Chapter 7

  Isabeau gritted her teeth, looking down at her knuckles. Her white-gloved fist trembled, stained red with the Duchess’s blood. Her breath caught up in her throat. She wanted so badly to have had the less violent way of handling things to have worked out, but she couldn’t have just sat back and let the madwoman stab her or Martha either. She shook with terror and remorse over what she’d had to do and its potential consequences until she felt an arm around her as someone tried to whisk her away.

  “Isabeau,” Sir Tancred said in her ear, “we need to leave. Now.”

  That brought Isabeau back to her senses. She saw the violence all around, people trying to escape and being cut down as soon as they got close to the cellar door. One of the Baultain house guards came for Blaise, but the faithful knight gripped the blade of his sword in his previously free hand and half-sworded into the soldier’s throat. True to his chivalry, Blaise fought to keep Martha safe as he tried to escort her away.

  “I need a sword,” Isabeau demanded. Sir Tancred shook his head.

  “We cannot get caught up in this if we are to escort Lady Martha away safely,” he scolded her.

  While Sir Tancred led her away, Isabeau saw Sir Geoffroi wading his way through the brawl. With a quick flip of his sword, he rammed the pommel into the gut of one of the members of the treacherous family trying to apprehend him. As that man tumbled over a table, one of the soldiers of the White Lions swung an axe at the knight’s head. He lost his own as Sir Geoffroi’s blade struck true.

  “Keep running, Lady Martha!” he bellowed over the sounds of combat, “I will aid your escape, don’t worry about me!”

  “No, Sir Geoffroi!” Isabeau heard Martha calling out to him.

  Sir Abramo rushed the knight, swinging at him with an extension of thorny blades growing from his arm. A power, Isabeau noted, that she had never seen before. Sir Geoffroi leaned out of the way of Abramo’s attack, and then with a hefty kick, sent the other knight tumbling over a nearby bench and hitting the back of his head on a table. A guard with a halberd was next, fallen by a pommel to the helm that knocked him out cold. Sir Geoffroi reached for the fallen soldier’s weapon just as Minerva attempted to jump him. He swung out hard with the pole and launched her into the painting Isabeau and Blaise had previously observed. It crashed down on top of the mutant homunculus, sending her sprawling.

  “Sir Tancred! Sir Blaise! Isabeau!” Sir Geoffroi commanded. “Keep Martha safe for me…”

  Isabeau couldn’t take it anymore. She pushed against Sir Tancred, who stuck close to her with his pilfered sword at the ready.

  “Please,” she begged him, “Martha wanted Sir Geoffroi to run away with her. If we fight back, maybe—”

  “—There are too many soldiers we would have to contend with, my child!” A crossbow bolt shot from the balcony overlooking the hall whizzed past Sir Tancred’s bald head. “Sir Geoffroi is selflessly doing what he must to help Martha, and if we do not take this opportunity, it will all be in vain!”

  “I,” Isabeau’s voice came out as a strangled sob as Sir Tancred quickly escorted her to the cellar door Sir Geoffroi had once guarded. Isabeau took one last look over her shoulder. She saw Sir Geoffroi, halberd clenched tightly in his gauntlets as Cyran, Abramo, and Minerva all closed in. She had no time to see Martha’s face in that moment, but knew the poor girl had to be absolutely beside herself over her knight’s sacrifice.

  “Martha,” Isabeau began to say.

  “Save it for later,” Martha replied. “We need to move or else we won’t be escaping tonight.” Isabeau could hear how forced the calm in Martha’s voice sounded; surely her time to break would be coming soon.

  “Surely this path out of the cellar will get us past the castle walls?” Blaise asked as he took up the back of the group and placed the sword he’d taken from a guest through the door’s handles to seal it shut.

  “The path will take us under the walls,” — Martha’s reply halted as she took a torch from the wall— “and out at the base of the castle’s hill where guests tend to park their carriages.” She said no more as she began to lead the way down a spiral stone staircase ahead; nobody said anything further as they descended the stairs. As the group of four reached the end of the stairs, the cellar walls gave way to a cavern.

  “This cavern,” Martha explained, though her voice had begun to sound more weary, “is a secret passageway out of the castle. There was a time long ago when Castle Baultain was besieged, and my great-grandfather had it dug so he could send a messenger to the king at the time to call for aid.”

