The Ambersham: Book One of The Lords Of Lynnwood

by Greg Ricker

  Bronol, knew the location of every one.

  He grabbed a small wooden crate by the rope handle, and took it from the stack of ten at the base of the steps. He was quick to find the first wine, then the next, grabbing two of each. The third, required a stepladder that he kept in the room, and the fourth, was far in the back. Then he returned, with a large cloth covering the contents of the crate.

  It would not be wise for Deril to show off what he carried in the street. Funny, in a way, that he could drink right out in the streets of Tylas, or even sell it to minors, which was a crime worthy of imprisonment, in Mynnorah. There was great concern about young people drinking in the city, and the Advancement's numbers were strong enough to nearly put a stop to it.

  Something Traft had proudly mentioned in his letters to the King, more than once.

  Bronol was not a member, but he silently helped them with their cause.

  "I must say, I don't care for doing this, sir." Bronol admitted, as he traded the crate for the sack of coins that Deril held. "In this case, however, with this being your first visit, and then you´re leaving tomorrow...well. How often does a man from Bowenn, get to enjoy Mynnorah wine?"

  He smiled, and slapped Deril on the shoulder.

  "Thank you." It was the only thing Deril had said during the entire transaction, and then he started up the stairs.

  Before he left the front door, Bronol took the handle, and paused.

  "Tell your friends to be careful tomorrow." Said the bartender. "Rumors sometimes confirm themselves."

  Deril's ears bent back. "Rumors?"

  "You have not heard?" By the man's expression, Bronol knew he had not. Deril did say that he had to spend all day at the castle, and all evening at Master Covary's, when they met early that morning. The wealthy stable owner had probably heard, but would not care to share bad news at his fancy, little, bragging party.

  Bronol leaned closer and whispered. "The Advancement plans to kill the King, tomorrow, on his way out of the kingdom."

  Deril raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

  XVIII

  The Evil That Awaits

  The candle had burned all night long, until only a tiny flame flickered on top of a misshapen mound of green, pine-scented wax. Jesmane Lilsyn awoke from her pleasant dreams, and had left the bedroom to find her husband still sitting at the table, tapping a long pheasant quill on his ear.

  "Did you stay up all night?" She asked, yawning and stretching.

  "I did not know it was morning." Traft sounded convincing, but he had watched the candle shrink, and the sun rise over his neighbor's home. Still, he had finished his finest work. Most of the scroll was rolled up, and the rest was held flat by two polished stones. When it dried, it would be ready. Just in time.

  He blew out the candle then, but before he could stand, someone knocked on the front door. Traft motioned for Jesmane to return to the bedroom, and then he rushed to answer it. He slid a tiny panel on the door over to see through to the outside. He saw Lanum Cree looking back at him.

  Immediately he unlocked the door, and opened it for his friend. "Come in, Lanum. What brings you this morning?"

  He asked, but he knew well why Lanum had shown up at his home so early.

  Lanum's hat was already in his hands. "Good morning, Traft."

  He stepped in, looking around the room, as if checking for more faces about. There was no one else. "To be honest, I am concerned about what it is you are planning to do."

  After all, he was the Emissary's partner in this rebellion.

  Traft closed the door, and locked it. "I have finished. It's ready to be delivered."

  It was there, on the table, and Lanum's eyes were glued to it. "I'll see to it at once.

  "I'll see to it this time, Lanum." Traft insisted.

  Lanum's fingers froze in place, twisted in his brown cap. "You must not!"

  He put a hand over his mouth. There was no doubting that Jesmane was in the bedroom, sleeping.

  "I hear what they say about us in the castle." He continued, whispering. "I know what they want to do to us all. No doubt they'll hang you, without trial. You can not enter the castle grounds, I beg you."

  Traft did not wish to completely reveal his identity, as of yet, but he was not about to let someone else pay for his actions. He assumed he would even be blamed for the murder of the young soldier.

  Should he let them lash out their anger on Lanum?

  Looking out of the only window in his front room, Traft sighed. "Perhaps, I have already saved my own neck, from being roped."

