by Susan Faw
Nelson ran his inn with a military flair, having learned his skills in the army camp kitchens. In the King’s Army, he had been the head of supply and his contacts across the realm were secondary only to the king’s scouts and better than the king’s own spy system.
Denzik frowned at the memory. Had the king’s spies not betrayed him, then the king would still live. But, he thought to himself, who spies on the spies?
Reaching the pair, he raised his hand in greeting. “Enjoying the parade?”
Nelson spat in the dirt at his feet and then realizing what he had done looked around surreptitiously.
“Dirty grovelling worms,” he growled. “All dressed up pretty, but not a one knows a damn thing about soldiering. Young whelps. Should still be on their mother’s apron strings, I say.”
Fabian gazed off in the direction where the soldiers had disappeared. “I doubt they had any choice. Likely they were conscripted into the service, their heads stuffed with stories of the glory of serving the queen in some divine task or another. She’d have patted them on their collective heads and then shooed them away to root out the ‘heretics of the realm.’” Fabian snorted his disgust.
Nelson grunted and spat again in the dirt. “They will be dead inside of two weeks with arrows of Primordials stuck in their chests, if they don’t starve to death first. Their families will never know what happened to them. Bloody mess the queen is making of things.”
Nelson checked to see if anyone was listening then lowered his voice. “The king would never have done such a thing. He was working to unite all peoples, not slaughter them. I suspect that’s why he was assassinated. Queen Alcina is my first suspect. Her hands are dirty in this.”
“Shush, you old fool!” Denzik hushed. “We do not know who listens in this village. We were told to wait, to watch, and to prepare. You know our mandate. We must go about our lives, knowing someday he will come. In the meantime, we must play our roles well. The information we gather daily is vital.”
Fabian leaned in and muttered in a barely audible whisper, “When do we meet next?”
“I will let you know before time. It is the safest way to be certain we are not surprised or tracked,” murmured Denzik quietly.
“Agreed, I had better get back to the inn,” Nelson whispered.
In a louder voice, he announced, “Tabitha is likely overcooking that glorious side of mutton again. Thinks none of us have teeth, she does.” Grumbling under his breath, he walked off to the inn.
Fabian twitched into action. “I had better get back to baking. These foot soldiers clean me out every time they pass,” he grumbled, “and the set before last didn’t even pay me. Told me I was lucky and I could keep the rest of my fingers to keep baking with.” He held up his right hand with the missing index finger and waved it in farewell. He subconsciously rubbed at the missing digit’s phantom pain as he walked away.
Denzik walked back to his own dwelling. Dusk was falling now, and lights flickered in the windows of the various dwellings as lamps were lit.
Entering his own home, he trimmed the wick on the lantern by the door and, using the same stick he had used to light his pipe, lit the lamp, waving it to extinguish the flaming tip and placed the stick back on the mantle.
Denzik carried the lamp into the small kitchen area of his cabin and pulled out bread, cheese, and some leftover ham from his cold storage. He sliced off two slabs of bread, a hunk of cheese, and a piece of ham. Wrapping them back up, he placed them back in the cold storage.
Cold storage…he snorted at the thought. The only way it stayed cold was to either leave the door open to the cabin or to put cold water in a pitcher in the cupboard. He had put a small hole in the back of the cabinet to allow cold air to seep into the chamber and cool the contents, and for three seasons of the year it worked fairly well.
Sitting down in his overstuffed chair, Denzik mechanically ate his dinner, giving no thought to the food. He mulled over the last seventeen years in his mind. All of the men in this village were misfits. The majority were ex-Kingsmen who had been ousted from the castle on threat of death. He remembered it still, the memory slap as sharp as the day it happened.
The coup had been silent, really. They were on their regular assignments within the castle when Cyrus, the Lord General of the Kingsmen, had called them all to attendance in the main yard. He stood on the balcony of the royal apartments and addressed the assembled men.
There, he had announced the king was dead, as were Prince Alexander and his consort, Gwendolyn. No cause of death had been announced, and the future queen, from her self-imposed isolation, had commanded Lord Cyrus to gather all the Kingsmen to hear her decision. The Kingsmen were to be disbanded across the realm. The official version was that as the perpetrator was still at large she feared being surrounded by potential assassins. That so great a tragedy could occur within the castle grounds and without an alarm being raised was a shame on all the Kingsmen and she had refused to place her trust in any of them.
Lord Cyrus’s voice had boomed from the wall top, reverberating off the walls across the parade ground. “Effective immediately, I will be taking over command of the newly formed Queen’s Guard for the queen-elect. You are hereby ordered to pack the few belongings in your possession and collect your final pay at the gate as you are leaving the castle grounds, which you will do immediately.” On the last word, doors on lower level opened out marched an army of new soldiers, all dressed in the queen’s colours.
An outraged cry had arisen from the men in the courtyard. The strange men in new Queen’s Guard uniforms fanned out and surrounded the Kingsmen. Pikes were lowered and swords drawn. Swords were drawn amongst the Kingsmen too, the blades making a ringing sound of steel on steel as they were drawn from their sheaths.
