Stolen Crown

by Dennis L McKiernan

  Perry turned up his hands in confusion.

  “I’ll explain it later,” said Digby.

  “Well, unforeseen or no, anyone could have killed the Garian viper,” said Perry, “so I don’t think you needed us specifically for that. On the other hand, Diggs and I slew two Rûck archers before they could spit King Reyer.”

  “You did?” asked Driu.

  “We did,” said Digby. “First one, then the other; they each had dead aim on him.”

  “But we took them down before they could let fly,” said Perry.

  “Good thing, too,” said Digby, looking at Riessa, “’cause you, my lady, said we have no gwynthyme to counteract the Rûck arrow poison.”

  “Slaying those two Rucha might have been why Driu chose ye,” said the Dylvana. “Still, the reason lies unknown, and in fact might not yet have occurred.”

  “Oh,” said Digby. “I didn’t think of that.”

  Of a sudden Perry broke out in laughter.

  Surprised, “What?” asked Digby.

  “Unforeseen Seer,” Perry managed to say. “I get it.”

  Smiling, Digby clapped his friend on the shoulder and said, “I knew you would.”

  They stood and watched as the remains of the Garians and the Foul Folk were searched along with their goods, and Durgan found a message-capsule strip in the clothing of one of the crumbling, Ban-withered Hlôks. He handed it to Driu.

  “I’ll see what it might say when we are free of the wretched aethyr roil of this place,” said Driu.

  No orders at all were discovered among the remains of the Garian troop, neither on their bodies nor in their saddlebags and supplies, though Aliser did find a crude map of the Battle Downs in the saddlebags of the Garian commander’s horse. He brought the drawing to Riessa.

  “How did they know we’d be coming this way?” asked Perry.

  “Spies, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Captain Windlow.

  “Not in the Dells, surely,” said Digby.

  “No, Diggs,” said Windlow. “Probably someone who discovered the route Reyer would take.”

  “Someone in Challerain Keep, I would think,” said Driu.

  “Or mayhap at Roadsend in Wellen,” said Riessa, “though Challerain is more likely.”

  “We did send a message by bird to the Northern Alliance headquarters,” said Reyer.

  “So,” said Perry, “Diggs and I will have to keep a sharp eye out when we get to Challerain, in case someone there has plans to do away with you, Sire.”

  “Even before then, Perry,” said Digby. “And perhaps after.”

  Perry nodded and then said, “The Keep: how far from here is it anyway?”

  “Thirty leagues or so,” said Driu.

  “Three days, maybe four,” said Reyer.

  “Four, I would think,” said Riessa, “since we are cutting this day short.”

  “Steel and I could make it in one,” said Durgan, running his hand along the neck of his horse.

  “You could?” asked Digby, looking up at the grey. “How fast is that horse, anyway?”

  “It’s not only speed that’s needed, Diggs,” said Durgan, “but also endurance, and Steel is gifted with both.”

  “Even so, Durgan, I’d still like to know just how fast he is.”

  Durgan shrugged and said, “Well, sired by Iron Bobbie, he’s out of Brown Lady, the two fastest horses in all of Kell, and . . .”

  • • •

  ON THE SECOND DAY out from the Battle Downs, the rade came upon a small roadside camp, and waiting there were Vanidar Silverleaf and Dalavar Wolfmage and six pony-sized Silver Wolves.

  After hailing one another with greetings all ’round and introductions following, Silverleaf said, “We thought we’d go the rest of the way with ye, that is if ye’d like our company.”

  “You are most welcome,” replied Reyer. “Besides, I understand from what I was told back on Kell, Dalavar and you will vouch for me.”

  “That, and thy birthmark,” said Vanidar. Then he grinned and turned to Dalavar and said, “Should be enough, neh?”

  “More than enough,” said Dalavar.

  “Lor,” said Digby, gazing in wonder at the Draega. “These ’Wolves, they’re like the ones Beau rode?”

  “They are the ones Beau rode,” said Dalavar. “Or at least Shimmer is.”

  “These are the ones from that time?” asked Perry. “All of them?”

  “Indeed,” said Dalavar.

