Earth Magic: A Kingdoms of Kambrya novel (The High King of Kambrya Book 1)

by Kenneth Price

  Artair held the torch before him, creating a small circle of light. “Stay close,” he warned.

  The secret passageway had apparently not been used for many years, as the floor was covered with a thick layer of dust. Cobwebs continually had to be pulled away from their faces. The tunnel suddenly came to an end. Artair stopped. He stared up at the stone wall. He then extinguished the torch. In the dark, the king located a hidden lever. There was a click, and with a push, Artair slowly opened another secret door.

  The door opened into a narrow alleyway. The passageway had taken them beyond the castle walls and into the city. Above his head, Elwin could see the walls of the alleyway disappear into a thick fog.

  Now that they were out of the tunnel, their pace quickened. Swiftly they moved along the empty streets of the city. They passed by homes that were dark and silent. It felt to Elwin as if they were walking through a deserted city. Nothing stirred or moved. Not even a breeze disturbed the foggy night. Pulling his cloak tighter, Elwin tried to keep out the night. It was not long before they reached the harbor. Unlike Port Murray's harbor, Llanbaedarn's harbor was large and filled with ships. In the fog, the ship masts looked like some strange forest where all the leaves and branches were stripped from the tree trunks.

  At the end of the wharf was a two-masted merchant ship. At first, the ship looked like all the rest. It was quiet and dark as if the ship itself was sleeping through the cold dark night. But as they drew closer, Elwin noticed that people were moving on deck. In the gray fog, the figures on deck looked like phantoms aboard a ghost ship.

  Crossing the gangplank, the ship gently rocked under their feet. Elwin could now see that the phantom figures were sailors, and they were preparing to cast off. As Elwin stepped onto the deck, one of the sailors looked up from his work. With a look of authority, it was evident he was the captain. His weather worn and leathery face spoke of many years at sea. Despite his hard face and body that rippled with muscles, he appeared nervous and uncomfortable. His eyes quickly shifted to the wharf. As if he was looking for more unwanted visitors, his eyes scanned the shadows. Only after he was sure no one else was stalking around his vessel, did he let his gaze shift back to the king and the two boys. Still nervous, the captain gaze shifted and once more, and again he looked down the deserted wharf. A moment later, he turned back to the king. He hesitated, and then nodded toward the ship's stern.

  "Come on," whispered Artair. At the stern of the ship was a small cabin. King Artair opened the door and ushered the boys through. The plainly decorated cabin had only two narrow cots, one large sea chest, and one chair. With a thud, the king closed the door.

  Elwin was unsure why they were leaving, but he knew that it was serious. He sat down on a narrow cot. Now wide awake, he could feel a cold lump forming in his throat.

  Lighting a lantern that hung from the ceiling, Artair sat down next to Elwin. Pulling his son close, Artair embraced him.

  “I know you’re confused,” the king whispered, “but I can not stay and explain. It is also safer if there are some things you don’t know. It will also be dawn soon, and you must be gone by then.

  Elwin held back tears. “You’re not coming?”

  “No. I cannot.”

  “Where am I going?”

  Artair let go of his son and rose to his feet. He looked sadly down at Elwin. “Port Murray,” he replied. “Pallas’ father, Count Dovan, is expecting you. Dovan is an old and trusted friend.”

  “I do not want to go,” sniffed Elwin.

  Artair knelt down before his son. “I know, but this is how it must be. When it’s safe, I will send for you. Until then, Count Dovan will keep you out of danger.”

  Slowly, Artair unbuckled the sword from his side and handed it to Elwin. The sword was the ancient blade of King Coinneach, as well as all the High Kings before him. Elwin was no longer able to hold back the tears. He wiped his face with the backs of his hands and looked down at the sword his father had placed in his lap.

  Artair rested a gentle hand on Elwin's shoulder. "I pray you will never need to use this sword," he said, "but a day may come when you must. Until then, always keep it close and safe.

