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

by Mitchell Graham

  "They're offering amnesty to all who voluntarily return and pledge their loyalty." "Interesting." "Why so?"

  "Well. . . one would think a soldier's loyalty should be to his country rather than its Regent." "Good point," James said. "I know."

  "If I agree to give you the men you are asking for, what are your plans?"

  The question caught Gawl by surprise. "Why, to take back my throne, of course." "Just like that?"

  "What do you mean?" Gawl asked. "I'm not trying to raise a sore subject, but you were overthrown once before."

  "I understand that, but circumstances have changed. To begin with, Guy had the full support of the Church before. He doesn't now. They're very much fragmented on this point, and his power base has been eroding rapidly. I've received a number of communications from various Church officials in the last week, saying they'll support my efforts to oust him."

  "Excellent. And assuming you're successful, how long do you think you'll be able to hold the throne?"

  Gawl's brows came together and he looked at the prince across the fire. "Excuse me?"

  "How will this time be any different from the last?" "Are you serious?" Gawl asked. "We'll have almost fif­teen thousand men at our command and twice that many from our supporters throughout the country. We had less than twenty-five hundred at Fanshaw Castle."

  "Twenty-five hundred or twenty-five thousand, there is still the problem of Teanna d'Elso. She could wipe you off the map in the blink of an eye." "She's only one woman."

  "Who controls the combined science and power of the Ancients." James suddenly sat up and leaned forward. "Mirdan is pledged to you as an ally, Gawl, and we'll be­have as such, but I'm not about to throw my people away in a hopeless battle."

  "Just say it plain," Gawl told him. "All right, I will. As long as Teanna d'Elso lives, there's no hope of prevailing against the East. She must die; it's as simple as that. Delain thinks war is coming, and you've told me as much yourself. The dispatches we've re­ceived from him say that he'll be ready to move in less than two months' time, so I ask you again, how will it be any different?"

  Gawl considered the question. He had always thought of the young prince as intelligent, but his words con­veyed a maturity and sophistication beyond his years. James was right. Even if he was successful in removing Edward Guy from the throne, how long would it take for Teanna to destroy them? Guy had made a pact with Alor Satar, and there was little question that Teanna would support her cousins.

  "Much of it depends on whether Mathew Lewin will be successful," Gawl finally answered. "Unfortunately, I don't know whether he's alive or dead. There's been no word for over four years now. You may be right. Throwing good men away in a meaningless battle would be folly."

  "Lewin is alive," James said. "I received a dispatch from Delain the day before you arrived. He and Siward Thomas have left for Palandol. They're going to make an attempt on the ring."

  "Alive," Gawl repeated softly. "This is wonderful news."

  "Wonderful as long as they succeed. If they should fail, we're back in the same position, or worse." "I see what you mean."

  "That's why Delain and I have made an alternative set of arrangements."

  One of Gawl's eyebrows went up. "Explain." "We have a man in Nyngary who's been able to ma­neuver himself close to the royal family. His original in­structions were to get Mathew Lewin's ring out, or to make sure that Teanna won't be able to use hers. He re­cently reported that he knows where it's hidden. If he can't get it within the next month, he'll receive word that the time has come for him to act."

  The crease on Gawl's brow deepened as the meaning behind James's words became clear. "You mean assassi­nate her?" "I do."

  "And Delain is part of this?" "He is."

  At first Gawl didn't know what to say. The idea of sending someone to assassinate a woman was repugnant, and he said as much.

  "I don't like it any more than you do, but I don't see an­other way," James replied. "Personally, I'd rather meet Alor Satar and Vargoth across a battlefield. Having to deal with these other tilings makes me want to take a bath." "How can you be sure your man will do what you ask?" The prince shrugged. "I can't, but he seems to be strongly attached to the money we're paying."

  "You're an interesting fellow, James, I'll need some time to think about this."

  The two men talked awhile longer, before the warmth of the fire made their eyes heavy and they lay down to sleep. The last thing James mentioned before he drifted off was about the mysterious letter Mathew had recovered. He said it largely as an aside, and Gawl listened without commenting and filed it away.

