The Bell Tolls for Me

One day of total absence was already quite a stretch for the central figure in the interregnum council. Even ill, a ruler had duties. That no one was permitted to see her was accepted on the first day, but by the second became a subject of rumors. This was still the Royal Palace, even if exported out into the outback.

By the close of the second night since Isabella's departure, people began to piece together some oddities. The archduke and his daughter were absent, along with their chosen heir. The knight commander of the holy paladins hadn't been seen for just as long as Isabella had been absent—neither had her personal guard, that blockish man in armor.

Once the rumors started, Alice was quietly escorted away by Randolph's trusted men who'd been given orders long in advance. She couldn't be expected to stem the tide alone. This turned out to be prudent. People demanded entry and pushed their way in when it was forbidden. The discovery that the speculation wasn't rumor alone, and that the Princess Regent had disappeared, was monumental.

"She was kidnapped," knights gossiped around the fire.

"Not kidnapped. Murdered," another suggested.

"With her most trusted maid lying on her behalf? I think not, gentlemen." A dainty storyteller looked between them. "She eloped."

"With the knight commander, you think?" one posed.

The man raised a cautionary finger. "Not with him. He's present, yes… but as a mere guard for the true pair."

"The archduke?" one guessed.

"Prince Sylvain," the man declared, holding his hands wide. "His absence isn't coincidence either. The forbidden love, gentlemen, is often the most appealing. Those two grew up together in the halls of the palace… let me tell you a grand tale."

The tales that abounded speaking of Isabella's departure were all of that nature. In their eyes, what had happened was patently ridiculous. Isabella was at the height of her power and influence. To depart willingly made no sense if not for some absurd flight of fancy. The general consensus, however, was that something terrible had happened to her—she'd already survived one assassination attempt, and people assumed that another might've succeeded.

None could make sense of it. Except, perhaps, the few that knew.

***

"Gone," Edgar said simply, staring at the archwizard. "Simply gone."

"My efforts to discern her presence with magic have come to nothing. A very powerful spellcaster is interfering with my efforts." The old man's hands were trembling from the shame. "She is… she is alive, Your Majesty. If that were not the case, the illness would return to you."

Edgar closed his burgundy eyes. He sat there in total silence, breathing in and breathing out.

"Bring me my restarter." Edgar opened his eyes. There was rage, yes—but also excitement. The excitement that came with tackling a particularly difficult problem. "I'll conduct the search myself."

***

Harsh winds rocked the ship that Valerio and Arthur had taken. Both of their powers were working in tandem to send the ship speeding through the waters as fast as it could without tipping over. Ordinarily Valerio might've needed full attention to steer the ship, yet Arthur's mastery of his magic was impeccable. He was free to walk and talk, even.

Valerio studied Arthur as the man leaned on the railing of his ship, staring out at sea. "You claim that the king resets to the last point that he awakes?" Valerio reiterated.

"Hmm." Arthur nodded. "Their ability is fundamentally tied to sleeping and dreams. Isabella should have returned when she awoke. I'm not certain of the precise day, but it should've been near the time of Edgar II's coronation. That was when her misfortune began. It was the best I could manage." Arthur turned and looked at Valerio. "My hope was for her to avoid all of this, once again. I was hoping not to have to return at all, but here I am."

Valerio thought Arthur's green eyes felt judgmental. Perhaps that was projection. This situation wasn't the one that he would have preferred either, but Isabella had insisted upon fighting against Edgar the Great—fighting to keep the kingdom whole and safe.

"Why are you so insistent on joining our journey?" Valerio asked.

Arthur took a deep breath and turned back out to sea. "Because I know who Edgar is. Not that public image he puts out—I've seen the madness in him."

"Madness?" Valerio repeated.

"There's no better word for that man. How else can you describe someone that would kill himself hundreds of thousands, millions, maybe billions of times?" Arthur shifted on his feet. "You aren't the first to learn his secret. No one remembers the others. People have tried to capture him alive. I'm not sure it's possible. Even if you take away his restarter… he has backups. A poison is the only I know about, but he's hinted at others. He'll bite his tongue off without hesitation. Break his own neck—I can barely explain it."

Valerio narrowed his eyes. "How do you know this?"

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"Because he told me," Arthur said. "He was proud of it. No matter what you do, or who you are, Edgar has something prepared."

"No one's perfect," Valerio posited.

"Yet Edgar's tried to be," Arthur said. "Even minor mistakes warrant a 'restart.' He'll do utterly reckless things, knowing that death isn't the end, but a mere chance to try again. He's told me… of brutal slaughters, for mere fun. And the other things he's done… the horror…" He gazed right at Valerio. "The horror."

Valerio felt a bone deep chill looking into Arthur's eyes. There was an unfathomable abyss peering out from them. There was a knowing in them—an understanding of a kind that had broken something in his head. What did he know? What had he been told? And above all…

"Who were you to him, that he would tell you all of this information? Why do you know this?" Valerio pressed.

