by T. Norman
It took a minute for everything Rysh learned to settle in. I need to find this traitor, before it’s too late. Rysh moved with a renewed sense of urgency, making his way back down to the docks. He found Limmey packing the ferry, so he decided to take this opportunity to share what little plan he had.
“I think I can help you out, but it’s going to cost you,” the ferryman said when Rysh had finished. Rysh was ready for that response.
“How does one more silver sound?” Rysh bargained.
Limmey’s face lit up. “That should do just fine!”
Rysh offered Limmey a hand as he finished packing up the ferry and together they awaited the rest of the group. Gant, Julia, Gayle, and Mic were the first to arrive. Mic helped a limping Gayle, while Gant carried their dwindling supplies from their journey. Julia led the way with Ros at her side. Rysh couldn’t help but stare at the dog, searching for some sign of Apo’k.
“Hey, Dad, looks like you found us a ride!” Gant exclaimed. He had never been on a ferry before and Rysh could see the excitement in his face.
“Yes, I did, and it is sure to be an adventurous one.” Rysh turned to address the whole group. “Let me introduce you all to Limmey.”
Mic gave him a slight nod as he helped Gayle onto the ferry. Julia, polite as ever, reached out her hand and greeted the man. “Hello, Limmey, thank you for helping us on our journey.” She smiled at the man.
“Nice to meet you m’lady,” He smiled back, showing his missing teeth.
Gayle waved from his seat. “My name’s Gayle, nice to meet you.”
“Where are Bors and Lori?” Rysh questioned the others.
“Bors went to help Lori carry supplies,” Gant responded.
“I’m going to go make sure they’re all right. We need to get going.” Rysh didn’t like this. He had never trusted Bors and now that he knew there was a traitor in their group, he was even more suspicious of the old man. Rysh strode off quickly toward the shops in the middle of town. A few blocks from the docks, he came across Bors and Lori carrying two crates of supplies each. “I was just coming to check on you,” Rysh said, trying to hide his suspicion. “I hope you got everything we needed?”
Lori smiled. “We got everything we need and more, plenty of medicine and food for our long journey.”
“Let me help with that,” Rysh said as he took a crate from Lori. “The others are already loaded and we’re ready to go.” He furled his brow at Bors, thinking he had been eerily quiet since they arrived. They walked the last few blocks in silence, anticipating what was to come next. As they arrived at the ferry, they loaded the four crates and boarded.
“I understand that three of you are rowers?” Limmey asked before they left.
“Yes,” Rysh responded. “Bors, Mic, and I will take shifts rowing as you need us.”
“Good. If I can have two of you volunteer to go first, we are going to have to row out until we hit the current.” Limmey moved toward the dock to untie the line holding them in place. He undid the knot and pushed off with his foot. The ferry stood still for a few moments until he reached the tiller and called his command to Bors and Mic. “Follow my beat. Don’t pull too much, just nice and easy. Let’s not wear ourselves out.” They began a steady rhythm and Rysh felt the ferry slowly surge forward. As they left the port, Rysh noticed small channels leading in many directions. Limmey maneuvered confidently and eventually they hit the current. “We should be good for a while,” he said. “Take a break, I can steer from here.” Mic and Bors followed his commands obediently, locking their oars up on the deck before going to sit down with the others.
Rysh stood toward the bow of the ferry, watching the river pass by. Gant moved to stand with his father, admiring the movement of the water.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Rysh asked his son.
“It sure is.” Gant looked up at his father. “Dad, what’s wrong?”
“I’m just worried about your safety, that’s all.” Rysh tried to not lie to his son, knowing they needed to trust each other, and in this case he found solace in the fact that there was truth to what he said, even if he neglected to tell the whole truth.
“If you say so.” Gant dropped his eyes down and went to join the others. Rysh saw the disappointment in his movements. I can’t put this burden on him. I need to keep him safe.
As the sun began to set a few hours later, Limmey brought the ferry to a stop along the riverbanks. Rysh assigned everyone tasks for the evening.
