Note: My book, Castle Walls, has been out of print for a long time. It is under contract with Bella Books, so I’m not at liberty to post it wholesale here. I’ve posted the first few scenes of the novel for your perusal.
Please bear in mind that this was in my writing infancy. I'm wincing at a lot of the word usage here... Happy Reading!
Prologue
Blindly, she focused on the song and its sedate beat, moving with care over the uneven terrain. As she neared the music, she could discern other sounds: the tumbling of water and dove calls, gentle in the slight breeze. Her slippered foot stumbled over a rock, and she could hear it clatter against others, splashing. The wind picked up, brushing a lock of hair across her forehead, dissipating the mist before her. Flickering light beckoned her closer as she picked her way across a stream.
Motion caught her eye, and she saw the minstrel for the first time. His voice soft, he chanted a tale of war and betrayal. In contrast to his bloody story, a white dove in his hand cooed counterpoint to his words. She barely saw his musicians through the darkness behind him, the torchlight catching only their movement as they played the drum and lute. Walls rising steeply into the fog told her where she was, filling her heart with dread. She was outside the castle. Again. As if cued by her realization, the minstrel sang what she knew would be the last of his song. When he finished, he dropped his head, and the musicians paused in their playing.
Sharp strains came from the lute alone, eerie in the dark mistiness. Unease filled her heart, for she knew what was coming. She wanted to turn and flee, but her feet wouldn’t move. The deep rolling of the drum caused her to flinch in apprehension.
Startled by a sudden, intense beat of the drum, the dove flew from the min- strel’s hand. Her fearful eyes could not look away as the dove’s path took it up into a clear blue sky. She heard the shrill cry of a hawk, felt the sickening impact and averted her eyes from the bloodied feathers floating through the air.
Another drumbeat. Another vision.
Sunlight and shadow, dust motes sailing upon invisible drafts, playful secrecy.
She waited impatiently, squatting beneath the table in her father’s cham- bers. Her little sister should have found her by now. Just as she was about to climb from her hiding place, the sound of booted feet chased her underneath again. Wishing she’d never begun this game, she shrank back, watching several pairs of legs stomp into the room. The voices were quiet and serious, rough with concern, and her ears pricked up in curiosity.
Moist fog, muffled sound, a minstrel’s voice calling.
“What have you learned, Angus?” her father asked.
2 D. Jordan Redhawk
“My liege, the Invader is closing on our southern borders. He’s movin’ fast, burnin’ the farms behind him.”
A younger voice, similar in timbre to the king’s, cursed. “Why destroy per- fectly good farmland?” he demanded in righteous anger. “Should he get too far past our borders, he’ll need it to support his troops.”
“Calm yourself, son,” the king directed, moving toward his heir.
Waiting quietly under the table, she recognized her brother’s boots. He fan- cied those silly flaps on the sides to help pull them on. She wanted to know who this Invader was and why he was being so dim, but if her father found her now, she’d be in real trouble. The voices continued above her, and she focused on them again.
“Send me, father! With the Third Army, I could lay waste to him!”
With reluctance, the king consulted his aide. “Angus?”
“Aye, Your Majesty. If we can get to him before he gets to the Wynsul
River...”
“See?” the young man asked. “Please, father! I beg you.”
In the following silence, she entertained herself with the notion of her strong
older brother begging. She bit her tongue to keep from giggling. “Go.”
After a startled pause, the son dashed forward. “Thank you, father! I’ll make sure that bastard never invades another kingdom!” He turned and clat- tered out of the room.
“Angus,” the king said, “go with the crown prince. He’ll have need of your wisdom.”
“Aye, sire.”
Another beat of the drum. Another vision.
A hoarse cry, shouts of dismay, footfalls and movement just out of sight.
At the sound of her mother’s voice, she looked up from her studies. Hearing something in the hall, she ignored her tutor and dashed out to see what the ruckus was about. Several people stood about the hall. Puzzled, she stepped closer. Her mother was on the floor, hovering over something, hugging it to her breast and sobbing uncontrollably. Others around her either stood back in embarrassment or tried to comfort her. The king appeared, face stricken as he clearly saw what his daughter could not. One of his aides gasped in shock.
