Thinblade

by David A. Wells

  Alexander grinned at the mixture of joy and mischief that danced across Jack’s face.

  “I’ve missed New Ruatha, too,” Lucky said with fondness. “It’s been many years since I studied at the Wizards Guild. I hope Mage Gamaliel is well. It will be good to see him.”

  They stood well back into the wood line and looked out across the high grass of the plains. It looked like they could make the edge of the city by dark, but Alexander wasn’t sure he was judging the distance correctly. “How far away is it?” he asked.

  “It’s more than half a day’s walk,” Jack smiled knowingly. “Looks closer, doesn’t it?”

  Alexander nodded thoughtfully, “Where do we enter the passages you spoke of?”

  Jack pointed to the eastern edge of the city. “There, where the river flows in. We can enter the underground passages and make our way right into the central plateau without ever setting foot on the streets.”

  Alexander looked at the sky and the position of the setting sun. “We still have a couple of hours of light left. Let’s make the best of it and move farther east so we have as little ground to cover as possible out in the open.”

  They started moving through the forest only a hundred feet or so inside the tree line. Alexander knew there were probably Reishi patrolling the grasslands between the forest and the city, and he wanted to avoid them if at all possible. Isabel said the majority of the Reishi had gone north along the road on horseback. They would have easily made it to New Ruatha a few days ago and were probably looking for them at this very moment. Even as that thought entered his mind, Alexander felt a strange sensation well up in his head almost like pressure building behind his forehead.

  He stopped and focused on the sensation. The moment he did he was swept up into the firmament. His awareness was no longer confined to his body but spanned the whole of existence. It was a jarring sensation that flooded his consciousness with more information than he could possibly process. It was all a jumble of tangled and disjointed events cascading through his mind.

  Then, abruptly, he was floating beneath the present moment, beneath the firmament itself. He no longer saw the impossibly vast cacophony of events in the world but instead looked up at the wave of time from beneath, where it was calm and quiet. He could see where it crested into the world of reality and created the moment of existence that every living thing shared. It was a whole new sensation, like being within the ocean of the firmament rather than spread across the place where it crested into the moment of creation.

  And then it sped up.

  It was so beyond anything that Alexander had even imagined that he couldn’t quite grasp what was happening. The point in time where the firmament touched reality moved forward just a minute or so. Not long, but Alexander knew with awed certainty that he was seeing into the future, or at least one possible future. His awareness narrowed down to the place inside the tree line where he and his friends were. He saw himself and his friends moving through the forest. Then he saw Truss leading more than a dozen mounted Reishi mercenaries around a thicket on the edge of the forest. Next he saw a hail of crossbow bolts crash into his friends. Isabel was hit. Lucky was hit. Jack was hit. Truss laughed.

  Alexander slammed back into his mind and the present moment with such force that he nearly lost his balance. Scarcely a heartbeat had passed and yet his vision felt like it took several minutes. He looked up and saw the thicket that Truss would be charging around not fifty feet ahead.

  “Take cover!” he commanded quietly as he whipped his bow off his shoulder and nocked an arrow.

  Everyone except Anatoly hesitated for just a moment. Anatoly quickly and fluidly slipped behind a big tree while unslinging his war axe. A moment later everyone else scrambled to get behind a tree, when a dozen horses came around the thicket. The enemy saw them in the thin woods of the forest’s edge and wheeled toward them.

  A dozen crossbow bolts zipped past them, peppering the trees they were hiding behind, but none hit home. Alexander’s mind reeled at the implications. He’d seen the future and yet he hadn’t because the future he’d seen didn’t happen. He couldn’t quite make sense of it and he clearly didn’t have time to try. The enemy was fifty feet away and coming fast.

  Alexander counted fifteen soldiers. They were mounted, well armed, and wearing light armor. He tried to touch the firmament again to see if he could use his magic to help in the fight but felt nothing, so he fell back on old reliable skills. He rolled around the tree, bringing his bow up and the string back, took quick but careful aim and let his arrow go. The first kill of the fight was his. The mercenary toppled off the back of his charging horse with an arrow buried through his breastplate and into his chest.