  Isabeau couldn’t help but believe that Martha chose to tell the story simply to distract herself from the perils they’d all faced tonight. She and the others followed Martha down the tunnel, the sounds of combat above dulling as they headed further towards the exit. It was a shorter walk than Isabeau would have expected, but it wasn’t long before she felt the cool night air leaking through the tunnel’s other end. No one moved to intercept Isabeau or her companions as they left the tunnel, but Isabeau’s brief glimpse of her surroundings pointed to no signs of a struggle. It would have been foolish for the Duchess to not have had guards blocking this exit from the castle, so Isabeau made her guess that either Martha or Sir Geoffroi carefully made sure that no guards had been posted.

  The group made haste from the cavern’s exit and down to where their carriage stood thankfully untouched.

  “Let Martha in first,” said Sir Tancred. “Blaise, Isabeau, keep watch.”

  The group of four arrived at Blaise’s carriage. Isabeau looked back up towards the castle for any signs of trouble, but now she was so far away that she couldn’t even hear any soldiers on the walls or the sounds of fighting.

  “We should be safe to go,” said Isabeau.

  Isabeau, Blaise, and Tancred piled into the homunculus-drawn vehicle, Isabeau taking the bench beside Martha and Sir Tancred and Blaise sitting across from them. The driver lashed the reins, and the groaning homunculi charged onward at full speed. They rode in silence for a while as Tancred frequently checked the windows for any of the White Lions’ soldiers in pursuit.

  “Sir Geoffroi,” Martha finally spoke up, “I can’t see any way he could have…”

  “I’m sorry, Martha,” said Isabeau, her voice catching up with emotion as she spoke and offered a hand to rub the young noblewoman’s back. “The White Lions had him surrounded, but the last I saw of him, he was fighting hard to make sure you’d get out alive.”

  “I know…”

  Isabeau looked into Martha’s sad, hopeful brown eyes. She wanted to suggest it could be possible that maybe he too had gotten out of there. She truly wanted there to be hope that Martha’s knight could make it back to her alive, but Isabeau knew better. Even a knight as well-armed and strong as Sir Geoffroi could easily be overwhelmed by a large enough crowd of armed peasants, let alone professional fighters such as Cyran and his lackeys. Isabeau couldn’t get the words out, but thankfully Blaise could.

  “I want you to listen to me, Lady Martha,” he said, his voice gentler than Isabeau had ever remembered him being capable of, “The first thing Sir Geoffroi did when he saw that you were in danger was to step into the way of your attackers and give you the chance to escape. There are no truer knights than that man who looked out for you, and his selflessness and chivalry will earn his soul its place in the Dragon’s flame as it carries him to God’s throne in heaven.”

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  “Sir Blaise is correct,” said Sir Tancred, “Remember that all of Sir Geoffroi’s life was dedicated to your safety and happiness.”

  Isabeau could feel the tension in Martha release, some of it also leaving her body as tears.

  “It’s silly of me to hope that he may have won that fight,” Martha cried. “You are all right, it’s—” She inhaled sharply, trying to speak through her tears, “—I can no longer speak of it. You have my gratitude, and…I’m sorry about the payment, I had no chance to collect my money, so…”

  “We need no payment, Lady Martha. Rescuing you from the clutches of your grandmother is something any of us would do without compensation.”

  Isabeau glanced out her window. In the distance, she saw a gathering of orange lights in the night that appeared to be growing closer with every bit of time that passed.

  “Someone’s following us,” Isabeau warned her companions.

  “Lash the reins!” Blaise called to the carriage driver. “We have enemies in pursuit, don’t let them get close!”

  The ride started to feel bumpier as Isabeau felt the carriage swerving hard. Seeing the shadows of trees in the ringlight outside, she could tell that the driver had gone off of the main road and down a path through the woods in an effort to lose their pursuers. Despite the detour, Isabeau could still see the lights of the pursuing party’s torches as they tried to weave between the trees. One of the lights waved back and forth, before crashing on the ground and going out.

  Good, Isabeau thought, it’s working.