  When the danger has passed, I will come for you. Then I will explain this all to you." Dropping to his knees, the king again held his son. Then reluctantly, he came to his feet. “Never reveal who you are. If any ask, you are Eoin,” Artair nodded in the direction of the redheaded boy, "...Pallas' companion."

  Artair opened the cabin door to leave, then as if from an afterthought, he looked back at Pallas.

  “Take care of my boy,” he stated. “I am counting on you.” “Yes, Sire,” responded Pallas.

  “I am pleased that my son has such a friend as you.”

  Then Artair turned towards his son one last time. A tear ran down his hardened cheek.

  “Remember, I love you and I always will.”

  "But,…" Elwin's father cut his son short with a hard glare. "There is no more time Elwin! For now, this is how it must be. Don't argue with me; This is hard enough as it is."

  Resigned to his fate, Elwin sighed, he knew when he could push his father no further. "Say goodbye to Leina! And—I love you too!" The king's eyes met Elwin's one last time. In that look, the King said more than words could ever say. Then the door closed, and Artair was gone.

  Elwin turned from the library window. He was no longer the fourteen-year-old boy he had been when he had last seen his father. In three years, Elwin had grown into a young man. The Prince looked a lot like his father. Elwin's gestures, voice, and humor were all those of King Artair. Only the lack of a thick beard, a muscular body, and age separated father and son. In another way, they differed too. Elwin had the soft complexion and the manors of a scholar while his father had the hardness of a seasoned warrior. Elwin' father had wanted to create a world where a leader's mind was of greater importance than his sword.

  Elwin slowly turned and looked at Pallas. He gave Pallas a warm, grateful smile. Elwin missed his father and sister Leina, but Pallas and the count and countess made it easier. Since he had been in Reidh, Elwin had grown to love them all. They had become his adopted family and Reidh his home away from home. Despite its faults, Reidh was not a bad place to live. Reidh was at peace with itself, a place where one was free and safe,-- a place where wars never touched. Elwin would miss the green hills of Reidh County, but it was time to go.

  “I’m taking that ship,” Elwin announced. “I am going home!”

  Pallas' eyes narrowed. It was a trait he had picked up from Elwin, though it did not carry the same impact. "Your father won't like it,"

  Elwin smiled at the thought of his father’s reaction. “I can handle father.” Then just as quickly the smile slipped from his face. “Besides, I should have heard something last summer. There’s trouble back home. I know my father can handle whatever it is, but I am his son, I should be there to help, if I can. I am no longer a child.”

  Pallas nodded. He could understand Elwin’s need. “Okay, we’ll find out when the ship is going to sail. Then we can sneak onboard the night before.”

  Leaning back on the windowsill, Elwin replied, “Why sneak onboard? I can afford passage.”

  “Princes are really ignorant at times,” smiled Pallas. “There are two reasons.” Holding up one figures as he explained. “First, it’s a merchant ship, and they won’t take passengers unless you have money. And it will take a good amount of money to get passage on a merchant ship.

  They don’t have much room to spare for passengers.”

  Elwin shrugged his shoulders, “So? Money’s not a problem.”

  “True,” Pallas replied with a certain smugness to his voice. It was not often that the young lord could outthink Elwin. “But if you offer them a large sum, they’ll be suspicious, and may even kill us once we are out to sea. It is hard to tell what kind of sailors these men might be. Money offered in large sums indicates there is more where it came from. Second,” he stuck up a second finger, “you
can’t tell them who you are. War may have broken out in Cluain, and there is no telling whose side these sailors are on.”

  “Okay, you made your point, but I can’t hide in the ship forever. What happens when they

  find me?”

  "Eventually, we will be discovered; then we will tell them a story they will accept. We will tell them we are orphans, trying to reach a city where we can find work. Not an uncommon reason for stowaways who are looking for a better life. They won't be happy of course, and will most likely put us to work, but nothing more. And a few days of hard work will put a little muscle onto those skinny arms of yours. They will also have no reason to think that we are anything than what we say we are. Then when they sail into their next harbor, they will put us ashore, and be done with us. After that, we can find our way north."

  "It sounds reasonable, but there is no ‘we.' I go alone."

