“What kind of news?”
The question sounded promising. Mykal took one more step closer. “King Cordillera of the Osiris Realm is gearing up his forces. He is going to attack King Nabal.”
The knights looked at each other, and then laughed. “Is that so?”
Mykal shook his head. “I am telling you the truth. He is planning an attack. He wants to become the emperor.”
“Emperor?” the knight said. “King Cordillera may have dreams of being the next emperor, but inside his head while asleep is where those aspirations will remain. There is no way he could sail across the Isthmian without our king knowing. By then, we’d have plenty of time to prepare… and might even meet his forces at the river banks and stop him before he reaches the shore. We train, lad. Night and day, we train for battle, and are ready for war. There is no bad blood between the two realms. There is no reason for Cordillera to attack. Whoever has been feeding the three of you such twisted tales should be arrested. Talk like that could start a panic. We don’t need that kind of unrest in the kingdom. I am ordering you not to mention any of this to anyone ever again.”
“I appreciate your instruction,” Mykal said.
The knight nodded, as if silently telling Mykal he was most welcome.
“However, it is not you who needs to hear the information we have. It is our king we need to warn,” Mykal said.
“Here we go,” Eadric said softly, but loud enough that it reached Mykal’s ears.
“I’m sorry?” The knight repositioned his fingers on the hilt of his sword. “What was that?”
“I said, it is not you who needs to hear the information we have. Cordillera is summoning magic. He intends to start a war that he cannot lose.”
Both guards went rigid. Their feet were set shoulder length apart. “Sorcery?”
“That’s right,” Mykal said.
“And how do you know this?”
“I saw his wizard. She rides with him,” Mykal said, He sensed Blodwyn tense beside him. He wondered if he was in fact providing too many details.
“She? And what is her name? Where did you see them, here? In the Grey Ashland?”
Mykal did not want the knights knowing they’d been on the west side of the river, that the king and wizard had ambushed them outside the forest just beyond Castle Deed.
“We need to see the king,” Blodwyn said, stepping forward. “We’re wasting time standing here explaining all of this to you, when we are going to be forced to repeat everything once inside the castle.”
“What makes you think you’re getting inside the castle?” the knight said.
“Have you not been listening to anything we’ve said?” Mykal almost growled. He knew he was close to losing his temper. He considered the knights incompetent. It wasn’t their lives he feared for. It was the people he was worried about. They needed as much warning as possible. Unlike the knights, the people didn’t train night and day for battle, readying themselves for war. “People's lives will be in danger!”
“I know three lives that will be in mortal danger if they don’t just turn around and walk away,” the knight said.
“And our message? Will you even tell the king?” Eadric said. “It’s fine if you won’t let us in. We get that. The message though, it needs to reach his ears. He needs to know what the Mountain King is planning.”
“He’ll get the message,” the knight said.
Eadric stared at Mykal, shaking his head. “We don’t need to do anymore,” he said.
“They’re not going to talk to the king. They won’t tell him what we’ve shared,” Mykal said.
“There is a good chance these knights have never even met the king,” Blodwyn said.
Eadric dropped his hands to his sides and took steps backward. “Great.”
“What was that?” the knight said.
Blodwyn cleared his throat. “You’re knights. I’ve no doubt you pass the king now and then in the halls, or the royal stables, and wave to one another. It’s not likely he knows either of your names. I am thinking we are telling the wrong people. Perhaps, kind sir, you can direct us to someone of the king’s Watch. They understand the seriousness of magic. At least with a warning passed on to them, we can be assured the king will receive the message we’ve come to deliver.”
Mykal suddenly understood how Eadric must have felt. Inside he cringed at Blodwyn’s words. He clearly tried inciting the knights, and by the reddened faces that stared back at them, it worked.
“The Watch? We sit higher in ranks than any watchmen,” the knight boasted.
“Be that as it may, where might we find someone of the Watch?” Blodwyn said.
