"How many are here?" Braxton asked Prince Trovin.
"Just over three hundred, normally. But more than twice that have come for protection, mostly women and children because the war back home has lasted so long."
The prince waved and smiled at the people in the tower windows and balconies, then pointed toward the slowly circling blue mass in the sky that cautiously approached.
Braxton thought he understood the red-faced expression on Lord Amicuss' face then.
"Can you defend yourselves?" Braxton asked. He had to speak loudly because of the noise of all the excited people.
"Maybe if you—"
A cheer drowned out the prince's response when Cobalt came thumping down into an empty space near the wagon. Chureal looked unbelievably happy, and her hair shone as brightly as the midday sun. Sammani and Princess Trava had fussed and fussed over her dirty tangles for the last few days, and Braxton figured that Chureal's hair had been brushed at least a thousand times.
The white-cloaked commander, who had been giving orders to the men on the walls, nervously braved his way out to the dragon to offer Chureal a hand stepping down, but a rumbling growl froze him in his tracks.
Braxton ran out to where he stood and calmed Cobalt with a few words before allowing the man to help her down. Cobalt seemed to enjoy the attention of the crowd gawking as much as Chureal did, and as soon as her feet were on the ground, he let out a fierce shrieking call that caused the commander to duck, but brought another great cheer from the Ormandian refugees looking on.
"You stay close, Cobalt," Chureal said sternly to him.
"I mussst eat," he hissed back.
"Princess Trava said that she would make sure that you are fed well," Chureal said. "You can either stay around here or I will make you little again like we did in the dwarven caves."
Cobalt shook his big head from side to side. Everyone in their group knew he hadn't like being the size of a barn cat, even though Chureal had loved it.
"I will make sure they bring you plenty of food, Cobalt," Braxton said reassuringly, "but it will be after dark. I don't think it will do for you to rip apart a cow or a lamb in front of all these women and children."
The dragon didn't seem pleased, but he hissed, "I will wait," and gave a nod of understanding. Then, he casually curled up right where he’d landed and closed his eyes.
Sammani returned to the wagon and greeted Chureal, and together they hurried off into the keep, giggling as they went. Braxton and Cryelos watched while Sir Jory knelt before Lord Amicuss and Prince Trovin and handed the prince his sword hilt first.
"I have failed in my duty to protect you," the knight said. "And I shall accept what punishment you deem appropriate with no excuses for my failure on my tongue."
"Sir Jory," Prince Trovin said with the shake of his head, "you haven't failed me or my sister. If anything, I failed you back in the village when I asked you to give me your sword."
"But Prince Trovin, they ran the princess through and left you both for dead while I did nothing to defend you."
Braxton saw Lord Amicuss widen his eyes while he listened.
"You were in a cage, Jory, and I'm sure if I hadn't taken your sword for you, you would've died trying to win us free." Prince Trovin handed him back his sword and motioned for him to rise. "Lord Braxton, the elf, and even the dragon himself told me how bravely you fought Prince Venom's men. And if you hadn't brought the supply wagon, we'd have been without food and drink for the last three days."
"You are too kind, my prince," Sir Jory said gravely. It was clear he didn't feel any less a failure than he had before.
"Go wash the road from yourself and you are to attend the feast. You will be seated at the lord's table. Wear your usual attire," the prince said flatly. Then he added, "Once you've bathed, until the feast begins, you are free to do as you will."
As Jory walked away, Lord Amicuss barked out more orders, and a young steward appeared and was told to show Braxton and Cryelos to their rooms.
Due to the overcrowding of refugees, they were given neighboring rooms in the shorter tower. They were clean, but small and sparsely furnished, each with a plain but functional wooden table and a thin, but soft looking feathered bed. Each of them had a heavily curtained window that overlooked the seemingly endless sea of grass beyond the outer wall and the huge courtyard below where Cobalt lay sleeping.
The two stood in Braxton’s room looking down at a few groups of people, mostly elders with children standing behind them, who were investigating the sparking blue-scaled wyrm from a distance. None of them dared get too close, and a sudden flicker of Cobalt’s tail caused a gasp and retreat from the nearest onlookers. From where he was, Braxton could almost see Cobalt's toothy maw curl into a grin.