  He hoped, so long as the King believed his apology. He would soon find out, he supposed.

  Then Lanum looked up from the aging wood floor. "I will not let you do it. I have some friends in the castle. Let me take it. Just as we have always done. Do so for your wife."

  Traft noticed Lanum looking passed him, and he turned to see Jesmane standing in the bedroom doorway.

  How much had she heard?

  Apparently enough, by the expression on her face.

  "You have your wife, and many relatives." Said Lanum. "I have only myself to think about, let me do this."

  When Traft turned back around, the taxidermist had his hat on, and the scroll in his hands.

  "Lanum! What are you doing?" He took a step closer, and Lanum hid it behind his back.

  "Let me do it, Traft!" Lanum insisted. "Don't try to stop me!"

  After a few failed tries, Traft quit reaching for the scroll. "You know what could happen, don't you?"

  "I know the King will get this." Lanum affirmed. "One way, or another."

  Without saying a word more, Lanum was quick to unlock the door and leave, before Traft could resist again.

  He could only hope that the taxidermist could deliver the scroll unseen, and then no one would face harsh punishment. He would never forgive himself, if that happened. Lanum's own decision, or not.

  Traft turned to his wife again, and watched Jesmane as she stepped back into the bedroom, satisfied with the outcome of the discussion. He picked up one of the polished stones from his desk, and tossed it into his other palm.

  Now, he supposed, he could just stay home, and watch from his window, the Advancement destroy all he had worked so hard to achieve.

  "Is that Lanum?" Asked Randor, as he walked along the street. His black clothes hid all but his neck and hands.

  "Where?" Carlin, close beside him, was searching. Dirt, made up most of his attire.

  "Leaving Traft's house." Randor pointed. He wondered what it was he was carrying, a scroll, or something. Traft's writings? The Advancement knew well, that Traft planned to write the King one more time before the armies departed, and Randor knew that Lanum was his usual delivery man.

  If only he could get his hands on that!

  "That's him, alright." Carlin confirmed, then spat.

  "Well then," Randor smiled, "let's just see what our friend is up to, shall we?"

  Friend? Carlin hated Lanum. He never openly showed it, or acted on it, but he did not care one bit for the man's involvement with nobles. He would rather pull the Dwarf into a dark alley, and solve their differences there. His way.

  Still, this was a part of the game. Randor's entertainment.

  Standing behind a wagon in front of The Farmer's Well, Lanum Cree passed Traft's scroll from his left hand to his right, nervously. He had been staring at the entrance to the castle grounds, from a safe distance, at the two soldiers guarding the gate. How he would get inside now, he had no clue. He was determined not to fail his friend, though. He would think of something.

  "Good morning, Lanum!"

  A strident voice caused the taxidermist to cringe and turn. Lanum slid the scroll behind his back, and leaned against the wagon. He saw Randor, all black clothing, hair, beard, and mustache, and his frequent partner, Carlin, with brown hair, beard, and trousers, green coat and hat.

  "Good morning, Randor, Carlin." He nodded to the both of them separately as he spoke their names. They w
ere acquaintances of his that he did not favor, but they were loyal members of the Advancement. He blamed himself for not knowing them well enough to know more than that.

  He had trouble trusting, the few people that he knew little of.

  "What do you have there?" Carlin asked, pointing at Lanum's hidden hand.

  What should he say? He certainly had no wish to display it in the street.

  "I have to deliver this drawing to a customer inside the castle." Said Lanum, avoiding what it was, and to whom it was to be delivered. Lanum did not like to lie, so he would occasionally skim the truth, in certain situations. A lie comes back to haunt you, and usually with a painful vengeance. However, deceit could be both a powerful, and destructive device, and any satisfaction is imminently temporary.

  He would take his chances, this time.

  "What are you doing standing here, then?" Randor asked.

  "It appears that no one can get in until after the King's departure." Lanum sighed.

  Carlin laughed. "I would have to wait a lifetime, to get in there."