“I’ve already warned the lot of you. You are not to speak of your fabled threats of war to anyone else ever again, that includes bothering even the likes of the Watch,” the knight said. “Now be gone, or we’ll draw our swords.”
“So you don’t believe in magic?” Blodwyn said, slyly.
Mykal looked at his father. Eadric pursed his lips, and rolled his fingers into his palms. His eyes were locked on his son. His head still shook slowly from side to side. He knew what was coming, and didn’t want anything to happen.
“I’ve no reason to believe in magic,” the knight said. “Steel wields more power than make-believe curses and oregano potions.”
Blodwyn and Mykal had discussed different minor diversions. They wanted an audience with the king, without too imminent a threat of time in the dungeon.
Mykal held out his arms, palms up. Balls of blue flame erupted onto his hands. He walked toward the knights. Each took several steps backwards. “We wish to speak with the king. A war is coming, and you do not want to be the reason the king was caught off guard.”
They drew swords.
Mykal shook his arms out, extinguishing the flames. “The Mountain King is preparing an attack. Bring us inside the gates.”
Villagers gathered around. They didn’t get particularly close, but Mykal knew he held their attention. The whispers roared around him, and filled his ears. He kept his eyes on the knights, and their weapons. This was his display, and he did not want anyone hurt because of it.
Eadric shouted something.
Blodwyn spun around. He raised an arm across Mykal’s back. Mykal turned just as Blodwyn draped his cloak over Mykal’s shoulders, and most of his head. It wasn’t before he noticed the archer on the parapet loosing an arrow. He winced, ready for the broad-head to pierce his flesh.
The pain never came. Blodwyn dropped his arm and raised his staff.
Somehow the cloak had deflected the arrow.
Mykal looked down.
It had been more than one arrow fired at him. Four lay on the dirt.
Eadric produced two daggers from under his tunic. He held them defensively, standing with his knees bent, his feet moving. He was prepared for a fight. Blodwyn spun his staff around. He held it in his right hand, the head outward, the leg of the staff ran along his forearm, and went well past his elbow. He did not remain still. The two circled Mykal, protectively.
“We need to see the king,” Mykal said. “Either you can escort us, or we will proceed without your help!”
The one knight almost laughed. “You will never leave the castle alive!”
“Let us worry about that,” Mykal said.
It was almost as if time stood still. For long moments no one moved. Not one word was said. Everyone had their eyes focused on the standoff between Mykal and the two knights. The only disturbance was the large falcon circling overhead. It squawked and let the shadow of its wings rotate around, and around, and around.
The knight finally took another step backward. He used a key on a large loop ring to unlock the gate. It rose in the air. He held it, and waved them through. Mykal went first. Eadric and Blodwyn followed close behind. The second knight was last, and lowered and locked the gate once it fell back in place.
“I’ve caught me a wizard?” the knight said, as if talking to himself. Still, he spoke lou
d enough for every one of them to hear. “I swear I’ve never seen the likes before.”
They were led across the moat and then stopped by palace guards. The first knight explained the situation. The guards eyed Mykal with raised eyebrows.
The falcon had followed them, and was once again circling overheard. The sky was blue, and cloudless, and while the sun was unobstructed, it was misleading. There was something of a chill in the air. It wasn’t cold enough to see one’s breath, but the air was crisp enough to leave a slight burn inside one’s lungs.
Mykal found it invigorating.
One of the guards entered the castle. The knight turned and faced them. “We will wait here. It is not up to King Nabal,” he said.
Mykal assumed there was not much more they could ask. All he wanted was a chance for the people of Grey Ashland to stand a fighting chance. They needed to be warned. It would be best of the king took the threat seriously and rounded up all of his subjects. There was no telling what King Cordillera had in mind. While staying and fighting against him was the only viable option, he already mourned the lives that would be lost.
“That was foolish,” Eadric said. “I just want both of you to know where I stand on this approach.”
“So noted,” Blodwyn said.
