by P D Ceanneir
‘A woman of immense power and a man hopelessly in love with her,’ said Carbaum.
‘So where are they?’
‘They live high in the mountains in a palace of ice inaccessible to all. A dangerous route we call the Ice Path can take you there...though few have tried and all have failed.’ Carbaum sighed. Havoc had a brief flash of memory, a palace of ice collapsing around him. That was what the Muse Orrinn showed him over a year ago. Was he going to make it to this palace?
‘The Archward sends his daring chosen men to their doom on foolhardy quests to retrieve the talisman,’ said Polmyn. ‘Safer by Sky Ship, but that damn Epicentre bars the way and that bitch is a constant nuisance.’
‘Who is this woman?’ asked Lord Ness.
‘She is called the Nicbetha, the Daughter of Life. A powerful witch it seems, the name is not very apt because she destroys life with a glance. Those who make it through the Epicentre or traverse the dangerous route over the ice to the palace, never return.’
In the darkness of the prince’s mind, the Blacksword became more interested in the conversation. Havoc had a fleeting image of a corridor of ice and beautiful female voice calling to him and then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the Blacksword closed his mind to him.
Carbaum added, ‘before you found me I was on a mission to save the last group of idiots to venture through the Epicentre. Made myself look stupid getting stuck there myself, it is not an easy undertaking, but I felt it was my duty to save them.’
‘And going against my orders also, I might add,’ said his father with a raised eyebrow and a withering look. The captain merely shrugged under the stare. Havoc nudged him.
‘Don’t worry; I never listen to my father, either,’ he said, which made the captain grin broadly.
So this Nicbetha’s lover, who is he?’ Lord Ness asked with a degree of interest at the answer.
‘Someone you know perhaps,’ said the Sernac with a look of amusement in his eyes, ‘he came here forty years ago and was the last man to venture the Ice Path to the palace, he never returned, but sends his pet now and again.’
‘The pet in question,’ Carbaum said, ‘is an Ice Drake. It was that terrifying creature that stole the talisman in the first place and prevents people travelling the Ice Path.’
‘That’s impossible,’ said Lord Ness going a bit pale, ‘only a Ri could call an Ice Drake into being and... Oh no... .’
‘Ah…erm...an Ice Drake is a form of Dragon, isn’t it?’ said Havoc who had figured out who this Nicbetha’s lover was.
Ness Ri nodded slowly.
‘I think your master has just realised why the Archward and his followers don’t like him,’ said Carbaum with an amused look on his face, ‘because a renegade Ri makes war on us.’
‘Gonliss Ri,’ whispered Lord Ness to himself.
‘Yes,’ said the Sernac with a sad nod, ‘that’s him.’
Shanks liked the Rose Garden in the evening light, it kept him calm. The peaceful early spring breeze brought warm air that washed over his grey cloak while he leant back in the high-backed wicker chair listening to the trickle of water from the carp pond. The perfume, from the multi-coloured flowers growing from large glazed porcelain pots sitting on the yellow sandstone walls of the pond, saturated the air. He took a deep breath and sighed as he exhaled. Molna would come soon and tend to her garden, which had been somewhat neglected since the Vallkyte occupation and even since its liberation. The garden was her haven away from the hustle and bustle of court life, which kept her very busy. They would talk about mundane things while she deadheaded the roses.
Loud footsteps on the garden path broke his calm mood as he heard the long strides of a tall man accompanied by the light chink of chain mail. Clearly not Molna.
‘Good evening, your highness, welcome to the Rose Garden, a place you rarely visit,’ he said before King Vanduke could even speak. Vanduke ignored the fact that Shanks had an unnerving habit of know who was walking behind him by just the sound of his footsteps.
‘I want no glib remarks or riddles, Telmar, just an answer!’ said the king rather abruptly as he moved around the wicker chair and stood in front of him while watching Shanks rise to his feet and bow.
‘Of course, sire, I will help in any way I can.’ He felt a bit put out by the king’s mention of this true name, but no one else was here to listen. The king held a sheaf of parchment in his hand. He could not make out the writing in the letter.
