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

by Mitchell Graham

  "I see," Mathew said. "So the men have been going out and hitting the Vargothans. That's good."

  This time the look was between Lara and her mother. "The women, too," Lara said.

  "You're joking?" Mathew slid his chair back.

  "Joking," Bran echoed from the floor. Mathew glanced at him then at Lara.

  "Mm-hmm," Lara said, keeping her mouth closed while she was eating. She took a second to swallow then added, "I've been out with them a dozen times. So have mother, Ceta, and a lot of other women."

  The food in Mathew's mouth chose that moment to go down the wrong way and he started coughing. "Ceta Woodall's here in town?"

  "Poor dear . . . one shock after another," Lara said. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "After Duren's sons traded part of Elgaria to the Orlocks, we were hit by a flood of people fleeing north. Elberton was overrun in a matter of weeks and Ceta lost her inn. She barely got out in time."

  Lara got up and went to help her mother in the kitchen, leaving Mathew sitting there somewhat overwhelmed by the changes that seemed to be falling out of the trees around him. He followed her with his eyes and waited un­til she was out of earshot. Then lowering his voice, he told Martin what he thought of the idea of women taking part in the fighting, notwithstanding Lara's ability with a sword.

  Martin gave him a flat look and pulled a pipe out of his vest pocket. He took his time filling it. "Son, have you ever tried telling an Elgarian woman what to do?" he asked out of the corner of his mouth.

  Lara chose that moment to glance over her shoulder at Mathew and flashed him a sweet smile.

  "I see your point," Mathew said, smiling back at her. "I'm delighted that Ceta got out all right. So will Father Thomas; he's been worried sick about her."

  Martin nodded. "She's doing quite well from what I un­derstand. She owns the Rose and Crown. She bought it from Cyril Tanner's wife after he was killed at Westrey Bridge."

  "Ceta owns . .." Mathew shook his head. "I don't think I can take much more of this. I'd like to stop by and visit with her later." There was a pause as a smile touched the corners of Mathew's mouth. "I'd also like to see the look on Father Thomas's face. Do you think it's possible to keep it a secret for a little while?"

  Lara's father thought about that for a second and started chuckling. "Don't see why not, so long as Lara and Amanda cooperate. Ceta's quite a lady."

  "Who's quite a lady, dear?" Amanda asked, returning to the table. She handed each of them a piece of apple pie on a plate.

  "Ceta Woodall. I was just telling Mat that she owns the Rose and Crown now. He wants to take Father Thomas over there and surprise him."

  Both Amanda's and Lara's faces lit up at the same time.

  "And speaking of Father Thomas," Martin said, "look who's coming down the alley now."

  Everyone turned to see the tall figure of a man walking briskly toward the house. The priest was wearing dark brown breeches, boots, and a loose white shirt. He was also carrying a sword.

  Lara let out a squeal, pushed her chair back from the table and ran out to meet him. Amanda and Martin, though not quite as effusive, weren't far behind, leaving Mathew and Bran alone.

  "We've been thrown over," Mathew said to his son. Bran looked out the window at the celebration going on in the alley then got up went out to join the others. "Hmph," said Mathew.

  As Father Thomas had surmised, Mathew was taken aback to learn he had known about his son. The priest, however, was wrong in assuming he would be angry. Un­til they talked in private, Mathew could only guess at his friend's motives, though it didn't take much to figure

  them out.

  He had always understood that his ring had to be re­trieved. It was all the more true now that he had seen his child. Certainly the circumstances had changed, but the world he lived in had not. Vargoth, Alor Satar, and their Orlock friends had to be driven out of Elgaria and the peace restored. That was the beginning and the end of it. There were too many graves in the cemetery to abandon his goal now.

  Sitting there and watching the hugging and laughter going on outside, Mathew closed his eyes and swore an oath to another Bran. He swore that he would get his ring back no matter how long it took or the cost involved. Just as he had, his son would grow up in a free countiy ... and its name was Elgaria not Oridan.

