Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 03] - The Ancient Legacy(V1.0)

by Mitchell Graham

  The soldier shrugged. "It's all right. Why are you going to Vargoth?" he asked Mathew.

  "The royal garrison at Palandol has need of a fencing instructor. A good friend of mine is going to introduce me to the master at arms."

  "So you're a fencing instructor?" "I will be if I get the job."

  The corporal laughed. Mathew noticed that the soldiers were unshaven and looked weary. Their clothes were dirty and rumpled, as if they'd been out on patrol for quite some time.

  "Do you have anything that proves you're a priest, or says that you're taking over the church?" the leader asked Father Thomas.

  "Lying is a sin, my son. I have my vestments in the saddlebag. If you wish to see them, I will not be offended. I understand you are just doing your job." "No papers... nothing?" "I'm afraid not," said Father Thomas. The soldier looked at Mathew, who responded with a shrug.

  "I'm sorry, Father," the corporal said, "but you're going to have to come with us into Gravenhage. If my captain says it's all right, you'll be free to go."

  Mathew's hand drifted closer to the hilt of his sword, uncertain what was going to happen next. He half ex­pected that he and Father Thomas would have to fight their way out of the situation until a groan from the man on the litter turned everyone's head in his direction.

  Curious, Mathew dismounted, walked over to him, and felt the soldier's forehead. The others watched but did nothing to stop him. Mathew lifted up the edge of the blanket and stared at the man's leg. It was swollen to al­most twice its normal size and hot to the touch.

  "We're taking him to Gravenhage," the leader said again.

  "This man won't make it, that far," Mathew replied. "He's burning with fever and the leg is infected."

  "Gravenhage is only ten miles. You can see it—"

  "You, priest," Mathew snapped. "Can you get a fire going?"

  "Why, yes. I'm sure I could," said Father Thomas, dis­mounting.

  "I'm going to need some water and a pot to boil it. You," Mathew said, pointing at one of the soldiers. "Do you know what redwort looks like?"

  The soldier responded to the tone of command in his voice and answered, "Yes, sir."

  "Move, then. I'm going to need about three handfuls. There's a white shirt in my saddlebag," he continued, speaking to the corporal. "Get it out and cut it into strips about this wide." Mathew spread his thumb and forefinger apart to indicate the size he wanted. "You others, unhitch that litter and get it on the ground."

  A short while later the soldier Mathew had sent for the redwort returned. Father Thomas already had a fire going. A nearby stream provided the water he needed. One of the soldiers got out a cooking pot and suspended it above the fire. The injured man on the litter turned one way then the other, his face bathed in sweat. One of the men at his side tried to keep him still. Mathew waited until the water had reached a rapid boil, removed the dagger from his belt, and stuck the blade in the water.

  "We need to sterilize this first," he explained to the leader. "Put half the bandages in along v/ith the redwort and boil them as well. Make sure you don't get the others dirty."

  "Right."

  "I'm going to lance his leg to relieve some of the pressure. Then we'll clean the wound to clear away as much of the infection as I can get at. Hopefully, it hasn't gotten into his blood yet. I'll need two of your men to

  hold him."

  The corporal turned to his men. "Charley, you get Ted's shoulders. Micah, make sure you keep his hands still."

  "I've seen this sort of thing before," Mathew said. "What did you say his name was?" "Ted... Ted Wilkes."

  Mathew removed the knife from the boiling water and went to Wilkes. He nodded to the other soldiers, and they grasped a hold of Wilkes by his shoulders and arms. "Ready?" Both men nodded.

  Quickly, Mathew made a small incision where the boar's tusk had gone in. A mixture of green puss and blood imme­diately oozed out of the wound. Wilkes screamed and tried to sit up, but the soldier named Charley forced him back down again. The stench from the wound caused Mathew to turn his head away. He took a gulp of air and made the sec­ond incision. Wilkes screamed again and tried to hit him. His companions stopped him from doing so.

