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

by Mitchell Graham

  Along with this, another announcement was posted de­claring Edward Guy and his daughter traitors and inform­ing the people that they would be tried before an impartial magistrate when found. Resistance quickly began to erode, even among Edward Guy's supporters, and by the time Gawl and James reached the town of Bexley, people were lining the streets and cheering for him.

  At the Abbey of Barcora, ten miles from Bexley proper, Archbishop Ferdinand Willis looked up when there was a knock on his door. He had taken over Paul Teller's study for his private offices four years earlier, and it was not a shock to see the former abbot enter the room with three members of the Ecumenical Council. Willis was the one who had expelled Teller from the abbey, and there was no love lost between them. In his view, Paul Teller was a commoner and unfit to hold the office of abbot. He eyed Teller with distaste and listened calmly as Teller read the council's proclamation removing him from office, signed by all eleven members.

  "I do not recognize your authority," Willis said when he was through. "My office is held by divine right. Lest you have forgotten, I remind you that I am a prince of the Church. You will all leave here at once, or I shall call the guards and have you removed."

  The men in the room exchanged glances, but no one moved.

  "There are no guards, holiness," said Teller.

  "Ridiculous," Willis snapped. "Jacomo, Bertrand, come in here at once."

  When no one responded to his call, the silence in the room grew heavier.

  "They've all gone," Teller said. "The king is waiting downstairs."

  "Liar," Willis replied, pushing past him. He opened the door to his study and yelled more loudly, "Jacomo! Bertrand!"

  After several seconds Ferdinand Willis turned around and stared at the solemn faces of the priests. Then he straightened his cassock and walked to the window. In the courtyard below, the figure of Gawl was unmistakable. There were at least a hundred armed men with him. It was impossible to say whether he and Gawl saw each other then, because neither reacted. Willis laughed once to him­self and turned around.

  "I need a few minutes alone, Fathers, if you don't mind," he said. "I will be down presently."

  The other members of the council looked to Paul Teller, who nodded in reply.

  Gawl was waiting by the side of his horse along with Prince James, Colonel Haynes, and Arteus Ballenger when they came out of the main building. He turned his palms up to Paul Teller in a silent question.

  "He'll be down in a few minutes," Teller said.

  Gawl started to reply and then stopped. Seeing a move­ment at the third floor window out of the corner of his eye. There was no scream or sound of any kind as Ferdinand Willis's body tumbled out, save for a rather horrible thud when he hit the cobblestones. He landed ten feet from the nearest soldier, nearly causing the man's horse to rear. The soldier immediately got down out of his saddle, and ran to the Archbishop. He stood up a moment later and shook his head.

  "He's down," said Gawl.

  Tenley Palace was located twenty miles ride from the Abbey of Barcora and both Gawl and James insisted on riding with the advance scouts to see what defenses Edward Guy had prepared. To their surprise, they found none—no soldiers, no battlements, nothing. It was a complete mystery. The troops followed, shortly thereafter. The anticipation of the pending fight was becoming harder and harder to deal with. Prevailing thought was that Guy intended to make his stand at the palace, a well-fortified structure that would have af­forded him the advantage of an elevated position.

  Three miles from the palace, Ballenger sent out recon­naissance patrols to assess the situation. They returned a half hour later and reported seeing no evidence of Guy's troops. They also said the palace gates were open.

  "They've fled, sire," the head of one patrol told Gawl.

  "Fled?" Gawl repeated, incredulous.

  "Yes. They're gone."

  "Are you certain of this?" asked James.

  "I went as far as the palace gates myself," said the sol­dier. "An elderly fellow named Alexander came out to meet me. He told me to tell his majesty that dinner would be at seven o'clock and that Lord Guy would not be attending."

  "Is this some kind of joke?" asked Gawl.

  "I think not, your she. It seems that Lord Guy and most of his cabinet boarded a ship for Alor Satar four days ago.

  The commander of the palace garrison came by while we were talking and confirmed it. He said to tell you 'wel­come,' by the way."

  "Welcome," Gawl sputtered, looking at James.

  "I should have stayed home and gone fishing," said James.

