The ruins of Chelblade were abandoned and still smoking when he had arrived. The bodies they'd found had all been those of soldiers. There were no witnesses as to the fate of the villagers, but it did not take his scout long to discover that a large group of people had traveled to the north.
It took three days to overtake the villagers, burdened as they were with supplies and the sick and injured, and it took far less time to discover what had happened in Chelblade. This was not the first of his brother's messes he'd been ordered to clean up, and it would not be the last.
They rounded up the villagers and marched them back to the ruins. He would have preferred to slaughter every last one of them then and there, make quick work of it, and then turn and head for home, but that would have left loose ends. The Emperor's order sentenced him to account for every single one of the rebels who had participated.
They were down to the last few villagers now. After days of whipping, beating, ripping flesh, tearing fingernails and teeth, and burning skin with hot iron over and over, he had still gained very few answers.
Duke Yevin's men were in no way involved, but then, he had never assumed that they were. This was a different sort of rebellion- disorganized and done mostly out of fear. The villagers had seen something that they should not have.
The Prince's men left the bodies where they fell, and now, even in the cold, the ruins had taken on the stench of the death, and the snow was stained everywhere with blood.
A man knelt before Prince Mikhail and glared up at him with hatred and revulsion. His eyes were bloodshot, and his mouth twisted in bitter defiance. He grinned at the prince with missing teeth and spat blood at his feet.
Mikhail heaved an agitated sigh. What that man felt toward him was no less than what he felt toward himself, but this was a job that still had to be finished.
"Where is the Blacksmith? Speak!" Mikhail commanded.
"Kill me!" the man growled.
The Prince snatched him by his neck and hauled him to his feet, clamping down so that the man gasped for the air he could not breath in. Mikhail shook him hard.
"Speak!" he repeated.
The man opened his mouth into a wide, open grin, and blood spilled out over his bottom lip. He was laughing, soundlessly.
Overhead, a hawk circled, drawing the Prince's attention away. He glanced up and recognized it immediately.
Without a second of hesitation, he snapped the man's neck and let the body fall to the ground.
The hawk circled again. He stretched his arm out, and the bird descended to land upon it. It would not be good news. He knew it already. The first message came while he was still on the road to Chelblade. The second one, just a few days ago, relayed that the Princess had safely arrived in Pirchburg. A third message could only mean the worst.
With nimble, blood-stained fingers, he unrolled the scrap of paper tied to the hawk's leg and read:
she's gone. 6 hours now. may have made it out of city before gates closed. presumed direction south.
Mikhail swore loudly and ripped the paper into shreds. The hawk launched itself from his arm and circled once again before heading south.
She would not have run on her own. The treaty with Vezda was far too fragile for her to risk. She must have been taken. He was outsmarted in his attempt to hide and protect her.
"Kill the rest!" he snarled to his men.
"My Prince, we still have not--"
Mikhail snatched the sword from the soldier's hand and, with one swift stroke, cut off the head of the next prisoner kneeling in the line. The severed head hit the ground before the body did and rolled a few feet.
"Kill the rest and prepare to ride out," he snapped.
"Demon!" another prisoner yelled. "Demon! We know what you are! We've seen your kind! We know what the Emperor is hiding in the--"
Mikhail swung again. The spray of blood hit his breast plate and ran down as the man fell silently to the ground, never to complete his accusation. His soldiers immediately finished the job as Mikhail, ignoring the screams of the dying, turned to find his horse.
"My Prince!" called the captain of the guard, chasing after him.
"I must ride ahead. Take the men to Pirchburg. My aide is there and shall take command," he ordered.
"But there may still be rebels that have fled north," the soldier reminded him.
"I shall find another way to deal with that. Ride to Pirchburg," he growled.
The captain bowed his head in assent as Mikhail untied his horse and quickly mounted.
Without sparing another glance for the ruins or the grisly fate of its villagers, he spurred the horse to a gallop and made for the main road.
A great deal of snow had fallen since his arrival in Chelblade, and it would certainly slow his return, but it would also slow the Princess's captors.
They would keep her alive, surely they would keep her alive, and she would fight them. He should have trained her earlier. He should have dragged her from her bed and forced her to the field, held her mouth open, and forced her to eat nourishing food as well. Abduction had been a possibility from the beginning, and she was small and weak.
But not stupid or naive, he reminded himself. No, her mind was sharper even than her tongue. Even as a child, she had outsmarted him. She had kept him alive that night without him even realizing what she was doing.
She would live, and once he had her back, he would never again spare her from training. He would work her harder than his soldiers. He would watch her eat every meal. It didn't matter if she came to hate him.
