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

by Mitchell Graham

  Father Thomas did not respond immediately. After sev­eral seconds he shook his head. "Impossible," he said.

  "What do you mean, 'impossible'?" Mathew asked. "What's impossible?"

  "I'm going alone, Mat. Their taking Ceta was no acci­dent. Yes, she's a single woman, but according to Akin, the Vargothans have confined themselves to taking young women under the age of thirty. Ceta is forty-six now."

  "That's ridiculous. I'm not going to let you walk in there and hand yourself over. If they don't hang you on the spot, you'll be back in prison before you know what's happened."

  "I appreciate that, but this is something I have to do alone."

  "There's no way you're going by yourself," Mathew said. "You wouldn't let me, and I'm not letting you."

  Father Thomas slowly turned to face Mathew, his eyes intense. "A long time ago I told you there are times when the needs of the many have to outweigh the needs of the one. Occasionally, the reverse is true, but this is not one of them. I have not been there for Ceta in the past. .. perhaps I can rectify that now. You will have to go on to Corrato without me."

  Mathew's temper flared. "The ring can melt in hell for all I care."

  The priest's face turned cold. "This is not a subject for debate. I'd appreciate it if you would explain to the others for me."

  "You're not going, Father. I'm—"

  "What goes on here?" Akin asked from the doorway.

  Mathew told him.

  While he was speaking, Akin glanced at Father Thomas, who did not meet his gaze.

  "Let's go back inside where we can discuss this quietly," Akin said. "I don't like standing out here in the open."

  Father Thomas considered both men for a moment then headed back into the silversmith's house.

  Lara stood up when Mathew reentered the room and went to his side. "What's the matter?" she asked, taking his hand.

  Before he could respond, Akin explained what Father Thomas had in mind.

  Protests broke out all around the room while the priest stood rigid and tight-lipped. He made no reply. To a per­son, everyone was in favor of mounting a rescue attempt rather than letting him carry out his plan. Father Thomas however, remained unconvinced and rejected all of their offers to help. Better than his friends, he had already rea­soned through the consequences of any direct action against the mercenaries.

  "For God's sake, Ceta wouldn't want you to do this," Mathew said, exasperated.

  "I know what she would say, Mat," Father Thomas replied.

  "I may have a solution," Akin said. "If I understand you correctly," he said, addressing the priest, "you don't want us to go because there are too many mercenaries and more people might get hurt. Is that right?"

  Father Thomas took a weary breath. "That's only part of it," he replied. "Though you're correct, the odds are too great. According to what you've told me, there are likely to be between twenty and thirty officers in the compound, with

  the rest of their garrison a few hundred yards away. Mathew cannot risk himself in this venture. His primary task is to get the ring."

  Mathew threw up his hands at that. "This is insane." "What if I could get enough men to even the odds?" Akin asked.

  "From where?"

  "From Mechlen, from here, and in Gravenhage itself. We could raise eighteen to twenty men with no problem. We've been doing that the last two years on our raids."

  "And what happens afterward?" asked Father Thomas. "Are all eighteen of you—or twenty, as you say—going to fight the entire Vargothan army in this region? Their gam-son at Gravenhage has at least four hundred soldiers . .. and they'll respond. You've seen what they did in Tyraine."

  The corners of Akin's mouth tightened. "Yes, I saw it. I'm sure Delain would want us to wait until we're stronger, but if the Vargothans want to fight, we can match them man for man. It might take a week to get our people together if a real battle starts, but we definitely could do it, Father. We have enough able-bodied men in this province alone. The same thing is true of Lankton and Queen's Provinces."

  Father Thomas shook his head. "I appreciate what you're saying, I really do . . . from the bottom of my heart. But the timing has to be right. If we move before Mat has the ring back, everything could be lost."

  The protests all started up again, but this time it was Mathew who stopped them, speaking over the rising din of voices.

