Lords of Freedom 2 - Chapter 3
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Introduction
Lords of Freedom is an exciting trilogy that includes adventure, realistic action, surprising insights, and a touch of romance.
The serialization of Lords of Freedom book one is complete, with all 33 chapters published in the Gene Van Shaar Substack. Here is the link to all the chapters: Lords 1
The serialization of Lords of Freedom 2 (book 2 of the trilogy) is in progress. Lords of Freedom 2 includes many intriguing parallels with Joan of Arc, George Washington, Francis Marion (The Swamp Fox), Henry Knox, and the American Revolutionary War.
Lords of Freedom 2 - Chapter 3 - Betrayal & Capture
Prince Nigel stood on his chamber balcony looking down on the castle arena. With the disastrous battle now two days past, the deserters had at last been rounded up. Now they stood below in chains, awaiting execution.
A hulking, hooded figure stood at the ready; behind him was the guillotine. The prisoners shifted nervously, some exchanging words in hushed tones as others mouthed words with closed eyes, praying. One captain though stood tall, his shoulders squared, gazing skyward. He was tall and well-muscled with dark hair and soulful eyes, known for his bravery and respected by all.
In the arena stands, weeping and wailing could be heard, from the wives and children of the doomed men. Across from the stands the army was gathered, standing at attention, stoic and silent.
“Cowards,” Prince Nigel bellowed. “You deserted your comrades in the heat of battle, cowed by a mere girl and a handful of Farland soldiers. Did you suppose I would forgive such treason?”
“Jayn is no mere girl, Highness,” the captive captain called. “She is an angel sent from heaven’s doors.”
Prince Nigel's brow shot up at the man’s pluck. Then again, he was on the brink of death and hadn’t much to lose.
“In her charge, there was light shining all around, and for a moment I thought she bore wings. It was the banner she carried, streaming in the wind, but regardless, no man, no army, no matter how fierce can defeat her.” The captain spat into the dirt and then fixed defiant eyes on the prince.
“Traitor,” Prince Nigel roared. “You are a disgrace to the kingdom of Vlad and will have the honor of leading the way into hell for such blasphemy.”
The executioner strode down the line of prisoners, wrenched the captain forward, and marched him to the guillotine. Screams filled the air anew: the man’s wife and mother, on their feet in the stands, clutching hands and weeping as they pled for his life.
“Silence; else you’ll join him,” Prince Nigel threatened, staring them down from afar.
Both women collapsed back onto their bench, and three small children crept into their laps, also wailing. Mother and grandmother shushed the trio, keeping their faces turned away from the coming scene and closing their eyes.
The captain, forced to his knees by the executioner, resisted the block, but one of the royal guards joined in to overpower him. He bellowed a curse as they collared him then went limp and let his head hang.
At Prince Nigel’s signal, the blade fell. He nodded approval and signaled for the executioner to proceed with the next traitor. One by one each of the captive deserters was wrested into the guillotine; time and again the gleaming blade fell, drenching the immediate area in blood and gore.
The stands were quiet now with most looking queasy. The grouped-up soldiers remained standing in place, looking on impassively. At the prince’s signal, they fanned out, escorting the civilians from the arena.
*****
Jayn, Johann, and the thirty guardsmen moved at a canter on their horses along the forest road. They’d passed a few farmers with wagons, all of whom shouted cheery greetings. Jayn was renowned and loved among the peasants of Farland. They expected to reach Farland’s border by nightfall and the castle itself sometime the following day.
Without warning an arrow shot from somewhere above them, piercing Jayn’s lead guard in the back of the neck. He slumped forward, across his mount’s neck, and the horse startled, sending the guard tumbling off the saddle to the ground.
Quickly Johann ushered Jayn off the road, as the other guards shouted for him to do so. Another two guards fell to more arrows, as the remaining twenty-seven took cover themselves and fanned out to determine the enemies’ position.
Jayn and Johann moved down a slight hill, into a gully, scouring the area with their piercing gazes, looking frequently over their shoulders, feeling vulnerable and exposed. Without warning two Vlad soldiers sprang toward them. One yanked Johann from his horse and held a knife to his throat. The other took hold of Elihu’s reins. The stallion whinnied and reared, aiming his hoofs at the man. He managed to evade and yanked the reins hard.
“Calm your mount and don’t make a sound; otherwise I’ll slit his throat,” the soldier holding Johann snarled up at Jayn.
“Easy Elihu,” she said softly, stroking the horse’s neck.
More Vlad soldiers materialized from the trees, silent as ghosts while the sounds of a skirmish could be heard from beyond the gully. In all likelihood, the guardsmen were well outnumbered, and Jayn felt a pang, fearing they’d be killed.
“I’ve surrendered. Let my guards live,” she demanded.
“If they stand down they might,” the soldier holding Elihu’s reins said. “Then again, dead men tell no tales.”
He and the man holding Johann snickered.
“At least release my counselor, Johann,” Jayn said.
“In good time,” the soldier holding him drawled.
The soldier with Elihu’s reins along with the other arrivals escorted Jayn further along the gully.
She turned in her saddle, and saw that the man holding Johann still held the knife flush against his throat.
“You promised,” Jayn cried.
“Did I? I don’t think I promised a thing, but if I did I suppose I lied,” the soldier mocked, adjusting his grip on the knife.