Any man that laid hands on her would suffer for it. There would be no merciful death for any of them. What he had just done in Chelblade would pale in comparison to what he would soon do. He hoped they were not the Emperor's men. For then, he would not have the pleasure of punishing them with his own hands. Ilya would have to do it. Perhaps they were Duke Yevin's rebels or a small group of Vezdans loyal to House Eosin and not their country.
Of course, he had made countless enemies over the years, and losing the Princess would certainly drive a wedge between himself and the Emperor. There was no way to narrow down who had taken her. There were too many possibilities.
The snow began to fall again, and he cursed to himself, wondering how heavily it had fallen in Pirchburg. He remembered well the trip to the Capitol when he'd held her small cold body close to try and keep her warm. She'd been poisoned then, of course, but she was from a country that never saw cold. She was not used to the extreme winters in the north, and even when she was on the field with him in Bludston, her skin beneath his fingers and his mouth had been icy to the touch.
That image again... her on the field beneath him... he hadn't thought of it since receiving the Emperor's orders. In fact, for almost two weeks, all of his thoughts had been consumed by the one simple desire that was to kill anyone that threatened the Emperor. It had beat inside his head like a drum, a throbbing, angry desire to kill.
It was gone now, as though it had never existed in the first place, and the mission had not even been completed.
She was not the elder daughter of Eosin, and yet... and yet... had the oracle ever been wrong before? The Emperor must never know. He would have to find that damned Blacksmith and finish him on his own sometime in the future.
Prince Mikhail rode hard for two days, stopping only to switch horses at the Highlands Imperial outpost, and twice more to rest for a few hours and feed and water his horse. It was evening when he finally saw Pirchburg. Ilya must have posted scouts to watch for him. His aide appeared quickly on the road from the south with several guards trailing behind him.
Prince Mikhail stopped first and reached for his horse's feed bag. The animal was exhausted. He would take Ilya's mount.
His aide was quick to approach.
"My Prince!" Ilya called, dropping from his horse beside him. He then took in Prince Mikhail's appearance, from his blood-stained armor to his haggard face. "Stars of Torobirk! What happened to-"
"Later," Mikhail growled. "The Princess... speak!"
"She's on foot, possibly alone," Ilya began quickly. "I don't know how she made it out of the town. She was angry. I told her we were going to Pirchburg to visit Queen Ora's grave, and when she learned that there was no--"
"You told her what?" Mikhail snapped.
"By your order!" Ilya countered. "Your very words were to tell her something, come up with some reason for travel. It was the best I could think of at short notice."
"She wouldn't have run simply out of anger," Mikail shook his head.
"No. I don't believe so either. Her maid came down after we argued and said the Princess was unwell and would stay in her room. I sent a physician to her rooms directly after, and that was when we discovered her gone. I alerted the town guard and had the gates closed. It couldn't have been more than an hour from the time I found her gone."
"And you searched the town?" Mikhail demanded.
"Thoroughly, yes. Though it was a waste of time. No one had even seen her. We discovered at that time that her maid had also disappeared," Ilya informed him.
"The maid?" Mikhail snapped.
"Yes. New girl. Came from the Capitol just a few weeks back with references from the court. Nothing seemed amiss with her, but I've sent a message to Bludston to check her background in detail," Ilya assured him.
"How do you know she's alone?" Mikhail demanded.
"We came across a campsite only a few miles off of the southern road. There was a body, male, typical ruffian, perhaps a hired sword. It looks like there was a scuffle and he had his throat cut. It was a fresh kill. Possibly sometime this morning. We know the Princess was carrying daggers. Someone small and light set out from there on their own and was followed by a group of men not long after. We lost the trail when it began snowing again, but our men are searching still. I've had them fan out from the campsite," Ilya explained.
"Give me your horse," Mikhail ordered.
"My prince?" Ilya asked uncertainly.
"My horse is tired. Yours isn't fresh, but it will last longer than mine," Mikhail decided, glancing at Ilya's mount.
"My Prince, you should rest now. You look as though you've ridden nonstop for days. I will continue to search with the men. I have no doubt we shall find her soon."
Mikhail frowned and stepped past Ilya to snatch his horse's reins. He mounted before Ilya could even open his mouth.
"The troops are on their way here from Chelblade. You'll need to take charge when they arrive. If I'm gone more than two days, return with them to Bludston," the Prince ordered.
He spurred Ilya's horse and rode hard toward the southern road.
Ilya stood and watched the figure until it disappeared over the horizon. He turned to the discarded animal, which was casually eating from its feed bag.
"Well horse, at least you and I will have a warm meal and few drinks before we brave the cold again. Let's go, fellow."