  "I understand what Father Thomas is saying. Since Alor Satar doesn't know that I'm alive, it's got to be Fa­ther Thomas they're afraid of. That's why they took Ceta, isn't it, Father? She's the bait." "Correct." "The thing is, the Vargothans are expecting you to do

  exactly what you're proposing to do. What they won't ex­pect is an all out attack. I agree with Akin on this point. The element of surprise can swing a battle in one direction or another."

  Father Thomas folded his hands in front of him. "And what about Teanna?" he asked quietly.

  Mathew thought for a moment before he responded. "She was the deciding factor in all the battles before, am I correct?" he asked Akin.

  "In every battle," Akin replied.

  "And without her we were able to hold our own?"

  "True."

  "Then the best possible thing would be for us to draw her here again," Mathew went on, "because if she's here—"

  "Then she's not in Corrato," Akin said, realizing what

  he was driving at.

  "If we act quickly and strike first," Mathew said, "there's an additional benefit to be gained. Without offi­cers to lead them—"

  "Their army will be in disarray," Akin said, finishing the sentence for him. He clapped Mathew on the back.

  Father Thomas looked from Mathew to Akin and back again. "It might work," the priest said, slowly.

  Throughout the conversation Lara had remained quiet. She and her mother exchanged glances while Mathew was speaking, but neither offered an opinion. In the lull that fol­lowed, she and Mathew finally made eye contact. Up till then, he had been avoiding doing so. Father Thomas, know­ing the young man as well as he did, was certain it was no accident. He was equally confident the next hurdle was about to be reached.

  "Why is it necessary for you to go?" Lara asked, speak­ing for the first time.

  The look that passed between Mathew and her bespoke their long familiarity with each other. "Let's talk outside," he said.

  Lara looked down at Bran and said, "I'll be right back. Your father and I are going to talk outside."

  Bran's eyes got wider and he drew his head back, then went to sit on Father Thomas's lap.

  "Wise lad," the priest said under his breath. "Stay out of the line of fire."

  While Mathew and Lara were talking, Father Thomas amused the boy by taking a coin out of his ear, putting it in his fist and making it disappear. Bran of course was prop­erly amazed and thought the whole thing great fun. Akin frowned as he watched the magic trick.

  "Where did you ever learn to do that?"

  "Oh, here and there."

  Bran's mouth opened wide in shock when the priest re­trieved a copper elgar from his left ear and handed it to him. Confused, he reached up and felt his ear.

  Father Thomas glanced into the garden and observed Mathew's gesticulations and the expression on Lara's face. It appeared that his young friend was arguing his case intelligently and calmly, but unsuccessfully.

  Martin Palmer also looked out the window, shook his head, then leaned over and spoke softly to Akin, while Amanda contended herself by straightening several of the items on Akin's shelves. Eventually the door opened again, the discussion apparently concluded.

  "It's settled," Mathew said. "We're, uh .. . getting mar­ried tomorrow and Lara's coming with us."

  Both Akin's and Martin's mouths dropped open in shock. They looked at each other, then each took out a sil­ver coin and handed it to Amanda, who accepted them with a pleasant smile and put them away in the pocket of her dress.

  26

  The Wasted Lands

  The reddish-brown s
and blew idly over the top of Gawl's boots, threatening to bury them as it had buried everything else on the plain. Annoyed, he kicked it off and walked a few paces forward, squinting at the horizon. As soon as he stopped, the sand started accumulating again. He wasn't certain when the Wasted Lands had acquired their name, but it was certainly apt. The plain was a sparse, inhospitable place not suited to life . . . any life. Little grew there, except for some dried-out vegetation. The ground itself was pitted and cracked, and as fiat as a tabletop. Strangely, though there were few sources of wa­ter, the air always seemed unnaturally humid and hung about one's face like a damp cloth. Sweat ran down the back of Gawl's shirt. It was an eerie, disorienting place, with fog banks that moved back and forth over the surface of the land making distances hard to judge.

  The last time Gawl had been there was as a young man. Impelled by curiosity, he had wanted to see for himself if the rumors were true. The stories men told of volcanoes and bizarre crystal formations that broke light into a thou­sand colors had intrigued him. There were also tales about sandstorms of incredible violence, which he v/ould also came to know firsthand. Thirty years later he liked it no better than he had the first time.

