocked him.  
  
"So you are a virgin," muttered Bagdemagus, inhaling the gentle fragrance of
raspberries in the young woman's hair. His finger stroked, massaged, prodded
against the defender of Rebecca's purity. He slid his finger back, admiring
the glistening wetness upon it . . . then thrust it back in rudely, deeply,
sundering the barrier. "But not anymore."  
  
Rebecca arched her back deeply, her face contorting in pain. But just as she
was about to cry out, Bagdemagus was whispering, telling her to be quiet, be
still, to absorb the pain and let it fade. He felt the warm spurt of blood
over his finger and splash into the palm of his hand. He kept the invading
digit buried as far as it could reach as the natural tremors ebbed. Finally,
Rebecca sagged into the bed, panting and moaning softly.  
  
Bagdemagus smiled at his triumph, and lifted his bloodied hand. Casually, he
licked the tip of his finger, getting a taste of the deflowered woman. He
leaned over and kissed Rebecca's lips.  
  
"You are mine," he said to her. "You will follow my every command, even unto
your own death. Watch the queen, and remember all that you see and hear of
her."  
  
"Yes, milord," whispered Rebecca, her breathless voice less than a whisper.  
  
"Evelyn is to remain chaste, pure, untouched until the midsummer day,"
continued Bagdemagus. "You will do all that you can to insure this, even
offering yourself as consolation to any suitor who threatens the Queen's
virginity."  
  
"I will, milord."  
  
Bagdemagus petted the young woman's hair, kissed her once again as he moved
atop her. He took one of Rebecca's hands and guided it toward his groin. "Now
will I reward you for your service," he whispered into her mouth, even as her
hand slipped inside his breeches to find his engorged arousal. Eagerly,
without his coaching, she guided him toward her bloodied sex.  
  
"Ohhh . . . yes, milord . . . ."  
  
***  
  
Back within his sanctum, Bagdemagus leaned over the small desk that lay along
one of the stony walls. An aged scroll was open before him, yellowed and
brittle with age. The ink glowed softly with its own arcane energy.  
  
"_When summer's day draws nigh  
And monarch, pure and sweet  
Sits upon a throne set high  
Death she shall meet  
  
For then the hand that doth slay  
Will know the power and the glory  
And henceforth from that day  
That hand shall write the story."_  
  
Bagdemagus chuckled darkly, his eyes blazing with anticipation. _Six score
years and more_, he thought. _The journey has been long. But it will all have
been worth it_.  
  
"Indeed."




        A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 06


_Another conquest_, she thought as she left the chambers of one of the lesser
nobles of Vix. _At this rate, I should have all the men of the kingdom under
my spell_. Her lips curled at the corners as she exited the small manor,
breezing by the guard who held the door for her. Her carriage awaited at the
end of a long walk that wound through a lush garden. The moon was only half-
full, casting little light through the trees and thick shrubbery.  
  
"You are certainly making the rounds."  
  
The Lady Viviane gasped as she heard the dark voice behind her, and spun about
to see the owner of the voice. She knew, intuitively, who the man was; she had
felt his presence from the moment of her arrival to the kingdom.  
  
"Bagdemagus," she said, watching the shadows slide off the man's surprisingly
youthful face. Defensively, she 'bumped' her power, subconsciously hoping it
would make the wizard complacent.  
  
He cocked his head with a rakish smile. "The one and only," he said, sweeping
his arms out. He did not seem to be concerned that he stood, more or less, in
full view of Viviane's carriage guards. But then, she reasoned, he _was_ a
wizard, after all.  
  
Mustering her courage, Viviane planted her hands upon her well-rounded hips,
thrust her chest out. Her considerable cleavage was barely restrained by the
bodice of her dress, which she had not completely laced after her latest
dalliance. "Well, I would have preferred a better circumstance in which to
meet," she said. "But I suppose this will have to do."  
  
Bagdemagus looked amused. "Are you trying to seduce me?" he asked with a soft
chuckle. "Oh, that is rich. But I must commend you on your stamina." He
stepped past her casually, approaching the small fountain within the
nobleman's lawn. Viviane followed with her eyes.  
  
"What do you want?" she asked him, fuming slightly.  
  
"Certainly not you," he quipped, knowing that his words would make her
bristle. Thanks to his spies, he had learned quite a bit of the prince's half-
sister.  
  
"No, of course not," she shot back, eyes smoldering with ire. "But, then, at
your age, that would be problematic, wouldn't it? I wonder if the damn thing
still works."  
  
Bagdemagus glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. "It has its uses," he said.
He faced her once more, leaning against the fountain and folding his arms.
"Now," he said with a tone that meant business. "It seems your brother is
doing quite nicely with the Queen. Very chivalrous he was, after that dreadful
business the other night. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Tragic, really."  
  
Viviane narrowed her eyes. "Very," she said dryly. "Not that you had anything
to do with it, of course."  
  
Bagdemagus simply smiled. "What motive would I have for killing the Queen's
foster family? They were nothing to me . . . as are most people, I might add."  
  
"Indeed," Viviane rejoined, stepping closer with a suspicious look upon her
face. "Yet, now Evelyn has found comfort in Drest's arms. That would go a long
way to cementing an eventual union."  
  
The wizard's face was unreadable. "I suppose it would. From tragedy comes
strength, and all that. It's almost . . . predictable."  
  
Viviane's lips pouted in thought. "And just why would that concern you?" she
asked. "What does a wizard care about the affairs of a kingdom? Or that Drest
and the Queen be wed?"  
  
"Oh? What makes you think I'm concerned?"  
  
She waggled a finger at the wizard. "I know a thing or two about magic," she
said. "I know which rocks to turn over."  
  
Bagdemagus snorted softly. "Oh, do you? Do you think yourself a wizard? Being
the adulterous child of a king and supposed sorceress does not give one
command of the Ether. That takes decades . . . centuries, even."  
  
Viviane's eyes blazed for a moment. "Perhaps I know more than you think," she
said haughtily.  
  
Bagdemagus arched an eyebrow. "Highly doubtful," he said patronizingly. He
took a tired-sounding breath. "No, the reality is that you were somehow
blessed with a bit of instinctual magic . . . the ability to play upon others'
inhibitions. Useful, certainly . . . but not quite the same as knowledge of
the Craft."  
  
Viviane seethed. "I have time to learn," she said, then smirked. "Unlike you."  
  
The wizard smiled knowingly. "Oh, if only you _did_ know," he rasped.  
  
Viviane rolled her eyes. "I think I tire of this game of words," she said,
then began to turn away.  
  
"And impressive man, isn't he?" Bagdemagus called out.  
  
Viviane stopped, frowning. She turned back to the wizard. "What are you
talking about?"  
  
"That simpleton you are so fond of," the wizard said, casually regarding his
lightly-callused nails. "You know, the . . . big one." He smiled knowingly,
lifting his eyes to read Viviane's consternated expression.  
  
"Don't think I haven't noticed," Bagdemagus continued. "Oh, certainly, you
have gone to great lengths to spread your . . . influence. But there is always
that one man to whom you return. That groomsman. Eric, yes? Yes, that is his
name: Eric . . . ."  
  
Viviane ground her teeth. "He is of no concern to you," she declared, feeling
an anxious rumble in her chest.  
  
The dark wizard chuckled. "No, but he is to you," he pointed out. He narrowed
his eyes. "Curious that you keep returning to him, above all others. And that
he never seems to be left like a panting dog in your wake. That vexes you,
doesn't it? That there is a man without inhibitions for you to feed upon?"  
  
Viviane folded her arms defensively. "Nothing vexes me," she spat.  
  
Bagdemagus pushed away from the fountain, taking two slow, deliberate steps
toward the woman before him. "I beg to differ," he said menacingly. He reached
out a hand, touched Viviane's face. She stiffened slightly, but stood her
ground.  
  
"I could slay you with barely a thought," whispered Bagdemagus. "A powder, a
potion . . . the dagger at my hip. But I think it would be more interesting to
see what mischief you might make."  
  
Her nostrils flared slightly. "You should not dismiss me so casually, wizard."  
  
Bagdemagus smirked once more. "Oh, but I do," he said dryly. From behind
Viviane came the loud sound of a twig snapping. Immediately, she whirled
about, searching the garden to see who was there.  
  
But there was no one. Not that she could see, even with her sharp eyes. She
let out a breath, turned back to Bagdemagus.  
  
She was not entirely surprised to find that he was gone, leaving no trace of
his presence. Wearily, Viviane shook her head.  
  
"Damn wizard."  
  
***  
  
The sounds of swords clashing filled the training grounds of the castle. The
members of the guard had been paired up, facing each other with dulled blades
as the captain drilled into them the fineries of swordplay. His raucous voice
echoed in the air.  
  
"Bells! Don't swing so hard! You'll tire yourself out! Hooper, watch your
flank! Greaves, you hold the blade too low when you parry! Delfs . . . ."  
  
Beside the stables, John and Eric watched the training. Their chores for the
moment were finished, at least until David came along with something else for
them to do.  
  
"Look at these idiots," scoffed John, shaking his head. "I bet you and I could
take the lot of them."  
  
Eric chuckled. "Not likely," he said. "You do well with a stick, but it's not
the same as a fistful of steel."  
  
John soured. "I know my way around a blade."  
  
"Well, that is a moot point, since you are a stable hand, and not a guard."  
  
John shot the larger man a look. "And we both know why that is. I could prove
my mettle against any man among the guard, and it would net me nothing. Just
because of my buggered heritage."  
  
"Yes, well, being buggered didn't keep you from buggering, did it?"  
  
John snorted as he recalled his first 'meeting' with Lady Viviane. "That was
quite nice," he said. He frowned at Eric. "Of course, you got the better deal
on that one. As always."  
  
Eric shrugged with a confident look. "Alas, what can I say? The woman is
infatuated with me."  
  
"And any man in a noble's coat," John muttered under his breath. "I'm
surprised you haven't gotten the pox."  
  
"Hmm. Now that you mention it, the ol' John Thomas has been a bit itchy lately
. . . ."  
  
John winced. "Saints. Spare me the gory details."  
  
Eric laughed, then fell into silence as the two friends continued watching the
practicing guards. After a moment, he pointed. "What do you think of that one?
What's his name?"  
  
John's brow furrowed in thought. "Hmm. Cedric, I think. Supposedly a childhood
friend of the Queen. Little wonder how he became a guard."  
  
"Regardless of how, he shows promise," Eric said. "Look. He's up against
Falhurst."  
  
Upon the grounds, Cedric, newest member of the guard, squared off with the
more experienced Lieutenant Falhurst. It was well known that Falhurst was a
master swordsman, with no equals. He lacked the intricacy of strategy,
however, which kept him at his current rank. But the man seemed content with
his position, and his reputation.  
  
"Come on, pup, show us what you've got!" Falhurst rumbled as Cedric advanced.  
  
Cedric grinned. The sword felt natural in his hand; it was obvious he had a
knack for swordplay. Strange to think that he had never aspired to more than
becoming a cobbler, yet here he was, his hand filled with steel.  
  
"Beware pups who bite," he quipped, then lunged. Steel rang on steel; both men
grunted. Blades flashed, clashed again, then again.  
  
"Not bad," muttered Eric.  
  
John shrugged. "Eh . . . he's all right."  
  
Around Cedric and Falhurst, the other guards stopped their sparring and formed
a wide circle. Cedric had already lasted longer than any other guardsman; they
were anxious to see what he could do.  
  
For several moments, Cedric admirably held his own in the duel with Falhurst.
The other guardsmen watched, some smiling in admiration, others with
confidence for their lieutenant. But none could deny the natural strength,
speed and skill Cedric possessed.  
  
"You're quite good!" expelled Falhurst at one point, as blades locked and the
two men were brought face-to-face.  
  
"I could say the same about you!" returned Cedric. He shoved back, then swung,
a wild strike that extended his reach and exposed his side. Falhurst swatted
the blade away, then passed his own sword behind his back, exchanging hands.
Swiftly, the tip of his blade shot up, stopping just short of doing damage as
it pressed into Cedric's right armpit.  
  
Falhurst grinned as his opponent froze. "Confidence is good, lad.
Overconfidence is not."  
  
Cedric's face colored with admonishment. He stepped back, lowering his blade
and nodding his head in a gesture of respect. "I'll remember that," he said.  
  
Falhurst chuckled. "You've the makings of a fine swordsman, lad," he said,
clapping Cedric on the shoulder. "Keep it up."  
  
Cedric grinned. It had only been a couple of days, but he already knew whom
the other men respected. To receive praise from Falhurst was akin to having
the captain himself shaking one's hand.  
  
"My thanks," he said, feeling proud.  
  
***  
  
Weapons practice was finally done for the day. Cedric felt sore and sweaty,
yet invigorated. He was reminded of muscles he had forgotten he had, and
sported a few bruises here and there, but it was all worth it.  
  
_I'm a guardsman_, he thought, and grinned as he stood in the relative
coolness of the feed barn. He dipped his hands into a large barrel full of
water, splashed it over his face. The chill water felt invigorating as it
flowed down his face, soaked into the simple tunic he wore. His crimson
guard's jacket lay across a wooden rail, all but sodden with sweat.  
  
"Ho, there, boy, that water is for the horses."  
  
Cedric looked to the origin of the voice, finding the two hulking groomsmen
standing in the doorway. He struggled to remember their names. One was Eric,
the other . . . Joseph? He could not remember.  
  
"My apologies," Cedric said. "I just needed to cool off a bit."  
  
The largest of the two -- Eric -- stepped forward. He glared upon the young
guardsman. "Oh, and just any bucket of water will do?" he asked growlingly.
"Never mind that said water has been purified for consumption _only_ by the
mounts of the Queen and visiting prince?"  
  
Cedric paled slightly. "I . . . I didn't know," he said.  
  
Eric and John faced the young man in an almost menacing way. Then, suddenly,
they sputtered in laughter, doubling over and clutching their sides.  
  
"Oh, the expression 'pon your face!" roared Eric.  
  
John mimicked Cedric, his eyes wide and lips puckered. "_'I didn't know,'_" he
quoted, then degenerated into laughter.  
  
Cedric rolled his eyes. "All right, you've had your fun," he said. But he
could not deny the smile that tugged at his own mouth.  
  
Eric, still laughing, extended his hand to the guardsman. "Aye, we have," he
said. "I'm Eric, this is John. And you are the Queen's boyfriend."  
  
Cedric paled again. "Wh-what? I am no such thing! I-I mean, she's the Queen!
Our relationship is completely platonic, and has always been!"  
  
John shrugged. "Ah, well, the rumor-mongers would say differently."  
  
Cedric frowned, instantly angered. "Any rumors to the effect of . . . of
coital relations betwixt myself and the good Queen are patently, utterly, and
absolutely false! And I'll see any man put to death if he says otherwise!"  
  
John and Eric exchanged glances. "He hasn't bedded her," muttered John.  
  
"No, he hasn't," Eric agreed.  
  
"I certainly have not!" cried Cedric. "Regardless of any desire to do
otherwise, I admire milady the Queen and would not wish any inopportune
thoughts upon her!"  
  
Both larger men blinked. Eric held up his hands. "You've made your point," he
said.  
  
Cedric seethed a moment, then backed off, snatching up his jacket. "I love her
as I love a friend, or a sister," he said, donning the coat. "Nothing more. I
will trust you both to keep that in mind, and not fuel any rumors."  
  
"We are not the sort," Eric said, then smiled rakishly. "We have enough of our
own rumors to worry about."  
  
John and Eric shared a chuckle. Cedric merely huffed, buttoning up his coat.
He paused as he took up the baldric to which his sword was attached. He smiled
wryly. "Three days ago, I was just a shoemaker's son," he said, almost to
himself. "Now I wear the coat of a Royal Guardsman and carry a blade. Life is
a strange thing."  
  
John grimaced. "For some," he said wryly.  
  
"Cedric?"  
  
All three looked toward the door to behold Rebecca, the Queen's handmaiden.
She was dressed in riding gear, although it was well-known that the young
beauty had little experience in the saddle. Her lack of experience, however,
did not seem to be an issue at the moment; she looked more than delectable in
her bellcloth skirt and form-fitting top. The firm mounds of her breasts were
showcased admirably by the uplifting bodice she wore.  
  
"The Queen has asked me to pick up a few things from the village," the
handmaiden continued with a sweet smile. "The captain said you could escort
me."  
  
Cedric swallowed apprehensively. He was aware of the envious looks given him
by both Eric and John. More than anything, those looks fueled him, inflaming
his young male ego.  
  
"Of course," Cedric said at last. "I would be more than happy to escort you."  
  
The demure brunette smiled, batting her eyes.  
  
***  
  
Eric and John watched as the grey-flanked mare bore Cedric and Rebecca away.
Both men could not help but envy the way the Queen's handmaiden molded herself
to Cedric's back, clasping her hands just above the guard's waist. Her rump
was inspiring as it bounced upon the saddle of the trotting horse.  
  
"I'll say this for him: the lad's learning quickly," commented Eric.  
  
John mused darkly. "There's something about that girl—"  
  
"Aye, there is."  
  
"Not that," continued John in irritation. He stepped into the sun, watching as
the gates opened for the single horse and her two riders. "'Tis something
else. I can't quite put my finger on it."  
  
"Nor will you, it seems. That girl plainly has an eye for our newest
guardsman."  
  
John gave his friend a frowning look. "Aren't handmaidens supposed to be
chaste?" he asked.  
  
Eric shrugged. "Muriel was . . . still is, supposedly. But that is not to say
that all are to follow in that vein."  
  
"Still . . . don't ask me why, Eric, but there is something . . . _nefarious_
about Rebecca. I have a strange feeling about her."  
  
Eric rolled his eyes, slapped his hand to the back of John's neck. "Listen. I
know you feel there are spies everywhere, but—"  
  
"But what?" queried John, turning to face the older man with a challenging
look. "If you were Prince Drest, and you wanted to know everything there was
about the Queen, who would you employ? What better spy than the woman who
spends practically every hour of every day with her?"  
  
Eric pursed his lips in thought. "'Tis a stretch," he said.  
  
"No more so than a supposed wizard roaming the castle and killing at will,"
John said pointedly.  
  
Eric let out a heavy breath. "So, what, then? Follow them?"  
  
John grinned rakishly. "We've nothing else to do for the remainder of the day
. . . ."  
  
***  
  
Cedric beamed with pride. He thoroughly enjoyed the reception he and Rebecca
received as they rode into the village. Many had known him as little more than
a cobbler's son; now he was resplendent in the crimson coat of the Royal
Guard, escorting none other than the Queen's handmaiden. For the son of a
shoemaker, this was the highlight of his life.  
  
"Make way for the Queen's handmaiden," Cedric announced with pompous flair,
his hand at the small of Rebecca's back as they started through the market.  
  
"Cedric, my sweet, don't make such a production of it," she whispered over her
shoulder.  
  
Cedric cleared his throat. "Of course, milady."  
  
"And I am not a lady," she added, with a mischievous gleam in her eye.  
  
"You certainly are in my eyes."  
  
"Oh, Cedric," Rebecca said with a note of condescension in her voice. Yet the
playful expression she bore hinted at something more.  
  
Cedric chuckled, and left the handmaiden to her shopping. He watched as she
wandered about the carts and booths in the market square, selecting various
things such as candles, incense, and perfumed soaps. Rebecca was warmly
received by the merchants, who recognized her instantly.  
  
"By the saints! Cedric, is that you?"  
  
He turned, looking upon a matronly woman and her 'entourage' of children. The
little ones were all between ten and sixteen years of age, spaced about a year
apart. Their ruddy faces reflected the simple life they led, the life which
Cedric had followed until just a few days before.  
  
"Mrs. Albright! A pleasure to see you!" He opened his arms to the woman, who
gave him a quick, friendly hug.  
  
"Nay, the pleasure is mine," she said appraisingly, looking the young man
over. "I must say, you do make for a fine soldier."  
  
Cedric blushed. "My thanks," he said. "I am still getting used to it."  
  
Mrs. Albright touched Cedric's cheek with a smile. "I always suspected there
was a greater destiny for you than to follow in your father's footsteps," she
said. "Now I see that I was right."  
  
Cedric's eyes dipped. "You flatter me."  
  
The matron's eyes wandered across the market square, finding the handmaiden as
she added to her basket of wares. "What a lovely charge you have," she said.
"I dare say the handmaiden may be second only to the Queen in beauty."  
  
Cedric's cheeks reddened slightly, though he tried to hide it. "I haven't
noticed."  
  
Mrs. Albright laughed softly. "Oh, of course not," she said, chiding him. "You
are a guardsman. Your eyes seek out only the dangers of the world, which your
fine sword shall lay low."  
  
Cedric tried not to smile. "I suppose I cannot hide anything from you," he
said.  
  
The woman smiled back. "Cedric, you have entered a new world. It is not one
like anything you have known before."  
  
He nodded. "So I am discovering."  
  
Mrs. Albright's features darkened a bit. "How is our Queen?" she asked. Her
features softened with sympathy. "Tell me honestly, Cedric. With all that
happened two nights past—"  

Cedric hardened his face. "She is the Queen," he said firmly, then lowered his
head. "Of course it hurts her, what happened to her parents . . . to those who
raised her. But she is the regent, and a strong one, at that. There are other
things that command her attention."  
  
The matron nodded. "Such as . . . her romance with Prince Drest?"  
  
Cedric met the woman's eyes. "Mayhap," he said. He took a deep breath, letting
his chest swell. "I will tell you this: Drest is a good man. A fine man. I
dare say he is worthy of the Queen."  
  
Mrs. Albright curtsied quickly. "Your word is enough for me, Guardsman," she
said, then touched his cheek once more. "Take good care of her."  
  
Cedric took the woman's hand and squeezed it gently. "Ever my intention," he
said meaningfully.  
  
***  
  
Cedric dragged his feet as he toted the large satchels, loaded with Rebecca's
purchases, behind the handmaiden. Elation at being a guardsman in charge of
protecting the Queen's servant had become annoyance at being a pack mule. He
cursed himself for forgetting that a woman, regardless of her station, is
always a woman, and that meant affectation for the material things in life.  
  
He was therefore relieved when Rebecca announced she was done with her
shopping.  
  
"Cedric, darling, could you take the purchases to the horse?" she asked as
they stopped near the broad caravan bridge that spanned the river dividing the
village. "I have one last thing to get, but it may take a few minutes to pick
it out. Just wait by the horse, if you would."  
  
The guardsman frowned. "I'm not sure that would be a good idea," he said
worriedly. "I am to remain with you at all times."  
  
Rebecca smiled sweetly, her dark eyes twinkling. "You are a gallant man," she
said affectionately, touching Cedric's face. She leaned in, planting a soft,
lingering kiss just at the corner of his mouth. "I won't be long," she
whispered. "I promise."  
  
Cedric's heart fluttered, and he blushed like a young boy just praised for
drawing a chalk picture on parchment. "Well . . . all right, then. But don't
be long."  
  
Rebecca winked. "It will only take a few moments," she said with a smile, and
turned about. Unseen by Cedric, the smile faded quickly as she headed away,
replaced by a look of determination.  
  
The guardsman sighed, watching the gentle wriggle of the handmaiden's hips,
admiring the way her skirt hung off her graceful hips. But he shook his head,
clearing away the beginnings of licentious thoughts, and gathered the satchels
in his hands once more. Trudging his way back through the market square to
where the horse was tethered, Cedric did not see as Rebecca veered away from
the shops of the market square, instead heading toward the long bridge with
its numerous covered nooks.  
  
***  
  
"Were you followed?"  
  
The dark voice startled Rebecca as she sat upon the narrow wooden bench. There
were three shallow alcoves on either side of the bridge, used by guards and
soldiers and the occasional weary traveler. They were just deep enough for two
people to be hidden from prying eyes.  
  
"No, milord," whispered Rebecca, her heart palpitating as she realized she was
in the presence of her master. She sighed softly as she felt a strong hand
upon her shoulder, the brush of his lips against her right ear.  
  
"Good," he said simply.  
  
Rebecca swallowed with anxiety, yet not the sort that worried her. She
immediately felt the moistness between her thighs, the hardening of her
nipples against the rough fabric that constrained them. "May I look upon you?"  
  
She heard him move, the barest sounds of rich linen and leather. "Turn about,"
he said.  
  
Eagerly, Rebecca did so, swinging her legs over the bench. She found herself
gazing upon the man of her dreams, in all his formidable glory, his impressive
countenance. There surely could not be a more handsome and desirable man in
all of Vix . . . indeed, all the world.  
  
Bagdemagus smiled upon his charmed servant. Her devotion, it seemed, was
total. The level to which some he charmed went to show their allegiance
occasionally surprised the wizard. But if Rebecca had convinced herself that
she was in love, then all the better.  
  
The wizard touched the handmaiden's chin, gazing down into her wide dark eyes.
He noted the wetness of her lips, how they parted slightly as aroused breath
escaped between them. Her total submission was arousing to him. He felt
himself swell beneath his breeches. Wordlessly, he straightened, worked the
snaps that kept him decent. Before him, Rebecca all but panted in expectation,
her eyes locked upon the wizard's groin.  
  
"May I, milord?" she asked breathlessly.  
  
Bagdemagus chuckled. "Of course," he said, and let the handmaiden's hands
search through the folds of linen to find her prize. She swooned as she
extracted his cock. Her soft, gloved hands were cool about the shaft.
Immediately, she shifted on the bench, bring her face closer. She inhaled
deeply of his masculine aroma, and whimpered.  
  
"Tell me of the Queen," Bagdemagus commanded as Rebecca lavished his staff
with her wet lips and tongue.  
  
Rebecca panted on the wizard's cock, dragging her tongue along stiff, warm
flesh for a few moments before responding. "She remains chaste," the
handmaiden reported. "But seems to have some bit of attraction for the Prince.
Since the death of her parents . . . she appears to . . . appreciate him."  
  
"That is good," the wizard said. He slid a hand behind Rebecca's head and
pushed his hips out. He grinned at the grateful, muffled moan the handmaiden
emitted as her mouth was filled. He began pumping his hips slowly. "I want you
to encourage the Queen to consider Drest a worthy suitor. But subtly. Do you
understand?"  
  
"Mm-hmm," mumbled Rebecca, sucking deeply and desperately. Wet smacking sounds
escaped her lips, as well as the occasional laborious sigh.  
  
"And watch, as well, that vixen of a half-sister, Viviane," continued
Bagdemagus, moving his hips faster, feeling the quickening begin. "She is a
crafty one. But do not be obvious about it."  
  
Rebecca slipped her hungry mouth from the wizard's cock, shiny tendrils of
saliva streaming from her lips in the growing twilight. Her gloved hands
stroked swiftly and firmly. "As you command, milord," she gasped, then dove
down once more, sucking greedily, moaning repeatedly with her desire for her
lover's release.  
  
Bagdemagus groaned, cradling the girl's bobbing head in his hands. "You serve
me well," he whispered. His cock throbbed in the tight, sucking cavity of
Rebecca's mouth. "You deserve a reward." With that, he grunted as his release
came, gushing from within him to fill the handmaiden's receptive mouth.  
  
Rebecca moaned at tasting the rich, bitter fluid, squeezed and sucked harder
to insure she received it all. She savored the taste of him, moaning
contentedly as she milked the last drops of fluid from the wizard's staff.  
  
Abruptly, Bagdemagus pulled back, withdrawing his shiny phallus from Rebecca's
mouth. "Enough," he said, tucking his spent member away. "Swallow your
reward."  
  
Rebecca gave her master a dreamy look, then swallowed his essence with relish.
The thick fluid warmed her throat and stomach. She licked and smacked her
lips, wiped her chin and the corners of her mouth with the tips of her fingers
before sucking them clean. "I exist to serve you, milord," she said. "'Tis all
I can think about."  
  
Bagdemagus grinned as he finished rearranging his clothes. "Of course it is."  
  
***  
  
_Enough of this,_ thought Cedric angrily, eyeing the setting sun. The shops
were closing, the merchants with their booths and carts packing up their
wares. _She's been gone long enough, and I have humored her too much today._  
  
Cedric stood up from the rockbed that surrounded one of the massive oaks Vix
was famous for, and found a stout young lad, a few years his junior, lingering
nearby. "You! Boy! A silver for your palm if you watch my horse for a bit."  
  
The boy perked up and approached, stopping beside Cedric's mount. "Coin
first," he demanded with typical adolescent surety.  
  
The guardsman chuckled, slipped the coin from his belt. He flipped it through
the air, and the boy caught it. "I expect everything as right as rain when I
return."  
  
The boy winked. "Of course, sir!"  
  
Hands gripping the hilts of sword and dagger, Cedric headed off toward the
apothecary toward which he had last seen Rebecca go.  
  
***  
  
"What do you think?" whispered John as he and Eric stood within the shadows
between James the Blacksmith's shop and the apothecary. Both men had their
eyes on Cedric as the guardsman approached, then entered, the latter.  
  
"I think we are ill-suited as rogues," commented Eric, adjusting the strap of
the crossbow slung over his shoulder. "Nor as spies."  
  
John frowned back at his friend. "We're not spies!" he insisted in a hushed
voice. "We're . . . _patriots_."  
  
Eric rolled his eyes. "Spies," he said. "You know, I could have spent my
afternoon enjoying a dalliance with one of the scullery maids, but no . . . I
had to listen to you."  
  
"You and your conquests," John scolded. "Here we are, looking out for the
welfare of the Kingdom, and all you can think about are your wenches."  
  
Eric sighed. "You call _this_ 'looking out for the welfare of the kingdom?'"  
  
"Much better than shoveling horse feed and manure," bemoaned John, looking
back around the corner of the alley. He watched as Cedric emerged, looking
worried. The guardsman stopped a pudgy merchant, asked him some questions. The
man responded with a shrug, then a thoughtful look, eventually pointing toward
the caravan bridge. Cedric thanked the man, then headed off.  
  
"Come on," John said excitedly. "The game's afoot!"  
  
"'The game's afoot?'" echoed Eric dubiously. "Where did that come from?"  
  
John shrugged. "Don't know. Perhaps it will catch on some day. Come on."  
  
***  
  
Cedric jogged up to the bridge, passing torchlighters as they returned from
lighting the lanterns framing the bridge. The guardsman looked about
anxiously, his heart beginning to pound. By the saints, he thought. _If I've
lost her, if some harm has come to her, I shall never forgive myself._  
  
But then he saw her, stepping from one of the alcoves, halfway down the
bridge. Rebecca had a small smile on her face, obvious even in the growing
dimness.  
  
"Rebecca!" called Cedric.  
  
Her eyes snapped up, her smile vanishing instantly. "Cedric?"  
  
The young guardsman dashed forward, sword scabbard slapping his thigh. "What
have you been up to?" he called. "I've been waiting nearly half an—" he
trailed off as a dark figure emerged from the shadows behind her, the pale
face, framed with jet, malevolent and sneering.  
  
"Rebecca! Look out!" Cedric shouted, doubling his speed even as he withdrew
his dagger. Booted feet pounded heavily upon the wooden boards of the bridge.
He snapped his arm back, the blade of the dagger pinched between his fingers.
"Step away, blackguard!"  
  
Rebecca gasped, seeing the flashing steel in Cedric's hand, and stumbled,
falling to the ground. Behind her, the wizard only smirked as the guardsman
charged.  
  
"Oh, look," chuckled Bagdemagus. "A hero." His hand slapped to the ivory hilt
of the slender sword at his side.  
  
"Keep down, Rebecca!" shouted Cedric bravely, coming to a halt less than
twenty paces from the black-suited man whom he assumed was a mere robber or
highwayman. His arm snapped forward, hurling the dagger with all his might.
The path of the whirling blade would carry it right to the menacing figure's
heart.  
  
Inhumanly, however, Bagdemagus pivoted, even as he slipped his sword free with
a resounding ring. His free hand caught the flying dagger by the hilt, and as
he spun about, the blade was flipped until it was held expertly for throwing.
In the blink of an eye, Cedric found his own dagger hurled back toward him
with deadly precision.  
  
Desperate wits were all that saved the guardsman from a gruesome death. He
jerked to the side, yet still felt a sting along his cheek as the dagger
flashed past. Impulsively, he slapped his gloved hand to his face, feeling it
slippery with blood.  
  
"You're quick, I'll grant you that," said the wizard as he strode forward,
forgetting Rebecca upon the ground. His sword lead the way, like a shaft of
silver light jutting forth from darkness. "But how quick, I wonder?"  
  
Cedric gathered his bearing quickly and drew his sword. "Blackguard or
assassin, I care not which," he said bravely. "You shall not impugn the
dignity of the Queen's handmaiden!"  
  
The dark-garbed man stopped several paces away, cocking his head with an
amused expression. "Do they teach you to talk that way at the castle? Or does
it just come naturally to you?"  
  
Cedric glared along the length of his blade, holding it firmly with both
hands. "You will not distract me," he said. "Step away from Rebecca, and I
will let you go."  
  
"Oh, will you? And what if I refuse? Do you think you could do better than
your fellow guardsman, that fool pup Rogers?"  
  