  A moment later, Isabel and Abigail imitated him and dropped a soldier each. Still the enemy charged. The next volley of arrows from Alexander, Isabel, and Abigail leapt from their bows only feet before the enemy reached their position. Three more fell, but the remaining nine enemy soldiers crashed past the trees and spun quickly. Truss was shouting commands from a distance of thirty feet or so behind his force of mercenaries.

  Alexander felt time slow down. He surveyed the scene quickly but calmly. Abigail scrambled onto a large fallen log that was too big for a horse to leap and drew another arrow.

  From his hiding place behind a giant cedar, Jack swung a broken tree branch at the legs of a horse rushing past, sending it crashing face first into the dirt. Anatoly employed a similar tactic, except his axe took the horse’s legs off at the knees and sent the animal into the ground, squealing in pain. Both soldiers tumbled off their mounts and landed hard. Lucky was sitting with his back to a large tree, rummaging around in his bag. Isabel dropped her bow and drew her sword.

  The enemy was all around them, pulling their horses to a halt so they could converge on Alexander and his companions. They were armed with spears and long swords. Each had a crossbow but they’d all been fired. Alexander leaned his bow against the tree with one hand while drawing his sword with the other.

  He felt a sense of calm focus settle on him. He was in a fight and he had a blade in his hand. The timeless experience imparted on him by the skillbook gave him a feeling of familiarity and certainty.

  He stood away from the tree in a clear challenge to the first soldier who brought his horse around for an attack. When the horse rushed, Alexander calmly took a couple of steps in front of its headlong charge. His quick move put the enemy’s spear on the other side of the animal’s neck, protecting Alexander from its sharp tip. At the same time, he brought the tip of his blade around and caught the enemy soldier on the outside of his thigh just above the knee. The momentum of the horse did the rest. The blade drove through muscle from front to back, then sliced out the side. The man screamed in agony and slipped off the side of his still-charging horse.

  Isabel dodged a charging horseman by circling around the trunk of a fir tree only to run into the attack of another. With her back to a tree, she traded sword thrusts with the mounted man. Abigail killed another with her bow. She stood, feet planted squarely, on top of the old log and calmly drew another arrow. Anatoly ducked under the slashing attack of a horseman and swept the legs out from under the horse with the blade of his axe, unhorsing yet another enemy soldier. Jack carefully moved from one downed soldier to the next with his now bloody knife.

  Two mercenaries came at Alexander just after he met the first charge. He easily parried the sword of the first but it put him in position for the second’s attack. He deflected the spear enough to prevent being run through and instead escaped with a gash on top of his left shoulder. As the spear rode over his shoulder, he thrust the point of his blade up into the abdomen of the horseman, lifting him off the horse, over his head, and bringing him crashing down onto the forest floor.

  Isabel cried out when the soldier she was fighting slashed her across the chest only inches below her throat. From where Alexander was, it didn’t look deep, but it was bleeding freely. A second later, the man who had cut Isabel
stiffened when an arrow from Abigail’s bow sprouted from his chest.

  The soldier who’d missed a moment before wheeled to face Alexander again, slashing with his sword. Alexander calmly used his sword to stop and trap the enemy’s blade against the horse’s neck, while drawing his long knife and burying it into the rider’s hip. The enemy screamed in pain before toppling off his horse.

  The battle lasted only a few seconds. Just as the last man fell with Alexander’s long knife buried in his hip, Lucky stood up with a strange-looking little bone whistle. When he realized that he’d missed the fight, he looked almost disappointed and kind of sheepish.

  Seeing his men all fall very quickly, Truss wheeled his horse and spurred it into a gallop toward the plains. Lucky broke into a broad grin and blew the whistle. At the silent sound, all the horses immediately started bucking in sudden, startled pain. Truss lost control and toppled off his horse but got tangled up in the stirrup. Alexander watched the petty little noble get dragged off into the distance by his panicked horse.

