Chapter 372 - Squire Roford

Krang reviewed his mistake. The plan had been full of holes from the outset, so the mistake itself was not what mattered. What mattered was identifying what he needed now and what he had to do.

And that was what he did. He needed time, and something that would buy it. "Marcus Vaisar."

"Yes, sir."

"Can you get out and ask for help?"

"... It seems I'll have to." Krang was trapped in the drawing room assigned to him. The small private room was in what the palace called the outer guest quarters. Guests stayed there when visiting the palace; it had no defensive installations. Since he was not yet a grand duke or anything else, his entire domain consisted of a bedroom and its adjoining drawing room.

And now he was trapped in it. The moment Krang finished speaking, Matthew, his whip-bearing guard, hurled a stool at the window. Glass shattered with a crash. He smashed away the remaining shards with his whip handle and cleared them aside. The window was wide enough for a person to climb through. "My guards should be outside."

Marcus approached the window as he spoke. They were three floors up. It was no small drop, but a large ornamental tree stood in front of it. If he caught a few branches on the way down, he should survive. Krang folded his arms where he sat. His thoughts were not tangled. If anything, they had become clear and simple.

Viscount Mernes had launched a rebellion. It was madness, heedless of the consequences, but...

'It is a well-timed move.'

Krang admitted it. The viscount he had considered half an imbecile was actually clever, with good instincts.

'He's committing everything he has here?'

It was a move that pressed a razor-sharp dagger to his throat. Everything Krang had done since coming to the palace, including arranging the grand-ducal investiture, served a single purpose.

It was simple and straightforward: gather the trash and dispose of it.

It was also his solution to the problem the Queen had set him. "Win every minister over to your side."

Krang murmured the words, now hugging one raised knee. His voice was barely loud enough for his own ears.

Turned on its head, that meant he could simply gather and eliminate everyone who was not on his side. If he could not find and persuade them one by one...

'I just have to get rid of them all.' But that had united all his enemies. The factions had become one under Viscount Mernes and come at him.

'I thought they'd keep fighting among themselves and leave me alone for a little longer.'

Still, this was no time to dwell on why. It had been a fight that required a gamble from the start, and Krang had taken one. Now the results were coming in. "I'm going."

Marcus leaped out the window. Krang sprang up, leaned out, and watched him go.

Marcus caught the branches directly before him to slow his fall, then hit the ground and rolled. It was a clean breakfall that dispersed the impact. He, too, was a trained and conditioned soldier. As soon as he landed, the men guarding the guest quarters rushed him. Golden helmets and golden spearheads—the Royal Guard. Men who should have been at the Queen's side were here instead. "Kill him!"

"Traitor!"

Who were they calling a traitor?

Spearheads shot toward Marcus. He rolled across the ground again, leaves and grass sticking to his cheeks and back. Coming out of the roll, he rose with his back to the tree. His shirt hung in tatters at the forearm. Catching his breath, Marcus glanced from side to side. His guards were nowhere in sight. They would be in the first-floor lobby of the guest quarters, so they should arrive soon.

With that thought, he drew a short dagger from his waist. "Come on. Come on, you bastards."

His eyes darted left and right as he spoke. Whatever it took, he would kill the first man to come at him. He made that resolve plain. "Circle him."

A Royal Guard commander in a dark gray helmet had appeared and stepped forward to give the order.

No one charged. Instead, the surrounding guards' spears formed a neat circle. A perfect encirclement. 'Oh, shit.'

Thrusting simultaneously from this formation was the Royal Guard's specialty. Wouldn't it take at least a proto knight to block ten spearheads, thrust on the same breath at the same instant, with a single dagger?

Cold sweat poured down Marcus's back. "Is this the right path?"

Krang called from the window. Though isolated and cornered, he had lost none of his dignity or authority. Those came from his character, his integrity, and his actions.

He placed one foot on the windowsill and exposed himself. An arrow from somewhere could kill him outright, but hiding while raising his voice would do no good here. One of the waiting Royal Guards saw him and quietly raised his spear, shifting to an overhand grip. He was well within throwing range.

Seeing this, the commander in the dark gray helmet waved a hand: hold. The soldier frowned inside his helmet. "This is our chance."

"Keep your mouth shut. Disobey, and you will be executed on the spot."

The soldier's eyes gleamed at that, but he finally lowered his spear. The man in the dark gray helmet looked up at Krang. "Then what is the right path?"

He stopped with his spear in hand as he asked. His men gathered beside him. There were fewer than ten.

The palace was already in utter chaos, with screams and fighting breaking out everywhere. "No one else can decide right and wrong for you."

