Heirs of the Enemy

by Richard S. Tuttle

“The harvesting will not last forever,” interjected Rut-ki. “King Arik said that we only had days to complete it, and that was days ago.”

  “And all of those people will soon be available to work on the dam,” pushed Bin-lu.

  “One does not construct a dam overnight,” scowled the governor. “Timber must be felled and planed. The flow of the river needs to be altered. Farms need to be relocated. Stone masons will be needed, and plans must be drawn up. Do you not realize what you are asking for? A dam on this river is a task measured in years, not days.”

  “I have the plans,” countered Bin-lu as he pulled some papers out of his pack and handed them to Governor Za-chan.

  The governor looked at the plans and shook his head again. “Do you plan to get beavers to make your dam? This is just a pile of trees in the middle of the river. It would never hold back the water.”

  “I took the liberty of speaking to your engineers,” stated Bin-lu. “They drew up these plans. The dam will be crude, but it will work.”

  “For how long?” retorted the governor.

  “For long enough,” answered Bin-lu. “I know that you do not favor this plan, Za-chan, but I have the authority as a Knight of Alcea to have it built. If necessary, I will have King Arik state so in a personal letter to you.”

  Governor Za-chan sighed deeply and turned away from Bin-lu. He gazed once again at the farms across the river. “That will not be necessary,” he said with a tone of defeat. “I know well the authority of the Knights of Alcea, but in a time when food is scarce, it confuses me as to why you would wish to bury so much rich farmland under a lake.”

  “To preserve it for future generations of Alceans,” smiled Bin-lu.

  Suddenly, the ground rumbled, and the trees swayed. Bin-lu felt as if he were floating in the air, and he quickly reached out for Rut-ki. Rut-ki reacted in a similar fashion and the two Knights of Alcea ended up in a mutual embrace. Governor Za-chan, however, fell to the ground. The rumbling only lasted for seconds, and Bin-lu broke the embrace and reached down to help the governor to his feet. Za-chan stared into the sky with a look of disbelief upon his face, ignoring Bin-lu’s hand. Bin-lu straightened and turned his gaze skyward to see what was troubling the governor.

  “The sun has moved,” gasped Za-chan.

  Bin-lu stared in awe. “The gods have spoken.”

  * * * *

  Jenneva stood on the plain in the Gordo region of northern Targa. She was staring at an old dilapidated structure when the dwarf halted beside her.

  “What was it?” asked Prince Tergota of Talman.

  “It was called the Dusty Trail Inn,” answered Jenneva.

  “An inn?” questioned the dwarven prince. “Who would need an inn up here? There are no cities up here and precious few travelers.”

  “Sarac built it,” answered Jenneva, “and Black Devils were its only customers. It hides an entrance to another Universe.”

  The thick skin of the dwarf’s brow creased in puzzlement. “All of the Universes were destroyed in the Collapse. Why does this place still hold interest for you?”

  “Everyone believes that all of the Universes were destroyed,” explained Jenneva, “but that is not entirely accurate. Seven unique Universes were originally created, and they were indeed collapsed into one, but there were two other Universes in existence. The Mage created one when he imprisoned Alutar a thousand years ago. It became the Great Demon’s prison.”

  “And the other?” asked the dwarf.

  “I created it to imprison Sarac many years ago,” replied Jenneva. “It was on this very plain that Egam, Kirsta and I battled Sarac and his circles of protection. Sarac had no ability to sense Junctions at that time, so he was unable to return, but Dalgar and Aurora learned the spell from the Book of the Beginning. They freed Sarac from his imprisonment. The Black Devils had this inn built to hide the Junction to Sarac’s Universe.”

  “And you want my people to restore the inn?” asked the dwarf.

  “No,” answered Jenneva. “The inn is to be demolished. It is inadequate for what I need. I want a stone tower built in its place. The tower must have a ramp capable of allowing wagons to ascend to the second level and pass through the Junction. An identical tower will need to be built in the other Universe. Both towers may need to be defended as one. Mages will also be required to maintain illusions so that the towers are invisible when necessary. I will leave the design up to you. Let me show you exactly where the Junction is.”

