The Bell Tolls for Me 71: War

The natural inclination when executing a scheme was to move as fast as possible. A problem should be addressed rapidly, without delay—that’s the common mentality. Because of this instinct, patience was a much more difficult feat then rapid action. Being able to sit still and strike at the right time was a discipline that very few had mastered. Isabella thought to count herself among that number, but even she found it immensely difficult in the weeks that followed.

The royal progress around the countryside continued long after they had settled upon their plan. Isabella continued to renovate the countryside as best she could. The other nobles were eager affiliates, each endeavoring to contribute enough that they might be granted the right to name the project after themselves or their house. Isabella had judged correctly in leaving the capital. Rather than try to win in the heart of Dovhain, she had instead changed the game they were all playing.

Where before there had been uneasy acceptance among the populace, they were met with considerable acclaim once rumor permeated the realm. The people would swarm their procession, some with utterly outlandish demands. One man requested putting a wall around the whole of a forest to prevent incursions from the tribes living within—Isabella instead ordered a fortification constructed, and formalized a militia in the village to man it.

In terms of the interregnum, Isabella’s primary focus turned to disqualifying candidates. It was a tactic to stall for time. Bit by bit, they whittled away at the numerous numbers of claimants. Where once there had been near one hundred princes vying for the title, they were brought down to thirty by the end of the month. It was a balancing act to dismiss claims without alienating power bases.

The most consequential dismissal was that of Prince Roland. It began with an assassination attempt.

Isabella had been sitting on the bed within her mobile court, conversing with Alice about mundane things when it occurred. In the distance, she saw a holy paladin enter. She had paid it no mind, as it was a common occurrence. In moments, however, Randolph stepped in front of the man and drew his sword. Fighting broke out, and the invader was quickly subdued.

The man was no paladin—he was an impersonator.

Without the vigilance of Randolph, the assassin might have succeeded in getting through. Once captured, he revealed where he’d received the armor. They followed the chain all the way to Prince Roland. The process felt unusually smooth. Perhaps without the protection of Duke Albert he wasn’t especially adroit at covering his tracks, or perhaps he was simply being framed by another. Regardless, it was sufficient evidence to have him dismissed from the interregnum and placed under permanent imprisonment. She would have preferred him executed, but the title of kinslayer would undermine her efforts tremendously.

Everywhere that Isabella went, she could see tangible improvements. Checkpoints were established on roads. Well-worn paths were paved with fresh stone. Village and city walls were mended. All of the broken infrastructure of the kingdom was given the attention that it deserved. She had been anticipating the expense would be far greater, but the assistance of the nobles proved to be a great buoy for the process.

The journey was not without its obstacles. One count attempted to force her to call the progress short by staging a revolt in his territory wherein he exiled all royal agents. That backfired tremendously as countless in the council attempted to vie for favor by offering to crush the rebellion personally. She split them in turn by distributing his territory to those who offered sufficient loyalty.

All of this was merely a backdrop for the true heart of the scheme. She needed to deliver information that would prompt Edgar to act without alerting him that his action was expected. The Archwizard had certainly been suspicious of her, so it would take only a mere nudge. If the nudge was too obvious, however, they might approach cautiously.

And thus… Isabella made her ‘mistake,’ when the time was right. It was nothing more than a highly specific question to a qualified physician… yet without a doubt, it would cascade down.

***

The Archwizard burst into the king’s room eagerly.

“Your Majesty,” he said with enthusiasm. “It’s been found. Payment! I’ve found the one that will pay your price.”

Edgar, who was being read to by one of the servants, fixed the Archwizard with his gaze, silently asking for explanation.

“Leave us,” the Archwizard commanded the serving woman. She took her book and quickly left. Once she had shut the door behind her, the Archwizard walked up to the side of the king’s bed. “She’s been found, Your Majesty. She’s been found!” He spoke with a giddiness that was far unlike his aged self.

The king, usually barely able to speak, turned his head and said clearly, “Who?”

“The heir is Isabella,” the Archwizard said. “The princess I spoke of who had risen to the role of regent.”

Edgar’s brows furrowed. “You… tested her.”

“I did,” the Archwizard confirmed with a nod. “Multiple times. She had none of the lingering residue of one that had tampered with time. If she had used her power but once, I would’ve noticed it. I can only conclude, then, that she was not yet aware of her power. Until now, that is. The report comes from Lady Bernadetta, so it can be trusted.”

A faint smile graced the wasting king’s face, and a fire lit up his imperious eyes.

