by Ryan Peter
*
Cadell and the army had defeated the goblins and had made it into Foré. The goblins that remained gave up the pursuit, but came as close as they dared to the borders. Too close, thought Cadell. He was full of joy when the other wing of the army joined them, but was saddened when he was told that Gerald was a captive of the goblins. Cadell knew that goblins did not take captives, they only took leaders for a play of their own wretched kind. Sometimes for eating. But not always. Cadell wondered for a moment what they could eat in the desert.
Many men had been lost in the battle. But Cadell had saved those he could. He comforted his conscience in knowing that those men had at least died and would not all find the same pitiful fate as Gerald.
With now both his commanders gone, Cadell realised his very poor position. It was important for him to let the Courts of Dernium know the outcome of their expedition so far, but he could not afford to send a messenger from his own men. He could certainly not trust anyone else to send either, they had to be very careful not to be seen in Foré.
That in itself would be difficult. He knew that most ordinary men seeing them would not be pose a problem, as their reports would only count as rumour. But he also understood that enough rumour would lead to the king issuing some form of investigation. If any of the Foré army would see them the rumour would be counted as true at once.
He hoped that the village ruins close by would not be inhabited, and his hopes proved true. They arrived at the ruins in the evening and found the wells were still good, allowing them to stock up on their lost water supplies. As for food, the nearby forest – although not large – was able to provide what they needed, and more. Cadell thought of how he should have just taken them on this road in the first place, ignoring the king’s wishes.
“That Walise is mad. A drunken madman,” he muttered to himself.
After spending the night, Cadell and his men moved further north. They stayed just off the road as best they could, to stay hidden. The road was very quiet, adding more to their good fortune, and so days passed without much event as they journeyed.
Without much event, at any case, that they were aware of. Garth had, with speed, arrived at King Walise's castle, pretending to be a messenger from the north of Foré. As commanded, he was to inform the king about the Dernium army in Foré.
There was some strangeness to how swiftly he had come there, as if he had favour from some divine will. Garth relished in this, thinking to himself that he would certainly prove his worth to his new lord. Such thoughts still confused him, but they were slowly consuming him, becoming so much a part of him that he was beginning to forget what he was like before. There were moments when he found himself in his right mind, when he would briefly wonder about why he was experiencing these thoughts and feelings, and why he was doing all of this, but those were becoming less and less. He was changing. Something inside him was beginning to rage, and even his body began to show it. His eyes were turning dark and obscure and his skin a sickly yellow — enough to look a bit sickly to anyone who passed by but not enough to warrant serious attention.
Garth was waiting in a courtyard that overlooked the city. Stairs led far up to various corridors, one to the throne room. He could hear the roar of the waterfall but everything seemed numb and distant. Two of the king's guard were speaking to him. He had told them that he brought them a message from a lord in the northern lands of Foré, and that it was important for the king to hear his report speedily.
“So, once again – where do you hail from?” asked one of the guard, a short man with a moustache.
“I have told you. I come from Heak.” This was a northern city in Foré.
“On business from whom? You are not dressed as the northerners dress, but rather more like those in our own city.”
This was true. Garth had found a rich tradesman in Stoorein whom he maimed badly and stole clothes from. He had also spent two days in the city trying to imitate the accent and dialect.
“You don't speak like one either,” continued the guard. “What is this important message?”
“The message is for the King,” said Garth, snivelling. They had already taken his written note to the king, who was apparently reviewing it at that moment. Garth knew he only had to wait.
“Still, I have never seen you,” said the other guard, taller than the other and more cleanly shaved. “Jos, the lord of Heak, sends the same messengers regularly. It is doubtful he would use a new messenger for something as important as this.”
“Indeed,” said Garth.
“He speaks strangely!” said the other guard again.
“Yes, well, what is on the note – for the king – explains all. But it is for the king to hear, not yourselves.”
The shorter guard’s mouth opened but he was interrupted by a guard from higher up the stairs, beckoning him to come closer. He moved up at once and they spoke with each other for a short moment.
