by Jon Kiln
“We are friends of King Heldar,” announced Harwin, producing the patch.
The guards looked at it and then at one another.
“And of Jenry, I see. Very well, where are you going?” said one of the sentries.
“We wish to see his Highness,” replied Harwin.
“Seems everyone wishes that today,” answered the other guard. “But you may as well try. Head straightaway to the throne room and show that placard to the door man.”
The group obeyed and, after several twists and turns and one more run in with anxious guards, they were at the throne room.
The large door was closed and no one was in the great hall outside except for the door guard. He regarded Harwin and the women questioningly as they approached. Harwin showed him the placard and explained who he was. The guard cracked open the door to the throne room and whispered to someone inside before closing it again.
They waited for what seemed like an eternity. Somewhere far away, shouts could be heard and Harwin thought he could make out the sound of a clash of arms. The door guard heard it too and shifted uneasily.
“What is it like out there?” the guard asked, taking Harwin by surprise.
“It is bad,” he answered, “and getting worse. Do you have family out there?”
The guard was quiet for a moment before he responded. “Aye, in Witherington.”
“That is where we live,” Esme spoke up. “Perhaps we know them.”
“Perhaps,” said the sentry, eying Esme with curiosity. “Do you know the Wildon’s of Fennel Lane?”
Esme smiled. “Of course, they are lovely people. We passed their street on the way. It was still peaceful there.”
The guard closed his eyes and seemed to say a silent prayer of thanks. Just then, there was a knock from the inside of the throne room door. The guard once again cracked it open and exchanged hushed words with someone inside. When he turned back to the group, there was a look of surprise on his face.
“You may enter,” was all he said before pushing the door wide open.
Harwin hurriedly led the little band of refugees down the long aisle to the throne. Heldar sat, looking agitated, next to Queen Amelia. Amelia was dressed in black but looked relaxed. She had one hand resting on the King’s knee, as though she was attempting to offer him some comfort in his time of distress. She seemed immune to the stress of the situation.
“Your Highness,” Harwin said once they had reached the platform, bowing deeply. Esme and Allette followed suit, followed by Taria, who was uncomfortable and uncertain about the customs involved with coming face to face with the northern King.
“Harwin, I am glad to see that you and your daughter are unharmed,” said King Heldar. Queen Amelia gave Esme a kind, sad smile. Esme bowed again.
“Who are these others?” asked Heldar.
Harwin first introduced Allette, and gave a brief narrative of how Rothar had saved her, omitting the part about how she was found on the castle grounds. Then, with a a slight flourish, he introduced Taria.
King Heldar rose from the throne with a look of bedazzlement in his eye. He approached Taria, who shied away.
“Well, this is quite a sight,” King Heldar said. “The only woman on the planet who could catch the eye of that old heartless Rothar!”
Heldar began to laugh. Harwin chuckled along with him. The women were uncertain of how to act, most of all Taria.
The King stood close to Taria, inspecting her face with squinted eyes. She noticed how he had the same eyes as Rothar, only the King’s were more wrinkled with age and clouded by leisure.
Finally, seeming to be satisfied with her appearance, King Heldar turned and walked back to the throne.
“What do you need from me, Heldar?” he asked.
“I ask only for protection within your walls, for these three,” the blacksmith replied.
The King turned serious. “Do you know how many people would make that request right now? If I admit every man, woman and child that comes to my gate, every room in the castle would be filled.”
“Then why are they not filled yet?” Taria blurted out.
There was a long moment of quiet, before a slow smile came across King Heldar’s face.
“I see why Rothar cares so much for you,” he said to Taria. “You are one and the same.”
Taria was not finished. “It is not only the nobles outside of your gate that need shelter, there are scores more down in Witherington who have lost their homes this very day.”
The King looked somewhat shocked that this new acquaintance would speak to him so plainly, so bluntly. However, Heldar did not get angry, but rather took on an expression of admiration mixed with amusement. He turned to Harwin. “Does she remind you of anyone?”
Harwin had to stifle a laugh. Heldar looked at his Queen, who nodded back at him.
“Very well then, I will spare some of my guard to search for the needy in Witherington, and my servants will begin to prepare the rooms.” King Heldar leaned forward and spoke specifically to Taria. “I trust you understand that this will crowd your own quarters considerably,” he said with a smile.
Taria was indignant. “It is of no consequence to me,” she said. And it truly was not. Taria had no intention of spending even one night in Castle Staghorn.
Chapter 26
The news of Ariswold’s passing saddened Rothar. He had known the apothecary for a very long time, and, in truth, the old man’s knowledge had probably saved his life more than once. His demise only further resolved Rothar’s determination to find the people responsible for all of the misery that had been brought upon the King’s City, especially Witherington.
The party of huntsmen had been forced to stop for the evening when a torrential storm let loose from the black clouds overheard. The density of the Banewood provided a good cover from the rain, but the gusting winds knocked down large tree limbs and made traveling treacherous. The group had found a cave in which to wait out the storm and spend the night.