Arthur closed his eyes, his hands trembling. "He told me as warning. He was trying to warn me against precisely what I'm doing now. Because despite all I've told you, there's really only two things I intend to do in this life." He looked up, and in those dark green eyes there was some light. "I'll consign Edgar to the worst fate imaginable. And I'll make Isabella happy." He turned, then jumped up on the railing. "Do you think you could manage either?"

Valerio's jaw clenched tightly, and his vision narrowed. Unbidden, Isabella's words sprung to mind.

"Are you so weak-willed that words alone can provoke your anger? Are you so easily-manipulable that some irrelevant fourth son of a fourth son can play you like a child?" she'd told him, when last his anger had gotten the better of him.

"What must be done to get out of Edgar's reach?" Valerio asked, relaxing.

"Everything," Arthur said. "One time out of a thousand, he'll succeed. He'll interrogate every single person, one by one, until he knows where she's gone. He'll embark on a voyage in every direction, one after another, aiming to find her. The only time limit he has to operate is how long he can stay awake."

Valerio thought. "And how long might that be?"

Arthur crossed his arms. "He's only beginning to recover from the wasting illness. That's our significant benefit. After only a day without sleep, just like everyone, he's seriously impaired—his judgment, his perception. He has tactics to keep himself from falling asleep accidentally—I've seen them in person, at times. He won't often go beyond two days without sleep. He cannot risk himself too overtly. Falling unconscious would be disastrous—it qualifies, you see. He'll never take risks without another at his side to kill him should he fall unconscious."

Valerio's head spun, putting all the pieces together. "And what's the verdict?"

Arthur thought for a moment. "As he stays awake, the risk of accidentally dozing off becomes too high. If Isabella has a two-day head start, they might be able to get away. Three becomes more certain. With four, I'm relatively confident. As I've learned with Edgar… there's no such thing as certainty. Still, travelling by sea was wise. If she had gone on land, we'd be doomed. We might be, regardless."

***

Edgar awoke to something he'd heard countless times by now.

"Your Majesty, forgive me for disturbing you, but—"

"I know," Edgar said as he sat up, alert. "Cease talking, and listen."

The archwizard's blind eyes brightened as he received familiar instructions.

"Knight-Commander Gaspar and Randolph, Isabella's condottiere, passed through the mountainside through the mines," Edgar said certainly. "They arrived at the coastal village of Dronmire, where a ship was waiting for them. You are to take every spellcaster nearby and conscript them to scout out the seas looking for their ship. They're aboard a carrack with a brown hull and unmarked white sails. There are two spellcasters aboard the ship to help propel it faster, eighteen crewmen, and eight holy paladins."

The archwizard paled as he heard the description. "At—"

"Yes, at sea," the king snarled, having heard that question. "I know it's unideal. That's why you need to move, now. Have one of the servants bring me what I need to restart when I please."

The king sat at his bedside, grinding his teeth furiously. How long had he been here? Weeks? Months? He hadn't progressed beyond learning where they went, and how they departed. This plot had been kept extremely insular. He'd interrogated every single person, yet none knew where Isabella's co-conspirators had gone. Edgar could only conclude one thing from that.

She knew.

Isabella knew of the power that he possessed. Perhaps it was because she possessed one of her own. If that was the case, for the first time, he was fighting an enemy that might be on the same level that he was. To have his own ability turned against him was a terrifying prospect. His anger and frustration grew every day.

A serving girl entered the room, carrying his familiar tools. Lucinda, he knew, from previous attempts. He stood and retrieved them. He picked up the last—a blade, and tested it against his skin.

"I could be here for years," Edgar remarked, looking at her.

"Your Majesty?" Lucinda asked—she always responded like that.

"Today, I'll a break," he decided. "Have some fun. Moderation is important."

The young girl nodded with a smile, unwitting.

Lucinda didn't know about the horror.

Yet.

***

Sosen sat on top of the sail's mast, watching the birds fly in the far distance. Those weren't ordinary birds, of course. They were familiars. That didn't matter. They wouldn't be able to see a thing. He made sure of that the past few days. No manner of scrying or magical scouting would bear any fruit. That was a necessary measure when contesting someone as formidable as Edgar. The ship was many miles away from the coastline, far enough away that they couldn't even see it. It would take days for any ship to reach them.

"Look at 'im," Randolph said, and Sosen craned his ears to listen. "That monkey knows something, I'm telling you."

"It's just a gift from Valerio," Gaspar said, also present. "A pet. Nothing more."

"Bullshit. I call bullshit," Randolph insisted. "Nah… nah. That monkey is the most dangerous thing on this ship."

Gaspar couldn't muster exasperation. "I'm going to go check on Isabella again. I'm worried about her."

The atmosphere aboard the ship was dark, strained. All was tense. Few knew this voyage had already lasted months, from the perspective of some. Yet no matter how many times one went back… a mistake made too far in the past couldn't be corrected.