  Lucky chuckled, “Handy little whistle.” He held up the old carved-bone whistle that looked like a tiny wild stallion. “I’m sure Truss agrees,” he added with a grin. He slipped it into his pocket and picked up his bag. “Now, let’s have a look at those wounds.”

  “Take a look at Isabel first,” Alexander said. “Abigail, Anatoly, help me round up some horses. We might as well ride.”

  Chapter 44

  They skirted around the edge of town in the darkness. Alexander didn’t want to risk another encounter. Truss would no doubt look for any chance to make trouble and the man in black was still somewhere behind them. Alexander had no interest in meeting him face to face. He was alert and wary. This city was hostile territory as far as he was concerned, at least until the Regent accepted his authority.

  The thing that weighed heaviest on his mind was how to approach the palace and the current government. Jack seemed to think that the Regent would accept his authority on the strength of the mark on his neck and the legend that the line of Ruatha would be remade. Alexander was less sure. He did know for certain that the manner of his introduction to the people, the nobles, and the Regent of New Ruatha would have a great deal of impact on how he would be received. Alexander realized that he was looking at the situation like a fight: thrust, parry, riposte. He had the initiative. His objective was clear. He decided to act like a king and brazenly take his throne rather than ask for it. He wasn’t sure about the arena of politics, but he knew that in a fight, showing weakness was the surest path to defeat.

  His plan was risky. If the Regent had already made a deal, or if he decided to deny Alexander his claim, he’d have to fight his way out of the palace. Not a prospect with good odds of success. But the alternative seemed sure to fail. If he went to the Wizards Guild first and then to the palace it would look like he didn’t believe his claim to the throne was valid. Perception was key. Everyone had to know with certainty that Alexander had no doubt about his rightful place as the King of Ruatha. Any doubt he showed would infect the populace with uncertainty.

  Alexander had just convinced himself that the risk was worth it, when they came to the east road leading into the city. A flyer pinned to a post caught his eye. He moved up next to it and tore the parchment from where it hung. It was a sketch drawing of him and Abigail. There was a reward for their capture, dead or alive, in the amount of a thousand gold sovereigns. The bounty notice went on to claim that they were traitors to the Sovereign of the Seven Isles, Prince Phane Reishi. It listed a whole litany of crimes including the murder of their parents, horse theft, and was finally punctuated with a charge of incest. Alexander’s blood boiled. This was likely the work of Truss.

  He handed the flyer to Anatoly while he fumed, trying to find reason through his anger. Did this change his plan or was it just a distraction? He needed the power the throne would give him to raise an army. Without a united Ruathan army, Phane would pick off one territory at a time and Alexander would fail.

  Anatoly frowned at the wanted poster. “This could be a problem. Even if the Regent doesn’t buy into these charges, there are likely to be opportunists who will take a shot at you just for the gold.” Anatoly handed it to Jack.

  Jack looked it over quickly. “Huh, it’ll take some doing, but I can have this made into a lie by the end of the week.”

  Abigail took it out of his hands when she saw her likeness on the page. She stared in disbelief at the list of charges. “Who would do such a thing? These are all lies,” Abigail raged a little more loudly than Alexander would have liked.

  Jack motioned for her to keep her voice down. “Of course they’re lies. Lies are the stock in trade of our enemies. But they’re amateurs when it comes to swaying public opinion. They seek to buy loyalty, which is an appeal to the baser nature of people. Some will respond to such an offer but they will not speak openly of it. Our enemies fail to grasp the true yearning in the hearts of men. People want to believe in ideals that make their souls sing. They want the feeling of being a part of something great and noble.

  “By the end of the week every minstrel and bard in all of New Ruatha will be singing the song of Lord Alexander and his triumphant return to redeem the Ruathan royal line and to save the people of our fair city from the scourge of Prince Phane.” Jack smiled and tapped his coat pocket. “I’ve already got the first verses written. A few hours of polish and practice and I can start teaching my bards the story and the music. By this time tomorrow, every bar, inn, ale house, public house, tavern, and town square will be filled with your song. Within a few days, these flyers will all be torn down and ripped to scrap by angry citizens who want to believe in the promise you represent.”