Peregrin sat beside him as Rothar warmed himself by the small camp fire. Outside, the wind blasted across the mouth of the cave, creating a haunting howl that echoed past the men and disappeared somewhere deep in the recesses of the cavern. Occasionally, between gusts of wind and crashes of thunder, the ominous humming could be heard somewhere high overhead.
They had continued along the same route frequented by the dark shapes, as it had coincided exactly with the hoof print and blood trail that they had been tracking, so much so that they eventually stopped watching the ground for signs and just stayed in the line of travel of the mysterious flying shadows.
“Care to venture a guess yet?” asked Peregrin as they sat around the fire.
Rothar looked at him quizzically. Peregrin motioned towards the mouth of the cave, the humming sound could be heard somewhere in the distance.
“What are they? Are they animal? Weather? Demon?” said Peregrin.
“Perhaps all of the above?” quipped Rothar with a wry smile.
Peregrin laughed without humor. “Well, whatever they are, they seem to be heading to wherever our scouts… were taken.”
“Indeed,” Rothar said, leaning forward to put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You know that, when we find them, we are going to make this right.”
Peregrin looked Rothar in the eye. “That is our way.”
Suddenly, from outside came a deafening roar. A blinding light blazed and shone into the cave mouth, turning the night to a golden day. Rothar rushed to the cave entrance, followed by Peregrin and the rest of the search party.
The sky was on fire. Rain still pelted down and the wind still howled, but much of the sky above the Banewood blazed and crackled in an orange inferno. As the men watched, an oblong ball of flame fell slowly, until it touched the tops of the trees, setting limbs ablaze. Lowering deeper and deeper into the canopy, the hellish spectacle continued to emit a low sound, a droning hum that persisted until the whole mess broke apart amidst the giant trees, sendi
ng trails of flame in every direction.
The storm increased and rain fell in sheets so thick that the only thing visible beyond was the diminishing flames of the mystery.
***
At the first light of morning, Rothar, Peregrin and the rest of the men came down from their hillside cave to inspect the blackened remains of whatever had fallen. Nestled among the flame scarred trees was a charred skeleton, a rib cage of jet black rib bones jutting heavenward at the height of ten men.
“What type of godless beast was this?!” exclaimed Stone.
Rothar walked among the bones. He reached out and put his hand on one of the towering spikes, which were still warm. He removed his dagger from it’s sheath and stabbed it deep into one of the ribs, twisting it and prying. A chunk of matter splintered out and away, revealing a light brown grain beneath.
“Wood,” said Rothar. “This was no animal, it was man made.”
Peregrin looked doubtful. “A flying machine? That is not possible.”
Rothar shrugged. “I saw only what you saw. What do you suppose?”
Shaking his head, Peregrin was silent.
“Why did it burn so quickly?” asked Dewitt.
Rothar looked to the sky, now a clear blue and more visible through the gaping hole that the craft had burned in the canopy.
“I would guess that it was struck by lightning,” he replied. “And that whatever else it was made out of, was also very flammable.”
A ways off, Gamble the marksman called out to them. When they approached, Rothar saw that he was standing over the charred remains of three men. The bodies sat single file in a long, blackened wooden box, much like a horse cart.
Rothar turned to Peregrin. “Do you believe me now?”
As they continued to inspect the remains of the mysterious contraption, the droning hum had again come to them through the woods. The men all took cover and watched as yet another flying contraption hovered over the Banewood. Now, through the new opening in the canopy, it could be seen more clearly, yet it was still so difficult to grasp. One thing was for certain, there was a wooden box mounted to the bottom of the giant orb, and there were men in that box. The floating apparition seemed to be moving slowly, and Rothar caught glimpses of men peering down towards the ground. It seemed as if they knew that they had lost a craft, and were searching for it.
The appearance of the craft heading east was actually fortunate for the search party. The previous night’s storm had washed away the ground trail, if there had been no other craft to follow, they may have lost their way altogether.
“I still do not see how it is possible,” argued Peregrin as the party continued on through the Banewood.
“I truly can not make sense of it myself, Peregrin,” Rothar said. “Yet, I am not a man of science. I do remember Ariswold telling me about how some elements are lighter than air.”
Peregrin scoffed. “Lighter than air? Are you sure the old man was not already smoking the Obscura?”
“He very well could have been smoking something, but no, this was long before the Obscura ever showed up. He told me that certain gases are less weighty than the air around us, and if they could be harnessed in great enough volume, they could have the potential to lift objects into the air.”
“That sounds insane,” said Peregrin.
“No doubt, and we will sound insane if we tell anyone what we have seen out here,” Rothar replied. “That does not make it any less real.”
The men rode at a faster clip today, trying to keep the floating orb in sight ahead of them while remaining for enough back to avoid being spotted.
By late morning they rode out of the eastern edge of the Banewood, and were forced to fall further back due to a lack of tree cover. They began crossing the great plains and rolling hills of the eastern part of the kingdom. Huge herds of sheep and cattle scattered ahead of them as the flying machine passed over, then came back together only to be split again as the pursuing riders galloped through. Rothar had a vast knowledge of all parts of the kingdom, and he noticed the the flyers were making a wide berth around any villages, wisely avoiding detection.
