by Robert Ryan
Nothing disturbed her now, and her mind was clear as a mountain lake. No ripples moved across it. Nothing perturbed it. There was neither fear nor desire, but merely an acceptance that the world was the way it was.
Slowly, she drew her perception upward, above her body. There was a resistance, like trying to lift an object that was too heavy, but suddenly her spirit shrugged off the chains of the flesh and was weightless.
She hovered above herself, invisible and free. She had done it, and for a moment she studied her two companions. They looked not at her but at her body beneath.
It all felt strange, and doubt nagged at her. She did not really know what she was doing, but she calmed herself and set about her task.
She knew, more or less, where Savanest was, and she willed herself there. The world went dark, and there was a sensation of movement. It was disturbing, but when she stilled she could see again, despite it being night. She could see better than during the day, but all the colors seemed to be washed away from the world.
None of that mattered though. She was in Savanest’s camp, and she could study it.
Nothing she saw made her feel good. Of Savanest himself, there was no sign. Why was he not here? What was he doing?
There were some fifty men. They looked hard, and there would be no mercy from them if she and her companions were caught. They seemed to her to look more like mercenaries than soldiers.
She floated above them, looking down. They were unaware of her. But there was a hound on the edge of the camp, and it growled deep in its throat and looked at her. Strange, she thought.
The beast was huge. She had never seen a dog like it before. It was thick-furred, but lean of body. Muscles rippled beneath its coat, and then there was a flash of something about its neck.
She eased closer, and the hound growled louder. The men looked at it, but said nothing. They grew uneasy though.
Surprise filled her. Around the dog’s neck was a necklace. This was passingly strange, and she had never seen the like before. Tentatively, she reached out with her thought, and then instantly recoiled.
Aranloth had taught about such artifacts. A great evil he called them, and she knew now that he was right. It was a were-stone. It was a talisman of ancient magic, and it turned a man into a beast.
Swiftly she looked around, knowing what she would see. All the men wore a similar necklace. And the magic of their stones had been invoked. Already she sensed signs of the transformation that was to come, and it sickened her.
Savanest would wear a stone too. It would control the others. He was responsible for this, and that he could do such a thing was reprehensible. Few things were more evil.
She eased herself back to where the great hound stood rigidly, its legs stiff, its hackles raised and the deep growl in its throat a constant thrumming.
The truth was clear now, and with it came a sense of calm. Savanest was using the hound to track her, and that was critical to know. The beast had scented her out, and it explained why the enemy had never lost her trail despite her many tricks. She had assumed there would be a tracker, and that he must be good. But she knew better now, and that was both good and bad.
It was nearly impossible to elude a hound that tracked by scent. But at least by knowing what she was up against, she could try.
She had learned what she needed to, but she lingered, staring at the dog. Why could it sense her presence?
Strangely, the hound stepped back and whimpered. Why was it now afraid of her?
Too late she realized that it was not afraid of her at all. She made to flee back to her body, but something caught her around the legs and held her. Even as she struggled more bonds, chains of cold fire forged of sorcery, wrapped around her arms.
In a moment, unwitting and careless, she had been captured. Another chain wrapped around her neck, and then she was jerked around to look at her captor. There would be no escape now, and Savanest, a sprit figure just as herself, hovered near and smiled.
That smile was colder than the sorcery that bound her, and it sent a chill through her like ice.
“Foolish girl,” Savanest said. “Did you not think I would have wards established to sense the likes of you? Did you not think that I guessed you might try such a thing?”
16. Do You Dare?
Caludreth sat on his bed. It was clear that he had an idea how to take advantage of the mood in the city that had grown since word of his rescue had spread.
It was equally clear that Menendil would not like it. But that did not mean the idea was not good, still less that it was not necessary.
There was a knock on the door, and they both tensed instantly. The fear of discovery was on them, for they worried that at any time the king’s soldiers would raid the inn having somehow learned where Caludreth was being hidden.
But there were no soldiers. It was only his old friend, Norgril, one of the very few who knew who it was hiding in the inn, and one of the very few Menendil would dare trust with that information.
Norgril caught the tension in the air. “Sorry. Only me,” he said. “All is quiet downstairs.”
“Pull up a chair and join us, master Norgril,” Caludreth said.
The white-haired man did so, turning it around to sit in the soldier’s way. His friend was no youngster anymore, but Menendil was suddenly taken back to their youth. How many times had they sat and talked exactly like this through the years? And the memory flashed to him of the semi-dark barracks where they had met the very first time one night before a mission. They had both sat just the same way then, and somehow they were still both alive, and still friends, all these years later.
Menendil saw that Caludreth was looking at him, and there was the faintest question in his eyes. He wanted to know if Norgril was trusted enough to hear the rest of the conversation he had interrupted.
With the slightest inclination of his head, Menendil signaled that he was trusted and that Caludreth should continue. At this point, it was too late to doubt that trust. Norgril already knew enough to have everyone in the inn killed and the building burned to the ground, should he speak his knowledge. But that, he would never do.