‘Who is Lord Sernac?’
Out of all the questions the king could ask, that was the most unexpected. He remained silent and still for a few seconds, then slowly sat down and said, ‘to be perfectly honest, I don’t know, and I have no suspicions. He is a strange and shadowy figure that I have only seen once before in Cinnibar’s bedchamber and even that was briefly.’
Vanduke’s shoulders slumped. He shook his head.
‘I thought you would have some answers to certain mysteries in the Brethac Order.’
‘My mind was on other things, sire. I had a terrible curse to contend with, remember?’ said Shanks. The king gazed at him in pity. Then he let out an exasperated sigh.
‘I hate having an enemy that I know so little of,’ he said.
‘Well know this, sire. If Cinnibar can use her Waternymph abilities to convert initiates into the Brethac Ziggurat with a single touch, then this Lord Sernac has a more powerful hold over Cinnibar to manipulate her so. Sernac, the name is obviously a pseudonym, is at the centre of the Brethac Ziggurat. He is the glue that holds it together and the strategist behind its visible leaders. Now that you know of his existence then things can only get worse.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘Because King Kasan did not organise the War of the Wildlands that ended in your exile, it was Lord Sernac.’
Chapter Six
The Gateway of Life
T
he soft evening light that broke through the leaves did little to brighten the interior of the Hauss Tavern. The table candles, burning to stumps in their wicks, helped to lighten the dingy gloom and the roaring fire contained inside its brick chimney, appreciated by all, cast a soft dancing glow over the floorboards of the busy bar. The small group of people that sat in front of the flirty flames appeared to be hypnotised as their thoughts turned to home now that they were so close to the end of their quest.
‘The only thing missing from such a homely fire is the iron cauldron hanging from a hook,’ said Sir Foxe as he settled into his seat back with his long legs stretched out in front of him. He clutched the handle of his pewter ale mug, dragging it towards him, before lifting it from the table to take a mouthful of the dark frothy ale.
‘Ah, that reminds me of home also,’ acknowledged Tia as she swirled the dregs of wine around the rim of her goblet. ‘I remember my old Nan cooking her tasty home cooked stew in just such a cauldron.’
She watched as Sir Foxe nodded his head and smiled. Still young, handsome, with a slightly hooked nose, and sandy hair, he was nothing like his twin brother who was, at that moment, chatting with some of the local females at the bar.
‘What would your Nan cook?’ he asked Tia.
‘Lamb stew was always the main dish on endweek,’ she said with a faraway look.
There was a thump on the table from a short-fingered fist and a booming laugh by the third person in the group. Gunach sent the fug of his pipe smoke whirling above his head so it joined the bluish cloud that hung just shy of the bar’s branch-rafters above the group.
‘Yes, lamb stew, and wild mint picked from the bank of a rushing mountain stream!’ he said bright eyed and smiled again as the other two nodded.
‘You are making me hungry,’ said Djroosh wiping foam from his beard, ‘ask at the bar they may be able to make some for you.’
Tia shook her head. ‘Nah...Won’t be the same.’
The Tavern door opened to allow six men in. Locals, four wore the blue tabards of Priest Wards. They sauntered to the bar, which took up t
he whole of the back wall of the tavern and ordered their drinks. Tinkling laughter rung dust from the rafters as the two young girls, talking to Sir Hexor, laughed at some joke he made.
‘So these Wards are the authority in Ternquin?’ Tia asked Djroosh. The flat-nosed man scoffed at her question.
‘They like to think so, but no. It is all down to belief,’ he said soberly. ‘There was a time when they were just servants. Now Mannheim has them roving through more respected circles. Faith has many friends; there is faith for the Archward and Faith for the Sernac and his kin.’
‘Sounds like a recipe for a civil war,’ said Gunach blowing out another stream of bluish grey smoke.
‘You may be more right than you think, friend dwarf.’
‘Not a good time for the Captain Danyil to give us all shore leave,’ said Tia smiling at Velnour as he came back with another round of drinks on a serving tray.
‘What’s not a good time?’ asked the one-eyed knight.