  22

  Mirdan

  In the early morning three men walked along the ridge above where Sennia's Southern Army had camped. The eastern sky already showed streaks of crimson and gold, heralding the day's approach. The tall man next to Gawl d'Atherny was dwarfed by the giant figure of the king. The third man walked with a limp.

  Atreus Ballinger, on Gawl's left, was commander of Sennia's fabled Phelix Legions and general of the South­ern Army. He pulled his cloak a little tighter around him, shutting out the wind. Ballenger was forty-five years old, well-built, with close-cropped black hair. His face was more suited to that of a commoner, which he was, than the general he had become when Gawl promoted him out of the ranks seven years earlier.

  Because of his leadership and the bravery he'd dis­played in battle over the years, his men remained fiercely loyal to him. They saw Ballenger as one of their own. Down to the last they had defected when their general did, choosing to leave the country rather than serve Lord Guy any longer.

  Ballenger himself was a devoutly religious man with a strong sense of right and wrong. Following Gawl's arrest, he had adhered to the rule of law because the Church had endorsed it. That view eroded over time as he watched Ed­ward Guy and the other wine-producing families close Sennia's borders and begin raising prices after they seized power. Higher prices he could tolerate; such things happened. Murder he could not. And Guy's thinly veiled at­tempt at another trial would be just that.

  Torn between loyalty to the country he had sworn to protect and the basic precepts of justice, which were clear and unequivocal to him, Ballenger sought out his priest for advice. They counseled together several times before a de­cision was reached. The army would defect. Other mili­tary commanders had received similar guidance from priests throughout the country.

  In the mountain passes between Sennia and Mirdan temperatures were decidedly cooler than those at the lower elevations. Winter came early there. Only two weeks'before, the leaves had begun falling, and now they crunched loudly under the men's feet as they walked.

  "I'd like to break camp and begin moving as soon as possible," Ballenger said.

  Gawl came to a halt and looked at the campfires dot­ting the valley. "If you would call the men together before we leave, Atreus, I'd like to address them."

  Ballenger also stopped walking. "Is everything all right, your highness?"

  Gawl, preoccupied, paused before he answered. "We are about to cross the Wasted Lands, a trip some of us won't survive. If we are successful, we'll board ships that will take us to Sennia to fight our own countrymen. No, everything is not all right. I didn't become king for this." "Then what did you become king for?" James asked. The question surprised Gawl. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he replied blandly.

  "Really?" James said. "Is that it—it seemed like a good idea at the time? I must remember to mention that to my children. They're quite impressed by you."

  Gawl scowled and glanced down at the smaller man. "No, that's not all of it," he said. "When I entered the Olyiad it was because I didn't think anyone could beat me. To be honest, it was a matter of wanting to win the com­petition—nothing more. The men I defeated were all good men. They wanted to be king—I didn't. Their reasons were all different, of course. A few wanted the power, and some coveted wealth and glory, but one fellow, a man named Richard, said he wanted to make things better. I re­member him well. He was not much older than you, James. We talked one night for quite a long time.

  "At the end of the fifth day I began to ask myself the same question you just asked me. All things considered, what I was doing at the time was infinitely less compli­cated than running a country. I thought
about abandoning the contest. I bore no rancor for the men around me, and I didn't wish to kill them. It was just a matter of winning, but then I remembered what Richard had said to me. Funny, isn't it, how some people can change your life?"

  James reached up and put a hand on Gawl's shoulder. "I was born to this, my friend. There were no decisions where I was concerned. My father is the king, and I will succeed him according to our laws. You had a choice .. . you made the right one."

  Gawl, seemingly unconvinced, shook his head. "Prince James is right, your majesty," said Ballenger. "The men will follow you. Not simply because you head the state—so does Edward Guy. It's because they believe in you as a person. Edward Guy is not a man of morals."

  Gawl raised one bushy eyebrow. "Do they?" he asked quietly.