“It’s your fault!” the hysterical woman spat at him. “Your fault!” Her voice faded into loud sobs.
Unable to stay away, fear and inquisitiveness filling her, she stepped closer. Others were in her way, blocking her view. She edged around them, peeking between. When she finally comprehended what she was seeing, tears welled up in her eyes. Her brother’s boots were bloody.
Another beat of the drum, the tempo increasing.
Dead and dying, razed fields lifting acrid smoke into the sky, enclosed, surrounded.
Even at this distance, the stench made her nose twitch. Less than a mile away, burning fields gave evidence of the Invader’s progression toward her home. Below her window, she could see increasing activity in the courtyard: the injured straggling in from the front lines, women and older children providing supplies to the overworked surgeons. The guards on the walls had been tripled in response to the threat, but half of them were walking wounded. She’d heard the orders given by her father’s aides: in the event of a siege, all foodstuffs and potables were to be brought into the castle.
A lone rider approached from the battlefield, his horse galloping at full tilt. Reaching the castle, he nearly toppled his steed as he pulled it up short. Even at this distance, she could hear a captain’s voice challenging him, could distinctly hear his response.
“The king is dead! The king is dead!”
Drumbeat.
Darkness, whispers, rustling noises. A hand across her mouth, smothering her, scaring her. Startled shriek, heart pumping.
“Hush, lass!” a servant’s voice said. “It’s time to rise and dress. The Invader’s at the castle walls. We must get you and your family away!”
She hurriedly dressed, barely having enough time to grab a favorite doll as she was hustled from her room. In the hall, her mother clutched an infant brother, her sister stared wide-eyed at the small gathering of loyal guards and servants. She grabbed on to her younger sibling, felt the smaller girl tremble.
As they were herded from the castle, the ringing of metal on metal filled the courtyard.
“They’ve breached the walls!”
Drumbeat, relentless nightmare.
Flash of moonlight on water, gentle music of the horses’ tack, muted whis- pers, arms wrapped about a servant as their mount swayed gently.
“There’s a small boat ahead, Majesty,” a voice drifted back.
The world suddenly turned to thunder as hooves pounded and armor rat- tled. Crying out in alarm, she clutched the servant before her as their steed leaped into a full gallop. Branches tugged at her clothes and hair. And then she was flying, landing with a grunt on a patch of peat as she tried to catch her breath.
Standing, alone, she listened to the horse’s hooves racing away. In the near distance, she could hear fighting, angry curses, and her sister’s cry. Terrified and frozen with indecision, she clutched her doll to her chest. The baby was shrieking in the dark, a man’s scream mingling with the sound for just a moment before choking into silence. Unable to stay away despite her fright, she pushed through the foliage.
Bodies lay all around, evidence of the guards’ attempts to save the royal family. On a small strip of sand next to the river, her mother was on her knees, clutching the screaming baby to her chest. Before her was a man in armor, holding a sword. Several other soldiers and horses were gathered around them; some of the remaining servants huddled in a small knot nearby. Her sister was nowhere to be seen.
The armored man pulled off his helmet. His air of command reminded her of her father, though he wasn’t as handsome. An ugly scar ran across his face from the base of his nose to curve down and around his cheek. He was saying something, his voice so low that she couldn’t make it out.
When the blade pierced her mother’s chest, pinning the babe to it, her scream matched theirs.
Drumbeat.
Panting, heart thumping, crashing through the wilderness. Noises every- where, the call of wild animals urging her on.
She knew the Invader and his soldiers were chasing her, tracking her down to kill her. She was royalty, and her life was forfeit. Since she was a toddler she’d been instructed that she lived for her people; her people were gone.
Bursting from behind a bush, she screamed silently at the armored figure barring her way. Moonlight flashed on the blade above her, and she cowered, afraid of the deathblow that was coming. Cuddling her doll to her chest, she heard only the scuffle, the jangle of armor, felt the ground tremble as a heavy body hit. Then a gentle touch fell on her shoulder, and she peered fearfully at her savior.