‘It’s not a good time to forget the peanuts, major,’ Foxe joked.
Two days previously, the prince had returned with his news of his visit to the Sernac. He had explained little about the discussion they had, though he did mention that relations between the Archward and Lord Ness were tense. This could prove to be a problem with the Wards that roamed the town. Word was spreading and already the crew were getting funny looks from the natives. However, Captain Danyil returned one day with high hopes of good trade and a spot of shore leave for everyone. Most of the crew of the Cybeleion were natives of Tattoium-Tarridun and not Assassi, so he deemed it safe to go ashore and mingle with the good folk of Ternquin. Tia was glad to experience no animosity between these curious people and the descendants of the Eldi. Nevertheless, the blue tabard wearing Wards ignored them entirely.
While the captain and his officers went to drum up some trade between them and the workers on the wharfs where the other sailing ships traded, Tia and her group of friends returned to the tavern to try the local ale and hospitality.
‘Where is the prince?’ Tia said as she craned her neck to look over the heads of the bar’s standees. ‘Has anyone seen him?’
‘Never mind Kervunder, Mistress Tia,’ said Gunach, ‘he’s probably in the thick of trouble already. I know him too well to not believe it.’
Velnour sniggered. ‘In my experience with the prince, trouble comes to him. Still, there is never a dull moment.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Foxe rapping his knuckles on the table. Over at the bar there was another gale of female laughter resulting from Sir Hexor’s charming attention and witty banter. Three of the six newcomers scowled at him and shifted uneasily, dark looks passed from the others as the first three Wards whispered to them. Loud laughter from the priests filled the room making Velnour and Djroosh turn round to look at them for a few seconds.
‘Young fools,’ said Djroosh scratching his balding pate, ‘acting the big men, ignore them.’ He leant forward so his elbows rested on the edge of the table, it creaked under his weight. ‘It sounds like you all respect your prince. There is real affection there, yes?’
Gunach, Velnour, and Foxe all looked at Tia at the same time. Everyone on board the quest ship knew she and Havoc shared a bed, even if it was never officially mentioned, Tia blushed under their gaze. Then they all looked inwards at their own thoughts on the prince.
‘Quite frankly, most of the Paladins would not be living if it wasn’t for the boss,’ said Foxe, as he smoothed down the green cuff of his formal military uniform. Tia thought that the prince’s captains looked dashing in their tailored uniforms complete with red officer sashes around their waists and gold tasselled epaulettes on their shoulders to represent knighthood. Because everyone was on shore leave, the prince deemed it necessary to leave weapons and armour on board the Cybeleion.
‘He’s also a legend back home,’ said Velnour staring into his mug.
‘A legend that almost overshadows the Legend of the Blacksword,’ said Gunach and raised a single finger before they all could speak. ‘Almost!!’ he finished.
Tia saw Velnour and Foxe squirm in their seats. Djroosh looked perplexed at them all. When she saw Gunach nibble the end of his bone pipe and give her a sly wink, she nearly squealed.
‘What’s this Blacksword then?’ Djroosh frowned. When Carbaum had commanded him to act as chaperone to the visitors, he baulked at the order, but now he was beginning to like these people, especially the beautiful Tia, whom he knew was out of his league, though she was always friendly. Nevertheless, the others protected her like older brothers.
Velnour downed the last of his mug and wiped the froth from his chin. ‘The Blacksword is not just a sword, you see, but also a man. They are synonymous and they are unstoppable together.’
‘What my one-eyed friend is trying to say is that the Blacksword is feared by many,’ said Foxe, ‘he is a warrior who cannot be defeated.’
‘I can vouch for that,’ said Tia, ‘I fought him.’ All the men stared at her with wide-eyed wonder. Gunach choked on his tobacco smoke. Tia looked at them in turn. ‘I barely escaped, though.’
‘So is this Blacksword some ghostly being then?’ said Djroosh.
‘No, not really, some say he is the personification of Death,’ said Foxe. ‘If anyone could walk on Mortkraxnoss it’s the Blacksword.’
‘That is some very deep thinking, young Foxe,’ said Gunach tapping his pipe on the table, ‘why did I not see that myself?’