  It was no longer curiosity that moved him now, but ha­tred and the desire for revenge. He wanted his throne back from the man who had stolen it. Pitted against that desire

  was a sense of sadness and guilt. Civil war and death were not things he wished to visit on his people, but he would be damned if he would allow Edward Guy to rule his country one day longer than he had to.

  As he watched the sand swirl about his feet he thought about Rowena, Guy's beautiful daughter. He had been a fool to believe that a woman twenty years his junior could have been in love with him. Certainly such things hap­pened, but Rowena had betrayed him just as her father had. Naive or not, pawn or not, she was a traitor. It would have been better for all concerned if she had accepted his offer of clemency four years ago and left the country. The thought of beheading her made his blood run cold. The feelings were still present; he acknowledged that.

  When his trial was over, she had come to him and asked that he accept her father as Regent, if only for a little while. She told him that Sennia's borders were being closed again, in order to keep the people free of "outside corruption." Whether Rowena saw this as a pretext or not, Gawl knew the real reason was so that Guy and his cohorts could control the country's wine and copper production without competi­tion. It all came down to money. As intelligent as she was, she had never been able to see her father for what he was.

  Two nights ago he and James had discussed what was to be done with the Guys and the nobles supporting them. James thought that Gawl's idea of prison was needlessly soft, and he said so.

  How do you cut the head off of someone you loved and not be affected by it? Gawl thought.

  That James could have made the suggestion as blandly as he did still amazed Gawl. Perhaps being born into the aristocracy gave one a thicker skin, he mused. Clearly, he still had a lot to learn about being a king. The problem was, he wasn't sure he wanted to learn it. Killing an en­emy in battle was one thing; hiring assassins and murder­ing people in the dark was something else. Being a simple sculptor had its advantages, he decided.

  A footfall behind him pulled him back to the present. "Did you get any sleep, Jeram?" he asked. "Some. The building helped block the wind." Gawl glanced over his shoulder at the foundation of what must have once been a very large structure. Two of the four walls had collapsed eons ago and only portions of those remaining were still intact. The windows were long gone, with only their twisted frames left behind. Over the past three days they had seen several buildings like it, along with portions of a roadway the Ancients once used. With a little imagination, one could picture what they once must have looked like. Now, like the surface of the land, they were pitted and broken.

  A few old books had survived the Ancient War, and from the pictures Gawl had seen, he knew how large some of the roads were. The one they were traveling was tiny in comparison, with only two lanes on either side of a natu­ral median.

  "You look like hell," Gawl told Quinn. "So do you." "I underslept a little."

  Quinn smiled and followed Gawl's line of sight. He put a hand above his eyes to shield them from the glare. "Are those hills out there?"

  "Mountains," Gawl told him. "The pass we're looking for should be somewhere southwest of that large one on the right. There'll be water at the higher elevations."

  "I'd kill for a hot bath," Quinn said, brushing some of the sand from his shoulders. "I've never seen anything like this. Even the sand is the wrong color."

  "That's because it's not sand," Gawl explained. "They're rust particles ... or rust particles mixed with sand. I'm not sure which."

  Quinn spit some away from his lips. "Whatever. They're still noxious."

  Gawl glanced over his shoulder at the noises coming

  from the camp. People were beginning to stir. "How's everyone holding up?" he asked.

  "As well as can be expected," Quinn said. "It'll be better once we're out of here. There's something about this place." "It presses on you."

  Quinn nodded and a shiver ran up his spine despite the heat. "How long before we reach the pass?"

  "Two days. It will take a half day to get to the other side, and another day to reach the ships at Lipari." "And then?"

  "We will begin our campaign from the northwest. Bal-lenger wants to hit Camden Keep before moving on the main body of Guy's forces in Barcora."

  Quinn thought about it for a few seconds. "Good plan. What do you want me to do?"

  "You're not a Sennian, Jeram. You fought with us at Fanshaw Castle, which was more than anyone expected. Lord knows, I'd be proud to have you, but I won't ask it. You've already done more than your part."