Cedric frowned, recalling the name . . . the name of the guardsman he had
replaced. The one, it was said, that had been killed by . . . .  
  
"Bagdemagus," whispered Cedric under his breath, his voice wavering.  
  
The wizard grinned, and tapped his temple. "Oh, you are a smart one," he said
patronizingly. He raised his sword. "Now, let us test your mettle."  
  
Cedric swallowed nervously. _Oh, bloody hell . . . ._  
  
***  
  
At the end of the bridge, John and Eric looked on with wide eyes. Their ears
had just caught the conversation between Cedric and the dark figure.  
  
"No, it cannot be," breathed John. He looked anxiously to Eric.  
  
The larger man was quick to take up his crossbow, already cocked and loaded.
"Mayhap, mayhap not," Eric said. "And if that fool guardsman would get out of
the way, it would not matter."  
  
"But if it is the Spectre," protested John, looking back with worry-filled
eyes. "How can we slay him?"  
  
***  
  
Bagdemagus noticed the two men appearing at the end of the bridge, and stepped
to insure that Cedric stood between them. His evil eyes fixed on the
guardsman. "Come on, boy, show us if the swordsmen of Vix have gotten better
in the past few decades."  
  
Cedric reaffirmed his grip on the hilt of his sword. His eyes darted over the
wizard, noting the man's stance: he stood with feet spaced at shoulder-width,
his body partially turned back. The singled-egded blade was held in one hand;
the wizard's other held back the ends of his long cloak.  
  
Cedric took a breath. "If this is how it must be," he said.  
  
"Oh, it must," returned Bagdemagus, his damnable smirk unfettered. He looked
like a cat about to toy with a mouse.  
  
"Then so be it!" exclaimed Cedric, lunging forward. He stabbed with his sword,
expecting it to be swatted aside by the wizard's blade. He was not
disappointed, and with a pivot and a slash, spun about and hacked down through
the air. The blow would have cleaved any man's skull.  
  
But the wizard was quick, impossibly so, and deftly sidestepped the attack.
His own blade flashed, and Cedric hurriedly raised his own to deflect the
slash. Blade met with a shower of sparks. For a moment, neither man moved,
their blades locked as intently as their eyes.  
  
"Not bad," said Bagdemagus. "Try again?"  
  
"I think I shall," commented Cedric with a grin, and advanced. He swung,
hammered, pummeled with his blade, forcing the wizard back. Blades clashed and
sparked, rung and trembled. The wizard was forced to give ground, spurring
Cedric on. It appeared that the young guardsman had the advantage.  
  
***  
  
"I don't believe it!" exclaimed John, starting forward on the bridge. "That
wild-eyed pup is doing it!"  
  
Eric frowned, sighting along the arrow notched in his crossbow. "So 'twould
seem," he said.  
  
***  
  
Fueled by his advantage, Cedric pressed on, forcing the wizard, the so-called
'Spectre That Walks,' further and further back. Forceful grunts exploded from
his lungs with each powerful blow he landed. A mad gleam of anticipated
victory shone in his eyes. At last, Bagdemagus was forced to the ground.
Falling back with one hand planted to the ground, the wizard held his blade
defensively.  
  
"Enough!" cried Bagdemagus.  
  
Cedric paused, standing over the man. "Drop your sword."  
  
The wizard heaved with exertion. He chuckled. "You have beaten me, good sir,"
he said, slowly lowering his blade. "I am not the young man I used to be." He
set his sword upon the ground, rolled to a sitting position.  
  
Cedric grinned, his face glowing. "'Pon your feet, and no trickery."  
  
Bagdemagus took a breath, nodding. "Just hold your blade," he said, pushing
himself to his feet. "I am obviously no threat to you."  
  
Cedric took a step back, sword held at the ready. "I will believe that when
you are in irons."  
  
Bagdemagus laughed in self-deprecation. "A smart man, you are," he said, and
straightened with a last, heavy expulsion of breath. His features suddenly
clouded, his eyes once more malevolent. "But not nearly smart enough."  
  
Too late, Cedric noticed the long cord that ran from the pommel of Bagdemagus'
blade to his wrist. And, too late, Cedric realized he had been misled.  
  
With supernatural speed, Bagdemagus whirled about, his cloak held once more in
his fist. It swept up, obscuring Cedric's vision like a black cloud. Cedric
struggled to keep his wits, but the sudden obfuscation left him unbalanced.
Still, controlled by desperate instinct, he slashed wildly.  
  
By the time Cedric knew what was happening, Bagdemagus had already come about,
having snatched up his sword, the cord from around his wrist bringing the hilt
into his palm. With a vicious thrust, he buried the blade home, just above
Cedric's right hip and slicing out through the back.  
  
The explosion of pain stunned the young guardsman, only slightly more so than
the look upon the wizard's face as he glanced to his chest. A flap in
Bagdemagus' coat lay open, revealing pale skin and a thick line of blood. A
single drop of that same blood dripped off the tip of Cedric's sword.  
  
Bagdemagus touched his chest, smeared his own blood between his fingertips. A
moment's disbelief crossed his face; he could not readily remember the last
time he had seen his own blood shed.  
  
Despite the pain that all but paralyzed him, Cedric managed a laugh. "So
you're just a man after all," he muttered.  
  
Bagdemagus' eyes darkened. "Don't insult me," he hissed, then jerked his sword
free from Cedric's body. As the guardsman grunted with renewed pain, falling
to his knees, the wizard's sword flashed. Self-preservation was all that
allowed Cedric to raise his blade. But his grip was weak; the uncommon power
of the wizard's strike knocked it from his hand, sending it flying far back
behind him along the bridge. It landed point-first, embedding itself in the
wooden planks.  
  
"I applaud you, young man," Bagdemagus roared menacingly. "You have managed
the impossible. A shame you will not—"  
  
"Die, wizard!"  
  
Bagdemagus snapped his head up, cursing himself for a moment for having
forgotten the two well-built young man he had seen earlier at the end of the
bridge. One of them now charged forward, snatching up the fallen guardsman's
sword and leaping over the frightened form of Rebecca the handmaiden.  
  
Fire in his eyes, John rushed forward, sword held firmly in his hand as he
leapt once more, bounding over Cedric and onto the wizard. The most powerful
blow he could muster smashed against Bagdemagus' raised blade. Truly forced
back now, the wizard stumbled, rolled backward, and came up upon his feet. He
was quick to recover, and to meet John's furious assault.  
  
John did not have the advantage for long. Although apparently wounded,
Bagdemagus moved with inhuman speed and precision. It was only a matter of
moments before John found himself on the defensive, mustering all of his
energy to counter the wizard's attacks. Bagdemagus was no longer interested in
subtlety and misdirection, only triumph.  

"Ahh!" John cried out as the wizard's slender blade slashed across his left
shoulder, inches away from slicing through his neck. He stumbled back, falling
to the bridge, his sword slapping hard against the bridge planks.  
  
"All men are fools," hissed Bagdemagus, lifting his blade in both hands, ready
to stab it down into John's heart.  
  
The sharp twang of a powerfully-coiled line snapping forward barely preceded a
red-fletched arrow as it sunk deep into Bagdemagus' chest. The wizard
shuddered, then took a single step back, looking up with murderous eyes as
Eric ran forward, already taking another bolt from his quiver. At the same
time, John was rolling onto his feet, and even Cedric had some will left
within him.  
  
Bagdemagus made a quick decision, and leapt onto the edge of the bridge, above
the swift-flowing waters below. Unceremoniously, he ripped free the quarrel
from his chest and dropped it to the ground. His eyes met those of the three
young men in turn.  
  
"Another time, gentlemen," he intoned, then stepped from the bridge.  
  
"No!" cried John, lurching forward. Beside him, his crossbow just loaded, Eric
appeared, looking down as well. But the churning waters below, if they held
the wizard, were not telling.  
  
"Damn him!" yelled John, hammering the pommel of the sword upon the wooden
rail.  
  
"Methinks that has already been done," mused Eric darkly, sounding more calm
and controlled than his younger friend. He glanced back. "The wizard is gone.
We had best see to Cedric and Rebecca."  
  
"But—" began John, his blood still boiling.  
  
"But, nothing," said Eric firmly. He gave John a stern look. "Only a fool
pursues a winless fight."  
  
John seethed a moment, then forced reason into his mind. He glanced to Cedric,
curled up against the side of the bridge, clutching his blood side. "You are
right, of course."  
  
Further down the bridge, Rebecca stared at the three men, the men who had come
to slay her lover, the man of her dreams . . . she shook her head, frowning.
_No, wait . . . was he . . . is he . . ._ she was confused, fighting against
the inclination in her mind that told her she existed to serve the will of
Bagdemagus, her master.  
  
Her eyes roamed over the three men, whom she knew were good at heart. John,
the gentle yet strong, quiet stableboy, Eric, the boisterous giant, and Cedric
. . . _oh, Cedric_ . . . her protector.  
  
But how could that be? Why would they need to defend her from her master? Her
master was all that mattered in her life! He _was_ her life!  
  
_Was he not?_  
  
Overwhelmed, Rebecca buried her face in her hands and wept.  
  
***  
  
Word spread quickly throughout the castle even before the three men returned.
By the time Rebecca, John and Eric, leading the horse upon which a grievously
wounded Cedric was slumped, appeared through the gates, the guard and
hospitalers were at the ready. They took Cedric down, placed him upon a
litter.  
  
Queen Evelyn, flanked by the new personal guard assigned her by Prince Drest,
stared at her lifelong friend as he was borne away. She made the immense
effort to hold back her tears. _A monarch does not allow herself the luxury of
emotion,_ she told herself, recalling her recently-learned lessons.  
  
She steeled herself and faced the three figures now escorted before her. Her
handmaiden, the groom Eric, and the stablehand John. Flanked by guardsmen, the
three of them hung their heads in shame before her.  
  
"Rebecca, to your chambers," Evelyn ordered. "I will speak with you later."  
  
"Yes, my Queen," she whispered, and stepped away, framed by a quartet of
guards. The Queen addressed the two men before her.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
John and Eric exchanged looks. Eric spoke first. "It appears your handmaiden,
milady, was threatened by a rogue of some sort. Cedric was first to challenge
him—"  
  
"A rogue!" cried John. He looked to his Queen. "'Twas not a rogue, your
highness. 'Twas _him_. The Spectre That Walks. And he was wounded."  
  
Evelyn caught her breath. "Are you certain?"  
  
"We cannot be—" began Eric.  
  
"Yes!" snapped John. He took a brave step toward his Queen, knowing he was
overstepping his bounds. He, John, stablehand and grandson of a whore, meeting
the Queen's gaze. He made the supreme effort to remain calm, yet fiercely
sincere. "My Queen, it was him. I know not what evil deeds he intended to
commit upon your handmaiden, but if he is able to come close to her, then . .
. if I may say, your highness, you are not safe. I have seen this bastard
about before. Here, in the castle."  
  
Evelyn frowned with concern. "What?"  
  
"John, you know not what you speak!"  
  
John shot a look to his friend. His eyes flared intently. "Yes. I. Do!"  
  
Eric seethed, but fell silent. He lowered his eyes.  
  
John continued: "Your highness, I have heard all the stories, but always
thought them the works of frightened minds and grey-haired old spinsters. But
I stand before you, with this wound on my arm and fierceness in my heart, to
say that I know Bagdemagus is real. I have faced him."  
  
Evelyn search the stable hand's eyes. "You are certain of this."  
  
John nodded. "I am."  
  
Evelyn was quiet a long moment, her eyes averted as she considered what she
had been told. "Your name is John, yes?"  
  
He nodded, and bowed. "I am your servant, milady."  
  
"I will think on what you have told me," the Queen said. "In the morning, I
may call for you."  
  
John stepped back. "Yes, your highness," he said.  
  
Evelyn's hazel eyes swept to those of Eric, who met her gaze for a moment
before casting his down. For all his words, Evelyn could not hope but think
that all John had said could be mirrored in Eric's words, if only the man
would speak them.  
  
"It has been a long night," Evelyn finally declared, for all to hear. "I want
all guards on alert, and there are to be no visitors to the castle tonight.
None! I do not care if it is the Earl of Westlake or the Duke of Grandsleigh!
Let them camp outside the walls, or find a room at the inn."  
  
"Yes, your highness!"  
  
With a swish of her petticoats, Evelyn followed the light of lanterns toward
the infirmary of the castle, where her friend lay.  
  
***  
  
"The wound was surprisingly clean, your highness," the surgeon told her.
"Although the blade when straight through, it appears to have missed all the
major organs. Even with the loss of blood, it appears Cedric will make a fast
recovery."  
  
Evelyn allowed herself a smile as she breathed out. "That is good news," she
said. She met the aged man's eyes. "May I see him?"  
  
The surgeon smiled thinly. "Were you not my Queen, I might say no," he said.
He gestured behind him, into the infirmary proper. Pale light from candles
within sconces bathed the room in an orangish glow. It was a soft, comfortable
light, pleasing to the senses.  
  
"Thank you," Evelyn said, stepping past the surgeon. At her entrance to the
room, the hospitalers retreated, leaving their regent alone with the valiant
young guardsman.  
  
Cedric lay sublime upon the bed, simple white sheets covering his body to his
chest. His face was expressionless, relaxed in sleep. His hands lay upon his
abdomen.  
  
"My hero," whispered Evelyn with a small laugh through her nose as she sat
upon the edge of the bed. She took one of Cedric's hands, gripped it gently.
For a long moment, she simply gazed upon his face.  
  
"I remember," Evelyn began, her lips twitching with a smile. "I think I was
about eight, or nine. We used to play this game, down by the river. I was the
queen, and you were my champion. You killed demons and devils and goblins and
ghouls, all to save me."  
  
Her eyes swelled, reddening with tears. She sniffled. "Now look at us: I am
the Queen, and you have just faced the devil . . . ." her words became choked
in sobs as she leaned over, touching her forehead to Cedric's hand. She
shuddered for a moment, letting her tears spend themselves, soaking into the
sheets that covered the young man. Abruptly, she jerked herself upright,
cleared her thick throat.  
  
"You will not leave me, Cedric," she said firmly. "I do not let my friends go.
You have been there, every bit my brother as the brother I never had, and you
are _not_ going to leave me now!"  
  
Cedric's eyes flickered. His hands squeezed Evelyn's.  
  
The Queen smiled softly, laughing beneath her breath with elation. "Yes,
that's it, brother. Don't leave me."  
  
Slowly, Cedric's eyes opened. They struggled to focus. The blurry form before
him slowly coalesced into one he knew well. He smiled crookedly.  
  
"Evie," he said through dry lips.  
  
Evelyn trembled, fresh tears flowing. She leaned over her friend, her brave
guardsman, ran her hands through damp hair. "That's it, Cedric, come back to
me."  
  
His smile grew to a rakish grin. His eyes flickered heavily. "He's just a
man," he whispered. "I wounded him."  
  
Evelyn's smile faded. "Did you?"  
  
Cedric nodded slowly. "He . . . he's a wizard, but . . . he's still . . . just
a man . . . ."  
  
Cedric's grip tightened for a moment upon Evelyn's, then relaxed as he gave in
to the temporary oblivion of sleep. The Queen gazed upon him fondle, stroked
his hair, kissed his cheek. Then she rose.  
  
Benedict was waiting for her at the archway of the infirmary. Evelyn was not
all that surprised.  
  
"I believe we should talk," he said grimly.  
  
The Queen took in a breath, meeting the Chancellor's gaze. "My chambers," she
said.  
  
***  
  
Evelyn lead the way into her chambers, leaving Benedict by the door. After
weeks of suffering his pompous pretentiousness, she decided to give the man a
bit of his own medicine. She left him behind as if she would any servant in
the castle, not that it was the Queen's habit to do so.  
  
Her anteroom was spacious, adorned with all the finery that seven generations
of kings and queens could bestow. Tapestries, furnishings, rugs, and trinkets,
all of the finest quality, lent the Queen's private chambers an air of
regality and power all their own.  
  
"You don't approve of me," Evelyn said, approaching her vanity. She began
removing her earrings. "That is fine. I don't much care for you, either."  
  
She caught Benedict's insulted look in her mirror, but spoke before he could.
"But should that really surprise you?"  
  
She dropped her earrings into the ornamental box on her vanity and turned
about, fixing Benedict with a direct look she had never given before. "You
served my father well, and as a citizen of Vix, I suppose I should thank you.
But now, I am your Queen. You may not like it, and I suspect you do not, but
now you serve me."  
  
Benedict bristled. "I did not come here to discuss the balance of power," he
said. "We both serve the kingdom."  
  
Evelyn glanced away. "Yes, that is true," she said. Her eyes flashed back to
his. "Then what did you come here for?"  
  
Benedict stepped forward. "Do you know how many times your father, King
Richard, was married?"  
  
Evelyn frowned. "Four times, including my mother."  
  
"Six," corrected Benedict. He impulsively straightened his waistcoat. "Six
wives, not all of them queens, with your mother as the first. And not one gave
Richard an heir. In fact, not one bore any children at all."  
  
Evelyn ground her teeth. "And he sent them all to death for failing to provide
a 'worthy' heir," she spat. "I will not mince words. My father was a devil, an
evil bastard as terrible as Bagdemagus could ever be!"  
  
Benedict raised a single finger. "Perhaps," he said as he paced. "Or perhaps
he was not nearly as smart as he thought he was."  
  
Evelyn slanted her eyes in suspicion. "What do you mean?"  
  
"You must think upon the odds that a man would take six women to his bed, and
of all of them, only one would give birth, and to a girl-child, rather than
the male he desired. And that being only the first, with the following five
being, mysteriously, barren."  
  
"What are you getting at?"  
  
Benedict stopped pacing and faced the Queen. "Your father's troubles were not
the random acts of chance," he said. "King Richard was a petty and greedy
king. He hated the thought of his mortality. He deigned to believe he could
live forever. And, to that end, he entered into an . . . agreement."  
  
"With . . . whom?" asked Evelyn warily.  
  
Benedict smiled crookedly. "Ah, now you are beginning to think," he said.
"With whom, indeed. Whom, you ask, would have the power to change the fates,
and guarantee a male child to spring forth from Richard's loins . . . a child
to be sculpted, shaped, and formed into his own image. A child into which
Richard, himself, could live again . . . and again, and again . . . ."  
  
Evelyn swallowed nervously. "You speak madness," she said.  
  
Benedict laughed. "Aye, that I do!" he exclaimed. "For Richard's plan was
madness! And fostered by a darker insanity, that used him, consumed him." His
face dropped; he looked suddenly reticent. "I realized too late what was
happening, and by then, you were already born. Richard was furious; he ordered
the hospitalers and wardens and surgeons tending your mother to leave."  
  
Evelyn backed away, colliding with the vanity behind her, making perfumed
vials and jars of fragrant powders shake. "I don't believe you," she pushed
out in a frightened huff.  
  
Benedict's eyes met hers. "You had better," he said meaningfully. His eyes
drifted away again as he continued: "But there was some heart left within your
father. He could not see you smothered, or otherwise snuffed away; instead, he
ordered you banished, gave you to a childless couple in the village. I like to
believe that he saw, in that moment of your birth, the salvation to the evil
he had begun."  
  
Evelyn gripped the edges of the table beneath her. "What are you talking
about?" she nearly screamed.  
  
"I am talking about you," Benedict said solemnly. "Your father sought to
insure his own immortality through a bargain with the devil. Or to be more
precise, a devil of a wizard named Bagdemagus. But he ruined that bargain, in
some way, and the devil took his due. Instead of a son, Richard sired you, a
girl-child. And he never sired anything again. In a way, it seemed the devil
insured that you would inherit the throne."  
  
"That does not make sense," Evelyn said. "Why would Bagdemagus want me to take
the throne?"  
  
Benedict shrugged. "That is one thing I do not know," he said. He jabbed a
scarred finger toward the young monarch. "And it is the one thing _you_ must
figure out."  
  
***  
  
It was long past midnight. The castle and the village had quieted down. Only
the lonely howls of wolves upon the moors could be heard now and then.  
  
Evelyn sat at her writing desk, a quill dipped in ink poised in her hand. Her
journal lay open beneath her, yet she could not think of what to write. So
much had happened within the few weeks in which she had gone from a simple
peasant girl gathering mushrooms for the apothecary to the law-giver of the
land. To put it all down seemed . . . typical.  
  
Her parents -- Michael and Rachel -- had done what they could, reminding her
of her heritage and the potential eventuality that Evelyn might grace the
throne some day. But what they had always told her had always seemed like
fairy tales. Every girl wants to think she might become a beautiful princess,
and marry a handsome prince . . . .  
  
Now, however, Evelyn had surpassed the fairy tales. She was not a princess,
she was a Queen. She was the voice of the land. She could declare that all men
wear purple kilts on Tuesdays, and her decree would have to be obeyed under
penalty of law.  
  
Evie allowed herself a small laugh at the idea of every man in Vix parading
about in purple kilts. But the mirth faded. _Just because I can_, she thought.
_It does not mean I should_.  
  
"You are up late."  
  
Evelyn stiffened at the sound of the voice, but did not give in to her
immediate sense of fear. Instead, she curled her fingers about the slim hilt
of the silver letter-opener upon her desk. She spoke over her shoulder.  
  
"Have you come for me, now?" she asked.  
  
There came a dark chuckle. "Perhaps."  
  
Evelyn turned in her chair, deftly slipping the silver blade beneath the
billowing sleeves of her nightgown. She faced the dark-garbed man who now
stood in her room. The hooded lanterns reflected their light off the dull
silver toggles on his coat. The man's face was anything but aged; Evelyn was
tempted to believe the man before her had not even seen thirty summers. But
the age -- the evil -- was revealed in his dark, swirling eyes.  
  
"No," she said, pushing slowly to her feet.  
  
Bagdemagus cocked his head. "No?"  
  
"No," the Queen repeated, maintaining her gaze upon his. It seemed the only
thing that supported her strength. "You haven't come for me. You need me."  
  
The wizard's eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh, do I, now?"  
  
"You always have," Evelyn said. She slowly smiled, a mad, reckless smile. "You
can't kill me."  
  
Bagdemagus lifted a hand and wagged a finger back and forth. "Tsk, tsk, tsk,"
he clucked. "Don't count your chickens just yet."  
  
Evelyn stepped closer, a bravery she had never known funneling itself through
her veins. Inches from the wizard, she looked up at him, her eyes blazing.
"Cock-a-doodle-do," she said flippantly.  
  
Bagdemagus laughed, albeit uneasily. He stepped back. "Such a silly girl," he
remarked.  
  
"A silly girl you need," she retorted. She brought up her hands, the one
clutching the bright, sterling blade aimed for the wizard's heart.  
  
But Bagdemagus was quick, and he caught her wrists. He glared upon her. "Heed
your station," he whispered harshly. "You serve your people. And a good regent
should be willing to sacrifice herself for the good of all."  
  
Evelyn found herself whirled about, the copious robes of her gown flying up
around her head. She cried out, stumbling to the floor, landing upon her back,
staring up at the wizard. He stepped forward, looming over her.  
  
"Is that what you intend?" she cried. "To sacrifice me to your devil?"  
  
Bagdemagus chuckled, holding up the small, slim blade in his hand. His eyes
roamed over the polished surface. "Did you really think you could hurt me with
this?" he asked. With a flick of the wrist, he sent the blade into the floor,
less than an inch from Evie's head. The Queen gasped.  
  
"Just what could you do," the wizard said as he unbuttoned his coat. "To me?"  
  
Evelyn stared at the man's suddenly bared torso. There was a slight scar
across his abdomen, and a thick welt, which appeared several days healed,
several inches to the left of the center of his chest. Above the
supernaturally-healed wounds, Bagdemagus' face grinned. "This is what your
vaunted guardsmen inflicted upon me," he said. "Which, when you look at it, is
nothing."  
  
Evelyn pushed up to her feet. She took in the scars, the haughtiness of the
wizard. Finally, she gave a smirk of her own.  
  
"Then why did you run?" she asked.  
  
Bagdemagus scowled, his features clouding over. "I never run," he hissed. "I
simply . . . choose another day."  
  
Evelyn responded with a moment's intuition that seemed to come from elsewhere.
"Days that grow shorter," she said.  
  
Bagdemagus regarded her a moment, then snarled. "You know nothing, little
girl," he spouted. He raised his hand above her face. "But you will learn."  
  
Evelyn sucked in her breath, tried to move away, but the wizard's strong grip
kept her in place. She watched as the hand fell upon her face, then . . . .  
  
Nothing.  
  
***  
  
"Three spades beats any high!" cried John, slapping the cards onto the bed
top.  
  
"Only if it is not a king," said Eric, jabbing a finger in his friend's face.
"And a king he has!"  
  
Cedric grinned, folding down his cards. "Two clubs and the king of diamonds,"
he said triumphantly. "I win!"  
  
John sputtered, then groaned. "Pah!" he exclaimed, slapping down his cards. He
chuckled upon Cedric. "I'll give you that, since you're wounded. But, soon as
you're back on the grounds—"  
  
"Which will be next week!" exclaimed Cedric.  

John chuckled. "Saints bless you, Cedric," he said.  
  
Cedric laughed back. "I know, I know, since no one else will."  
  
"High card," suggested Eric, shuffling the card. The other two readily agreed.  
  
"Wait!" said John, just before the deal. "What do we get if we win?"  
  
Cedric and Eric glanced to one another, then to John. "Our heart's desire?"
proffered Cedric.  
  
The two larger men laughed. "Done!" declared Eric, snapping out the cards.
Soon, each of the men held a single card beneath their hand. Eric met each of
the men's eyes in turn. "To our heart's desire," he said.  
  
"To heart's desire," echoed the others. In unison, they flipped the cards
over.  
  
"Bloody fucking hell!" cried John, looking upon the seven of clubs.  
  
"'Tis not right, not right," said Eric, regarding the Queen of Spades.
Strangely, the image of Lady Viviane appeared in his mind.  
  
Cedric grinned, tapping the card before him. "Queen of Hearts, gentlemen," he
said. "Destiny never lies."  
  
Eric's gaze simmered. "Then you don't know women," he commented grimly.  
  
The three of them laughed, and clapped hands. The raucous cacophony echoed
throughout the infirmary, then died down as the three realized the advance of
the nurses about them.  
  
"You are disturbing the other patients," one of them said.  
  
"Please, be discerning," said another.  
  
John and Eric gave each other quiet looks. The both glanced to Cedric.
"Appears our fun is at an end," Eric said.  
  
Cedric chuckled. "For tonight." He offered his hand. "'Til tomorrow?"  
  
In turn, Eric and John clasped Cedric's hand. "Tomorrow," they said.  
  
Cedric settled back in his bed as the two burly men left. He felt blessed to
have such as his friends. He shifted a bit upon the thin straw mattress,
winced as his wound pained him. He took a breath, and the pain abated. After a
moment, the dull throbbing faded away. He remembered the words of his queen,
his friend.  
  
_"You will not leave me, Cedric."_  
  
"I will not," he spoke aloud.  
  
"Cedric."  
  
He blinked his eyes open, looked to the doorway. The voice, the form, neither
belonged to his queen, yet he was not disappointed. Cedric smiled as he took
in the brunette mane, the pale skin, the slender form beneath a loose gown.  
  
"Aye."  
  
She approached, gliding across the tiled floor to his bedside. She knelt upon
the floor and took his hand. Rebecca's eyes were wide and round, dark as
caramelized chestnuts and just as sweet. "Why?" she asked wonderingly.  
  
Cedric frowned. "Why what?"  
  
"That . . . man," she said, her brow furrowing. "Was he after me?"  
  
"It seemed to be," said the guardsman.  
  
Rebecca's face worried. "But . . . why?"  
  
Cedric sighed. "You are close to the queen," he said. "Beyond that, I can only
guess."  
  
Rebecca ran her hands over Cedric's own, then lowered her head and rubbed her
face against his callused knuckles. "I think I see him, in my dreams," she
whispered.  
  
The gaurdsman petted the handmaiden's soft dark hair. "I think we all do," he
said.  
  
Rebecca lifted her face. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. "Can you save
me?" she asked in a breathless voice.  
  
Cedric slowly shook his head. "No," he said.  
  
The handmaiden's face contorted with tears. She clutched Cedric's hand
tightly.  
  
"I cannot save you," he said. "But I can protect you."  
  
Rebecca lifted her head, her expression one of hope.  
  
***  
  
The following day, Evelyn, fifth Queen of Vix, appeared atop the steps of the
royal manor within the castle, facing the nobles gathered upon the lawn of her
courtyard. To one side stood the Lord Chamberlain, to the other was Benedict,
the High Chancellor. Just behind her was Prince Drest, silent and expectant.
Before them all, Evelyn felt empowered.  
  
"Milords, miladies," she spoke, her words echoing across the grounds. "Nearly
two decades ago, my father, King Richard, decreed an enemy of the kingdom. His
name . . . is Bagdemagus."  
  
A low murmur passed through the crowd. Evelyn continued unabated.  
  
"Many of you, I know, would prefer not to believe in this myth of a wizard
nearly as old as the kingdom. But I will say this now: he is real, and he
means harm to us all. I know not -- yet -- was his plans are, but I promise
you . . . ."  
  
She looked out among the gathered nobility. "I promise you . . . he will not
realize them."  
  
Scattered applause met her proclamation. Evelyn raised her hands to quell it.  
  
"I urge you, you nobles, with your guards and soldiers, your resources and
even your spies, to be on guard against this man. He is tall and pale, with
thick, dark hair, and he dresses all in black. He wields a sword with an ivory
hilt and a single-edged blade. If any of you see, or hear, of this man, you
will report to me, or my guard."  
  
Evelyn allowed the hubbub amongst the crowd to run its course. She found the
Captain of the guard off to the side, and nodded. Begrudgingly, the man
stepped forward, followed by two others, both clad in the deep purple coat of
the new Royal Guard. One walked somewhat stiffly, his recent wound still
healing. The men were directed to remain, and the captain retreated.  
  
"By my right as Queen, as regent of the land of Vix, I invoke the right of
special privilege," she said. "Facing an enemy of the kingdom requires heart,
and skill. And these two men have proven both."  
  
Evelyn turned slightly, as a vassal stepped close, holding a sheathed sword in
his hands. Smoothly, she drew the blade from the leather scabbard, held it
aloft. The golden-hued blade seemed to glow softly in the afternoon sun.
Evelyn held it before her with reverence.  
  
"This is the sword of my great-great-grandfather, Gabriel, first King of Vix,"
she said. Her gaze swept out across the nobles beneath her. "It is
unbreakable, like the will of the people I serve. It is the law of the land."  
  
The Queen took two steps down, until she was just above Cedric and John. She
smiled upon them. "Kneel," she said softly.  
  
Dutifully, the two men did so, with Cedric wincing slightly.  
  
Evelyn gripped the sword firmly, then laid the flat of the blade, in turn,
upon the two men's shoulders. "In the names of Saint Michael, Saint George,
and before all the spirits, I knight thee, both. Forget your beginnings, and
embrace instead the glory of what you may accomplish."  
  
Evelyn's eyes glittered. "Arise, Sir Cedric."  
  
Gritting his teeth against the emotions that overwhelmed him, Cedric took to
his feet. His gloved hands touched the golden blade, and as he was expected to
do, he kissed it. "I accept my duty as knight of the kingdom," he said.  
  
The Queen smiled, then looked to John, who remained on bended knee. He
regarded the golden sword. "I am a simple man, milady," he said.  
  
Evelyn nodded. "I know that," she said. "But I also know, as simple as you may
be in thought, you are anything but in deed. Rise, Sir John."  
  
Slowly, John took to his feet. He touched the sword, and, hesitantly, kissed
it.  
  
"Do you accept your duty as knight of the kingdom?" asked Evelyn.  
  
John looked about, upon all the nobles who often despised him, upon the
stablehands and laborers who were his brothers, upon the face of Prince Drest,
standing off to the side and nodding his assent. For a moment, eyes fell upon
Eric, his closest friend, standing strangely close to the buxom half-sister of
the Prince, Lady Viviane. For a moment, he wondered how he could live up to
his new duties, so strangely thrust upon him, without Eric to offer a guiding
hand. His mind drifted back to the evening before.  
  
_"The Queen wants to revive the Knighthood," John said as Eric sat beside his
bed in the infirmary. "I can't believe it, but she has asked me to—"_  
  
_Eric nodded. "I know."_  
  
_"She asked you, as well," John said knowingly. "But I suspect you declined."_  
  
_Eric took a heavy breath. "You know of my past," he said. "I had not the
heart to serve God; neither have I the heart to serve a kingdom. Why else, do
you think, I remain a simple groom?"_  
  
_"But you can be more," John insisted._  
  
_Eric met his young friend's eyes. "Not everyone wants more."_  
  
The moment was gone, swept back into the past. John blinked, returned his gaze
to the golden sword before him, to the glowing face of his Queen. He found
himself smiling with pride. He, John, grandson of a whore, _knighted_. "I
accept my duty as knight of the kingdom of Vix," he saidwith conviction. "And
as hopeful champion of my Queen, Lady Evelyn."  
  