“Mic, can you come with me to get some wood and scope out the area?” Mic nodded his agreement. “The rest of you, gather what you can for dinner. Let’s try and conserve our supplies.”
Mic and Rysh walked off into the woods surrounding the river as Rysh tried to decide how much he trusted Mic. He had known the man for years and always considered him a friend, but with a traitor in the group, he had to be careful. Still, he needed to know that someone had his back.
“There’s a traitor in our group.” Rysh thought the best option would be to put everything out there and gauge Mic’s reaction.
“I thought as much. It didn’t make sense that they would burn all of Wayton without knowing for sure Julia wasn’t there. Do you know who it is?” Mic was stone-faced as usual.
Rysh shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. I have my suspicions, though.” Rysh told Mic of his encounter with Apo’k and all the seer had told him.
“So you trust this Apo’k?”
“I’m not sure. I think he’s telling the truth, though. Like you said, none of this makes sense.” Rysh and Mic had gathered up a good armful of wood, and Rysh knew it was time to reveal all he knew to Mic. “When Bors and I went into Wayton, I found out some information about his past. His name isn’t Bors; it’s Alric Renulf. He’s a former general in the Dusseldorf Army.” Mic stopped dead in his tracks at this revelation.
“I’ve noticed that he had a different air around him. I couldn’t put my finger on it.” Mic shook his head. “So you think it’s him?”
“He lied to me once; I don’t trust him. What’s to stop him from lying again?”
Mic nodded. “I’ll keep an extra eye on him. We should be getting back.”
The two men worked their way back to find the others had berries, vegetables, and fish piled up on the ferry. Limmey and Gant sat on the edge of the ferry, fishing. Rysh and Mic brought the wood to Bors, who helped Julia and Lori prepare the meal. Gayle sat watching them.
They chatted as the meal was being cooked. Rysh sat on the ferry and pulled a whetstone out of his bag. He found it calming to sharpen his sword. Mic sat next to him and laid back to shut his eyes. Rysh knew he was wide awake and listening to the conversation by the cooking fire.
The group ate a filling dinner and afterward went about their evening routine. Gant practiced his archery with Ros lying at his feet, Lori checked on Gayle’s leg and gave him more medicine, Bors told stories to Limmey and Julia, Mic was rested his eyes again, and Rysh watched over Gant. Before going to bed, they set up a watch rotation for the night.
At dawn they had a quick breakfast with coffee and continued downriver. It was an uneventful day until just before dusk, when the river opened up into a large lake.
“I thought it would take us a couple days to make it to Sapphire Lake,” Lori commented.
Rysh exchanged a look with Limmey before Limmey answered, “We had the wind at our back the whole way, made for faster travel.” Rysh nodded his approval.
They made camp at the edge of the lake and followed their usual evening routines. In the morning they set out again at dawn.
“I thought Sapphire Lake would be bigger,” Julia commented as they made their way along the north edge of the lake.
In the late afternoon they sighted a town off in the distance. “Is that Crestbrooke?” Lori inquired.
“No,” Rysh knew it was time to reveal what was actually going on. “That’s Doormon.”
Bors started laughing. “You took us down Rush South. This is Long
Lake, not Sapphire Lake.”
“Why did you lie to us?” Gant asked, an accusing edge to his voice. He and Rysh had always promised to tell each other the truth, and it hurt Rysh to see that look.
“It was for our safety,” Rysh said, careful not to reveal he knew there was a traitor among them. “You never know who is listening and who they work for. We told the guards we were looking for a ferry to Crestbrooke, in case anyone asked.”
“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Gayle agreed, seeming to understand the necessary deception.
“Are we going to stop and stock up on supplies?” Lori asked.
“No, we have enough to last us at least three more days,” Rysh answered. In silence, everyone moved to back to their seats. I will keep them safe, Rysh promised himself. He turned to watch Bors, rummage through the medical supplies, no doubt looking for some sort of alcohol.
9
Petrik Mott followed Dirk Stowen to greet their guests. Lord Chett had returned to Mohrr with Captain Kosoth, who came to train Prince Stowen.
