by B A Fleming
“You knew of this?”
“Onwn, own, only through half conversations, sire,” he gasped. “My duke tested it on one of his squires the day before he left. The boy was my friend. I watched him die.” He looked down, crying.
Thargus looked up to the soldiers.
“And what of Prince Richmond?”
“Prince Richmond has left for Corone two weeks ago, sire,” the man meekly looked up at him.
“Was he part of the collaboration?”
“My lord, Prince Richmond spoke with his brother in private on many occasions, but I could not link him to this.”
“Was anyone else involved to your knowledge?”
The servant looked at him and then at the soldiers, worried. “No, no, no one else my lord,” he spluttered.
Thargus considered this. He turned to look at the soldiers who awaited their instructions.
“Take him to Anil, to await execution.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Thargus turned to the other five soldiers that had sat silently behind him.
“Check the rooms,” he waved, walking up the stairs into the manor. “and call for the Master of the House.”
Thargus sat, drinking a cool beverage provided by a servant. The Master of the House walked into the room. “The last time I saw you, sire, my master was killed,” observed the man.
“I bring you bad tidings again, master servant,” replied Thargus, “but it is not your Lady Isabella, it is her son, Tostig and the advisor, Cedric.”
“Both rats, sire,” he replied. “I would be happy to see them done for.”
Thargus smiled. “Then there is nothing you can share with me about their recent movements, master servant?”
“They remained secretive since their capture, sire. I saw them as the vermin of the manor, rather than my masters,” he thought as he wandered around the room. “They spoke with the Princess on occasion, but it seemed nothing of interest. Richmond seemed aloof to anyone, often visiting in Bhagshau, but has since not returned. Cedric remained cautious of his words.”
“Thank you, you have been entirely helpful,’ offered Thargus as he stood. “I will depart within the hour. Please ask your kitchen to prepare food for myself and my men.”
*****
The last of the nobles had departed. Some still incredibly ill, by carriages altered to carry beds.
Princess Anna had initially balked at the idea of making the solitary journey back to Tharkomad alone, until Halsten and Vivi had convinced her that she would stay with them in Caitawalaan until the spring. Lord Boru had been sent a message that his brother and swordmaster were dead, and would be alone enough in his thoughts without the worry of his grieving sister. Tharkomad was still rebuilding and trade had started to move freely along both roads to Caitawalaan. The distinct lack of thieves in the western part of the valley was a welcome relief and the Morean guards in the Fields of the Meadows kept strict control on the movements of those thought to be ambiguous.
Caitawalaan had received a new breath of life with the arrival of Prince Halsten. The marriage of Princess Vivi a few weeks before the mid-summer games had bolstered the morale of the town, that now thrived with the rebuilding, a new garrison of Morean soldiers, and young male energy in the castle. Lord Polan had grown old over the past few seasons and everyone awaited news of his stepping down from office. Prince Halsten, although young, had proven to possess a solid head for decisions and a calmness under pressure.
During the past few days, Princess Thais had overseen the treatments of the sick with priest Nolan. Most responded well to the potions that he had brewed, and the remaining ill were up and walking about by the next sunrise. The Moreans were wary of her and although several of the Salararius had tried, and failed, to impress on her, they were less than forthcoming in seeking her magical talents to help them to recover.
“Magic is little known in my realm,” Thargus had told Casperi and Thais at dinner one evening over summer. “Only the elves have learnt to truly master its powers, so to know magic is, in essence, to be in league with the elves.”
With the rooms of the castle finally opening up again, Casperi had moved the dwarf and Tharkomad soldier to larger accommodations. The dwarf didn’t care too much for sunlight, but a few extra rooms allowed him to move around more freely, and made him feel more like he was within his mountain home.
Nathe, Curran and Dwane had vetted a select group of soldiers to guard them around the clock so that the number of people who knew of their remaining guest was kept to a minimum.
The rest practiced in the training grounds, now supervised by Edgar, as life within Catheridge seemed to fall back into some level of normalcy. The members of the Catheridge Council ran over and refined their plans for the next six months.
The night was cool as fall had descended on the valley. The snows would start making their way down the ridges in the coming months, and many of the local farmers were preparing to remove and sell their harvests to the highest bidder before entrenching themselves for the winter.
*****
Dralan rose from his warm bath. The rooms of the castle were heated by an ancient system of wooden steam vents that ran along one wall of each bedroom. Servants in a large stone room, far below, labored most of the summer by burning black rock mined in the far valleys to boil large vats of water. The labyrinth of stone shafts fed the royal quarters.
He stood in the humidity of the room and felt the sweat slowly drip down his naked torso. An energy surged upward through his body as Dralan was lifted up, his feet barely touching the ground, his head turned up in pain. He had no control of the energy, although the winged tattoo across his back began to bulge, lifting up, as if actual wings were trying to push through the skin. All of his bones ached as he felt as if they were bending, or trying to expand and contract, within the fragile skin of his body.