Evelyn smiled, and lifted the sword. A single glistening tear shone within one
of her eyes. "Time will tell," she said softly. Her voice rose dramatically as
she addressed the nobles once more.  
  
"For the first time in over two decades . . . welcome, the Knights of Vix!"  
  
Reluctantly by some, but enthusiastically by most, hands were thrust into the
air.  
  
"KNIGHTS OF VIX!"




        A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 12


An uncommonly cool breeze stirred dying leaves across the cobblestone paths of
the village. Lamps within windows were snuffed; only the torches at the bridge
and before the tavern cast any light upon the ground. Shadows were plentiful,
and within those shadows strode the Spectre That Walks.  
  
Bagdemagus enjoyed this time of night, when the village was quiet and nearly
all were slumbering peacefully beneath the magnificent edifice of Castle Vix.
Of course, on this night, the majority of the villagers were enjoying the
once-in-a-lifetime chance to enjoy the splendors of the castle, celebrating
their Queen's birthday.  
  
Bagdemagus snickered. _A good ploy_, he thought, _welcoming the tattered and
torn, the lowly and lackluster into your midst for the week that encompasses
the celebration of your birth. But will they love you for it, Evelyn? Or will
they resent you for having shown them the luxury they will never again enjoy .
. . and which you will, at least until your tragic passing._  
  
_Ultimately, it means naught_, he mused darkly. _Have your parties, rally
whatever support you may. Live the good life while you can. It is about to
come to an end._  
  
The wizard grinned with anticipation. It had been decades since any true
threat had existed in the kingdom; peace with neighboring lands had been
sealed. The only thing merchants and villagers ever had to worry about were
the occasional bandit and deadly wild beast.  
  
Until now.  
  
Bagdemagus grinned, impressed with himself. He had missed the notoriety his
mere name invoked within the kingdom. Now, as it had been decades before, the
simple mention of him in casual conversation set guards on edge and made women
weep. Bagdemagus did not have to really do anything; he ruled these people
through fear and supposition.  
  
_I am more of a king for these people than Richard ever was, or Alfred before
him, or Maxwell, or Gabriel . . . who rules these people, if not I? Certainly
not the girl queen . . . she can barely get the nobility to recognize her._  
  
He stepped into the avenue from between the blacksmith's shop and the
apothecary, both with darkened windows. The sounds of laughter -- not quite as
loud as it had once been -- drifted to his ears from the tavern across the
way. He watched their silhouettes in the windows, listened to their crude
jokes. _My subjects_, he thought with a wicked grin.  
  
"Pardon me, sir," came a small voice from his left.  
  
Bagdemagus frowned, looking over and down, seeing a young boy -- who had seen
perhaps only seven or eight summers -- beside him. The boy sported tousled
hair and dirty cheeks, and his clothes need a couple of good patches. Wide
eyes stared up at the wizard with innocent wonder.  
  
"Yes?" asked Bagdemagus.  
  
"Could you spare a shilling for me mum?" he asked. "She's in quite a bad way,
sir, and can't support us."  
  
Bagdemagus cocked his head with an amused smile. He lowered himself to a
squat, bringing his face level with the child's. "And what has put her in such
a bad way?" he asked.  
  
The boy shuffled his badly-shod feet. "I don't really know, sir, but she's
bedridden and can't be on her feet much. Her face is always red, and it hurts
when she breathes. Can you help us, sir? Just a shilling. I've got a brother
and a sister, and I'm the oldest, so I have to look out for them."  
  
Bagdemagus smiled in an apparently affectionate way. His fingers dug into the
purse at his waist and came out with a shiny gold coin. "How about a royal,
instead?" he asked.  
  
The boy's eyes widened. "Oh, sir! That would feed us all for a week!" he held
out his hand.  
  
The wizard chuckled, palming the coin and closing his fingers around it. "Not
so fast," he said. "Let us have a chat, you and I."  
  
Bagdemagus rose and lead the boy to a bench beneath a large, ancient oak. He
hoisted the child onto the warped wooden slats and sat down beside him. "Now,"
said the wizard. "What is your name?"  
  
The boy sat with his hands clasped between his knees. He kicked his feet and
kept his back straight, as was expected of a proper young lad in the presence
of an adult. "Thomas, sir."  
  
"Well, Thomas," said Bagdemagus. "Tell me about yourself."  
  
The boy frowned, thinking. "I ain't got much to tell, sir," he said. "I'm just
a boy."  
  
Bagdemagus and touched the child's forehead. "Ah, but a boy with dreams," he
said. "What is yours?"  
  
The boy sighed heavily, working his jaw. "Right now, I only dream about mum
getting better," he lamented. "Begging for shillings is the pits!"  
  
Bagdemagus chuckled, touching his lips a moment. "Then perhaps our meeting was
destiny," he said. "I may be able to help your mum."  
  
Thomas' eyes lit up. "How?" he asked.  
  
"Well." Bagdemagus leaned over the boy, as if about to share a secret. "Don't
tell anyone, but . . . I'm a wizard."  
  
Thomas gasped and covered his mouth. "A wiwarh?" he asked, his voice muffled.  
  
Bagdemagus' dark eyes glittered as he smiled. "Yes, a wizard. But don't worry;
I'm a good wizard."  
  
Thomas lowered his hand and frowned as he looked Bagdemagus over. "But . . .
you're wearing black," he said. "I thought good wizards only wore white."  
  
Bagdemagus chuckled. "Even us good ones have to hide in the shadows.
Otherwise, we would be hounded all the time by people wanting love potions and
glimpses into the future. We'd get no rest."  
  
The boy shrugged. "Umm . . . I guess that makes sense," he said, then turned
on the bench. "Can you really help my mum?"  
  
Bagdemagus ruffled the boy's hair. "Of course I can," he said. "In fact, it
already sounds to me that she has a simple ailment that I can readily cure
with a potion. And I just happen to have one upon me."  
  
"Really?" shouted the boy, his young face glowing with hope and excitement.
"Oh, please, sir, do help her!"  
  
The wizard took Thomas' hands and patted them. "All in due time, young man,"
he said. "Don't fret; your mother will be fine. But I do want to know more
about you."  
  
The child blinked. "About me?" he asked. "But I've nothing to tell."  
  
Bagdemagus smiled as an uncle would upon a favored nephew. "Of course you do,"
he said in a way that was both encouraging and patronizing. "Don't you want to
be something when you grow up?"  
  
The boy grinned slowly. "I want to be a knight," he proclaimed. "Just like Sir
Cedric!"  
  
Bagdemagus' smile froze for a moment at the sound of the young knight's name.
"That is a very noble goal," he said after a moment. "And Cedric is, indeed, a
model for young boys such as yourself."  
  
Thomas regarded the wizard with typical boyish effervescence. "Do you think I
really could?" he asked. "I mean, I know one has to be of noble birth to be a
knight, and I'm not. But . . . well, Cedric wasn't a noble either, and look at
him now!"  
  
Bagdemagus patted the boy's head. "That's very true. But if you want to be a
knight, you have to do some very special things."  
  
Thomas sat poised, expectant, ready. "Anything, sir wizard, anything!" he
exclaimed.  
  
"Well . . . a knight has to be prepared to make sacrifices. No knight ever
slew a dragon without thinking he might not survive. Anyone can take up arms
or ride a horse. It takes a special sort of man to be willing to sacrifice
himself, or others, for the good of all." He leaned closer to the boy. "Are
you that sort of man?"  
  
The boy swallowed nervously, intimidated by both the wizard's words and his
chilling, steel-colored eyes. Mutely, he nodded.  
  
Abruptly, Bagdemagus straightened and stood beside the bench. "Let us go see
your mother, then."  
  
***  
  
After Thomas had crawled through a small window within the shambled house and
unlocked the door from within, he led Bagdemagus through tiny, darkened rooms
to the back. The wizard wrinkled his nose at the smell of the dwelling; mildew
and rotting food fought for prominence over the scent of unwashed bodies.  
  
"Sir wizard, this is my sister, Elizabeth," Thomas said, introducing a girl of
four or five years, clad in a soiled and wrinkled gown. The girl stared with
wide, inquisitive eyes. Wordlessly, Bagdemagus squatted low, studying the
child's face. A smile slowly stretched his thin lips. He glanced to Thomas and
nodded.  
  
The boy lead Bagdemagus into the bedroom, where the stench of the unwashed was
most powerful. The odor was nearly overpowering, yet Bagdemagus did not let it
bother him. Instead, he focused upon the shadowed bed, upon the wasted form
laying atop the covers.  
  
A flickering light cast umber-colored shadows through the room as Thomas lit
an oil lamp and set it upon a small wash table. Bagdemagus looked upon the
young woman, perhaps halfway through her third decade. From her breathing, the
redness of her face, the sweaty sheen that coated her body like oil, he knew
she suffered from nothing more than a bout of consumption. The right herbs
would remedy the illness within a day or two. All it would take would be a
simple trip to the apothecary . . . or the right application of the contents
of Bagdemagus' bag.  
  
"Can you help her, sir?" queried Thomas.  
  
Bagdemagus touched the unconscious woman's cold, sweaty forehead. "Of course I
can," he said. "Fetch me a drinking cup, fill it half-way with water."  
  
"Right away," enthused the boy, darting off. He returned a few moments later
with a dirty earthenware cup, cradling it gently in his hands. Bagdemagus
nodded with a smile and took it. From the large pouch at his belt, he
extracted several herbs, laying them upon the sheet beside the woman. He cut
off tiny slivers of leaves and root with a curled knife no larger than his
thumb, tossed them into the cup. A mortar mixed and mashed the ingredients.  
  
"Now," said the wizard, holding up the cup for Thomas. "Feed this to her
slowly. Just sips at a time. But she must drink it all before the morning."  
  
Thomas gingerly took the cup, looking nervous. "Y-you want me too . . . I-I
don't think I can—"  
  
Bagdemagus settled a hand upon Thomas's shoulder and stared into the young
boy's quivering eyes. "As you said, you are the man of the house. This is a
pivotal day in your life. Don't you want to remember every moment? Especially
of your involvement in it?"  
  
Thomas slowly nodded. "Yes, sir," he whispered, then turned to his mother,
climbing onto the bed beside her. Bagdemagus slowly stepped back, smiling as
he watched the boy feed his mother the thick concoction he had prepared. He
savored the moment, as an opium addict would savor the rush of hashish through
their veins.  
  
"That's a good boy, Thomas," he said in a fading voice, retreating from the
room. "Make sure she drinks it all . . . ."  
  
He gave little Elizabeth a pat on the head as he left the house, leaving
behind an eight-year-old boy who slowly, unwittingly, fed his own mother a
poison that would kill her. In the coming years, Thomas would grow to
understand what had truly happened this night, how, as an impressionable
child, he had been tricked into murdering the woman who had given him life.  
  
Bagdemagus was tempted the wait and watch for the morning, just to hear the
cries of anguish.  
  
But there were things to do.  
  
***  
  
Guy Dorr chuckled to himself as he closed the door to his room. The drunkards
within Old Slim's Tavern had been easy marks, especially once he fed off their
prejudice toward the peasant girl turned Queen. It had been fool's play to
distract them and make them fumble their hands at cards. Just an hour or so of
the Devil's Game, and Guy's purse was twice as heavy as it had been.  
  
He stepped to the small table upon which sat the oil lamp, and lit the device.
Orange shadows painted the walls, flickering back and forth. Guy unstrapped
his rapier, draped his cloak across one of the two simple chairs in the room.  
  
It was then that he noticed the bottle of wine and the two goblets set upon
the table. Anxiety spiked, and senses were instantly on alert. Snatching up
the dagger from its hidden sheath in his boot, he fell into a practiced
crouch, searching the shadows of the room. One of them stirred, outlining the
form of a tall man with dark, shoulder-length hair.  
  
"You've had a busy night." The voice was dark and seemed to come from the very
air around Guy.  
  
"Who are you?" asked Guy, ready to pounce.  
  
The figure stepped into view, letting the light color his surprisingly
youthful face. Guy's eyes wandered over the dark coat beneath the cloak,
noting the silver buttons and the ivory hilt of an elegant sword. They drifted
back up to the confident face, noting the steel-grey eyes, like clouds just
before a storm. The figure's arms swept out from beneath the cloak with a
slight flourish. He began pulling off his gloves.  
  
"I am the Spectre That Walks," he said with a smirk. "Quite the intimidating
title, don't you think?"  
  
Guy swallowed nervously, yet kept his ground. His instincts were on edge in
the presence of his unwanted guest. He regarded the man before him warily.
"Perhaps," he said. "To children."  
  
Bagdemagus chuckled. "You've nothing to fear from me, Guy Dorr," he said. He
showed his hands. "I am unarmed."  
  
Guy's eyes flickered. "Save for that sword at your side, and whatever you may
have up your sleeve."  
  
The wizard smiled thinly, and slowly unbuckled his baldric. He let the
sheathed sword clamor to the floor and stepped toward the small table. "There.
Now you have the advantage."  
  
Guy did not relax. He stared down the wizard along the flat of his dagger. "If
you truly are the Spectre," he said. "Then I doubt that is true."  
  
Bagdemagus chuckled and pulled out a chair. Apparently unconcerned about the
knife-wielding man, the wizard took a seat and made himself comfortable. He
all but ignored Guy as he poured from the bottle, filling both crystalline
goblets halfway.  
  
Guy relaxed somewhat and stepped around the opposite side of the table,
remaining alert as he looked upon his guest. "What do you want from me?"  
  
Bagdemagus shrugged. "A drink, perhaps?"  
  
Guy arched an eyebrow. "Poison?" he asked.  
  
The wizard smiled and stoppered the bottle. "I would not be so crude. Sit."  
  
Guy hesitated. He was a confidant man, skilled and deadly, yet before a man
who had an entire kingdom on alert -- and a claim to such would not be made
lightly -- Guy felt suitably chastised. Still, his pride would not fade
easily. "Perhaps I will stay as I—"  
  
"Sit."  
  
Guy ground his teeth, but he read the power within Bagdemagus' steel-colored
eyes. Reluctantly, he pulled out the other chair and sat. He slapped the
dagger onto the table.  
  
Bagdemagus smiled amiably. "I am sure you have many questions wandering
through your mind at this moment. 'Is this really he?' 'What does he want with
me?' 'What have I done to earn his interest?'"  
  
Guy narrowed his gaze, eyeing the glasses of wine for a moment. "Something
like that."  
  
The wizard's gaze was direct and piercing. "Do not doubt for a moment that I
am Bagdemagus," he said. "As for what I want . . . well, that is simple. I
want your skill, your guile, your . . . curious lack of morality. I want you."  
  
Guy cocked his head in suspicion. "Me."  
  
"Yes. To serve as my vassal. Trust me . . . the rewards will be great."  
  
Guy took a breath, tapping his fingers upon the flat of the dagger. "I don't
take orders," he said. "Especially not blindly."  
  
The wizard smirked. "No, of course not. That is why you left the priesthood,
is it not? A shame what they did to you . . . ."  
  
Guy ground his teeth. He did not like having his past dredged up so casually.
Had his guest been anyone else, they would have found themselves with a dagger
in their eye. As it was, Guy found himself struggling to restrain his
impulses. "I do not talk about that," he said.  
  
Bagdemagus chuckled. "I am not surprised," he said, then leaned forward, his
mirth gone, replaced with fierce malevolence. "Make no mistake, Guy Dorr. From
the moment we began this conversation, I have owned you. You have two choices:
join with me . . ." he winked with a confident smile. "Or join that hapless
poison merchant you slew."  
  
Guy bristled slightly, now knowing at least how long he had been watched. "And
. . . should I refuse you?"  
  
In a flash, faster than any mortal man could have acted, Bagdemagus whipped
his sword from the floor, jerking on the long tether that Guy had somehow
missed. Fluidly, he snapped it into his hand, the tip of the single-edged
blade mere inches from Guy's throat. Dispassionately, Bagdemagus stared the
younger man down. Guy stiffened, his pulse quickening instantly.  
  
"Then you die," the wizard said simply. "Anonymously, with no friends, no
legacy. Nothing more than a body in a tavern."  
  
Guy stared at the tip of the blade, unwavering in the amber light. He knew he
could not act before the wizard skewered his throat. But as before, his pride
could not let him acquiesce so easily. "Mayhap I will take my chances," he
said at last, meeting Bagdemagus' eyes across the length of the sword.  
  
"And what would that accomplish?" asked the wizard. "I am offering you the
wealth of a kingdom. Serve as my vassal, and the paltry sums of a pair of
vineyards will be nothing compared to what you will enjoy. I can get you
inside those walls, I can make you a noble. Could you turn that down? I doubt
you are that foolish."  
  
Guy faltered a moment, thinking. The wizard had a point, he had to admit; just
days before, Guy had been considering ways to gain entrance to the castle of
Vix. Now, Bagdemagus was offering him even more . . . but was the price worth
paying?  
  
"I suppose I have no real choice," he said, voicing his thoughts out loud.  
  
Bagdemagus grinned smugly. The sword vanished beneath the level of the table.
"Let us have a drink, then, to toast your new position . . . Lord Dorr."  
  
A quick smile tugged at Guy's mouth. "'Lord Dorr,'" he echoed, testing the
words. "It has a nice ring."  
  
"That it does," agreed the wizard, taking up one of the glasses. Guy reached
for his, then hesitated. Bagdemagus chuckled. "I do not use poison," he said.
"That is your purvey, not mine."  
  
Despite the wizard's words, Guy eyed the goblet suspiciously. Yet to refuse
the drink now would be insulting, he knew. He would simply have to take the
wizard's word that the blood-colored liquid was not laced. Fingers lifted the
goblet and brought it to his lips. He inhaled the rich scent, winced slightly
in approval.  
  
"Nothing but the best," commented Bagdemagus. He watched over the rim of the
goblet as Guy tilted his own to his lips. Both men drank deeply, then set the
glasses aside.  
  
"You will need patents of nobility, of course," the wizard said. "We will get
started on them tomorrow. They should be as authentic as possible, so the more
honest you are about yourself, the better." He drained his glass, then stood
and stepped to the scabbard and baldric laying upon the floor. Unconcerned
that he turned his back upon Guy, Bagdemagus retrieved the items, sheathed his
sword and slipped the baldric across his body.  
  
"I suppose I will need adequate funds to play the part," Guy said, for a
moment remembering his dagger. It would be so easy to flick that blade into
the wizard's back, he thought . . . .  
  
Bagdemagus turned to face the young rogue. "You'll get what you need," he said
dryly. "Oh, by the way." He sneered. "Call it insurance, if you will, but if
you betray me, or decide to sneak off, you will never receive the antidote."
He headed to the door.  
  
Guy's heart palpitated with anxiety, and he glanced quickly to the bottle of
wine. "I thought you said you don't use poison," he said.  
  
Bagdemagus paused at the door. "I don't," he said simply.  
  
Guy frowned. "Then . . . what—"  
  
The wizard winked. "Let us just say that, so long as you prove loyal, you will
one day sire children."  
  
Guy's face paled. "You've made me impotent?" he asked chillingly.  
  
The wizard laughed. "Hardly. I saw no reason for that. But if you desire a
legacy other than greed and opportunism, I suggest you keep loyalty high on
your list of character traits."  

The rogue licked his lips slowly, gave a rueful smile. "I suppose you have me,
literally, by the balls, then."  
  
Bagdemagus chuckled darkly. "Don't feel ashamed," he said. "I do that with
everyone. Even kings." Abruptly, he jerked open the door and stepped through,
disappearing from Guy's sight.  
  
Guy shrunk back in his chair with a heavy sigh. There was a part of him that
was intimidated, worried, even frightened by the wizard. But if Bagdemagus'
word was to be trusted, then Guy had been offered an opportunity that comes
nary once in a lifetime. If he played his part -- and kept an eye out for
suitable openings and opportunities -- there was much he could learn . . . and
earn.  
  
Not to mention the advantages with the ladies that being a Lord would provide
. . . .  
  
***  
  
_Like a thief in the night, I come,_ thought Bagdemagus as he slipped from the
hidden passage in the castle's kitchens. The air was still warm and humid from
the ovens; the aromas of roast pig and duck, of venison and vinegar, lingered
in the large chamber. All sounds of revelry had long faded from the castle;
the second night of the Queen's week-long birthday celebration had already
come to a close.  
  
_I wonder how that makes you feel, Evie, all this doting and posturing, all
the false praise heaped upon you by so many horny old lords. Do you think they
truly care about you, beyond the fact that you rule a kingdom you know little
about, and that sweet young body beneath those perfumed dresses?_  
  
Bagdemagus paused, tearing a piece of bread from a large loaf, dipping it
within a concoction of olive oil and herbs left behind by a kitchen servant.
He popped the morsel in his mouth, dusted his fingers as he headed for the
doors.  
  
_Not that you will really have to worry about it for long, my sweet . . . ._  
  
***  
  
The manor of the castle was largely reserved for the Royal Family and
whichever important officials the regent deemed important enough to always
have on hand. But a few officials earned their chambers in the castle manor
through their station. Men like the Lord Chamberlain, for instance, and
Benedict.  
  
And Stephano, the Captain of the Guard.  
  
The route Bagdemagus took through the ground floor of the manor was a
practiced one; for days now, the Captain's door had been a regular visit. And,
as with all those previous visits, no one -- not even the sentries in the
corridor -- noticed the wizard's presence. Confidently, Bagdemagus took the
key he had crafted from his belt, turned the lock in the Captain's chamber
door. He closed it quietly behind him once he was within.  
  
The room -- small, spartan, typical of a soldier -- reeked with the odors of
alcohol and unwashed flesh. The burly Captain slumbered upon his bed, still
clad in the fine crimson coat and dark leggings he had worn that night to the
ball. His mouth hung open beneath a thick mustache, and the rumbling snore
curling out from his throat filled the air.  
  
Bagdemagus wasted no time. He slipped a glittering crystal, affixed to a
chain, from the pouch on his belt and snapped his fingers. "By the dragon's
breath, awaken," he intoned.  
  
Abruptly, Stephano's eyes snapped open. He smacked dry, alcohol-burned lips,
then sat up, staring blankly forward, ready to receive commands. Bagdemagus
grinned. _Such an easy mind,_ he thought, then dangled the crystal before the
Captain's face.  
  
"You will respond only to my voice," began the wizard, watching Stephano's
eyes following the crystal. "You believe my word to be that of God, and you
will obey."  
  
"Yes, my Lord God," muttered Stephano, his speech slurred.  
  
"You have learned well," continued Bagdemagus. "As such, you have earned a
reward. The greatest glory a warrior of God could earn."  
  
Stephano grinned drunkenly. "I have waited for this, O Lord."  
  
"I know you have. So here is your mission, and you will not fail save for the
breath leaving your body. Tomorrow night, on the Queen's birthday, you shall
make a very special gesture . . . ."  
  
***  
  
Evelyn's arm vibrated under the strain as she held the bowstring back,
sighting along the slim, straight shaft of the arrow. The straw target, formed
to resemble the silhouette of a man, stood upon a pole a good sixty yards down
the range.  
  
A slight breeze stirred Evie's hair, making a strand fall over her eye. On the
first day of her archery training, she would have flinched; now, she remained
steady and focused. The leather strapped to her first and middle fingers
crinkled slightly in her ear. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her upper lip.
Then—  
  
Twang! Faster than her eye could follow, the deadly shaft was released, arcing
in the air toward the target. She watched the target shudder amidst a small
explosion of straw.  
  
Beside her, Prince Drest grinned, eyes narrowed as he peered down the range.
"A fine shot, my Queen," he said.  
  
Evelyn lowered the bow with a self-satisfied smile. She worked her arm,
clenched and unclenched her fist. "I just may be getting the hang of this,"
she said, following Drest as he marched down the grassy slope toward the trio
of targets.  
  
Cedric and a pair of guardsmen were on watch off to the side, the young knight
looking perfectly at home within the saddle of the roan mare he had named
Justice. His new station had many perks;: rooms in the castle manor, armor,
and a horse. With his chainmail shirt and studded leather gauntlets and boots,
Sir Cedric struck a respectable figure indeed.  
  
How knighthood suits you, my friend, Evelyn thought with a smile. She returned
her attention to Drest as they reached the target. For whatever reasons, she
felt safe with these two men -- perhaps the most important in her life --
watching over her.  
  
Especially Drest . . . .  
  
Her heart fluttered a moment, looking upon him, once more recalling the feel
of his hands, the taste of his lips, the sweet, delicious pleasure he had
evoked from her when his mouth had touched her nipple . . . she shuddered,
feeling her cheeks flush. The idea of sexual arousal had always been academic
to her. Yet now . . . she'd had a brief taste, and now was keenly aware that
she hungered for more.  
  
Much more.  
  
At the moment, however, Drest was admiring the placement of the Queen's arrow,
which had nearly penetrated through the straw dummy's neck. Only the feathered
end was protruding. The shaft had neatly split the wood of the post holding
the construct up.  
  
"An excellent shot," Drest commented. "A bit high, though."  
  
Evelyn wrinkled her brow. "I was aiming for the head," she said.  
  
Drest raised an eyebrow in interest. "From that distance . . . you aimed for
the head?"  
  
Evelyn shrugged. "Why not?"  
  
Drest smiled in wonderment. "The chest is a larger target, especially from
sixty yards," he said. "Master archers never aim for the head at such a
distance."  
  
Evie's face soured. "So . . . that was wrong?" she asked.  
  
Drest laughed. "Look at the placement, Evie! I thought you had aimed for the
heart, and the shaft fell five inches above! But you aimed for the _head_ . .
. the arrow fell less than three inches below your target. That is astounding,
milady."  
  
Evelyn smiled slowly, feeling her chest swell with pride. "So much for the
idea that a woman cannot be a soldier."  
  
Drest chuckled, rolling his shoulders. "Perhaps those ancient stories about
shield maidens have some basis in fact," he remarked.  
  
Evie frowned. "Shield maidens?"  
  
Drest took a breath, silent for a moment as he thought. "There are . . .
myths," he said. "Stories, really, that the most renowned of the ancient kings
were guarded not by men, but women. Fierce warrior-women called Shield
Maidens. Loyal in the extreme, chaste to all men, their only desire was to
serve and protect their liege unto death."  
  
Evie smirked, catching Drest's eyes. "'Chaste to all men?'" she asked. "That
does not sound like fun."  
  
For a moment, Drest simply enjoyed the attentions of this beautiful woman. His
mind drifted back, two evenings before, remembering the sighs and moans, the
needy whimpers . . . and the meeting with Bagdemagus afterward. His face fell.  
  
Evelyn was quick to notice. Impulsively, she touched the Prince's arm. "You're
thinking about him," she said, her tone almost accusatory.  
  
Drest ground his teeth, looking away. He reached for the shaft of the arrow
lodged within the straw dummy. "It bothers me, what he said," he growled, then
jerked the arrow free. "Why . . . why would he care that you remain . . .
pure?"  
  
Evelyn sighed heavily. Her anger spiked, faster than ever before. "And I
wonder why I cannot have a conversation with _anyone_ without that damnable
bastard being brought up!"  
  
Drest snapped his attention back to her. "Because you are the Queen," he said
simply. "And duty often brings more grief than comfort."  
  
Evelyn seethed, trembling as she tried to control her emotions. The intensity
was frightening to her. "I never asked to be Queen," she said, her voice
quivering. "I never wanted it. Curse me for being King Richard's only—" she
stopped as Drest suddenly loomed over her, clasping his hand over her mouth.  
  
"Don't say it, Evie," he said firmly, warningly. He brought his face close, so
that his own breath warmed the hand that covered Evie's mouth. "Don't even
think it. Would you really give up everything? The castle? The lands? The
people?"  
  
Evelyn angrily slapped the Prince's hand away, yet her ire was already fading.
"I'd never give up my people," she snapped.  
  
Drest smiled slowly. "Only a true Queen would see them as 'my people,'" she
said. "Blue blood runs through your veins, Evie. You cannot deny that.
Becoming Queen was your destiny."  
  
She stared fiercely into Drest's eyes. "Destiny?" she quipped. "And was that
destiny forged by God, or Bagdemagus?"  
  
The Prince frowned. "I don't understand."  
  
Evelyn sighed heavily, turning away. She took a few steps, feeling the grass
tickle her partially-exposed calves beneath the dress she wore. The quiver at
her hip slapped gently at her thigh. She plucked on the bowstring as she
turned about and faced Drest once again.  
  
"Benedict," she said, then paused, searching for words.  
  
"What about him?" asked Drest.  
  
Evelyn breathed in. "He told me some things . . . things that make sense," she
said. "I am my father's only child. And of six wives, at that. Doesn't that
seem strange?"  
  
Drest frowned, thinking. "I . . . I mean, we always assumed that other
children were stillborn, or succumbed to crib death, or other such—"  
  
"No," Evelyn said, her voice firm. "King Richard never sired anything, not
even a still-born corpse, after me. Bagdemagus did something to him, he made
him . . . _invirile_. Some blasted spell or potion or whatnot. This is all his
design. My entire bloody life has been _his_ design!"  
  
Drest watched her, his tortured Queen, at the same time absorbing what she has
said. He stepped forward and took her in his arms, feeling her folding against
him. His arms were tight about her as Evie shuddered, crying into his
shoulder. He kissed her temple, ran his fingers through her long, sun-kissed
hair.  
  
"It's not the truth, Evie," he whispered. "You know it isn't."  
  
"But it is," she lamented, digging her fingers into his coat, clutching him.  
  
Drest smiled despite the circumstances. "No. No, it isn't. Think about it. If
your life was already planned, why is the wizard taking so many chances? There
is salvation for you, my Queen. Together, we will find it. I promise you."  
  
Evie rubbed her face against Drest's coat, then lifted her swollen, red-ringed
eyes. "Tell me again," she whispered.  
  
Drest touched her cheek, gazed into Evelyn's captivating eyes. "Which part?"
he asked with a smile.  
  
She managed a slight smile. "The 'together' part," she responded.  
  
Drest only smiled, and canted his head, bringing his lips toward hers. Evelyn
whimpered softly, and gave in readily to the kiss, pulling herself more
tightly against the man who had become so important in her life, so needed and
trusted. Within the depths of her mind, Evelyn prayed that trust was being
well-placed.  
  
With some effort, Drest broke the kiss and settled his forehead against hers
as they recovered their breath. "'Twould be unseemly," he said.  
  
Evelyn suddenly laughed. "Then . . . mayhap we should return to the castle . .
. and my chambers."  
  
Drest caught his breath, feeling uncomfortable in his breeches. "For a Queen,"
he said breathlessly. "You are quite a vixen."  
  
Evelyn grinned, and nipped at his chin. "It is my birthday," she breathed. "I
am entitled to a wish."  
  
Drest struggled to control himself. His hands wandered across Evelyn's back.
"And what do you wish?"  
  
Evelyn pushed back abruptly, her face glowing, eyes almost glazed with
arousal. "Come to my chambers, after the ball," she said, then licked her lip.
"And perhaps I shall let you know."  
  
Drest watched after the virgin Queen as she headed back up the slope. He could
not help but admire the shape of her body, the hidden pleasures beneath those
few layers of linen. But the Queen of Vix, he knew, was nothing like a
scullery maid or wanton country girl. Despite her humble beginnings, Evelyn
possessed natural grace and poise. For all her complaints, she was more a
regent born than even Drest's own aged father.  
  
_A woman deserving of respect,_ thought Drest, starting up the hill behind
her.  
  
***  
  
There was only one person in all of Vix who would enter his chambers without
first knocking, Drest knew, and she came calling just as he was fastening the
topmost button of his coat.  
  
Viviane slid up behind him with a sultry smile and a faint purr in her voice,
reaching her arms around her half-brother to help affix the last silver
button. Her face sat upon his right shoulder in the mirror, smirking as
always, her impressive bosom pressed to his back. She had a glow about her,
suggestive of a recent coupling. Drest wondered who the lucky man had been.  
  
"Do you remember, little brother?" she cooed softly, slowly smoothing her
hands down his toned chest. "That first night, when I came to you?"  
  
Drest ground his teeth. "I try not to," he said.  
  
Viviane's smile faltered for a moment, then returned. Her hands wandered
further, toward her half-brother's waist. "You cannot deny the past, you
know."  
  
Drest closed his eyes, feeling a surge of arousal running through his veins.
He fought against it. He knew of Viviane's strange power, her ability to goad
even the most uninterested of men into her bed. He attributed her ability to
the questionable circumstances of her birth. It was popular rumor in the
Kingdom of Ural that King Oren had entertained a sorceress as a lover . . .
and that their union had resulted in Viviane. Not much of a stretch to think
that Viviane may have inherited something from her.  
  
Drest reached for his sister's hands and pulled them away, then turned to face
her. His eyes bore into hers. "Funny you should say that, sister," he said
with a wry smile. "Ever since arriving here in Vix, I have learned that one's
past is not a measure of their true self. A person's actions define who they
are, in the here and now."  
  