“Are you nervous?” Petrik inquired of his friend. The two had been training together for years and had grown very close, even as Petrik went on to complete his training and become a soldier. Petrik ruffled his sandy-red hair while he awaited a response from the young prince. Dirk had the same dark hair as his father, but he didn’t have the same warrior build; he was barely more than skin and bone.
“No, Captain Kosoth’s a great warrior and I’m eager for his training,” Dirk answered.
Petrik shook his head at the response. “Don’t give me that, Dirk, you’re as stiff as a board. I know you’re nervous.” Dirk looked at his friend and Petrik could see it in his eyes.
“I don’t want to disappoint my father. I need to be a strong fighter in order to be a good king someday.”
Petrik threw his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Dirk, you have nothing to worry about. You’re one of the bravest men I know, and someday you will make a fine king.” Petrik smiled down at Dirk.
The two continued through the city until they arrived at the main gates, just as Captain Kosoth and Lord Chett dismounted their steeds.
“Lord Chett, I’m glad to see you returned safely,” Dirk greeted the Lord of Mohrr. “Welcome to Mohrr, Captain Kosoth, it’s good to have you here.” Dirk shook the man’s hand.
Petrik went to greet the men. “Welcome back, Lord Chett,” he said. He turned to Zaren and said, “Captain Kosoth, I look forward to training with you.” Petrik had been training with the prince since they were young, and he, too, was going to learn from the expert swordsman. Zaren nodded his greeting to Petrik.
“Prince Stowen, we should begin your training immediately,” Zaren said. He didn’t delay with pleasantries. “We have less than a fortnight to get you ready.” Less than a fortnight? Things are moving quickly, Petrik thought. “Meet me on the training grounds.” Zaren followed a castle squire to his quarters, while Petrik and Dirk made their way to the armory. Dirk put on his chainmail, iron breastplate, greaves, vambraces, and a half helm, while Petrik wore chainmail with simple boiled leather over top. They made their way to choose their weapons for training. Dirk held up a short sword and felt the weight of it in his hand. He gave a few swings then placed it back on the rack, instead choosing a long sword. He gave it one swing and smiled to his friend.
“This has a lot of power behind it, should be fun!” Dirk exclaimed.
Petrik grabbed his kite shield and sword. Most soldiers used a sword and shield; only men of higher authority used anything different. “This will do just fine,” Petrik assessed.
As they made their way out onto the training ground, they took some time before Zaren arrived to get some swings in with the pell. Petrik was lost in the motions. Left. Right. Left. Left. Block. Stab. Right. Down. Right. Block. Left. He called the motions out to himself. He felt a tingling in his neck, causing him to stop and turn. Zaren stood in the doorway staring intently at Dirk. Petrik turned his gaze toward his friend and knew why Zaren was staring.
Dirk was swinging blow after blow in what seemed to be slow motion. Petrik could tell the sword was too heavy for him and that the armor was slowing him down.
“Stop,” Zaren bellowed at Dirk midswing, causing him to miss the pell and send himself flying to the ground. “What are you doing?”
Dirk stood and removed his half helm. “I’m practicing, what does it look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like you’re trying to kill yourself.” Zaren stepped closer. “Look at what Petrik is wearing.” The two men moved their gaze to Petrik, making him uncomfortable. “Why is he wearing leather while you are wearing chainmail and armor?”
Dirk cleared his throat. “Well, I’m a knight, and this is a knight’s armor,” he said matter-of-factly.
Zaren laughed. “A knight, yes. A warrior, no.” He stepped closer so that he was inches away from Dirk’s face. “If you want to wear that hunk of metal, then I can’t help you. If you want to learn how to fight and survive, go put on leather.” Zaren held his gaze until Dirk let his shoulders drop in defeat and turned on his heel, heading back toward the armory. “Grab a different sword while you’re in there,” Zaren called out.
A few minutes later, Dirk returned with a hand-and-a-half sword and boiled leather over his chest and arms. He was visibly frustrated.
