BERNARD WAS INFORMED LOTHAR WAS WAITING FOR HIM.

It was urgent. He didn’t have time to change out of the borrowed clothes. He grumbled as he followed the messenger out of the stables. Lothar himself was still in his office.

‘What have you been doing all day, dressed like a peasant?’

‘I was trying to help you.’

‘By embarrassing me?’

Bernard was tired from the long ride, but he was used to being lectured. He could do that all day. He didn’t even need to be listening. The necessary nods and ‘yessirs’ were so well practised that they were automatic. This time, though, he wasn’t willing to be lectured. He wanted to be heard.

‘I’m trying to get you vital information. You need to know what the agreement was so you know what will happen when you draw the sword. You need to know if you’re bluffing.’

‘You stubborn donkey… What did you find?’

‘Nothing much yet. Father had six attendants when he went to the mountain. I’d like to ask what they saw, but I probably need to speak to the fairy to know for sure.’

‘Those attendants are dead.’

‘All of them?’

‘Yes.’

Bernard was confused. It had only been twelve years since their father got the sword. There was no way all those men could have died of old age in such a short time. That meant…

‘Did Father have them killed?’

‘Well done, Bernard.’

It was definitely a fairy sword - nobody but a fairy could shape crystals like that. If he didn’t need to silence witnesses to hide forgery… That probably meant the sword didn’t do what he said it did.

‘Did he tell you what it does then?’

‘He told us all what it does. Slays the King’s enemies.’

Lothar made a motion with his hand and Bernard turned to see if someone was at the door behind him. He was just in time to miss being knocked unconscious, though the blow still struck him hard on the shoulder. Bernard shouted;

‘You’re having me killed too?’

He rushed his attacker, jabbing the man in the ribs. He bit a hand that tried to restrain him, and kicked another man square in the sternum when he came to help the first. Bernard dashed back down the stairs to the exit. Pepin was on the landing, though he did nothing to halt Bernard’s pursuers. His expression was a mixture of confusion and disgust. Bernard didn’t have time to stop and ask what his problem was.

Back in the courtyard, Bernard sprinted through a group of noble ladies out for leisurely stroll - he couldn’t be caught in the open. That’s where he’d be shot. The women scattered behind him, shouting things like ‘Murder!’ and ‘Thief!’

Guards and servants joined the chase, driving Bernard away from the front gates. He ran between the main building and an annexe. Ahead of him, a stablehand flew through the air, landing with a crash. Others ran past him. What were they doing?

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

He emerged into chaos and caught sight of Agatha. She was on a rampage. Bernard shoved a boy standing frozen, mouth agape, staring at the horse bearing down on him. In a split-second, Bernard dodged and lept up on Agatha’s back. She bolted for the east gate. The pair hurtled down the road, Bernard shrieking, Agatha weaving between carts and leaping over debris left by fleeing pedestrians. She only slowed her pace when she reached the edge of the forest.

Bernard was reluctant to relax. Agatha was quick and tricky - she’d take it as a sign of weakness and buck him. He didn’t even have the benefit of a saddle to cling to. Rather than loosen his grip, he whispered;

‘Thank you, Agatha.’

She snorted, waggled her ears, and settled into a steady canter.

She didn’t need to buck him. The shock nearly knocked him off.

‘Did you… did you break out because you wanted to go see the fairy?’

She snorted and waggled her ears again.

‘Aren’t you sick though?’

She shook her head.

Bernard wasn’t sure if he was actually having a conversation with Agatha, or if he was just delusional. He’d heard temporary madness could be brought about by stress, and his brother had just tried to kill him… Regardless, he was glad he was on a horse that moved faster than Bert. There would be pursuers. He glanced behind them, but couldn’t see anyone.

The first warning someone was there would probably be an arrow striking his back. He muttered, partially to the horse, partially to himself;

‘Going with me might get you killed. You could’ve gone on your own. It would have been safer.’

‘I didn’t know the way.’

She just spoke. She spoke. Yep. He was certain he was mad.

They rode in silence until they reached a fork in the road. The horse said;

‘Left or right?’

‘Probably left. Can we stop for a minute so I can check the map?’

She stopped and let him dismount. He ached. Riding bareback wasn’t a skill he’d had to develop. He knew how. He was made to learn it ‘just in case,’ but he’d always had the luxury of a saddle. He hobbled to a patch of grass and sat, wincing. He’d almost forgotten the blow to his shoulder. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be getting back off the ground without a lot of effort. Agatha followed and nibbled at the grass beside him as he unlaced his boot. The map was crumpled, but it wasn’t any less legible than when he made it. The bigger problem was that it only represented a very small area. Bernard hadn’t intended to use the map to guide him to his destination - he meant to show it to a coach driver so they knew where he wanted to go. If he’d known he was about to be murdered for his dedication to supporting his brother he’d have taken rubbings of the entire route.

‘Here, this is the mountain the fairy lives on. Do you know this town?’

The horse looked at the map.

‘Sorry, I have no clue what any of that scribble means.’

Right. She was a horse. Nobody would have taught her how to read. He found himself surprised at his own confusion. If he were mad, and this was a delusion, surely he could imagine a literate horse. He looked at her, half expecting her to proclaim she could read now. She didn’t. He pointed to a spot on the map.

‘The town is called Hochenberg. It’s north of Senau.’

‘What’s the river called?’

‘Sennen.’

‘I know that one. It’s a very long river.’

Bernard sighed. He didn’t know why he expected the horse to have an extensive knowledge of geography, but he did, and he was disappointed. He said;

‘I saw the whole map - I know her mountain is east and a bit north of the capital. We can probably just take the left road for now, but we might have to ask someone for directions.’

‘You still look too much like a prince to do that. People will remember you. They’ll sell you out to whoever’s following us.’

‘How do I fix that?’

‘You’ll want to cut your hair, at least.’

Bernard took his knife from his belt. It was sharp enough, but he didn’t have a clue how to cut hair. He took off his hat and laid it on the ground.

‘No chance you can do this for me?’

‘How? I don’t have hands.’

Bernard shut his eyes, took hold of a clump of hair, and sliced it off.