  "Alone!" Pallas exclaimed. "You won't make it out of the harbor without me! You high lords have no sense. You will need me to keep you out of trouble. Besides, I told your father I would look out after you."

  “You’ll be nothing but trouble.”

  “True,” agreed Pallas with a smile, “But you will still need me.”

  Elwin crossed his arms over his chest, “No! You are not going! Your father would have my skin.”

  “But...”

  “No buts!” interrupted Elwin with a note of finality. “Now let’s have a few of those beers, and see what we can find out.”

  Pallas did not like the idea at all, but Elwin had his father's stubborn streak, and Pallas knew there was no point in arguing. Besides, he would have time to figure out a way to convince Elwin to take him along. If all else failed, Pallas would simply hide in some other part of the ship, and once out to sea, Elwin would have no choice. If you think I am going to let you go off and have a grand adventure, you will need to think again, Thought Pallas. Besides, I promised your father I would look after you, and one does not break his word to your father!

  Elwin and Pallas returned to their rooms. Elwin gathered up a few things he thought he might need. Pilfering some clothing from the servant's quarters, the two boys quickly changed. Now dressed in woolen clothes and long hooded capes, the two no longer looked like two young nobles. Instead, they looked more like two shepherd boys.

  Leaving through the Keep’s side gate, Elwin and Pallas never saw the man entering through the front gate.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dovan Murray, Count of Reidh County, paced across his study. Back and forth, he crossed and recrossed the room. His once red hair seemed to be growing grayer with every passing moment. His black leather boots slapped against the wooden floor. His kilt of red, green, and blue swirled with every turn the tense count made.

  Besides the count, there were three others in the study: the count's wife, Kytherin Murray, Lord Rodan Macay, who was the count's most trusted advisor, and a young squire who was trying to put the finishing touches on the count's kilt.

  "Who in the name of Three gods does he think he is, ordering me about in my county?!" ranted Dovan.

  No one answered. Rodan stared out a window, lost in his thoughts, and the countess knew better than to respond her husband when he was in such a foul mood.

  "And why is he here?" the Count ranted on.

  Again, no one answered.

  The small study was one of Dovan's favorite rooms. It had a pair of large glass doors that opened out onto a small balcony. From the balcony, one could see the mountains, or look out over the Iar Sea. Usually, Dovan found the view a welcome distraction from his work, but today was not a typical day.

  In the center of the room was a large desk. The desk's dark oiled surface lay hidden beneath piles of randomly scattered papers, papers that the count had been busy working on only a moment ago. Mostly, the papers were of local matters, land disputes, or grazing rights that are the mundane work of the landed nobility. Those duties were now forgotten. Most of the time, Count Dovan Murray was happy to be taken away from his paperwork, but not this day.

  As he paced across the room, Dovan glanced up at a pair of bagpipes that hung from the wall. Making musical instruments was a hobby of the count. Dovan had made an identical set of bagpipes for his friend, Artair ap Gruffydd, King of Ceredigion. Many years ago, he had given the pipes to the king to celebrate the birth of the king's son. The bagpipes reminded Dovan of the promise he had made to King Artair. By keeping his word to Artair, Dovan knew he might have to make some difficult choices. Those choices would likely be of conflicting loyalties.

  The young page chased after the count. As if performing some ritual dance, the boy ducked and weaved as the older man paced on, carefully trying not to be run over. Frantically, the slender boy was trying to fasten a sporran onto the count's kilt. Made from the coat of a long-haired sheep, the sporran was a traditional decorative pouch which was worn on the front of a kilt. Several times, the boy almost had the ornament attached to the kilt, but then at the last moment the count would change directions, and the page would have to start the dance all over again. Finally, the page ducked when he should have weaved and was nearly trampled. The count's blue eyes bore down on the boy. "Aren't you finished yet?!"

  "Sorry, my…my Lord," whispered the page almost too softly to be heard.

  Stepping in to save the boy, the Countess Kytherin spoke up, "You do not have to take it out on the boy! It is not the lad's fault. If you would stand still, he could do his job."

