Daggers of Ladis

by RG Long

  He turned on his troops and clenched his fist.

  “The guards of the wall tell me that some of the prisoners escaped to the north. For this event alone, for failing your duties to keep my prisoners in my dungeon, I ought to have you killed. Yet, I will offer this chance at repentance. Bring me back these prisoners, and your life will be spared. Return them to me and your families will not suffer for your incompetence.”

  Grattus took a breath. It was not as satisfying as ending their lives on the spot would be. He knew this. But he also feared that the prisoners went north, instead of leaving south to safer lands where their allies, the Isolians, surely were. There were only a few reasons they would head in that direction.

  And since they knew his secret, those few reasons were dire at best.

  “Your Majesty,” the priest said behind him. Grattus felt his blood begin to boil at the sound of the priest’s voice.

  “What?” he snarled.

  If the priest had felt slighted by this response, he made no mention of it.

  “I would be glad to watch these men atone for their sins,” he said.

  Grattus began to turn around slowly, unsure of what the priest implied.

  “Do you mean to accompany them?” the prince asked. It was not like the priest to travel outside of Meris. He had only once or twice been to Prommus, and that had been at the behest of the king and high priest.

  The priest shook his head.

  “Oh no, My Prince,” he said, raising his hand and shaking his head. “I only mean to question them. My Temple guards say they saw some odd occurrences during the escape of the prisoners. I wish to collaborate their stories.”

  With a breath, Prince Grattus went from mild displeasure at the presence of the priest, to full on rage. What right did this man have to question his prisoners? To question his own soldiers? This was insult on top of injury. Grattus would not allow it.

  “I do not remember you being given authority to question my own guards.”

  “Nor do I remember needing to ask for it.”

  Before Grattus knew what he was doing, before he could control himself, he felt rage explode within him.

  He could not recall closing the distance between himself and the priest. It had been several paces, but his feet had not touched the ground. Both of his hands were around the neck of the priest in an instant.

  Retter was attempting to choke out a word. His face a mixture of pain and anguish and surprise. Grattus didn’t care. This Priest had been a thorn in his side for his entire reign.

  No more.

  The priest’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and his face turned blue. Several Temple guards who had come with the priest rushed forward. Grattus threw the lifeless body of the priest at them, knocking two of them over and causing a third to stumble, shocked or terrified.

  The rage was building within him. He felt it grow until he could no longer contain it.

  He looked over at the soldiers who had failed him. They had displeased him. They must suffer.

  He held open his hand and as his fingers whitened, the ground beneath the soldiers opened up, and they fell screaming into a pit that had appeared out of nowhere underneath them. Grattus closed his hand into a fist and the earth closed in over them with a crunch, their screams no longer muffled, but silenced.

  Grattus turned on his heel and looked at the one Temple guard who remained standing with him. Other soldiers stood on the outskirts of the courtyard, paralyzed by fear or too shocked to move.

  “Take a message to the Temple,” Grattus said. “Inform them that Prince Grattus is their new Priest. Should they take issue with that, they may come and visit me in my palace.”

  Terror was in the face of the woman he was looking at. It made Grattus grin with pleasure. She took two weary steps backwards before turning to flee from the courtyard.

  Soldiers who were gathered there still had not moved. Whether too shocked or too scared, he couldn’t tell. Their spears were held loosely in their hands. Some of their shields had fallen to the ground. Grattus narrowed his eyes at his troops. Would they dare defy him? If he took over the Temple, would the people revolt?

  Did he care?

  With his new power, Grattus would be unstoppable.

  Being stopped by such a small Speaker surely was the result of trying to hold his power back. No longer would he restrain himself. It would allow his power to course through him. The power of the blood goddess. His power.

  “All those who stand before me,” he said, his voice carrying over his courtyard so that all could hear him. “I am your Prince! Will you swear loyalty to me and deny the faith of Ladism?”