  When Gawl awoke before dawn, however, it was the first thing on his mind.

  17

  Garivele, Vargoth

  It had taken Teanna d'Elso two days to travel from Corrato to Garivele, a port city twenty miles from Seth's capital, Palandol. Heavy rains had flooded the roads and made the going slow. During the best of times, Vargothan roads tended to be poor. Whatever Seth did with the money other nations paid him for his mercenaries, it was obvious very little of it found its way into public improve­ments.

  As a country, Vargoth had few natural resources and was forced to rely on importing goods from other nations. In order to balance things out, they had turned to the one resource they had plenty of—manpower. For more than a century Vargoth prided itself on exporting soldiers for hire. There were other professions a young man could go into, but the fastest road to wealth meant becoming a soldier.

  Though she was still a child at the time, Teanna could remember when her father hired Vargothans to patrol Nyngary's eastern border with Cincar. It was a complete fiasco that nearly caused a war between the two countries. All the mercenaries had to do was stop two local warlords who had been harassing the textile guild in Lipari. With­out bothering to consult the king, they took it on them­selves to capture both men. Afterward, they burned their villages, beheaded one, and drew and quartered the other. It took nearly five years before relations were restored, permitting travel between Cincar and Nyngary once again. Her mother was so annoyed at the waste of money, she swore they would never use Vargoth again.

  The man sitting across from Teanna now, Treton Baker, was dressed in civilian clothes. Usually, he wore a cloak that marked him as the captain of King Seth's bodyguard. Her guess was that Baker was somewhere between thirty-five and forty years of age. His face was all planes and an­gles, which made it difficult to tell. The skin was drawn tightly across his forehead and cheekbones, and his clear brown eyes seemed never to be at rest. They were at odds with the rest of the man, because all of his other move­ments were methodical, as if planned.

  At one time, Baker had been a major in Vargoth's Northern Legions, but after a falling out with his com­mander, he was demoted and assigned to duties at Seth's palace. It was an insult he never forgot—or forgave— making him an easy and logical recruit to head Teanna's spy network. A man motivated by revenge was inherently more reliable than one whose goal was money alone. Her mother had taught her that lesson before she was ten years old, and it was proving apt now.

  It was raining that afternoon. It had been raining all day. Baker, who was waiting when she arrived, sat at a table in the corner of a small cafe situated at the edge of the tanning district. She was there to learn more about the meeting between Shakira and Seth. That they had met at all was highly unusual, if not frightening. During the best of times, the balance of power in the East was never sta­ble. Alliances were formed and pacts made between the nations almost as frequently as they were broken. Unwill­ing to trust others to communicate the information accu­rately, she had elected to endure the two day trip herself. Normally, she could have done so in an instant, but since learning that Shakira also had a ring, she decided against using hers until she had a better idea of what the Orlock queen was capable of. Caution was something else she had learned from her mother.

  Teanna felt a twinge of guilt at not missing Marsa more. It had been nearly four year
s since she had died. During that time, Teanna had tried to recall a single spon­taneous act of affection, and couldn't. She wasn't sure how that made her feel—sad, mostly. By the time she had reached her eighteenth birthday, people remarked on how difficult it was to tell them apart. That was all well and good, but physical similarities weren't internal ones. Cer­tainly, she knew she emulated her mother in many things. What other model did she have? She knew she didn't pos­sess Marsa's level of detachment, or her patience, but she had inherited her intellect. Sitting there in the cafe, she wondered how much mothers live on in their daughters. She supposed the answer would reveal itself one day.

  The cafe was nondescript and grimy. It had one large window that looked out into the harbor. From where she sat, she could watch people pass by on the street. Teanna kept her hood up even after she was seated and pretended to sip a glass of wine the serving girl had brought. It was an inexpensive yellow from Cincar, and a slightly sour taste. Usually, she would have ordered one of the reds from her own country, but lately prices had been running so high it would have only have drawn unnecessary attention. "How can I help you, your highness?" Baker asked. "I'd like to know more about the meeting between Seth and Shakira." "Such as?"

