by Greg Ricker
They knew something. Perhaps, they knew everything!
"Welcome, Prince Talbarond." The Dwarf King greeted. "Please be seated."
All returned to their seats, once Danuel placed himself in his own, and the ancient door was closed quietly.
"First," Nerol started, "I call for a moment of silence, for prayer, and remembrance of a fine King, friend, and father. Nall Talbarond. May his strength, and bravery, encourage us all, and may his spirit, fight at our sides in battle."
They bowed their heads, and each said their own personal words to the Creator.
"General Montclaire." The King broke the silence, and Danuel was startled by his voice. "Let's begin with the journey at hand, shall we."
He was not asking.
Curic reached under his chair, and produced a large scroll. It was rolled around two intricately carved wooden dowels, so when he unfurled it, their weight kept the map flat on the table. A fine map it was. Perfectly detailed, as far south as the small farmland villages of the Channeron Plains, to the forest beyond the northernmost lands of Ayarlyn. It even included a small portion of the Blasky Mountains to the northeast. Probably added later, during other Dy'Shan Lord conflicts. No one had a map that stretched further than this one.
The General laid a finger directly on the Wetlands of Druln. "The day we received King Elssamon's call, I sent four men to check the conditions of the wetlands. They returned yesterday, and with bad news. As I had suspected, the numerous rains of the past months, have raised the water level, which is now too high for foot soldiers, and too risky for wagon travel. We will have to take an alternate route through the forest, beyond its reach."
"A great delay." Nerol shook his head, but there was no defeating nature.
"Not so great, my Lord." Curic had everyone's attention then. "At this very moment, two dozen men are busy clearing the path."
His finger began to move. Taking the path he spoke of. "We could thin the lines for the short journey to the east bank of the Ruldran, and then reassemble there."
The Ruldran was little more than a rocky creek, unless flooded by rain, as they would face it.
"Well done, General." The King was impressed. "All agree with these plans?"
"Agreed." They said, simultaneously.
Only Danuel, was a bit behind the others.
Curic appeared quite proud of himself, for the actions he had taken to avoid delays. For his success in impressing the King, and for the look on Carmon's face that he had created.
"I hear you have sixty-four mounted soldiers, Prince Talbarond." Nerol began, and again he managed to startle Danuel. "We are willing to let your men pick fresh horses, should they desire to do so."
"Thank you, King Blanford." Danuel hoped that was the proper response. He was busy trying to avoid eye contact with anyone.
"We must remember," Nerol spoke to all, "that the kingdom of Bowenn has suffered a great loss of many lives. We will see they are well prepared with supplies, armor, and weapons."
The latter was for Danuel's ears. The process was actually at hand that very moment, and had begun early that morning.
Feeling more comfortable, Danuel sat higher in his seat. If the King overlooked the unintimidating size and appearance of the Bowenn army, then they all would, which was one less worry.
"If I may," Carmon began, and Curic frowned, "I agree there is no other route, but I expect that wagon travel would not go smoothly on a path of small stumps. Changing wheels would be an even greater delay. Some, added, arrangements will have to be made."
"The foot soldiers shall have to shoulder the supplies." Nerol was quick with his answer to the problem.
"Thinning the lines will be unavoidable," as Nolin spoke, he also received a sideways glance from Curic, "but it would mean less defense at the King's sides."
Some nodded, thinking the same.
"My dogs could travel east and west of the lines on deer trails,¨ Nolin continued, ¨until we reach the Ruldran. Serving, at least, as an early warning of danger."
"From what I have seen," Nerol began, "your mastoks could do away with any dangers we might face."
Nolin smiled.
"All agree with these plans?" Asked Nerol.
"Agreed."
Nolin would spend the remainder of the evening preparing.
"For those of you who have never been to Ayarlyn," Nerol started, knowing that the only man in the room who had not, was Danuel, "we will board their great ship at the South Dock of Lake Gendell, where it will take us to the Elf kingdom."
That massive vessel was Windsinger. It could comfortably carry three hundred men, and thus started the tradition of each army choosing one hundred for the journey, by ship, to the Blaskies. The remaining soldiers rode horses or marched to there from the Elven city.
"I expect the day after our arrival will be a day of council,¨ Nerol assumed, ¨in the presence of King Elssamon Drennidell. Then the following day, we will set sail along the Asmynd, and land on the bank of the Black Cove."
Danuel's eyes followed the map, without the lead of Curic's finger. He listened to them exchange ideas for some time, and never inserted his own information. Nor did he ask a single question, though he had many. Among nobles hundreds of years older than himself, he could not help but feel childish, almost ignorant to the event at hand. He held his own ideas at bay, sure that the others would provide a better answer for each one, as they already did to each other.
"Please, Danuel." King Blanford caught the prince looking at the ceiling, and was sorry he had made him jump. "If you can, tell us, in detail, what happened at Bowenn. Men should know the truth about events, that change our lives. Otherwise, they become histories that lack strength, behind their proof."
All eyes were on the prince.
He supposed the truth would not be too difficult to tell, so long as he did not contradict anything he had already said.
That should be easy enough.
Right?
