Castle Walls by D Jordan Redhawk Page B

side of the bed, reaching out to gently caress the dark bangs.
    As Katerin struggled with the nightmare, barely coming to consciousness, she could feel fingers caress her forehead.
    "Shhh. It's just a bad dream," a familiar voice murmured. "You're safe now."
    Sighing, Katerin relaxed back into sleep.
     
    Chapter 5
    "Alms? Alms?"
    "Out of my way, old man," the soldier growled, pushing the vagabond aside.
    As the column continued to march past, the peasant shuffled backwards, arms cart wheeling in an attempt to remain on his feet. Other people, already crowded back to make room for the Invader's troops, tried to avoid the filthy man to no avail. Strident voices raised in complaint as the beggar fell, one hand to his chest and the other scrabbling at the people surrounding him. Butt firmly thumping on the ground, he began coughing, leaning forward in obvious pain. Not wanting to contract whatever ailment the old man had, people cleared the immediate area.
    Soon the soldiers were past and normal activity resumed in the marketplace. Despite the usurping of the Dulce throne, the once great capitol thrived under their new ruler. Such was the case wherever the Invader took control - he was a threat only to royalty. Wartime monies kept his economics flourishing.
    Finally finished with his coughing spasm, the beggar struggled to his feet. He held his chest and limped along, occasionally asking for coin from passersby in his travels. Ducking into an alley, he splashed through puddles left from the late fall rain. It'll snow soon. Make things more difficult. At a door, he paused and rapped softly.
    A long silence followed before a peephole opened and someone peered out at him. "Who wields the axe?"
    "Liam." The vagabond pulled his hood back, just enough for the autumn sun to illuminate his features.
    With a muffled curse, the peephole slammed shut and the door flew open. A tall man, dark of hair and wearing a stylish mustache, stepped into the alley to usher his guest inside. After a quick glance to see if they were being watched, he stepped back in and bolted the heavy wooden door. He then turned to glare at the man before him.
    "Thanks for the welcome, Dominic," the beggar said with a smile, pulling the grimy robe from his body. His clothing was homespun, but clean, his face reflecting his true age, barely a man. Black eyes sparkled at the aide's discomfiture.
    Dominic's nose wrinkled. "Your Royal Majesty," he intoned. "You shouldn't be out in the streets like this. You're putting yourself in danger." With thumb and forefinger, he took the proffered robe and dropped it on the floor by the entrance.
    "Aye, Dominic," the 'old' man agreed. Another coughing spasm came over him and he bent double, holding his chest with one hand. His hair, dark as midnight, shone blue-black in the nearby firelight.
    Galvanized, the aide helped his guest to sit before the fire, rummaging for a cup of water to ease his prince's throat. When the teenager had regained his breath and had a drink, he said, "And that's another reason. You're lungs aren't strong enough. You should be abed until you're completely healed from your wound."
    "Aye. I suppose it's true, Dom. But I've about had it with being bedridden while you gather my army for me. If I'm to be king, I need to begin acting as one." Liam inhaled shakily, relieved when the coughing didn't resume. He idly rubbed his chest, the now familiar feel of scar tissue beneath his fingers. It had been a month before Liam could sit up on his own, another before he was able to stand. Three more had passed and he had escaped the rustic prison to return to his city.
    The aide refilled his liege's cup before sitting down beside him. Twirling his mustaches in agitation, he asked, "What of your guard? You shouldn't be alone! The people might not enjoy the Invader's rule, but your only protection is that you're believed dead. Some of your fine people would be happy to turn you in for a reward." I've got to make the royal