As the barren white peaks of the Andrelicas Mountains began to appear on the horizon ahead, it occurred to Rothar that this adventure was taking them beyond the reaches of the Kingdom. None of the men knew what they may be riding into, but Rothar knew it would be fruitless to try to convince any of these men to turn back. He was riding alongside the huntsmen, the bravest and most loyal men in this kingdom or any other. And they were in pursuit of their lost brethren. No, there was no point in trying to convince anyone of anything. He was riding with the right men.
Chapter 27
Night was falling over the King’s City, but the sky was still alight. Looking out over the capital from a veranda at Castle Staghorn, Taria wondered if anything would be left standing by the end of this.
Earlier, attacks on the royal residence had been squelched immediately by the sheer force of the King’s guard. Knights had been summoned to assist the sentries, and their expertise had been effective. No less than twenty dead men had been cleared from the surrounding streets before dark. However the mob had been small, and there were a great many more deranged citizens running the streets below. They would eventually run out of things to destroy, and they would come calling.
The carnage made Taria think of the desert. Perhaps the badlands had not been such a poor place to build an empire. If your people become restless - or go mad - there is very little for them to burn. A person can only take out so much rage on a tent.
Taria walked back inside and checked on the other two. Esme was sleeping soundly for perhaps the first time in weeks. Before leaving to help the people in Witherington, Harwin had told them that the poor girl had been having nightmares ever since she was rescued from Miranda’s Manor. Allette had set to searching for a cure in the book that she had taken from Ariswold’s. After a few minutes and an order from the castle kitchen, Allette had concocted a drink that was supposed to stifle dreams. Exhausted, Esme had taken the mixture without protest and drifted off to sleep almost immediately.
Allette was lying on her own bed, book in hand but eyes closed. Her head nodded slightly. Taria went to her and gently removed the large tome from her hands. Allette stirred slightly, then rolled over on her side as Taria pulled the covers up over her shoulders.
Once she was certain that both girls were sleeping well, Taria slipped out into the corridor. King Heldar had already made good on his promise to open the castle gates to refugees in need of shelter. The myriad of rooms lining the long hallways were teeming with all manner of humanity. To Taria’s delight, no effort had been made to separate anyone by social class, and Witherington peasants were setting up house next to the richest nobles in the land. There was a small amount of griping from the highborn crowd, but all in all everyone was just pleased to be behind the fortified walls of Castle Staghorn.
Moving through the busy corridors, Taria received no small amount of attention. Many of these people had probably never seen a Southlander in person, and a Southland woman was even more of a rarity in civilized places. Some of the older men looked at her with suspicion or contempt, but most people just stared at her in awe, as though she was some sort of exotic animal. The experience both exhilarated and terrified her.
Casually, Taria followed her instincts and moved to the lower parts of the castle, looking for servants quarters and service entrances. She passed a number of guards but they merely tipped their heads to her in reverence and allowed her to pass. All of the guards and soldiers had been told about the Southland woman and that they were to treat her, and protect her, as though she were a part of the royal family herself.
After following a long and winding staircase, Taria found a narrow hallway lit by torches. From the sounds and smells coming from one end of the passage, she could tell that she was near the kitchen. She turned and walked away from the pleasant smells of bread baking and meat cooking. The corridor was lined wi
th small, sparsely furnished but clean rooms. Some of the rooms were occupied with servants turning in for the night. Others were empty but all were open to allow fresh air to flow through the rooms. Taria could feel a light breeze coming from far down the hallway.
Walking towards the draft, Taria paused as she passed a room that contained a number of child’s toys. There was a small sword and shield, and a wooden rocking horse in the corner. On the headboard of the small bed was carved a letter “R.”
Taria thought about how the King held Rothar in such high regard, and how they had the same piercing green eyes, and she could not help but wonder.
A distant sound came from behind her and interrupted her thoughts. Someone had walked out of the kitchen and was coming her way. Taria began again to walk towards the source of the fresh air. The further she went, the stronger the breeze became, and with it, her desire to be out of this stifling castle.
At the end of the corridor was an open door. She walked out into the cool night air of yet another lavish garden, although this one seemed bigger and darker than the Queen’s personal conservatory. The door was unguarded, but she could see sentries patrolling the outer wall in the near distance.
Taria walked quietly, staying close to the castle. Once, a sentry at the wall turned his head to look at her, and she knelt to smell a chrysanthemum. Slowly, she made her way to a corner of the garden where a single, gnarled tree reached up higher than the top of the wall. She could tell that some of the trees limbs had been recently trimmed back to prevent them reaching out over the top, most likely in response to the earlier attacks.
Taria did not need the overhanging branches. She simply scaled the trunk of the tree with the ease of a lizard. Once she was above the wall she waited for a time when no guard was passing near and leapt, landing easily on her feet. Taria clamored down the other side of the wall soundlessly and walked off into the night, leaving behind both the safety and the utter discomfort of Castle Staghorn.