He would stick to what he knew about the attack. After that, he was not filling in any holes for them.
With them all listening intently, Danuel began at the Hole in the Boot, and someone shouting, 'Fire! Fire in the castle!'
The servant girl stopped at a door near the end of a long west-wing hall in the castle, and opened it for Kaylel, who was growing quite tired of castle halls. The Bowenn castle had been a labyrinth, and Mynnorah castle was at least four times larger. She had been glad to return to a simple home after graduating from the Herbearer School.
She found herself quite out of practice, here.
Inside, at a small, gilded wooden table, sat Queen Yudora Blanford, alone. Only one other chair sat vacant across from her, and suddenly, Kaylel felt the butterflies in her stomach take flight. She hoped the servant girl would follow her in, but she did not. The door was closed quietly behind her.
Why was she so uneasy? There was nothing about Yudora to fear. She expected a long conversation, comparing their knowledge of tea, perhaps.
So why was she biting her bottom lip?
"Lady Ferarve, please sit." Yudora extended her left hand toward the empty chair, offering it with a pure and welcoming smile.
Steaming hot water waited inside of a silver kettle, resting on top of a folded cloth. Two decorated cups, on matching saucers, were placed beside it. A tray on the far end of the table held everything they would need, like spoons, knives, fruits, honey, and herbs. Plus some leaves and bloom petals from the gardens outside. Everything was in its designated space, and everything was temptingly fresh. Kaylel even spotted the blueberries she had requested.
Settling, slowly, into her seat, she rested her hands on her lap. Still, biting her bottom lip. She felt like a little girl, unworthy of having a private meeting with any Queen.
Yudora could sense the discomfort, and quickly handed Kaylel the ingredients she had introduced to her.
"Please share with me this favorite tea of yours." She left the rest up to Kaylel, who had suddenly forgotten w
hat her favorite tea was.
Coming to her senses, her hands went to work, and Yudora watched, intently. To the very end, when she was handed a full cup of thornberry tea, with lemon, and blueberry juice.
Sip. Sip.
"Most delicious, Lady Ferarve." The Queen approved. "I now understand why you enjoy it so."
"My grandmother's recipe." Kaylel admitted. Yudora was the first person ever to call her Lady Ferarve, and though she rather liked it, the title would take some getting used to. Danuel had warned her of that.
She wondered how he was doing at the council meeting. Though he escaped the chains of formality quite often, Danuel was at least used to being treated as royalty. He was probably doing just fine.
"Something wrong, Lady Ferarve?" Yudora asked.
Kaylel had been staring at nothing, and had not taken a single sip from her cup. She quickly did so.
"No, forgive me." Then her face began to redden.
Yudora had seen that look on her before. It appeared, when Kaylel was in the presence of the prince of Bowenn.
"I suppose you have been quite a busy woman these past few days." She knew that was probably a great understatement.
"Yes, your Highness." Kaylel was still very tired. The scratches on her hands from working in the infirmary, had not yet healed, and she knew the Queen had to have noticed them. She did well to hide her other light injuries. After hours of riding horseback, Kaylel still found it difficult to sit in a hard chair.
There was a moment of silence, as the two women sipped their tea. Kaylel was staring at nothing again, while Yudora was staring at her. The Queen loved these types of meetings, best of all. She sought after chances to privately speak with important people, but her enjoyment did not derive from the small talk, or the tea. It was the open opportunity to learn the secrets of those people, that she thrived for. To know what no one else knew. Yudora could read faces like a child's first book, as well as observantly pluck the pieces of the conversation out, that would give her the answers she sought.
Unfortunately for the King, she found it easier to do with men, than women.
"Tell me about Prince Talbarond." Yudora went straight for the girl's heart. She could not foresee any resistance from this one.
Kaylel was startled, and tried to hide her face in her tea.
It did little good.
Yudora knew how to read that action, as well.
"He is a good man." Kaylel started, unsure what to say. "A skilled fighter, and leader. When he returns, I am sure he will make a great King."
She hoped she could leave the subject at that.
Not with Yudora.
No chance.
"He is a very good-looking man, at that." The Queen added, much to Kaylel's surprise, and she hid her face in her tea again. For Yudora, the game was going well. "Tell me about Herbearer Mistresses. I assume it must be fascinating, to know so much about the benefits of nature's gifts."
Kaylel eased a bit. It would not be nearly as difficult for her to discuss what she loved to do.
Then again, she did not found it too hard, to talk about Danuel.
Kicking a rock, and sending it bouncing down the narrow alley, Carlin would much rather have been beating someone to a pulp, than waiting around behind the One-Eyed Archer. The flies on the tavern's garbage liked to occasionally circle his head, testing his patience even further, which he had very little of to start with.
Finally the back door of the tavern opened, but a young Dwarf exited, wearing a soiled apron, and carrying a small crate full of more garbage. The youth was startled by Carlin's presence, but was quick to dump the load, and return to the kitchen.
The flies circled Carlin until the garbage settled, and then they returned to their feast. Two more minutes of this, and he was leaving. He was not needed here, anyway. Perhaps he could find some of his ruffian friends looking for a little trouble. Maybe even a lot of trouble.