  Jenneva led the dwarven prince towards the dilapidated building, but they were only half way there when the ground beneath their feet trembled. Prince Tergota grabbed Jenneva and forced her downward as he dropped into a crouch.

  “Earthquake!” he warned.

  The Dusty Trail Inn shook violently for a few seconds, tattered boards falling from the old frame and clouds of dust spiraling up into the air. As soon as the rumbling halted, Jenneva tried to stand up, but the dwarf’s strong hands held her in a crouch.

  “There may be more,” he cautioned. “We have learned in the mines to wait a while before proceeding.”

  Jenneva gently, but forcefully pushed the dwarf’s hands away and rose to her feet. Prince Tergota frowned, but he also rose.

  “That was no earthquake,” Jenneva declared. “That was the will of the gods. Look at the sun. Winter is upon us.”

  The dwarven prince’s eyes rose towards the sky, and he nodded in amazement. “We have lost a month or more. Praise Garala that he can bend the gods to his will.”

  * * * *

  Adan, King of the Gypsies, stood in the village of Lavinda. He watched closely as the citizens of Alexander Tork’s village efficiently removed the bridge that spanned the river that flowed alongside the village.

  “Remarkable,” he commented. “They make it seem so easy.”

  “It is easy,” grinned Laman, the village leader. “Alex designed it to be easy to remove even if there were only children available to do it.”

  “And the spikes on the far bank?” asked Adan. “Are they supposed to halt the enemy?”

  “Slow them down,” answered Kyle, a boyhood friend of Alexander Tork. “We have changed the pattern over the years until we found the perfect positioning for the spikes. If an enemy tries to approach the riverbank with intentions of fording, our archers will cut them down quicker than they can retreat.”

  “Has this ever been tested?”

  “In the early days,” answered Laman. “Yaki and Goblins attacked us. We were the first place attacked, and the last. We drove those critters back so fast that they ran all the way back through the pass until the next spring. They didn’t even think of attacking us again.”

  “Actually,” corrected Kyle, “the Targa army was ready for them in the spring, but yes, the bridge and spikes worked as they were intended to. Where is all of this leading?”

  “I have a need for two such bridges,” answered Adan, “but I must be sure that they will work as I think they will. Is there any way for someone from the far side to make use of the bridge once it is removed?”

  “None,” answered Laman. “The bridge has to be removed from this side, and it can only be replaced the same way.”

  “It would be worthless otherwise,” added Kyle. “What need do gypsies have for bridges?”

  “The gypsies have no need of bridges,” smiled Adan, “but King Arik does. Alex asked me to come to Lavinda and recruit your help. He needs two bridges built in southern Targa. The gypsies will supply the manpower, but I need some Lavindans to design the bridges and show us how they work.”

  “When do you need these bridges?” asked Laman.

  “Immediately,” answered Adan.

  “Impossible,” replied Kyle. “Winter life is hard in the frontier. We have everyone working on building up our stores. We cannot spare anyone.”

  Suddenly, the ground shook, and the river swayed from one bank to the other before leveling out again. Adan had been staring at the bridge, and he saw the shadow of the bridge
in the river suddenly jump several paces. He whirled around and stared up in the sky, his mouth hanging open with disbelief.

  “What was that?” Kyle asked in alarm.

  “That was a gift from the gods,” Adan said with awe in his voice. “Tell your people to finish building their stores quickly. Winter has come early this year.”

  “A gift from the gods?” frowned Laman. “What do you mean?”

  “King Arik was to ask the gods to stall the Zarans. The gods have replied. After your people are set for winter, we still need to build some bridges. Spring may come early as well.”

  * * * *

  Grand General Kyrga entered the Temple of Balmak and made his way to K’san’s office. The black priest waved for him to enter without his characteristic snipe. Kyrga knew that something was wrong. He silently closed the door and sat before the priest’s desk. After several minutes of silence, Kyrga could no longer control his curiosity.