“What is that cloak made out of?” Mykal said. “You deflected arrows with it, and there is not so much as a tear in the fabric.”
“It was made for me long ago by a friend,” Blodwyn said. He sounded thoughtful. He stared past Mykal when he spoke.
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind one of those,” Mykal said.
“I’ll see what I can come up with,” Blodwyn said.
They stood silent, waiting. The knights kept swords drawn, which made the lone guard appear apprehensive.
From where they stood on the hill, Mykal could see down into the keep. The day carried on as if there had not been a disturbance. The vendors were busy selling stock. Toward the center of town Mykal saw the gallows, although there were no nooses hanging from the support beam. Instead, it was being used as a stage. That was where the mandolin players sat on stools and plucked and strummed the strings of their instruments. The sound of the music carried. In fact, it sounded more clear up next to the castle.
The guard returned. He waved the knights forward. In turn, the knights ushered Mykal, Eadric, and Blodwyn along. The guard took his place back beside the entrance.
Mykal had never been inside a castle before. He wasn’t sure what to expect. There were plenty of windows and natural light. Unlit torches were mounted to the brick walls. A mural of King Nabal hung at the end of the main hall. Red carpet with gold trim covered the polished stone floor. There were tables displaying large gold eggs covered with jewels inside locked glass boxes, and ivory white sculptures of the head and shoulders of people Mykal did not recognize.
“It’s called a bust,” Blodwyn said.
“What is?” Mykal said.
“The sculpture.”
“The head?” Mykal said.
“The head and shoulders.”
“They call that a bust?” Mykal said. “Who does?”
“The artist, I suppose.”
The knight opened a tall set of double doors on the right. The hinges were silent. The doors swung open. Mykal stood at the threshold. The room inside was beyond spacious. There was no red carpet, but the windows along the eastern wall were from floor to ceiling. There was nothing but glass. Hanging from the ceiling was a large chandelier. One hundred or more candles sat waiting to be lit. Smooth rock pillars were connected by arches over a wood railing that wrapped around a second level, and on the far right stood a narrow staircase.
The knight whistled.
Out from behind the pillars stepped archers. They drew back on the bowstrings. Arrows were aimed at the three of them.
Mykal spun around.
A flurry of men with swords filed into the room, they were dressed in the king’s colors, and brown leather. Their hair was long, and greasy.
“The Watch,” Eadric said, and stood back to back with Blodwyn and Mykal.
“I have the archers,” Mykal said.
There was no time for planning. Mykal raised his arms in the air.
Swords were drawn, and held in two handed grips. Blodwyn had his staff, Eadric the daggers, and Mykal his magic.
Seven archers stood above them, two knights, and six men of the Watch. The Watch were easily identified dressed in chainmail, with a black vestment, and the king’s royal sigil in red on the center.
They were outnumbered. Mykal closed his eyes. He imagined a ring of fire. He did not want to hurt the men in the room with them. This was not his intention.
Again, it seemed like time stopped.
When Mykal opened his eyes, everything was unleashed before his eyes in slow motion, including his power. The ring of fire he’d imagined let loose. The blue flames shot from his fingertips. It caught the wood rail on fire. The flames hopped past pillars and continued to encircle them. The men with bows were forced back, away from the rail.
Blodwyn moved forward, and swung his staff low. He swept legs of several men. They fell over. Eadric pounced on them, driving daggers into thighs, and stomachs and chests. Screams filled the room. Outside the window the blue, sunny skies were only slightly darkened by a cast of falcons who continually flew close to the window, as if watching, or enjoying the spectacle beyond the glass.
Two swordsmen backed Blodwyn up several steps. Blodwyn, unfazed by being outnumbered, thrust forward with his staff, and parried. One swordsman delivered a circular cut. It was slow, awkward. Blodwyn defended himself against the arcing blow, spinning and raising his arm. It was under the protection of the cloak. The blade slammed against the cloth, and Blodwyn countered with a crack of the head of his staff against the man’s temple. He crumpled to the floor, deflated. His sword clashed on the stone as it fell free from his hand. Eadric somersaulted over and retrieved the longsword.