  "A safety device, I imagine." Randor assumed. "Is the taxidermy doing well these days?"

  "Not well at all.¨ That, Lanum did not have to lie about. ¨It's the slowest year ever."

  "That's too bad." Said Randor, but he was smiling. The gap between his front two teeth, was impossible not to notice. "I guess it would be good news to you if I told you I know someone who is in need of your expertise?"

  Actually, he was in need of Lanum's gullibility.

  That made Lanum smile, and he even foolishly brought the scroll around to his front, to give his hands something to play with. "Indeed it would! What breed of game does he have?"

  "A red fox, I believe it was," Randor's eyes were on the scroll, "but I don't know how he would like it positioned. What exactly do you reccomend?"

  "First," Lanum began, enthusiastically, "I make drawings, so he can choose what position he prefers..."

  "Yes, drawings." Randor interrupted. "He is a most excellent artist, Carlin."

  Carlin did not care.

  "I'll bet this is one of your drawings here." Randor snatched the scroll from Lanum's loosed fingers, and quickly let it unroll. "Just let me show Carlin one of these and..."

  "No! Please!" Lanum tried to get it back, but Randor turned from his reaching arms.

  Carlin laughed at the sight of the taxidermist trying to reach around the Randor's back.

  "Well, well." Said Randor. "This, is not a drawing at all."

  After a good look, he started to roll it back up. "I'm sorry, Lanum. If I had any idea..."

  "Or any manners!" Lanum still could not get a hold of the scroll, and Randor was still not letting him.

  "You're on a dangerous mission, my friend." Randor glanced at the guards standing at the castle gate. They were talking casually. "This is a sensitive time, you know. How do you propose to walk into the castle with this?"

  Lanum could not answer. He had been asking himself that very question only moments ago, when he did not also have Randor and Carlin to worry about.

  "I only know that I must!" He replied nervously. "The King must get it before he leaves!"

  "I seem to have it now." Said Randor, as he shot a winking glance at Carlin, who almost laughed out loud.

  "What do you mean?" Lanum was looking about for eyes and ears nearby. A struggle might not go unnoticed, plus, Randor's voice could travel the length of the street. "Give it to me Randor!"

  "I think I had better hold on to this." Randor insisted.

  "I am perfectly capable of holding it myself, thank you." If he could only get a hand on it, but Lanum was having no luck.

  Randor turned to walk away, and the taxidermist lunged at him to take it by fOrce. Then Carlin stepped in, literally. The big Dwarf stepped on Lanum's foot, and grabbed him by the throat.

  He knew there was nothing he could do. On his best day, he was no match for Carlin.

  "Now, now, Lanum." Randor slapped him on the shoulder and smiled. "I'll keep it safe. I promise."

  His smile was menacing.

  "Do not do this, Randor!" Lanum's voice sounded squeezed out by Carlin's large hand. As close as they stood, it was impossible from their distance, for the guards to see what was going on.

  Randor silently walked away.

  "You'll stay put, won't you, now?" Carlin held Lanum's throat firm. Then a little firmer still. His foot was buried in the taxidermist's toes.

  At first, he hesitated to answer. To be honest, Lanum wanted to punch Carlin flat on the nose, and catch Randor to give him the same. It would be worth the beating, to try.

  Unfortunately, that was not going to happen.

  Carlin released his hold, and Lanum took a deep, struggling breath. He waited for the taxidermist to say or do something, but he did not.

  Lanum huffed and spat, before stomping off, much to the other's delight.

  Of course, Carlin would have had a better time, if Lanum had resisted.

  In fact, he often started fights just for a good time.

  Though, that was probably due to his rather twisted view of what a good time was.

  "So, the Advancement plans to kill the King today, do they?" Curic said to himself. "We shall see about that."

  All could see the snarl on his face. He had worn it all that morning.

  The rumor had spread quickly, like fall leaves in a windstorm. Driven deep into everyone's ears.

  Especially Nerol's, and Yudora's.