  “What is the matter, K’san?”

  “We are waiting for the master.”

  The thrill of excitement rippled through the Grand General’s body, but his ebullience was also tinged with fear. He knew that whoever K’san reported to must be a man of extreme power, and it was always dangerous to be too close to such people. Still, he wanted to know who was carrying out Alutar’s wishes. The more he thought about the change in plans, the more curious he became.

  “I thought that I would have to wait to meet the master. Why has that changed?”

  “Because another of K’san’s brothers has died.”

  Kyrga jumped out of his chair at the sound of the voice behind him. He whirled around and saw a figure standing behind him. The man was covered in a full-length cloak, and the hood was pulled forward to hide his face. Kyrga glanced at the closed door to the corridor. Kyrga had not heard it open again and he was sure that he had closed it when he entered. The Grand General was aware of K’san rising from his chair and bowing to the man in the cloak. Kyrga hastily rose and mimicked the priest. The master waved at them dismissively and walked towards the desk. K’san moved around the desk to offer the master his chair, but the newcomer did not sit.

  “There is too much at stake to keep my identity from you, Kyrga, but I will only warn you once to safeguard my identity. Your life depends upon it.”

  Kyrga frowned as he listened to the master speak. He was sure that he had heard the voice before, but he could not attach a face to it. The newcomer’s hands rose and pulled the hood away from his face. Kyrga gasped with recognition as he stared at the noble.

  “I have much easier access to the Imperial Palace than K’san does. Now that Emperor Jaar is being held captive, it will be easier for all if I communicate directly with you. You are not to return to this temple unless it is an emergency.”

  “I understand,” Grand General Kyrga replied nervously.

  “I doubt that you do,” sneered the master. “The Alceans that you have failed to capture are busying themselves by assassinating the Priests of Balmak. This very temple may be their next target, and you must not be seen coming here.”

  “I hear and obey, Master.”

  The noble nodded. “You have two tasks to accomplish, Grand General. I want the invasion of Alcea launched immediately, and I want Jaar’s son found.”

  “His son is dead.” Kyrga frowned. “He died of a fever six years ago.”

  “Lies,” spat the noble. “Jaar’s son is alive. I want him found. I don’t care what you have to do to accomplish it, but you will find him.”

  “I will find him,” Kyrga replied fearfully. “You can count on me.”

  “Jaar’s son or you,” replied the noble. “One of you will die before this war is over. You had best ensure that it is the heir who meets his fate. Now, return to the palace and give the orders to start the invasion. I want Alcea conquered before the snows hamper our attack.”

  Grand General Kyrga bowed low and backed out of the office. The noble stood staring at the door for several minutes after Kyrga left before speaking.

  “It is sad that Kyrga was the best you could find to carry out our work.”

  “He has been most loyal,” K’san replied. “While there were others who might have been more effective, I could not trust them completely. Should I return to the palace and extract the location of Jaar’s son from the emperor’s mind?”

  “Perhaps later,” mused the master, “but not yet. Let Kyrga try his hand at getting the information. You are to avoid the palace until the Alceans are dealt with. We are too close to victory to let anyone in the palace suspect the true nature of the threat.”

  “As you wish.” The priest nodded submissively. “Should I travel to Valdo to investigate the death of my brother?”

  “It is too late for that.” The noble shook his head. “The Alceans will have moved on. You should prepare for them coming here. They will not stop until all of you are eliminated.”

  “Five of us remain,” frowned the black priest. “They cannot kill us all.”

  “Bold talk,” retorted the master. “There were eighteen of you. You were supposed to be invincible and strong enough to conquer the world on your own. Where are the others now?”

  “The Mage has given them enchanted weapons,” scowled the priest. “It took us a while to understand what was going on. They will never succeed again.”

