by Justin Kauer
Chapter Nine - Bitter Voyage
The old king cleared his throat and looked at those gathered around the fire, wondering if the audience was ready to continue or if he should wait until the next night’s fire to continue. They seemed to be waiting, anxiously engaged in the story, so he took over the narration.
“The next morning, Alban was back,” he said. “He grabbed Decebal’s chariot, told Garrve about his taking it, and was off again in a cloud of dust. Just then, Freya awoke and poked her head out of Ryan’s carriage.”
“Who was that, Garrve?” she asked.
“I do not know, Your Highness.”
“How could you not know, Garrve? I heard you talking to him!”
“Princess, I can only tell you that I thought that it was the man that you used to call Alban, but I tell you that I wonder.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, he went out of here yesterday with such great haste that I thought that there would be no heading him. Then, he shows up this early morning before light, acting as though he had nowhere to go, in particular, asks about Ryan and Nordholst to make sure that they had been well treated, and then he hitches Decebal’s team up to the chariot and takes off!”
“He just walks up and steals Decebal’s chariot?” the princess asked in an accusatory tone.
“Well, he will not be using them where he has gone!” laughed Garrve.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Princess, I merely mean that the dead have no use for such things. Decebal has gone from this life. To what use could he put that chariot, anyway?”
“Are you sure that he is dead? I just have a feeling that he will try to do me further harm.”
“Princess, I suppose that many victims of such abuses feel that way about their captors. It may be hard for you to acknowledge, but the fact remains that the man is dead and you must let all of that past go with him.”
“Did you actually see his remains burn?”
“Well . . . I am not sure. That was Nordholst’s job, remember? I watched the faces of my men and he kept track of those from his party. You will have to ask him.”
“I do not think that anyone actually watched the fire the whole time. Anyway, had Nordholst watched, I highly doubt that he should be inclined to give me any such information now. I should have been more cunning, perhaps.”
“Perhaps you could pardon them — by way of setting of a trap! You could tell them that they are free to go and then when you have the information that you want, you can arrest them again.” laughed Garrve, with all his might.
“It is not funny!” the princess protested, but could not help but chuckle a bit. Then she added, “I suppose that I am being silly, but I cannot help it. I was held captive by that man for nearly half a year. I think that he was making plans to promote me from pretending to be his ‘daughter’ to becoming one of his wives. In fact, I know it to be true. I heard him going on about it one night in his drunken slur.”
“What did . . . Alban have to say about it?”
“Nothing.”
“Princess, surely Alban would have said or done something about it! He would not merely stand idly by and watch as Decebal . . . well, you know what I mean.”
“Garrve, I am not accusing anyone of anything, other than Decebal, that is to say; this was before Alban came along. It was Ryan that convinced him not to do anything rash. Ryan does have a cool head about him most of the time. Sometimes he did give me cause to want to peel his hide, though. I guess that I now know why.
“I remember the first time that I heard that they had brought in a new young slave who was dressed as farm peasant from Badgerden’s Holde. I felt something stir in my heart even before I had seen him. Just hearing that he was brought in . . . I know that it sounds foolish and I thought as much then, but I could not help that my heart left me that day. I went to where they had laid him in a barn . . . What is it about him that . . .”
“That makes you want to be around him all the time and, at the same time, makes you wonder if you are worthy to do so?”
“Yes! That is it!”
“I do not know. It is just who and what he is. Few men are really like that, these days. It seems that some people could command the world from a slave’s position. At least, that is how he is. And I do not mean that he gives orders and makes men jump before him. That is not at all his style. He has . . .”
“A near-perfect touch.” Freya completed in Garrve’s behalf.
“For a better friend, no man could ask.” Garrve complimented their absent acquaintance.
“And he is that way with everyone — and I mean everyone! I always wanted him to myself, but he would just have to help in any situation that would come along.”
“Yes, Princess. Did it make you jealous?”
“No. I guess not. I just wanted to spend more time with him before . . .”
“I miss him, too. At least I now know that he is alive. The last time that he left us, OoftHall told us that he was dead. When we pressed upon him to know the cause of his death, OoftHall would feign deep hurt and . . . well, we never did believe that he did not have anything to do with his death. Now we know it to be true that he was the cause — of his disappearance, at least.”
“I suppose that I should also be happy to know that he is alive and doing well. I just cannot help but feel that part of me has gone with him.”
“Perhaps you will feel the same way about your future husband. You may always remain friends with Alban, but you must let him go. I should hate to see such a thing become his downfall, and given your love for him, I am sure that you must feel the same way; it could mean death for him if you do not let him go once and for all.”
“What do you mean?”