He and Cryelos were jolted from their gazing by the sound of a metal bowl being placed on the wooden table in the room they were both currently in.
"Water to refresh yourself, my lords," a polite young boy said. "I placed some in the other room, as well. The princess is sending fresh clothes, and I am to have a bath filled for each of you as soon as it pleases."
"What's your name?" Braxton asked.
"Russen, m’lord," the boy replied nervously.
"Russen, if you call me m’lord' one more time, I will feed you to that dragon out there," Braxton said with a smile. "I am the son of a farmer, not a lord, so please just call me Braxton."
"As you wish, m’lor—I mean, Braxton," Russen said, now more nervous than before. He obviously didn't want to be fed to the dragon, and it was clear that he wasn't sure if the smile on Braxton's face was jovial or not.
"I was only teasing you about the dragon," Braxton said, seeing that he was scaring the boy instead of relaxing him. "If you would fill each of us a tub I think, my friend, Cryelos, and I would appreciate it very much. Do you happen to know anything about that tapestry out in the hall?"
"Only that it was made in a distant land called Highwander, by a mad woman and is the likeness of a legendary battle that took place on Mount Preal a long time ago."
"Do you know the legend?" Cryelos asked.
"Lord Amicuss has a library, m’lord," Braxton laughed when Russen addressed Cryelos. This time, Russen smiled and blushed at his folly. "I've heard that there are books older than the rocks on the shelves. I think there is an account of the battle in the library."
"Thank you, Russen." Cryelos smiled, trying to keep his eyes from unnerving the boy.
"You're welcome." Russen smiled back.
After he was clean and dressed in fresh clothes, clothes so silky and soft that he still felt naked in them, Braxton knocked on Cryelos' door and stood studying the tapestry as he waited for the elf to open the door.
On some sort of circular, open-air altar surrounded by columns with arches between them, high atop a mountain there was a silver-haired elf holding a bright golden staff up high. He was surrounded by a protective ring of giant men with massive swords. To Braxton, they looked very much like gothicans.
Swarming up the mountain at them from all sides were bigger green-skinned creatures Braxton thought were ogres, and smaller fanged humans, probably darkons. Where the light of the staff shined on them, they shied away with painful expressions on their faces. Where they came in the shadows of the staff's light, they seemed clearly intent on attacking the gothicans and the elf with sword, claw, and fang. Noticeable beside the elf, the stone lid of a coffin-like altar rose. In the blackness underneath, large, red glowing eyes could be seen.
Three clawed fingers each depicted as big as a man's arm had a hold of the sides of the altar, as if some monstrous creature was about to pull itself up from inside.
The sky was the same stormy grey of the rocky mountain's peak, and a jagged fork of lightning reflected off the scales of a distant dragon. It was so far away that it might have been just a smudge of dirt.
As Braxton stood staring at the scene, it shimmered and the depth and distance of it all seemed to form and appear like he wa
s seeing it out of a window.
In the distance, one of the dragon's wings flapped and the horde in the shadows closed on the elf and his ring of guardians. The sound of steel on steel and the grunts and shouts and pain-filled screams of battle could be made out. Then thunder filled his ears, so close and real that its deep crackling rumble caused Braxton to jump and nearly crumble to the floor.
"It is going to rain," a soft female voice said from behind him, causing his already thumping heart to flutter around his chest that much faster. "I didn't mean to startle you." Princess Trava giggled. "I just came to give you my thanks personally, and to tell you that Sir Rogan will be feeding Cobalt one of my uncle's fattest cows after the sun goes down."
Braxton nearly stepped on his chin taking in her beauty. Her hair was wound in an ornamental bun pinned by sparkling jade barrettes. They matched the earrings that dangled along her milky white neck. She was wearing a long silk gown that was a shade of green darker than her eyes, and the sash-like belt and shawl was a shade lighter, causing her orbs to stand out and sparkle like emeralds.
How long he stood there stupefied, he didn't know. The princess didn't seem to mind, though, and finally she blushed and broke the trance her beauty had put him in.