Lord Cyrus had spoken in a loud voice over the grumbling of the Kingsmen. “You will be escorted in groups of ten to your barracks and then to the gate. This is the only warning you will receive. If you resist in any fashion, the new Guard have been advised to cut you down where you stand. You are to be removed from the castle grounds and released to go wherever you wish. You are never to return to the castle. You may not come within a two-mile radius of Castle Cathair or the village of Upper Cathair. If you do, you will die. This is the royal decree and so it is law.”
Turning, he left the balcony and re-entered the royal chambers.
The Kingsmen had found themselves outside the castle gates within two hours. A contingent of Queen’s Guards ten deep and the width of the main avenue to the gates had formed up as the last Kingsman exited under escort. The gates swung shut behind them and were sealed.
The men headed up the road, two hundred of them in total. Most carried on up the road and settled in villages along the way and were absorbed into the bigger towns away from the capital.
About twenty of them, Denzik, Fabian, and Nelson in the group, settled in the first hamlet outside the radius, a fly-speck village called Lower Cathair. They virtually doubled the size of the town that night, but the choice of location was not random. As longstanding members of the Kingsmen, they had explored every nook and cranny of Castle Cathair during those twenty-five-odd years of service. They had gone places no one knew existed.
One thing was always consistent about being a Kingsman. On those long cold winter’s nights guarding the outer walls, there was nothing more welcome than a nice shot of brandy in your flask. Of course, Denzik thought, only those foolish enough to volunteer for that duty had any right to know the secret. He smiled to himself in memory.
The small room Denzik had discovered when he was twenty-seven had actually been shown to him on his promotion to captain of the guard by the former captain, Jonathan O’Reilly. He, in turn, had learned it of it from another retiring Kingsman. He warned young Denzik to not reveal the presence of the sealed room to anyone else. It was a sacred trust, and it had to be kept a close secret.
The hidden room was in a false wall off the exercise courtyard for the prisoner cells.
Denzik suspected it was originally used to hide high-profile prisoners or political enemies of the crown. During his years in the castle, it had never been used by the royal family, and he believed they had forgotten about it. The only memory of this room remained with the captain of the Kingsman guards, who retained this knowledge as a trusted servant keeps their masters secrets. This secret had been passed down from captain to captain, since there the beginning of the Kingsmen.
Of course, during his time in the Kingsman guard, they had used this room to hide the barrels of brandy they smuggled into the castle for the men of the wall. It had a secret door cleverly concealed in the stone wall at the rear, which led to a tunnel system under the castle.
Denzik had never had an opportunity to fully explore all the tunnels, although he suspected they were extensive. Likely the system had been designed as an escape route for the royal family should the castle ever fall under siege or if the walls be breached. The royal family had to have been aware of some of the tunnels. He did not believe the queen or her counsellors knew of the ones he had used, however. The tunnels they had used had led to the inner city, outside the castle proper but still inside the city walls.
Fabian had suggested the plan as they were marching away from the castle that fateful evening seventeen years ago. They had started planning the very next day, after scabbing together some temporary lodgings. Over the next few months, they purchased a collection of abandoned buildings and lands from the absentee land owners with the dismal balance of their dismissal pay, buildings strategically located. They wasted no time launching the tunnelling underground, aiming to connect with the smuggling tunnel, and it had been their life’s work ever since. If they found the tunnels he had used to store those barrels in, all those years ago, it would give them secret access to the castle…and to the queen. The entrance was within the two-mile boundary set by the queen. It was pretty much under her bedroom window.
They were close now.
Finishing his meal, he brought his empty plate to his small kitchen. Sitting back down, he put his feet up and pulled a book entitled A History of the Royal Family of Cathair from the table beside him, opening it to his bookmarked spot.
The real work of this day would begin in another couple hours when the main residents of this hamlet were safely tucked into their beds, oblivious to the work being performed under the inn by the river. Denzik settled down to read.
Chapter 10
ZIONA TIED THE LEATHER THONGS of her pack closed. Hefting it onto her shoulder, she took one last look around the cave. All evidence of anyone having camped in the hollow had been eliminated. The fire ashes had been swept up and buried outside.
Sharisha’s horse stamped its hoof. Sharisha, already mounted, headed off into the trees, selecting a deer trail leading in the direction of the village. Ziona secured her pack to the back of the saddle and then clambered aboard her roan mare and followed.
As they drew parallel to the farm, Sharisha guided her grey gelding to a path emptying out beside the main gate to the farm. Ziona felt urgency about their task, like an itch behind her shoulder blade she could not scratch. Something felt wrong this morning, as though her quarry were dissolving like a mist before the morning sun. She followed Sharisha, yet her instincts told her she would not find the boy when they arrived.
A shaft of sunlight pierced the yard as they rode through the gates. A man, hearing the chickens clucking in the yard, came out of the house, a walking stave in hand. There was no hesitancy in his step; the stick was obviously not a cane.
