“I am greatly pleased by your offer,” responded the prince, “but I think the king would be even more appreciative. Perhaps you could tell his future.”
Wylan ignored the request, moving towards the sound of the prince’s voice. He came up behind the prince, and his seeking hand soon landed on one of Bultar’s shoulders. King Bartomir frowned as Wylan ignored the prince’s request, but he did not voice his disapproval.
“I see you surrounded in snow,” Wylan said softly.
The prince chuckled with embarrassment, “Now that is a future that I might easily see myself in if these storms keep pounding us.”
“The snow is not of this city,” Wylan continued, ignoring the interruption. “You are in a great forest of mahogany, but the snow is very deep. You are lost, knowing not which way to go, and you are sleepy, very sleepy. You want to lie down and rest, but you fear that you might never wake up. You finally do fall asleep, but you do not die.”
“This is depressing,” scowled the king. “Speak of something brighter.”
“I can only speak of what I see, but do not fear for your son. I see him waking up in a safe place. Strangers surround him. They do not know the true identity of the prince, but they treat him well. They befriend him. They feed him and cloth him and treat him as one of their own. He is thankful to be alive, and he is grateful for the new friends that he has found.”
“Nonsense,” scoffed the king. “Bultar is not about to go wandering in the woods before spring. I think you feel the need to entertain us for the fine meal you devoured, but such gloomy entertainment is not well accepted.”
“You are harsh, Father,” retorted the prince. “You were the one who demanded that the mystic look into the future. Do not now berate him for telling what he sees, even if it is wrong. Wylan, seek out my father’s future. I promise that we will not hold your visions against you.”
“Yes, mystic,” chuckled the king. “Tell me if I am going to wander in the snow.”
Wylan ignored the banter, but moved towards the king as Bartomir spoke. He felt the arm of the chair that the king was sitting in, and Bartomir unexpectedly reached out and took Wylan’s hand in his own.
“Now you are touching me, Wylan. What do you see?”
Wylan bowed his head as if meditating, but his brow slowly creased. After only a moment, the staff fell from his hand, and Wylan dropped to his knees. Prince Bultar sprang from his chair and rushed to Wylan’s side, but Edmond quickly spoke.
“Do not touch him, Bultar. Whatever he sees must be distressing to him, but it will not harm the king. Let him be.”
Prince Bultar halted. King Bartomir frowned deeply as he stared at the mystic.
“I saw a deed of unspeakable treachery,” Wylan said in a low voice. “I saw a soldier speaking to a man in black. The man in black wore a golden pin upon his breast. I could not hear their words, but they were significant for the king’s future. I saw many more black-clad men with golden pins. They moved stealthily through richly appointed rooms looking for someone.”
Wylan fell silent. After a minute of silence, the king urged him to continue.
“They were assassins,” Wylan continued in a nervous voice. “I saw King Bartomir’s body on the floor in a pool of blood, but the assassins were not content. They sought…”
“What?” urged Edmond. “What were they searching for?”
“They were looking for Price Bultar,” answered Wylan. “The whole royal family was to be killed.”
Wylan pulled his hand away from the king and sighed wearily. Edmond rose and helped the mystic into a chair. Wylan, uncharacteristically, did not complain. The mystic slumped into the chair, his breathing shallow. The room fell silent for several minutes as each of the men thought about the mystic’s vision.
“Tripe!” the king loudly proclaimed. “Utter tripe! None of my soldiers would conspire with the Badgers to assassinate me. It would never happen.”
“And why would they need to?” Prince Bultar said in agreement. “Soldiers have access to the Royal Palace. Why would they need to hire assassins?”
“Perhaps the soldiers were not Candanarans,” suggested Edmond as he stared at the mystic. “Wylan, can you describe the soldier?”
The mystic shook his head. “His face was a blur. All I can remember is that he wore numbers on his arm.”
“All Federation soldiers wear insignias,” frowned Prince Bultar. “What numbers were they?”
“Twenty-three,” answered the mystic.
“Twenty-three?” bellowed the king. “That is General Antero’s army.”
“The Aertans?” questioned Prince Bultar. “That makes no sense.”
“Sure it does,” scowled the king. “King Anator has always been envious of the bounty of Candanar. He bristles each time we raise the price of mahogany for his precious ships. Aerta has one small corner of the Kyber Woods. They would love to own it all.”
“It hardly matters,” retorted the prince. “What King Anator desires and what he gets are two very different things. I will make sure that his assassins never reach you, Father.”
King Bartomir glanced at the mystic. Wylan appeared to be sleeping, and the king sighed anxiously. “No, you won’t Bultar. The mystic’s visions were clear enough, although I was too stubborn at first to admit it. You need to leave Zinbar immediately.”
“I will not go,” protested the prince. “Wylan could easily be some deranged madman for all we know.”
“He could be at that,” agreed the king, “and I hope that he is, but I would be a fool not to accept that there is a chance that he has truly seen the future. Certainly no one else predicted an early winter, and there was no one around to throw that sword upon the floor. You will leave this city in the morning, and you will not come back until I summon you.”
“Where could I go that the Aertans could not find me?”