He collapsed, waking sometime later to find himself on his knees. The boney swelling remained across his back and up around his neck. He sensed a darkness within his mind, deeper than he had ever felt before. Dralan had sometimes missed hours at a time since leaving the valley, but never this sense of bones across his back.
He breathed in deeply and slowly rose to his feet, walking across the room to pour himself a cup of water. He drank fully, pouring another. He drank again, his mind still unclear. Dralan breathed in and then dressed, feeling the lumps of hardened sinew has he carefully slipped on his uniform.
It was now much tighter than it had previously been, but he managed to stretch it enough to be comfortable. He grabbed an apple and bit deeply into it as he walked out the door.
Chapter 6
Heavy fog clung to the waters around the city of the lake. The poor quarters and other seedier parts of the city bordered the docks, and were now blanketed in the grey expanse. The main road lead up through a broad, winding path into clearer skies and the main market square, halfway up the valley to the Vasa Castle walls.
In the early darkness a group of street thugs held a tighter footing on the early morning slippery boards of the docks against a squad of Morean garrison. As the Morean soldiers slipped, the tough men pushed forward onto them, utilizing dirty tactics such as pocking eyes and lifting legs where needed to gain the upper hand. The stones and weatherworn boards of docks caused for unpredictable clashes as the soldiers tried to steady themselves between strikes. Knives stabbed at their torsos as the Tullav men, more accustomed to close fighting and the conditions of the dock, sidestepped the larger blades. Birger stood amongst the shadows, hooded and on-guard, he tripped the occasional soldier who stumbled towards him. His hearing was sharp and his eyes sharper. Several bodies had toppled against the hard stone.
Steel clashed against steel and glints of blades reflected off torches and lanterns. They swooped in arches, jabs, and slashes.A frenzied violence of desperation could be felt in the Morean soldiers strikes and grunts as the street thugs held them at bay. A whistle called through the grey.
T
he Tullav men broke and ran. They would be soon out gunned in their stand up fight with the men-at-arms that were now descending from the garrison. They sought to skip out whilst they still had the advantage and quickly disappeared down cobblestone back streets.
The brawl served as a distraction as five others had off loaded a box of Morean coins, walking it through the murky waist high water into a hidden sewer outlet. Within five minutes the soldiers had all been tripped or injured enough that the Tullav vanished easily into the fog. The wagons and their chests had vanished as well as the clatter of horse hooves quickly disappeared. Sounds within the fog seemed to rebound off each other and the final direction of the wagons was quickly confused.
They looked down the back alleys as the Tullav men ran away in four different directions. The soldiers started to follow them but thought better of, turning their backs on Birger to head back towards the garrison and their Legati, keenly aware that he had to report the loss of another payment to Bhagshau troops. Two soldiers snuck up on the hidden assailant, grabbing him from behind.
The larger of the Morean soldiers looked at their captive. his unshaven face covered in dirt. His smoldering dark eyes stared deeply into those of his foes. They were unyielding in their stare. He looked at them, and then looked away.
“Look at you, gutter-scum. Think you can get away from me now?”
The man slapped him with an open hand as Birger’s face fell to the side with the strike. The man smiled at him.
“Take him to the wagon,” he waved as he turned to walk away.
Birger struck out with his right foot, pushing the man forward into the ground. The guard next to his right arm had loosened his grip and he spun his wrist around, drawing the sword to strike the left arm aggressor whilst following the momentum of the blade to strike at the first guard. The man meekly defended himself from the side strike, but not the downward slice that cut deeply through his arm. Birger stabbed him through to ensure the soldier suffered only a quick death. The senior soldier had run off. Birger glanced briefly down the alley that he had taken and then left in the opposite direction.
Birger snuck through the tunnels that made his way back into the castle. He moved straight towards the armory situated next to the training ground, changing into a fresh tunic. He knew that castle servants left a clean pile there each night for the guards to use the following day. He hid his own soiled tunic halfway down the pile and then walked out into the corridors. Several minutes later he past several guards who bowed and acknowledged him as he passed. As was his usual routine, Birger circled around the castle through several different levels before sneaking though another tunnel that returned him to his room. He changed into his bed clothes and after a few minutes stumbled out the into the main corridor, as if just awoken, requesting one of his guard to order a bath for him.
A few hours later, the tower guards had a clear view down the valley to the docks on a sunny day, although the tower had poked up through the early fog in spring and autumn mornings. The city was well reputed to be a criminals’ dream in the early hours of the day before the sun burnt off the grey blanket.
The young, blonde man silently exited a doorway and walked the fifty paces of the back alley before entering another.
Gameard leaned back in his leather-bound chair. Even with the softly padded arm rails and high padded head rest, he remained uncomfortable. This was not the outcome he had hoped for himself. With the old man now gone the position as Mordare had fallen to him. It was expected of him. Both his older brothers had been murdered by King Edward, and his sister had managed to sneak into the bed of a wealthy grain merchant in Caitawalaan.
Gathun entered the room with two other thugs.
“Mordare, we have captured the shipment bound for Bhagshau.”