Eyeing the two women, he stepped off the porch and approached them.
“Good morning, ladies! What brings you to my place so early this morning?”
Sharisha spoke first. “We have come to speak to your children, kind sir.”
“And what business could two strangers possibly have with my children?”
“We believe they are two people we have been seeking for a very long time. You see, we are Primordial kind.” Sharisha tucked back the braided coils on her head to reveal the tips of her ears.
Gaius stared at her for a moment. There was no surprise in his expression. With a resigned shrug to his shoulders, he motioned for them to dismount. He took the reins from each mount and tied them to the hitching post at the side of the house.
“This is not a conversation to have out in the open.” He gestured toward the stairs to the house. He left the front door open in invitation to enter as he passed through the doorway.
The interior of the cabin was cozy and comfortable. Several overstuffed chairs were set to take advantage of the light coming in from the windows on either side of the rectangular room for reading. They flanked a broad fireplace serving as the main cooking arena, a braided rug warming the floor.
Gaius waved them toward the fireplace. “Tea?”
Nodding their acceptance, Sharisha and Ziona settled into the chairs.
“Avery!” he called. “Would you come here please? We have company.”
Avery entered the room a few minutes later, her eyes settling immediately on their guests. They widened as she took in their fair features.
“Please make some tea for our guests. Now, ladies, if you would be so kind as to advise us as to why you are here?”
Avery filled a kettle with water at the small sink in the kitchen, pumping the pump handle to draw the water. She hung the kettle on the cast iron hook suspended above the hot coals left from their morning breakfast in the open-hearth fireplace.
“We are here because of an ancient sacred text of our people called The Divination of the Divine. Our Elder Scrolls speak of the birth of two individuals who will have the ability to intercede in the events of the future, who will be the key to preventing the destruction of this world,” Sharisha explained. “We do not understand how or why they are important, but certain key events have been foreshadowed and have brought us to this time and place.”
Avery hung on every word. Pulling the tin of loose tea from the shelf above the fireplace, she opened it and filled the tea ball with fragrant crushed herbs. She then gathered four mugs and poured tea, passing a steaming cup to each of their guests and then one to her father. Avery settled back on the rough carpet, sitting cross-legged, cradling the warm cup in her hands.
“Where is your son?” Ziona glanced around the room once more.
“He is gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean, he’s gone?” Ziona said sharply.
“He volunteered for the legion last night.”
“What?” Ziona shot to her feet, tea sloshing over the sides of her cup.
“He had no choice. The legion had dragged the entire town out of their homes and shops and was systematically sorting through the assembled people for young men of recruitment age. Although I must say, Cayden came to town prepared. He intended to volunteer.”
“Why would he volunteer for such service?”
“I believe he was in some kind of trouble.” Gaius was intentionally vague. He was unsure how much of Ryder’s confession he should share with these strangers. “You have still not explained why you are interested in my children,” he said, his eyes now sharp on their faces.
Instead of answering his question, Sharisha turned to Avery and commanded, “Look at me, child.” Avery obeyed, startled by the request. “What is the first memory you can remember? No matter how vague, how shadowed it may seem. What is the first thought you can remember since your birth? Relax your mind and think.”
Avery frowned and thought. What was her earliest thought? What was her first memory? She closed her eyes and relaxed her mind. The familiar sensation of being able to smell the mood of things around her filled her. She smelled anxiety on her father and excitement and curiosity from the two Primordial ladies in front of her.
Avery relaxed her mind even further, her breathing slowing, her senses expanding. Lighter than a breeze, softer than a feather, she floated out the door and into the meadow beside the barn. She sensed the industriousness of the an
ts crawling over the decaying apples fallen from the tree and the serious concentration of the spider spinning a new ground web in the tall grasses near the ant hole.
“Concentrate, child,” Sharisha whispered, “and think back to the beginning.”
Avery let her mind wander down the familiar path of her childhood memories, moving backward in her mind. Her earliest memory…she sorted sensations and emotions overlaid with thoughts and conversations…and suddenly she had it.
“I remember a storm-filled night,” she murmured. “I remember flying. I remember a candle in a window. I remember holding my brother’s hand. I remember joy and pain…but joy and pain twice.” Avery’s eyes shot open. Shock rippled through her and she grabbed her father’s hands. “I remember us being born, but I remember it twice! How is that possible?”
Sharisha and Ziona stared at each other, surprise written on their faces also.
Gaius walked over to the fireplace and leaned an arm on the mantle, staring into the amber coals, lost in thought. “Let me tell you the story of their birth,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.
***
Thunder rumbled high above the sheer rocky cliffs of the cove. Lightning flashed in the leaden skies above and the waves of the sea below churned in concert, sending plumes of water into the air then splashing back to the stormy sea.
A tiny light flickered in the window of a small wooden cabin facing the sea, the window open to tempt a cooling breeze. The candle sputtered but then settled back to burning clear and bright.
Gaius swiped a nervous hand across his sweaty brow and glanced out the window. Lightning flashed again and a sonorous boom sounded.