Viviane's eyes darkened. "Do not forget who brought you here, _baby brother_."  
  
Drest suddenly laughed. "If it had not been you, it would have been another,"
he said. His smile vanished. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to make an
appearance for my Queen."  
  
He stepped away, and Viviane watched him, feeling jealousy stab at her heart
with razor-sharp edges. "Do you really think she is 'your' queen?" she called.
"Watch your steps, and your heart, little brother! And don't forget who and
_what_ you are!"  
  
Drest did not respond, though the struggle within was telling upon his face as
he jerked open the door, then slammed it closed behind him.  
  
***  
  
"Monsignor?"  
  
The page's voice was muted amongst the book-lined shelves in the library. The
smell of age and wisdom was as palpable as the dust, making the young man
wrinkle his nose. He hesitated before stepping deeper amongst the stacks; very
few were allowed within the royal library, and while he had official business,
the page felt that he was somewhere he did not belong.  
  
"Lord Alistair?" he called again, using the Lord Chamberlain's name this time.
Still no response. Taking a breath, hoping he would be forgiven for any
transgressions, the page entered the library.  
  
This place is a maze, the young man thought, peripherally looking at the
gilded titles on some of the leather bindings. He peered at one more closely
as it caught his eye. "_The Collected Works of The Fool_," he read, then
stepped back with a frown. "Why would someone read a fool's work?"  
  
"Not _a_ fool, but _the_ Fool," responded an aged, deep voice. The page
gasped, startled, and slapped a hand over his chest. "One the most celebrated
poets of all time."  
  
The page looked upon the jowled, bearded face of the head of Vix's clergy. He
was not a tall man, but he had presence due to his age, wisdom, and station.
The spiritual advisor for King Richard, and the king before him, Lord Alistair
now served Lady Evelyn. He was one of the few who did not seem either
impressed or irritated by the new Queen.  
  
"Forgive me, Excellency," the page said with a short bow.  
  
"Ignorance is not to be forgiven," growled the elder. "Rather, replaced with
wisdom."  
  
"Er . . . yes, of course," replied the young man as he straightened. "I was
sent to inform you that the birthday celebration is soon to begin."  
  
The Chamberlain worked his thick, pale lips a moment and grunted in assent.
"Good, good," he said. "I have uncovered something that the Queen must see, at
any rate." He clutched an old, tattered-looking libram to his body. He
gestured to the page. "Lead on, good man."  
  
***  
  
Violins, cellos, clarinets, horns and drums filled the air with sound that
mingled with the hubbub of a hundred different conversations. While there was
not enough space in the ballroom for all of Vix -- and it seemed that few
villagers had refused the Queen's unprecedented invitation -- it certainly
seemed as if the entire kingdom had turned out in honor of their Queen, to
celebrate her birth.  
  
Evelyn smiled, truly touched nearly to the point of weeping, at the sight of
lords and ladies mingling with blacksmiths and butchers. There had been quite
a bite of rancor at first, but now, three days into the week-long celebration,
acceptance had taken hold. Still, it was obvious that nobility kept to one
side of the room, commoners to the other. But that was little matter. They
were all there, and that was important.  
  
"It seems you have decided to accept the love of your people," Muriel
commented as she stepped up beside her Queen in the balcony that overlooked
the ballroom.  
  
Evelyn rolled her eyes and gave her mother's handmaiden a wry smile. "If, by
that, you mean am I ready to enjoy being the center of attention, then yes."  
  
Muriel returned the smile. "About damn time," she remarked, then glanced past
the Queen. "Rebecca."  
  
Evelyn's handmaiden stepped from the crimson folds of the curtains that
flanked either side of the balcony. The young woman was well aware that many
in the kingdom did not now trust her, and despised their scrutiny. Of all
within Vix, there were only two she was truly comfortable with: the Queen, and
Cedric. But others, like Muriel, she at least respected.  
  
"Muriel," the girl said, then curtsied for her Queen. "Milady."  
  
"Inform the Chamberlain that the Queen is ready to bask in her glory," she
said, giving Evelyn a smirk.  
  
Rebecca's cheeks colored slightly with anxiety. Since her interrogation at the
hands of Benedict and his goons, and her resulting pardon from the Queen,
Rebecca had been reluctant to go anywhere on her own. However, it was her
station to follow instructions, and she accepted that.  
  
"Hold," Evelyn said. She gave Muriel a look as she spoke. "I want Rebecca
beside me all night. Find a page."  

Muriel nodded slowly, understanding. "Of course," she said, then turned and
stepped from the balcony.  
  
"My Queen—" Rebecca began.  
  
"Rebecca," Evelyn said in a firm tone. "Do not say what you are thinking. I
know you wonder as to your loyalties, as to what others think of you. I admit,
I do feel a bit leery in your presence."  
  
Rebecca blushed in shame. "I wish I could answer your questions," she said in
a mournful voice.  
  
"But you cannot. It is not your fault. The wizard charmed you, of that I am
sure. I know little of magic, but from what I understand, there are few minds
that can resist it's effects. There is no shame in being seduced by a man like
Bagdemagus."  
  
Rebecca trembled slightly, her eyes swelling with tears. "But I . . . I
dishonored my station. A handmaiden is to remain chaste for at least as long
as her Queen."  
  
Evelyn felt a sympathetic stirring in her heart. She took Rebecca's hands and
gazed into her handmaiden's eyes. "There is naught that can be done about the
past," she said. "The wizard took you, and for that I am truly sorry. But, as
I am your Queen, I say this with all conviction . . ."  
  
Rebecca breathed in, waiting . . . hoping.  
  
"I trust you," Evelyn finished, her words emphatic. "You are my handmaiden,
and you will stand beside me, at all times. Is that understood?"  
  
Rebecca fought back her tears. Pride swirled through her. Pride, and
affirmation. Her hands squeezed Evelyn's. "Yes, my Queen," she said with a
shaking voice. "I shall not fail you again."  
  
Evelyn smiled. "You didn't the first time."  
  
Rebecca smiled, sniffled, blinked away a few tears. "You have no idea what
that means to me, milady."  
  
The Queen beamed. This is what my station means, she thought. "Now, buck up,"
she said with a smile. "I'll need you to help fend off some of those stuffy
old lords who seek to woo me."  
  
Rebecca laughed, and quickly wiped her eyes. "Of course, my Queen. Although,
if I may, I suspect there is one you do not wish to see fended off."  
  
Evelyn blushed briefly. "Perhaps," she responded coyly. "But then, he is
neither stuffy nor old."  
  
Rebecca smiled knowingly, gestured to the archway that lead from the balcony.
"After you, my Queen," she said.  
  
***  
  
The cacophony started from the rear of the crowd that filled the ballroom.
Evelyn stood, Rebecca on one side, Muriel on the other, within a circle formed
by the crowd. All about the Queen were grinning faces and applauding hands.
Nobles stood shoulder-to-shoulder with those they ruled. Evelyn could not
think of a finer moment in her life.  
  
The crowd parted before her, and a large cart was revealed, topped with the
most immense cake Evelyn had ever seen. Pushed by a doughty woman clad in a
white apron over her dress, the cake blazed with candles that cast a golden
glow in all directions. Reflexively, Evelyn clasped her hands over her mouth,
touched, awed, and chastened by the display.  
  
"My finest work, my Queen," declared the middle-aged woman with beaming pride.
"I have awaited this day all my life."  
  
Evelyn's face contorted with emotion, touched beyond measure. "Oh, Mrs.
Goldfield," she managed to say. "It's beautiful!"  
  
Mrs. Goldfield grinned. "I suppose it goes without saying that I now forgive
you for stealing all those pastries from my shop when you were a child."  
  
Laughter filled the room, not the least of which was Evelyn's. The Queen
approached the baker and hugged her tightly. "Thank you," she said.  
  
Mrs. Goldfield looked the Queen in the eye. "You do us proud, Evie," she
whispered, then kissed the young woman's cheeks in turn.  
  
Evelyn pulled away, looking around at the faces that surrounded her. Some she
recognized from the village, others were lords and ladies she had come to
know. Nearly all were smiling, even if some such expressions were plainly
forced. Not all the nobility had come to accept a peasant queen, after all.  
  
Then came a voice, deep, commanding, rich and filled with purpose: "'And
within the great garden, the first mother bore forth the first child, and the
world rejoiced.'"  
  
All laughter, applause and conversation stopped as heads turned and the sea of
bodies parted for the arrival of Alistair, Lord Chamberlain. His luxurious
robes swept the floor with each step as he approached the Queen, stopping
several paces before her. He held an ancient book beneath his left arm.  
  
"My Queen," he said with reverence, his weary eyes smiling. He gave her a nod,
then raised his voice and addressed those around them.  
  
"On this day, nineteen years ago, a miracle was born into our midst. Every
birth is a miracle, just as is every sunrise and every flutter of a sparrow's
wings. But _this_ birth . . . the day our Queen was brought into the world . .
. is truly a miracle. Her radiance, her wisdom, her skill will guide us all."
He faced Evelyn with a reverent smile. "Hail to the Queen. Hail Evelyn."  
  
"HAIL EVELYN!"  
  
Evelyn touched the base of her throat, meeting the eyes of friends and
strangers. For a moment, at least, thoughts of the wizard and the dangers he
posed were absent from her mind. For a moment, she was not the Queen, but just
a happy young woman.  
  
"Thank you, Lord Chamberlain," she managed to say, her voice choked with
emotion. "Thank you, everyone."  
  
Muriel touched her arm, bringing Evie's attention back to the cake. Evelyn
laughed, beckoned to her handmaiden. Rebecca understood right away, and bent
over beside her queen. Taking deep breaths, the two young women blew out the
candles to the applause of nobility and commoners alike.  
  
Drest stepped from the crowd, extending his hand to Evelyn. "May I have the
honor of my Queen's first dance?"  
  
Evelyn smiled broadly, demurely taking the Prince's hand. The crowd moved
back, and music began to fill the air. Evelyn smiled sweetly upon her Prince
as he swept her about the room. Other couples quickly paired off, inspired by
the obviously blossoming romance between their Queen and the future King of
Ural. While there was many a sour look upon a lord's face, few could deny that
Drest and Evelyn made a dashing couple.  
  
"Enjoying your birthday, my Queen?" Drest asked as they moved gracefully
across the floor.  
  
Evelyn beamed. "Immensely," she declared, conscious of her breasts rubbing
against the Prince's torso. The low hum of arousal she had been enjoying all
day began mounting, eliciting a flicker of heat within her. "Especially since,
as it is my birthday, I am entitled to a wish."  
  
Drest smiled, holding her close as he carried her about temporarily lifting
the Queen off her feet and making her giggle like a girl. "And what would that
wish be?"  
  
Evelyn was quiet a moment, staring into Drest's eyes. She could easily see
herself spending a few hours within those deep blue pools, her fingers
entangling in those thick blonde locks . . . she shuddered, feeling the blush
rise in her cheeks. "Perhaps another taste of what you offered the other
night?"  
  
Despite his attempt to remain composed, Drest faltered a bit in his steps,
nearly stumbling. He was blushing as well as he caught himself, keeping them
both from tumbling to the floor. "Evie," he said, captivated by her glittering
hazel orbs. "I very nearly went too far. I would think it best if we waited
for marriage."  
  
Evelyn grinned. "Is that your proposal, then?" she kidded.  
  
Drest's eyes bulged. "Wh-what? No! Of . . . of course not!" he stammered. "I
could certainly do better than that!" He stopped as he realized Evelyn was
laughing. Slowly, he shook his head with a rueful smile. "Mayhap that is
enough dancing for the moment."  
  
Evelyn tittered. "As you wish," she said, gesturing to a circulating steward.
The young man approached with his tray of champagne flutes, and the Queen took
two from the tray. "Perhaps a toast, then."  
  
Drest chuckled and accepted the flute. "To what shall we toast?"  
  
Evelyn lightly touched the rim of her glass to Drest's. "How about . . . new
experiences?"  
  
Drest took a breath, controlling his burgeoning arousal, and said nothing as
he and Evelyn sipped. Nothing needed to be said, not with the way their eyes
were speaking.  
  
***  
  
Near the buffet table, Cedric and Rebecca were both keeping an eye on the
Queen as well as indulging in pate and roasted boar. Rebecca felt more than
comfortable beside Cedric; aside from being her hero, the young knight was now
her lover as well. She found that she could not be close to him without
touching his arm, his side, or settling a hand to his back. The more she spent
time with him, the less she thought of Bagdemagus . . . even though she was
aware that, for some reason, she still desired the wizard.  
  
"I think they look good together, Cedric," Rebecca whispered as she watched
the Prince and Queen stray from the dance floor.  
  
Cedric smiled with a nod. "Aye," he agreed. "We may be calling him King before
long."  
  
Rebecca swooned as images flashed in her mind. "Oh, it will be such a
beautiful wedding," she said. "I can just see this entire hall bedecked in
silken curtains and flowers of all colors . . . the finest brass pitchers and
vases, everyone in their finest linen . . . ."  
  
Cedric watched Rebecca's beautiful face as she spoke, watched how her eyes
glazed wistfully. "Perhaps your own will be as splendid," he said.  
  
Rebecca lowered her eyes with an admonished look. "I may live and serve within
the castle, but I am still just a peasant."  
  
Cedric touched her chin, lifting her face until their eyes met. "You are not
'just' anything, Rebecca," he said meaningfully. "As far as I am concerned,
you are everything the Queen is."  
  
The handmaiden swallowed nervously, at the same time feeling a quickening of
her heart. "Cedric, you shouldn't say such things," she warned, looking around
nervously. "Not out loud, at any rate."  
  
Cedric smiled, and leaned in. "Then perhaps I should whisper it to you . . .
." his lips brushed Rebecca's cheek, then suddenly moved to her lips. The kiss
was brief -- anything more would have been scandalous -- yet pulled a soft
moan of longing from Rebecca's throat. Impulsively, she touched Cedric's arm,
pulling him closer.  
  
"Um, excuse me, sir knight."  
  
Cedric instantly looked away from Rebecca, seeing one of the castle guards
before him. The man -- a few years Cedric's senior, at least -- noted the way
the handmaiden clutched the knight. He wondered as to the young knight's
loyalty, but only for a moment; his duty was to serve, not question.  
  
"There is a matter which the Captain believes you might be needed for. Will
you follow me?"  
  
Cedric nodded slowly, gave a quick smile to Rebecca. "Rejoin the Queen," he
said, then stepped away, his left hand automatically falling to the scabbard
of his sword. He addressed the guardsman. "Lead the way."  
  
***  
  
The man at the castle doors was handsome and distinguished, clad in the tell-
tale dark blue coat of a lord of Ural, homeland of the Prince. He appeared
none too impatient, and was even joking with the guardsmen as Cedric
approached him. The lord was tall, and something about him bespoke either
confidence or nefariousness. Cedric was not sure which.  
  
The man smiled approvingly upon Cedric's appearance. "So the rumors are true!"
he exclaimed and bowed slightly. "The Knights of Vix have returned."  
  
Cedric suppressed his pride. "And you are?"  
  
Captain Stephano stepped in before the man could respond. "He claims to be
Lord Dorr, of Ural—"  
  
"I _am_ Lord Dorr," the dignitary replied, giving Stephano a curt look.  
  
The Captain bristled slightly and held out a sealed letter for Cedric.
"Considering your . . . station, and how close you are to the Queen," he said.
"I thought it might be prudent for you to see this. Lord Dorr claims to have
important information for our lady."  
  
Cedric frowned, feeling more than a little out of his element as he turned
over the letter in his hands. He was a soldier, a knight, a cobbler's son . .
. he knew little of the ways of nobles, even if he was, technically, one of
them now. Yet, he understood that this was his world, now.  
  
"May I?" Cedric asked the lord.  
  
Guy nodded. "Of course."  
  
"He insisted that only a _noble_ be allowed to open the letter," explained the
Captain with noticeable disdain. His lips curled in a sarcastic sneer.
"Naturally, I thought of you."  
  
Cedric let Stephano's comment go. He knew little of the man, and what he had
learned painted the picture of a petty, domineering, spiteful man who had
reached the pinnacle of his station and envied those above him. Instead, the
young knight focused upon the letter. He slipped his finger beneath the seal,
severing it, and unfolded the parchment. His eyes darkened instantly as he
read, his jaw tightened.  
  
"You have evidence of this?" he asked at last, not looking up.  
  
"I do," said Lord Dorr. He kept his eyes trained upon the young knight,
ignoring the confused looks of Captain Stephano and the other guards.  
  
Cedric folded the letter closed and rested his gaze upon the Uralian lord.
"You couldn't have picked a worse day," he commented.  
  
Guy gave a small, apologetic smile. "I had wished to arrive yesterday," he
said. "Alas, the road was a bit treacherous."  
  
Cedric nodded. "Follow me," he said simply, and turned back toward the doors.  
  
Guy smiled. "Of course," he said, and stepped in behind the knight.  
  
Stephano watched with suspicious eyes as the two men entered the castle keep.
He tapped the hilt of his sword restlessly.  
  
"What's going on, Captain?" asked a young guardsman.  
  
Stephano fumed quietly. "I intend to find out," he growled, then started after
the two men.  
  
***  
  
Cedric hated what he was doing. This was Evie's time, her one moment to enjoy
simply being herself . . . yet, here he was, about to ruin that with 'official
business.' But that was his job. And Evie's, as well.  
  
He found her, standing with Drest and Rebecca amongst a group of other nobles,
some of whom flirted with her even as she stood close to Drest and touched him
casually. Cedric's expression was dark and foreboding, which the Queen noticed
right away.  
  
"Cedric, what is it?" she asked, instantly feeling dread enter her heart.  
  
The knight stopped, bowed before his queen and friend. "Milady, I have urgent
news," he said, holding out the letter.  
  
Evelyn frowned, looking to the folded parchment. She was afraid to take it.
She knew something like this was going to happen, she simply knew it . . . .  
  
Recognizing Evelyn's reticence, Drest reached for the letter. "Allow me, my
Queen," he said.  
  
Cedric snapped the letter back, giving a short, glaring look to the Prince.
"It is for the Queen," he said firmly.  
  
Drest frowned. "But it is open. Have you read it?"  
  
Cedric said nothing, but his eyes betrayed a sudden dislike for the Prince. He
looked to Evelyn. "It is for you," he said.  
  
Steeling herself, Evelyn took the letter and opened it. Her features colored,
and her lips quivered as she read. A thick swallow betrayed her fear, as well
as the sudden swelling in her eyes. For a long moment, she said nothing, even
after she had finished digesting the contents of the letter. At last, she
folded it closed, her movements slow and deliberate.  
  
"Evie?" asked Drest, concerned.  
  
Her jaw worked a moment. "I . . . I need to be alone," she said.  
  
Drest's concern grew. "Evelyn," he said, touching her shoulder. "Tell me what
it is."  
  
"She cannot, my Prince," came a new voice. All eyes looked to see Lord Dorr as
he stepped around Cedric. His eyes flickered to Drest's for a moment before
settling upon the Queen. "I wish I had not come at such a time. But this news
could not wait, Queen Evelyn."  
  
She shuddered as she nodded. "I understand," she said. "Forgive my rudeness,
sir . . .?"  
  
"Dorr. Lord Guy Dorr," he said, kneeling and bowing with reverence saved only
for queens and kings.  
  
Evelyn sighed, mildly flustered at the display. "Please, rise," she said
impatiently. "I . . . thank you for this news. Forgive my rudeness, Lord Dorr,
but I feel I must retire."  
  
Drest looked back and forth between Evie, Cedric, and this newcomer. While he
recognized the coat and trappings upon Lord Dorr as being from his homeland,
he did not recognize the man. Not that he felt he should. There were many
nobles and vassals in Ural whom he had never met, nor heard of.  
  
But what bothered him was the suddenly suspicious look in Cedric's eyes, and
the abrupt coldness of the Queen. He felt instantly that the contents of the
letter had something to do with him . . . but he could not imagine what it
might have been.  
  
"Evelyn—" he began as she stepped away.  
  
She shot him a look. "No," she said simply, reaching for Rebecca. Her eyes
lingered upon Drest's for a long moment, conveying pain and disappointment,
before she turned away and let her handmaiden lead her away.  
  
Drest watched them retreat for a moment, then whirled about, facing Dorr. "Who
are you?" he asked forcefully. "And tell me what was in that letter!"  
  
Guy stood impassive, regarding the Prince as he would any common soldier or
laborer. "I cannot do that," he said. "And if you understand anything about
the Office of the Magistrate, my Prince, you would not question me further."  
  
Drest gritted his teeth. The Magistrate . . . always at odds with the dictates
of the King, always meddling, always . . . confounding things. Drest suddenly
understood, and straightened, giving Dorr a haughty look. "Very well," he
said. "Enjoy your games . . . _sir_."  
  
Guy smirked. "And you, yours, my Prince," he responded with the same level of
sarcasm.  
  
Cedric watched the play between the two men, then as Drest stomped off. He
turned to Dorr. "Would you care to share with me what that was all about?"  
  
Guy pursed his lips around a self-congratulatory smile. He had fulfilled the
first part of his mission for Bagdemagus with relative ease. His dark eyes
settled on Cedric's. "Do not be offended, young lord," he said. "But you have
already seen too much. This is a matter for the Queen."  
  
Cedric stepped close, choosing his words carefully. "The accusation in that
letter . . . you said you have proof of it?"  
  
Guy said nothing. He simply stared evenly into Cedric's eyes.  
  
Cedric looked away with a disgusted sigh.  
  
***  
  
Evelyn's distress overwhelmed her once Rebecca had lead her to the hallway
from the ballroom. With an anguished cry, she fell against the wall, beating
her fists upon it. Rebecca stared at first, not knowing what to say or do as
her Queen moaned and wailed. But, as Evelyn's legs gave way and she began to
sink to her knees, Rebecca was quick to act, wrapping her arms around her
Queen and keeping her upright.  
  
"Come, my Queen," Rebecca urged. "Not here. Not where you can be seen—"  
  
"I don't care!" Evelyn cried, her face streaked with tears, eyes swollen. "To
Hell with them! All of them!"  
  
"My Queen! Please!"  
  
Evelyn stared at her handmaiden a moment, seeing the curious faces of nobles
and commoners further down the hall. Though she hated it, she was aware of the
need to 'keep up appearances.'  
  
"Fine," she hissed, and stormed toward the stairs, gathering her skirts as she
did so. Rebecca ran to keep up, and their heels clicked and clacked upon the
marble steps. Torches in sconces flickered and wavered, coating the halls and
steps in an ochre-like glow.  
  
"My Queen!"  
  
Evelyn faltered at the deep-voiced cry, and stopped halfway up the steps. She
looked back, just as Rebecca reached her. Her handmaiden also looked back.  
  
Stephano, Captain of the Guard, stood at the foot of the stairs, his face
stoic and almost alien. He gripped the scabbard of his sword with his left
hand, slowly reached for the hilt with his right. The gesture was quietly
intimidating, and filled Evelyn's heart with dread.  
  
"There is one other matter we need to discuss," he intoned, setting his foot
upon the first step.  
  
"Um . . . perhaps it could wait," the Queen said, feeling Rebecca's hand
squeeze her own.  

"Mistress," whispered the handmaiden in her ear. Rebecca's voice was heavy
with fear.  
  
"Stay strong," snapped Evelyn.  
  
Below them, Stephano sneered, drawing his blade with a long scrape of metal
upon metal. "I'm afraid I must insist."  
  
"Oh, God," muttered Evelyn, feeling real fear grip her heart. She turned
about, ready to run up the stairs, but two more guardsmen stood at the head of
the steps, also with blades drawn. Their faces were malevolent and without
mercy.  
  
"Evelyn!" sputtered Rebecca in fear, also spying the two guardsmen.  
  
"Strong," repeated Evelyn, clutching Rebecca tightly to her, drawing upon the
girl's fleeing strength as much as she hoped to feed her handmaiden some of
her own. "Stay strong."  
  
"But . . . how?" lamented Rebecca.  
  
Evelyn suddenly smiled, a mad, reckless smile. "Because we are not alone," she
said, then took a deep breath and screamed, as loud as she could: "CEDRIC!"  
  
***  
  
Even above the buzz of conversation in the ballroom, above the music and
occasional laughter, above the thoughts tumbling about in his head, Cedric
could hear the faint cry. While many around him seemed to have deaf ears, the
young knight did not. Instantly, Cedric was on guard, his eyes wild, reflexes
on alert.  
  
"Evie," he said anxiously.  
  
Beside him, Guy perked. "Hmm?"  
  
The knight shot the Uralian lord a look. "My Queen needs me," he said simply,
then bolted, pushing his way through the crowd, not caring about subtlety or
courtesy. "John! Sir John! To the north stairs!"  
  
Guy watched after the enthusiastic young knight, and noticed as well as
another man -- clad in hardened leather marked with polished studs, sword at
his side -- broke away from a buxom young blonde and headed for the broad
double doors at the far end of the room. Cries of distress and anger trailed
beyond both he and Cedric as they barged their way through in the service of
their Queen.  
  
Guy took a breath, readying himself, and set aside his glass of wine. _And so,
here it is,_ he thought, moving forward through the crowd, picking up speed as
he followed the two knights.  
  
***  
  
As Cedric threw open the doors, he took in the scene before him in less than a
heartbeat: Captain Stephano, advancing up the stairs, sword in hand, and two
more guardsmen at the top, slowly making their way down. And in the middle
were the Queen and Rebecca, holding onto each other for support. Cedric noted
the looks of relief upon their faces as they saw him. He gave them a grim nod.  
  
"Stephano!"  
  
The Captain stopped, turned about on the stairs, even as the two at the top
hesitated as well. Stephano sneered at Cedric, then upon John as the second
Knight of Vix burst through the doors. His eyes seemed blank, almost glassy.  
  
"Oh, how touching. Two young pups coming to save the bitch from slaughter,"
Stephano hissed.  
  
Together, as if practiced, Cedric and John drew their swords and aimed the
points toward the Captain. "If there is to be slaughter, it will be yours, and
that of your cohorts," vowed Cedric.  
  
Stephano laughed. "Oh, I think not," he cried haughtily, and snapped his
fingers.  
  
Peripherally, Cedric and John noted the entrance of two more guards, from
their left and right, down the halls that surrounded the ballroom. The two
young men exchanged a quick glance.  
  
"Take the guards first?" asked John heatedly.  
  
"No," responded Cedric. "Stephano. He threatens the Queen."  
  
"Five to one," commented John anxiously. "Not the best of odds."  
  
Cedric grinned. "Who said being a knight was easy?" he asked rhetorically,
then bellowed in challenge.  
  
Together, Cedric and John charged the Captain, blades whirling, calling upon
all they had learned in their few days of training. Both gifted, and strong in
both body and spirit, they hoped their talents would be enough.  
  
Stephano was an experienced soldier, however, and recognized that the charge
of the two knights was more bravado than anything else. Taking advantage of
his higher ground upon the steps, he slashed at the two men, knocking their
blades aside. Sparks flew as metal struck metal. With practiced moves, he held
back the strikes of the knights as his own faithful men rushed forward.  
  
"I'm not impressed!" cried Stephano, deflecting the whirling blades of his
foes. "Our Queen would have done better than to elevate a childhood friend and
a stable-boy to knighthood!"  
  
As they fought, John heard the heavy bootfalls of the other two guardsmen
coming up behind them. Their impromptu plan of stopping Stephano was not going
to work they way they had hoped. "Cedric!" he called.  
  
Without a word, Cedric whirled, his blade dancing off Stephano's with a shower
of sparks, and faced a charging guardsman. With a valiant cry and ferocious
style, he hurled himself toward the man, quickly hammering upon the
guardsman's upturned blade.  
  
The guardsman grunted, stumbling back, finding himself instantly upon the
defensive beneath Cedric's fierce attack. He parried and blocked, shuffling
his feet backward as Cedric advanced. He managed a few thrusts and strikes of
his own, but the young knight's natural skill was obviously greater than his
own.  
  
With a feint, a parry, and a low, whirling crouch, Cedric came up under the
guard of his opponent, and thrust his blade home. Steel split flesh and bone,
forcing a quick spurt of blood as the point of Cedric's blade tore through the
guardsman's torso. The guardsman's limbs fell limp; he sagged to the floor,
his life pouring out of him.  
  
Cedric gritted his teeth at the sight and jerked his blade free. He whipped
his head about, watching as John cut down his own foe with a trio of quick
slashes that rent through cloth, flesh, and bone. John's foe pitched face-
forward to the ground, still quivering, yet no longer a threat.  
  
The two knights nodded to one another, then returned their attention to the
stairs.  
  
***  
  
Prince Drest had heard the cries, on his way to his chambers. The shrill
scream torn from Evelyn's lungs had made his decision for him, and he found
himself running full-tilt through the halls toward the source.  
  
Emerging from a second-floor hallway, sword in hand, Drest took in the scene
quickly; two guardsmen, swords in hand, moving down the stairs toward a
cowering Evelyn and her handmaiden, while the Knights of Vix -- Cedric and
John -- battled two other guardsmen at the foot. And between the knights and
their Queen was Captain Stephano, head of the castle guard, blade clutched in
white-knuckled hand, murder obvious within his eyes.  
  
A king's son has the benefit of being trained by the best, and Drest was no
exception. With quick, whirling movements, he descended upon the two guards
before him, slashing with skill and precision. The first fell quickly, his
sword arm all but severed before a second strike bit deep through his neck.
The other guard was quick to respond, and charged Drest, blade flashing
viciously.  
  
From the corner of his eye, Drest saw the Captain descend upon Evelyn and her
handmaiden, his sword stabbing downward. Dread gripped him, then. _Oh, no!
Evie!_  
  
"Evelyn!" he cried, watching Stephano's blade become swallowed up by the linen
and silk the women wore. Both the Queen and her handmaiden screamed in terror
. . . or pain. Drest gritted his teeth, feeling a dark hand squeeze his heart.  
  
And then came another, a man in the dark blue coat of Ural, a slim, slightly-
curved rapier in hand. He burst through the doors from the ballroom, the point
of his blade leading the way, and darted past Cedric and John, unerringly up
the stairs toward Stephano. As the Queen and her handmaiden fell back amid a
flurry of their petticoats and robes, Stephano's blade slashing down, the man
called Lord Dorr charged recklessly, yet with deadly precision.  
  
Stephano jerked his sword free and held it high in both hands, ready to cleave
in two one of the women before him. But he suddenly shuddered with pain. The
point and first few inches of a rapier's blade erupted through his chest,
spraying blood. A stunned look crossed Stephano's face. His sword wavered in
the air above him.  
  
Behind the Captain, Lord Dorr jerked his blade free, then stabbed again, this
time through Stephano's heart. The Captain convulsed, blood gurgling from his
parted lips. His body sagged, as life fled his eyes.  
  
With a deadly slash, Drest opened a deep wound from groin to neck in the last
guardsman, causing the man to stumble back and cough and choke in his death-
throes. The body tumbled down the steps, joining the corpses laid out by
Cedric and John. He rushed down to the Queen's side, fearing the sight of
blood upon her. Yet there was no wound; Stephano's first stab had missed both
Evelyn and Rebecca, but only barely, it seemed.  
  
All eyes fell upon Lord Dorr, who jerked his blade from the back of Stephano.
Grimly, he wiped the blade with a crimson cloth at his belt, then sheathed it.
He gave a quick nod to Drest, then Evelyn. His eyes were stoic. "I am glad to
have been of assistance," he said simply, then turned and headed down the
stairs.  
  
***  
  
The castle had been emptied; not even the musicians had been allowed to
remain. All guards had been sequestered to their chambers, after John and
Cedric had chosen two that they knew could be trusted to watch them. The gates
were closed, portcullises lowered and locked in place. The castle had never
been more vulnerable as it was at that moment. But Benedict could think of no
other alternative.  
  
"I want to know what the Hell is going on," he growled, standing in the midst
of the Queen's audience chamber. Evelyn sat in her chair at the far end,
flanked by Cedric and John. Rebecca stood close at hand, eyes cast to the
floor. Prince Drest paced as his half-sister sat along the wall, all at once
demure and quietly seductive. Muriel kept an eye on Viviane from her position
in the corner. Guy Dorr occupied the opposite corner, arms folded, eyes trying
not to betray his interest and amusement. Finally, the Lord Chamberlain stood
mutely by himself, arms wrapped about the selfsame book Evelyn had seen him
carting earlier.  
  
"As do we all," said Evelyn, face and voice both grim. Her gaze shot to Drest
for a moment.  
  
"Let me handle this," spat the Chancellor, glaring at the Queen. "You may be
the regent of the land, but that is only by birthright. I am Chancellor. I
know what it takes to run a kingdom, to keep order and civility intact!"  
  
Evelyn met the older man's glare with impunity. "And a fine job you've done,"
she said acidly.  
  
Benedict seethed, taking a step toward the Queen. "You insolent whelp—"  
  
"Go to Hell!" she cried, lurching up from her chair, startling all within the
room. She stormed toward Benedict, not caring for his power, his influence,
nor his perceived ideas about her. "From the moment I came here, I have
suffered naught but your rudeness, your insolence, your disfavor! I am tired
of it!"  
  