“I could take you to Ur,” offered Edmond. “My father is not in residence in the city. We would have the mansion all to ourselves, and the Aertans would never think to search there for you.”
“To Ur?” balked the prince. “In this weather? You are mad, Edmond.”
“I am more used to traveling through the snow than you are, Prince Bultar,” countered Edmond. “I can get you to Ur.”
“Remember the mystic’s foretelling,” the king said softly. “If he is wrong, you will end up in Ur for the winter. That is no bad thing, but if he is right, you will be taken to a place of safety. Either way, I will rest more comfortably knowing that you are safe. You will leave in the morning. I will hear no more about it.”
* * * *
The Badger flattened himself against the tree and held his breath just before the patrol came into view. The private soldiers of the Sanctum moved quietly through the woods, their eyes wandering in every direction. Although the soldiers were well-trained and alert, they never saw the Badger mere feet away. The patrol moved onward, and Franco exhaled slowly. Pausing only long enough for his normal breathing to return, the Badger crept forward, pulling a small hook off his belt and methodically attaching a line to it. With an ease born of constant practice, the Badger tossed the hook underhand. The hook sailed upward and wrapped around a sturdy branch. Without missing a beat, Franco grabbed the line with both hands and hauled himself up into the tree. As his eyes scanned the dimly-lit grounds of the Sanctum, Franco’s hands were busy restoring the hook and line to their proper places on his belt.
Franco stared deep into the Sanctum. The wall before him marked the perimeter of the Sanctum, although the Sanctum’s army patrolled the forest outside it, the bulk of their forces were inside the wall, and the Badger spent a long time peering into the darkness to identify the positions of the sentries. Satisfied that he knew the location of each sentry, he waited for the next patrol inside the wall. The inner patrol soon passed by, every bit as alert as the outside patrol had been. Franco waited until they were out of sight before rising to his feet and balancing on the sturdy tree limb. With a slight pu
sh off the trunk of the tree, Franco dashed along the branch and leapt for the wall. As his right foot contacted the top of the wall, he bent his leg and pushed off the wall, forcing his body to flip into the air. With a practiced ending to his aerobatic flip, the Badger landed on his feet. He immediately squatted behind the low bushes to see if anyone had noticed his entry into the Sanctum.
With a slight smile upon his lips, the Badger crawled through the bushes until he reached the inner woods. He quickly wove his way through the strand of trees in a meandering path that avoided all of the fixed sentries. Eventually he came to the side wall of the first estate. As good as the Sanctum’s private armies were, Franco had long ago recognized their major weakness. Every estate had a multitude of guards at the front gates and the cliffs overlooking the sea at the rear of the estates, but none of them bothered with guards on the side walls that separated the individual estates. Once he gained access to one estate, it was rather easy to move down the line and make his way to any estate he wanted to visit. He merely had to avoid the roaming patrols and climb the walls separating the estates, which was exactly what the Badger did.
When Franco reached the estate that was his target, he paused in the darkness to remove a special pair of gloves from his pack. The gloves were made of a thick fabric and dozens of small metal hooks had been sewn into the fabric. He pulled the gloves on and dashed to the side of the mansion. Having made this entrance before, Franco knew exactly where he was going. Making use of his special gloves, the Badger climbed up the side of the mansion. He slipped through a window into a dark room and promptly took off the gloves. He stowed them in his pack and then pulled his golden Badger pin from his pouch and pinned it on his chest. Moving silently across the room, he cracked open the door and peered into the dark corridor. With no one in sight, he slid out of the room and made his way to the lord’s suite. Although the door was locked, it took only seconds for the Badger to enter the suite and close the door behind him. He walked to the door of the sleeping chamber and knocked lightly. A moment later, a sleepy noble cracked the door and inhaled sharply. He quickly slid out of the sleeping chamber and quietly closed the door. With a motion for the Badger to follow him, the noble crossed the sitting room and entered his office. Franco followed and closed the office door as he entered the room.
“How do you get in here?” the noble asked with irritation as he lit a lantern.
“We have a problem,” Franco responded, ignoring the question. “My men were forced to move the women. It turned out to be a ploy, and Federation soldiers attacked my men.”
“What about the women?” asked the noble.
“At the moment, they are lost, but we will retrieve them.”
“If you were so confident of retrieving them,” scowled the noble, “you would not be here now to report your failure. Your mistake is going to cost me dearly.”
“There is another reason for my visit,” said Franco as he opened his pouch and placed two patches on the noble’s desk. “These were found on the men who attacked us. The soldiers were not wearing either of these patches, but each man had one of each in his pack. I want the name of the officer who ambushed my men.”
The noble sat down and picked up the patches. He looked at them for only a moment and tossed them back on the desk. “Men from either of these units should be incapable of causing any harm to your men. Tell me what happened.”
“We had the women in a safe location, but we got word from Giza that the location was known to others. While such information was suspect, I decided that it was significant enough to move the women to another location. We were in the process of doing just that when the soldiers attacked. They caught one group of my forces off guard and ambushed them. It was a professional operation. Had the other half of my force not circled around to join the first, they would have gotten away with it. We eliminated the entire enemy camp except for two men. Somehow those two men and the three women disappeared during the battle, but the men left on foot while the women shared a horse. I am sure that the women will be found, but two men could evade us for a long period of time. That is why I need to know who they are.”