Krang spoke slowly and distinctly.

What was right for the Royal Guard? Protecting the royal house. The man in the dark gray helmet wrestled with the question.

What was the right path? He saw Krang above him, hair fluttering in the wind. Death would end everything, yet he was risking his life to buy a little time.

For what?

To save Marcus Vaisar, the man Viscount Mernes had branded a traitor.

Would that action mean anything? Would buying a little time change things?

He did not know. This was not a calculated act. Krang was doing it because he believed it was right.

That was how it looked. To him, at least, that was all he could see. He had seen Krang before, met him and spoken with him. That must have played a part, too. He had not known he would make this choice at this moment, but he chose his side.

"... About-face. Turn your spears." "Have you gone mad?"

The soldier who had readied his spear to throw shouted, but the man in the dark gray helmet said nothing.

He had taken this post to protect the Queen, believing it a greater honor than joining the knight order. But what was it now? A post where he scrambled to save the lives of a few petty nobles? A position that required him to raise his spear for them?

He wanted none of it. Frankly, he wanted to tell them he didn't give a damn and punch them in the face. The Royal Guards split into two groups. They had belonged to different factions from the start.

A spearhead shot toward the man in the dark gray helmet. It was the soldier who had frowned at him.

He turned sideways, narrowing the target he presented. Dodging, he knocked the spear aside with his shaft, then stepped forward with his left foot and swung his own spear down like a club. WHOOSH! THWACK!

"Aagh!"

The subordinate who had raised an arm to block screamed. His arm broken by that single blow, he retreated, and others filled his place. "Have you lost your mind, sir?" another soldier asked.

"It seems so."

At his indifferent reply, the men who followed him opened a path for Marcus. "Thank you."

Marcus slipped out. Rather than answer, the dark-helmeted man guarded his back.

Without looking back, Marcus found a horse and rode off. But the danger was far from over. He had to shake off pursuer after pursuer. His two guards caught up with him, but one died, and the other stayed behind to buy time.

Finally, even a madman from the West joined the chase. Of course, Marcus had no time to establish who his pursuer was. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

Marcus had quickly ridden away, but the man came running after him without a horse. He was fast. He looked ready to catch up at any moment.

A spear he threw gouged flesh from Marcus's forearm. With no time to tend the wound, Marcus spurred his horse on, droplets of blood scattering in his wake. "Run. My life depends on you."

Urging the horse on, Marcus rode for Andrew's mansion. It was his last refuge. Right now, he could not even call his own House Vaisar an ally.

* * *

Left isolated after the others had gone, Krang shouted,

"Do you know who my friend is? None other than Border Guard's Lone Shining Star, the Foe of Aspen, Encrid the Lunatic, armed with his Irresistible charm!"

No one answered. Matthew asked,

"... Will that work?"

"Right? Not yet, huh?" Even with his calculations foiled, Krang laughed. Grinning broadly at Matthew's question, he said,

"Open the passage."

At least he had secured a secret escape route: an opening that sloped downward. It was another courtesy from the Queen. 'Will holding out for half a day be enough?'

Then he could dispose of the gathered trash. His enemies had moved half a day sooner than he expected.

'Starting this shit in broad daylight.' Krang knew instinctively that he needed an unexpected factor if he was to survive and make this succeed. His enemies had prepared one, but so had he.

Now it was time to see this through.

* * *

"That bastard."

Rem reacted.

The extent of the mounted Marcus's injuries, the appearance of the man pursuing him—the instant Encrid saw them, he spoke.

"Fuck him up." Rem had meant to hunt him down and kill him anyway. The pursuer was the Ageless Madman. The bastard who had escaped before had shown his face here.

Rem sprang from the wall. The man chasing Marcus immediately reversed course. Kicking off the ground, he turned and ran the other way. The floating spears wheeled around and followed him. It was a retreat without a moment's hesitation.

Rem raced after him. Both ran across the bluestone faster than a mounted rider. "Aaaah!"

An unsuspecting woman by the roadside screamed. Her lover or husband pulled her into his arms and pressed against the wall of what looked like a shop.

In that brief instant, the two runners vanished. Rem disappeared between the buildings, and Encrid could no longer follow him with his eyes. Encrid looked at Marcus, who had ridden up before him. Still mounted, blood streaming from one arm and gasping for breath, he spoke with an urgency Encrid had never seen in him before.

"Help me." Encrid decided it was time to move. As he started down from the wall, someone shouted behind him.

"Fleeing now will only make matters worse!"

It was the squire. Encrid spoke over his shoulder.