"Hold your tongue, woman—" he warned, raising a hand.  
  
But Evelyn's flew before his, slapping hard across Benedict's face. The older
man stumbled, stunned as much by the blow as by the fact that it had been
delivered. He touched his bloodied lip as Evelyn continued:  
  
"SHUT UP!" she cried, visibly trembling as she stood with clenched fists
before the Chancellor. Her eyes blazed, bosom heaved. "I will not suffer any
more indignities from you," she said in a barely-controlled voice. Her words
were fast and heated. "Neither of us asked for this, but the fact remains that
I am your Queen, and you will bloody well treat me with _respect_!"  
  
Benedict straightened, hand to his face, his eyes fierce yet tempered by
feelings of both intimidation and, indeed, respect. At least a small part of
him admired the way this nineteen-year-old girl both stood up to him, and
commanded the attentions of all within the room.  
  
"Now," said Evelyn, possessed by courage and determination. "I have no
illusions that what happened tonight was anything other than the work of
Bagdemagus."  
  
"Do you have proof of that?" asked Viviane, smiling smugly. "Perhaps your
house is not as strong as you would wish."  
  
Evelyn met her eyes sternly. "If it is not, it is only because of the
influence of _outsiders_," she said meaningfully. Her eyes narrowed. "But I
will return to you shortly."  
  
Viviane bristled, straightening in her seat. Only her half-brother's
cautionary hand upon her shoulder kept her viper's tongue in check.  
  
"As I said," Evelyn continued, addressing the others within the room, one at a
time. "The attack tonight was the work of Bagdemagus. Stephano's actions were
not his own. I could see it in his eyes. And, had I been close enough, I have
no doubt I would have seen it in the others—"  
  
"_'In his eyes,'_ Your Highness?" Benedict chided. He scoffed. "Have you
suddenly developed the Sight?"  
  
Evelyn faced the man once more. "No," she said. "I have always had it. I
simply did not realize it."  
  
A low rumble coursed through those in the room. Looks and expressions were
exchanged.  
  
Benedict chuckled dryly, wiping away a last drop of blood from his lip. "The
evening's events have gotten to you, _Queen_. You are beginning to sound
hysterical."  
  
Evelyn stepped closer to the man, slowly, inoffensively. "Benedict," she said.
"I know you do not think much of me, and to be honest, I consider you a
pompous, insufferable ass." She continued, ignoring the Chancellor's shocked
look. "But there is one thing I need from you now. I need your guidance, your
wisdom, your experience. You said that I know nothing of ruling a kingdom. You
are right; I don't. That is why I need you. I need you to believe in me, to
afford me the faith of conviction that you revealed when you told me of
Bagdemagus and my father."  
  
Benedict was silent, his eyes wavering from the Queen's before they drifted
and found Muriel. He found it strange that he would seek her silent counsel in
this matter, but he did.  
  
"Something in you trusted me, then," Evelyn said. "Something compelled you to
warn me. Whatever that something was, I need that, now. Not just for me, but
for all of us within this room. So, please, let us set aside whatever we may
have thought for one another. Pride and pettiness account for nothing. And I
say that as a woman who is guilty of both."  
  
Benedict listened, all the while with his eyes upon Muriel. Her short nod of
encouragement, along with her smile, inspired his decision.  
  
His face snapped back to Evelyn. "Understand that it may take some time for me
to fully accept you, Evelyn," he said. His eyes dipped. "But you are my Queen.
I have endeavored to be both teacher and taskmaster to you . . . however, I
may have . . . blurred the lines a bit."  
  
Evelyn reached up and cupped the Chancellor's face, both startling the man and
making him flinch. "Benedict," she said softly, surprised at her own calmness.
"Did you trust my father?"  
  
He frowned at the question. "Of . . . of course," he said. "Granted, there
were things we did not agree upon—"  
  
"But you trusted him."  
  
Benedict nodded.  
  
Evelyn's hazel eyes glowed with meaning. "I only ask that you trust me," she
whispered.  
  
Watching from his corner, Guy Dorr smiled wanly. _Oh, you have your hands
full, wizard,_ he thought. _This is not some simple girl-queen. This is a
regent born._  
  
Benedict nodded reluctantly, gently taking the Queen's wrists in his hands. "I
will try," he said, slowly pulling her hands from his face.  
  
Evelyn smiled slightly. "Thank you," she said, then turned and headed back to
her chair. She sat, gathering her robes about her legs. Her face became stoic
and strong. "I think it has been proven tonight that Bagdemagus can get to
anyone, anywhere. He charmed my handmaiden—"  
  
Beside her, Rebecca lowered her head in shame.  
  
"—and he somehow seduced Captain Stephano into trying to slay me. Clearly, we
are none of us safe from his influence—"  
  
"Excuse me, my Queen?" came Viviane's voice.  
  
Eveyln cocked her head, regarding the voluptuous woman. "Yes."  
  
Viviane took a breath, glancing to Drest for a moment's support, and taking
his hand. "I am no Sorceress myself, but I . . . know some things."  
  
Evelyn arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"  
  
The buxom temptress nodded, her face showing the conflicting emotions she
felt. "My understanding is that there are many ways a wizard such as
Bagdemagus could gain influence over others. I must admit that, based upon
what I have heard, it does seem that your Captain was . . . not in his right
mind tonight."  
  
Evelyn nodded slowly. "Thank you," she said, though the words seemed forced.
She lifted her head, looking to the others. "So, how do we deal with this? I
seem to be the only one who can see the wizard, and recognize his touch upon
others. But it would not be feasible for me to expose myself just so that we
may find him."  
  
The room was quiet a moment. Thoughtful looks crossed the faces of those in
the room.  
  
"My Queen," said John, standing to her left.  
  
Evelyn turned her head. "Sir John?"  
  
He cleared his throat. "Eh . . . I believe that . . . I, as well, am able to
see him even when he wishes not to be seen."  
  
A few soft gasps sounded through the room. Evelyn peered intently upon her
knight. "Are you certain?" she asked.  
  
John nodded, trying to ignore the curious looks the others in the room gave
him. "I observed him, once, riding his pale horse through the village.
Everyone else parted before him, even though not one looked upon him directly.
It was as if . . . as if they considered him the highest royalty, yet at the
same time . . . he was invisible to them. It is strange, I know—"  
  
"No," said the Queen with a small smile. "That is how it seems to me, as
well."  
  
John smiled in return, gave a short nod.  
  
"So it appears we have our eyes," Evelyn said, for the first time since the
evening's events feeling that hope still existed. "I will charge Sir John and
Sir Cedric with the task of finding Bagdemagus. It is time we took the fight
to the bastard."  
  
Guy Dorr narrowed his eyes as he gazed upon the Queen. _Good luck, your
Highness,_ he thought.  
  
Benedict spoke first above the rumble in the room. "My Queen, if I may," he
said. "We know nothing of the Spectre. Certainly, he has been seen, and
fought, but we know not his lair, nor his motives—"  
  
"I do."  
  
The room fell silent at the sound of the Lord Chamberlain's deep, rich voice.
All eyes watched as he stepped forward, cradling the aged tome in his arms.  
  
"Do you know something?" Evelyn asked.  
  
Alistair nodded. "I believe I do," he said, and opened the book. "This is a
treatise of ancient pagan magical rituals. The Old Magic, as many would say,
and certainly the path our foe has followed."  
  
Evelyn gripped the arm rests of her chair. "What have you found?"  
  
The Chamberlain sighed. "I wish it were more," he said. "But what I have
uncovered -- given that much of pagan magic remains unknown to us -- suggests
that the wizard Bagdemagus seeks to invoke a powerful spell, one designed by
the Infernal himself, to gain dominion over the land."  
  
Evelyn raised her hand to quell the objections by Benedict and others. "Tell
me more," she said.  
  
Lord Alistair nodded, glancing to the yellowed pages of the book. "It is my
conclusion that Bagdemagus seeks to cast the spell of Ultimate Sacrifice," he
said. "In which a virgin regent is to be given to the Devil upon the Midsummer
Day."  
  
Evelyn felt a chill course through her body. The room was conspicuously quiet.
"I . . . see," she said.  
  
Benedict was the first to speak. "I have to say that it does make sense," he
said. "The wizard insured you were the only child of King Richard, and to be a
honest, a girl is much more likely to remain chaste than a boy . . . ."  
  
The Queen suddenly felt sick. She settled a hand to her stomach, a move that
was not lost upon either Rebecca nor Muriel. But as both women moved forward,
Evelyn waved them off.  

"It does not make sense," she said. "If Bagdemagus wishes to sacrifice me in
six weeks' time, why would he send his agents to assassinate me tonight?"  
  
The Lord Chamberlain snapped the book closed with a loud noise. "I do not
believe Captain Stephano was after you, my Queen," he said. His eyes drifted
meaningfully to Rebecca.  
  
Rebecca gasped, folding in upon herself as she understood. Were it not for
Cedric's arms, she might have fallen to the floor. The handmaiden began
weeping uncontrollably. With only a quick glance to his Queen, Cedric took the
young woman in his arms and carried her from the room.  
  
Evelyen breathed out through clenched teeth. "Severing loose ends," she said.  
  
Alistair nodded. "As you said, my Queen," he iterated. "Your handmaiden had
been charmed. Yet now, she has been compromised. Bagdemagus directed Captain
Stephano to slay her, seeking to silence the one voice within the castle over
which he had total control."  
  
Evelyn's brow furrowed. "So we may yet learn something from her," she said,
almost to herself.  
  
Alistair nodded. "Perhaps."  
  
Evelyn lifted her eyes, looking to a far corner. "Lord Dorr."  
  
He stepped forth, humble and subservient, or so it seemed. "My Queen."  
  
"You have delivered a great service tonight, in saving the life of my
handmaiden," she said.  
  
Guy bowed deeply. "My intent was only to serve justice," he said, giving a
flickering look to Viviane and Drest. "Beyond that, I am pledged to be your
vassal."  
  
Evelyn looked upon the man, not quite sure what to make of him, yet the image
of his valiant deeds remained fresh in her mind. "Please accept my request to
stay within Castle Vix, for as long as you wish," she said with a smile. "You
will always be considered a friend within my land."  
  
Guy clasped his hand over his heart. "My actions were motivated by nothing but
justice and truth, your Highness," he said. "But I am touched by your offer. I
accept."  
  
***  
  
Prince Drest and Lady Vivian fretted within the audience chamber, the Prince
pacing upon the ornate rug that covered the floor. All others had been
dismissed, but the Queen bade the Prince of Ural and his half-sister to remain
while she spoke with Benedict outside.  
  
"I do not like this," Drest muttered, mainly to himself.  
  
"Would you stop that?" Viviane asked with annoyance as she toyed with the lace
of her bodice. "You are acting as skittish as that girl, Rebecca."  
  
Drest glared upon Viviane. "Curse you," he growled.  
  
She looked up with surprise. "What did you say?"  
  
"I said, 'curse you,'" he repeated forcefully. "Curse you and your succubus'
power for seducing me."  
  
She smirked. "You certainly enjoyed it at the time," she commented
suggestively.  
  
Drest shook his head. "Do you ever care about your actions? What they mean,
what they do? Or is it only about getting the next available cock up your
arse?"  
  
Viviane lurched to her feet, standing up to her brother. "My actions are my
own, and not subject to scrutiny by a spoiled prince who has barely seen
twenty summers."  
  
"Wrong," he said, meeting her gaze evenly. "I am quite certain I know what
that letter told Evelyn. Incest is against God's law, in case your lustful
mind has forgotten."  
  
Viviane trembled slightly with anger, her upper lip twitching before they
curled in a sneer. "I do not follow God's law," she hissed.  
  
Drest frowned, searching his half-sister's face. "I should have known," he
said. "As soon as we return to Ural, I am having you placed in the dungeons.
Let you use your evil wiles on your fellow prisoners—"  
  
"You wouldn't dare!" she cried.  
  
Drest chuckled. "You have ruined my life by coming between Evelyn and I," he
said with a pitying look. "'Tis only right that I return the favor." He turned
his back upon her.  
  
Viviane seethed, but beneath her anger lay fear. "Drest, wait," she pleaded.
"We haven't lost your chance with the Queen. I . . . I . . . perhaps my power
might work upon her! Yes! I could seduce her, privately, and—"  
  
Drest turned around slowly, an expression of utter disgust upon his face. "And
_what_?" he cried. "You would lie with a woman, shame her into what you see as
nothing more than a political bargain?" he shook his head in wonder. "To think
I knew you, and that you knew me."  
  
"Don't do this, Drest," she said, her eyes darkening. "You do not want to make
an enemy of me."  
  
He loomed over her. "Too late," he said, his voice soft yet firm. He stepped
back. "At the least, if there is to be any good from this, it is that I now
know just what you are. I will see to it that you are treated accordingly."  
  
"No."  
  
Both Drest and Viviane looked to the doorway of the audience chamber, in which
Evelyn stood, with Benedict and Sir John behind her. The young knight held a
pair of heavy iron manacles. Evelyn's accusing gaze fell upon Viviane.  
  
"My Queen," said Drest, giving a short bow. Viviane did not move.  
  
"John," she said, not taking her eyes from the temptress. "Place the Lady in
irons and escort her to her carriage. She and her entourage are to return to
Ural."  
  
John tried to hide the smile on his face as he stepped around Evelyn. "At
once, my Queen," he said, approaching Viviane. The Prince's half-sister
balked, her eyes wide.  
  
"What!" she cried, stepping away from the knight. "Y-you cannot do this!"  
  
"I can, and I am," the Queen said.  
  
"Drest!" sputtered Viviane, even as John grabbed her by the wrists and slipped
on the manacles. But the Prince did nothing. He remained impassive as Viviane
was taken from the room. Viviane all but snarled as she jerked herself to a
stop beside Evelyn.  
  
"You do not know what you have begun," she hissed to the Queen.  
  
Evelyn trained a harsh look upon the woman. "If you dare to return to Vix, I
will put an arrow in your heart myself," she said with conviction. "Begone.
You have tainted this castle enough."  
  
John shoved Viviane forward, and Benedict joined them, following the guard and
his prisoner through the halls.  
  
The audience chamber fell silent, save for the retreating protests of Viviane.
Drest's head was lowered in shame, feeling Evelyn's eyes upon him. The Queen
closed the doors and stepped into the room.  
  
"I am sure you are wondering why I banished Viviane, and not you," she said.  
  
Drest nodded.  
  
Evelyn took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "My first impulse was to send
you both away," she said. "Lord Dorr's accusations were grave, but I wanted to
hear the truth before making a decision." She laughed ruefully. "Thankfully,
you provided all the confirmation I needed."  
  
Drest ground his teeth, his eyes reddening. "I tried to resist her," he said.  
  
Evelyn struggled to restrain her emotions. Disgust and sympathy fought in her
mind. "I know," she said after a moment. She stepped to her small throne, but
did not sit down. "I have to admit, if I had only heard of Viviane's power
from you, I would have been dubious. But she seduced John, and tried to use
her abilities on Benedict."  
  
Drest frowned. "So you knew about her?"  
  
"No, not before this night," Evelyn said. "But when I showed the letter to
Benedict, he told me what she tried to do to him. Thank God Muriel was there
to stop her. And then . . . once that came out, John revealed how she had
seduced him, as well . . . ."  
  
Hope blossomed in Drest's heart. "So, you believe me, then? That I did not . .
. _entertain_ her willingly?"  
  
Evelyn sat in her chair. "I did not say that." Her eyes glowed softly in the
light of the torches in their sconces. "At the least, I have doubts as to
whether you were in your right mind when this affair happened. Everything I
have seen from you suggests you are a righteous man, fair, just, ethical. But
I have been tricked much lately. I will not be so again."  
  
Drest nodded reluctantly. "I understand."  
  
"I will need some time to think on everything that has happened," Evelyn
continued. "Obviously, it should go without saying that I will be returning to
my chambers alone."  
  
Again, the Prince nodded. "Of course."  
  
Evelyn watched as he turned for the door. "Drest," she called out.  
  
He turned back. "My Queen?"  
  
Evelyn managed a smile. "Good night."  
  
He smiled in return, said nothing as he pushed open the doors and left.  
  
***  
  
The only man Cedric could trust to guard Rebecca's chambers was Falhurst, whom
it now seemed would become the new Captain. As Cedric approached the
handmaiden's door, Falhurst snapped to attention.  
  
Cedric chuckled softly. "There's no need for that," he said.  
  
Falhurst shrugged, smiling rakishly. He was a wiry man, quick and strong, with
short, curly black hair and sunken cheeks. "Given the events of the evening, I
thought it important that all appearances be kept up."  
  
Cedric nodded, clasping the man's shoulder. "You know, it was not so long ago
that stood beside you in rank."  
  
"Seems a lifetime, doesn't it? So much has happened."  
  
Cedric nodded. "And more is to come," he said. "The Queen will need men such
as you."  
  
"Only the Queen?" asked Falhurst pointedly.  
  
"I, as well," admitted Cedric. "All of us."  
  
Falhurst took Cedric's hand, gripped it tightly. "These are dark times,
Cedric, and you are still coming into your own. You fight well and bravely,
and you have a solid head on those square shoulders. But what you are lacking
is experience."  
  
"I am all too aware of that, Falhurst. That is why I need you. I need you to
lead, and advise."  
  
Falhurst took a breath. "I was afraid of this," he said, then chuckled. "You
wish for me to take Stephano's place, don't you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Falhurst sighed. "Six years of serving the Guard, turned down at every turn
for promotion, and now, suddenly, here it is."  
  
"Here it is," echoed Cedric. "I think you will do well."  
  
Falhurst let go of Cedric's hand, slapped the younger man's shoulder. "I
suppose we will see," he said with a wink. He stepped from the door with a
knowing look on his face. "I don't think you will need me to stand here for
the remainder of the night."  
  
Cedric blushed, holding back a smile. "Eh . . . it has been a hard night. You
should get your rest."  
  
Falhurst bowed stiffly. "As you wish, milord," he said, then took a few steps
away before turning back. "Cedric."  
  
The young knight looked up as he was reaching for Rebecca's door.  
  
Falhurst smiled slyly. "Bed her well," he said, then turned on his heel and
marched down the corridor.  
  
Cedric chuckled, then pushed open the door.  
  
***  
  
Rebecca sat at her small vanity, dressed for bed in a long, pale gown. She
stared at her reflection in the mirror, seeing a forlorn girl staring back.
The teeth of the brush loosened the tangles in her hair. She wished they would
get rid of the ones in her mind.  
  
The creaking of the door made her heart leap with anxiety, but seeing Cedric
enter behind the sad-looking girl in the mirror, she managed a smile. "My
hero," she whispered.  
  
Cedric closed the door softly behind him, letting his eyes wander over the
handmaiden's frame. The gown was nearly sheer, making it obvious that Rebecca
wore nothing underneath. The swell of her hips, the full heart-shape of her
buttocks made him catch his breath. "I, eh, wanted to wish you a good night,"
he said clumsily.  
  
Rebecca blushed slightly, set down her brush. She uncurled her legs from the
small vanity and turned to face him, her eyes glowing with affection. "You
were very gallant tonight," she said.  
  
Cedric pursed his lips. "I should have saved you," he said.  
  
Rebecca let out a nervous laugh, then settled her hands on her knees,
straightening her arms. Her full breasts were outlined by the fabric of her
gown, the darkness of her areolas visible. Her eyes suddenly welled with
moisture. "Cedric, my love, you save me every day," she said, her voice a
quivering whisper.  
  
He stepped forward. "'Tis my duty," he said, then smiled. "But more than that,
my desire."  
  
Rebecca sniffled, smiling genuinely. "And . . . what is your desire right
now?"  
  
Cedric licked his lips, gazing into Rebecca's eyes. "You."  
  
Wordlessly, the handmaiden stood, took a single step toward Cedric. Keeping
her eyes upon him, she reached back to undo the lace behind her neck, then
shrugged her shoulders, letting the smooth fabric slide down her body.
Quivering with both excitement and nervousness, she stood nude before her
knight, arms at her sides. "Then you may have me."  
  
Cedric swallowed dryly, taking in the beauty before him. Rebecca's pale skin
contrasted with the long, dark hair that hung from her head and the soft nest
at the juncture of her thighs. Her breasts sat, full and ripe, upon her chest,
the dark nipples stiffening under his gaze. "Oh, my sweet," he whispered, then
stepped to her, taking the young woman in his arms. Their kiss was passionate,
needy, accompanied by soft moans and sighs.  
  
"I want you to love me," Rebecca whispered, settling her hands upon Cedric's
armored torso. She suddenly giggled. "But first, you must get rid of this."  
  
Cedric chuckled. "Feel free to help," he suggested.  
  
Grinning, Rebecca helped the knight remove his hauberk and the tunic beneath.
Then she slid to her knees, unbuckling Cedric's belt. The young man trembled,
feeling his arousal growing. He touched Rebecca's hair, compelling her look up
to his face as she pulled his breeches down. His nearly-engorged cock brushed
her cheek.  
  
"May I taste you?" she asked softly.  
  
Cedric shuddered. "If you wish," he said, captivated by the sight of Rebecca's
angelic face, her full, dark lips pouting as they parted.  
  
"I wish," she whispered, then closed her eyes and began licking around the
shiny head of his cock, tasting the sweet fluid that seeped out. Cedric
groaned, having never experienced such ecstasy before. He felt every flutter
of her tongue around the tip of his manhood, the smooth wet brushes of her
lips, the warmth of her sighs. He caught his breath when she opened her mouth
and took him inside, sucking tenderly, lovingly.  
  
"Oh, Rebecca," he groaned, automatically pushing against her. The pleasure was
exquisite, and while what Rebecca was doing was something Cedric had always
thought only harlots did, he could not help but luxuriate in the sensations.  
  
She sucked him lovingly for several moments, gliding her mouth back and forth,
smoothing her hands up and down Cedric's strong thighs. Her tickling fingers
found the heavy sacs hanging beneath the knight's shaft, and she squeezed them
gently.  
  
"Oh!" gasped Cedric, feeling the hot, pleasurable rush begin. He looked down
at her face, trembling at the sight of her lips wrapped around his pulsing
cock. "Rebecca!"  
  
She slid her mouth off him with a sigh, and licked her lips, smiling up at her
lover. "Not just yet," she said, then stood. Her hands wandered up his chest,
to his neck, then his face. She kissed him deeply, passionately. She felt him
shuddering as the need for his release ebbed away. She smiled, taking his
hand, and lead him to her small bed.  
  
The bed where she had been defiled by the wizard. The bed that had become a
mark of shame for her. But now, it was to be re-christened, and with real
love.  
  
She lay back upon it, bringing Cedric with her. Her eyes gazed adoringly upon
him as he settled his weight atop her. The stiffness between his legs brushed
the damp hairs surrounding her sex. She parted her legs automatically, hooking
her ankles behind his calves.  
  
Their bodies rubbed against one another, their passion shared with heated
kisses and soft moans. Cedric tasted the sweetness of her skin as he kissed,
licked, and nipped at Rebecca's neck, then as he made his way to her pillowy
breasts. The girl gasped, clutching at his hair as Cedric surrounded a stiff
nipple with his mouth. She purred at the feel of his teeth grazing the
sensitive nub.  
  
And then he was making his way lower, planting soft kisses upon her slightly-
rounded stomach, dipping the tip of his tongue into her navel. The hair
covering her pubic mound tickled his chest.  
  
"Cedric," Rebecca said, clutching his shoulders. She stared into his eyes as
he lifted his head. "I want you inside me, love."  
  
Cedric's heart fluttered. "Are you sure?"  
  
She nodded. "Please. Take me. I want to be yours."  
  
Cedric moved up over her, gazing down upon her beautiful face. He reached
between them, guiding his cock to where it wanted to go. He winced at the heat
he felt, the slick wet lips that parted for him. Both he and Rebecca groaned
as he slowly pushed within her. Rebecca whimpered in pleasure, lifting her
legs, wrapping them around him and urging him deep. Their mouths found each
other as they moved.  
  
"I love you, Rebecca," Cedric panted, sucking her lower lip. "I'll never leave
you."  
  
"Never?" she asked, gripping his muscular arms.  
  
Cedric smiled, kissed her tenderly. "Till death do us part, my love."  
  
Rebecca smiled with emotion, tears dripping down her cheeks. "And even
beyond," she added, moaning as she returned the kiss. "I love you, Cedric."  
  
***  
  
As had been arranged, Guy met the wizard within the stables, where the stench
of horse-sweat filled the air. He did not bring a lamp, nor a torch, and as
such, the broad lane of the stable was colored only by slight shafts of pale
moonlight.  
  
"I am not pleased," came a voice from the darkness.  
  
Guy breathed in and out deeply. "I thought he had slain her," he said.  
  
"But he did not," Bagdemagus said, stepping into view. His eyes were
malevolent as they settled upon Guy Dorr. "I expected more from you."  
  
Guy bristled. "So what would you have me do? Kill the wench myself?"  
  
The wizard chuckled. "Actually . . . yes."  
  
Guy set his jaw. "That will be tricky."  
  
"Not up to the challenge?" asked Bagdemagus with a sarcastic tone.  
  
Guy thought against defending his pride. "As you wished, I delivered the
letter, and slew Stephano. I have endeared myself to the Queen. But I do not
doubt that there will be a few eyes upon me . . . especially those of the
Prince."  
  
Bagdemagus mused, touching his chin. "I had expected stiffer retribution
toward him from Evelyn," he said. "Apparently, he has endeared himself to her
as well."  
  
"I believe it is more than that," Guy said.  
  
The wizard arched an interested brow. "Oh?"  
  
"Yes. She appears much more shrewd than I would expect from a girl so young.
That, and . . . she claims to have the Sight."  
  
Bagdemagus nodded. "I deduced as much," he said. "It will make little
difference."  
  
"She is not the only one."  
  
Bagdemagus fell silent, glaring upon his vassal. "What do you mean?" he asked
at last.  
  
"One of her knights, Sir John," Guy said. "He, too, claims to be able to See."  
  
Bagdemagus frowned. "The stable boy?" he asked with a small chuckle. But the
mirth faded as he thought. An expression of realization dawned upon his face.
"Oh, that is interesting. The grandson of a whore has the Sight. Makes me
wonder just whose bed that old whore once shared."  
  
Guy was puzzled by the wizard's words, but he decided not to question them. In
the brief time he had agreed to serve Bagdemagus, Guy had learned that his new
liege would reveal what he wanted, when he wanted. "At any rate, the Queen has
charged her knights with the task of finding you."  
  
Bagdemagus made a dismissive noise. "Those whelps could not kill me before,
and they certainly won't be able to do so again," he said. "I am not concerned
about that. What I am concerned about is Rebecca. The longer she stays away
from me, the weaker my hold becomes. She will, eventually, remember
everything. I cannot have that."  
  
Guy nodded curtly. "I understand," he said.  
  
The wizard fixed him with a stern look. "You had better," he said
meaningfully, then stepped back into the shadows.




        A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 18


The embers had long since cooled, leaving blackened planks of jagged wood that
jutted up from the ground like the ribs of the earth. All that truly remained
of the simple wooden shed was the mammoth wheel, turning lazily in the gentle
waters.  
  
He had, at first, been angry. Potions, precious herbs, a lifetime's worth of
hoarding the rarest books and scrolls. Mysteries most of the world would never
understand were now gone, literally as ashes upon the wind. Oh, yes, there had
certainly been anger within the wizard's mind. It had taken some time to let
it temper . . . and be transformed.  
  
Upon his mount, Guy Dorr watched as Bagdemagus took a knee in the sooted
ruins, touching the scorched earth. The apparently sentimental pose made the
rogue frown. _This is the man I serve?_ He thought. _A great and deadly
wizard, who keeps an entire kingdom on edge . . . yet he is just as human, or
nearly so, as I. Returning to his ruined home, as the Queen had to hers . . .
_Dorr chuckled._ There is irony and perhaps even justice in that._  
  
His eyes narrowed as he watched the wizard, moving his hand just above the
ashes and coal. What Dorr had first perceived as sentiment now seemed to be
something more practical. Bagdemagus was searching for something. Dorr's
suspicion was confirmed as Bagdemagus suddenly thrust his hand down through
burned and scorched wood, then returned, clutching something small.  
  
Bagdemagus stood and walked back from the remains of his sanctuary, dusting
his hands, cleaning the small object he had retrieved: a ring. Dorr saw only a
glimpse of the sizable ornamentation before the wizard slipped it within an
interior pocket. The rogue said nothing of it as Bagdemagus climbed smoothly
into the saddle of his pale horse.  
  
"This changes nothing, you know," the wizard said, gazing to the forest as if
he could see through it to the castle beyond. "The fire was merely an
inconvenience."  
  
"Of course," responded Dorr. He could not hide the sarcasm in his voice.  
  
Bagdemagus smirked, not looking to his vassal as he pulled on his riding
gloves. "Do you truly believe that such a desperate act means anything?" he
asked rhetorically. He obviously did not expect an answer. "To be honest, I am
a bit impressed with their fortitude and courage. It will make their downfall
all the more to savor."  
  
He turned his head, storm-grey eyes boring into Dorr's. "Nothing has changed.
In fact, this has only escalated matters. The Midsummer's Day draws nigh. The
time for playing games is gone. There will be no more pawns to play with. Only
a Queen. And a knight."  
  
Dorr nodded, although he was not entirely convinced. The wizard did, indeed,
play a good game with pawns. But when it came down to confronting the most
important pieces . . . Dorr was not altogether certain Bagdemagus could hold
his own. _Perhaps he has spent so much time in the shadows that he falters in
the light . . . ._  
  
"They think they have struck me a blow," Bagdemagus said as he gathered the
reigns of his infernal mount. "I think I should show them that they have done
no such thing . . . and that their perceived victory has earned some
retribution." With a sharp cry and a digging of his heels, the wizard spurred
the pale horse forward.  
  
Dorr took in a breath. _I certainly hope so, wizard. I do not intend to go
down with the ship, you know._ With a brief "Hah!" he followed the wizard into
the woods.  
  
***  
  
_Clack! Clack! Clack!_  
  
The sounds of wood striking wood echoed across the castle's training grounds.
A ring of Royal Guardsmen, stripped to the waist in the beating heat of the
midday sun, watched as Cedric and Falhurst squared off, attacking and
defending, thrusting and parrying, striking and dodging.  
  
"Good! Good!" cried Falhurst with a grin. "Your skill grows like a giant every
day!"  
  
"I do not take my duty lightly," replied Cedric, muscled torso gleaming with
sweat as he advanced again. He hammered expertly with the wooden training
sword, his blows much less clumsy than they had been, those weeks before.
Every strike carried with it power and poise. Falhurst found himself on the
defensive more often than he would have preferred.  
  
"Just remember," Falhurst said, each word expelled with a puff of breath as he
fended off the young knight's blows. "There is more to swordfighting than the
sword!" So saying, he ducked beneath a powerful swing, spinning about on one
leg as he swept the other out. He caught Cedric by the ankles, and the younger
man toppled back, landing with a grunt upon the dirty ground.  
  
Cedric lay stunned a moment, recovering the breath that had been forced from
his lungs. He found himself staring at the tip of Falhurst's wooden blade,
hovering just an inch from his face.  
  
"You fight well, Cedric," the Captain said. "You just may be the best
swordsman in the castle. But you still lack experience." He stepped back,
lowering the blade to his side and offering his hand.  
  
Cedric ground his teeth, then gripped his Captain's hand. As soon as he was on
his feet, however, he shoved forcefully into Falhurst's chest, bearing the man
to the ground and falling with him. His hand planted on the Captain's chest,
he held his own wooden blade threateningly, the dull tip just nudging
Falhurst's neck. Cedric's face glowed with anger and frustration, his eyes
frighteningly fierce.  
  
"I need only get this close," hissed the young knight.  
  
Falhurst glared back. "I am not the wizard," he spat. "And you are out of
line."  
  
The fury in Cedric's eyes faded. As if a man coming out of a trance, he eased
back, moving his sword away. "I must apologize," he said, offering his hand to
the Captain of the Guard.  
  
Falhurst grunted as he was hauled up, and met the knight's admonished gaze.
"You fight with your heart like no ten men," the Captain said. "But you must
fight with your head, as well."  
  
Cedric took a deep breath, forcing calm to enter his mind. "He will pay," he
vowed, yet again. That singular phrase had become nearly a mantra since
Rebecca's death.  
  
"Doubtless he will, Sir Cedric," Falhurst said, clasping the younger man's
shoulder. "But if you don't temper that fury of yours, it will be by someone
else's hand."  
  
Cedric managed to push a smile to his lips as he nodded. "You're a fine
teacher, Falhurst."  
  
The Captain grinned. "Come on. I believe I feel an ale calling."  
  
Cedric's smile stretched and grew as it became more honest. "I believe so,
too."  
  