  "Tell me how Seth was dressed, for a start." The question seemed to surprise Baker, and he paused to consider it. "Plainly," he said after a moment, "no cloak, no crown, just breeches, a shirt, and his sword." "Was Shakira also armed?"

  Baker shook his head. "The only thing she had was a belt dagger. I wasn't able to get very close, though." "And her clothes?"

  "Also plain. She kept the hood of her cloak up, but you could see the yellow hair clear enough, and her white face—no mistaking that." He gave an involuntary shud­der. "The rest of the clothes were nothing special, just a light-colored dress."

  "Any jewelry or rings?"

  "Not that I saw, Princess."

  Teanna brought the wineglass up to her lips and feigned taking a sip. "I was told that they met by them­selves in an old house. Is that true?"

  "You were told correctly."

  "How long did the meeting last?"

  "About two hours. I waited outside with her guards and the priest."

  Teanna's eyes came up sharply. "What priest?" she asked, putting the glass down.

  "I never heard his name, highness, but he was defi­nitely from Coribar, and he was definitely a priest. He wasn't wearing their white robes, but I saw his hand as plain as day." Baker smiled and held up his own hand to il­lustrate, folding back the top half of his fourth finger. "It's the same with all of them," he added.

  "Put your hand down," Teanna hissed. "Why wasn't I told this?"

  "Don't you people read the reports I sent? I mentioned it to your man, but he seemed much more interested in the Orlock. Not that I can't blame him; they're not some­thing you see every day. Your blood goes cold just look­ing at them."

  "Did you speak with this priest?"

  Baker shook his head. "The only time I saw him speak to anyone, it was with the Orlocks. I couldn't hear what they said, and to be honest, I was happy not to get any closer than I had to. He stayed apart on the return voyage." "He went back with your ship?" Teanna asked. "Not all the way to Palandol. We dropped him in Bokras. For what it's worth, I know that he arrived with Shakira on a Vargothan galley."

  Teanna felt her heart thumping in her chest. "He was traveling with the Orlocks," she repeated half aloud. "Can you describe what he looked like?"

  "Certainly. He was small, maybe five-foot-six, no more ... clean shaven, and his hair was mostly gray. It may have been red once. My guess is that he was about sixty years old. And his eyes were hazel."

  The description didn't fit anyone Teanna knew. Perhaps her father would know him. "What happened after the meeting?" she asked.

  "Like I said, we left, and they left. I was glad to put the distance between us. I don't particularly relish being around Orlocks, and the stench from those galleys is some­thing awful."

  "Did Seth and this priest ever speak in private?"

  "I didn't specifically see them, but one of the men in my unit told me they had dinner together. We landed at Bokras the following morning then continued on to Palandol."

  Teanna questioned Baker for the next five minutes but failed to learn anything else of significance. The only other thing of interest he had to say involved a rumor that Seth was conducting war games in Vargoth's western territories.

  After they separated, she decided to walk back to the tavern where she and Bryan Oakes had taken rooms. It would give her time to think. Fortunately, the rain had let up, though a watery mist hung in the air, making it heavy with the taste of salt. Wet cobblestones reflected light from gas lamps, and produced false rainbows on the ground. Teanna took a deep breath, filled her lungs, and looked up and down the street. At one end was the tannery with its potent odors, and at the opposite end, the mer­chant shops and the town's center. It was early in the eve­ning and a few businesses were still open.

  Garivele was reasonably close to the Vargoth capital, and in recent years it had gained popularity as a resort town. A few ships were moored in the harbor, their masts black silhouettes against the sky. On the next block Teanna saw a shop with all manner of flowers outside. She slowed as she walked by, trying to decide whether to buy any of them. Then something caught her eye. In the midst of a cluster of deep red roses were a bunch of blue ones. The only other time she had seen blue roses was at Tenley Palace in Sennia. A flood of memories went through her mind as she stared at them, then she continued walking.