  That was the advantage of a homunculus-drawn carriage—they could outrun the standard horse in the long term, and few things in the road were capable of tripping them up. Still, there were those among the riders who were skilled enough to keep pursuit even in the forest. Isabeau’s sensitive ears picked up on the sounds of hoofbeats swiftly approaching the carriage.

  “Bastards are still chasing us,” she shouted.

  “Allow me,” said Sir Tancred. He and Blaise both leaned for the carriage windows, swords ready. Isabeau found herself pushed aside as Sir Tancred shielded her from one of the pursuers trying to jam a lance through the open window to his right. It failed to catch anyone and was pulled back through. Isabeau heard a shoving sound from Blaise’s end, followed by a shout of panic and the sound of a rider falling from their horse and into the bushes alongside the path.

  As the lancer attempted to strike again, Sir Tancred grabbed the incoming weapon, forcing the rider to let go or be thrown off of their horse. The rider decided to stay mounted, while Sir Tancred shoved the lance out the window. It stalled the rider but ultimately failed to keep him away. Frustrated, Isabeau wondered what the soldier must have been feeding his horse to allow it to keep up for this long.

  The final pursuer tried to close in one last time. As he did, Sir Tancred shouted and thrust out with his sword, leaning back now without it in his hands. For a moment, it was as if the Black Knight of Gelova had returned until Sir Tancred spoke as if he hadn’t just killed a man.

  “That should be the last one,” he said calmly. “Sir Blaise, I think it would be best that we stop the carriage in Grelun.”

  ***

  It was well past midnight when Blaise’s carriage arrived in the town of Grelun. Last time Isabeau had visited the town, she joined the Countess and her fellow Executioner-Knights in driving away bandits led by Brandon of Bruin, one of the fabled ringwolves of the war between Gelova and Pryvdan. It was hard to tell for sure with just the ring above to provide light, but the town seemed to be doing well enough. Lord Gilbert’s guards now had better equipment, and they looked cleaner and as if they’d had more to eat. They kept patrol around the town to maintain curfew but had made an exception for Blaise and his traveling companions after hearing the story of the night’s events.

  “That’s one hell of a risk you took, stoking the ire of the Baultain family,” said the guard who received them, whom Isabeau recognized as one of the archers who aided the Executioner-Knights in some of their previous work. He chuckled. “We’re no fans of them here, either. What I would’ve given to have seen that punch…”

  Isabeau, Blaise, and Sir Tancred led Martha down the path to the town’s local inn, The Black Ram. The old, thatched-roof building brought some memories back for Isabeau, particularly Gwion, its proprietor. Isabeau wondered how her fellow homunculus was doing following the defeat of Colin’s slavers and the interrogation the older homunculus had been subjected to. She hoped Gwion was home, and that the Knights’ questions hadn’t struck so much of a nerve that he’d be unwilling to see her.

  Isabeau knocked on the door. She had to wait a good few moments before anyone answered, but she doubted anyone would be awake at this time of night. She hoped she hadn’t disturbed Gwion from a well-deserved rest. To Isabeau’s surprise, he came to the door in his linen shirt and apron, long hair tied back. He had a broom in his hand.

  “What brings the Executioner-Knights at this hour?” said Gwion with a smile far calmer than most who had the Order at their door at such a time.

  “Sorry to bother you so late at night, Mr. Gwion,” said Sir Tancred.

  “It is no trouble. I was just doing a few chores before turning in for the night.” The homunculus from Pryvdan gave a knowing nod to Isabeau. “The ants shouldn’t bother you. They prepare to slumber as autumn comes.”

  Isabeau recalled the small alchemical pests who used both the inn and Gwion himself as their nest. One of them had bitten her when she’d first visited, and Gwion claimed that ever since then that the ant would let him know when she was nearby. Isabeau wondered if Gwion had in fact been sleeping, but the ant had given him the signal and prompted him to have the Black Ram ready for her arrival.

  As Blaise hung up his hat, Gwion gave a nod in his direction.

  “You are dressed in your finest clothes, Sir Blaise,” he remarked. “For what occasion?”

  “My wedding, or at least the start of it. It was…well, it is a bit late to explain, and I think all of us deserve a good rest.” glanced towards Martha, still morose and quiet with her head down. “Lady Martha here was my intended, but things did not quite work out and we had to flee from her family’s guards.”