“How strong was the force you eliminated?”
“Over one-hundred.”
“These patches belong to A Corps and V Corps. V Corps has been disbanded. The late General Garibaldi led them. General Forshire leads the A Corps, but I was led to believe that they are still posted in the Olansk area, although Forshire does have a small detachment of men here in Despair.”
“How large of a detachment?” asked Franco.
“A squad,” shrugged the noble. “They came into Despair by ship from Giza. Frankly, I cannot believe that either group could possibly deal such an ambush upon your men. I think you are being misled.”
“You think someone offered up their whole camp just to put me on a false trail?” balked the Badger. “I am not buying into that theory. Why do you think so little of these groups?”
“They are convicts,” answered the noble. “They are not even real soldiers. Do you really think those rejects could defeat your Badgers?”
“I don’t know what to think,” frowned the Badger, “but I intend to find out. No one takes a bite out of my organization without paying dearly for it. Where can I find General Forshire?”
“He is probably still lounging around the Imperial Palace. It would be easier for me to have Kyrga question him than for you to waste your time sneaking in there yourself.”
“If the raid was led by Forshire, he will not be at the palace. I rode directly here to report to you. No one could have beat me to the city, but he could be back in a day or so if he could find a horse.”
“Then I will find out his status for you,” offered the noble.
“There is more that is bothering me about this. Whoever sent the message from Giza not only knew that we had taken the women, but where they were being held. There are precious few people who even knew that the women had been taken, so the question I have for you is, who knew about them being kidnapped?”
“You are sure that no one in your organization boasted of this deed?”
“I am positive. Besides, the reason I split my forces in the first place was to check the emperor’s estate to see if anyone had been nosing around there. I am now sure that the soldiers had been there before they ambushed my men.”
“Jaar,” snarled the noble. “Somehow he got word to someone. I will have someone pay the emperor a visit.”
“Perhaps I should visit him myself,” suggested the Badger. “I will get the information out of him.”
“Do not worry about it,” the noble smiled. “I have someone who will literally take the emperor’s thoughts straight from his mind. We will know the identity of your attacker tomorrow.”
Chapter 44
The Alcean
Clint and Morro sat in General Forshire’s room at the Emporium Inn in Despair. They had just arrived from Olansk, and both of them were tired, but Clint felt a sense of urgency that he could not shake.
“I think you need to rest,” argued the elven thief. “If you keep running without sleep, you will make a foolish mistake, and such mistakes in this city are often fatal.”
“I will rest tomorrow,” retorted Clint. “Right now, I need to see Emperor Jaar and see if he will halt this war. I sacrificed one hundred fifty men to gain the release of his family. That has to be worth something in his eyes.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Morro. “Are you just going to come out and tell him that you are an Alcean? Think this through, Clint.”
A knock sounded on the door, and both of the men leaped to their feet and grabbed their weapons. The room was supposed to be Clint’s safe haven, and no one should know about it. Not even Scorpion knew of this room. When he wished to speak to the head thief of Despair, he went up one level to a room that Garth had reserved for the entire year. Morro drew a throwing knife and tiptoed across the room to where he could easily assault anyone who came through the door
. Clint fisted two throwing stars and moved to the door.
“Who is it?” Clint asked, trying to disguise his voice.
“A friend,” came a female voice. “Open the door. I don’t care for standing in the hallway at this time of the night.”
A frown fell across the Ranger’s face. Clint held both stars in one hand as his other hand slowly threw open the door. The ranger jumped back, ready to throw the stars.
“A little jumpy, aren’t we?” Natia asked as she entered the room.
Tedi and Garth followed the gypsy princess. Garth closed the door and looked around the room, nodding to the elven thief. Clint sighed and shoved his stars into his pouch.
“You need to be careful with those stars,” admonished Garth. “They are unknown weapons in Zara. You should not be seen with them while wearing that uniform.”
“Welcome to you, too,” quipped Clint. “What are you three doing in Despair?”
“We brought some Rangers to train the thieves,” answered Garth. “We have left five of them in each capital from Giza to here. I thought you were out hunting women?”
“The women are in Herinak,” replied Clint. “It is a long story, but there was no other choice at the time. I was just getting ready to pay a visit on the emperor using Morro’s hourglass.”
“The night is young,” said Garth. “Sit and bring me up to date.”
The five warriors gathered around a table and brought each other up to date on their progress.
“So what are your plans from here?” asked Clint.
“We want to kill K’san before we leave the city,” answered Garth, “but it is getting harder with each priest we kill. Scorpion reports that over two-hundred men are inside the temple here in Despair, plus there are Federation sentries all around the building. I am not sure that we can pull it off this time.”
Clint nodded with a sigh. “There is no shortage of troops in Despair. The weather down here is the fairest in all of Zara. Every Baroukan army except the First Corps is in the area right now. General Tauman’s First Corps still protects Camp Destiny.”
Heirs of the Enemy Page 55