The minstrel smiled, a bloody dove in his hands. “Hush, child. You’re safe now.”
As she struggled with the familiar nightmare, barely surfacing into consciousness, she felt fingers caress her forehead.
“Shhh. It’s just a bad dream,” a familiar voice murmured. “You’re safe now.”
Sighing, she relaxed back into sleep.
Chapter One
Furtive movement alerted her.
To her credit, her flinch to wakefulness was minor, causing hardly a sound. Her mind raced as she struggled to remember where she was. Cracking her eyelids a fraction, she surveyed her situation. Warmth was behind and beside her, evidence of her sleeping hand-maiden. A root had dug its way into the small of her back; she’d been so exhausted when they’d stopped running, she hadn’t realized it was there. Her cloak was wrapped about both of them, scarcely protecting against the chill of the early morning mist.
Steam rose from her mouth and she tried to keep her breathing even. There, the movement again — a rustling of cloth, just outside her vision. A twig snapped, sharp in the hush, and her heart fluttered in her throat. Unseen beneath the cloak, her hand grasped the ornamental dagger her father had gifted her on her last birthday. Despite her attempt to appear asleep, her dark eyes widened; she held her breath.
The bush to her left rattled — someone trying to get into the tiny clearing where the women were hiding. Unable to keep up the pretense, she threw off the cloak, pulling the dagger from its sheath. Her handmaiden, rousing at the sudden movement, looked wildly about, keeping her tongue at the warning gesture from her mistress.
A figure on all fours pushed slowly through the thick undergrowth. Gripping the hilt with white knuckles, hand shaking, she pre- pared to launch her attack. The figure raised its head; their eyes met.
“By the gods, Your Highness!” the man breathed. He used one grimy hand to tug at his forelock. “It’s me! Hector!”
Terror quickly faded to elation, and the princess scrabbled for- ward to draw the servant in. “Hector! You survived!” Her hands were frantic on his shoulders, grasping at his tunic and pulling him, unable to believe he was still alive despite the tactile proof. “Mother? Prince Liam?”
Hector’s weathered face sagged. “Nay, Your Highness. I saw the Invader run them through.”
The heaviness in her chest threatening to overwhelm her, she drew away and sheathed her dagger.
“I’m sorry, Your Royal Highness,” the man whispered.
She flinched at the added “Royal”, an indication of her new status as Crown Princess. “Nay, Hector.” Taking a deep breath to quell the need for tears, she looked at her two servants. “Call me Katerin. Both of you. If we’re to survive this night, the Princess Sabine must not be mentioned.”
The handmaiden, Ilia, made a soft noise in her throat and reached out to grasp the younger woman’s shoulder.
Survival first. “Hector, did anyone see you escape?”
Hesitantly, he said, “I don’t think so, Your...Katerin. The guards were busy with the royal family. Two of us slipped away, but Matteo was killed by a patrol after we’d gone less than a league.”
Nodding, she looked up into the foliage. “Get some sleep, Hector. Ilia and I will remain on watch.” With a sad smile, she leaned forward and touched his shoulder. “It’s good to see you, my friend. I’m glad you stayed alive.”
Hector’s face twisted into a smile. “And I am greatly happy to see you, High...Katerin.”
“Have you found her?”
Swallowing, the captain fought the urge to tug at the collar of his uniform. “Nay, we have not, sire.” In a rush, he added, “All but one of the men have reported back. And he’s not been seen or heard from in two days.”
Thoughtful, the Invader stroked his bare chin and stared out over the city with muddy blue eyes. He held himself with the power and grace of a man half his age. His hair was turning gray with a vengeance, the rich mahogany color of youth fading away, and a scar marring his lower cheek drew his mouth into a permanent frown. He stood on a balcony, behind him the main chamber of the previous Dulce king — victim to the ordained destiny of the Invader, one of many who’d attempted to resist the inevitable. Below the Invader, tendrils of smoke still rose from outside the castle walls, smoldering remains of a long siege and ultimate success. He inhaled deeply, the acrid scent reminiscent of so many other battles in his long and bloody career.