Jayn glared at him a moment, at a loss. Her gaze trailed to the lip of the gully; the skirmish was winding down by the sound of things. When she looked over her shoulder again, she gasped with the sudden realization that Johann’s captor would likely slit his throat soon. He had no reason to keep Johann alive, after all. Johann must have realized that as well because in the next few seconds, he acted, wrenching himself around, elbowing his captor. The knife cut deep when he did so, but the soldier lost his grip and Johann leapt back, managing to stay on his feet. As blood poured from the wound, he drew his sword. In the commotion, Johann’s mount escaped his captor and came to join Johann.
That gave the soldier pause; he carried no weapon save the knife, for stealth’s sake most likely. He backed away with a curse, following his comrades and Jayn.
“Johann,” Jayn called.
He staggered after them as well, sword still drawn but managed only half a dozen faltering steps. The wound might not have been immediately fatal, but it would be eventually, especially given the fact that Johann was alone and bound to lose consciousness.
“Johann,” Jayn wailed, as he crumpled to the ground.
*****
Mulling over strategies and tactics, Prince Nigel looked out his chamber window. A dark form floated past, banked in the sky, and returned to perch on the balcony rail. Standing quickly from his desk, Nigel strode onto the balcony post haste.
“Calla,” he said, rewarding her with a bit of meat.
He unfixed the cylinder from her leg as she chomped then donned a heavy glove and held his arm out. Calla flapped once, landing lightly and gripping for balance. Without the glove, his arm would be shredded, regardless of the falcon’s intent. He relished her power to maim and kill—he’d seen her in action many times, hunting.
Calla also enjoyed free run of the castle. She often drifted through its cavernous hallways as Prince Nigel walked below, and sometimes soared through the castle on her own, though most times she remained outside or on one of her perches. The prince had a small silver whistle to summon her to him, wherever she was, or depending on the pitch, direct her to action.
Back inside, he set Calla on her stand and returned to his desk. He then uncapped the cylinder and shook out the waiting message. Smiling, he bellowed for Morley.
When the chief advisor entered the chamber, he glanced over at Calla as the prince and said, “They have Jayn, and her entire entourage is dead. The ambush was executed perfectly. They are headed back now and should arrive in two day’s time.”
“Splendid,” Morley said. “I presume they’ll cross the mountains then, to save time?”
Prince Nigel nodded, motioning toward Calla. “We’ll be out of communication, but that can’t be helped. General Vicor will be on the move.”
“Gather the Council Righteous members. We need to devise the best way to leak news of Jayn’s capture and how to frame her trial. Too many Vlad citizens are sympathetic to her cause, even inspired by it.” Prince Nigel grimaced at the notion.
“True; Jayn wants peace, as do the citizens of Vlad. To burn her at the stake, even convicted of a crime is sure to cause a stir, perhaps an uprising,” Morley said, thinking ahead.
He turned and left the chamber. A short while later he returned with five other men: the remaining council members. Council Righteous was a secret group, woven into the governing body of Vlad, bent on dominance and power over all the land. In their minds, they were holy and righteous men—thus the secret name they’d chosen. Any who strayed in thought or deed from their words were considered heretical and were punished without mercy, though always there was a show trial for the guilty party.
Farland was the kingdom posing the greatest resistance, but certain in power there were Vlad spies and Council Righteous members as well. They’d corrupted and swayed Farland to a degree, enough for Dauphin Percival to keep the war going for the time being. Dauphin Percival had also agreed to summon Jayn to the Farland palace under the pretense of a strategic meeting. Thus her ambush and capture had been arranged.
Each of the councilmen, Aldo, Volney, Olaf, Boris, and Lars spared a glance over at Calla before taking their seats at the large oval table set before Nigel’s raised desk. All of them had passed too close to the falcon, thought to touch her, or seen someone else do so. Calla was lightning-quick in her strikes and protective of her personal space. She wouldn’t actually attack, not without a signal from Nigel or Vicor, but if one drew within distance they were fair game and she always drew blood.
“Gentlemen,” the prince began. “Jayn has been captured and is en route here with General Vicor. When she arrives two days hence, she’ll be placed in the dungeon; we can’t have her in public view.”
“Charges should be levied prior to her arrival,” Olaf said.
“Yes; Lars, you’re to spread the word discreetly that Jayn arrived on the battlefield and bewitched half the Vlad troops fighting there. They remain in Farland custody, in blank-eyed trances.
“The captain who spoke out during the execution of the traitors said Jayn was glowing, and that she appeared for a moment to have wings. This is evidence of her evil powers. She will be charged with the crime of witchcraft and stand trial, of course, according to Vlad law. We all know she will be convicted and her sentence will be burning at the stake.”
“It will take but a whisper to spread that sort of news—Jayn’s witchcraft and capture, that is. Many people will fault her for their fallen loved ones in the battle. Vlad was on the brink of victory when she arrived, according to Swain’s message,” Aldo said.
Swain was one of the military couriers and brought news from the battlefield or delivered new orders, Intel received via the spies in Farland and the like. He was a young man with great skill and a knowledge of the forest, as well as a knack for talking his way out of trouble. He could sense who could be bribed, who could be cowed and those fool enough to be tricked.
“What of Jayn’s guard and her counselor?” Boris asked. “They were to be restrained and left for a Farland company to recover.”
“They are dead, to a man,” Prince Nigel replied.
“Dead—all of them?” Volney exclaimed. “Dauphin Percival will be most displeased. Part of the pact was that none of Jayn’s personnel were harmed, any more than necessary that is.”
Prince Nigel planted his hands on the table and half stood. “It was necessary. Those were General Vicor’s orders, issued by me as they departed for the ambush site.”
None said another word. Dauphin Percival was the enemy after all, and in the end, his kingdom would fall.
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