  Three doors away from the flower shop she again stopped, in front of a store bearing the name Hidden Trea­sures, and looked in the window. A variety of jeweled pins and artifacts were on display. Some were whole and in good condition and some were broken. They ranged from hand mirrors to cups and empty perfume bottles. Curious, she went in.

  A diminutive woman seated behind one of the counters got up when she saw her. "Good evening, my dear," she said. "Are you looking for anything special?"

  Teanna pushed her hood back. "No, just looking."

  "Take your time. We have a lot of nice things to see. I'm Verna Talbot."

  "Lisa Melroy," Teanna replied, shaking hands.

  This is fun, she-thought. She couldn't remember the last time she had gone shopping alone. It might be interesting not to be a princess for a while ... just a normal girl.

  "You have such pretty hair," Verna said. "I have some combs in this case that would be perfect for you. Let me see your eyes, dear."

  Amused, Teanna opened her eyes a little wider and leaned down. She was quite tall and towered over the smaller woman. "Is this your shop?"

  "Yes, it is. My husband and I run it, but he's away for the week, so I'm in charge."

  "Women should always be in charge," Teanna said with a smile. "It's a lovely shop."

  "Thank you. That's what I tell my granddaughters. If more women were in charge, things would get done a lot quicker."

  Verna took Teanna by the arm and guided her to a

  case on the opposite side of the room. "Are you here for the festivities?" "Festivities?"

  "The Feast of Saint Gavrila," Verna said. "Goodness, I thought everyone knew about it. That's what all the people are in town for. You're just visiting, then?"

  "Yes, we stopped here for the night. I'm actually from Calisto. It's a small town in Nyngary."

  Vema frowned as she tried to place the name. "Hmm, I seem to recall it, but it's been years since Roger and I were there. He's my husband, by the way. We used to sing with a group of traveling musicians. Is that the one with the gray watchtower? It has a big clock that shows the sun and the moon."

  "Yes," Teanna said, surprised. "You were a singer? How interesting."

  "It was a long time ago—thirty years at least. We bought this shop when we retired."

  "Thirty years," Teanna exclaimed. "You must have re­tired at a very young age."

  "Thank you, dear. Actually, I'm eigh
ty-two," Verna said with a wink.

  Teanna spent the next few minutes looking at various ob­jects and talking with Verna. She found herself liking the older woman, and it was enjoyable passing the time that way. Having grown up in a palace as an only child, she had never made many friends. A few of the local nobles brought their daughters to visit from time to time, something her fa­ther arranged, but the differences in their positions made getting close to anyone difficult. Her mother had drilled the fact that she was a princess into her head from the time that she was little.

  "You certainly don't look eight-two," Teanna said. "1 used to be a lot taller ... not as tall as you, but about two inches, I should say. I've been shrinking as I get older. I suppose if I keep on going, I'll just disappear one day." Teanna giggled and made a dismissive gesture. "Oh ... what's this?" she asked, noticing something in one of the cases.

  "That's one of the combs I was telling you about. There's a brush and hand mirror to go with it. Roger brought them back from Tadero a few months ago. Aren't they lovely?" Verna took the items out of the glass case. "Sit here," she told Teanna. "There's a mirror on the counter you can use."

  Teanna sat and watched as the old woman rearranged a few strands of her hair, then held them in place with the comb. It was decorated with amber and brown stones.

  "I love it," Teanna said. "How much for all three?"

  The price Verna quoted was a little steep, but Teanna paid it anyway. Her mother would have probably driven a harder bargain, she thought.

  "Are you married?" Verna asked.

  "No."

  "Then you really should consider staying for the feast. It's great fun, and a pretty young girl like you might even be able to find yourself a husband."

  "I'm afraid I don't know much about it," Teanna admit­ted.

  "All you have to do is prepare a picnic basket then go to the gazebo in the town square. All the single girls will be there, and many from all over the province, too. We do it every year. The boys make bids and the money goes to charity. The highest bidder gets the girl and the basket. Afterward there's a dance. Both my granddaughters will be there."