“In which direction was my man riding before he disappeared?” he finally asked, voice gravelly from an old scar across his throat.
“Southwest, sire,” the captain reported, hard put to refrain from wiping at the sweat on his face. “I’ve already taken the liberty of sending a full patrol in that direction.”
“Good.” The Invader turned, eyeing the guardsman. “Catch up to them. If you don’t personally bring her head back, I’ll take yours in its place. Is that understood?”
Ashen, the captain, nodded. “Aye, my liege,” he whispered, swaying on weak knees. He flinched a bit when a hand waved at him.
“Get out.” A worried frown crossed the Invader’s face as he watched the man stumble out the door as though all manner of demon were upon him. Sardonically, he thought, I suppose I’m close enough to that particular description.
He approached a large oak table in the center of the room. Beneath a layer of expensive clear glass laid a map of the kingdom he’d just taken, and he regarded it with partial satisfaction. Hearing movement, he looked up and saw an aide standing at the door leading into the king’s bedchambers. Frowning, the scar only making him look fiercer, he growled, “You said you’d take care of the royal family. I should send you out with my captain...and the same instructions.”
The man bowed obsequiously. “My apologies, Your Royal Majesty,” he said, voice oily from many years at court. “You’d be well within your right. I’m afraid my success would be limited; I’m not well versed in tracking errant princesses.”
“Had you fulfilled your bargain, no one would need tracking. If I recall, you were to drug the royal family and get my men into the castle with a minimum of fuss.” The Invader studied the aide, disgusted with the finery the man insisted on wearing. “You failed, Dominic.”
“Aye, sire,” the aide responded with another bow before stepping further into the room. “But had it not been for my assistance, you’d still be outside the walls. It’s hardly my fault that Cook decided to have a go at the stew before it was served.”
Turning away in distaste, the Invader picked up a goblet of wine from the table and sipped it. “What’s done is done.” He returned to the balcony and stared out over his kingdom. “Get out, Dominic. Pack your belongings and see my quartermaster for your reward before you leave.”
The aide froze before a flash of anger crossed his face. He took an automatic step forward as he spoke. “That’s not what you promised me. You said I’d remain as a member of your court.”
“Yes,” the Invader agreed, turning to glare at the dandy. “And you promised me the royal family and a good number of the guard would be drugged before you opened the gates. Too many of my men died as a result of your failure. Since you did not accomplish your end, I hardly need to hold up mine.” He padded closer to Dominic, circling him, his manner that of a beast hunting. “You betrayed a king to whom you had sworn allegiance; did you think I would trust your oath of fealty to me?”
Dominic ground his teeth, but forced himself to remain prudently silent.
“You’re a traitor now, and you’ll be one in the future; you don’t fool me.” Stopping behind him, the Invader leaned close, voice soft. “Now get out, before I decide to add another head to my walls.”
With a swallow, the aide turned and backed away. When he reached the door, Dominic intoned, “Your Majesty,” and then stepped into relative safety.
The Invader sighed and resumed studying the map of his new acquisition — the fourth in his military career. He was now master of more land than all remaining realms put together. Sipping his wine, he recalled the witch who had set him on his path.
Fidgeting on the stool, young Prince Germaine peered at the strange designs on the witch’s cards. He wasn’t supposed to be here; his father would have a fit if he discovered his youngest son had visited a soothsayer. But when the teenager had ridden past the witch, he felt something call to him, and here he sat.
The decrepit woman cackled, rubbing stones together in her hands before casting them upon the cards. Leaning close to study them, she said, “You’ll be a great warrior, a great king, young pup. You’ll not be defeated in battle.”
Germaine puzzled over that. “But I’ve two brothers before me in line for succession. How can I be king?”
“Never mind the present.” The hag dismissed his statement with a wave of her wrinkled hand. “You will be king.”
Leaning closer, dread and fear and intense yearning filling him, he asked, “Can you see my death? If I am never to be defeated in battle, how will I die?”
