The Crystal Legacy (Book 2)

by C. Craig Coleman

  The room’s boisterous chatter dropped to mumbling and whispers through suspicious looks from across the room. Tournak sat back down.

  “I thought that toast the safest comment about local politics I could make. You think that maybe we should leave the inn? These aren’t happy people.”

  “You’re a stranger in these parts, aren’t you, Sir?” an older farmer with graying beard and thinning hair asked.

  “That I am, Sir.”

  Hendrel leaned over and whispered. “Looks like you shouldn’t have tried to steer the conversation to politics.”

  General grumbling and low-toned conversation followed again, along with suspicious glances. As the wizards were about to get up and leave, another question came from somewhere in the room.

  “You friendly with the prince?” the cold tone asked.

  “No, I’ve no relatives in Hoya, just traveling through.” Tournak decided to remain seated, drinking his ale, until the commotion passed on to another subject.

  The old farmer who asked him the first question rose from his table and started out the door. At the doorway, he turned first to the locals still seated, then to Tournak.

  “You’d no be toasting the prince if you lived in these parts.” With that, he slipped out the door.

  Tournak and Hendrel looked at each other, saying nothing. They were again about to leave when the innkeeper came to ask them if they needed another round.

  “No thank you, we were just leaving.”

  The innkeeper glanced back at the room then whispered. “Meet me behind the staircase to your rooms above.” He then went back behind the bar.

  After a last swig, the wizards went to the bar, paid their tab, and said good night to the locals, still grumbling under suspicious glances. The two men left the room and ducked behind the staircase in the hall. The innkeeper met them soon after, nervously glancing back, fearing someone would spot him.

  “Say nothing about the prince or politics in Hoya.”

  “Do they blame the prince for the bad harvest, or has he done something to create such animosity?”

  “The prince has withdrawn from his people. He’s seen only in the company of his new chatra, whom the locals think evil. They raised taxes on the lands and tariffs on the river commerce at a time when the people can least afford it.” With that, the innkeeper turned to go back to the bar. “Say nothing of politics while in Hoya.”

  Upstairs, Tournak and Hendrel shared their experience with Saxthor and Bodrin.

  “I know we needed to find the jewels, our most important mission, but I don’t want to leave Uncle Henri if he needs my help,” Saxthor said.

  “I say we go east to the lake country from here and avoid Hoya altogether,” Tournak said. Hendrel nodded.

  “I must see if I can help.”

  Hendrel stepped forward. “This is a local issue, Saxthor.”

  “I must get an audience with Uncle Henri.”

  “We could cut across country to the lake region,” Bodrin said. “Meanwhile, Hendrel could go to the queen and request she send for the prince to investigate the problem.”

  “That would work,” Tournak said. “I know your loyalty to your cousin, Saxthor, you going into the city could jeopardize the mission. We can’t afford the delay.”

  “I have to try to help Uncle Henri. There might not be time for mother to get involved,” Saxthor said.

  “We should go east and bypass the city, but I know Saxthor. I know we’re going into the city and the citadel itself, most likely,” Tournak said. “Memlatec will spin with rage at this foolishness, I suppose. We’ll all get blue flamed for this.”

  “All of you wait here.”

  Hendrel cleared his throat. “I try to stay out of your decision-making, but let me add this information. Having come from up north, I can tell you that dark things are already moving south and infiltrating key points in the southern kingdoms. If the farmer was right, the chatra, or someone on his staff, could be Dreaddrac’s agent. If the Dark Lord can gain control of Castilyernov Hoyahof through the chatra, he could sabotage its defenses when Dreaddrac’s army approaches.”

  “All the more reason for me to see Henri.”

  “If this chatra is subject to the Dark Lord and holds sway over the prince, he may be looking for you, Saxthor. If that’s the case, and he discovers who you are, he’ll use his power as first minister to imprison then kill you, jewels or no jewels. If you go there, you’ll endanger all our lives and the prince’s, as well.”

  “If what you say is true, I can’t leave Uncle Henri in the clutches of such a monster. The rest of you should continue. I‘ll catch up with you later.”