"Do you like the tapestry?" she asked and brushed past him toward it. "They say it was made by a mad woman from the city of Xwarda in the distant land of Highwander who had never seen the ruins atop the mountain. Those who have been to the peak say she depicted them to near perfection."
"Do you know anything about the event it shows?" Braxton asked as he gathered his wits. He felt the loss of Nixy then. Deep within him an ache reformed, but he was determined to not let it bring him down.
"Only wild crib tales of the coming of a vile demon. Sort of like the rumors of Prince Venom being a changeling." She traced the strange ornate border of the tapestry with her delicate hand. Braxton noticed that her fingernails were lacquered an even deeper green than her dress.
"It is yours, Lord Braxton, if you wish it," she offered. The tone of her voice left Braxton wondering if she was talking about the tapestry or something else. "No, but I would like to see your uncle's library," he said as the pain in his gut gripped him even harder. He suddenly wanted to be back in Narvoza with what was left of his friends and family.
She saw the change in his eyes and smiled, touching his cheek. "Later, after the feast, I will show you the way to the library," she said. Outside thunder boomed again, but from a greater distance. She started to walk away but turned back to him, her smile warm and understanding. "Russen will come soon to escort you and Cryelos to the feast. I hope everything is to your liking, m’lord."
Braxton smiled back at her and was thankful that, while she walked away, Cryelos finally came out of his room.
Braxton had to stifle a laugh when he saw how Cryelos looked in the tight blue leggings with the sky-blue silken long shirt over them. His shin-high soft boots and sword belt were weathered and worn. The leather contrasted greatly with the fineries. Worse, the balloon sleeves of his shirt might have lifted him into flight if he'd only flap his arms fast enough.
"What are you laughing at?" Cryelos asked, embarrassment plain on his elven face.
"You make a better woodsman than you do a lordling," said Braxton.
"I don't know why you're laughing at me," Cryelos returned indignantly. "You're wearing the same thing, only in green instead of blue, and you look just as foolish as I."
Braxton looked down and his laughing stopped abruptly. He hadn't even thought about how he looked. He hadn't put on his belt and had used a sash-like cloth to tie around his waist instead. He wasn't even sure if that was how it was supposed to be worn, but he let it go knowing that the princess hadn't thought he looked so foolish and would have corrected his dress if it needed to be.
He saw that Cryelos was studying the tapestry now and, outside, thunder rumbled again.
"The staff of Aevilin," the elf whispered. "But who is that wielding it? It's not the evil priest or Aevilin. Xuniper said he had no hair."
"I don't know," said Braxton. "Those giants surrounding him look a lot like gothicans, though."
"Yes, they do," the elf agreed. "Do you see that beast in the crypt?"
"It sort of reminds me of that altar or tomb back in the Wilderkind Forest," Braxton said. "But that's no crazy green man coming out of there. Those eyes look a lot like Pharark's."
"These markings here, look like the ones on Taerak's—" Cryelos was interrupted by Russen's squeaking voice from down the hall.
"Lord Cryelos, and uh, Braxton," he said uncertainly. "If you will follow me, I will lead you to your table, but uh, I have to announce you to those gathered in the hall as Lord Braxton or my master will stripe my arse."
"That's fine, Russen," Braxton said with a laugh. "Come, Lord Cryelos."
Cryelos lingered a moment trying to remember what he'd been about to say, but it wouldn't come back to him, so he hurried after the other two before he was left behind.
The feasting hall was large and open with high vaulted ceilings supported by two rows of grey rock columns. Between the walls and each row of columns, on either side, there were long wooden tables with bench seats running the length of them. Older men, women, and children sat at these, while down the center, between the two rows of columns, the table was stone and impossibly wide. Its center was cluttered with a myriad of dishes that filled the room with a mouth-watering aroma of meat and mead.
Lord Amicuss sat at the head of the table, with Prince Trovin at his right. Beside the prince sat his sister. The seats on the left of the lord were reserved for Braxton and Cryelos.