The witch clucked a bit, poking at this stone and that as she muttered to herself. “You will die by a sword, kingling. It will be wielded by the child of your enemy, one of royal blood who will avenge those you will have wronged.”
Her prophecy had proven true. After his brothers had been killed in war, his father gasping his last at the end of an enemy spear, the Invader had stabilized his hereditary kingdom and begun his campaign of conquest across the map. Within the four kingdoms he’d taken, every person of royal blood had been slain. There’d been an instance or two of difficulty in expunging the existing royal line, but ultimately, he’d been successful.
“And I’ll be successful now,” he stated, finishing his wine.
Stepping into the courtyard, Dominic cuffed a page that inadvertently impeded his path. He smiled in grim satisfaction when the lad yelped and ducked away from a further beating. The physical attack did nothing to ease the deep anger in his heart. Bastard! How dare he toss me off as so much rubbish?
Dominic made his way across the crowded courtyard, ignoring the soldiers still in the process of sorting through the Invader’s new wealth. “Wealth he wouldn’t have if it weren’t for my intervention.”
“Eh? You say somethin’?” a passing guardsman asked, carefully balancing a large tapestry on one shoulder.
Startled, his anger deepening at his slip, Dominic growled, “Nothing for your ears.”
The guardsman snorted derisively but held his tongue.
Without further encounters, Dominic arrived at his destination — a low door on the east wall. The hall he entered was dark with an aroma of coolness and death, the scent of musty stone mingling with a coppery tang. As he closed the thick door behind him, the rattle and activity of the courtyard faded away. Sighing in relief at the audible reprieve, Dominic moved silently through the hall. He sidestepped a drying pool of blood, thoughts intent on his abrupt dismissal. Bastard would never have taken the castle without my help, he grumbled.
Most of his life at court had been orchestrated toward attaining power. Dominic wasn’t presumptuous enough to desire the throne. He was a realist; no one would follow a king who had more interest in the fashions of the day than in his people. But to be the man who had the king’s ear...that was a worthy endeavor. Things had worked in Dominic’s favor, and his career had flowered as he progressed along the path to become the king’s personal aide. But it all shriveled away when he ran into the stone wall called Queen Mugaion Caesarin Elizabeth Dulce Annaatje.
To say the queen disliked Dominic was to make an understatement of grand proportions. He was never sure whether he’d done something that offended her, or if she had a distinct loathing for him for no other reason than that he existed. Dominic assumed the latter, for nothing he did or said seemed to alter the queen’s distaste. Unfortunately for the ambitious man, Caesarin also had her husband’s ear.
Dominic slipped into the small chambers he called home. Throwing open an oak wardrobe, he looked at his clothes in dismay. There was no way he could take all his belongings. He began sorting through the clothing as his frustrated musings continued.
Every attempt he’d made to get into the monarch’s good graces had been met with resistance. Dominic soon realized that his hopes were destined to be unrealized, and he began searching for another way to attain his goal. Moving on to another kingdom was out of the question; Dominic’s network of informants and hoodlums couldn’t be moved. He either had to find another king and start from scratch, or remain and bring another to power. It had been a difficult decision, but with no other way of reaching King Frederick, only one avenue remained.
The Invader had been a hard man to make contact with. After the initial meeting, however, Dominic felt a renewed sense of purpose. His proposals and offers had been accepted, and a pact was made that would further his desires. The fact that the Dulce king and his bitch would die was only added incentive.
With a frustrated sigh, Dominic slammed the wardrobe closed. Everything would have to be replaced. Opening a trunk at the foot of his small bed, he pulled out a travel pack. A few pieces of jewelry, a couple of changes of clothing, and three small scrolls were all he could afford to take in the small space. Shouldering his bag, he took a final look at his furnishings. I must take the bastard Invader down. Another sigh escaped him, and he left the room.
Thanks to his having heard Ashen’s report, he knew that somewhere a renegade princess was on the run from a usurper. I wonder, Dominic speculated. What if I found her first?