“Princess, surely you have thought of the implications should you continue stringing him along. What if your future husband were to get word of your love for Alban? As yet, you do not even know who your future king and husband shall be, but he will be a king and powerful for that reason. You must know that he could, in a fit of jealous rage and at the drop of a hat, have him hunted and assassinated. Surely Alban must have told you something about that. He does seem to think of everything.”
“He tried, but he was mostly concerned for me . . . and my people. I had not seen it like that, Garrve.” she said solemnly. “It becomes clear, then, dear Garrve, that I must let him go from my heart if I am to save him.”
“I am afraid that it is so, Princess,” Garrve stated softly.
“I see why you two are such good friends, Garrve.”
“My Lady?”
“You are cut from the same cloth. You speak words for him that he could not bring himself to tell me. You worry about how others feel and how they are treated. It is no wonder that you were chosen to take temporary command of his kingdom.”
“Well, I can tell you that I did not ask for it! No, ma’am! I was never one for responsibility. That is why my father sent me out from his kingdom. ‘Garrve,’ he said, ‘I am going to do you a great favor! I am going to send you out from the kingdom! If you return without understanding what it is to have true responsibility, I will have you flogged within an eyelash of your life!’ He meant it, too. He gave me his own unique look that he would give when he had said his final word on something and dared anyone to question him.”
“I think that all fathers have that look at some point for their children.”
“No, Princess, not all fathers despise their sons like mine did me,” Garrve stated flatly as he shone hues of sad gloom in his eyes.
Freya did not know what to do at that point. She started to take a breath as if to speak but then decided to hold that breath, instead.
“I do not know why it was that my father never . . . that he always despised me so. I do know that my mother died shortly after giving birth to me, but I could never surmise if my birth was the cause of her untimely departure or if I reminded my father
of her . . . and I was never told, is the thing. I never could get my father to tell me anything about her . . . nor would anyone else. I could tell that he had sworn all to secrecy or had them silenced somehow. So, there was this hard, icy hatred that seemed to render the air much thicker than that which was breathable.
“There were times when he would forget himself, just for a moment, and he would have a bright flicker of a smile come across his face as he joked with others. However, when his gaze would turn and see me smiling or laughing, a fierce glower would come across his face and all would freeze again.
“I guess to no small extent, that I was glad to see him send me away. Even though I had no idea where to go or how I should survive, the prospect of leaving was ever so inviting.”
“How old were you?” Freya asked.
“Sixteen. Well, almost seventeen, I guess . . . Nine months later I turned seventeen.”
“So young, and on your own like that! That must have been hard for you!” Freya commiserated. “I have often heard that in some cultures, such a thing is considered an act of love. The parents want their children to be able to . . .”
“There was no love in that man for me!” Garrve said with gritted teeth and hot tears of rage welling up in his eyes. “It was not any act of favor that made him send me from him! He could no longer stand to look at me!
“I eventually found my way to the coastal city of . . . well, I realize that no one here even believes that there is land across the great seas to the west, though we know of you. But that is where I am from. Please do not mention this to anyone. They will think you and I mad for even suggesting it.
“But, I was then captured by some sailors and pressed into servitude for a ship that got lost in the fog. We got turned around and headed farther out to sea (there was a magnet placed near to our compass and the fog was filled with a sulfur smell, so there could have been a volcano nearby, possibly giving it added darkness and ash). By the time we figured out which way we were headed, we knew that our supplies would not last the journey home. Our only option was to keep going onward in hopes of discovering an inhabited island or at least some other land where we could get supplies. When the supplies began to run out, we were forced to throw our cargo overboard. So, when we came to the west shores of Darvania, I was sold to help recuperate the cost of the lost goods.”
After a good, long silence, the princess offered, “Well, that does make a lot of sense.”
“Which part?” Garrve began, ready to be offended.
“That you have stuck with Alban.”
“What do you mean?’”
“Well, I mean that he treats all he meets fairly. It must have been good for you to meet someone like that. How did you meet, anyway?”
“Ah, yes. It seems like it was so long ago, as we have been through so much — both together and apart, and much has been accomplished. I guess that the best place to start is from . . . well, near the beginning.”
“Why not start at the beginning?”
“I should much rather not, as it is embarrassing to me. I was not in the best of conditions when I met your Alban. But, to tell the truth, that is what I was telling you about when you interrupted.”
“Well, he is hardly mine, now.”
“True. I apologize.”
“Well? . . . Are you going to tell me about it or not?”
“Yes. It all started when I was sold into Darvania. From there I was taken to Goff and sold to the Tournament at Sacrete dan Prudencia, Goff.
