“You trust me so?” the other asked with rain cloud eyes. “I have betrayed the cause of freedom before.”
“The past will not return,” and Willard went to the back of the wagon.
Chapter 56
It was now early evening in the Atiltian forest, for the sun had fallen below the tree line and the remaining light came down like rain. The rebel city was more active than usual, as well as more crowded. In the lower city it was nighttime and few were out of doors. The horizon became a single, tree-limb mural in the distance, and only scattered violet patches gave evidence of the sky above. Below, the ground could be seen, though its foliage had been transformed into an enchanted jungle and the trees into its solemn guardians.
In highest branches of the city, however, it was still late afternoon. The Great Goliaths rose several hundred feet above the surrounding trees and the canopy below spread out like a meadow before them. Its branches wavered in the wind, undulating like green clouds or a groundless grass. The sky could be felt as well as seen, for the upper city reached into the clouds. As the moon and stars began to appear as slight impressions on the horizon, the rebels could reach out and feel the waters of the earthen aquarium flow over their hands. The forest was an ocean of unbroken green; the sky of unerring blue.
Yet it was in the middle city – the area nearest the tops of the surrounding trees – that the action was taking place. There the rebels had created a giant framework to stretch between the branches, with nets spread over the top to create individual squares of five square feet. In these squares the mellis vine was cultivated: the primary staple of the rebels that both fed them and provided everything from rope to clothing. But at this time, the framework and its vines were not being used for a strictly agricultural end. Rather, two hundred men were climbing the vines and running across the framework, from one side to the other without any visible purpose.
Back and forth, up and down they went, and if any began to grow slack a rough voice would cry out, “Up there, man! Gylain will not be defeated by weakness, nor by half-hearted land-lubbers and sea-weeds! Up, and up! Forever upwards!” And the men pushed harder. The commander himself was not exempt from the exercise, but vigorously led the way – until a young officer called him to the side.
“Admiral,” said the thin-lipped, blond haired man, “Admiral, the ropes are prepared.”
“Good work, Barnes. Have the men lower them.”
“Yes, sir,” and Barnes turned and raised his fingers to his lips. A loud, piercing whistle followed, and a moment later two hundred ropes dropped from the branches above. The men grabbed onto them and pulled themselves upward hand by raw, bloody hand. Yet they did not moan as ordinary men would do, for they were fueled by the intensity of their Admiral and pushed to burning by his constant demand for revenge.
“Casandra will not be forgotten,” the Admiral muttered to himself.
“Sir, may I have a word?” interrupted Blaine Griffith, having just returned from a mission in Eden.
“What is it?”
“There is a rumor going about the city, sir: among the spies and soldiers.”
“Get on, what is it?”
“They say, sir.”
“Forget what they say – what have you seen?”
“Gylain is mobilizing his army. The city is heavily policed, the rebels are imprisoned, and the scattered fleets are collecting outside the harbor. No ships can pass in or out – except in Gylain’s service – and the Hibernian fleet is soon expected. It is my belief that he will send troops through the forest to the Western Marches, to make clear a place for the fleet to disembark. He comes to destroy the rebellion, to stop our recent advances with a firm and measured stroke.”
The Admiral stood there listening, but a reaction could not be seen on his countenance. “How long until they reach Milada’s castle?”
“Five days, at least. The Hibernians have yet to arrive and the land forces have just set out. There are men positioned to harass their advance throughout the forest, growing stronger as they near our strength. There are over five thousand men marching, though.” He paused and the Admiral remained silent. “They say Gylain strikes the rebellion down, knowing Willard to be away. He hopes to scatter us without our king.”
“Yet the rebellion did not start with Willard, and so will not end without him.” The Admiral turned to watch the men training a few yards to his left. Then, in a whisper, he asked, “How does Gylain know of Willard’s absence?” He spoke as though he feared the answer.
“Yesterday, before the city was put under military control, a Hibernian noble came through the Floatings as I was passing by. He was in a great hurry. His clothes were torn as from battle. I followed him to the castle and soon after the soldiers shut the gates and the harbor. None can come or go but through our secret entrance.”
“This man, did you recognize him?”
“I did,” and Blaine grew silent, unwilling to identify the man without an outright order.
“Speak his name.”
“De Casanova!”
The Admiral grew pale. His sea-salt face was too sun-dried to show emotion, but at this moment – for only an instant – he was a man who had been overcome. He looked to his feet and to the ground hundreds of feet below and was silent. “This is the time,” he said to himself, “The time when freedom must be bought with blood, and revenge with the death of friends. Yet look at me: for I will have it, though it only gives more to be avenged.”
He whistled loudly for the men to stop their exercises, standing silently as they congregated in the branches around him. Then, after a moment of mental absence, he began speaking to them in a deep and mournful voice:
“Men, this portion of your training has come to an end. But do not rejoice, for that portion which is to come will be only more difficult. It will be war, gentlemen. It will be death and hatred and revenge and bitterness. It will be what children are taught to abhor and men to manifest. You will slaughter, and you will be slaughtered; and your enemy will be a man who has done no wrong but to be put into the wrong army. He, himself, is not evil, just as you are not good. But he must be killed because he represents tyranny, and you must kill him because there is no one else to do it. So you will give yourselves to murder, for the purpose of peace. And once you give yourselves to it, you will never again be what you are today. In times of peace, you will remember. In times of love, you will not forget. Gentlemen, from this time forward you are no longer gentlemen – you are only men.