  "Yes, dear," Dovan replied with a short bow. Turning back to the page, the count reached out and patted the boy's head. "Sorry lad, just try to hurry."

  "Yes, Lord Murray," the boy answered.

  Kytherin's complexion was nearly as dark as the count's. In the capital city, the countess was frowned upon, ladies were not supposed to have such a dark tone to their skin, but Kytherin did not care what the court thought. She enjoyed working in her gardens, taking long rides, and feeling the warmth of the sun on her face. She was even known to accompany her husband on hunts, and she was not about to give anything up just because the ladies of court (whom Kytherin called the 'Chatter Girls'), considered it disgraceful. Kytherin's long strawberry blond hair was pulled back into a long braid. Her smile always seemed to fill the room with warmth, but today it also hid her worries.

  Kytherin let her eyes drift across the empty study. "What happened to the chairs that were in here?"

  "I had them removed," answered the count. Finding it hard to stand still, Dovan nervously shifted from one foot to the other.

  "Whatever for? It looks dreadfully bare!"

  "Perhaps, but I want our visitor to stand while I sit. I have the feeling this is no social call. This is my castle, let him stand."

  "Are you worried about Elw ... I mean Eoin?" Remembering the page, Kytherin corrected herself. She did not suspect the boy would say anything, but there was no reason to advertise that the Prince of Ceredigion was staying in their home.

  "Yes, I think the Strigiol Lord knows he is here. Why else would the Lord of Risca come to Port Murray?" The worry lines upon the count's face deepened. The stress was taking its toll on Dovan. Kytherin had never noticed it before, but suddenly Dovan looked old to her.

  "But that's not all I'm worried about," continued the count. "As you know, we are at war with Strigiol. At least we were last autumn. If we are still at war, then our visitor is taking a great risk by coming here."

  Stepping forward, Kytherin stood close to her husband. She slipped a small hand into his large one. With apprehension, she met the count's eyes and asked, "Do you think we have lost?"

  Dovan shook his head. "No, I don't believe we lost the war. The Cluain army might not be a match for the Black army, but we could not lose this fast. What I fear is that our good King Lyon de Brodie has come to terms. I believe he has surrendered to save his own skin. The bloody coward!"

  With his free hand, Dovan slapped his thigh. "I just don't get it! Where is Artair? Ceredigion should have come to the King's ai
d! Together we could have held Jerran in check for years.”

  Rodan Macay put his thoughts aside. As if suddenly realizing he was not alone, the tall, dark-haired man shifted his gaze away from the balcony. Turning to the count, Rodan said with his slight foreign accent, "You should try to relax, and if you cannot relax, then I suggest you at least try to look relaxed."

  "Blast it Rodan, what is he planning?" Letting go of his wife's hand, the count began to pace once more, then stopping himself again, Dovan apologized to the page once again and tried harder to stand still.

  Now that Dovan had stopped pacing, Rodan started. "He's here, and you can't change that by worrying."

  "You should take your own advice," Kytherin said with a forced smile. "You're as bad as my husband!"

  "I did not say it was easy." Coming back to the window, Rodan stopped. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared out over the Iar Sea. Rodan Macay was a strong, handsome man in his late thirties. He was the most sought after bachelor in the county, yet there was a deep sadness about the dark-haired lord. With a sigh, he turned his back on the view.

  "Nothing is easy anymore."

  Concerned, Dovan watched Macay. Rodan had always been a quiet, moody man, but in spring it was always worse, and with each passing year, he drew further into himself. With his dark curly black hair and slightly olive colored skin, Rodan seemed out of places in Reidh county. Dovan knew him as a good and honorable man, as his father before him was.” He was a man that Dovan could trust with his life, but Dovan also knew the lord had secrets, secrets that were as dark as his skin. Dark and moody, Rodan was not a happy man. He was a man who put honor above all else, and his deep-seated sense of honor had left scars on the man’s soul.

  "I am finished, my Lord," came the page's soft voice.

  "What?" asked Dovan. He tore his eyes away from Rodan and looked down at the boy.