***  
  
Eric was alone within the stable when Lord Dorr arrived. He barely glanced up
as the man dismounted; just enough to confirm whom it was. Eric's ears caught
the sounds as the lord pulled his riding gloves off.  
  
"I'd never have figured you for a stablehand," Lord Dorr said.  
  
Eric's response was quick, as if he had readied it. "And I never figured you
for nobility." He remained with his back turned to the man.  
  
Dorr bristled slightly. He had never been a man to be treated casually;
briefly, he thought of the dagger at his belt, and how easy it would be to
slip it between the giant's ribs. But he restrained himself; Eric's death
would serve nothing, after all. "'Twas something I felt necessary to hide from
the church elders," he said dismissively. "Not many lords' sons take the path
of the cloth."  
  
Eric chuckled as he turned around, lips curled in a knowing smirk. He looked
down upon the shorter, slimmer man, wiping his hands with a rag. "That is
because none do," he said probingly. "Just as they don't vanish in the midst
of the night with the contents of the collection box."  
  
Dorr pursed his lips, cocking his head slightly with a look of haughtiness.
"You had best guard your words, Eric. Such baseless accusations could be
grounds for imprisonment where I am from."  
  
Eric took a single brave step closer to the rogue. "And just where is that,
_Guy_?" he asked. "Certainly not Ural."  
  
Guy laughed. "Well, obviously not," he said. He huffed, slipping his gloves
into his belt, just beside the hilt of his dagger. "To be honest, my family
was poor, little more than country royalty. The Great Drought had hit our
lands hard. Why else do you think I would have been sent away to a monastery?"  
  
Eric frowned slightly, thinking.  
  
Guy let a small smile escape. "I don't blame you your suspicions, Eric," he
said, effecting a non-threatening pose. "I am a stranger to your world, after
all. Well, this world, at any rate. I suppose it is only natural you might
fear I would reveal your background."  
  
Guy stepped closer and reached up a friendly hand, settling it on Eric's broad
shoulder. "Be at ease. I know not why you decided to exchange the life of a
translator of heathen works to scrub the flanks of sweaty horses, and to be
honest, I don't much care. We both had our reasons for leaving the cloistered
life; 'twas not for us. Obviously, we have both found better masters."  
  
Eric mused silently, feeling the entrance of doubt into his suspicions. He
nodded without a word.  
  
Guy smiled. "You were ever the insightful giant then, Eric," he said warmly.
"I see that has not changed. Perhaps, sometime, we should catch up, you and
I."  
  
Eric glanced to Guy's horse. "I'll see that Judas is tended to," he said.  
  
Guy smiled warmly. "I know you will. As ever, you are a trustworthy soul." He
turned and headed out of the stable, his smile vanishing instantly. He would
have to keep a close eye on Eric now, he knew. For a moment, he considered
alerting Bagdemagus . . . but something told him the wizard did not need to
know everything.  
  
_No, definitely not everything . . . ._  
  
***  
  
Who the girl was did not matter. She may not have even had a name so far as
Eric was concerned. It was enough that she had gathered up her skirts and
lifted her legs high and wide for him. He had rarely been so selfish in his
conquests – at the least, he wanted to woo the women he chased enough to make
them want him – but on this night, his frustrations needed an outlet. And the
comely redhead was more than willing.  
  
He should have made a different choice, he realized, once he had pulled her
knickers down and unstrung her bodice. She was busty, and possessed a thick,
flame-colored forest of hair about her sex. She reminded him of Viviane almost
immediately, which, strangely enough, had aroused him at first. The scullery
wench had teased him to hardness with her mouth, then grinned as she lay back
in the stable's hay loft. She obviously enjoyed exposing herself as she
splayed her legs like those of a cooked chicken.  
  
She – what was her name? Adele? Ada? It didn't really matter – grunted and
cooed like a well-groomed whore as Eric thrust away inside her. She came once,
then urged him to pull out so that she could taste her own fluid upon him,
then propped herself up on knees and elbows, offering her backside. She winced
at first at the initial penetration, then growled her pleasure while rocking
back against his hard body.  
  
She rutted like a feral creature, allowing herself to be taken, mewling like a
cat in heat as Eric thrust into her again and again. He felt her clench, heard
her moans as she became awash with pleasure, and finally felt his own rush
begin. At the last moment, he slipped from her spasming tunnel and thrust out
over her firm, rounded cheeks. His fluid splashed into her hair, across her
back, trickled down her thighs.  
  
He fell back onto the bed of straw beside her, taking deep breaths. The
cherub-faced redhead relaxed, cooing contentedly, brushing back sticky strands
of hair from her face as she smiled.  
  
"You're quite the lover, Eric," she expelled, her face glowing and sweaty. "I
have to admit, I was curious . . . ."  
  
Eric stared at the ceiling, noting the warped timbers that made up the roof.
The recent rain had made him aware that the stables needed a good shingling.
"I am glad to have satisfied your curiosity," he said, almost absently.  
  
The redhead moved closer, letting her hand wander aimlessly across his
thickly-muscled chest. "Mayhap . . . in a bit . . . we could have another go?"
she asked.  
  
Eric sat up, a suddenly sour taste filling his mouth. He stared out through
the hay-door of the loft. "Do you ever wonder about where your life is going?"
he asked, mainly of himself. "Why you have chosen to do what you do?"  
  
The scullery maid scoffed. "I serve in the Queen's kitchen," she said. "I
consider myself fortuitous enough. I could be sloshing ale in the tavern, or
trading myself for pennies."  
  
Eric stood and approached the broad opening of the hay loft door. He looked
down upon the darkened courtyard. "I wonder . . . ."  
  
"There are worse things you could be doing, lover," the girl chided, then
giggled.  
  
_Yes, and I've done them, _he thought._ Adultery, betraying the church.
Sinning, it seems, has become my occupation._ He glanced back to the wanton
redhead, smiling thinly as she fanned her naked legs in invitation. He pushed
away from the opening and approached her. _No sense stopping now . . . ._  
  
***  
  
They could have gone to the tavern with the other guardsmen who were off duty
that evening, but Cedric did not want to overhear any whisperings about
Rebecca. He knew there was still talk about 'the Devil's Whore' and to what
level her corruption had extended. Mixing that kind of overheard talk with
inebriation, Cedric knew, would not be the best of ideas.  
  
So he and Falhurst settled for tapping one of the oak casks in the keep's
cellar. Even though it was just the two of them, seated at a tiny table and
surrounded by the rank aromas of spilled beer and wine, it was far cheaper
than a tavern. Predictably, it took only a couple of pints to unleash the dogs
of Cedric's emotion.  
  
". . . care not what it takes, but that man will be dead," the young knight
avowed. His eyes were already dark and sullen, studying the scratched and
grainy surface of the table. "I will be there when it happens, to see the
shock and pain on his face as he suffers against the blade of my sword."  
  
"Temper your rage, Cedric," the Captain cautioned. "Use it. Don't let it use
you."  
  
The knight sputtered, then wiped the foam from his mouth. "You didn't lose the
woman you love, Falhurst," he said gravely.  
  
The Captain leaned back. "Not to some evil wizard, no," he said. "I lost my
wife when she fell from her horse."  
  
Cedric raised his frowning face. "You were married?"  
  
"For a few wonderful years, at least. Deirdre passed . . . it's been almost
four years, now. Trust me, the pain fades. It never goes away, but it fades."  
  
Cedric gritted his teeth. "Not until that bastard is in the ground," he
growled.  
  
"Aye, I'm sure that will help," responded Falhurst with a sly smile.  
  
"No, burned, first," Cedric continued, as if to himself. He gulped from his
flagon. "Then quartered. All while he's alive."  
  
Falhurst chuckled darkly. "You are not a man to cross lightly, I see."  
  
Cedric downed the remainder of his beer and slammed the cup to the table as he
lurched to his feet. "I don't feel like waiting," he rumbled, heading to the
cellar stairs.  
  
Falhurst was startled, enough that he nearly fell from his chair. As it was,
he was several paces behind the knight as the angry young man jogged up the
limestone steps and shoved open the doors. "Cedric!" he cried, scrambling to
his feet, ignoring the spilled beer that soaked into his tunic. "Where are you
going, man?"  
  
"I'm going to exact my revenge!" spouted the knight, now running for the
stables. The rains from days before were brewing again; the night sky was dark
and obfuscated, with nary a star to be seen. Thunder rumbled distantly, like
the approach of an invading army.  
  
"What! How?" yelled Falhurst, trying to keep up. But Cedric was faster,
sprinting now, disappearing into the stables. The guards upon the battlements
watched with interest, wonder, and some amusement.  
  
"Don't let—" began Falhurst, understanding, now, that Cedric had set himself
upon a foolish, impulsive quest. But as he tried to call to the guardsmen at
the gate, his words were drowned out by a loud crack of thunder. The startled
neighing of horses from within the stable followed instantly.  
  
_Damn it!_ thought Falhurst desperately. _It's as if the elements – or fate –
are conspiring against me._ He reached the stable doors just they burst open.
The magnificent sight of the roan mare, studded leather barding covering its
front flanks and head, with Cedric mounted within the military saddle above,
took him aback.  
  
_Like an angel of vengeance,_ Falhurst thought instantly.  
  
Cedric gathered the reigns in his gloved hands, looked down upon Falhurst. "I
go to find the wizard," he said. "Come with me if you wish, but do not try to
stop me."  
  
Falhurst watched after the knight as Justice bore its rider to the gates. The
guards did not hesitate, turning the wheels to part the broad wooden doors,
allowing Sir Cedric to leave. Falhurst cursed under his breath, then spat.  
  
"Damn that boy," he muttered, then ran into the stable for his own steed.  
  
***  
  
Guy Dorr stepped from the shadows behind the stables, watching Falhurst
spurring his steed through the gates. He smirked; _the wizard certainly has
insight, _he thought_. He knew it would only be a matter of time before that
boy grew restless._  
  
He slipped the large ring from his finger, the one Bagdemagus had taken from
the ashen remains of his hovel, and held it to his lips. "The trap is sprung.
Cedric hunts for you in the village." His whispered words seemed pulled into
the ring, for they were barely heard by even his ears.  
  
He waited for a count of nine, then clicked the tiny latch on the side. The
top of the ring sprang open, revealing a silvery mist that quickly shot into
the sky. Guy watched it disappear, momentarily wondering if the enchantment
would truly work.  
  
_I suppose we will see . . . ._  
  
***  
  
When Falhurst arrived at the tavern in the village, it was obvious that Cedric
had already been and gone. Drunken and half-drunken Royal Guardsmen stood out
front, beginning to be pelted by the light mist that preceded a hard rainfall.
Many seemed put out, angered, or anxious.  
  
"Where did he go?" roared Falhurst as he reigned in the black mare beneath
him.  
  
Several guardsmen came to attention instantly in the presence of their
Captain, and saluted. "Do you mean Sir Cedric?" one of them called.  
  
Falhurst expelled air through clenched teeth. "Of course I mean Cedric!" he
barked.  
  
"He just about accosted us, Cap'n!" crawled a burly guardsman, swaying
slightly. "All but demanding we follow him to hunt the wizard—"  
  
"He asked for volunteers!" corrected another quickly, this one a more lucid
man, wiry and tall. He met Falhurst's eye. "The knight, sir, was quite
animated. He asked for men to follow him, but he was quite . . . impatient. He
took off that way."  
  
Falhurst glanced down the road that lead to the bridge, and steeled himself.
He was as superstitious as the next man, but something boded truly evil this
night, and he could feel it.  
  
"Captain?"  
  
"Gather the most fit and sober," Falhurst commanded. "Follow to the bridge.
Send another to alert Sir John."  
  
The tall guardsman nodded. "Aye, Captain."  
  
"Do it!" barked Falhurst, wondering how quickly he had fallen into the role of
the man giving orders, instead of taking them. "And do it quickly!" He then
dug his heels and slapped the reigns, spurring his horse forward.  
  
***  
  
Falhurst heard the distinct clash of steel on steel as he neared the bridge.
His heart hardened as he drove his mount to the breaking point, intuitively
knowing that Cedric – or at least, someone – was in dire peril. His intuition
was quickly realized once the hooves of his mount began clacking upon the old
and sturdy wooden planks.  
  
Cedric was surrounded, yet his flashing sword and fierce skill kept his
attackers at bay. The roan mare lay on her side, midway across the bridge, a
good ten paces from the knight. Falhurst took in the black-feathered shafts
that littered her body in an instant and judged, from the lack of movement,
that Justice had been slain.  

But so had a good three of the young knight's attackers. Their bodies lay
lifeless upon the bridge, slowly seeping blood onto the aged boards. Cedric's
foes were garbed as bandits, in black leather and half-face masks, brandishing
crude curved blades. A quartet of them surrounded Cedric on all sides, yet the
knight was doing an admirable job of turning and slashing, parrying strikes
aimed at him from all directions.  
  
_He won't last against them, good as he is, _thought Falhurst as he unsheathed
his blade._ Good thing I am here . . . ._  
  
The charge of the midnight-colored horse was all but undetected by the five
men battling upon the bridge, until just a moment before Falhurst's strike.
The Captain slashed downward as he passed, all but cutting one of the bandits
in two with a vicious strike. For a brief moment, Falhurst and Cedric caught
the other's eye; that moment was enough to establish a basic strategy.  
  
Taking advantage of the momentary chaos, Cedric ducked and rolled, coming up
upon his feet beside the man Falhurst had just cut down. He slammed his boot
into the still-twitching man's head, rendering him still, and faced the other
three. Meanwhile, Falhurst reached the end of the bridge, turned his mount,
and spurred the black horse forward in another deadly charge.  
  
The three brigands pondered their options quickly, casting looks back and
forth. With an orchestrated cry, two of them lunged for Cedric while the third
turned to meet Falhurst's charge.  
  
It was then that Falhurst saw the object rolling across the bridge, back along
the way he had come, a good thirty or so paces away. Over the head of the
bandit who was set to receive his charge, Falhurst watched the small keg,
spilling thick oil, as it bumped against the far side. The distraction was
enough, and the Captain cursed himself for having been caught off-guard . . .
just before the bandit's strike came.  
  
Instead of slashing at the man in the saddle, the brigand swung low, clutching
his heavy, curved blade in both hands. The black mare howled piteously as its
legs were cut down. The heavy bulk of the beast crashed to the bridge amid
hideous shrieks of pain, hurling Falhurst from the saddle. He slammed into the
wooden flooring of the bridge, mere feet from the dark slick of oil that ran
like a stream across the boards.  
  
A flick of steel, the sound of the rush of flame . . . Falhurst turned his
head to his left, seeing a shadowed figure within one of the stony alcoves of
the bridge. The figure held what looked like a miniature torch, blazing with
fire, which illuminated his features. The Captain saw dark eyes, long, thick
black hair, and a sneering smile before the match was tossed onto the oil . .
. .  
  
Falhurst scrambled back, just as the blaze caught and grew, catching up his
sword as he heard the heavy footfalls behind him. He spun about just in time
to catch the vile brigand's blow upon his sword, and shoved the man back,
responding with skill and confidence. Steel rang off steel as the bandit was
beaten back. Behind the Captain, a veritable wall of flame shot to the sky,
effectively cutting off reinforcements. Falhurst could feel the heat against
his back.  
  
Cedric, meanwhile, had clamored onto the edge of the bridge – upon the same
spot from which Bagdemagus, he remembered, had leapt – and was taking
advantage of the high ground as his two foes slashed and jabbed. He batted
away their blades, then jumped with a flip, landing as if expertly timed. Low
in a crouch, he slashed backward, his sword nearly slicing one of his foes in
half, just at the waist.  
  
The bandit convulsed, sputtering blood, all strength gone. His sword dropped,
as did his body. Cedric allowed himself another grin of victory – he had been
enjoying a few of them that night already – and jerked his blade free.
Standing, he faced the last of the bandits, his sword extending out toward the
man's chest. Drops of blood rolled off the polished, sterling blade.  
  
"Join them, or flee," Cedric said simply.  
  
The last of the bandits hesitated a moment, then huffed and turned tail.
Cedric smirked.  
  
"Sir knight!"  
  
Cedric spun about, adopting a practiced, defensive stance, holding his blade
in both hands. Across the battlefield which the bridge had become – yet again
– the young knight saw Falhurst, held against the body of a taller, darker
man, with the blazing bonfire behind them casting them both in shadow. But no
shadow could obscure the blade held against Falhurst's throat, nor the evil,
maniacal gleam in the eyes of the man who held the knife.  
  
"Bagdemagus," hissed Cedric through clenched teeth. Hatred and desire for
vengeance made him take a step.  
  
"Come any closer," the wizard said, grinning above Falhurst. "And your friend
dies."  
  
Cedric took another step. "I'll wager his sacrifice against yours," he
intoned.  
  
Falhurst's flashed widely. The wizard laughed. "So you would see your friend
dead, just for the opportunity to slay me?"  
  
Cedric hesitated a moment, looking to Falhurst. He could plainly see the fear
in the Captain's eyes, but also the resignation. Falhurst was a good man; he
knew that his role as a Royal Guardsman – and their Captain, no less – meant
that certain things were above his own life. As a knight, Cedric's priorities
took precedence over Falhurst's, as a matter of course.  
  
_But is it right?_ Cedric wondered. He stopped his methodical charge_. I can't
expect him to sacrifice himself, just for the sake of my revenge . . . can I?_  
  
Falhurst breathed out, obviously thankful for Cedric's pause. He held onto the
supernaturally strong arms that held him immobile, waiting for the moment to
break free.  
  
"Let him go, wizard," Cedric said at last. "Then it will be just you and I.
Man to man."  
  
Bagdemagus laughed. Loud and long, he laughed, to the point that it unsettled
even Cedric's fierce determination, making the young man wonder, _what is he
up to?_  
  
The wizard's baleful laugh faded, and he gave sneering look to the young
knight. "You should know better by now, _Sir Cedric,_" he said. He reaffirmed
his grip upon the blade that was held close to Falhurst's throat. "I do not
play fair."  
  
"Cedric!" cried Falhurst. "Behind you!"  
  
Cedric began to whip about, but it was too late. The half-dozen masked men had
appeared from the shadows and quickly took their places. Two of them swung
lariats above their heads that they hurled just as the Captain's words were
shouted. Cedric grunted in anger, fear, and frustration as first his left,
then his right arm were lashed. His sword fell from his hand, clattering upon
the boards of the bridge. Immediately, he struggled against his bonds, but it
was no use.  
  
A third found its way about his neck. Cedric coughed, then gurgled. He found
himself stumbling back, and fell to his knees. His eyes blazed with fury,
staring upon the wizard who held his friend captive.  
  
"Let . . ." Cedric coughed again as the noose around his neck was jerked. "Let
him go."  
  
Bagdemagus considered the man he held against him. He could feel, even smell,
the fear radiating off him. The thumb of his hand that held the knife against
Falhurst's throat graced the man's chin. "As you wish," he said in a dark
voice, then sliced the blade viciously.  
  
"No!" screamed Cedric, watching as blood poured from the gaping slit in
Falhurst's throat, as the man fell from Bagdemagus' clutches, hand slapping to
his neck. Blood spurted from between tightly-clenched fingers as Falhurst
tried to stem the flow. It was a reflexive, and ultimately useless, attempt.  
  
"Falhurst . . . ."  
  
The Captain sputtered as he collapsed, reaching with his remaining hand toward
the knight. Cedric could only watch helplessly as his friend died. He stamped
his teeth shut, let the image before him burn deeply within his mind, to join
the pain he felt for Rebecca . . . to fuel the bonfire of vengeance that
existed in place of his heart.  
  
Finally, as Falhurst twitched in his last moments, Cedric lifted his gaze to
meet the wizard, outlined against the columns of flame behind him. The image
seemed fitting for a man who belonged in hell, Cedric thought.  
  
"Your life is mine," Cedric muttered.  
  
Bagdemagus grinned as he stood over his captive. "No," he said. "Yours is
mine, my simple-minded knight." He knelt and cupped Cedric's chin. "For,
whether you like it or not, you will deliver Evelyn to me."  
  
"Never," vowed Cedric, spitting.  
  
Bagdemagus wiped his face, then smiled evilly. "You are so predictable, it is
pathetic." He stood and addressed the men holding Cedric. "Take him and secure
him."  
  
***  
  
John could see the flames as soon as he sped through the castle gates, not
waiting for the guardsmen that would follow. His heart palpitated with fear at
the thought of the village being on fire, but as the horse's hooves brought
him closer, he could see that it was only the bridge. A crowd of villagers had
gathered near the foot, forming a line as they passed buckets full of dirt.
The women and children filled the buckets from laden carts, and retrieved them
when the empty vessels were tossed back.  
  
John dismounted, approaching the fire. It was a vicious one, all right, and if
the bridge had not been as sturdy as it was, it would already have burnt to
ashes. As it was, the bridge would not be useable until it was repaired, at
least not for horses or wagons.  
  
"I'll take the front," John said to the man closest the fire, tossing dirt
upon the blaze. He nodded and moved back, giving John room. "Keep them coming
as fast as you can!" he roared.  
  
Minutes passed in handfuls as John heaved bucket after bucket of dirt upon the
fire. He called Cedric's name now and then, felt anxiety growing as there was
no return. Eventually, the flames began to abate, enough to look through them
and see the bodies strewn about the bridge. John cursed and hurled the bucket
in his hands aside. Carelessly, he leapt through the opening in the flames,
ripping his sword free. Sweat streamed down his face from being so close to
the fire.  
  
The boards creaked; some of them were obviously weakened, others had fallen to
the waters below. John watched his step as he approached the closest body, a
chill running down his spine upon recognizing the coat of a Royal Guardsman.
He knelt beside the body and grimaced.  
  
"Falhurst," he breathed out, shaking his head. He rose, inspecting the other
bodies, noted Cedric's slain horse. But his fellow knight was nowhere to be
seen. His eyes followed the dark country road leading away from the bridge.
The impulse to give chase, though it had been about half an hour since he was
alerted, was powerful. But John did not want to chance taking even a single
horse across the bridge.  
  
"Sir John?" called one of the guardsmen, looking more sober now as he
approached. A few others had braved the dying flames, and now looked about at
the carnage.  
  
"Gather the Captain's body," John ordered. _Saints, two captains dead in as
many weeks . . . who would want the job now?_  
  
"But, what of Sir Cedric?"  
  
John met the eyes of the guardsmen. Their loyalty, their obvious desire to go
after the missing knight, was heartwarming. But to let them give chase now
would be foolish.  
  
"God willing, he yet lives," John said. "But we have no hope of finding him.
It is obvious the wizard took him. Part of another game, no doubt."  
  
"And we simply . . . let the _Spectre_ have him?"  
  
John raised his head as thunder rumbled across the sky. _The storm comes_, he
thought. "For now," said to the guardsman, then marched back along the bridge.
"Gather the Captain's body. Everyone return to the castle! There's no more
drinking this night."  
  
***  
  
Whether sober or not, every guardsman was placed on alert. The armory was
emptied of swords, bows and crossbows, spears and javelins, helmets and
leather jerkins. Only a few guardsmen were left in the tower or upon the
battlements; since Bagdemagus could come and go as he pleased, for the most
part, the bulk of the men were deployed to the keep itself.  
  
Eric jogged from the direction of the loft as John approached on horseback,
and gave his friend a weary look. "What is going on? The village is burned?"
he asked desperately.  
  
John slipped from the saddle with grim look to his friend. "No. But Falhurst
is slain and Cedric taken," he said. "'Tis obviously a ploy by the wizard to
weaken us."  
  
Eric's face fell ashen. "What can I do?"  
  
John regarded his friend with narrowed eyes. "What can you do?" he echoed.  
  
The giant frowned. "Yes, I—"  
  
"You know, Eric," John interrupted. "I liked to think that our friendship is
strong enough that we know who the other is. But I doubt that, now. I know no
more about you than anyone else. I know you had the courage to stand up to the
wizard – and wound him, no less – but then you threw in with seductress bitch
and slipped back into obscurity. For anyone else, I would have thought that a
sign of cowardice."  
  
Eric bristled, setting his jaw. "I am no coward," he said gravely.  
  
John's eyes blazed. "Then prove it," he challenged, and turned on his heel,
leaving Eric to tend to his horse.  
  
For a moment, Eric thought about calling out, but remained silent. His eyes
followed his friend as Sir John jogged up the steps of the castle keep, Royal
Guardsmen falling in behind him. Silently, he gripped the reigns of the horse
and lead it back within the stable.  
  
***  
  
"Sir John, my Queen!" shouted the herald as the large doors of the great hall
were thrown open. John marched into the room, flanked on either side by rows
of armed guardsmen, standing at attention. Peripherally, he caught sight of
archers in the balconies, bows and crossbows at the ready. Everyone was on
edge; the tension hung like mist in the massive room.  
  
The Queen sat upon her throne, the High Chancellor to one side, the Lord
Chamberlain to the other. For the time of night, John had to admit his monarch
looked more than suitably impressive. John was suddenly struck by how _regal_
Queen Evelyn had become.  
  
He stopped several feet before the steps of her throne and prostrated himself
on one knee, bowing his head. "My Queen."  
  
"Sir Cedric has been kidnapped?" she asked, eschewing formalities.  
  
John lifted his head and met his liege's gaze. "It is my strongest suspicion."  
  
"The boy had no right to go off on his own—" began Benedict sourly.  
  
"Chancellor," said Evelyn in a sharp, but calm voice. "What is done is done.
Admonishing my knight for poor decisions will hardly help. Especially if he is
dead."  
  
Benedict worked his jaw. "Of course," he said. "Naturally, then, we must find
him. I would suggest large, heavily-armed parties—"  
  
"if you would forgive me, Your High Excellency," interrupted the Lord
Chamberlain. "But that would hardly be practical. Bagdemagus is no fool; he
has hidden himself in a new lair, and apparently has numerous henchmen at his
disposal. Sending the Guard out to look for Cedric would only be sending them
to their own doom."  
  
Benedict shot the clergyman a harsh look. "Vix will not allow itself to be
extorted by any man, wizard or no!" he declared.  
  
"Gentlemen!" barked Evelyn. But just as the echo of her singular word faded in
the hall, a subtle laugh, growing steadily, sounded from near the doors.
Evelyn gasped as she beheld the appearance of the man from the shadows. To
everyone else, save John, the wizard seemed to appear from nowhere, a
shimmering force taking shape as he stepped between the rows of guardsmen.  
  
The air was filled with the ringing of steel as blades were hastily drawn.
John spun about, looking down a gauntlet of swords toward the smug wizard,
automatically whipping his blade free. In the balconies above, bowstrings were
pulled taut and crossbows leveled.  
  
"This is a bold move, even for you," commented Evelyn coolly. She held out a
cautionary hand, indicating her Guard to remain neutral.  
  
Bagdemagus grinned cockily, then slipped his arm out from beneath his cloak.
The sheathed sword sailed through the air, clattering upon the floor before
being stopped by Sir John's boot.  
  
"I do not think I need to tell you to whom that sword belongs," he said, evil
eyes resting upon Evelyn's. "Nor should I have to say what will happen to him
if you do not comply with my every request."  
  
"The Queen bows to no one!" roared John, taking a threatening step forward,
leading with his blade.  
  
"Sir John!" cried the Queen, pushing up from her chair. "Take not a single
step!"  
  
John stopped instantly, but only due to respect for his queen. For a moment,
he understood Cedric's rage, for he could feel the flickers of that same
heated anger growing within his own breast. "Only for you, my Queen," he said
in a barely controlled voice.  
  
Bagdemagus chuckled, glancing around at the Royal Guardsmen, many of whom held
their blades in wavering hands, their eyes filled with awe and fear. Casually,
he touched the tip of a finger to a guardsman's blade. "All this flattery is
doing wonders for my ego," he remarked. He winked to the Queen. "Not an easy
thing to do for one of my age."  
  
"Enough of your taunts, wizard!" shouted Benedict. "Return the boy knight, or
die where you stand!"  
  
Bagdemagus smirked, glancing from Benedict to the Queen. No one moved in the
room. "You know, you were always a strong man, Benedict. Richard and I had
many conversations about you, did you know that?"  
  
Benedict paled slightly. "You won't get to me."  
  
"Enough fancy words, wizard," Evelyn said. She stepped down from the throne,
shrugging off Benedict's and the Chamberlain's hands as they tried to restrain
her. She stepped up behind Sir John, settled a hand to his shoulder.  
  
"Let me pass," she whispered.  
  
"'Twould not be wise," he responded.  
  
"I will be fine. He cannot kill me . . . _yet_."  
  
Begrudgingly, John took a step to the side, allowing Evelyn to pass. He kept
his eye on the wizard as his Queen approached the vile man. _The slightest
movement,_ he told himself, _and I will see the bastard dead._  
  
Evelyn stopped a few paces from the wizard, looking up at him boldly. Though
she felt fear within every inch of her body, she knew that she could not show
it, not before her Guard, not before Benedict and Lord Alistair, and certainly
not before Bagdemagus. She was the Queen; her conduct in the presence of the
hated enemy of Vix would be crucial.  
  
"I could be a fool," she said. "And still now what you will propose. My life
for Cedric's."  
  
Bagdemagus smiled slowly, gazing upon Evelyn with near fondness. "Such an
insightful child," he said. "I would almost believe you were mine, and not
Richard's."  
  
Evelyn stiffened. "Enough mockeries," she said. Her voice rose swiftly in
pitch. "What have you done with Cedric? Tell me!"  
  
The wizard stood impassive before the storm of Evelyn's emotions. "He is alive
. . . for the moment," he responded. "But if you do not come to me by sunset
on the Midsummer's Day, Cedric will die. And I promise you, his death will be
the sort of thing of which only Hellish nightmares are made."  
  
Images of her childhood friend writhing in agony, flesh burned and flayed,
filled the Queen's mind, making her wince. _Oh, Cedric,_ she thought. _I am so
sorry . . ._ Evelyn gritted her teeth. "No," she said.  
  
Bagdemagus looked truly surprised. He took a step back. "_'No?'_"  
  
"I think you've misunderstood me, Bagdemagus," Evelyn said, feeling her heart
flutter as she turned her back on the man. "I have taken my role as Queen
seriously. Though it would haunt me the rest of my days to know that my friend
died because of me . . ." She took a deep breath, steeling herself, then spun
back around, glaring harshly upon Bagdemagus. "I will do it," she hissed. "_To
save my people!_"  
  
Her words filled the air, a powerful declaration borne from her soul and given
strength through conviction. For a moment, the wizard actually flinched. But
then, slowly, he laughed once more.  

"Enjoy your laugh," Evelyn said, heading back down the aisle toward her
throne. Tears formed in her eyes, knowing that the next words she shouted
would seal Cedric's fate. "Guard! There is an enemy of Vix in your midst!"  
  
"DO NOT DISMISS ME!" roared the wizard, his words nearly buffering the men
around him. "I have been alive for as long as this paltry homestead you call a
kingdom has existed! I know every secret hidden within every knot and twist of
wood."  
  
Evelyn whirled around, feeling her wits failing. "And that will not save you!"  
  
The wizard's eyes darkened, boring into the Queen's. "What if I told you I
will spare your kingdom? I will spare Cedric, and Muriel, and everyone within
this castle."  
  
Evelyn sputtered. "I do not make bargains with the Devil," she said.  
  
"Not even if it means maintaining your bloodline?"  
  
Bagdemagus' dark and mysterious words made Evelyn pause. "What trickery do you
play now? You need a virgin monarch for your sacrifice, and I am! The
bloodline will die with me!"  
  
The ominous chuckle escaped once again the Spectre's lips. "Are you certain of
that?" he asked. His eyes darted for a moment, past Evelyn. The Queen felt
compelled to follow where they fell, and turned to face John, her knight.  
  
"What madness is this?" asked Benedict loudly. "Guardsmen! You heard your
Queen! Slay the devil!"  
  
"NO!" shouted Evelyn, flashing her hands to the air. The Guard, ready to act
on Benedict's words, stilled themselves. Evelyn stared at John, who seemed
just as perturbed as she by the wizard's words. But there was something in his
eyes, and something in Bagdemagus' words, that made her wonder. She thought
back, those weeks before, to the night of her birthday celebration, when
Rebecca had been nearly killed, and John had confessed that he could see
Bagdemagus, even through his magic.  
  
_We both have the Sight,_ Evelyn thought. _I, the Queen, and John, bastard
grandson of a whore . . . ._  
  
A strange sense of calm, of understanding, fell upon her mind. Already, a plan
was forming. Slowly, she turned to the wizard, holding her head high as she
addressed him.  
  
"Midsummer's Day is in three days' time," she said. "Where shall I meet you?"  
  
Bagdemagus grinned. "I will send word, milady," he said with sarcasm, stepping
back. He turned to the door, finding it blocked by crossed spears. He gave
bemused looks to the pair of guardsmen who barred his way.  
  
"Let him go," commanded the Queen. "Allow him to leave."  
  
Begrudgingly, the guardsmen raised their spears and pushed open the doors.
Bagdemagus did not look back as he stepped through into the pale moonlight and
headed down the steps of the keep to his waiting horse.  
  