“We were just discussing,” Caludreth said, “how to take advantage of the present situation. It seems my rescue has raised the spirits of the people.”
“Too right it has,” Norgril answered. “The city is afire with the story, and the king is in a mad rage. I’ve never seen Faladir in this mood before. It’s ripe for trouble or rebellion. Or both.”
“Then I have just the thing,” Caludreth said.
Menendil wanted to hear this very much. He had tried to come up with something, but had failed. But Caludreth had once been a Kingshield Knight. What training had he had, and what tuition under a lòhren? Surely, he would suggest something good, if dangerous.
“This is what I propose,” Caludreth told them. “We need to take the mood of the people, and strengthen it. To do that, we need to prove to them that there is a resistance, and that it’s strong. We need to prove to them that my rescue was no accident, but the fruition of good planning.” He glanced at Menendil. “Which it was, indeed.”
He leaned forward in his chair. “We need to send a signal to the people that the seventh knight is coming, and that what they have seen so far is just the beginning.”
Caludreth paused and looked from one to the other, and then went on.
“There’s a bronze statue of the king in the city square, near the palace. You know the one I mean?”
Norgril said he knew, and Menendil nodded. He dared not speak just now.
“In that same square, there are markets every day. Thousands of people go there each morning. Few, if any places, in the city holds as many people in such a short time.”
Caludreth’s voice grew quiet as he spoke, and it was now barely above a whisper.
“That statue is the place to leave a message, and a message that will be seen by many. Those who see it will spread it around everywhere, and within hours no
one in the city will have failed to hear it.”
“What will the message be?” Norgril asked.
“First,” Caludreth answered. “We will pull down the statue. That is symbolic, and the people will grasp its meaning swiftly. We need no horses for that. Ten strong men and some ropes will do the job.”
Menendil immediately grasped the implications of that. It was really a direct threat to the king himself. It was a statement that not only was he defied, but that he was going to be overthrown himself. The people would see that just as quickly as he had, and the audacity of the whole thing would give it tremendous momentum. But what made it so useful also made it dangerous. Toppling the king’s statue so close to the palace itself was unthinkable.
Caludreth was not done though. “When the statue is toppled, what will be left is the stone plinth. Here we can chisel some words. The seventh knight comes, is a phrase that might do nicely.”
Silence fell, and Menendil studied the once-knight almost reverently. Here was a man who knew how to get under the skin of the enemy and rouse the people to open rebellion. But at what risk?
Caludreth looked at them both in turn. “Well, what do you think? Would you dare to attempt such a thing?”
Norgril nodded slowly, and Menendil found his voice at last.
“Do we dare not to, if we wish to see freedom in Faladir again?”
“That is exactly so,” Caludreth replied, “and I’ll come with you. I have a very personal grudge against the king, and this strikes to the heart of that at the same time as hitting a blow for the people.”
17. A Night of Chaos
It was past the middle of the night, and the city square was devoid of people. Except for ten of the Hundred, Menendil, Caludreth and Norgril.
No one ventured abroad at night, and that was to the small party’s advantage. It made it easier to move unseen, and they had passed through the dark streets without suspicion or chance of being questioned as to what they were about or why they carried ropes.
But there were disadvantages too. The reason the streets were abandoned at night was because they belonged to creatures of evil. It was not just the waylayers and murderers, though they remained. Perhaps they were driven by poverty and hunger, but Menendil did not think so. Something dark in their nature drove them, and even fear for their own lives could not subdue it.
Besides the dark element of human society, there were also the soldiers. They marched the roads, both day and night, patrolling. Or so they called it. They were dangerous during the day if someone looked at them the wrong way or made a comment they did not like. At night, they were killers. And they were not suffering hunger or poverty. The king paid them well. No, they killed for the king to instill fear in the citizens. Perhaps they killed because they liked it too. Menendil had certainly met soldiers like that back in his day, but they were the extreme exception.
But the real danger at night were the creatures of the Shadow that came out after the sun set. There were rumors of those that killed and feasted on human blood. Others bit with venom, and their victims died in agony screaming in some alley, but no one went out to help them. There were the Night Fliers too. These were the most dangerous, and Menendil had seen them himself. He preferred the name out of legend for them. Elù-draks. The names in the old stories were better, although Night Fliers was an apt description.
He had seen elù-draks on the way to the square, and he had been prepared for it. Some of the men had not seen them before though. These had nearly run, foolish as that would be. But he and Caludreth had held those firmly, and pressed them back against the side of the building they had huddled against.
There, in the shadows, they had escaped detection. But it had happened several times, and now, out in the open, their cover was gone.
But the men who had nearly panicked the first time, to Menendil’s surprise, went on. He had thought they would turn back and try to go home by themselves, but they had stuck it out and their fear, while certainly not leaving them, had reduced. The subsequent time a warning had been whispered and they had pressed against the wall to hide themselves, those same men merely closed their eyes and gritted their teeth.