  “That is a story I would like to hear sometime,” said Gwion. “Any of my rooms are open, take the ones that suit your needs.”

  Martha wordlessly accepted the invitation, turning away from the group and heading upstairs. Isabeau, Blaise, Sir Tancred, and Gwion all exchanged awkward glances.

  “Thank you, Gwion,” said Blaise, “I shall retire as well…I will not be joining the rest of you tomorrow. I will lay low just this night, but then I must head to Castle Dragoul to ensure my parents made it home.”

  “Indeed, Sir Blaise,” said Sir Tancred. “I shall also take this opportunity to rest.”

  “Goodnight, you two,” said Isabeau as they turned for the stairs, “I’ll join you later.”

  Nobody objected, and Isabeau claimed a stool at the counter. She could see that Gwion had indeed been hard at work, as the oaken slab under her elbows looked recently polished.

  “Is that blood I see on your glove?” Gwion asked. Isabeau flinched at his blunt observation.

  “It is,” She replied hesitantly. “By Blaise saying his marriage didn’t work out, he means that we didn’t even get past the banquet before Martha’s family tried to ambush us, and in defending myself, the Duchess had some of her own teeth for an appetizer.”

  “You hit the Duchess?” Gwion asked, leaning forward with interest.

  “I had to,” said Isabeau. She sighed and looked down at her hands. I didn’t want to.

  “Brave girl,” Gwion applauded her, “Clotilda Baultain is a cruel woman. Few are so willing to cross her, even to protect their friends.”

  “She’s a fucking bitch,” Isabeau scoffed, “but I don’t care about her. What I want to ask you, Gwion, is if you know about a certain homunculus I saw at the party.”

  “Describe them,” Gwion stated, reaching down to polish a mug.

  “She had weird-looking skin, like veiny leather,” said Isabeau, “and half her hair was shaved, and the other long. Dark hair, by the way. Someone at the party called her Minerva.”

  Gwion stopped mid-polish and set the mug back down. He bit his lip and clenched his cloth a little more tightly.

  “I know of her,” he replied, “but I am not sure if it is better or worse that Sir Tancred has gone upstairs to bed.”

  “How come?” Isabeau asked. “I can get him, if you’d like.”

  “No, no,” said Gwion, “He will more readily believe what I tell you if it comes from your mouth. First, I must ask…do you know any more about Saint Colette than what Sir Tancred may have told you?”

  “The little bit of Doctor Giraud’s journals that Loren read to me told me enough,” said Isabeau, still resentful over the false hero of Gelova and her allegiance with the cult that built her.

  “Then I shouldn’t have to explain that part,” said Gwion. “Everyone knows how Saint Colette died, but only a select few know how, in a way, she continued to live. I was one of those who came to know about it after I encountered her in my travels.

  “So Minerva is a homunculus made from Saint Colette’s body?” asked Isabeau.

  “…In a way, yes,” said Gwion, his voice getting lower. “When her corpse was recovered from the battlefield, Doctor Giraud performed a…how do you say it…?”

  “He looted her body?” Isabeau tried to fill in the answer.

  “No,” Gwion continued, “He cut her body open, and inside, found an unborn child. The Markozian alchemists transmuted that child with samples from as many other creations as they could, from war homunculi, to droolers, to even the ringwolves. That child…that monster, is almost sure to be the Minerva you saw.”

  The revelation stunned Isabeau, almost so much that she nearly refused to believe what Gwion had told her. She shifted on her stool uncomfortably, wondering if it was best that she just go to bed, too. She began to feel her lack of sleep finally catching up to her.

  “You’re saying that Minerva is Sir Tancred’s secret child?” Isabeau whispered.

  “Unless Saint Colette had another lover,” said Gwion, “then yes. I beg that when you tell Sir Tancred of this, that you do so in the kindest way you can.”

  “I...” Isabeau stuttered, “I’ll try. I don’t think I can stay up much longer, so I think it’s best I head up.”

  Gwion gave Isabeau a nod, and Isabeau stepped down from her stool and made her way up the stairs. She found an empty room, stripped down to her chemise, and threw herself down onto the straw bed. The consequences of her actions, her need to comfort Martha, and the information Gwion had just told her all fought for space in her head. Isabeau rolled onto her side and attempted to get some sleep.