"Why did you—" began Benedict.  
  
"Chancellor, Chamberlain, meet me in my audience chamber," snapped Evelyn. She
shot John a look. "And you, as well," she added in a softer tone.  
  
Sir John nodded, slowly sheathing his sword. "Of course, my Queen."  
  
***  
  
As the darkness of night turned to dawn, there were few awake to hear the
scraping of metal upon stone within the loft of the stables. For most, even
with the dramatic events of the previous late evening, sleep had come.  
  
But not for Eric.  
  
_"I am no coward."_  
  
_"Then prove it."_  
  
The exchange between he and his trusted friend burned through Eric's mind as
he cradled the whetstone between his knees. He held the shaft of the stout
quarrel firmly while sharpening the broad edges upon the stone.  
  
He lifted the crossbow bolt, inspecting it. In the dim light of his lantern,
it glittered as if made of silver. He blew a puff of air upon it, tested the
tip and edges with his fingertips. Satisfied that it had been sufficiently
sharpened, he dropped the bolt onto the stack of scores of others beside him.  
  
_"One cannot guess the workings of the Lord,"_ he remembered a priest telling
him, when he was a young boy in the monastery. _"One can only hope to
recognize the signs of His doing, and act accordingly."_  
  
_"But how will I know, Father?"_  
  
_"By following your faith. Never forget that; without faith, we have nothing.
We _are_ nothing. Ask yourself this: when God calls upon you at the Time of
Reckoning, will you be able to say that you have been a true servant?"_  
  
_"I will, father."_  
  
_"Good lad."_  
  
Eric let out a deep breath as he recalled the memory. So long ago, it seemed
to him. Such an impressionable time, a time to be told anything and made to
believe it was the truth. And then two decades of meaningless work,
translating obscure texts and tending mass.  
  
He reached behind him, lifted up the heavy axe he had dug up from the storage
box he had left in the ground. The blade was rusted, dull, but the weight of
the thing made it formidable on its own. With his strength, Eric knew, he
could easily cleave a man in half.  
  
He took up the whetstone from between his knees and began dragging across the
broad, curved blade. _An edge certainly would not hurt,_ he thought.  
  
"I will, father," he said to himself as he began sharpening the axe.  
  
_To be continued . . . ._




        A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 22


_(Author's note: This is the penultimate chapter of A Royal Sacrifice, in
which all the deeds and misdeeds committed by the evil wizard Bagdemagus lead
up to a thunderous conclusion. I hope you have enjoyed this tale of medieval
heroism, heartbreak, lust and love. I have truly enjoyed working with
Redhairedandfriendly, Deathlynx and MrsDeathlynx, Maharat, Darkniciad, and
Talynnda on this chain. It has been a fun ride.)_  
  
***  
  
The shadows sent chills through the Queen's body. Although the air was humid
and warm on the eve of Midsummer's Day, Evelyn felt as if she were strolling
through mountain corridors in the dead of winter. Her robes and shawl were not
enough to stave off the cold, for it radiated from within.  
  
_I am the world's most ridiculous fool_, she thought. _To think, all this
time, though raised by a loving family, it was always a heartless wizard who
conducted my life as if _he_ were my parent. Was I sent away to the village
because I had been born a girl, when King Richard desired a boy? No . . . I
was sent away to deny any chance I may have of growing up within the bounds of
royalty, of earning a true education._  
  
The Queen stepped into the throne room, trying to ignore the sentries posted
at every doorway and in the balconies. Heavy eyes drifted toward the elevated
throne. The previous few days had been filled with despair, anger, anxiety and
pain; yet now, Evelyn felt little, if anything. Numbness blanketed her heart.  
  
_Every event of my life,_ she thought morosely. _Choreographed for the sake of
Bagdemagus' evil plan. A plan that hinges upon my morality. Save Cedric, and I
sacrifice a kingdom. Sacrifice him, and I doom my soul._  
  
She sighed, looking down at her feet. _Curse me for having been raised by
those pure of heart . . . ._  
  
"Your father used to do the same, when something vexed him," came Benedict's
resonant voice.  
  
Evelyn was not startled by the High Chancellor's voice, though she had
certainly not expected his presence. She allowed herself a small smile as she
glanced in the direction from which his words had come. Benedict was dressed
as was she, his own robes hanging from still-strong shoulders.  
  
"There were many times when I would find him strolling the halls like a ghost,
musing over something or another," he continued, stepping forward from the
main entrance, hands behind his back. "Sometimes, I could tell when he had
been seen by the Spectre. Others . . . well, he had much on his mind, as
King."  
  
"So what is your excuse?" asked Evelyn.  
  
Benedict shrugged. "Insomnia," he offered casually.  
  
A sly smile tugged the corners of the Queen's mouth. "Even now?"  
  
Benedict blushed like a schoolboy. Indeed, the sweet essence of having made
love with Muriel lingered in his senses. For a moment, his eyes dipped, mouth
twitching as he struggled to hide his boyish excitement, to no avail. "Yes,"
he said at last, with a small laugh. "Even now."  
  
Evelyn allowed herself a vicarious moment. "At least there will be one happy
end to this fairy tale," she remarked.  
  
Benedict frowned. "Conceding to the wizard, are you? After all that fire
you've displayed?"  
  
Evelyn took a deep breath. "I have to admit he has outsmarted us all, even the
Lord Chamberlain. Wherever he keeps Cedric, it is too well hidden for my
scouts to find. With as many decades as he has had to plan, it is obvious he
has considered everything."  
  
Benedict took a step closer, searching his Queen's face. "He may be the
Spectre That Walks," he said. "He may be a wizard over a century old. But he
is mortal, and no mortal can consider every possibility."  
  
Evelyn's smile was patronizing. "Of course. You're right."  
  
The Chancellor's face darkened. "What happened to the woman who challenged
me?" he asked. "The Queen who put me in my place? Is she now so tired of the
stress of ruling a kingdom, that she is ready to take the easy path?"  
  
Evelyn's smile vanished, replaced with a deepening frown as Benedict
continued. He stepped even closer as the words rolled off his tongue.  
  
"Don't make me reconsider my respect for you."  
  
The Queen snapped her eyes up, eyes blazing, threatening. "Another slip of
that silvery tongue, Benedict, and I'll be wearing it as a charm."  
  
For a moment, Queen and Chancellor simply stared. But then Benedict's eyes
softened a bit, his lips stretching in approval. "Good to see my Queen has not
completely taken leave of her senses."  
  
Evelyn coughed out a short laugh, realizing why Benedict had said what he did.
She moved to the foot of the dais upon which sat the throne – her throne – and
sunk onto the steps. "Why is it that the simplest choices are the hardest ones
to make?" she asked of the air.  
  
Benedict emitted a grunt and a sigh as he lowered himself beside Evelyn.
"Because the simple ones chance fate," he said. "Everything else is simply . .
. details."  
  
Evelyn arched an eyebrow. "One of my father's rare moments of wisdom?" she
asked.  
  
"No. Mine," quipped Benedict. "And they were not so rare. For a wainwright, my
dear old dad was quite philosophical."  
  
Evelyn allowed herself a small smile. _Muriel has done wonders with him_, she
thought. _My God, the man really does have a heart._ "What was Richard like?"  
  
Benedict straightened, grumbling in thought. He stared forward, resting elbows
on knees. "I would love to inform you that your father was a paragon of
wisdom, a man unequaled in his ability to command both armies and respect.
But, in truth, he was something of a dolt."  
  
Evelyn sputtered in laughter at Benedict's frank words. "Well, now I do not
feel so inadequate," she said amid soft laughter.  
  
Benedict cocked his head toward the girl queen. "You have many qualities and
advantages Richard did not," he said. "Loyalty and respect, for one, at least
from those you truly need depend upon. And, no doubt your upbringing as a
commoner has given you more than an inkling of common wisdom. Richard had none
of that. His was always a sheltered life. He was bred into arrogance and
simplified wisdom. Why, the only reason he roamed these halls at night was to
get away from those who told him what to do. Thank God he had enough sense to
do that."  
  
Evelyn shook her head in wonder. "I had no idea."  
  
"No, of course not," said the Chancellor with rueful sarcasm. "A king is lofty
and wise, so much better than a common herder or farmer or innkeeper. Such a
crock. Richard would not have made the mistakes he did had he benefited from a
life such as yours."  
  
Evelyn sighed dejectedly. "I fail to see where I possess any advantage over a
man who was raised to be King."  
  
A strange sagely smile crossed Benedict's face. "That's good," he said simply.
"If you knew all your strengths, you would take advantage of them . . . abuse
them. That is not how to rule. More importantly, that is not how to live."  
  
Evelyn frowned in thought. "I wish I knew what you meant."  
  
"You do," reassured the Chancellor. "You do not yet know it, but you do."  
  
He stood, gathering his robes, looking fondly upon his Queen as she followed
him with her eyes. "If I may take your leave, your highness, I fear that my
side of the bed may be growing cold." He finished his statement with a knowing
wink.  
  
Evelyn smiled and nodded, momentarily wondering how cold her own bed was, had
always been. "Of course, Benedict."  
  
With a stiff nod and a swish of his robes, Benedict turned and made his way
back to the main entrance. A few paces from the sentry-flanked doors, however,
he paused and turned back. "There was one thing," he said, his voice echoing
lightly off the walls.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"'A king's life is ever about sacrifice,'" he quoted. "'The only reward comes
when you look down from Heaven and see that your kingdom still stands.'"  
  
Evelyn managed a weak smile. "Your father again?"  
  
"No," said Benedict with another wink. "Yours. Good evening, my Queen."  
  
Evelyn did not respond, pleasantly surprised by the Chancellor's words. At the
least however, the smile which crept across her face was genuine. Faintly
hearing Benedict's footsteps retreat down the hall, the Queen of Vix rose and
made her way back to her own chambers.  
  
***  
  
He made his way through the narrow passage by fingertip, tracing the jagged,
sweating limestone walls and cautiously placing one foot before the other. It
was not a deliberately-hewn tunnel, Eric knew, but one long ago carved
naturally. The entrance to the tunnel, however, had been made artificially,
through the wall at the back of a never-used dungeon cell.  
  
_The irony_, thought the red-haired giant, grimacing as broad shoulders
scraped against the occasional jagged rock that thrust out from the wall like
a hidden assassin's dagger. He gripped the axe tightly in one hand, felt
before him with the other. Now and then, the arc of the crossbow upon his back
clattered off the stone. He wondered if any of Bagdemagus' men – if he had any
– heard his clumsy approach.  
  
_Searching for the man who holds an entire kingdom in fear, and it just may be
that he makes his lair beneath the castle itself. What audacity._  
  
_What cunning._  
  
_Just what an arrogant wizard would do . . . ._  
  
His boot slipped upon a loose rock, just as the narrow passage opened into a
cavern of indeterminate size. For a moment, Eric nearly lost his balance, but
he managed to catch himself against the wall.  
  
_Damn the Hells! I do not have John's gift for stealth!_ He stood still for a
long moment, feeling the cold air of the caverns, the faint but swirling
breeze. Odors mingled, some sweet and natural, others musky and dank, as if
coming from an animal's den. Eric wrinkled his nose at the latter, moved until
he had his back pressed to a wall. His ears peeled, having become
hypersensitive during the many long minutes he had been following the
meandering tunnel.  
  
He heard the echoes of water drops.  
  
Scurrying of insects.  
  
The shuffle of a booted foot.  
  
Eric tensed, focusing upon that last, singular sound. _It comes from my right
. . . ._  
  
"Dieter?" asked a rough, hoarse whisper. "If that's you, you're late, mate.
You best not have been smoking that herbal pipe of yours . . . ."  
  
Eric took a chance, raising his axe as he heard the other man come closer. He
had little way of knowing how close the man was. "Hmm," he grumbled.  
  
A heavy sigh echoed off damp limestone walls. "Damn you, Dieter. I should have
known when you didn't bring the torch back. Don't move. I'll get mine going."  
  
Eric waited, heart pounding. He heard a brief rustle of cloth, then soft amber
light spilled out, stinging his eyes. He winced against the sudden relative
brilliance, but not before making out the general appearance of a man in
brigand's leathers standing before him.  
  
"You know, mate, I don't know how that wizard can make a torch bright enough
to light a room, yet give off no heat – hey! You're not Dieter!"  
  
The bandit's exclamation made Eric snap his eyes back open. His vision was a
bit hazy, still adjusting, but it was enough to let him see the stocky,
swarthy man as he slapped a hand to a sword at his waist. But Eric was already
prepared, and swung viciously with his axe, the heavy blade chopping sideways
into flesh, bone, and muscle. The bandit grunted, crashing against the rough
rock wall.  
  
"No. I'm not," growled Eric, throwing his weight against the man, making the
axe dig deeper through the bandit's side. The brigand stared into Eric's face
with pain and shock, blood trickling freely from parted lips. He tried to
speak, but all that issued forth was a wet, gurgling cough. Finally, with a
long, bloody gasp, the man sagged, the light of life fading from his dark
eyes.  
  
Eric looked about within the cavern, finding it much smaller than he had
imagined. Not even ten paces wide but almost twice that long, there was an
exit at the far end, sloping downward. With a casual tug, he jerked the axe
from the bandit's body, then bent to retrieve the dead man's torch.  
  
It emitted no flame, nor heat. In some magical way, Eric assumed, Bagdemagus
had taken a length of wood and made a few inches of one end glow as if by the
bright flame of a candle. Suppressing his sense of wonder, Eric took up the
short black cover in the bandit's hand, finding that it made for a perfect fit
over the torch.  
  
"Marko? Hey, Marko, I took a little nap in one of the other cells . . . I—"  
  
Eric spun about as the man behind him, who had descended through the same
passage through which Eric had come, stopped in mid-sentence. He held a torch
like the one Eric now possessed, held before him. The two men stared each
other down for a moment.  
  
"Uh . . . who are you?"  
  
Eric allowed himself a vicious smirk. "You're Dieter, right?"  
  
"Yeah . . . ." The man's hand crept across his belt toward the hilt of a
sword.  
  
Swiftly, Eric slashed out and up, the keen edge of the axe cleaving Dieter's
face from chin to brow. For a moment, Dieter did not move, his blank
expression frozen. Then the jaw fell open, split and pouring blood down the
stained brown leather of his jerkin. With a gurgling rattle, Dieter collapsed
to the ground.  
  
Eric let out a huff of breath. _Two men dead_, he thought. _Their lives taken
so easily. Perhaps Father Michael was right. Perhaps I do lack compassion for
my fellow man._  
  
Suddenly dark eyes drifted toward the opening at the far end of the cave. _May
it serve me well . . . ._  
  
***  
  
The only thing that allowed Cedric to swallow the bile and blood in his dry
mouth was the knowledge that, if he did not, he would suffocate. He could not
even muster the effort required to spit it out. His arms had grown numb from
supporting his weight; he had felt tingling for a while, but now, they may as
well have been severed. How long he had been trussed up like a chicken on a
rack, he did not know. The days since his capture had blurred together.  
  
"The great Sir Cedric," gloated a voice before him. "Do not worry, lad, it
will be over soon."  
  
Cedric coughed, trying to muster what remained of his strength. He was aware
of the cold air around him, yet he did not feel it. His mouth worked to speak,
yet no sound escaped.  
  
Bagdemagus leaned closer to the young knight. "What was that?" he asked.
"Trying to speak? Don't bother, boy. You have no hope of defeating me. You
never did. All you ever accomplished was to further my plans. Even your
dalliance with Rebecca served my purpose."  
  
Cedric struggled, swallowing bitter bile once more, finding within his rage –
ignited at the mention of his love's name – enough fortitude to open and lift
his eyes. Though the wizard's form was blurry, it was easy enough to find the
man's dark eyes within the fire-painted face.  
  
Bagdemagus arched an eyebrow with interest. "Oh? Bit of a fire left within you
after all?" The wizard stepped around the knight as he was suspended between
two posts driven into the floor of the cavern. "I suppose you think you may
yet avenge that whore of a handmaiden you bedded."  
  
Cedric growled, the only sound he could muster, and jerked in his bonds. No
reason remained in his mind, only murderous hatred.  
  
Bagdemagus chuckled, insinuating his face beside the knight's. "Shall I tell
you how she squealed with delight when she offered her virginity to me?" he
whispered rudely. "Shall I tell you how greedily she drank my seed? How does
it feel to know you kissed the mouth that had once been filled with my
essence?"  
  
Cedric bellowed loudly, shaking and pulling against the chains that held him,
planting his feet firmly against the ground and throwing his back straight.
Inadvertently, his skull cracked against the wizard's jaw, making Bagdemagus
flinch. He stepped back, touching a now-bloodied lip.  
  
"I'll . . . kill . . . you . . . ."  
  
Bagdemagus scoffed, yet his previous arrogance had dwindled. He came around
before Cedric, glaring down upon the young man haughtily. Cedric stared back,
trembling with the effort required to stand straight. For a moment, even the
wizard was impressed by the young man's stamina.  
  
"When you see your whore in the afterlife, be sure to tell her you failed."
Bagdemagus turned with a flurry of his cloak, marching away from the knight.
The cavern was a large one, cold and dank since it sat so far beneath the
surface. Braziers in opposite corners supplied light and some heat, and it was
around these that the wizard's hired brigands gathered. None of them enjoyed
the wizard's presence overmuch; the promise of riches and Bagdemagus' power of
intimidation kept them in his employ.  
  
Beside one of the narrow exits from the cavern, Guy Dorr stood, an almost
sympathetic eye upon Cedric. He never considered himself an evil man; cruel,
sometimes, and selfish, but not evil. Torture was not part of his repertoire.
That was for evil men.  
  
"Why not simply kill him?" he asked as the wizard approached.  
  
Bagdemagus fixed Dorr with a look. "Questioning me?"  
  
"Of course not," Dorr said with a sigh, flickering his eyes from the wizard's.  
  
Bagdemagus followed Dorr's gaze back to the knight, who once more sagged from
the two posts. A cruel smile stretched his lips. "Cedric will die," he
declared, turning back to Dorr. "But not before he has had the pleasure of
witnessing the taking and sacrifice of his beloved Queen. Not before he
suffers the realization that his failures have made me truly immortal, and
peerless within the world. Then, and only then, will he die."  
  
Dorr nodded slowly. "You really are an evil bastard," he remarked.  
  
Bagdemagus chuckled and grinned. "Yes, I know."  
  
***  
  
Nervousness and fear, along with renewed pride and newfound strength, fueled
Sir John's movements as he marched back and forth before the assembled members
of the Royal Guard. Swords that had been oiled and sharpened rest heavily in
scabbards at each man's side. Courriasses of boiled leather covered their
chests, molded to fit each guardsman perfectly.  
  
"Tonight, we face the greatest evil this kingdom has ever known." The words
were practiced, rehearsed before the mirror that morning. But while he knew
every word by heart, they now felt more real than before. "Bagdemagus will
seal his victory through magic if he takes our Queen, and through victory will
enslave this entire kingdom. The Lord Chamberlain himself has told me that if
the wizard wins the day, those of us left alive will know nothing but misery.
The land will darken and die. Children will be raised as slaves, or worse."  
  
He stopped pacing and faced the men squarely. "_That will not happen_," he
said emphatically.  
  
The guardsmen nodded grimly, silently.  
  
"What _will_ happen, is this," continued John, his voice steadily rising in
pitch. "We will triumph. We will win. We will keep our Queen, and the entire
Kingdom of Vix free from the evil of Bagdemagus! We will fight, and we will
die, to protect our land! We will know victory!"  
  
"VICTORY!" shouted the guardsmen in unison.  
  
His breast swelling, John drew his sword, holding it straight beside his face.
The guardsmen all followed suit, the air ringing as blades left their
scabbards.  
  
"Some of us will die tonight," he intoned grimly. "I will give you all one
hour to spend with your families. When you return, I expect you all to be
ready, as I am, to give your life in defense of our Queen. Dismissed."  
  
Solemnly, the guardsmen dispersed, some of them wearing worried or blank
expressions. But a few, at least, looked to their knight, their commander,
with an admiring smile.  
  
"A better speech I could not have prepared myself," said Prince Drest,
approaching beside John's shoulder.  
  
John inhaled deeply and let it out. "I hope it is enough," he said, then
glanced to the prince. "How is Evelyn?"  
  
Drest rolled his shoulders. "She has strength, of that there is no doubt. She
is a very stubborn woman, you know."  

John chuckled. "Yes, I know."  
  
"So . . . have you decided?"  
  
John sighed, sliding his sword back within its sheath. He knew Drest was going
to get around to the subject sooner or later. "It just seems so . . .
incredible," he said. "Am I truly a bastard son of royalty, cousin to the
Queen? I don't feel a damn bit different, to tell the truth. I do not feel as
if my blood has suddenly become blue."  
  
Drest smiled. "There is no difference between the blood of royals and
commons," he said. He tapped his temple. "The difference lies within here--"
He placed his hand over his heart. "--and here."  
  
John nodded. "To think that some day, I may have the chance or reason to rule
a kingdom," he mused. "Being a Knight is daunting enough."  
  
The corner of Drest's mouth curled knowingly. "Yet you have taken to it with
some ease."  
  
"Aye, _some_," John said meaningfully. "I lead the Royal Guard only because I
must. Two captains slain, Cedric taken . . . it falls to me to guide them,
though I do not feel I am particularly good at it."  
  
"I beg to differ," Drest said. "Only months ago, you were a stable hand. Yet I
– and everyone else, I dare say – would be hard pressed to see you in that
role now. Your bearing has always been regal, whether you realized it or not.
Now it shows."  
  
"You give me too much credit, Prince."  
  
Drest grinned and clasped the knight's shoulder. "Better get used to it,
John," he said. "After all, if Evie and I are wed, it would not be very
feasible for I to sit upon the throne of Ural, whilst she rules Vix. Call me a
romantic, but I'd prefer to have my Queen beside me."  
  
John frowned, an expression of astonishment passing over his face. "You cannot
mean . . . ."  
  
Drest winked. "Think about it . . . _King John_," he said.  
  
The young knight watched as Prince Drest turned and strode away. The shock on
John's face remained, long after the Prince had disappeared within the manor.  
  
_King John . . . oh, God, what an ironic lord you are . . . ._  
  
***  
  
Eric crouched behind a shelf of rock, overlooking the large cavern below. In
the middle of the spacious natural chamber lay what looked like a large table
in the shape of an 'X,' with manacles attached to each of the four arms.
Eric's eyes narrowed as he gazed upon it, wondering what nefarious need the
wizard had for such a device. Then his eyes drifted toward the form of the
young man held captive.  
  
His heart had at first sunk upon seeing Cedric hanging limply between the two
wooden posts, thinking the young knight already dead. But now, as one of the
bandits held a waterskin to Cedric's lips, from which the knight drank deeply,
hope flared anew in Eric's heart.  
  
_One, two, three . . . eleven bandits in all, just in this chamber alone_,
Eric thought dismally. _At my best, I doubt I could take on more than three or
four_. He quietly rest his axe against the rock before him and unslung the
crossbow. A bolt snapped into place with the slightest sound. Carefully, Eric
raised the powerful weapon to his shoulder, sighting along the shaft of the
quarrel.  
  
_How many?_ Eric wondered. _How many could I claim before they rushed up here
to surround me? How many could I slay before I was cut down?_  
  
For several moments, feeling clammy sweat upon his brow, Eric kept the
crossbow trained on the bandit before Cedric. His fingers lightly squeezed the
cocking lever, ready to let it loose.  
  
He stiffened as cold steel was pressed against his cheek, the sharp, slightly
curved tip of a rapier. "Release that bolt, Eric, and you will have a new
mouth on the side of your face."  
  
_Idiot!_ Eric berated himself. Gritting his teeth, he carefully set the
crossbow upon the ground beside him and stood, slowly rising to his feet. He
turned to face Guy Dorr, who stepped back, the rapier extended and ready to
thrust. Behind him stood a pair of bandits, bows held at the ready with arrows
knocked.  
  
"Fancy meeting like this," quipped Dorr, his expression smug. "I must say I am
impressed that you found us."  
  
Eric glowered. "I should have known you would throw in with the wizard."  
  
Guy chuckled. "I don't like to lose," he said, stepping back further. Though
his eyes remained on Eric, he spoke to the brigands. "He came to find his
friend," Dorr said. "I see no reason why we cannot oblige him."  
  
"Come on, you," barked one of the brigands to Eric. The giant grumbled under
his breath and reluctantly stepped forward, passing Guy Dorr.  
  
"May God damn you for eternity," he snarled.  
  
Guy scoffed. "If I thought that God cared, I might be worried," he snipped,
watching Eric being escorted away. His smile faded quickly. _You had better
hold up your part of the bargain, Bagdemagus._  
  
***  
  
Closing the door softly behind him, Prince Drest looked across the room to
where Evelyn stood before the window, watching the setting sun. The golden
radiance that washed over her body brought out the inherent beauty of her
features, making her eyes sparkle and skin glow. Her pale dress became nearly
translucent, revealing the shape of firm young breasts with no need for the
bodice to hold them up.  
  
"My God, you are beautiful," Drest muttered.  
  
Evelyn looked his way, a sad smile decorating her lips. It disappeared as she
returned to her admiration of the land below. "'Tis almost sundown," she said,
as if to herself. "The wizard will be coming for me."  
  
Drest approached behind her, settling his hands to her bare shoulders. "I
won't let him."  
  
The Queen sighed, leaning against him. "We've none of us any choice in the
matter," she said. Casually, her fingers touched a tiny charm hanging from
around her neck. It looked like a finely-polished gem to Drest.  
  
"A new piece of jewelry?"  
  
Evelyn let out a short laugh. "My kingdom's salvation," she said. "I convinced
the Lord Chamberlain to give it to me. Not many know he is also an
apothecary."  
  
Drest frowned. "An apothecary? What need—"  
  
"Once the wizard has me, and he lets Cedric go, I will place this in my mouth
and bite down upon it. The poison will do the rest."  
  
A spike of anxiety shot through Drest's heart, and he whirled Evelyn around.
"You cannot do this!"  
  
Her expression was blank, full of resignation and resolve. "'Tis the only way,
my love," she said, affectionately touching his face. "I will save the
kingdom, and I will save my friend."  
  
Emotion flooded Drest's eyes. "I can't let you, Evie," he declared. "I love
you too much."  
  
Evelyn's eyes softened. "I love you, as well," she said, before her features
inexplicably hardened. "But I am your queen," she said firmly, stepping past.  
  
"I don't care!" cried Drest after her, following the Queen into her chambers.
"You are the woman I intend to wed! Together, we will rule the Twin Kingdoms,
and Bagdemagus will be naught but a memory! Something to frighten our children
about when they are unruly!"  
  
She whirled about with a fanning of her petticoat. "Is that your official
proposal, Drest?"  
  
He sighed, rolling his eyes. "How can you be so bloody calm about this? If I
didn't know any better, I would think you are looking forward to it!"  
  
"At least it will be over," Evelyn said in a small voice.  
  
Drest stepped toward her, locking eyes with her. "For you, yes. The kingdom
will be saved, yes. But the wizard will still be alive. And _vengeful_. Do you
think he will just go away? Do you not think that perhaps, out of spite, he
will come for your dearest friends? One by one, he will find a way to slay
them all. Muriel, John, Benedict—"  
  
"Stop it!" screeched Evelyn.  
  
"—me."  
  
Evelyn trembled, revealing true emotion at last. "I don't know what else to
do," she said. "I was so sure someone would find Cedric and rescue him . . .
so sure . . . ." She fell to the bed, burying her face in her hands.  
  
Drest lowered himself to his knees, looking up at the Queen. "Do you love me?"
he asked.  
  
Evelyn sniffled, lifting her head. Her cheeks were shiny with tears, eyes
ringed with red. "What?"  
  
"Do you love me?" repeated the Prince.  
  
She touched his face. "Love isn't enough," she whispered.  
  
His eyes were strong, gaze direct. "It was enough for you to sacrifice
yourself for the sake of your friend and kingdom," he said. "Is it not enough
to promise that you will accept my proposal when I give it?"  
  
Evelyn clutched the prince's hands. "Then give it," she said. "Here. Now."  
  
Slowly, Drest shook his head. "I cannot," he said. "I need one more day."  
  
Tears dripped freshly from Evelyn's eyes. "Why are you doing this?"  
  
"Because I love you. Promise me."  
  
Evelyn shuddered as she drew in a deep breath. "I-I . . . ."  
  
Drest waited, patiently, reassuringly massaging the Queen's hands.  
  
Finally, Evelyn straightened, letting out a heavy breath. With one last
sniffle, she nodded silently.  
  
"That is not a promise," Drest said with a small smile.  
  
Evelyn choked out a laugh. "You're insufferable," she said. "How can you still
have hope?"  
  
"Because God would not have seen fit to bring us together, only to take you
from me."  
  
Firmly, Evelyn squeezed the Prince's hands. "You've never given up on me," she
said, then lowered her eyes. "Sometimes, I feel so ashamed, so . . . unworthy
of such attention."  
  
"But you are, Evie. My heart is not so easily given."  
  
A weak smile stretched Evelyn's lips. "I want to believe that we will all
survive, that this nightmare will end and—"  
  
"We will," interrupted Drest. "It will. Now . . . promise me."  
  
Apprehensively, Evelyn swallowed, then nodded once more. "I . . . I promise,
Drest. When you offer a proposal of marriage, I will accept it."  
  
Drest smiled genuinely, straightening take Evelyn in his arms. She melted
yearningly against him, clutching tightly. He smoothed his hands across her
back, through her hair, feeling the gentle shudders in his Queen's body.
"Faith," he whispered. "Have faith in, if nothing else, my love for you."  
  
"I love you," she whispered in return, pulling back only slightly so that she
could see Drest's face. Her softened with desire. "I want you."  
  
Drest said nothing before Evelyn kissed him, smothering his lips with hers,
moaning softly into his mouth. Their passion escalated quickly, hands roaming
with animalistic need and abandon. Evelyn gasped with pleasure, breaking the
kiss and leaning back, allowing Drest to release her bodice, pulling down the
fabric of her dress to expose creamy, firm breasts.  
  
"Yes," she hissed, arching her back, pushing her breast to Drest's mouth. A
soft cry of passion caught in her throat at the heat of his mouth, the loving
swipes of his tongue across her nipple, the grazing of his teeth. Her hands
held his head firmly against her bosom, bringing him with her as she moved up
along the bed. Her legs spread invitingly beneath Drest as the Prince settled
between.  
  
Instincts guided them, instincts powered my passion. Supporting himself above
Evelyn, Drest kissed her deeply, grinding himself between her thighs. The heat
of her sex burned through the layers between them, especially once her
petticoat and skirt were pushed up to her waist, and all that protected her
was a single layer of silk.  
  
"Let me make love to you, Evie," moaned the Prince, slipping a hand down
between them, cupping her damp and needy sex.  
  
Breath escaped, hot and moist, from Evelyn's lips. Her fingers threaded their
way through Drest's hair as needy moans escaped her throat. Her hips rose and
fell, pushing her sex against his probing fingers. She ached for him, to feel
him within her. The need was so palpable it weighed upon her more than Drest's
body, more than the impending threat of Bagdemagus . . . .  
  
_Bagdemagus._  
  
With a breathless gasp, Evelyn pushed against her lover, forcing him to
release a stiff, wet nipple from his lips. "Drest."  
  
His eyes bore into hers. "'Tis not what you think, Evie. I love you."  
  
A calming breath filled her lungs, making her breasts heave. "And I love you,"
she said. "But . . . I . . . ." She frowned, trying to find her words. With a
frustrated huff, she gently pushed Drest away and sat up, lacing her bodice
once more. The passion that had just moments before consumed her seemed so far
away now.  
  
"It is all right, Evie," whispered Drest, moving up to sit beside her and rest
his chin upon her shoulder. "It is important to you to defeat Bagdemagus
without cheating him out of your virginity, isn't it? Even if it costs your
life."  
  
Solemnly, she nodded. "It is."  
  
Slowly, Drest reached beneath her chin with a single finger, bidding her to
look his way. "Only a Queen would think that way."  
  
Evelyn's eyes glittered. "My dear Prince," she said. "That is the most
wonderful thing you have ever said to me."  
  
He smiled, lightly kissed her soft lips. "I will have to remember that, then,"
he said.  
  
Evelyn stood, fixing her dress. The sky was darkening, with a crimson glow
just above the horizon. Wind stirred the Queen's long, lush hair as she stood
before the windows once more. "I suppose it is only a matter of time before
the wizard calls upon me," she mused.  
  
"Sooner than you think."  
  
The dark voice startled the Queen and Drest both, prompting the Prince to
action. He bolted up from the bed, smoothly drawing the dagger at his belt as
he blocked Evelyn with his body. He stared down along the glimmering blade at
the figure which approached from the outer room.  
  
"So you've come, wizard."  
  
Bagdemagus nodded shallowly, holding out his hand. He looked past the Prince
to Evelyn. "It is time, my Queen," he said.  
  