“Do you desire peace? Do you desire nothing more than tranquility? If a man is wounded in the leg, do they not amputate it to save his life? We are evil men, and evil is within us. To defeat this evil, we must amputate it; and to amputate it we must kill. That is peace, men, when there is no more evil and no more killing. Yet there must be war, and there must be killing – it is predestined by God that mortals kill each other, even from the first brothers to the last. Therefore, if you will have peace, you must first deplete this reservoir of evil that resides among us. We can only end the fire by burning all that fuels it. Even the almighty God cannot forgive without blood.
“Yet what else can we do? For if we do not win this battle, men, our Atilta will be no more; and our forest will sink beneath the weight of its wrongs. If we do not kill our enemy, I say, we will ourselves be killed. So prepare yourselves: for tonight we march!”
The men did not cheer, but fell silent and went away to their homes for a final farewell. In an hour they would return and the march would begin. Blaine Griffith, however, remained beside the Admiral.
“Where do we march, sir?” he asked.
“To the rebel harbor. Meredith is there and the fleet will be repaired. Did you see them ?”
“In the forest, before the lock down.”
“Indeed,” the Admiral remained stolid. “But we cannot help them. We must go to the Western Marches to reinforce Alfonzo. You will speed ahead, bringing him this letter and your service: he will need a forest man more than
I.” The Admiral wrote for a very short time, using his arm as a desk, such was its hardness. “How many ships do you think Gylain can amass?” He asked after a moment.
“I am no seaman, but it will be more than ours by far.”
“We must have the French!”
“The king will bring them,” Blaine said, and his voice was the voice of faith.
“You are a blessed man among the cursed, Blaine. But I cannot expect him to return within twelve days, if he returns at all. It is simply too much of a journey, regardless of the obstacles.”
“He has beaten the Montagues, Gylain in his own castle, and de Casanova in France. If he has done miracles before, he will do so again.”
“To bring a dead man to life is a miracle, but to bring death to a live man is human nature. And it will take more than either to recover the Holy Graal.” He paused and looked to a dark patch of sky, far above. “Yet he will have help enough. For where de Casanova goes, there is another who follows. I do not know him, but I remember myself, when I was young. Love and lust are as dangerous weapons as they are foes.”
“Of whom do you speak?”
“Of Patrick McConnell! The rebellions will unite, as will the tyrants.”
Chapter 57
The night was a hole in the ground. Though the moon was full – and though it shone clearly and lucidly – the trees on every side of the meadow blocked its rays as it sank across the horizon. The shadows thus created pulled themselves over the plain and converged in a circle just outside the walls of Milada’s castle, covering the town beyond them. Already, the lights were put away, except those from the guard towers and the tallest, central tower. Beyond this, the darkness was not wounded. To the north the waters of Thunder Bay could be seen, lonely in the moonlight.
The silence was destroyed by the sound of a galloping horse, drawing nearer through the forest. At last it emerged into the open plain and continued its feverish pace until it came into the low, wooden walls of the town. Yet even after this it galloped, until it came upon the very threshold of the castle.
“Who goes there?” a voice came, “Stop or be slain!”
“Tis I! Open at once, Osbert – I bring word!”
“Blaine? My word, you bring word!” he turned to those below, in the tunnel into which the door opened, “Throw open the doors.” He ran along the parapets and came down the stairs that led to the wall, entering the inner courtyard just as Blaine did, his horse having already been taken. “I will lead you to Alfonzo myself.” Behind, the gates closed with a thud, and the two men walked arm-in-arm to the upper castle, to the lighted tower above.
“Word of what?”
“Do I read the letters I am sent to deliver?”
“No, but do you discover the intelligence to be reported?”
“Perhaps, but I cannot speak it but in Alfonzo’s presence.”
“No doubt.”
By this time, they had reached the second story, as high as the outside stair led. Several guards were posted at the door, but they made way for their superiors to pass. Inside, the walls were of glass – arranged in small, triangular panels – and it was evident that several panels on the western side had been recently replaced. Several bookshelves were spread across the room and the chairs were equipped with miniature dragon heads at the end of each leg. A company of five guards stood around the large pillar in the center of the room, in which were the doors that led to the towers above. Four doors were positioned on each of the cardinal points and made of a strong wood, while a larger, stone door was set in the center, facing the door to the outside stairway. The captain of these guards – while recognizing Blaine and Osbert – did not step aside at once.
“We have orders not to disturb their sleep. Lord Milada is not well, you know.”
“Yet their light burns; and we have word.”
“Word!” the captain and his men drew closer, “Of what?”
“We will not know until we deliver it.”
“Ah, the devil! You can pass, but you must let us know if it is about her. We would die if something happened to the angel of the Western Marches.” With that, the soldiers parted and opened the door.