  There was a wrestling at the gate of the courtyard. Grattus turned to face it as he also registered the expressions of worry on his soldiers’ faces. The doors burst open and two soldiers ran in.

  “Prince Grattus!” they shouted “We have them!”

  “Have who?” Grattus growled.

  In answer, four more guards came through the courtyard doors carrying three disheveled and broken figures. Grattus smiled his approval.

  They were thrown at his feet and he knelt to get a better look at the tallest, oldest one. Grabbing a handful of his hair he turned himself as the old man’s face was looking up at his.

  “If my standing before the rightful king has ever diminished, you will certainly improve it greatly, Holve Bravestead.”

  Opening up his fist, Grattus felt flames of purple envelop his hand.

  26: Personal History

  The further north they went, the colder it became. On the fourth day, the crunching underneath his feet began to be flecked with white.

  It had been a long time since Ealrin had seen snow. Fall had not yet settled into the rest of Ladis, so he was surprised that winter was coming here. They were also ill prepared for the temperature.

  The group from Meris was generous with their blankets and spare coats. Ealrin made sure that the smaller ones got the best of them. He made do with a thin blanket over himself. He kept trying to remind his body that it should warm up with every step. It was something his flesh was having a hard time believing.

  They walked in a line. Gregory and Tratta went first. Behind them was Olma, Blume, and Jurrin. Ealrin walked behind the three shortest of their company. Maccus and Mas took up the rear. The scenery of the area was bleak at best. Large boulders poked up from the dirt as they traversed fields away from the road.

  Maccus had said that they were sure to be pursued and that their best bet was to make sure they didn’t stick to the traveled paths. Ealrin was quite sure this path was not only untraveled, but brand new.

  Fortunately, not much thrived in this frozen land. Hardly any shrubs or bushes grew. What wasn’t covered in white patches was gray rock or dirt. The downside of this, however, was that there was also no vegetation to serve as a windbreak. So along with the ground slowly penetrating the soles of his shoes, the wind was biting into his skin every time it howled.

  “Why are we going north again?” Ealrin asked no one in particular as they sat down for their evening rest. He couldn’t really call it sleeping. How could they in such horrible conditions?

  “Information,” Gregory answered.

  It was hard to imagine, but Ealrin was beginning to think he had found someone grimmer than Holve.

  Mas and Maccus had some poles and leather in their packs they constructed into a sort of tent that kept most of the snow from falling directly on them and blocked some of the wind. It would also allow their bodies’ heat to radiate against themselves.

  If the wind blew the right way, that was.

  Sure that the suns had gone down far enough and that they had positioned themselves in between several rocks, Ealrin convinced them that they needed a fire. If someone found them all the way out here, he wanted to fight them while he was still in control of his extremities.

  Jurrin had coaxed a flame from some dried twigs they had found and Olma was quite adept at weaving grasses togethe
r fast enough to keep a small fire going. The heat of it filled him in ways he couldn’t describe. But he also knew he couldn’t keep the warmth to himself.

  Blume was having a difficult time recovering from her battle with the prince. She wasn’t as springy and adventurous as she had been in the past. In fact, ever since they had climbed down from the wall, she seemed almost melancholy and that worried Ealrin. After a few nights’ rest, even if she didn’t have a ton of food to eat, she would normally have been back to her old self.

  But she wasn’t.

  Ealrin sat close to her, making sure that any warmth he received was given to her. He scooted to one side so she could be closer to the fire. Slowly, she moved herself so that she was next to the small flames.

  Even little Olma, who was a head shorter and at least a third of Blume’s weight, seemed to be doing alright in these harsh climates. And Ealrin was sure he had heard her say she had never seen snow before.

  There weren’t many days between them and Juttis now. Maccus told them so at the end of every day’s journey how many were left. It was both annoying and reassuring. This wouldn’t last forever. They’d find shelter soon.

  Or something like it.