  "Hold him tight now," Mathew said. "I've got to remove this infection. The bite marks already have scabs on them." The men watched as Mathew continued his ministra­tions. When it was over, the injured man lay there limp. Mathew took the remainder of the bandages and wrapped them around the wound, aware that Father Thomas and the others were watching him.

  "Get him to a doctor as soon as you reach town," he told the leader. "It's important, that he gets plenty of rest and a lot of water to drink. You'll need to keep a close watch on his leg over the next few days to make sure the infection doesn't come back. I'm pretty sure I got most of it." "Thanks, friend," the corporal said, shaking Mathew's

  hand. "These are difficult times, and there's not many of your countrymen that hold us in high regard—I know that. In fact, I can't think of anyone in these parts that would lift a finger to save one of us like you just did."

  "You're welcome. Kings and princes make the law. Life's tough enough without the rest of us being at each other's throats. Do you think we'll have to spend a great deal of time in Gravenhage? Getting to Palandol is already going to be close for me."

  The leader took a deep breath and looked at his men. An unspoken communication passed between them.

  "I think you and Father Silver here can go on," he said. "I'll square it with the captain. It's the least we can do for your help. You'll want to keep to the main road. A good swordsman you may be, but there are all manner of brig­ands and cutpurses about these days, and they won't just ride off because there's a priest around."

  "That's very decent of you," said Mathew. "You have my gratitude. If you're ever in Palandol, look me up. The fencing lesson will be free."

  Mathew and Father Thomas bade the others goodbye, mounted, and continued on their way. They rode in silence for a space of time.

  "That was quick thinking back there, Mat," said Father Thomas. "I was afraid we were going to be the Var-gothans' guests for the night."

  "I'm sorry, Father. I know you told me to wait until you acted."

  "Not at all. What you did was exactly correct." "Thank you," Mathew said. "I've been wondering," he continued. "Do you think we should skip Devondale?"

  Father Thomas raised his eyebrows. "Why? Our friends there are not likely to reveal who you are, even if any of them do recognize you."

  "It's been a long time since either of us have been home, and things may have changed." "That is true," said Father Thomas.

  "What if we run into more of the Vargothans?"

  "I suppose we'll deal with them as best we can. Is that what's really bothering you?"

  "No," Mathew answered glumly.

  "Would you like to talk about it?"

  "No."

  Father Thomas already had a good idea what was both­ering his young friend, but kept riding, knowing there was more to follow.

  "I haven't seen Lara in almost four years," Mathew sud­denly blurted. "What do you think she's going to say if I just pop into her life again? As far as she knows, I'm dead."

  "That is a difficult question, and unfortunately I don't have an answer to it. You and she were in love with each other, so I hope she would be happy to have you back."

  "You really think so?"

  "I'm sure of it. Lara is a fine girl.. . though I suppose I should call her a woman now. I haven't seen her myself since that night at Fanshaw Castle."

  Mathew nodded. "What about Ceta, Father? Does she know you escaped? Don't you want to see her?"

  Father Thomas took a deep breath. "I would love noth­ing more, but unfortunately I don't know if Ceta is alive or dead. After our trial, she came to visit me in the prison. We spoke for a long time. As you know, my prospects for being released in the near future were not good then. She wanted to stay, but Sennia was no longer safe, and it was far too dangerous fo
r her to remain in the country. I made her promise to return to Elberton with Collin, Quinn, and Lara. In retrospect it was a terrible mistake, and one which may have cost her her life."

  "You mean because of the Orlocks?"

  "Precisely. The creatures control everything from Ritiba to Tyraine. During the first year I was imprisoned, Ceta's letters came to me on a regular basis. They stopped about the time Alor Satar turned the land over to the crea­tures. I have spent the last two years praying for her."

  "I'm sorry, Father. I guess I was just thinking of myself." Father Thomas reached over and squeezed Mathew's forearm. "We both have a lot to deal with. These are diffi­cult times. Thousands have died and I fear more will do so in the future. A long time ago I told you that you are the last best hope of our people. Eric Duren and his brother would like to eliminate not just our country, but its very soul. You and your ring are the fulcrum on which the fu­ture rests. That is why we must recover it at any cost. We can skip Devondale if you like."