“Good.” Zaren looked and sounded pleased with the change. “Listen, you and I are very similar. You know your father’s cousin, Lord Victor?” Dirk nodded. “He’s built for that kind of armor; he’s big enough that it doesn’t drain his energy in combat. Someone like you, or me, or Petrik,” Zaren glanced toward Petrik as he said his name, “we are smaller and we need to wear lighter armor. Our greatest asset is our speed. Take some swings. Notice how much more mobility and freedom you have.”
Dirk moved toward the pell, and after one swing his eyes lit up and a smile began to form. He kept swinging left and right, up and down, until Zaren called him to stop. “Good. Which hand do you prefer?” Petrik saw a glimpse of curiosity in his eye and had an inkling of the reasoning behind his question.
“Well, I suppose my right, but I’m comfortable with both,” Dirk responded nonchalantly.
Zaren smiled. “Good. Petrik, go grab two short swords.” Petrik moved immediately, returning with two practice swords in hand. “Use these.” Zaren lifted the swords, testing their weight. “This one in your right hand and this one in your left,” he instructed as he handed the blades to Dirk.
The prince again stepped toward the pell and slowly started his swings. It was obvious he wasn’t trained to use two swords at once, but as he started to understand the motions, his speed picked up. Blow after blow, he started looking more confident. He looks more and more like a warrior, Petrik thought with admiration. One simple change had turned the prince from a beginner to a threat in battle.
“Does your armorer work with Argite?” Zaren inquired. Argite was a rare metal found in only a few mines throughout Ansaroth, and most smiths had some knowledge of crafting the exquisite weapons. Argite weapons were extremely valuable and the most dangerous, if made correctly. If made improperly, they could break upon impact.
“Yes, sir.” Dirk’s newfound respect for Zaren was evident.
“Good, have him forge you two short swords. Match the weight of the sword in your right hand. Tell him to take a little off on the left hand.” Petrik was in awe of Zaren’s uncanny understanding of swordsmanship. Then Zaren turned to Petrik. “You, let’s see you use that sword of yours,” he said.
Petrik moved toward the pell and began his motions again. “That’s enough,” Zaren said, calling a halt to the drill after a few minutes. “I’ve seen everything I need.”
The three men went back to the armory to put away their equipment. Petrik sat to clean his sword, as he did every time he used it. In a hurry to talk to the armorer, Dirk left immediately, leaving Petrik and Zaren alone.
“How long have you known the prince?” Zaren asked.
“Since he was five, sir.” Petrik had to think. “So, thirteen years.”
“Does he have any other close friends here besides you?” Zaren began sharpening his scimitar from the bench across from Petrik.
“He’s generally liked among those in the city,” Petrik said carefully. He didn’t want to make Dirk sound like an outcast. “I’m his closest friend, though.” Petrik gave Zaren a half smile, feeling uncomfortable about this conversation. Why is he so interested in our friendship? he wondered.
Zaren scratched his chin, thinking. He seemed to come to some conclusion and rose, sheathing his scimitar on his waist. He quickly left the armory, returning moments later with one of the training ground assistants. “You are in a unique situation, Petrik.” Zaren pushed the assistant between himself and Petrik as he spoke. “Best friends with the prince; that type of connection could lead to positions of power for yourself.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you willing to do what it takes to serve your prince?”
Petrik shook his head in confusion. “What do you mean? I would die for Dirk, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”
“Good.” Zaren reached his hand out to Petrik. “Give me your sword.” Petrik flipped his sword in his hand, passing it hilt first to Zaren. “You are going to have to do more than that for your prince.” He grabbed the assistant, who had stood there shaking, and stabbed him through the stomach.
The man tried to scream, but Zaren had a hand around his mouth. Without removing the sword, Zaren picked up a dagger and held it toward Petrik. “Slit his throat,” Zaren commanded.
Petrik was in shock. “What?” He stood up and started to protest. “You want me to kill an innocent man for nothing?”
“You told me you would do what whatever you had to for your prince. I need you to prove that to me.” Zaren extended the dagger closer to Petrik. “Do it now.”
Petrik stood his ground. “No. Let him go now. He can still live; there is no need for this bloodshed.” Petrik was white with fear.