  "What about Guy's army?" asked Gawl. "Did they just go home, too?"

  "No," said the soldier, "but they have returned to their posts in the north and along the border. At least that's what the commander told me."

  Gawl put his hands over his face and shook his head. "I spend four years in jail and the cowards run away . .. amazing, simply amazing."

  There was a great deal of discussion about what to do next, but in the end it was decided that Tenley Palace would be a more appropriate place to conduct it. Gawl passed the news on to his general, and Ballenger in turn told the men about Lord Guy's defection. A cheer went up that continued for nearly five minutes.

  When they rode into the courtyard, Gawl and James found that Alexander had assembled everyone to greet them, one hundred and thirty people in all. No one spoke until Gawl dismounted and embraced the little chief of staff. Then they, like the soldiers, also began to cheer.

  Alexander waited until they were well inside before he handed Gawl a letter from Delain.

  36

  New Raburn

  "Brigands," Collin said under his breath.

  Mathew nodded and moved a little apart. Behind him Lara cursed under her breath. "I left my sword in the wagon. All I have is a dagger."

  "Easy," Father Thomas said, putting his sword back in its scabbard. "They may or may not be."

  Outside the window none of the men had yet moved. They were standing under the portico of the building watching them, silhouettes against the light. When Mathew saw the priest put up his weapon, he looked at the men more closely. He could see no evidence of weapons.

  "What are they doing?" Collin asked.

  "The same thing we are, it seems," said Father Thomas.

  "Well, it doesn't make any sense to stand here and stare at each other," said Lara. "Come inside if you want to," she called out.

  Mathew wasn't sure if her voice would carry beyond the glass, but apparently it did, because a second later the men started moving toward the doors at the center of the room.

  "Do nothing until I do," Father Thomas cautioned.

  As it turned out, the men were neither brigands nor soldiers, as Mathew thought they might be. They were or­dinary people who lived in the ruins. Many of them were close to his age; a few were nearer to Father Thomas's. They had fled their homes rather than face conscription by the Vargothans.

  The leader was a man named Garvin, a tall, hulking fellow with a red beard and an accent that marked him as coming from the southern pail of Elgaria. He introduced only himself to the others and did not offer to shake hands.

  "We've been living here nearly three years now," Garvin said, in response to Father Thomas's question. "What made you pick this place to stop, if I might ask?"

  "The storm drove us in," Father Thomas explained. "We were on our way to Ardosta."

  "And you're a wine seller?"

  "That's what I said."

  Garvin held Father Thomas's gaze for a second then looked over his shoulder at the man behind him,- who glanced at the priest and nodded slightly.

  "I don't like calling a man a liar," Garvin said, "but you're no wine merchant, you're Siward Thomas. Stokes here served with you at Jeremy Crossing."

  Only Father Thomas's eyes moved, fixing on the man behind Garvin. Stokes stepped forward and took off his hat.

  "Kendall Stokes, General. I was a sergeant in the third infantry under Colonel M
yers. I recognized you right off ... meaning no offense, sir."

  Father Thomas looked down at the floor and smiled. He looked up several seconds later. "It's good to see you again, Stokes. I apologize for the deception, but for the next few days, at least, we really are wine merchants."

  "I heard a rumor that you left the army and became a priest, but that was years ago," Stokes said.

  "You heard correctly. I have a small church in the town of Devondale. This is Ceta Woodall. And that's Collin Miller, a friend of ours."

  "A pleasure, ma'am," Stokes told her, with a small bow. "Your servant."

  "And who would these others be?" Garvin asked, ges­turing to Mathew and Lara with his head.

  "This is Thaddeus and Lara, also from my hometown."

  "Do they have last names?" Garvin asked. "Let's leave it at that," said the priest. "I give you my word that there are good reasons for it."

  Garvin, however, was having none of it. "Here, Harry," he said to one of the men with him, "bring that light over. I'd like to know who I'm talking to."