  Mathew thought about it for a moment. "No," he said. "Let's go on."

  16

  Stermark, Mirdan

  The summer residence of Prince James was smaller than Tenley Palace. Composed mostly of rust-colored granite and four separate watchtowers, it sat high on a hill above the city, overlooking the harbor.

  The harbor was nowhere as large as the one in Bar-cora, but it was still a lively center of commerce capable of supporting more than thirty good-sized ships. With the recent shift in the political and economic climate of the world, Stermark's fortunes had also changed. Origi­nally a secondary port of call, it was now home to a dozen guilds and industries.

  Gawl rested his forearms on the battlements and looked down. It was a beautiful view, he thought. James was fortunate. Of course, getting there a thousand years before anyone else with your own army had a lot to do with it.

  Mirdan had been a stanch ally of Sennia since he had taken the throne. The last of the free Western countries, it had not yet come under attack because Eric and Armand Duren were still busy consolidating their positions in El-garia.

  In the past, Mirdan had fought bravely alongside both Elgaria and Sennia at Ardon Field. James made a forced march in order to get there in time. Looking back on those events, Gawl conceded their breaking through Alor Satar's rear line had been a major turning point in that battle. The other, of course, was Mathew Lewin.

  Through negotiation, compromise, and treaty, James Genet had so far managed to keep his country out of the seething cauldron of troubles that had plagued the other Western nations. He was a shrewd young man with un­common political sense.

  Their present situation was dismal, though. The hopes of their world rested on the shoulders of a farm boy from Devondale, assuming he was still alive. During the brief time he and Siward Thomas had together before their trial, the priest had shared his plan with him. How much James actually knew of those events, he was about to find out.

  James was not much older than Mathew. Gawl had met the prince only four times since he had taken the throne, and he liked him from the start. He was slender and just above middle height, with intelligent eyes that were more gray than blue. Due to a riding accident when he was eight years old, James walked with a pronounced limp. In all their time together, Gawl found him to be plain-spoken and direct, qualities he admired.

  The young man was also an amiable companion. Dur­ing his visit to Barcora, despite the injury to his leg, he and Gawl had hunted deer together in Bryant Forest and spent the night drinking. James bested him twice.

  That morning, instead of meeting in the palace, James suggested they go trout fishing together so they could speak in private. He claimed to know of two wonderful streams that were less than a day's ride away. In truth, fishing was the last thing Gawl wanted to do, but he agreed. He had been a respectable fisherman as a boy him­self, and so long as the trip ended with a commitment of soldiers and arms from Mirdan, he would stand on his head if he had to. It might also give him a chance to pull even with James for the deer hunting.

  Gawl mentioned the idea of a fishing trip to Jeram Quinn and got the response he expected. The former con­stable raised his eyebrows and wished him success but declined the invitation. It was the same with Colonel Haynes. Some frantic last minute work by the palace tailor and their boot maker produced a suitable outfit in his size.

  Even after Gawl had taken the throne, he had contin­ued to dress in clothes more suited to a commoner than a king. Wearing a crown gave him a headache, and he had never been able to look at himself in flowing ermine robes without feeling somewhat ridiculous.

  From the parapet, he saw James emerge from the sta­bles dressed as plainly as he himself was. They waved to each other.

  "Be right down," he called out.

  Their ride to the upper Taylor River was as pleasant as any Gawl could remember. To his surprise, James sug­gested they spend the night in the woods and get up early in the morning to try their luck on the streams. Both were fast moving and so full of fish, James told him, even a Sennian could catch them.

  For the better part of the day they climbed through hazy green mountains, eventually descending into a broad valley where the Taylor River flowed swiftly. They passed through several towns along the way, and a number of people recognized the prince and came by to visit. All of them inquired after his father's health.

