“This one is broth,” Maud held up one of his tan camel hide flasks.

  Draka nodded, mostly concentrating on getting Vigora’s saddle belts tightened in the right places. Vigora flexed her abdomen a third time. Draka growled.

  Maud tapped his shoulder to draw back his attention. She held up a second one that was a shade darker. “Water.”

  Vigora released her flex and Draka nearly fell over catching the saddle. He held the saddle in place and leaned backward to give Vigora a look of warning. Vigora challengingly whipped her tail at him.

  You’re a warhorse, you little pest! He glared. Vigora’s pale blue eye only fluttered its long lashes at him.

  “I marked it in case you forget,” Maud pointed at the ink circle drawn on it. Draka bit his lip. No point in mentioning to her how the ink will seep into ‘her broth.’ Knowing her, it’ll still taste amazing.

  Draka slid his hand toward a buckle. Vigora flexed. He pulled back a fist but Maud’s hand covered it. She turned his head toward her.

  “She’s upset because you are,” Maud looked into his eyes. Hers were as red as his, but from crying.

  He wished she hadn’t been. All he wanted to do at this point was go. Everything felt wrong. The saddle bags were lopsided, Vigora was fighting her harnesses, and his armor was sliding even after he strapped it. The last thing he wanted to do was ride in this heat in that armor just to transport it. He lifted pressure from one hand. The saddle started to tip. He braced it again.

  Vigora was still flexing.

  “Easy,” She rubbed Vigora’s neck to the nape and began scratching. “It’s alright, girl, I’ll be fine. I promise. I need you to keep Draka safe for me, okay?”

  Vigora’s muscles relaxed. Now if he could just slide his hand without the saddle and all the saddle bags and pouches and armor falling on him…Maud tightened the belts of the harness for him with a teary-eyed grin. He was sure there was a hint of pride there, too.

  Vigora blew butterflies in annoyance.

  “I tried to make sure you had enough food. Remember, fill the cup with the broth and no more than a handful of the mash I gave you.”

  Draka cupped both hands together with a wide smile.

  Maud rolled her eyes and chuckled, “One hand, you barbarian. And don’t eat it until it’s boiled the pink out.”

  His brow creased at that one. That’s where all the flavors are!

  Maud read him better than she could a book. Her smile was hiding chuckles, “It’ll make you sick. Last thing I need for you to do before you even get there.” She put a hand to his cheek so that he looked into her eyes, “I need you here.”

  He nodded.

  “I mean it. I’ve heard Gerard’s stories about you, don’t think I didn’t listen! If I find out you try anything like you did at Damascus,” Draka vaguely remembered leaping into a fray instead of staying with the trebuchets and canons. There was a good reason, he just couldn’t remember it. She jabbed a finger at his nose, “Even Jesus wouldn’t stop me from thumping you! You hear me, Draka? I mean it.”

  He nodded.

  “I wish I could say to believe him,” Gerard stepped off his warhorse. Behind him were other mounted Men-at-arms, all with chain shirts and pikes. Their tabards were blue and red with a single patch over their hearts of Draka’s cross, complete with the seven-pointed star just below the arms as if the cross itself were stabbing through it. Gerard’s tabard had no such cross. He still bore the Baron’s symbol of three diagonal ‘Fleur-des-Lis.’

  “I’m sure I can,” Draka was certain he saw the look Maud gave his old friend correctly. There was definite dislike there. “Draka would never break a promise to me.” That disdain turned on him. He nodded with wide eyes. The girl’s fury was one to be reckoned with.

  “Oh, I’m sure he won’t,” Gerard signaled to Draka that Maud was out of her mind. Draka tried not to snicker while slapping the man’s shoulder to correct him. To Draka, “I’m only implying.” Then to Maud, “I’d say I would be the one to ensure it, but I’m to stay here and protect you and your mother.”

  “Great,” her glare toward Draka said otherwise. She checked another belt and rubbed Vigora. Chomping made Draka turn sharply to see Maud shrugging like she didn’t just get caught feeding his horse a pear. “What? Oh, I put a little something in your armor, so unpack it carefully. I hope you like it.”

  Draka grinned his thanks. What on God’s green Earth could she possibly have put in there? He looked to see Gerard holding out a corked bottle for him.

  “I’d be opening it at camp if you changed your mind,” Gerard let Draka take it. “Tradition and all.” Draka popped the cork and smelled it. Honey liquor. And strong. He tried to give it back. “No, no, I insist.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Draka’s head shot to Maud just as she turned her back on both of them. He gave Gerard a look, but Gerard didn’t understand. He put a hand on Maud’s shoulder.

  “Well,” Maud turned back with a brimming smile. “I need to get the last of your hearth scrubbed so nothing grows in your absence.” He could see the glistening of wetness on her face as she lifted herself to kiss his cheek. “Write every day and come home soon. I’ll have the best stew you’ve ever tasted ready if you give me enough warning.”

  Draka put a thumb to a runaway tear. She pulled his hand down and looked to her feet. “I’ll be okay. Go, I don’t think I can say goodbye again.”

  Draka gave her one last grin. He stuffed the bottle into his saddle bag and stepped up onto the saddle. Vigora danced at his weight, turning him this way and that until she brushed her nose across Maud’s face with a snort.

  “You little shit!” Maud laughed and rubbed her cheek. “I’ll miss you too.”