Mykal climbed the stairs.
An archer stood at the top. He loosed an arrow. Mykal burned the shaft to ashes just as it fletching passed the curve of the bow. The broad-head dropped to the floor as the archer reached a hand over his back and into his quiver. Mykal pushed his palms forward against the air. A windstorm pulsed out of his palms and spun up the staircase. The wind was like thunder inside the room. The force slammed the man into the wall. He lost his feet, and fell. Mykal reached out with fingertips, imagining him pushing aside the man, and in an instant the man rolled out of the way.
At the top of the stairs, Mykal saw the other archers clustered together. They aimed arrows at him. Mykal held out his arms, palms up, and called on the balls of blue flames. The fire grew. He hurled both fireballs at them, as if shot from cannons. Men burst into flames, while one leapt over the side of the rail. On the floor was the archer who’d jumped. Bones from his legs stuck out of his clothing, just above the knees. He was unconscious, more than likely the pain too much.
Below Eadric used both sword and dagger to defend himself against two of the Watch. They came at him hard. They struck out with menacing blows. Steel clashed against steel, as if lightning cracking through storm-black clouds. The wood rails were charred badly, the fire mostly out. Mykal reached out with his right hand, and flipped it to the right.
The lone Watchman was lifted off his feet, tossed through the air, and crashed through one of the tall glass windows. Large shards fell and shattered on the rock ground.
Eadric took advantage of the surprise, and lunged at the remaining man. His sword sliced through flesh, and poked out of the man’s back. The fight was over. Blood spilled from the man’s mouth. His face was up close to Eadric.
Mykal’s father put his hand on the man’s chest, and pushed, pulling his blade free from the man’s gut. The man’s knees buckled. Gurgling on blood, he dropped to his knees and fell onto his back. With eyes open, he died.
Blodwyn was on a knee, and beside a small pile of bodies. He was not breathin
g heavy, but looked tired.
They hadn’t killed all fifteen of the king’s men, but had come close. Those still alive were badly injured. If immediate medical attention was not provided by a curer, they’d fester with infections and die before long. Mykal felt an urgent swell inside him. He could heal them all. He wasn’t sure they deserved it. The fight had drained him. His head suddenly felt swollen, and his limbs grew heavy. He moved away from the edge, where the rail had been and pressed his back against the wall. He closed his eyes as his body slid toward the floor.
The last thing he heard was his father calling his name: “Mykal!”
He felt someone slapping his face. He strained opening his eyes. “Mykal?”
Eadric had him in his arms, his head on his father’s lap.
“Dad?”
Blodwyn stood above him. “Magic takes a toll on a person. Power always has limits. It is draining. Strong as the lad is, the magic is stronger.”
“I’m okay,” Mykal said. His mouth felt dry, his tongue thick. There was nothing to swallow. He worried his throat was closing, that he couldn’t breathe. “Help me up.”
***
King Hermon met with his Majordomo and captains of his guard in the Long Room, a place where men discussed important issues that often led to war. The men shifted weight from leg to leg, showing fatigue. They’d been at it for hours. The Old Empire map was spread across the long table.
The Mountain King set down a silver chalice. The warm ale sloshed around inside. He couldn’t drink another drop. The alcohol was getting to his head. This was a time when he wanted his judgment intact, not impaired. “I want half a legion dispatched to escort a baron to Castle Deed,” he said. “Let the knights fortify the castle, and the lands.”
“Sire?” the majordomo said. “Which baron?”
“Does it matter? I just need a man and his family settled in the castle. With my flag flying from the top of the towers. There is to be no question that I’ve claimed the land, and the realm,” King Cordillera said. “The lands have been empty for a long while.”
Severed Empire: Wizard's War Page 8