  “You have a flaw of arrogance,” sighed the noble. “Even after most of your brethren are dead, you still underestimate the Alceans. Fortify this temple, K’san. The thoughts your brother sends back from Alcea are priceless. I cannot afford to lose that edge. Surround yourself with warriors and mages at all times. Never let your guard down.”

  “It shall be as you command, Master.”

  Suddenly, the walls and floor of the room trembled and shook. The desk and chairs rattled and vibrated, and then everything became calm again. K’san closed his eyes in concentration as the noble frowned in confusion.

  “The gods have awoken,” K’san said softly.

  “For what purpose?” asked the master.

  “To delay our invasion. Winter has begun.”

  “How is that possible? You must be mistaken.”

  “You have only to walk outside to see for yourself,” replied the priest. “My brother in Alcea reports that the world has tilted in favor of the Alceans. Cordonia and Targa will be covered in snow before our armies can get there. Sordoa and Lanoir can still be conquered. Should we proceed?”

  The noble stared distractedly at the surface of the desk where an ink bottle had tipped over, black ink pooling on the wood surface. His jaw tightened as he slammed his fist onto the desk in anger.

  “We cannot conquer half a country. Once the Alceans know that we are using portals, they will search for them and destroy them. The attack must be a surprise, and it must be coordinated so that all provinces are attacked at the same time.”

  “We have far more men than they do,” offered the priest. “We could send our armies through the snow. We may lose more men, but does that really matter?”

  “Our losses do not matter,” answered the noble. “I am willing to lose every soldier we send to Alcea, but we must be guaranteed victory, and we cannot be assured of victory in the winter. Only a fraction of our armies would reach the northern cities of Alcea, and I will not leave this war to chance. We will wait for spring.”

  * * * *

  The man strolled along the waterfront of Ur, capital of Tyronia. His expensive green cloak stood in stark contrast to the work clothes of the fishermen that crowded the wharves, and the hood that shielded his face from view drew more looks than if he had walked with his face exposed. The locals marked the man as someone to avoid, but he didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he just didn’t care. For hours he meandered the wharves, pausing to surreptitiously listen to conversations. After a while, he started entering the many taverns that lined the quay. Whenever he entered a tavern, he stood just inside the door and let his eyes roam over the patrons. At a few of the ta
verns, he actually sat at one of the tables and ordered a mug of ale, though no one ever saw him take so much as a sip. He mostly sat and listened to the conversations going on about him, but once in a while he would speak softly to men sharing his table and then get up and leave.

  As the cloaked man made his way through the string of taverns lining the waterfront, whispered words preceded him. When he entered the Pirate’s Cove, every table was filled with men except for one. At that one table sat a solitary man sipping a mug of ale. As expected, the stranger made his way to the only open table and quietly sat down and ordered a mug of ale. The local sitting at the table glanced at the stranger when he arrived, but his eyes did not linger. The local appeared disinterested. After a few minutes, the stranger spoke softly.

  “Do you know Karl Gree?”

  The local nodded. “I know him.”

  The stranger waited for more information, but the local merely stared into his mug of ale.

  “Where can I find him?”

  The local looked up and stared into the stranger’s eyes. “You a friend of his?”

  The stranger gritted his teeth with anger, but the hood hid his distress. “Yes, I am a friend of his. Where is he?”

  The local nodded towards the back door. “He just left minutes ago. I think he went home for a nap. You can catch him there.”

  “And where is his home?”

  “I thought you were a friend of his? Strange that a friend wouldn’t know where Karl lives.”

  “Just tell me,” snapped the stranger. “I don’t have time for games.”

  The local shrugged with indifference. “Out the back door is an alley. Turn right and then make your first left. He is in the second building on the left.”

  The stranger dropped a coin on the table and rose. He moved quickly to the rear door of the tavern and stepped into the alley, unaware of the eyes watching him from the roof across the alley. The cloaked man turned to the right and immediately turned left at the next alley. Four men blocked his path. The stranger halted and stared at the four thugs as if sizing up his chances of defeating them. After a moment of hesitation, the stranger started to back away. That is when he felt the sword blade land softly on his shoulder.