  “But that was—what?—two thousand years ago.”

  “Even so,” said Dalavar.

  “Seven Silver Wolves,” said Digby. “Greylight, Shimmer, Beam, Seeker, Trace, Longshank, and Shifter, or so the old tales say. —But wait, there are only six here.”

  Silverleaf laughed, but Dalavar smiled and said, “Shifter will be along by and by.”

  Alric glanced at the campsite and said, “I see you have but one horse, and there’s no need to ride double. We have plenty of extra mounts—Garian, most likely.”

  Silverleaf cocked an eyebrow. “Garian?”

  “There is a tale here for the telling,” said Dalavar.

  “Indeed,” said Reyer.

  “’Tis nigh the noontide,” said Riessa. “Let us break for a meal and we will speak of dark deeds done.”

  • • •

  AS THEY TOOK FOOD, Driu fetched the message-capsule slip recovered from the Hlôk and said to Dalavar, “We are free of the Battle Downs, yet I cannot seem to break the seal on this message. Would you try, Wolfmage?” She handed him the tissue-thin strip.

  Dalavar frowned in concentration. Then he said, “’Tis powerful, and I’ve felt this presence before. The latest being some few seasons past, when he was trying to overcome you, Driu.”

  “I thought that was you who aided,” said Driu, smiling. “That one was attempting to discover Reyer’s exact whereabouts.”

  Dalavar smiled and glanced at Reyer and said, “Ah, I see. Someday I will have to deal with that Mage more directly.”

  Then Dalavar stared at the message and whispered a word. After a moment, he closed his eyes and whispered another . . . and then another. Finally he opened his eyes and grinned at Driu. “’Tis not written, but spoken in Slûk.”

  “Ah, no wonder,” said Driu, taking the slip back from Dalavar. Then she murmured a word, and cocked her head as if listening, and a puzzled frown came over her features.

  “What is it?” asked Reyer.

  “’Tis a command to the Spawn we slew, Reyer, telling them to go to the Battle Downs and seek out the Garians and kill them all ere they could spring their ambush upon you.”

  “You mean the Foul Folk were aiding us?” blurted Perry. “I don’t believe it!”

  “Besides,” said Digby, “they tried to kill Reyer.”

  • • •

  DALAVAR REFUSED THE HORSE, saying that he had a better way to travel, and over the next day and the one after, a seventh Silver Wolf, seeming darker than the rest, joined the pack to lope alongside the rade: two out in front of the vanguard, one right, one left; two each alongside flanks of the main body, and one trailing. With a bit of help from Silverleaf, all the Warrows quickly learned the names of the individual Draega, Shifter being the dark one.

  Of Dalavar there was no sign, though he would be among the troop when they camped at night.

  And this way they traveled to Challerain Keep.

  And all along the route, they speculated as to why a Dark Mage would aid Reyer to avoid an ambush, yet the Rûpt themselves would try to kill him. None knew the answer, yet many were the conjectures put forth.

  • • •

  WHEN CHALLERAIN KEEP CAME full into sight, Alric dropped back from the vanguard to ride alongside Reyer. Perry moved over to give these two blood-sworn brothers a chance to converse the last league or so.r />
  “There it is,” said Reyer, “at the very top.”

  Reyer stared at the craggy mount rising up eight or nine hundred feet above the surrounding plain. At its very peak stood a castle, not tall-spired and airy, like one from a fairy book, but rather blocky and rugged, much like a stronghold, a fort.

  “’Tis the High King’s seat in the North,” said Alric. “Your seat, Reyer.”

  Reyer’s heart hammered in his chest, as the weight of a kingdom came crashing down upon him. And he said, “Oh, Alric, events are rushing headlong at me, and I am like to drown in them.”

  39

  Ascendancy

  Throughout the whole of Mithgar there are many ways of choosing a king—some simply by inheritance, others by conclaves of various sorts, some by rather strange traditions:

  In the mountains of Jangdi, upon the death of the ruler the mantle is passed on to the male child born soonest after. Often this has led to conflict—quite bloody at times—when competing claimants appear.