  The man he referred to as Harry was carrying a storm lantern and started forward. A slight shake of Father Thomas's head stopped Collin from reacting. Harry held the lantern higher while Garvin and another man looked at Collin, Lara, Ceta, and Mathew in turn. Taking the priest's example, Mathew stood there quietly until their examina­tion was over. For a moment a flicker of recognition seemed to appear in Harry's eyes, but it was gone again just as quickly.

  When it happened, Mathew was sure the game was up. He stared impassively back at the men until they dropped their eye contact and looked away. It had been four years since he was Mathew Lewin, and he was twenty pounds heavier, two inches taller, and now had dark hair.

  In response to Garvin's silent question, Harry shrugged.

  "I suppose being a priest, you have your reasons," Garvin said. "You can stay for the night, but in the morning you'll have to leave. Are any more of your friends likely to show up?"

  There was a silence.

  "You're Elgarians," Father Thomas began, "so I hope you'll understand what I'm about to say. People are look­ing for us. I'm fairly certain we haven't been followed, though I can't swear to it. All I can tell you is that we left Elgaria out of necessity because my companion was taken by the Vargothans. We got her out."

  The comment immediately produced a buzz among the men, and Garvin motioned for silence. They moved off to the side of the room and began talking in low tones. From the gesticulations, it was obvious that an argument was going on. Unfortunately, there was nothing to do but wait and see how it turned out. Once the conversations died down, several hands were raised.

  Eleven out of fifteen, Mathew said to himself.

  Garvin turned back to Father Thomas. "You can stay until the storm lets up, but after that, you'll have to go. I know that sounds harsh, but we've got women and chil­dren to protect and we can't risk bringing the Alor Satar army down on our necks. That was our vote."

  "I don't see anyone but you," Collin told him.

  "There's over three hundred people living in these ru­ins, son," Garvin explained. "Most are from Elgaria, but we've got 'em from Alor Satar, Cincar, and Nyngary. We've even got a few from northern Vargoth . . . them with families who don't like the conscript any more than we do."

  "That's very kind of you," said Father Thomas. "We'll be on our way when the storm is over."

  "If you're willing to donate a little of that wine you're carrying in the wagons, you can stay to supper," Garvin told them. "Everyone contributes what they're able here."

  "All three hundred of you eat together?" Mathew asked.

  " 'Course not," Garvin said, "but this is the second night of Saint Trista's Feast and the ladies put together a celebration. You're all welcome to attend." Turning to Fa­ther Thomas, he added, "We haven't had a regular priest here in quite some time, so if you want to say something, I'm sure a lot of folks would appreciate it."

  Father Thomas smiled back at him. "I'd be happy to, friend."

  "It's settled, then," said Garvin. "Harry will stay here and show you the way. The underground passages can be tricky if you don't know them."

  In conversations with Harry over the next hour, Mathew learned that the ruins actually had a name. At

  various points in the past they had been called R'hailbin, Raibon, and finally Raburn City. They were now called New Raburn, though it was only by the people who lived there. Essentially, the city had been refounded three years earlier by a group of eight families fleeing not only the Orlock invasion, but also the mercenaries. Shortly there­after other people began to arrive and the population swelled.

  Because New Raburn was well off the main thorough­fare and almost entirely self-sufficient, they had managed to keep it secret. It was a situation, Harry said, their coun­cil knew wouldn't last forever. If Alor Satar became aware of their existence, they would almost certainly send sol­diers to remove them. So far they had been lucky.

  The wind continued blowing with as much force as it had when the storm began. Water ran down the gutters and disappeared into a sewer system. The sky no longer had a yellow cast to it, but evening was coming on quickly. Mathew stood at the window of the building and watched raindrops splattering on the glass. There were no signs of other people outside—not that he expected them to be in this weather. If Garvin was telling the truth about three hundred people living in New Raburn, they had to be liv­ing farther back in the ruins, he thought. He glanced up at the sky and could not see how anyone could hold a party, given the weather.

  In the distance he saw an outline of the mountains they'd passed through earlier, jagged fingers along the horizon. The largest of them reminded him of a mountain in his dream. He was so deep in thought that he jumped when Collin put a hand on his shoulder.

  "Sorry," Collin apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you."

  "It's all right. I was just thinking."

  "About what?"