  Alexander shook his head. “Do you really think it will be that simple?”

  Jack laughed. “Simple? No, not at all. Propaganda is a fine art, but it’s more powerful than magic when properly employed. It can move the masses to believe in something. In the end, large numbers of people who are willing to die for a cause they fervently believe in will always carry the day. And, it doesn’t hurt that you actually do stand for principles worthy of their loyalty.”

  Anatoly, ever the pragmatist, asked, “So what do we do between now and then? The way it looks to me, Alexander’s likely to be slapped in irons the first time a city guard lays eyes on him.”

  Alexander’s rage settled into a low boil in the pit of his stomach but he didn’t try to extinguish it; instead, he fed it. He wanted to be mad. He would need the anger before the night was through.

  “We take the throne room.”

  Everyone looked at him like he was a bit crazy.

  “Lucky, I want you to go to the Wizards Guild and tell the Guild Mage that I respectfully request his presence in the throne room. Tell him to bring a handful of trusted wizards and come ready for a fight.”

  He took the poster from Abigail and folded it into quarters, then pulled his long knife, sliced the edge of his hand to draw blood and smeared it on the parchment. He let it dry just slightly while he wrapped his hand and then pressed the parchment to the scarred mark on his neck. When he held it up to the light the effect was exactly what he wanted: his mark in blood on the back of a wanted poster. He handed it to Lucky.

  “Give him this,” Alexander said. “Once you arrive, ask him to send a messenger to Owen at the Bards Guild. I want as many bards as he can round up to come to me in the throne room as well.”

  Jack took out his little tablet and quickly scrawled a note telling Owen just what was needed and handed the scrap of paper to Lucky. Lucky tucked it into a pocket and gave Alexander a clap on the shoulder and a smile before trotting off into the city.

  “Jack, we need to get into the palace without being discovered,” Alexander said.

  Jack bowed at the waist with a little grin, “By your command, My Lord.”

  Jack led them into the city, using small side streets that didn’t look very well traveled. For all the lights on the central plateau and th
e main streets, the path Jack took was dark and shadowy. They made their way down alleys behind buildings and only rarely encountered people. They wound up on a little dock that ran along the riverfront with water on the right and a ten-foot stone wall on the left. It wasn’t long before they came to an iron grate that covered a sewer drain in the side of the sea wall. Jack stopped and dismounted. He fiddled with the lock for only a moment or two and it came open. Alexander frowned. He’d never actually seen anyone pick a lock before and he was astonished to see just how quickly it could be done.

  “I’m afraid the path isn’t very pleasant, but it will get us where we want to go,” Jack said before he entered the dark and foul-smelling passage.

  They wandered through the underground of the city for hours by torchlight before coming to a series of stairs. Periodically, they were slowed by locked grates but Jack was able to open them relatively quickly each time. Stairs took them upwards into the bowels of the central plateau until they came to an entirely different level of passageways that ran under the palace. Jack navigated without hesitation or error and finally brought them to a ladder.

  “The hatch at the top of this ladder will open to the palace servants’ passageways. From there the throne room is not far. It will probably not be guarded, since it’s rarely used. We should be able to slip in before anyone knows we’re here.” Jack paused and cleared his throat. “May I ask what your plan is once we reach the throne room?” Anatoly nodded to echo Jack’s question.

  Anger was still slowly bubbling in the pit of Alexander’s stomach. Anger at the burden of duty and responsibility that had been placed on his life, anger at the cost to his family, anger at the very existence of Prince Phane and all that he stood for. Alexander set his pack down and took out the finery he’d worn at the banquet in Glen Morillian. He took off his traveling tunic and cloak and donned the midnight blue tunic and cloak with the fine silver filigree. Then he checked his sword to make sure it was loose in its scabbard. Only after he’d changed clothes and cinched the straps of his pack did he answer. His companions were all watching him when he stood and faced them.