  In the dark southern lands below the Great Karoo, there is a tribe that will let no male who is not physically perfect to sit upon the throne. In this case, the women of the tribe sit in judgment, and the candidate is brought before them and is stripped naked and examined. Sometimes this candidate is aroused by the females admiring gazes. It is considered a good thing that he has responded so.

  In other lands it is the priesthood who chooses a successor to the throne. Some believe this allows the religious leaders to maintain their power in that manner.

  In yet other places, it is the royal guard who choose the successor to the throne. They decide who they would guard and who they would not. After all, if they are to protect the royal personage, it had better be someone they are willing to die for.

  There is a humorous legend about a small group of islands widespread in the Shining Sea, where navigation and boating and swimming are paramount, and fish are often taken by underwater spearing. In the tale, the leader is chosen through a test of endurance. Candidates submerge themselves in the warm waters, and the one who stays under the longest becomes the next king. At times the one who succeeds drowns during the ordeal, and, after a proper period of mourning for the King Under the Water, the islanders test all candidates again. The truth is: those islands are ruled by women, and the queen is chosen once every five years in trial by combat, their weapons naught but clubs embedded with bits of coral. Most of the queens are well scarred.

  And that is another way kings are chosen: trial by combat—either in duels or in mêlée or through battle in war.

  And at Challerain Keep . . .

  • • •

  TO WRENCH HIS MIND away from the burden that awaited him, Reyer studied Challerain rising up in the near distance. Below the crenellated granite battlements and blocky towers of the grey castle itself, gentle slopes terminated by craggy drops stepped a short way down the tor sides to fetch up against a massive rampart rearing up to circle the entire mont. These slopes were the Kingsgrounds, and there were small groves on that land, as well as pines growing in the crags, and several lone giants stood in the meadows, the trees in full summer dress. There, too, were several buildings on the encircling slopes, perhaps stables or warehouses.

  Below the Kingsgrounds began the city proper, falling away in tier upon tier of bright-colored buildings, of stone and wood and brick, all ajumble in terraced rings descending down the grade: varied in their shapes, they were homes, shops, storehouses, stables, and other structures, and threading among them were three more massive defensive walls, stepped evenly down the side of Mont Challerain, the lowest one nearly at the level of the plain. Only a few permanent structures lay outside the bottommost wall.

  “It’s a real city,” said Digby, his voice filled with awe. “Bigger’n Rood. Bigger’n Stonehill. Bigger’n—”

  “Diggs,” snapped Perry, “of course it’s bigger’n. It’s the northern capital.”

  “D’y’ think it’s bigger’n Caer Pendwyr?” asked Digby.

  “How would I know? —Though I can’t imagine a town any larger than Challerain.”

  “Nay, wee one,” said Riessa. “Caer Pendwyr is a port city as well as the prime capital of the High King’s realm. ’Tis much larger than Challerain.”

  “Then I wish I could see it, too,” said Digby.

  “Fear not. Thou and Perry and the rest of us are likely to do so.”

  “You mean when we overthrow the Usurper?” said Perry.

  “Aye,” said Riessa.

  “Nay,” said Reyer, shaking his head. “I would not ask Warrows or Elves or aught others to join in this fight. It is a thing to be decided by Humankind and—”

  “Poppycock!” shouted Perry. “You are my King and I—”

  “Take care, Alton Periwinkle,” said Riessa, her voice pitched to stop his outburst. “Moderate thy words. As thou dost say, Reyer is thy King.”

  Alric broke into laughter. “Silence a Warrow, would you? ’Twould be like unto silencing a chattering finch.”

  Reyer smiled and cocked an eye toward Perry. “All should have a Warrow in their Court.”

  “’Twould be one way to hear the truth,” said Riessa.

  Now in control of his wayward mouth, Perry said, “You are my liege lord, King Reyer, and times are troubled, and in such days Diggs and I will follow you to the ends of the world should needs be. Besides, Driu says that you need us: Captain Windlow and Billy and Arlo and Jame and Jace . . . and especially me and Digby—Warrows all.”