  “Well, that’s settled, we leave for Hoya in the morning,” Tournak said, his tone resigned. “I note your stubborn look. You’re going no matter what we say. The others know the journey’s purpose, and we won’t allow you to go alone.”

  “Then we’ll all go to Hoya in the morning.” Saxthor hopped into bed as the wizards left. No one slept well that night. Before dawn, they were up, dressed, and headed down the stairs. It was going to be a long day, and since it might be their last, Bodrin ate a full farmer’s breakfast. The rest were too worried to eat much. They packed and headed to Hoya with the rising sun.

  6: Escape from Hoya

  Tonelia Tezentok of the Hoyahof

  Saxthor led the band into Hoya through the South Gate, where double the usual number of guards stood duty. Being a fortress town and the gateway to the south, Hoya’s castilyernov was indeed impressive. Perched high above the town, it rose from a huge granite crag that jutted out just at the Talok Mountain range’s last peak. Built of the same granite as the crag, the citadel’s walls rose more than one hundred-twenty feet from the rock base before the first opening, a window slit, broke the stone surface. The triangular outer bailey consisted of three massive round towers connected by high, thick walls.

  The foremost tower, the largest and most heavily fortified, hovered over the city and wharf as the first entry to the castilyernov. The garrison lived within the outer bailey towers. Invaders would have to cross the drawbridge and get through the tunnel under entrance tower to get inside the bailey’s internal triangle. They would still be vulnerable to defenders on the walls. If the enemy brought siege machinery across the drawbridge and through the foremost tower, tight turns inside the bailey walls would prevent further advancement. Another tower at the back, separating the inner from the outer baileys, defended the inner bailey’s gate. A moat surrounding the inner bailey protected those walls.

  Should invaders manage to get through those obstacles, the soldiers could withdraw and secure the keep, or massive central tower, that contained the prince’s living quarters above the armory on the ground floor. Tunneling was impossible since the castilyernov’s foundation was solid granite. Damage to the base of the round towers would not easily collapse them.

  Castilyernov Hoyahof had its own cisterns for water in event of a siege. The cellars always contained a year’s supply of food and essentials. Considered the finest of its age, no enemy had dared attack the castilyernov. Its impression on potential invaders was sufficient to discourage the attempt.

  Around the town of Hoya below the fortress, was a wall some forty feet thick and sixty feet tall. Its facing was granite, filled with sand and rubble to absorb the shock of siege machinery. The wall ran along the wharf’s backside without blocking access from the river for loading and unloading. The goods then moved through massive tower gates in the harbor wall to warehouses within Hoya.

  When the band of travelers approached the city, they had to pass a hill by the river that obstructed the view and supported an observation tower on its peak. The weary adventurers rounded Observation Tower Hill and saw the progressively higher city walls followed by the overpowering Castilyernov Hoyahof. It made a lasting impression.

  “It’s not too intimidating,” Saxthor said, as the troupe stood facing the impregnable sight.

  “You say we’re going into th
at town and that castilyernov, and you aren’t sure if the prince still likes you or not?” Bodrin asked rhetorically, staring at the fortress.

  “It’s no use,” Tournak said.

  Tournak and Hendrel had seen the city before. Tournak stood off the road to let other travelers pass. This was the first time for Bodrin and Saxthor, who stood marveling at the spectacular sight.

  “Still want to go in?” Tournak asked. “I know you don’t like to change your decisions, but if we go in there, and your cousin is no longer happy to see you, none of us is going to leave alive. Something will happen. There’ll be an accident – or we’ll simply never be heard from again.”

  “No one knows we’re here, Saxthor,” Bodrin said.

  “I can’t fail my cousin. The rest of you don’t have to come.”

  The others said nothing more but followed Saxthor into the city. The men went first to an inn to make arrangements for the night.

  “It’s too late in the day to present ourselves at the prince’s court,” Saxthor said. “We’ll make our plans in our rooms. Tournak and Hendrel can go to the alehouse and glean the current gossip.”