“Of course – if we can!” and Blaine and Osbert went up the steep staircase beyond. There was a room after twenty stairs, a small armory with another set of guards. Yet they did not question the two, having overheard the conversation below. Osbert rushed by in his hurry, but Blaine stopped and clasped hands with one of them, a gingerbread man whose features were hidden by his helmet. All that could be seen was a blazing red mustache that came out through the gratings in the front.
“Lorenzo! Is that the garb of a church man?”
“No, but I am also a citizen of Atilta. Long live the king!” Lorenzo stood with emotion as he spoke.
“By ginger’s head and beadle’s bread – I have heard that you have word!” said the other guard, who had also risen.
“Innkeeper!”cried Blaine “This is an unlikely guard, I admit, but I would not trust anyone more. Are you both away from your occupations?”
“I am laying down the robes for a time,” said Oren Lorenzo. “Not that I am no longer an abbot, mind you, but I am wearing armor, for now.”
“And I have no inn to tend, as my establishment has since met its end” the Innkeeper said.
“Many things have been lost in the struggle for freedom. But I must hurry, for I have word.”
“He has word, indeed!” Osbert called from the stairs above. “Come, Blaine, for we will dine with these fine fellows soon enough – after the word has been given.”
“I give my word, we will,” Blaine finished as he ran up the stairs.
The two rushed up the stairs as if they were chased by a horde of barbarians and dashed against the door as Osbert turned the handle. It swung open under the force. The two men stumbled into the room. The door swung closed by itself. Alfonzo sat at the desk beside the wall and stood to greet them. His goatee was well-trimmed, his cheeks clear from rubble. His hair was out of its usual pony-tail and left to stream down his back and around his face.
“Blaine, you have returned to my side.”
“Sir, I bring word from the Admiral,” and Blaine took an unsealed note from his inner pocket and handed it to Alfonzo.
“Have you read it?” Alfonzo asked.
“No, though I know what it contains, as he spoke with me as he wrote it.”
“Yet why did he send you, when a lesser ranger would do?”
“It was I who brought the intelligence to him, Alfonzo, and you will know further when you read the message.”
Alfonzo turned his face to the note. As his eyes met the words his face lost its color, though its expression remained unchanged.
Lord Milada – laying on the bed across the room – sighed to himself, “Then she has left us! What poor, poor fate! What terrible destiny!” and his limbs wiggled weakly around the bed.
Osbert fell to the ground, overcome with grief.
“No, it is not that,” Alfonzo smiled weakly. “It is something that promises of evil far greater than that; for what you think is a personal tragedy, while this subdues the hearts of all. No, my friends, that is not what this note reveals. Indeed, it contains but two words: De Casanova.”
“De Casanova!” cried Lord Milada from his bed.
He did not finish his thought, but each in the room knew what it was.
“Blaine, the Admiral has sent a verbal message, has he not? There are things which are sealed better with the lips, than the pen.”
“Gylain prepares to attack and Hibernia is with him,” and Blaine continued to report what he had reported to the Admiral before.
When Blaine had finished, Alfonzo said, “Within five days we will have the whole force of the enemy outside these walls and only our meager rebellion inside them.” He paused, looking into the darkness beyond the window. “Yet still we can win, so let us prepare. Osbert, Blaine – there will be no rest for us, now. Summon the officers to the great
hall at dawn, for I will lay out our plans then.”
“Yes, sir,” the two chorused, and they left the room to carry out their orders.
“Hold on, you have given your word,” Oren Lorenzo cried as they rushed past him.
“And so we must break it, friend,” Blaine said. “For in five days as many thousands of men will march through the forest to our walls, and the navies of two maritime powers will be anchored on the bay, with Gylain and the King of Hibernia at their head!”
“So it has come,” Lorenzo moaned. “The final battle has begun. Yet will the deluge come as well?”
As Blaine and Osbert left, Alfonzo sat down beside Milada. It was the same room in which Milada had been wounded, though it had been rebuilt by the zealous townsfolk. At this time, it was lit by only a flickering lantern, making the stone walls seem a wild man’s cave. The stained-glass window that faced north – to Thunder Bay – had been replaced with a clear-paned window and opened the tower to a view of the surrounding countryside. The lights of the town were out. In the darkness even the castle below them could not be seen. Instead, the tower seemed to float aloft, towering above the ground like a cloud or a star. Yet though they sat in the heavens it was not paradise; for Milada’s wound had been slowly destroying him. It was nearly closed on the outside, but on the inside his stomach had been pierced and could not be reclosed by the methods of man.
“Can it be, old friend?” Milada moaned as his arms moved weakly across the surface of the bed. “Can it be, that Atilta has come to the end? De Casanova is here and his king soon after. The nobles were our only hope, yet they have deserted us; and I am too weak to exhort them.” He was silent for a moment. “And my lovely Ivona! To what have I sent her? She wanted to serve God, and I man; and if she was wrong, I was equally foolish. A woman is a weaker vessel, but what is the strongest vessel, if it holds no water? And Ivona holds wine and honey. She is a weaker vessel, perhaps, but what do we cherish: the crystal cup or the wooden? I have pushed her into something which bodes ill for us all, and above all for her. She will not die, but her innocence will be lost.”
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