Behind them, there was a squeal from one of the giggling women and angry growls from the Wards. They turned to see that one of the blue tabard men had pulled one of the women to his side so he could get closer to Hexor.
‘Now friend, unhand the lady, there’s a good fellow,’ said Hexor calmly through his drunkenness, he blew a curl of dark hair from his eyes and smiled broadly showing even white teeth.
‘Blow it out of your arse, you dandified streak of rats piss!’ growled the Ward through gritted teeth that was missing its full complement by at least ten.
‘Well now I see you are an educated fellow,’ said Hexor, ‘but really blue is so last year and anything that comes out of my arse is going to smell better than your breath.’
‘Oh, what a witty comeback Hex,’ said Velnour in a deadpan voice. He was watching from his seat as if it was a staged play.
Tia looked at Foxe who still watched the fire, oblivious to his brother’s impending fight; she kicked him in the leg.
‘Ouch! What was that for?’
‘Your brother is about to have his nose mashed flat,’ she said pointing to the bar, and then turned to the flat faced Djroosh, smiled warmly at him and said, ‘No offence.’
‘None taken,’ he said holding up his hands. Foxe turned around, looking towards the bar and then shrugged.
‘Hex can take care of himself,’ he said.
The first punch came from blue coat, but Hexor ducked, kidney punched him in return and then pushed him back into the other five. The other Wards quickly regained their feet and circled Hexor.
‘One at a time or all together, makes no difference to me,’ he said with his fists raised as he took a boxing stance. He struck one on the chin and another he kicked in the groin, but the biggest of the six smacked him in the side of the head and his back jarred in pain as he fell against the bar. He turned to his friend’s table and saw Velnour yawn as he scratched at an itch under his eye patch.
‘Jump in any time, guys.’ Then the lapels of his nicely tailored uniform ripped as hands picked him up and threw him over two tables. Women squealed and men yelled as mugs and bottles of liquid flew in all directions. The other occupants of the tavern shifted away from the fight to make some room.
Djroosh got up and held his hand out in front of him trying to calm the men down.
‘There is no need for this, gentleman,’ he said, ‘they are guests…’
‘Elder lover!’ cursed the biggest of the Wards and threw a devastating punch at the already mangled face of the big
man. The contact clanged around the room and Djroosh’s head lolled for a few seconds from side to side, but he did not fall down.
‘Good punch,’ he said as he worked his jaw with his hand. He then gave the man an uppercut that sent him over the bar and out of the fight.
Velnour decided to go to his friend’s aid and jumped onto two others with a yell, dragging them down to the floor.
The door to the tavern burst open at that moment and there was a few seconds of silence as six more young Ward priests filed in.
Foxe turned in his seat and regarded them for a moment through blurred, alcohol-fuelled vision. ‘I get the impression they were already waiting for the fight to start.’
Gunach looked up and nodded, ‘you could be right, young Foxe. Perhaps you should even the odds?’
He nodded and stood up with a slight wobble and Tia placed a hand on his back to steady him. ‘Right gentlemen! Let us take this outside!’ that was when someone threw a chair at his head. He hit the floor and did not move.
Gunach looked down at Foxe’s prone body. ‘Well done lad, I think that did the trick.’
The tension in the bar exploded at that point. Several of the locals threw themselves at the Wards, while the Wards attacked Djroosh, Velnour and Hexor. There was a torrent of screams and shouts and much flailing of fists. Someone, looking very Hexor shaped, flew past Tia as she stood up. She threw her wine into the face of an approaching Ward and whirled around in mid-air to drop him with a flying kick. At that moment she received a thump on her back by a large lump of firewood swung by the priest that had thrown the first punch at Hexor, she fell to the floor next to the paladin who rolled to his side and wiped blood from his nose.
‘Good of you to join me,’ he said and Tia giggled.
Four of the men fought Velnour and Djroosh in the centre of the bar. One went down from a punch from Djroosh, but Velnour took a power-drive punch to the stomach that winded him and then two men picked him up, roughly, and sent hurtling through the air.