  Inside the city, people guarded their conversations more. The troupe retired that evening fearful of their reception the next day. After breakfast next morning, Saxthor, Bodrin, and Tournak prepared to leave for the Hoyahof.

  “Hendrel, you stay here at the inn with Delia and Twit just in case something goes wrong,” Saxthor said. “You’ll be the backup or the one to take word to Memlatec, if necessary.”

  The trio passed through the streets of Hoya where silent people went about their business without greetings or smiles. Soldiers patrolled in pairs as if the town was on a war footing. At the entrance to the castilyernov, Saxthor again stopped Tournak and Bodrin.

  “More soldiers are milling around the entrance to the gatehouse; they must be there to intimidate petitioners, since no one is even attempting to cross the drawbridge. I still want to sense the mood inside the fortress. Tournak, would you go request an audience with the Prince of Hoya?”

  “You sure about this?”

  If I remember correctly, the local rulers have always allowed subjects to petition as an effort to retain popular support. I believe the prince is the provincial court of appeals. I’m sure.”

  “This is a mistake, but I’ll go.”

  The corporal at the gatepost looked askew at Tournak. “Go away, man,” he said when he realized Tournak was serious. “You ain’t from around here, are you?”

  “We must see the prince. We’re from the south and seek audience with his highness,” Tournak said.

  “It’s your neck,” the corporal said.

  Guards escorted the men to a granite reception room in the gatehouse overlooking the drawbridge. Saxthor looked around while they waited. Bronze rings protruded from high on the walls, holding great brass rods. They brought back memories of his Uncle Henri telling him of the tapestries those rods held to impress his wealth and power on visitors. Gone now, petitioners faced only cold granite walls. The men approached a sergeant with a gold tooth and sinister, wrinkled face, shuffling papers at a desk. The sergeant didn’t look up.

  “Excuse me, Sir, we’re from the south and seek audience with the prince,” Tournak said.

  The sergeant looked up, glaring. “I don’t get many requests for audiences these days. What drives you men to such foolishness, or are you just stupid?”

  Saxthor stepped forward. “We seek an audience with the prince, nonetheless.”

  “What you want with the prince?”

  “We’re friends of the court,” Tournak said. His tone stiffened, reflecting his aroused stubborn streak.

  “The prince isn’t granting audiences today. Come back another time.” The sergeant turned away handing some instruction to a waiting soldier.

  Tournak slammed his hand on the papers. “We’ll see the prince, Sergeant.”

  The sergeant’s head jerked up, his good eye bulging in his face red. “What’re your names? What’s your business with the court?” He grabbed a yellowed form, his thick guest book, and a quill.

  “I am Tournak of Konnotan, and these are my friends. We came from the south and wish to extend greeting to the prince from the court at Konnotan.”

  The sergeant scanned their faces.

  Saxthor sensed he sought to know if they might have influence with the nobles. The man hadn’t risen to the rank of sergeant by offending the wrong people.

  “Do you know the prince?”

  “No, I don’t,” Tournak said. “Will you admit us to the court, or must I report this incident to Konnotan?”

  “Tournak of Konnotan.” The sergeant wrote hastily on the stained guest book, then the form. On the form, he wrote the party of three was from the south and wished to extend the greetings and best wishes from the royal court to his highness. Staring at the men in front of him, his arm jerked the paper up to the aide waiting behind him. Without a word, the soldier took the document and raced across the drawbridge, where he disappeared into the massive frontal gatehouse.

  While Tournak and the sergeant stared at each other, Saxthor and Bodrin looked around for a place to sit. There were no chairs, just half a dozen guards standing at attention around the room.

  “Few visitors come here now,” Saxthor said.

  When the guard returned to the room, he whispered in the sergeant’s ear. Frowning, the sergeant stood up and came around his desk, presenting a strained smile. He raised his hand to shake Tournak’s, but Tournak didn’t respond. The sergeant’s momentary frown reflected the rebuff, but the artificial smile returned. He pointed his rejected hand at the heavy gate to the inner drawbridge.