“You have your audience,” he shouted to Garth. “But you are to be bound and taken to the king and he shall address you from a distance.”
Garth nodded and suppressed a smile. Another guard came out and began to bind his hands. His feet were to be bound as well, but only later. They removed his hat, ignoring his protests. Garth needed it to make sure the king wouldn’t recognise him. But he knew the king was drunk last time, that his appearance was different — he had a sizeable beard now — and at any rate the king was going to address him from a much greater distance. He even decided to walk differently.
They pushed him up the stairs and shoved him through the long corridor which eventually led into the king's throne room. King Walise was sitting bored on his small and relatively modest throne. They bound Garth’s feet in chains and forced him on his knees, his head bowed. Garth smirked to himself, realising how it all worked to his favour, and so he continued the appearance of only a humble messenger.
The king regarded him casually. “Your note has granted you an audience,” he said dryly, “although Lord Jos must explain himself with his next message. You are to inform him of such. It is surely proper for him to send a knight, not one like yourself.”
“Yes, my king,” said Garth. He bowed even lower, hiding his face.
“Well then speak, you fool! Your message has me with many questions. I must know at once. Speak!”
Garth stuttered – deliberately. “My king, the Dernium Army has invaded s-some of the villages and... and... this is why Lord Jos sent me, alone. I am-m the fastest of those who can, who can run, and he knew that I could bring the message to y-you speedily...”
Walise thinned his lips. “A horse could run faster than you could, fool.”
“He nee... he needed all of his knights to assail the Dernium ar... army.”
“So, they have invaded?” Walise burst out, as if he only heard that part of the message now. Garth wondered if he was drunk again. “Surely they wouldn't dare!”
“It... it appears that they were s-significantly defeated by enemies in the desert,” Garth said. “This is part of the message...”
“Nomads, or the goblins, no doubt,” Walise interrupted. “Still, either of those should have been no match for their so-called warriors. Perhaps there was another enemy. But invaded?”
“Yes,” said Garth, “They had asked for food and shelter from Lord Jos who would not provide it for them. So, they... they took what they wanted by force.”
Walise stood up, outraged, throwing his chalice against the wall. “The Jewel!” he cried. “Lord Jos then has done well, for he knew that I did not grant them passage through our lands, save the road to Colone! They have gone too far! The Jewel has now gone too far!”
He stood for a moment, composing himself. “Yes! Invaded is the correct way to explain it. I shall now rip them apart, those traitors! And I will send them back to the Jewel with their tail between their legs and their buttocks thoroughly whipped! The cowards they are!”
Garth interrupted, wanting to spring his plan. �
��Jos asks for some of your knights, my king,” he said.
This turned out to be a mistake. The king looked at him with utter contempt. “Jos?” he sneered, his temper flaring all the more. “I shall have you whipped too, you snivelling dog! He is your lord! It is lord to you, you insignificant worm! What kind of man are you- you who does not know his place in my country? What is your name?”
“I... I humbly apologise my lord and high king,” Garth said. “I got quite excited and...”
“Your name!”
“Yurn, Yurn of Trock. I am a tradesman.”
“Yes, I can see you're a snivelling tradesman, Yurn,” said Walise. He stood silently gazing at Garth for a moment. “What does your lord request?”
“My king, my lord requests you send knights to help with the Dernium invaders. It is not that they are too much for him, he said, but that they will soon travel north and upheave more villages on their way to the Twins. His men must remain where posted, as much as they can, he said. As well as those lords around us. He said you must send men as quick as you can.”
“Yes,” said Walise slowly. “It will be my pleasure. I will thoroughly teach Dernium a lesson, and they will never try such insolence again. Now off with you!”
The plan was sprung, but Garth was not finished. He would return to these courts, soon. For that was the totality of his commandment and the power he had been given.
The guards manhandled him badly leading him out and unbinding him, throwing him back into the courtyard. The shorter guard with the moustache laughed. He hobbled from their sight, thinking to himself that he would do something about that guard. But, for now, his master would be happy. Soon the Dernium army would have even more enemies. They will never make it to the Twins. Never.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