  "Yes," Ballenger replied, "they do . .. and so do I." The sun was fully up and breakfast was done when Atreus Ballenger called his troops together. They stood at attention in their respective divisions and waited in the cool autumn air for the king. A variety of colored banners flapped in the breeze, each signifing a different unit of the army. Mixed in with them were five thousand soldiers of the Mirdan army, recognizable by their white cloaks.

  Fifteen thousand men, Gawl thought, looking out at the troops. He repeated the number to himself. Some of you will never see home again.

  "Young men," his voice boomed out, "soldiers of Sen-nia and our friends from Mirdan. You honor me with your presence, and I want you to know that I am grateful—more grateful than you can imagine. I have been a sculptor all my life, a soldier for most of it, and a king for only a part, so let me speak to you today only as one man to another.

  "An evil has befallen our world—something insidious and corrupt in nature. An evil that seeks power for its own ends; an evil driven by want and greed.

  "Edward Guy has become the puppet of Alor Satar. The men who rule that country hunger for power. They want not to make things better, but they want for the sake of wanting alone. To them power is its own end.

  "When I was in Tyraine several years ago, I saw the bodies of a thousand people, many of them women and children, hung from scaffolds by the Vargothans. Their faces have haunted me ever since.

  "We have always been a moral people. To be sure there are differences among us, but we live by the words set out in the scripture. To kill children for the sake of teaching a lesson to their parents is a crime so heinous it defies one's ability imagine it. How any person could do so and still sleep at night is beyond me. Edward Guy has aligned him­self with these monsters. I tell you now the fight is not about wine. It is not about profits, or jobs, or who the Church might favor on any given day. The fight is about that which is good, and that which is base and vile and hides in the dark.

  "So that you know what you are getting into, I tell you that I intend to hang Edward Guy from the first tree I can find. Once that is done we will join with King Delain and Prince James to drive the invaders from Sennia, from El-garia, and anywhere else they have hidden themselves. We will drive Alor Satar, Vargoth, and the Orlocks beyond our borders and away from our families forever.

  "We have been a free people since the Ancient War,

  and free we shall remain. We will live our lives as we will and ask no man's permission to do so.

  "The task before us is not an easy one. The enemy is more numerous than we are, and the way before us is fraught with danger. Unfortunately, that is our path. After we cross the Wasted Lands, we will board ships to take us to Marigan, where we will confront the traitors. Some of you will not come back. If there are any who do not wish to serve, let them leave now. I will think no less of you for doing so. On this I pledge my word."

  Gawl waited for nearly a half minute before he was sat­isfied. "Very well," he bellowed. "We march."

  When no applause or cheering broke out, his first thought was that his speech had failed. As much as it hurt, he was resolved not to show it. He kept his head erect, turned on his heel, and walked back to his horse. Jeram Quinn was there waiting for him.

  "Not bad for a sculptor," Quinn remarked, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Suddenly, he gripped Gawl's forearm and looked him in the eye. "You did well," he said, and swung up onto his saddle.

  Gawl cleared his throat and looked the other way for several seconds before he followed the constable.

  23

  Nyngary

  The guards at the entrance to the palace apart-ments watched Teanna as she came down the hall. Both stood at attention and stared straight ahead. The princess's stride was brisk and the expression on her face serious. She stopped in front of them.

  "Is my cousin Eric in his quarters?"

  "Yes, highness, but I believe he has retired for the night," one of the guards said.

  "Please knock on his door and present my apologies. Tell him I would like to meet with him in the library as soon as he is able."

  "Uh ... highness, it's possible the prince may not be alone," the guard told her.

  Teanna looked at the man without blinking until he got the message.

  "Yes, highness—at once," he said, with a bow.

  Eric Duren arrived in the library in a bad mood. He wore a heavy wool vest and had a blanket over his shoul­ders. His white shirt appeared to have been hastily tucked into his breeches. Teanna, reading a book by the fire, put it down when he came in.

  "What the devil is so important that you had to get me out of bed at this hour?" he asked, flopping down into a chair across from her.

  "Would you like some tea?"

