by Greg Ricker
That was what it took for a third young villager to start up the stairs, and his friend followed close behind, making the count four, in all.
There was no expression on Danuel’s face. He was not impressed. He needed men with training. Disciplined men. He would not find what he really need in the sons of storekeepers and bartenders.
Unless he had a thousand of them, at least.
Two more came forth, making six, but no one older than twenty-five yet. An agile, but inexperienced age. The prince wondered if he would have an army of young men showing off to their family and friends, rather than taking the mission to heart.
“More will come.”
He knew he was lying to himself.
It became much easier for Taron to find Dalt, when he could see him standing on the stone steps to the great lion statue. He tried muscling his way closer, but it was a slow process. The loud rumble of voices had never ceased, and now everyone who had already decided they were not going anywhere with the Prince, were busy leaving, or talking about the men on the steps.
Taron slipped between two mounted soldiers, he overheard them arguing about following some High Lord General’s orders, and then he broke free of the mass. He jumped up to the third step on the statue’s base, and then made his way to Dalt’s side.
“What are you doing?” Taron asked, breathing heavily.
Dalt looked at him with deeply set determination in his eyes. “I´m joining the fight against the Orcs. I´m avenging the deaths of our family and friends.”
Taron had to admit, he wanted to do the same thing, but were they army material? He could handle a smith’s tools, and a bow, but had received no prior battle training.
“What has Dalt gotten us into now?” Wondered Taron.
Danuel was growing weary of waiting. Why was no one accepting? Seven was a lucky number for him, usually, but not now. Not even one of them looked old enough to live on their own. It was obvious that they were trying to make it up to their fathers for being the only young men in Bowenn who were not soldiers.
How foolish he felt, for expecting half the audience to step up.
He did not even raise a dozen.
That would not do.
Something was going on, and he was going to find out what. Without explanation, Danuel quickly descended the stone steps of the great lion statue, and a path was cleared for him when he reached the bottom, breaking the crowded circle. All about him he could hear mutters of confusion and desperation, while those, with the safety of being farther away, released bursts of outrage and insults. He looked straight ahead as he marched down the street.
The two mounted soldiers watched, and smiled. To the point of trying not to laugh. They had just watched the prince make a fool of himself before the entire kingdom.
Victor was going to love the news of this.
“Perhaps now he knows what the people of Merchant’s Square think of our prince.” Said Baril. His twin brother Blayne was more interested in the men standing on the stone steps. “What is it?”
“Those men are betraying the High Lord General’s direct orders.” Blayne observed, not considering the fact that no one outside of the military knew of Victor Malkyr’s plans.
“So they are.” Baril did not even look. He knew well what his brother was getting at. “What shall we do about it?”
“Just remember those faces, brother.” Said Blayne. “We will pay them all a visit, later tonight.”
Baril laughed as his eyes passed across each one of them. They were so puny and unsuspecting. He was ready for something like this.
His knuckles were starting to get soft.
As the sun set behind the city of Bowenn, everyone was near exhaustion from the constant work. Much could be said for their efforts. Danuel had spent the day helping where he could, hoping to find some of his loyal men as he did so, but he failed to spot even one Lieutenant-Commander or even a high ranked soldier, all day.
Were they hiding from him?
Surely not.
He walked down the street through the center of Merchants' Square, looking at faces, and for men in uniform.
"Sire." A voice behind him made him turn quickly. It was Jarod. "I must talk to you."
"You have been gone a very long time, Jarod." Noted Danuel.
Jarod was acting strangely, looking forward over the prince's shoulder, and back to look over his own. "Please, not here. We must hide."
Hide? Danuel was confused.
"Why should we..." Jarod pulled him quickly to a narrow passage between two inns, which would normally have been booming with music and laughter, but were now dark, and quiet.
"Jarod, what is..."
"I wanted to warn you." Jarod interrupted, nearly whispering.
"Warn me?" Danuel then added worried, to confused.
"Everyone has been ordered to follow Lord General Malkyr," Jarod started, "and he plans to keep you here."
Danuel was shocked. "What! So that is why..."
Jarod covered the prince's mouth with a hand. "Quiet. I mean no offense, my Lord. You'll make a dead man of me. No one can know that I told you this." He just could not fight the fact that Danuel was his friend, but he knew that he would, himself, follow Victor Malkyr.
"I think the Lieutenants are hiding from you, my Lord." As he had been doing, as well, if just for a short time. He looked around to make sure no one was coming, then removed his hand, and waited for Danuel to say something in response.
Instead, the prince left him there, as he quickly made his way down the street.
It was time to have a less friendly meeting with the General.
The door of the High Priest's study opened abruptly. Victor merely moved his eyes to it, but Nyol jumped a little, and looked mad at himself for doing so. Frankly, there was never a time that the massive man did not look angry. He was naturally a miserable person. They caught only a quick glimpse of the prince in the doorway, before he darted into the room.
Before Victor could react, Danuel had seized him with both hands by the wide collar of his black shirt. He smashed the General up against a wide bookshelf, holding only a few large books and some carved miniatures. Some fell to the floor.
Victor shot a surprised look at Nyol, who could only stare back at him with the one eye, which held equal amazement. He reached for a sword that he forgot was not there.
"Who do you think you are?" Danuel shouted. "You can not ignore my commands!"
Victor met his eyes with an even greater furiosity. He grabbed the prince's wrists, and threw him back, tearing his own shirt in doing so.
Danuel regained his balance only a few feet away.