Drest spoke before Evie could part her lips. "I think not," he said firmly.
"You must first get through me. You will find that difficult to do."  
  
Bagdemagus looked amused. "Your bravery is misplaced, Drest," he said.
"Killing you would serve nothing. The ritual will commence, and there is not a
thing you can do to stop it. I am taking Evie."  
  
The Prince glared. "Only by stepping over my corpse," he growled.  
  
"Drest--" began the Queen.  
  
The wizard sneered. "Easily arranged," he said.  
  
Evelyn cried out as a figure leaped from behind, pushing her aside and
descending upon Drest. The Queen tumbled to the floor, slipping her own dagger
free of its sheath, ready to defend herself. What transpired before her was
nearly over before she could make sense of it.  
  
Bagdemagus kept his distance as the two men struggled, the dark-garbed invader
pressing his weight down upon Drest's back. There was a flash of steel in a
black-gloved hand, before it disappeared beneath the Prince's chin. A flick, a
gurgle, and Drest collapsed to the ground, blood spilling out from his neck.  
  
Evelyn stared, eyes wide with shock and fear, lips trembling. The abruptness
of what she had just witnessed made it all seem surreal. She stared at her
Prince, her love, seeing only his closed eyes as he lay unmoving, the crimson
puddle growing around his face. "D-D-Drest," she whispered.  
  
Guy Dorr straightened over the Prince's body, wiping spittle from his mouth.
"That went smoother than expected," he said casually, then gave a nod to the
wizard. His eyes glanced briefly to the Queen.  
  
"L-Lord Dorr?" she queried, heart palpitating. Furtive eyes danced back and
forth from the traitor to the body upon the floor. She could find no voice
with which to carry the scream that welled within her breast.  
  
Bagdemagus smiled smugly as he lifted his foot over Drest's body. "As you
said, only by stepping over your corpse," he muttered, then reached for the
Queen . . . .  
  
***  
  
John's fingers danced nervously along the edges of the earthenware cup he held
between his knees. Grams sat expectantly across the tiny table in her little
home, waiting for her grandson to speak.  
  
"I understand why you never told me," he said at last, his eyes addressing the
floor. "But it is still difficult to accept."  
  
"Are you certain you understand why this secret has been kept, all these
decades?"  
  
John lifted his head, confusion evident upon his face. "Well, the kingdom
would have been embarrassed, of course."  
  
Grams chuckled softly. "Given all that you have learned about the wizard," she
said. "I would expect you to have realized a few things."  
  
John's frowned deepened. "What does this have to do with the Spectre?"  
  
Grams took a breath. "It was not a terrible secret that I entertained King
Alfred," she said. "But what was kept secret was my eventual pregnancy. That
was your mother, of course. Alfred was a bit miffed about that, but not for
the reasons you would expect. He had wanted me to sire a son, in case Richard
fell victim to Bagdemagus."  
  
John's mind reeled. "I do not understand."  
  
Grams fixed her grandson with a level stare. "The fate of this kingdom has
always been linked to Bagdemagus," she revealed. "He was King Maxwell's
advisor, originally. I am sure you did not know that."  
  
John shook his head slowly. "No."  
  
"When Vix came under Maxwell's rule, he wrested it from the hands of a very
evil man," she explained. "With the wizard's help. You see, Bagdemagus was not
always as cruel and vindictive as he is now. But . . . that is a different
story, one that is not pertinent now. What is important is that Maxwell and
Bagdemagus had a terrible falling-out. The wizard has been seeking vengeance
upon the Royal Family ever since."  
  
"What happened between the wizard and King Maxwell?"  
  
Grams shrugged. "That, even I do not know," she lamented. "But whatever it
was, it was enough to instill in Bagdemagus a hatred so intense for Maxwell's
progeny that he has been taking his revenge ever since. Not a single member of
the royal family, whether confirmed or not, has been safe. _Not a one_."  
  
A dark hand suddenly gripped John's heart as he read into Grams' words. His
eyes were hard as he spoke two simple words.  
  
"My mother."  
  
Solemnly, Grams nodded her head. "It was fortunate that she was able to hide
you away before the Spectre came for her."  
  
John ground his teeth. A quiet rage simmered in his heart.  
  
"So, you see," Grams continued. "You and I have a vested interest in this as
well. I have waited decades for this day, grandson."  
  
John swallowed the lump in his throat and straightened, pushing to his feet.
The leather of his armor creaked slightly with his movements. He gave his
grandmother a determined look.  
  
"Bagdemagus dies tonight."  
  
***  
  
Benedict pushed open the door to the Queen's chambers slowly, stepping before
the four members of the Royal Guard who accompanied him. There had been no
answer to his repeated knocks, and he had grown fearful.  
  
"Evelyn?" he called out. "Dre--" Words froze on his lips as he saw the body
laying upon the floor amid a broad pool of ochre.  
  
"Is that the Prince?" asked one of the guard, venturing forward. But Benedict
stopped the young man.  
  
"I will see to him," he said firmly, then approached Drest. His eyes searched
the chambers, looking through the archway to the Queen's bed. He could see no
trace of Evelyn. Gingerly, he knelt beside Drest, touching the corpse's
shoulder. He frowned when he felt unexpected warmth within the body, and
nearly leapt from his own skin when Drest moaned.  
  
"Prince!" cried Benedict, gripping the man's shoulder and rolling him onto his
back. Drest's features clouded, and he coughed, blood sputtering on his lip.
The left side of his face was soaked in the congealing fluid, but there was no
wound upon him . . . only a small cloth bladder stuck next to his neck.  
  
". . . Evelyn . . . ."  
  
"I do not see her," Benedict said as the Prince sat up, touching his head.
Drest's hand dragged down his face, and he pulled it away, staring at the
thick blood on his fingers.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"I would ask you the same," Benedict replied anxiously.  
  
Drest sighed, taking a handkerchief out and wiping his face. "The wizard," he
said, features dark and contorted as he recalled what had happened. "And there
was someone with him . . . Lord Dorr."  

Benedict cursed under his breath. "I knew it," he hissed. "That bastard's
appearance was just too convenient."  
  
"We wrestled," continued Drest, his thoughts becoming more clear. He touched a
faint cut on the side of his neck. "He said something to me . . . 'remember
this later,' I believe, then he slit my throat. Or so I thought."  
  
Benedict picked up the bladder that had fallen beside the Prince, sniffed it.
"Pig's blood," he said. "When he cut you, he must have had some type of poison
on the blade, to render you unconscious. I would not swear it, but it would
make sense. So why would Dorr only pretend to kill you?"  
  
Drest shook his head. "I do not know. But he may not be so much of an enemy
after all."  
  
The guardsmen had gathered in the room, staring at the Prince with relieved
disbelief as the man got to his feet. But one of them noticed something else,
a slip of fabric hanging from one of the thicker walls in the outer chamber.  
  
"Perhaps," agreed Benedict grudgingly. "But I'll be damned if I'll trust the
man."  
  
Drest turned about as he stood, scanning the room with narrowed eyes. "I can
only assume that Dorr faked my murder for the sake of the Queen. He must have
left a clue regarding where she was taken."  
  
"Eh, excuse me, Prince Drest," called one of the guardsmen. He stood beside
the wall where the piece of fabric was attached. "Perhaps this might be the
clue you mean?"  
  
Drest approached, touching the strip of cloth. "It is from Evie's dress," he
said, his heart fluttering. His fingers touched the wall, feeling, pushing.
"There must be a hidden door. Ural's castle is filled with them. We must find
it!"  
  
"What is going on?" called a hard voice from the chamber door. All eyes turned
as Sir John entered, left hand clutching the hilt of his sword.  
  
"The wizard came for Evelyn," explained Benedict. He nodded to the guardsmen.
"Blades for myself and the Prince," he ordered. His eyes settled upon John.
"We are going after them."  
  
John nodded grimly. "It is time to settle this."  
  
Benedict's eyes narrowed. There was something different about the young
knight. He had always seemed unsure of himself, reluctant to take the role he
had been given. But that uncertainty and reluctance was now gone, replaced
with a fierce resolve which radiated from him like the heat of a torch. For a
moment, Benedict thought to inquire as to what had changed in the young man,
but he reconsidered. _Whatever has happened, he seems to have the strength he
needs . . . ._  
  
"Indeed it is," he agreed.  
  
"Found it!" exclaimed Drest, garnering the attention of those in the room. A
section of the wall swung open silently, revealing a dark, dank passage
composed of narrow steps which spiraled down between the walls.  
  
"We cannot waste any time," John said, stepping forward and drawing his blade.
He looked to the guardsmen, indicating two of them. "Give your weapons to the
Prince and Chancellor, then get replacements from the armory." His eyes
switched to the remaining pair. "You two will accompany us."  
  
"Yes, sir," the men said together, drawing their swords.  
  
"I shall take the lead," announced Drest, accepting the sword one of the
guardsmen handed him. "But I want you behind me, John."  
  
The knight nodded. "Whatever happens, that damn wizard dies."  
  
***  
  
Cedric could barely stand, yet the sight of his beloved Queen seemed to infuse
him with strength. She struggled against the bandits who escorted her toward
the X-shaped altar set in the middle of the cavern, grunting and cursing with
futility.  
  
A deep, friendly voice came from his right. "Conserve yourself, Cedric."  
  
Cedric frowned, wincing in discomfort as he turned his head. The red-haired
giant . . . _what is his name? Eric?_ . . . looked upon him with stoic
compassion. Cedric could just make out the chains that secured the larger man
to a pair of posts recently driven into the rocky floor.  
  
"Do not try to speak," Eric continued. "You're barely alive as it is."  
  
Cedric could barely grunt in response. His weary eyes drifted back toward the
altar as Evie was bound upon it, struggling in vain to resist the manacles
that secured her wrists and ankles. She was left with her arms and legs spread
widely, obscenely.  
  
The bandits retreated, taking their places along the walls. Cedric counted a
dozen of them, maybe more . . . or perhaps that was a function of his blurred
double-vision.  
  
An ominous chuckle filled the room, emanating, it seemed, from the chilly air.
Bagdemagus approached the altar, Lord Door lagging behind. The rogue glanced
quickly to Cedric and Eric, both of whom glared back. His eyes dipped.  
  
"Ah, Evie, so nice to finally have you here," the wizard said as he stepped up
beside the altar. Cool fingertips graced the Queen's bare arms.  
  
Evelyn gave Bagdemagus a hateful look. "Go to Hell," she snapped, then spat.  
  
Bagdemagus grinned. "Much better to bring Hell to me," he said, leaning over
her. "For that is what our union will achieve. My immortality, my dominion.
Secured through the rape of a virgin monarch . . . and the consumption of her
pure heart."  
  
"Never!" cried Evelyn, struggling. But she was powerless against the bonds.  
  
"You know, I have always adored your fire, Evie," Bagdemagus went on, dragging
his fingers down over the Queen's dress. "It will make your sacrifice that
much more enjoyable."  
  
Evelyn cried out as the wizard slipped the blade of a dagger under the strings
of her bodice, slicing through them. "You will never take me," she declared,
nudging the chain around her neck, frantically trying to capture it with her
lips. But Bagdemagus was quick to stop her, snatching up the tiny, gem-like
vial and snapping the chain.  
  
"And what is this?" he asked, bemused. He lifted the device, inspecting it
closely. "Poison, my Queen? How noble of you to sacrifice yourself for your
kingdom." He tossed the chain over his shoulder. The vial shattered upon the
ground with a faint hiss. "So much for that."  
  
Evelyn huffed, all the hope and righteousness she had left apparently fleeing
her body upon that single, heavy breath. Her head fell back upon the altar,
her eyes staring up helplessly.  
  
_It can't happen like this! What cruel God would let the wizard win? And Drest
. . . ._  
  
_Oh, God . . . Drest, my love . . . ._  
  
"There, there, my sweet," Bagdemagus said in a patronizing voice, caressing
Evelyn's sweaty brow. "I assume those tears are for your departed, would-be
husband. Do not worry; you will be joining him soon enough. At least thank me
for that."  
  
Evelyn shuddered as she wept, the tears draining down along her cheeks,
soaking into her hair and the wood of the altar beneath. She barely felt it as
Bagdemagus ripped away her dress, bodice, and petticoats, casting the shredded
garments aside. She did not care that she was left unabashedly nude upon an
alter. Numbness consumed her. She could not even feel the cold.  
  
"My, what a sweet prize you are, my dear," Bagdemagus said approvingly, his
eyes wandering over the Queen's naked flesh. He settled his hand upon the soft
mound of hair covering her sex, feeling the natural warmth beneath. His thumb
graced the plump lips beneath, parting them. A knowing smile stretched his
lips. "Yes, a sweet prize indeed."  
  
***  
  
The bandits within the room snickered crudely, ogling the nude monarch and her
lewdly displayed charms. All their attention was focused upon the succulent
sight of the virgin Queen. They did not notice Guy Dorr stepping up behind the
two captives across the room.  
  
"I have but one question for you," Guy whispered as he stood behind Eric.  
  
The giant stiffened, surprised to hear the traitorous lord's voice. But he
recovered from his surprise almost instantly. "And that is?" he whispered
back.  
  
"You once took your vows seriously," Guy said.  
  
Eric frowned. "Yes, I did. Is that your question?"  
  
Guy chuckled dryly. "No. The question is: _do you still_?"  
  
The frown remained. Eric took a breath. "Had you asked me that three days ago,
I would have said no."  
  
"But now?"  
  
Eric gritted his teeth as he watched Bagdemagus step between the Queen's
thighs. "I doubted the existence of a loving God, once. But with evil such as
that man, then God must exist. And it is through us that he fights evil. So,
in answer to your question . . . yes, I take my vows seriously."  
  
A gloved hand wrapped itself around Eric's own, pressing something cold and
metallic into his palm. "Remember that this could have gone differently," Guy
whispered.  
  
Eric felt a surge of hope course through him as he realized he held a key.
"Why help us now?" he asked.  
  
But there was no response. Guy Dorr was gone, disappearing into the shadows.  
  
***  
  
Bagdemagus smoothed his hands along Evelyn's trembling thighs as he stood
between them, his groin mere inches from hers. His steel-colored eyes took in
her ravishing beauty with a sense of cruel glee. From his belt, he took a
crooked-bladed dagger, touched the point to Evie's abdomen, just above the
patch of downy hair. Gently, he dragged the point upward, stopping between her
heaving breasts.  
  
"I have waited nearly century for this, Evelyn," the wizard said. "Ever since
your great-grandfather Maxwell stole from me what should have been mine."  
  
Evelyn whimpered. "Just get it over with, you bastard," she sputtered through
her tears.  
  
The wizard grinned evilly. "Eager now, are you? I could almost say I am
flattered."  
  
Evie sniffled deeply, flashing her eyes open. She glared intently up at
Bagdemagus' sneering face. "You will pay for this, some day, somehow. And your
suffering will never end."  
  
Bagdemagus cocked his head, his smile crooked and rakish. "I hope you don't
mind waiting for the end of eternity to see it," he said. "After all, you are
about to make me immortal."  
  
Evelyn could not respond. There were no words left to speak, nothing she could
do other than watch helplessly as the wizard straightened, hands falling to
his breeches and the laces there.  
  
The Queen closed her eyes, letting her head fall back in resignation. _Oh,
God, please let it be brief . . . ._  
  
Faint cries sounded from beyond the entrance to the cavern, accompanied by the
ring of metal on metal. The sounds of battle.  
  
Bagdemagus snapped his head up in alarm. "What the hell is that?" he yelled to
his men. But just as the bandits turned toward the cavern's entrance, drawing
their weapons, a man stumbled through, bloodied and broken, clad in the
leather of a brigand. Ochre spilled from the man's mouth as he attempted to
speak, but he faltered and collapsed to the ground before he could do so. A
moment later, clad in the crimson coat that marked him as a regent of Ural,
stepped Prince Drest.  
  
Anger twisted the wizard's features. _Not dead,_ he thought bitterly, then
looked around quickly, searching for Guy Dorr. But the man was not to be
found. _Betrayed by the betrayer . . . ._  
  
"Evie!" cried Drest, holding his sword before him as the half-dozen bandits
charged. Beside him appeared Sir John, wielding an equally-bloody blade.  
  
Upon the table, hope soared through Evelyn's heart as she heard the voice of
her beloved. She craned her neck, tilting her head, just barely able to catch
a glimpse of him through the throng of rushing brigands. "Drest! You're
alive!"  
  
"Not for long!" growled Bagdemagus, stepping back. But just as he was about to
draw his sword, a meaty hand gripped his shoulder. The wizard snapped his head
about to see who would dare lay a hand upon him. His eyes flashed widely as he
looked upon Eric's cocky face.  
  
"I believe I may have something to say about that," Eric drawled, then hurled
Bagdemagus backward, sending the wizard sailing through the air to land bodily
upon the ground more than a dozen paces back.  
  
"Drest! John!" he bellowed, glancing back briefly as the Prince and knight,
along with a pair of guardsman and the aged Benedict, made quick work of the
unprepared bandits. "Get the Queen out of here! The wizard has more men, and
they are bound to come!"  
  
John slashed his way through a pair of brigands with two quick and deadly
blows, leaving them to collapse behind him as he strode forward. His eyes were
dark as he focused on the wizard, scrambling to his feet beyond Eric. "Just
one thing, first," he declared gravely.  
  
"No," Eric said firmly, placing his hand upon his friend's chest. "The Queen
is most important now, and we cannot fight the wizard and his men at once. Go.
I will hold the Spectre back."  
  
John stared into the giant's face. "You cannot defeat him alone."  
  
Eric nodded grimly and held up an iron key. "But I will buy you time. Give me
your sword."  
  
John started to speak, glancing quickly past his best friend to the wizard,
who sneered evilly, drawing his own blade. Begrudgingly, John handed the sword
over, taking the key at the same time. "I will avenge you," he whispered,
struggling to keep his emotions in check.  
  
Eric nodded once more. "Yes, you will." So saying, he turned to face the
wizard. "You and I, Bagdemagus."  
  
The wizard grinned. "Such heroics," he quipped disdainfully, then rushed to
meet Eric's charge.  
  
***  
  
"What is going on?" cried Muriel, clutching her skirts in hand as she ran
along the hallway toward the entrance to the dungeons. Every Royal Guardsman
in the castle, it seemed, lined the halls, clad in leather hauberks, clutching
swords at the ready. Some held bows instead, with arrows knocked.  
  
"Lady Muriel, this is no place for you," responded a guardsman. "The Prince
and Sir John have gone to rescue the Queen. That wily bastard Bagdemagus has
been hiding in the dungeons all this time."  
  
"What!" Muriel slapped a hand to her breast in astonishment. "Where is the
Chancellor?"  
  
The guardsman's face soured. "He is with them, as well."  
  
Muriel gasped, covering her mouth. "Oh, my sweet Benny," she muttered
fearfully.  
  
"They come!" called a voice from below. "They have the Queen!"  
  
Muriel sputtered happily. "Oh, thank the stars and God! Quickly, quickly!" She
beckoned desperately with her arms, watching as Evelyn appeared, surrounded by
guardsmen. The Queen wore naught but a guardsman's coat.  
  
"Evie!" cried the handmaiden, accepting Evelyn into her arms. Drest, Sir John,
and Benedict quickly appeared, as well as a bloodied and weary Sir Cedric,
helped along by guardsmen.  
  
The Prince barked orders like a general. "We've sealed the dungeon door, but
it will not hold for long," he said loudly, for all to hear. "Everyone to the
throne room; we will hold them there. 'Tis the only chamber large enough."  
  
"'Them?'" queried Muriel, holding Evelyn tight. The girl Queen shuddered
against her.  
  
"Bagdemagus has an army of brigands and murderers," said Sir John,
peripherally watching as a stumbling Cedric was helped down the corridor.
"They will be here shortly. Now, go! Get Evie to the throne room! We will
protect her with numbers!"  
  
Muriel hesitated only as long as it took for her to meet Benedict's gaze and
receive a short, but encouraging, nod from him. She suppressed a smile of
gladness upon seeing her love, and satisfied that he was well, focused her
attention on the Queen.  
  
Thunderous pounding sounded from the dungeons beneath. John and Drest stood at
the top of the landing, staring down along the stairs to the heavy oaken door
below. Behind them the guardsmen were already retreating, following the
Prince's orders.  
  
"At least Eric bought us some time," said Drest.  
  
The dungeon door shuddered again beneath what sounded like the impact of a
battering ram.  
  
Sir John nodded. "Another life to avenge," he said. He faced the Prince. "The
wizard has many to answer for."  
  
Drest nodded, then managed a smile. "We will have to have a drink, later."  
  
John could not help but smirk at the Prince's optimism. "Aye. An entire cask."  
  
"I am looking forward to it."  
  
"Just don't get yourself killed."  
  
Drest winked. "You, neither."  
  
***  
  
The guardsmen had just settled into defensive formation, swords extended
before them, facing the broad double doors to the massive throne room, when
the mad rush of battle-frenzied voices filled the halls outside. Behind the
line of men stood Drest and John. Archers leaned out from the balconies above,
arrows trained upon the door.  
  
And upon the dais which supported the throne itself crouched Evelyn and
Muriel, holding each other, anxious eyes looking over the heads of the
guardsmen.  
  
"They're willing to die for me," whispered the Queen, her body trembling. So
much emotion, so much pain and sorrow. In a matter of moments, she knew, one
way or the other, it would all be over.  
  
"That is their duty, Evie," Muriel responded, petting her regent's hair.
"Mine, as well."  
  
Evelyn sniffled, hearing the cacophony in the halls as it grew louder and
louder. "I'm not worthy of that."  
  
Muriel gripped the young woman's shoulders and forced Evelyn to look up at
her. "No more of that," she said sternly. "You are the Queen. The duty of
everyone in this room is to die for you."  
  
"And what is my duty?" queried Evelyn.  
  
"To give them a reason to do so. And that, you have done. Now stop blubbering
and be a Queen!"  
  
Evelyn sniffed, one last time, drawing back the tears. Bravely, she nodded. "I
will."  
  
"You will?"  
  
Evelyn took a breath, steeling herself. "I am."  
  
Muriel smiled. "That is what I thought."  
  
The throne room doors shuddered violently, mad voices beyond crying for blood.  
  
"Ready, men!" bellowed John.  
  
"AYE!" The valiant response of the guardsmen echoed in the chamber.  
  
"Give them everything!" shouted Drest.  
  
"AYE!"  
  
Evelyn stood before her throne, briefly glancing to Cedric, propped against
one of the pillars nearby, with Benedict standing guard. Only the shallow rise
and fall of his chest indicated he still lived. _So much pain, to so many I
have loved,_ she thought.  
  
Her eyes grew hard, and she watched the door as it shook again, splintering
this time.  
  
_Their pain will not be in vain_, she decided, then raised her voice for all
to hear: "Spill the blood of any man who does not wear the colors of Vix!"  
  
For a moment, all eyes turned back to fall upon her, and in that moment,
guardsman, knight, and Prince all came to the same conclusion: _There is our
Queen. We will die to protect her._  
  
As one, every man faced the door once more, and every man bellowed in unison.  
  
"AYE!"  
  
The doors splintered again, then shattered, falling inward before the horde of
Bagdemagus' minions. Where and how he had recruited so many could not be
fathomed. Nor did anyone bother to wonder at that moment, as two ranks of
guardsmen faced the onslaught. The air became filled with shouts and curses,
blood-curdling cries as steel bit into flesh. The first wave crashed against
the wall of well-trained men, who slashed and stabbed with practiced
precision.  
  
But all too soon, the battle became a chaotic melee. The guardsmen were better
trained, but outnumbered. The odds seemed more or less equal, but that was
bound to change soon enough.  
  
The archers in the balconies unleashed their arrows, striking down bandits as
they rushed in to join their fellows. But the bandits bore crossbows of their
own, and fired back. More than a few of the archers fell to the floor below,
their weapons clattering across polished marble. Those left retreated, only to
come down through the side doors to lend their steel to the brouhaha.  
  
And through that chaotic sea of battle waded Bagdemagus, striding without
care, avoided by all around him. Cloaked once more in his magic, no one saw
him for the threat he was, instead moving around him without knowing they did
so. But Evelyn saw, of course.  
  
His eyes locked upon Evelyn as he approached, dragging the tip of his sword
across the ground. The harsh, grating sound rose above the din, reaching the
Queen's ears. Evelyn stood, staring back, suppressing her fear.  

"You will not have me," she said, her voice inaudible, yet still, the wizard
seemed to hear it.  
  
"Oh, indeed I shall," he answered, setting foot upon the lowest step of the
dais.  
  
Beside the Queen, Muriel gasped. "It is he! The Spectre!" she cried.  
  
Evelyn frowned a moment, strangely calm despite the circumstances. _She can
see him,_ she thought. _Bagdemagus' magic must be fading._  
  
Indeed, at that moment, Benedict, alarmed by Muriel's cry, looked to the
throne to see the wizard ascending the steps. His reaction was immediate.
Leading the way with his sword, he charged toward the menacing figure.  
  
But Bagdemagus was quicker, more skilled. He paused, snapping up his blade,
stabbing into Benedict's chest, arching his back only slightly so that the
Chancellor's thrust missed him by inches.  
  
"BENEDICT!" screeched Muriel, watching the man she loved stumble back,
dropping his sword to the ground, clutching his chest. His pale jacket quickly
became dark with blood.  
  
"Feel free to join him, you annoying old cow," snarled the wizard, advancing
further and backhanding the Queen's handmaiden. Muriel grunted in pain,
pitching off the dais to land hard upon the floor below.  
  
Bagdemagus' sword flashed up as he pushed Evelyn back onto her throne. The tip
of the blade barely missed Evelyn's cheek before it stabbed into the padded
backing of the throne. The wizard leaned over the Queen, breathing hotly upon
her.  
  
"You cannot rob me of my due," he hissed, nudging her legs apart. Evelyn still
wore only the coat of a guardsman, her virgin sex once more exposed as the
wizard settled between her thighs. "I will take you here if need be."  
  
Evelyn glared up at him hatefully. "I do not think so," she said. Her eyes
flickered past the wizard.  
  
Bagdemagus took the bait, rearing back for a moment to look behind him. As he
did so, Evelyn swung her leg around, cracking the wizard across the jaw as she
leapt from the throne, landing upon the marble floor below. And just then, Sir
John and Prince Drest emerged from the melee, battered and wounded, yet still
with much fight left in them. Without hesitation, they charged up the steps as
Bagdemagus spun around to meet them. Blades clashed and sparked.  
  
No one noticed as a sword was lifted heavily from the ground, the hilt filling
the hand of a tortured and battered young knight as he pushed himself to his
feet.  
  
"Your evil comes to an end, wizard!" cried Drest valiantly as he and John
battled Bagdemagus upon the dais.  
  
"Not by your hand, boy!" retorted the wizard, fending off the two men's blows,
then spinning low and down, slashing outward. His blade caught the Prince
across the chest, splitting leather, flesh and muscle. With a grunt of pain,
Drest stumbled backward, falling heavily to the ground.  
  
John was quick to take advantage of the opening the wizard left him, and
thrust with all his might, impaling the wizard through the abdomen. John
leaned in, forcing his weight upon Bagdemagus, making his blade bite deep.
"How about mine?" he growled with vengeful satisfaction.  
  
But the fire did not leave Bagdemagus' eyes, even though his sword fell from
his grip, clattering down the steps. "Not . . . quite," he spat, then hammered
his fist into John's jaw, mustering all his supernatural strength. The knight
was lifted off his feet by the blow, flying backward before he, too, slammed
into the floor.  
  
_Thp!_  
  
The wizard flinched, wincing as an arrow bit deep into his side. His eyes
darted back along the arrow's path, to find none other than Evelyn, kneeling
upon the floor, setting another arrow upon her bow.  
  
_Thp!_  
  
The second arrow struck him in the shoulder as he turned to face her, ready to
leap off the dais. He faltered on his feet, but the inhuman wizard would not
fall.  
  
_Thp!_  
  
The third was snatched from the air, just before it could pierce the wizard's
skull. Bagdemagus sneered down at the Queen, letting the arrow fall to the
ground.  
  
Evelyn stared in stupefaction. _What does it take to slay him?_  
  
"RAARRGHHH!"  
  
The bellow filled the room, echoing thunderously off the walls and garnering
the attention of the remaining combatants. Stumbling in his mad charge, Cedric
hurled himself forward, barely able to see, guided by nothing more than rage
and intuition.  
  
"For the Queen!" he cried, bounding up the steps, sword clutched desperately
in both hands as he slashed downward. The blade sliced through flesh and bone,
eliciting a spray of blood from Bagdemagus' torso. The wizard was hurled back
onto the throne, sputtering in pain, looking upon the battered face of a man
who, by all rights, should not have possessed the strength to even stand.  
  
The wizard extended a hand to protect himself, but another powerful, vicious
slash cut cleanly through, severing the arm just below the elbow. Fingers
twitching, the hand bounced down the steps to the floor. Bagdemagus gaped in
shock.  
  
"That . . . was . . . for me," sputtered Cedric, swaying on his feet, glaring
through blood-encrusted eyes. With a last, Herculean effort, he turned his
sword about, raising it high above his head in both hands, the blade flashing
for a moment in the light, the point angled toward the wizard's chest.  
  
"And this . . . ."  
  
Bagdemagus shuddered, for the first time in a century feeling the weight of
his own mortality. He swallowed blood, tried to speak, but no sound would
escape.  
  
". . . is for . . . REBECCA!" Bellowed Cedric once more, stabbing down with
all his remaining strength, spearing the wizard through the heart. Bagdemagus
convulsed, spasming as his life was taken from him. The sword stabbed all the
way through his body, into the throne beneath, resulting in a great,
thunderous _crack!_ as the throne itself was split.  
  
For a moment, all was silent in the throne room. All battle ceased. None could
believe what had just happened.  
  
Every eye fell upon Cedric, who wavered on weak legs. Looking like a man
drunk, he turned and descended the steps, as Evelyn approached.  
  
Her voice quivered. She, like everyone else, was stunned that the young knight
had actually succeeded where none had triumphed before. "C-Cedric . . .?"  
  
He could barely see her, but the sound of her voice was enough. "My . . .
Queen . . . ."  
  
"Cedric!" cried Evelyn, barely catching the knight as he collapsed.  
  
***  
  
"'Tis almost impossible to believe," Sir John spoke as he watched the
remainder of the wizard's bandit army being escorted beyond the gates.
Reserves had been called up from the village, and once word had spread that
the seemingly immortal Bagdemagus had been slain, it seemed that every man,
woman and child had flocked to the outer walls of the castle.  
  
Beside him, modesty preserved by robes, Evelyn nodded. "If we had not seen it
happen, I would have sworn it all a dream. But it is not. The wizard is dead."  
  
John noted the sullen expression on his cousin's face. "I would expect you to
be happier than this."  
  
Evelyn smiled weakly. "While my heart is gladdened," she said. "My spirit
still suffers. Drest and Benedict both were gravely wounded, Eric is dead, and
Cedric . . . he may not see the morning. How he still lives is . . .
incredible."  
  
John smiled. "A testament, I'd say, to his strength, and your foresight into
making him a knight. Who would ever believe a cobbler's son would slay the
Spectre That Walks?"  
  
Evie nodded mutely, her eyes swollen and puffy. "At the least," she whispered.
"If he passes this night, he will be with his beloved once more."  
  
John reached to Evelyn, tentatively pulling her close. A more genuine smile
touched her lips as she leaned against the knight. "Perhaps you should do the
same, my Queen."  
  
Evelyn straightened, and wiped her eyes. "I am still the Queen," she said. "My
duty is for my people."  
  
John scoffed. "Go and see to Drest," he insisted. "Do not make me pull rank."  
  
Evelyn frowned upon John.  
  
The knight chuckled. "Correct me if I am wrong, but seeing as how we have the
same grandfather, and I am older . . . technically, I suppose, that would make
me the rightful regent of Vix." He finished his statement with a wink.  
  
Evie laughed softly. "Well, I suppose you are right, cousin," she answered
with mock haughtiness. "Are you saying you want the kingdom? By all means, you
may have it."  
  
John returned the mirth. "Let's get you married to the Prince, first," he
said.  
  
Buoyant emotion rose to the Queen's face, returning color. She shook her head
in wonder. "Let us not think too far ahead. Right now, I am afraid to even
pinch myself, for fear of waking up."  
  
John pinched the Queen's arm through her robe, making her yelp under her
breath. "There," he said simply with a mischievous smile. "Is there anything
else I can do for her highness?"  
  
Evelyn touched John's face, staring up into his eyes. "You have done more than
enough, cousin," she whispered, then lifted up to kiss him briefly. Without a
word, Evelyn stepped down from the mansion, immediately surrounded by a
quartet of the Royal Guard who escorted her on the way to the small hospital.  
  
John smiled, watching her go. He took a breath, touched his bruised jaw.  
  
_King John,_ he thought, turning slowly toward the doors of the keep. _It does
have a nice ring to it . . . ._  
  
***  
  
_Thanks for reading, and be sure to vote._




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