"I'm going to the palace." The squire knew whose hands the palace was in. Going there now meant risking his life.

For what?

He scowled, brow furrowing, nose wrinkling. Suddenly he found himself wondering why he was here, what he was here for, whose orders had brought him, and whether any of it had been his own choice. He also recalled the words of the proto knight who had taught him.

["It isn't a question of right or wrong. It's a question of where you stand."]

His talent for swordsmanship had earned him a place as a squire, but his disposition had always drawn criticism.

["And what do you think?"] Even when choosing lunch, he deferred to his companions' wishes. By nature, he let himself be pulled this way and that. That was part of what had brought him here.

He had followed someone else's will, not his own. He could still console himself that he had merely followed orders, but...

'Is that enough? Am I satisfied with that?'

He did not know.

'Why am I here?' At that unexpected remark from Encrid—the very man he was supposed to arrest—the squire found his resolve.

A strange, unfamiliar feeling moved his lips.

"The army mustered by Viscount Mernes's forces will advance soon."

At the newfound respect in his voice, Encrid glanced back and blinked. Why was he telling him this? "The man leading those united factions is every bit as capable as a proto knight of the knight order."

"What are you saying?"

The chief of the constabulary grabbed the squire's arm, his voice urgent. The squire calmly shook off his hand and continued.

"Please help us." Encrid scratched his head. Asking him for help—was that really something a man sent to arrest him should say?

But it was hard to turn away from such sincerity. The squire bowed his head, and the south gate guard captain in the feathered hat stepped forward beside him. "If this continues, even the capital's citizens will suffer terribly."

Would an army advancing into the capital simply settle into its quarters? Especially one cobbled together from fragments of different factions?

Among them would be swordsmen who had sold themselves for gold, and plenty blinded by bloodlust. The noble lords could not afford to be choosy now, so men of ill repute would be among their ranks. For the citizens' safety. To protect the capital.

The two men stepped forward and bowed their heads. "Ragna, you can stop them, can't you?"

Ragna did not ask why they should bother. He simply met Encrid's eyes.

"Go stop them. Dunbachel, go with him."

Ragna and Dunbachel should be able to hold off the elite soldiers pushing in from the front. "What's your name?" Encrid asked the squire.

"Roford, sir."

"Go rally the remaining troops and stop the enemy coming in. Hold at the gates. My people will deal with anyone who challenges you to a duel." Even if they rescued Krang, being surrounded by the incoming army would be the end of them.

Encrid grasped the situation both instinctively and rationally. The sense he had developed when escaping an enemy encirclement after hundreds of repeated todays now shone through.

His intuition told him what needed doing: stop the army outside and deal with matters within. Unless Krang had no plan at all, what he needed was time.

Encrid realized where he needed to be now. "Let's go," Ragna said upon hearing Encrid's order.

It had been an order, not a request. Ragna and Dunbachel turned without a single quip. Off to one side, Marcus panted, his skin tinged blue. Jaxon joined Encrid, and they went over the wall.

The remaining troops glanced blankly from side to side. Should they follow the man called Ragna? Or seize Encrid as he left?

They saw the fallen constable and the chief of the constabulary beside him, sweating profusely. "Didn't we take up our spears to protect the capital? I did, at least. Those who wish to stay here may stay."

Squire Roford spoke.

Everyone has a moment when they grow and come to understand something. This was Roford's. Encrid's single remark about going to the palace had been the catalyst. "Let's go."

He was the first to follow Ragna. The south gate guard captain followed him, then the soldiers who had already changed their minds. Left behind, the chief of the constabulary spat a string of damns and curses before saying,

"Let's go fulfill our duty."

At least he made it sound good. Naturally, Andrew stepped forward too. Going to the palace alone now would accomplish nothing, so he meant to defend the walls instead.

When he told the five trainees to stay behind, the freckle-faced young woman said,

"We've trained within an inch of our lives, too." The five trainees fell in behind Andrew. When Mac tried to follow as well, Andrew shook his head.

"You're a butler now. Guard the house."

With that, the six of them followed the others who had left first. At the head of the group, Ragna shambled forward, with Dunbachel beside him.

"This looked like more fun, didn't it?"

Ragna nodded casually. Walking beside them, Squire Roford inwardly shook his head. Fun? This was no time to think about that.

After walking a little farther, he spoke. They were heading the wrong way.

"We need to go to the west gate," Roford said.

"Hmm. This way, right?"

"No, that's north."

After addressing the swordsman at the head of the group, Roford took the lead himself. The man's sense of direction seemed appalling.