  Curic paced his gray gelding, Storm, back and forth, watching his soldiers mount their horses. He would lead the group joining the Bowenn army, but he would be riding at Nerol's side. Though he did not want this day to come, he had trained his men well for it. He continued down the line, until he ran into the other nobles. King Blanford, Lord General Carmon Blayke, General Wade Levin, Prince Talbarond, and Lady Ferarve, the Herbearer Mistress. Nolin stood beside them, but he would be joining the foot soldiers with his mastoks.

  General Montclaire glanced at Nerol atop his brown and black steed, and he could not help but look around for a man in hiding, even there on the castle grounds. He had set his mind on guarding the King, even if it meant losing his own life in doing so.

  "We're just about ready, sire." Said Curic.

  Nerol simply nodded.

  Carmon was wearing his armored uniform. A chest plate, knee-high steel boots, chainmail on his exposed arms, legs, and abdomen. His red cloak was long, and draped down his back, almost to his knees. He looked most impressive.

  Curic's uniform was old, like the King's, but he liked that similarity between them.

  He looked at the prince of Bowenn, atop his white stallion. Lady Ferarve was close at his side. He doubted her significance on this journey. She was a much better than amateur natural healer, so he had heard, but he planned a safe, and harmless trip to Ayarlyn. After that, he knew the Elf healers would replace her.

  Perhaps, until then, she would be needed for a few scratches, or blisters.

  "I'm nervous and excited all at the same time." Kaylel confessed.

  Danuel heard her, but did not appear to. He continued to stroke Moon's Eye's mane.

  "Don't worry." Wade had pulled his black mount up close enough to eavesdrop. "I won't let anything happen to you."

  The sound of Wade's voice, was what Danuel needed to stir him from his daze.

  Kaylel made no reply. Wade insisted on making her feel uncomfortable, and that nullified the impact of his appearance.

  Wade had yet to learn that. He could not admit to being a nuisance, not when his luck had been so consistently good.

  He then saw Deril, arriving with the rest of his group from the Guest Houses.

  "Excuse me." Said Wade, as he pulled his stallion's reign in his partner's direction.

  "Will I be able to ride with you?" Asked Kaylel, the instant Wade was gone.

  Danuel smiled.

  "All clear, General, sir!" Called a Dwarf in chainmail, returning from his duty to che
ck the rooftops, and alleyways, before the army passed through town.

  "Gentlemen." Curic began the march. He would not allow anything unexpected to happen today.

  XIX

  A Bitter Departure

  Curic's eyes never stopped searching. Once on the street, he glanced at doors, windows, alleys, and rooftops. He saw nothing. He had sent a small troop of foot soldiers out to clear the main road of all horses and wagons, and to warn of the approaching army. Apparently, they had followed his orders well. He rode next to Carmon, with Nerol in front of him, and Danuel before the Lord General. Curic had decided that two lines of mounted soldiers with shields, would do best for protection until outside of the city. Half of the one thousand foot soldiers, would march ahead of Bowenn's mounted men, and the other half would march behind. With the King and Dwarf officers hidden inside of the Bowenn army, Curic hoped it would prove to be a strong, and intelligent order. Even Carmon had agreed, when Curic mentioned his idea during the Council meeting yesterday.

  They nearly filled the entire width of the street as they marched. The horses walked in step with the men, except for a few untrained horses from Tylas. The Dwarves that noticed, tried not to stare, or appear disgusted, but they hoped that their riders would quickly correct the problem.

  Carmon had noticed the way Curic was searching every spot in sight, and though he did not blame him for doing so, he did think that the General was being overly concerned.

  "Don't worry so much, General." Lord General Blayke said suddenly. "I don't think even the greatest of fools, would dare try something today."

  Curic did not look at him. He had spotted an innkeeper standing in his doorway, wiping the same mug over and over again. The General would worry, until the day they returned home with the King, safely.

  He watched the crowd of people ahead of them draw nearer, and sighed. There was no way to keep them all in their homes without threats, and the King refused to let Curic order it done, as he had suggested.

  He rested a hand on his belt, his fingertips touching the dagger nearby, ready for anything.