  The reality that they were heading for yet another city that was well guarded and unfriendly to Holve’s spies was sinking into Ealrin’s mind. That sounded like more rickety houses and hollowed out shops than actual shelter with warm food and welcoming faces.

  He tried not to think about it.

  Instead he turned to Jurrin.

  “How’s your cooking compared to Tratta’s?” he asked weakly.

  Jurrin gave him a feeble smile.

  “I think Jurgon could’ve done better, but he was a great cook no matter who you put him up against.”

  Ealrin didn’t reply to that. He just stared at the fire, thinking about the past and the many friends they had lost along their travels.

  “Who’s Jurgon?” Olma asked.

  Jurrin and Ealrin exchanged glances. Ealrin expected the halfling to look sad, or at least show a bit of remorse. Instead, he perked up and smiled.

  “Oh, Miss Olma!” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. “Jurgon was my best friend. We used to live together in Big Tree. Well, until Mister Ealrin and the others came through one day...”

  Jurrin’s tale wove in and out through parts Ealrin recognized and others he knew less well. The halfling went on about dragons and ships, magic and armies, food both prepared well and some given to him as a prisoner of a gang of thieves.

  The group never interrupted him. Olma only asked a question every now and then, but mostly she just said “Wow...” or “Oh my!” over and over as each new tale spun another.

  Ealrin found himself smiling at parts and furrowing his brow at others. Their story was not an easy one to take in and included many losses. He was ashamed to realize he had not thought of a few of the names Jurrin mentioned in some months.

  “Anyway,” he continued after explaining how the elven empire had been split back into several different countries in order that they may rule themselves. “That’s when we heard from Miss Wolf about this island. So we sailed to it looking for more clues from Jurgon’s book. But those Ladis Priests found us there and took us prisoner. Well, that’s how we ended up here. More or less.”

  Jurrin looked at the fire, saw that it had gone down, and began carefully adding twigs here and there to keep the flames alive.

  Maccus let out a low whistle and Ealrin jumped. He had nearly forgotten the others were there.

  “That’s a wild ride you’ve been on, eh, little halfling?”

  Jurrin smiled and blushed a bit as he shook his head.

  “It’s not really all that wild, Mister Maccus” he said, beginning to add another twig to the fire. He paused, then let out a little chuckle.

  “Okay,” he relented. “Perhaps I’ve been around a bit more than your average halfling.”

  “You mean the others in Big Tree?” Olma asked, looking at Jurrin expectantly. “What do you think they’ll say when you get home?”

  Jurrin turned his head and chewed his bottom lip.

  “I’m not sure, Miss Olma,” he said thoughtfully. “Either they'll string me up by my heels and call me a loony, or make me Mayor just for telling such a long story!”

  Olma laughed and smiled in a way that warmed Ealrin’s heart. It was like looking at joy again.

  “I hope you get to go home someday.”

  “Me, too, Miss Olma,” Jurrin admitted. “Me, too.”

  “No wonder you people trust Holve so much,” Tratta said, getting to her feet and looking around at their surroundings. “You’ve certainly been through a lot together.”

  “What about you all, Miss Tratta?” Jurrin asked. “What’s your story?”

  Ealrin glanced their way, and Tratta, Mas, and Maccus all looked around at one another.

  Maccus was the one who eventually shrugged his shoulders.

  “Tratta and I are related. Cousins. Fornos was an old friend,” he said. He looked up at the sky for a moment and coughed before continuing. Ealrin wondered how long the two had been friends.

  “Mas here hasn’t ever had a family, or at least won’t mention one. After the farming around Meris went bad for three years in a row, most families got desperate and started taking up the prince on his offers.”

  It was silent for a minute and Ealrin rubbed his hands together, then placed them on Blume to warm her. She nodded at his touch.

  “One kid conscripted to the prince’s service for twenty coins. Your family gets a small box of rations every so often and the kid gets meals in the army or the palace, a job, and a bed. I was one of the first. Tratta came a couple months later.”