  Gerard grabbed the reins for Draka to look into his serious expression. “I’ll keep them safe, I promise. I already have an idea on how to deal with Balthazar and his cronies.”

  Draka raised a brow at him. They had already gone over this. Gerard nodded, “I’ll do it your way first.”

  Draka nodded his approval. Gerard let go of the reins and stepped back from Vigora with Maud. Gerard looked a bit happier than he expected and Maud looked far more worried. If only he wasn’t a prince.

  “Oh, almost forgot!” Gerard dug a folded letter from his coat and brought it to him. “This came from Sodiulakum. Probably something about the Abbey. Don’t look at me like that. Father Hagen and his monks keep their distance from me.”

  A problem Draka had been distracted from for far too long. The Abbey was yet to be taken back. The Father and his priory had pushed back the corruption oozing from it, from the gateway into the realms of the fallen and their demons, but he knew he needed a proper holy army to take whatever waited within its thick walls. They were keeping the corporeal at bay, but their evil was still penetrating into his dreams—his gaze hovered on the house down the hill, where Aurie was sleeping—And hers.

  Will he be joined in his dreams by her even while apart, he wondered?

  The letter was still sealed. He slid it into his shirt. Gerard went back to Maud’s side. She looked too worried. Upset, maybe. He looked over his shoulders to the horsemen gathered behind him. Twenty-five should be enough to keep her safe. And these twenty were enough to keep her thinking he was safe. He waved his command. As one, their horses moved forward into a trot behind him.

  Once he had a chance, he pulled the letter out and checked the seal again. The red seal was stamped with the symbol of the Diocese; the monogram, IHS. He broke it.

  ‘Your Majesty, Paladin Grande…’ He skipped to the next bit. ‘…if we attempt to re-deploy them now, there will be catastrophic ramifications.’ Too far. ‘Grande Prince Dietrich Luminis, sovereign of Alcalia, Lord of…’ God Bless it! Where does it end? Ah, here we are, ‘The Cardinals have made their demands of Cleric King Phillip and his reply was that he would continue doing whatever it is he is doing on his way from The City of the Shrine of the Holy of God. He has the bulk of the holy armies. You say you need Clerics and Paladins to take control of the Abbey and we would send for them if they hadn’t been dispatched to the eastern steppes against the heathens.’ So, the crusades still hadn’t finished with old Russia. The Cathols of those vast lands were pockets of civilization surrounded by murderous fiends. A month in Kiev had taught him that.

  ‘They’re more than halfway there already and if we attempt to re-deploy them now, there will be catastrophic ramifications. Whatever you think you found in that Abbey, without conducting a proper investigation overseen by a trained Diocese, is considered speculation.’ Speculation? Draka gritted his teeth at that. He knew exactly what was being kept within the walls of that forsaken Abbey; demons. Lots and lots of demons. That arrogant prick knows it, too. ‘Father Hagen has already expressed his own concerns about your conduct there. Why have you not converted the village?’ Maybe because converting people by force is against Christ’s teaching! Draka wanted to throw the letter in the campfire one of the horsemen was building. He should have known this would happen. Any possible way that the Diocese can take control from the Paladinate, they will. And Father Hagen certainly has no love for him or his sovereignty. That’s why he has his little church just outside the Abbey gates, away from Draka’s eyes.

  ‘Until your Principality has properly enforced laws of a good Christian nation, our support will be minimal. If not for his concern that the friars,’ Draka snickered. An ordained priest of the Universal Church opposing the influence of monks who did not bow to the Cardinals’ traditions? In that way, Draka loved the Friars and wished they would find a home in Talkro instead of wandering throughout his realm. It had been a few weeks since he had seen one in Talkro. He didn’t blame them for that. Talkro was not a friendly place for those who weren't born in Talkro. ‘…who have flocked to your fledgling nation will poison the Lord’s good name there, Father Hagen would have reneged his own support shortly after the incident with the demon boar. We are leaving his willful support to his discretion. So long as he sees fit to give it, we will supply him. But until there is a census of baptisms within your village, we will do no more. May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you. Cardinal Thomas of Provence.’

  “The watches are set, Paladin Prince,” one of the horsemen knelt in front of him. A young man, barely eighteen, and already a knight. Draka was silently impressed though he couldn’t remember his name. “Have you any further orders?”

  Draka shook his head as he folded the letter. He stuffed it in the saddle with a long breath. Vigora, laying behind him so he could lean against her, craned her neck around to rest on his shoulder. He scratched her white cheeks. He will have to write a reply as soon as he reaches Strasbourg.

  The moment he gets his hands on Phillip, he’s going to tear him apart for making him into a damned Prince. Until then, he’s going to have to remind the Diocese that he is not under their command. He is beholden to God and God alone.

  The horseman held out a bundled pair of socks. “Sorry, I nearly forgot. Lady Maudeline said if I didn’t make sure you changed your socks whenever we camped that she would sew my skin into a dress for her mother.”

  Draka blinked at him for a moment. Karl, that’s his name. He took the socks with a knowing nod.

  “Does it make me less of a man to say she scares me?”

  Draka raised a brow at him. He shook his head.

  “Good,” the young knight swallowed dryly. “Are you scared of her too?”

  More than you will ever know, Draka was already unbuckling his boots.