  "You don't have to ask," Quinn said. "There's not much call for a constable these days, particularly since El-garia has no government at the moment. Until Delain is back on the throne and our country restored, I seem to be at loose ends. I'll fight with you."

  "Good man," Gawl said, putting a hand on Quinn's shoulder. "Let's get some breakfast."

  "It'll have to be cold," James said, limping toward them. "All the wood we've found is either rotten or it just doesn't burn. Good morning, by the way." "Good morning," said Gawl. "Good morning," said Quinn.

  "Well, a cold breakfast is better than no breakfast," said Gawl. "How are the men?"

  "They're fine. The sooner we're out of here the better. What in God's name could the Ancients have done to this place?"

  Gawl shook his head. "I remember what Ardon Field looked like after Mathew and Duren fought. It was very similar."

  James squinted out over the plain. "It's like they killed the land itself. Do you think Mathew will succeed?"

  "He'd better, or Teanna will have a field day with us. Either way, it won't make a difference. I don't intend to live under Alor Satar's rule, or the Vargothans, or anyone else's for that matter," said Gawl. "Mathew will succeed, or the man you hired will succeed. Once Sennia is freed, Elgaria is next and we finish this .. . forever."

  "Agreed," said James. "You do understand that we will still have one problem left. .. Mathew Lewin."

  Gawl and Quinn both turned to look at the prince.

  "It wasn't clear to me until we entered this godforsaken spot. It is now. No one person can be allowed to possess the kind of power that can do this," James said, stretching his hand over the land. "No one. Not you, nor me, nor you, constable . . . nor Mathew Lewin. It's far too dangerous."

  "If your majesties will excuse me," said Quinn, nod­ding to both men. He headed down the slope toward camp.

  Gawl watched him go for a few seconds and turned back to James. "Explain."

  "I believe our military action will be successful. Once it is, things will eventually return to normal. At that point, Mathew must be made to give up his ring or he'll have the entire world at his mercy. I don't intend to be put in that position,
Gawl."

  "But he's never shown the first inclination—"

  "Unlimited power leads to corruption as surely as the sun rises. If we don't act, we will be left with a young man who possesses just that. How long will it be before we have another Karas Duren to deal with?"

  "Have you lost your mind?" Gawl snapped.

  "I think not," James replied. "The fact is, I'm a realist, and if you plan on holding onto your throne, you'll have to be one, too. Do you think I enjoy having to say these things? I don't."

  "What is it you'd like me to do?" "At the moment, nothing. But when the time comes, we must be prepared. That's all I'm saying."

  "Fine," Gawl replied. "We'll talk about it when the time comes." He started walking back toward the camp, but stopped after a few steps. "Understand this: I'm not going to do anything to harm Mathew Lewin, and I'll take it very badly if anyone else tries to do so . . very badly." A half hour later, after the men had eaten, the officers gave the order to break camp. James and Gawl agreed they would march for about four hours, then rest for the midday meal at an abandoned town Gawl knew. From there they would try for the foothills before darkness.

  Though the terrain was level, the heat and humidity made travel difficult. To complicate matters, shortly after they entered the Wasted Lands they found that looks could be deceiving—the lifeless plain was not quite as dead as it seemed. Tremors shook the ground, unexpectedly turning small cracks into crevices and fissures into chasms. The first time one struck, the soldiers froze in their places. Though the episode lasted less than a minute, it put every­one on edge. Nor did it help that formations of crystal columns, some of them eight to ten feet high, would break through the ground without warning. Fortunately, James noticed that a faint high-pitched whine preceded the erup­tions and he warned his men to be alert for the sound.

  The Mirdanites, Gawl thought, were a stoic lot, and went about their tasks without complaint. Most of them were seasoned veterans who had as little love for Alor Sa-tar as he did. Many had lost family and friends in the last war, when their capital was attacked by Karas Duren. The fact that Edward Guy had chosen to align himself with their old enemy only added to the fire of the long-smoldering hatred.