  Reyer glanced at Riessa, and she said, “Thou wouldst not turn away the Dylvana, nor any Lian, nor, were they to come, any of the Drimm. ’Tis not just a Human conflict, though there are those who might think so and would not encroach upon a Human affair. Yet, heed: turn away not any who wouldst be thine ally in these days of thy need, for none knows what might tip the balance in the end to come.”

  “Except maybe Driu,” said Digby.

  “Not even she,” said Riessa. “For Driu herself says that the threads of now run off in many directions in the times ahead, some more likely than others.”

  “Do you think—” began Digby, but Perry growled and said, “My King, I would you resolve this matter here and now. Whether or no you accept our aid, you have it. And I, for one, would rather you accept it.”

  Reyer smiled and inclined his head. “As you will, my stalwart wee ones. As you will.”

  “Good,” said Perry. “That’s settled.”

  • • •

  FINALLY, IN THE NOONTIDE, as Reyer’s vanguard fell back to join the main body, the company reached the fringes of the city. And there stood a guard captain and a company of men, and horses were arrayed with them. The soldiers saluted—a clenched fist to the heart—and knelt, and the captain, upon one knee, said, “My liege, though you have your own warband, we would escort you to those who are waiting.”

  Reyer smiled to himself, but graciously said, “As you will, Captain.”

  The guard company mounted and wheeled toward the tor, now leading Reyer’s rade. They rode up among the sparse buildings flanking the Post Road to come at last to the open city gates laid back against the first wall, with a portcullis raised high. As they came to the opening the captain of the escort raised a horn to his lips and sounded it. An answering horn replied, and soldiers at the gate and the wall above saluted by striking clenched fists to their hearts.

  Led by the escort, in through the twisting cobblestone passage under the wall the escort and the company fared, with two Draega—Shifter and Greylight—at the fore. Silverleaf and Riessa and the Dylvana followed the ’Wolves, and Durgan and Conal and Captain Windlow and Billy and Arlo rode just after, two more Silver Wolves among them. Reyer came next, flanked by Alric, bearing the High King’s standard, and those two flanked by Digby and Perry. After them came two more Draega, followed by Driu and Gretta, with the Thornwalkers Jame and Ja
ce to each side.

  Trailing rode a handful of Dylvana, one Silver Wolf with them.

  Of Dalavar there was no sign.

  As they rode into the tunnel, “Diggs, keep a sharp eye out now,” said Perry. “Don’t let that scatterbrain of yours get distracted by— Oh, my goodness, look there.”

  Perry pointed up at the machicolations through which hot oil or missiles could be rained down upon an enemy. With hooves of the horses and ponies echoing loudly, and with Perry and Digby gazing up in awe, through the barway they went. At the other end of the passage, another portcullis stood raised, and beyond that Reyer’s company rode into the lower levels of the city proper, where the smells and sounds and sights of the city assaulted them. They had ridden into an enormous bazaar, the great open market of Rian at Challerain Keep.

  Both Perry and Digby were overwhelmed, for the square was teeming with people—buyers and sellers—farmers from nearby steads with hams and beef and sausages, bacon, geese, duck, and fowl of other sorts; carrots and turnips and tubers and leeks; grain, and other commodities. And many customers crowded around the stalls, purchasing staples. Hawkers moved through the crowds selling baskets, walking sticks and staves, hats, brooms, pottery, and such. A fruit seller peddled fresh cherries and peaches, with a sign that said apples were to come in the autumn. The odor of fresh-baked bread and hot meat pies and pastries wafted o’er all. Jongleurs strolled, playing flutes and harps, lutes and fifes, timbrels, and some juggled marvelously. Here and there soldiers and townsfolk drank cool drinks, and talked among themselves, some laughing, others looking stern, or nodding quietly, some gesticulating.

  But the moment that the horns had bugled, the sounds and stir began to wane, and people looked about, finally settling upon the escort and warband now moving through the crowd.

  “Elves!” cried some. “Dylvana!” cried others. And someone called out, “’Tis the High King’s heir,” while someone else shouted, “Not heir, but the rightful High King himself.”

  People turned and surged toward the road, for they would see this lad. Yet the sight of the Silver Wolves made most timorous, and they flowed toward and ebbed away as these great beasts went by.