  “This way if you please; the chatra will receive you. Guard, take these men to the captain inside.”

  The sergeant’s sticky, appeasing tone chilled Saxthor.

  Chatra is the title granted to a sovereign court’s primary minister, he thought. This would-be chatra presumes a lot taking the title at a noble’s court.

  The three bowed minimally to the sergeant, to show contempt but observe formality. The guard led the men over the moat to the Captain of the Guard in the foremost tower of the castilyernov’s outer bailey. The captain, a man of higher rank and distinction, took the guard’s form and, without a word, led the men through the outer bailey’s towers and corridors to the inner moat bridge. He gave a formal bow.

  “The chamberlain standing by the bridge there will escort you into the chatra’s presence.” Again, he bowed, turned, and left.

  Tournak and Bodrin bowed but not Saxthor.

  The chamberlain was a thin man, who, like the captain, said nothing. Guards escorted the petitioners across the well-guarded inner moat’s bridge to the much more sumptuous reception hall in the inner bailey’s Reception Tower.

  “In the past, the prince formerly received common petitioners in the outer bailey reception hall; this room was restricted to nobility,” Tournak said. “The outer gallery, as you saw, was stripped bare, and here they’ve removed the throne. I wonder where the prince receives his petitioners now.”

  “Doesn’t look like he receives them,” Bodrin said.

  “The chatra now receives petitioners in his reception hall,” the chamberlain said. “This way, please.” At the chatra’s reception hall, he asked the petitioner’s names in a whisper. Then he announced Tournak to the high official, bowed, and stood back.

  Tournak, Saxthor, and Bodrin crossed the hall and stopped short before the raised dais and the man seated on the prince’s throne.

  The chatra receives petitioners as though he were the prince himself, Saxthor thought. What has occurred here that a minister would assume the prince’s place and functions?

  “Greetings to the Chatra of Hoya from the court at Neuyokkasin,” Tournak said with a sweeping bow to acknowledge the man’s status.

  The man on the throne was of modest statue, thin and hungry looking, with a stringy lock of hair on his chin beneath his scraggly
mustache. The man had the unmistakable slick look of an upstart who rose too quickly to power, not from competence, but by ingratiating himself to the right people. As the absurd pomp surrounding him demonstrated, the chatra himself was the most impressed with his status.

  “We thank you for your greetings, gentlemen. Are you emissaries from the queen?” The chatra presented a quivering smile. “We see you’re still in your traveling clothes.”

  Like the sergeant at the guardhouse, he hoped to avoid offending the wrong people without failing to please the right ones. The delicacy of his question suggested he hoped to ingratiate himself with higher authority. Saxthor also noted the minister used the royal “we,” as though he were the ruler here.

  “We thank you for your greeting. We seek audience with the prince,” Tournak said in the polite tone of court diplomacy without answering the inquiry as to their relationship to the queen.

  “Do you represent the queen?”

  “We’re here to see Prince Henri.”

  The chatra’s smile faded. He called the chamberlain to him and whispered, but Saxthor heard what he said.

  “Have I been duped? You know I don’t receive ordinary petitioners.”

  The chamberlain looked at Saxthor’s group, nodded, and smiled, but said nothing. He went back to the doorway at the entrance to the hall. Saxthor watched the chatra’s face crinkling as he wondered what their connection was to the Konnotan court.

  “The prince is indisposed and isn’t receiving petitions today. The chamberlain will see you out.”

  Signaling the audience was over, the chamberlain approached to escort the men out as the chatra rose and headed for the door at the rear of the hall.

  “This way, please,” the chamberlain said.

  “One moment, Lord Chatra,” Saxthor said across the marble hall. “The queen will not be pleased to hear you’ve dismissed her representatives. She’ll be most displeased you would prevent us from conferring with the prince, her cousin.”

  The chatra spun around, an ingratiating smile plastered on his face. The man clasped his nervous hands. “I’ve heard rumors that a powerful person high up at the southern court was traveling the peninsula.”