  "Nothing special. Just about a dream I had."

  "About the ring, right?"

  Mathew turned away from the window and stared at him. "How did you know?"

  "It doesn't take a genius to figure it out, Mat. You've been so damned preoccupied the last few days, it's pretty obvious it's been on your mind ... besides, I talked to Lara."

  Mathew nodded. "Did she send you over?"

  "No. I decided to check on you myself. It's good to have you back again. I missed you."

  "I missed you, too," Mathew said. "I wanted to write and let you know I was alive, but it was too dangerous. I hope you're not angry."

  "I understand. You did what you had to."

  "And you took care of Lara all these years and a son who wasn't yours. I know it's not nearly enough, but thanks, Collin."

  Characteristically, Collin brushed it aside. "Bran's a good boy and Lara's a fine woman. See that you take care of them, okay?"

  There was something in his tone that Mathew wasn't quite sure he understood, and he looked at his friend closely. "I've never asked you ... are you okay?" he asked. "Things have changed pretty quickly."

  "Me?" Collin scoffed. "I'm fine. As soon as this sorry business is over, I'm going to take a long trip and see what the rest of the world has been up to. There are plenty of opportunities for an enterprising fellow like me. In fact there was a man who came through town a few weeks ago. We spoke for quite a while and, um . .."

  Collin's words trailed away, and Mathew watched him. What was wrong was just beginning to dawn on him.

  When Collin spoke again his tone was uncharacteristi­cally somber. "She chose you a long time ago, Mat. That's the end of it."

  Mathew started to say something but didn't get the chance.

  "I said that's the end of it," Collin repeated. He started walking back toward the lobby.

  "Collin," Mathew said quietly. "Thanks for always be­ing my friend."

  Collin paused for a moment then kept on walking.

  37

  New R
aburn

  They were following Harry along a musty smelling corridor somewhere under the city of New Raburn. Every fifty feet or so an ancient light globe spilled yellow light onto the floor. Small halos formed around the globes. Some of them were working and some were not. From Mathew's standpoint, it was amazing that anything worked at all, considering the age of the place. A number of large pipes suspended from the ceiling ran the length of the corridor, and the walls were painted a flat gray. Then-voices echoed when they spoke. It was not a comfortable place, he decided.

  Now and then they passed a sign written in the old tongue. Some of the words he knew and some he guessed the meaning of. Some made no sense at all.

  "Pressure Relief Valve," Mathew said aloud. He looked up and saw a valve atop one of the pipes.

  "Those bring hot water and heat into the buildings," Harry explained, pointing to the pipes. "And in the sum­mer those bring cold air."

  "How can that be?" Collin asked.

  Harry shrugged. "We don't know exactly how they work, or even why, after all this time," he said. "Garvin and two others tried following them for a full day and gave up. They go down ten levels and come out in a crawl space that runs toward the mountains."

  "But how do they know when it should be hot and when it should be cold?" asked Ceta, looking up at the pipes.

  "Can't say, mistress. We're just glad they work. It can get plenty cold here in the winter."

  "Are there many of these tunnels?" Ceta asked.

  "At least twenty," Harry explained. "You can get any­where in the city using them. We don't have far to go. The meeting place is just around that corner and up two levels."

  "What does this one say, Mat?" Collin asked, pointing to another sign.

  When Lara kicked him in the shin, Collin shot her a puzzled look. It was a second before he realized his mis­take. He mouthed a curse and then the word Sorry to her. All three of them glanced at Harry, who was up ahead talking to Ceta and Father Thomas. Fortunately, he didn't seem to have heard.

  The meeting place turned out to be a massive hall in a low two-story building at the far end of New Raburn. It was the biggest single room Mathew had ever seen— palaces and cathedrals included. Only Barcora's stadium could have rivaled it in size, he thought. He was positive that if everyone in Devondale, Gravenhage, and Mechlen had stood shoulder-to-shoulder along the walls, they wouldn't have gone around the room's perimeter. The ceiling was at least forty feet high, and it contained a se­ries of lamps in the ceiling that put out a brilliant white-blue light making it look like daytime. You could only stare at them for a few seconds.