There was never a dull moment spent, with them.
The door opened again, and this time, Randor stepped out. Grinning from ear to ear.
"Well." Carlin started walking, to get the other Dwarf going, and to get away from the flies.
"They went for it like children to candy." Randor laughed. Walking quickly to keep up.
Carlin would have joined him, but he did not care for games. Breaking someone's nose, now that was something to laugh at.
"So now what?" He asked, but Randor was not listening.
The second half of Randor's plan would not be easy. He would have to use the rest of the day to think it through, and that was all. He had to act tonight, or it would be too late.
He would lose the game.
The rumor had been planted, and like a hearty seed it would grow, until the entire kingdom was wrapped in its vines. It would only take until nightfall, and then the rumor would be rooted well.
Now, there was the other matter to see to. Getting rid of his worst threat. The Advancement.
Never again would the King read Traft's pestering words, or even consider acting upon his pleas. The King would strike, and strike hard, until the Advancement was abolished.
If all went well, Randor was even sure of it.
He was also sure, about where he would strike next. Where the most damage could be done. Hurting Traft and the rebellion both. Skinning them alive. He would take their momentum away from them, the very thing that kept their party growing in numbers, and their link to the powers that created laws. The hand that fed them, and kept their bellies full with the information they hungered. Their gateway, to the royals within the castle grounds.
Randor would have to make Lanum Cree, disappear.
For two days Sawl had stayed within the confines of his bedchamber, reading new found words that only the Elven helmet could reveal to him. He continued to learn what he could have never known without the magic relic, and desired more knowledge than he could ever hope to obtain.
When he learned of Dragdath, however, he had taken on a very intent interest in his reading. When he completed the book, Sawl had summoned the presence of an Orc soldier to find the General for him.
Nearly an hour passed, before he saw Nysin at his door.
"You wish to see me, my Lord?" The General stepped into the room, slowly. For the first time in months, he found Sawl waiting at his table without a book opened in front of him. Something important had brought him here, he just knew it.
Something that meant more work was required from him, he supposed.
"Have you ever heard of Dragdath, General?" Asked Sawl.
Nysin thought for a moment, but with his silence, he had already answered the question.
"It was the ancient kingdom of the Drow." Informed Sawl. "The Elves killed them off many years ago, but not before they stole something from them."
The General raised an eyebrow in anticipation.
"The Ambersham." Sawl continued. "The most powerful Elven ring ever made."
Again, Nysin was not familiar with what he heard. Dragdath, drow, Ambersham, they meant nothing to him.
"The Ambersham is a spell turner. " Sawl added. "It sends a spell back to the one who cast it, leaving the wearer of the ring unharmed. It was lost in the battle that destroyed Dragdath. It is believed to be there still. Still on the hand of Blazekor, the Drow Dy'Shan Lord."
Interesting, indeed, thought Nysin, but why was it so important that he hear this? Such stories did not entertain him.
Sawl stood suddenly, straightening to his full six feet-six inches. "I know where it is, General, and I want you to get it for me."
Now Nysin knew what his involvement was. His eyes bulged, but not from fear.
It was surprise that had caused it.
"I have prepared maps and notes for you." Sawl motioned to the table, where his papers were laid out. "I am also giving you this."
The Orc Dy'Shan Lord held forth a long necklace with a square, green jewel on it.
The Jewel of light! Nysin desired the gift with all of his co
ld, black heart, but he could not help feeling, as if he had already accepted the mission.
"First," Sawl reached out to a chair across the room from him, and it slid smoothly to the opposite side of his table, "have a seat, and I will tell you the story, in its entirety."
The General sighed.
It was going to be a long meeting.
XVII
Master Covary´s Five-Stories
The bell tower rang a third, and final time, as the sun set. A call to those who lit the pole lanterns in the streets, and a warning to those with a long walk home. To the members of the Bowenn party, it was the time to be at Master Covary's Stables, as written on their invitations. The men had been accompanied by two-dozen Dwarf soldiers from the castle grounds to the stable, and made the journey without so much as a word, yelled from a dark window. Eggs and tomatoes again, would have been a shame. The men had never looked better, than they did tonight. The castle servants had fitted them with the best of attire, and they were all beginning to feel rather important.
Holding the door open, a smiling Dwarf, with an apron tied over his fine black clothes, asked them to come inside, and the guards stood at attention. They would be waiting when the men returned to the street.
If not fighting rebel scum, of course.
Upon entering, the men noticed the magnificence of the five-story house. The foyer alone was larger than any room in their own homes. The stone walls were paneled with wood - as were most of the finer buildings in Mynnorah - and the floors were finished with tile, hemmed carpets, and hardwood. An almost white, marble tile was under their feet at the moment. There were two iron benches, painted a glossy white, on two sides of the foyer, and a small, knotted tree grew from a large stone planter in one corner.
Deril Bahr was the last to step through the door, and after a quick glance down the empty street outside, the smiling Dwarf closed the large door.
"Welcome to Master Covary's abode." He said. "My name is Coll. If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask. I can get it for you. We hope you enjoy your visit, as well as the meal being prepared."