“Isabella has secured the loyalty of Gaspar, Knight-Commander of the holy paladins… yet I’ve mobilized the true Holy Paladins,” the Archwizard continued. “Those that served you in your reign. Their talent is incomparably higher than those court appointees there today. They’ll watch her every move and ensure no harm comes to her as she falls ills. Once she’s immobile… we’ll make our move. A small coterie of my own mage-knights has been sent to secure the royal palace and dispatch the Duke of the Isles, who serves as castellan. They should be able to take care of him. Each is far superior to Arthur, at least in terms of combat, if he should side with the princess.”

Edgar looked eager. “And you?”

“I will mark Isabella’s soul, personally,” the Archwizard vowed. “No one will protest at hearing my voice during the interregnum. She cannot refuse to meet me—not legally, nor physically. If she refuses to entertain my visit… I remain the man that I was during your reign, Your Majesty.”

***

Prince Anselm entered a tent on the far end of the royal progress, cowl raised above his head. Once inside, he lowered it.

“Bernadetta?” he called out quietly. He walked in, looking around. The moment he accepted that she wasn’t here and turned, an arm shot into his vision and plunged a dagger into his neck.

Anselm tried to stagger back, but another arm wrapped around his head and held him in place as the dagger returned. He struggled feebly, his hands wet with his own blood as he grabbed at the arm holding him in place. He could only gurgle as the last bits of struggle slowly drained from his body. In less than a minute, he was limp. His assassin and pushed him forward, and he collapsed on the ground.

Bernadetta walked in, looking at Anselm briefly before studying the rest of the tent. The assassin waited on her words, his breathing a little labored from the attack.

“Carry him out in that chest,” Bernadetta instructed, pointing it out. “Once you have, I’ll arrange for a hunter to come in here and skin an animal to disguise the blood.”

“Alright,” the assassin said, then set to work disposing the body.

Content all was in order, Bernadetta left quietly. There, a small coterie awaited her.

“They’ve started to set up outside the camp, mistress,” one of them said. “The old holy paladins.”

Bernadetta nodded. “Tied up all loose ends just in time, then. We’ll leave tonight.”

***

Isabella stood with her hands behind her back. That was partially to conceal the fact that she was fidgeting so much in nervousness. All aspects of the plan have been going as she anticipated, but there was still a tremendous amount of nervousness on her end. Randolph had seen the men encircling the camp. He said that each of them gave him the same feeling of danger he received from a squadron of soldiers.

Alice walked in the room, then bowed politely. “The Archwizard has arrived, Your Highness.” She hadn’t been informed of what was happening, and so seemed totally ordinary.

Isabella nodded. “I would see him now.”

The Archwizard appeared at the flap to her tent not long after Alice’s departure. In his flowing black robes, Isabella saw the grim reaper… and she bid him welcome.

***

Arthur hunched over a tome in his study, leaning against his desk in fatigue. Every day felt longer than the last in anticipation of what was to come. He tried to help compose himself by repeatedly acknowledging that he had done all he could, but it was little anodyne to his anxiety.

He made to stand up, yet in the middle of it, a searing pain entered his head of such intensity his limbs ceased to function. Arthur collapsed against his desk, sending books, inkwells, and all manner of magical oddities tumbling off to the floor. He writhed, clenching his head so tightly his nails dug into his scalp and drew blood.

He spasmed, having a seizure. It felt as though his eyes would burst from his head, his ears would start bursting with blood, yet his throat was seized and no screams exited his throat. It was impossible to tell how long it went on for. Reasonably it was minutes, but in reality it felt like hours. When he finally had enough command of his limbs to move again, he had to move to a nearby barrel and vomit.

But eventually… Arthur rose again, staggering over to a mirror that had been knocked over. It had broken, but he retrieved one shard and held it up to study his face. He placed his free hand against his cheek.

“…it worked,” Arthur said in disbelief, running his fingers across his face. “Eight years back… or would it be seven?”

Arthur cast aside the mirror shard and walked to the window, looking out across the city. Only a single thought came to his head.

Isabella.

Arthur turned and rushed toward the door with the vigor of youth, forgetting all the dignities that he typically donned. He could hear her voice again, could see her face again. In this life, he could protect her—possibly even save her. And failing that… once more, he needed to prepare to come with her.

Arthur heard a tremendous burst of magic reverberate through the palace, then. Fighting. If he knew his master, he’d sent his mage-knights to deal with Valerio. That man needed to survive. Arthur diverted his path, running through the halls of the royal palace.

***

Perhaps it was merely Isabella’s imagination, but she already felt a sense of malaise as the convoy headed into the area that she had prepared to make her escape. The camp settled into one of the few open areas beside the mining city of Badsgen. There were sheer mountains all around shielding them from every direction. From her carriage, she could see countless mines dotting the side of these proud peaks. This vast mountain range had countless holes poked into it, most abandoned, some still active, but near all treacherous.

This was where they’d slip past the veterans of Edgar’s personal guard.

This was where the war against Edgar the Great would begin.

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