Chureal, looking as lovely as Braxton had ever seen her, in a pink and purple dress, sat beside the princess and smiled broadly when she saw Braxton and Cryelos take the seats across from her. Braxton sat closest to the lord, and to the left of Cryelos was Sir Jory in full plate mail armor that was polished to a gleaming silver. Designs were etched in it, chased with gold and flecks of jade. To Braxton, the smile on his face looked forced, but he looked every bit the warrior Braxton and Cryelos knew him to be.
Further down the table, the sons, daughters, and wives of the high-born lords who were still in Ormandin serving the king sat in some sort of understood rank of order, each dressed as finely as the next.
The table was full of venison and roast boar, fowl and fruit, gravy and vegetables, and long loaves of bread. There was strong ale, sweet wine, and water that had the taste of citrus. The conversation stayed light and unpressured, and Braxton felt as comfortable as he had since leaving the dwarven kingdom.
Cryelos ate, and then ate some more. Chureal's youthful giggle was sweet, and Lord Amicuss's roaring laughter mingled to keep the smiles broad and the atmosphere joyous. Braxton drank away his pit of sorrow and tried to enjoy the moment as best he could.
Toward the end of the evening, Lord Amicuss leaned over to Braxton and told him he could have the run of the library as long as he was here. Braxton thanked him, but was then asked to attend a council midday of the `morrow to give his take on the events that had taken place out in the green sea.
Throughout the course of the evening, Braxton drank so much ale that agreeing to attend this council was the last thing he remembered of the evening.
Chapter Eight
To break the morning fast, Russen brought trays up to the rooms. On them were griddle cakes smothered in honey, fresh fruit, and cold fresh milk. Braxton would have enjoyed it if the meal hadn't been accompanied by a throbbing headache and reoccurring bouts of nausea. He did, however, force himself to eat it all and felt the better for it when he was done.
Russen showed him to the library, and there the man charged with the upkeep of the vast room full of filled shelves met him with a wise looking nod, and a perfectly toothless smile.
"The princess told me you'd be here today," the man said through his thin grey whiskers. It looked as if he could only grow hair from his ears down, for the top of his
head was as bald as an egg. "I will open the windows in a little bit, after the sun dries up the rain that fell last night," he said while lighting a lantern, and then handing it to Braxton. The room was fairly well illuminated by several other lanterns that hung from the ceiling on chains. The room had a damp, musty smell to it and, despite the humidity outside, the air seemed a little dustier than anywhere else in the stronghold.
"My name is Master Gilbert, and I've taken the liberty of gathering the books about the battle of Mount Preal, the legendary staff and such."
He led Braxton through a maze of shelves to a long wooden table in the back and seated him where three thick volumes, one of which was already opened, awaited.
"I'll be around here somewhere," the old master said. "Just call for me if you need me." Braxton sat the lantern on a stand that reached over the table and wasted no time. He read what was before him, and when he was finished, he took the next volume and scanned through it until he found the passages he thought were relevant. He spent the whole of the morning lost in the fascinating story Cryelos had abbreviated for him. He was just finishing with the second tome when Princess Trava and Chureal emerged from between a pair of shelves. They were followed by a serving girl carrying a tray of bread, meat, and cheese left over from the feast. She also had a rather large goblet of wine.
Chureal looked quite the young lady in a dress of yellows and browns that brought out the honey color of her long hair. Her blue eyes sparkled with happiness as she half-skipped, half-ran over to give Braxton a hug.
"Braxton, I saw the most beautiful white horse this morning, and Princess Trava told me that I could ride it later if you approved. She is also having some special riding dresses made for me so that I can sit on Cobalt's back and still look like a lady, but it will take a few days to finish them. I told her I didn't know if we were staying that long or not, but I want to stay so that I can have some decent clothes. I'm tired of that stinky old armor, it's hot and heavy and the chains pinch me sometimes. Sir Jory is having it cleaned for me, though. What are you reading? Is it about that thingy hanging by your room? I saw it a little while ago and it's creepy. Cryelos said that he thought it was magical, but it looks just like a tapestry to me." She paused to take a breath, and Princess Trava, who was smiling broadly, spoke before Chureal could get started again.
Warrior of the Void (Fantastica Book 4) Page 7