Menendil cast his gaze skyward as they walked across the square. The stars were dim tonight, and there was no moon to be seen. The palace hulked ahead though, on the far side of the plaza, and to the left, on the dim horizon, rose the Tower of the Stone.
The tower was several streets away. No light shone from the top, as it often did. But that did not make Menendil feel better. The heart of the evil was there, and those who had woken it might or might not be abroad. Just because there was no light did not mean the tower was empty, nor that the knights walked the streets. For that too had been rumored lately. The knights, once beacons of nobility, were said to haunt the city with the wicked things that the king had summoned to Faladir, and to join their grisly feasts. There was no proof of that, and he was inclined to disbelieve it. But who knew the truth?
They came to the statue. A grand thing it was, showing a youthful king in glory. There were other statues in the square, but this had been given pride of place at the center. It was decades old, and it was a sign of a prideful king, for he had never achieved anything special. Other kings, queens and heroes lined the sides of the square, and most of those were more loved. This was a sign that even in his youth, the king had a bad streak running through him.
They looked around. There was no sign of anyone. But even as they prepared the ropes, there was noise from the side of the square they had come from themselves. It was the sound of booted feet marching.
“Quickly!” Menendil hissed. “To the side of the square.”
He raced to the side, and the men followed him. They ran, but they were careful to try to do so silently. It only took them some moments, yet it seemed an eternity. But soon they were within the deeper shadows, and huddled behind a statue of some king on a rearing horse. Menendil was not sure which one it was, for there were several such statues on this side of the square and he was disorientated in the dark, but he blessed their nameless presence and the deeper shadows they provided.
The soldiers were already in the square and they marched loudly and purposefully. It seemed though, that Menendil and his men had escaped detection. There was no sign of alarm, and the men marched directly across the square and ended up entering a street that ran into it from the other side.
The noise of the soldiers gradually receded, and soon the square was still again, as void of people as it had been when they first arrived.
“Just as well the king’s men are stupid,” Caludreth whispered quietly.
A few of the men sniggered, and Menendil relaxed. He knew what Caludreth had just done to relieve the tension, but in truth, stupid or otherwise, it would not take much for this mission to be revealed.
Menendil led them out again, and they acted swiftly once they reached the statue. The ropes were thrown over it, and secured in various places to offer the greatest leverage when they pulled. This was the part Menendil feared the most. When the statue was toppled, it would make a massive noise.
He glanced over at the palace. It hulked dimly in the shadows. There would be soldiers there. At least a few would be guarding the gates. Others would be sentries around the palace grounds. And inside would be hundreds. How long after the noise before they were roused?
It was reassuring to see the man chosen to carve the words nearby. He had a chisel in one hand, and a hammer in the other. He was ready to work the moment the statue came down.
Some had argued it was better to do the chiseling first. On that point, Menendil and Caludreth were of one mind. If they were interrupted and had to flee, it was better that the statue had been pulled down. That was the main message, and the words on the plinth mattered less.
Before they began to pull on the ropes though, there was movement near the palace. Three soldiers walked out, and they walked straight toward the group.
It was a tense moment. Menendil drew
a knife, but hid it. Caludreth seemed relaxed. The truth was, they might have to kill these men by surprise. But that would draw more soldiers quickly. It was better to try to talk their way out of this, and just possibly that might work. The approaching soldiers clearly had no idea of what was intended, otherwise they would have alerted their comrades.
The soldiers drew near, and Menendil stepped forward, smiling. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Caludreth had pulled up his hood to avoid recognition. If that happened, all was lost. Yet the man was still close, and he seemed ready to spring into action. That was reassuring.
“What’s going on here?” one of the soldiers demanded.
“Just what it seems,” Menendil said in his friendly tone, the one he used on patrons of the inn who might cause trouble. It was easy and pleasant, but also suggested that he was in charge and knew what he was doing.
“This here statue is coming down. It’s getting the chop, and a new one, twice the size, is on the way in.”
The man looked at him coldly. “I’ve heard nothing about it.”
Menendil shrugged, and left it at that. But his posture said that maybe the soldier was not as well informed as he thought he was.
The man did not like it. But he was half convinced, for who else would stand there with such confidence but someone who was doing what he was supposed to be.
“Why on earth do it at night?” one of the other soldiers asked.
It was the very question that Menendil knew would be hardest to answer, and the most dangerous if he answered wrongly.
“The way I hear it, the king thought it would be a bad look to have his statue pulled down in broad daylight. No, not a good look at all. So it was decided to do it at night, and have the new one up before the markets opened in the morning.”
Menendil glanced eastward. “That won’t be too far off, lads. But if you want to hold things up while you wake His Majesty … I’m happy to wait. As long as you take responsibility for the populace seeing his statue toppled, that is.”