  “Conscripted?” Jurrin asked, looking puzzled.

  “It’s a civilized way of saying enslaved,” Tratta interjected. “But when the church added in that anyone who gave up their kids would be promised a good journey in the hereafter for themselves and their kids, most people thought it wasn’t so bad.”

  Maccus chuckled drily.

  “Yeah, trade a terrible life now for a great life when you’re dead.”

  “What did the prince have you do, Mister Maccus?”

  The younger man looked down at Jurrin with an eyebrow raised. He shrugged again.

  “Whatever he asked,” he said simply. “In the last few months the orders were to go find any foreign looking person and bring them to the castle. Then the Temple gave us the same orders and they’ve been squabbling over who gets who when we bring in prisoners.”

  “But you weren’t working for the prince, right? Not really anyways?” Olma asks.

  “Not really,” Mas said.

  The other two men exchanged glances. Ealrin was certain he was the only one of their group who saw it. It gave him a small pause.

  “So, where do you two come into Holve’s plan?” Olma asked.

  For such a little girl, she was bold and inquisitive.

  “We’re spies,” Maccus said plainly. “A recently recruited group of those to be sure, but mostly we’re spies. You’ve got to know where the dark places are in the city in order to work around the prince and his minions.”

  The man had no expression on his face, but his eyes went to Mas for a blink. Ealrin wondered if there was something going on between the two groups that he was unaware of.

  “And Holve got ahold of all of you?” he asked. That was strange that his mentor and friend was able to contact all these people without Ealrin actually seeing it happen. He didn’t remember him writing any notes or letters or sending any out through messengers. Then again, he and Silverwolf had several private discussions in Prommus.

  “It’s true,” Tratta said, speaking for the first time in a while, but making an effort to look Olma in the eyes. “And the intel he gave us was that we were to go north and confront the prince.”

  “So why pretend to be kidnapped and sent to Meris first?” Ealrin asked. He still felt bitter about that who
le exchange.

  “The message Holve sent was that he wanted to run something by the prince first,” Tratta said. “I hope he found out what he wanted to know, because that was a dicey operation, ya know?”

  “To say the least,” Blume said.

  Ealrin looked down at her. It was the first time she had talked since they had made their camp for the night. Ealrin wanted to ask how she was doing, but he also knew that Blume hated to be babied.

  Instead, he nodded at her and took a deep breath.

  “I don’t mind being first to watch tonight,” he offered

  No one argued with him. He asked Olma to show him how to braid the frozen grass together so that he could keep the fire going. Jurrin offered to make him a stack of twigs and set off just beyond the light of the flames to find some more.

  Everyone else settled down for the night. Ealrin stood up and rubbed his chest with his hands, trying to circulate heat where it was needed.

  So, he was traveling with servants and spies. They were trying to fulfill a request he did not yet fully understand but had come from Holve. Allegedly anyway. He had been in worse circumstances.

  But, as he circled their camp and tried to see if any of the shifting shadows out in the haze were guards from Meris coming to pursue them, Ealrin felt that he found a little comfort in that.

  27: Far From the Tree

  Blume woke up with a start. Her quick intake of breath must have startled at least one of their company as well. She heard the rustling and snores of the people around her broken up by a few grunts and sleepy aggravations.

  She was sweating and panting heavily.

  It had been a nightmare.

  The images flashed in her mind, but only vaguely and without real shape. All she could remember was being utterly helpless and scared beyond words.

  Terrified.

  Blume shook herself, trying to rid herself of the lingering feeling of helplessness. In so doing, she felt an arm on her shoulder.

  “You okay?” Ealrin asked, the concern he was trying to hide coming through every syllable.

  She sighed and nodded. It was frustrating to her, this uneasy fear and lack of energy that invaded her very being. She just couldn’t shake it. Worst of all, she knew the group was moving slower each day because of her. She wanted to be able to hold her own. Unfortunately, she felt unable to hold up even her head.