  King William, Gawl knew, had been unable to manage his daily affairs since James was sixteen. He suffered from a disease of the mind that grew progressively worse each year. The illness eventually robbed the old man of even the simplest of life's pleasures. Though William still knew his wife, his own children had become strangers to him. With each passing day he had grown increasingly mis­trustful of others. Gawl had seen such problems before, and his heart went out to James, who explained that William's sickness had become so bad in the last year, he could often not recognize his own image in the mirror.

  Gawl heard the pain in the young man's voice and ad­mired the way he was handling the situation. Nine years

  earlier, James had met with the barons and lords of Mir-dan and shared his father's problem with them. Instead of summarily informing them that he was taking the king's place by right of succession, he asked the elder nobles for their advice. To a man, they all pledged their loyalty and suggested that his mother appoint him Regent. She did so, and the transition of power from one generation to the next was conducted so smoothly it was barely noticeable. James Genet had not changed much. He was still open and affable and stopped to chat with everyone who en­gaged them. He introduced them to Gawl, making no se­cret of who he was. The people were properly respectful and offered their welcome. Most wished them good for­tune and a few joked that one look at Gawl would proba­bly scare the fish out of the water.

  They arrived at the first stream about an hour before sunset. The underbrush was so thick they were forced to make camp, leave their horses, and hike a little over a mile to the spot James wanted. The water was alive with insects hatching, and trout could be seen rising in the pools along the banks, out of the fast moving current. Both men stud­ied the hatch for a few minutes and selected the proper flies. Slowly, the sun descended lower in the sky until it was just above the treeline.

  Gawl caught six, and let two small ones go. The rest he put in his creel. James caught eight and released four. Al­together, it was a marvelous day. They returned to camp thoroughly exhausted. After dinner, Gawl stretched out by the fire, his belly full. He lay back, put his arms behind his head and looked up at a sky alive with stars. Night birds and crickets called to one another in the darkness. On the other side of the fire, James unlaced his boots, kicked them off, and sat with his back against a tree.

  "This was more fun than I've had in a long time," he said. "It was indeed fun," Gawl agreed. "I wish we could do this all the time. I love being out here."

  "A wonderful night," Gawl said. "Do we have any more of that wine left?"

  "I hung it on a branch by t
he horses."

  Gawl lifted up his head and looked at the wineskin. "I'll get it later," he said, and lay back down again, staring up at the stars. His ancestors must have had vivid imagi­nations to see pictures and shapes up there, he thought. "There are eighty-eight constellations I'm told, but I can only recognize a few. The rest just look like stars to me."

  "Don't you wish you could stay out here forever?"

  "A little. But that wouldn't be a good thing. People are being hurt, James."

  "I know, but it would be nice to forget about all that, wouldn't it?"

  "It would be nice," Gawl agreed. "Do you not wish to talk tonight?"

  "I suppose we can," said James, though he didn't sound convincing. "This whole business makes me ill. What I'd really like is for them to leave us alone. Do you think there's any chance they might?"

  Gawl listened to the sound of a bullfrog calling to an­other for several seconds. "No ... I don't... and neither do you."

  James rolled over onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow. "What is it you want from me?"

  "Supplies and men, for a start—as many as you can af­ford. Sennia is in a state of civil war right now. Guy's forces are spread out across the country trying to quell things, but from what Haynes tells me, the situation is get­ting worse, at least from their standpoint. With twenty thousand men—"

  "Impossible. The Vargothans have recently moved eight divisions to Elgaria's northern territories. They sent us word they're only conducting military exercises, but of course that's a lie."

  "How many can you give me?"

  James shook his head. "The most. .. five thousand,

  maybe six, provided we can move some people from the western border. I'll be stretching myself thin at that. Sup­plies are another matter; they're no problem. The bulk of your Southern Army are now our guests in southern Mir-dan. Edward Guy sent me a letter demanding that we expel them. He said that he will consider anyone who aids his enemy as an enemy. That was our first communication." "The first?"

  "A second letter followed a week later, delivered in per­son by his ambassador. It seems Arteus Ballenger has been declared a traitor and sentenced to death as... have you." "Really?"