  "Yes, thank you," Eric said. "The fire feels good. This

  castle is extremely drafty, you know. Why don't you put in some more of those stoves like we have in Rocoi?"

  "I'll speak to father about it."

  "Good. Now why are we here?"

  "I've just come back from Garivele," Teanna said, handing him a cup.

  "I take it your trip had something to do with the meeting between Seth and Shakira you mentioned the other day. Af­ter we spoke I asked some of our people to look into it. We should know more in a few days. What prompted you to go there?"

  "Because I didn't want to wait a few days. I thought a meeting of that nature was important enough for me to hear about it firsthand."

  Eric stuck out his lower lip.

  "Oh, don't look like that," Teanna said, making a dis­missive gesture with her hand. "You're not the only one who uses spies to gather information."

  "This is excellent tea. How do you get it so sweet? It tastes like—"

  "Cherries. Yes, I know."

  "Really?" he said, looking down at his cup. "And what did you learn in Garivele?"

  "That Seth and Shakira not only met with each other, they were accompanied by a priest from Coribar."

  Eric looked up at her over the rim of the cup, his pleas­ant demeanor suddenly evaporating. "Are you certain?"

  "Reasonably. The priest was described to me as being around sixty years old with gray hair, possibly faded from red, and pale hazel eyes."

  "That would be Terrence Marek," a voice at the door­way said. "I've met him several times and he's not to be trusted."

  "Father," Teanna said, getting to her feet.

  Eric Duren followed suit. "Uncle . .. what a pleasant surprise."

  "Why are you surprised, Eric? I live here." "It's only an expression, Uncle. I'm always happy to see you."

  "Then you should be overwhelmed at the moment," the king observed. "Did I interrupt anything?"

  "Eric and I were just discussing that King Seth and Shakira met with each other in Garivele last week. They were apparently accompanied by this fellow Marek."

  "Were they?" Eldar d'Elso said. "That's not good. No, not good at all."

  "Do you think something's amiss, Uncle?" "Being condescending doesn't suit you any more than it did your father, Eric. I didn't like him, either."

  The mildly amused look Eric Duren generally wore disappeared. "Your majesty," he said, with a small bow. "
If you'll excuse me."

  Eldar made an annoyed motion with his hand. "Oh, sit down. I may not involve myself in politics very often, but it's perfectly obvious, to me at least, that Teanna's news is of great significance. Whatever you and your brother are, you're still family, as well as our allies. This is something we need to talk about."

  Teanna and Eric exchanged surprised glances and took their seats again while the king dragged another chair over to the fire and placed it between them. Her father's reac­tion was the last thing Teanna expected, and she was curi­ous to see what would develop. Her cousin appeared equally mystified.

  "Is that cherry tea you're drinking?" Eldar asked his daughter.

  "Yes, Father. Would you like me to make you some?"

  "No, no." He smiled. "It's just that your mother used to enjoy a cup on nights like this. At any rate, what do you know of Terrence Marek?"

  "Very little," said Teanna. "I've heard the name before, but I can't place it."

  "I'll wager Eric can ... can't you, Eric?"

  A pair of hooded eyes regarded the king. In the last several seconds they had become far more intense and very much more aware.

  "Marek is the head of the Sandresi Brotherhood on the island of Coribar," Eric explained. "For the last three hundred years they have been the most influential sect within their Church. He is quite well thought of by many of the hierarchy, except, of course, for those who can't stand him."

  "Very good," said Eldar.

  "The Brotherhood is extreme in their views and rarely come out in the open. They prefer to work behind the scenes whenever possible," Eric added.

  "And what else?" Eldar asked.

  "They believe theirs is the only true religion and that the various branches found in other countries are all either corrupt or heretical in nature. Their stated goal is to elimi­nate all opposition to the doctrines they practice . .. by any means necessary."

  "Excellent," said Eldar. "I might add they are largely thought to be responsible for the murders of two of the last five Kalifars of Bajan, and if memory serves me right, they also made an attempt on your father's life after he took the throne."