Gameard grinned. For another week, the soldiers of Bhagshau garrison would go unpaid. The whores would be up in arms with the outcome, but there was still plenty of money in the city for them. An uprising amongst the Morean troops would be bound to occur eventually.
“And our young prince?”
“He has arrived, Mordare.”
Gathun had become a valuable asset to Gameard once his red-eye fever had subsided. The Mordare had barely managed to spare him from the executioners’ blade in Caitawalaan after the battle and Lord Polan had been sufficiently pleased with Gameard to allow him to take the traitor. Gathun walked to the door, nodded to Gameard and then left. A moment later the young, blonde man appeared through the same door.
Gameard sat in the barely lit room. He looked up as Birger entered. The young prince had become familiar with the mercenary over the past few months. Gameard offered a glass of whiskey of the two already poured, next to each other in the center of the table.
“I hear that you almost got done this morning, young prince?”
“I had the situation under control,” replied Birger between mouthfuls. Gameard smiled.
“Sometimes too close, but never to worry, three of the boys sat above you, just in case they were required.”
“You are a more an ally than even my father realizes.”
“Yes, true, Birger, but your interests are also my own. Speaking of which, one of your Morean agents is on the move,” commented Gameard. Birger nodded as he sat in the chair opposite, finishing the whiskey, although still holding the glass.
“Which one?”
“An unexpected one. Cheinjus met with Richmond before he left for Corone. There is something amiss going on.”
“How so?”
“A little birdie told me that our beloved ex-Queen and daughter also by-passed Bhagshau and went straight across the swamp on their way down from Anil this morning.”
Birger thought on this.
“Did anyone try to stop them?”
“Their path was less than public, through the open fields to the north of the city. Only an observant guard would have noticed.”
“I will pass this onto father when he returns.” Birger placed the glass on the table and Gameard indicated an older man who stepped out of the shadows to refill both.
“Our lives have changed this past summer,” said Birger as he drank slowly. Gameard mirrored his movements.
“I knew there would be problems when I watched our friend, Casperi, return.”
“Casperi did bring trouble with him, but haven’t our lives changed for the better?” questioned Gameard. “I would say, on the whole of it, yes.”
“I tend to agree with you, Gameard. My family has benefitted from these turn of events, although thankfully we are also clearly aware that these days of bliss will not last. It seems that the Tullav have enjoyed these times as well. My father is pleased that you have kept them in check. That said, I’m sure our Morean friends are not so enamored with your thieverous underlings.”
“That is true, but there is method within the actions of my men. Their distractions enable movements that your royal guards are already well too aware of such betrayals. Your fathers’ approach is best, young Prince, as we both know that they will need to change our arrangements, as I’m sure your father is. Now, to this movement of Cheinjus.”
“How does this affect our plans. Mordare?” asked Birger
“They seek to take control of the docks. Tethys has already killed three of my men in the past two nights, and Cheinjus was seen observing the killings.”
“Should we post extra guards?”
“Only if they are in plain clothes. We don’t wish to scare off the Moreans until we know their intent. Go with the usual marker.”
“Gold button on the right shoulder.”
“It has worked well for my men to identify yours thus far.”
“Although one of yours did try to take it off one of my dead sentries,” sighed Birger as he put down the empty glass. An older man stepped out of the shadows and Birger raised his hand to stop him from refilling it.
“Well, they are thieves,” smiled Gameard. “speaking of which, when will you lift some more documents off your
Morean friends for me?”
“I plan to visit the trading company quarters in the morning. I have a request for you as well Gameard.”
Gameard leaned back so that his face fell into shadow. He then rocked forth again.
“Do you happen to have a trader that can carry some wears to Corone for me?”
“Seeking to go into the export business, young prince?”
“My father seeks an update on the pass.”
“Two mules up the hill and then one left to continue to Corone?”
“That will be reasonable,” Birger was the one that now leaned back. He pulled a small bag from within his cloak before leaning forward again to drop it on the table between them, picking up his glass of whiskey in one movement.
“What are we shifting?”
“Whatever you want.”
Such arrangements had come from previous negotiations King Daikin had had with the new Mordare upon his appointment. The old Mordare claimed denial, although Gameard considered the bigger picture of the debate. The Tullav had been stealing gold and other jewels from King Edwards stores for the past ten summers. They were occasionally transporting some of this wealth across the lake in smaller boats.
Recently, two boats had gone missing, and they believed it to be the hidden Salararius that had taken the shipments.
Gameard had organized with King Daikin to return the stolen treasure, minus twenty percent commission if both parties were to work together in exposing the hidden trading ring that had formed through the hidden Moreans.
*****
Thomas rode into Catheridge. He stopped by his house for a few minutes, hugging his wife as she greeted him with her usual smile. He told her of all the gems he had found and that he would petition his boss for a nicely cut stone for his father to make a ring next time they visited the capital. Within half an hour he had rejoined the soldiers in the keep, who had already unloaded their bags of gems and delivered them to the Catheridge jeweler.