Both waited for something else to happen, but they stayed where they were, breathing fire.
Nyol stepped closer to Victor. He was not going to let Danuel charge again.
Victor was noticing the rip in his collar, not bad, but he would not be wearing the shirt ever again.
"I can," began General Malkyr, "and have." He could tell the prince was holding back from repeating his imprudent entry.
This time, he would be ready for it.
"I know my army far better than you, and..."
"And I know my father better than you!" Danuel interrupted. "He would not have shut me up in my room to wait this out! I have greater fighting skills than any soldier in your army!"
"And you are Nall's only child, as well." Victor schemingly reminded him. "It is more important that you stay, to keep law and order among your people. Dying in some war will not make your father proud of you. Keeping the Talbarond name at the head of Bowenn, is what he would want. It's my army, and your kingdom. Understand?"
Danuel sighed. Nothing was going as planned. He might have the skills, by now, to defeat Victor in combat, but he would never beat him at this game. He had been around soldiers his entire life, and he knew what they thought of General Malkyr. Victor could never be someone's friend, but he could make life hell for anyone.
Including the prince.
No, he would never win this game.
There were, however, many moves to be made before the end.
"I understand perfectly, General." Danuel replied, as he walked to door to leave. "As for your army, Victor, keep it. I will go alone, if I must."
Then he was gone.
Victor slumped into the high-backed chair, laughing.
Nyol managed a grin on one side of his mouth. Much more would have been unfitting to his appearance, as well as painful. He folded his bulky arms and relaxed a bit.
"Fool!" Victor did not care if the prince heard him shout it. Danuel was not going anywhere.
He would make certain of it.
General Jakard returned to the only window in the study. There were groups standing about talking, many walking the streets. Women and children were finally out of their homes again. It was the first time they had done so since the attack.
They were all just sheep to him.
Did that make him the shepherd, or wolf?
There was no arguing which one Victor was.
Danuel would see just how bad his bite could be.
VII
Rain On The Rooftops
Inside of a narrow, two-story house, on a quiet street with nearly a hundred more just like it, Kaylel Ferarve enjoyed a moment of much needed rest. She soaked her feet in a large cooking pot full of steaming water and powdered rose petals. She had cushioned the wide wooden chair she sat in with one pillow under her, and another behind her. Her head was tilted back, and her eyes were closed. She had worked hard all day. It was after dark by the time things were under control at the infirmary, and she was given permission to leave and rest.
She planned on getting plenty of it.
"Why don't you just go on to bed, Kaylel?" Her grandmother's voice broke the silence and scared Kaylel into sitting up properly, her eyes trying to adjust to the light of the lantern Vola just lit.
The room was also similar to those found on the first floor of the other homes about. Furniture along one wall for sitting, a table in the middle for dining, a wood-burning stove by a wall covered with hanging pots, pans, and spoons, and a staircase running up the length of the back wall to the bedrooms above. The wealthy kept their floors covered with carpets, and tiles, but Kaylel's grandmother, like most residents of Merchants' Square, only kept small areas of her dull hardwood floor covered with handmade rugs. Mostly, wherever it was discolored, or damaged.
Vola made her way down the stairs. She was plump, maybe a little overly so, but she was considered fairly attractive, by men her own age. At her age, a high percentage of those men were called widowers. Her nightgown was white with pale blue flowers throughout, and it left no skin showing except for her neck, hands, and slippered feet. Her long, gray hair hung down past the middle of her back.
"I want you in bed right away, Kaylel." Vola set foot on the floor, and Kaylel knew that her grandmother would not go back to bed, until she followed her up the stairs.
"I will." Kaylel replied. "I just wanted to soak my feet a moment longer."
Vola shook her head and began to do housework.
Not that there was any to do. She never went to bed with chores unfinished. She simply moved things just to have to move them back. Late nights were not something she was fond of, and she had to find something to do, to stay awake.
Then a knock on the front door made them look at each other with a start. Kaylel shrugged her shoulders, knowing what that look meant. She had no idea who it could be.
Vola hurried to the door and opened it just enough to peek outside. With a gasp, she stepped back from the visitor's view, and frantically tried to fix her unalterable hair.
"Who is it?" Kaylel watched her working on a sagging bun, until Vola gave up entirely and combed it out long and straight with her fingers. She could have screamed when her grandmother opened the door to let in Danuel Talbarond. Kaylel grabbed a blanket she had set nearby her chair, and wrapped herself as she stood, sliding her wet feet into her slippers.
"Lord Talbarond." Vola tried to sound calm, but her surprise was obvious. Her smile appeared to be painted on. "Please come in.¨
She curtsied slightly. ¨How may I serve you, my Lord?¨
Danuel knew his timing was poor, and that Kaylel would be very tired, and possibly angry, but he knew he would have the same trouble finding her tomorrow, that he had today. He dared not interrupt her work at the infirmary. No conversation was more important than her seeing to the injured.
"Thank you, Lady Ferarve." He stepped in and glanced about until he met eyes with Kaylel. Danuel smiled at her.
Her half smile, half frown, just made her straight-lipped.
"Hello, Kaylel."
She had not seen as much of the prince lately, not since becoming a fully graduated Herbearer Mistress. She had spent her six years in the castle as an honorable student, and as the fancy of Danuel's eye. She had never quite fell for him, though. He was cocky, muscle-headed, spoiled, and...and…
So good looking.
A man should not be aloud to smile like that.
"Lord Talbarond." She bowed even less than Vola, who had a bad back for an excuse.
"Danuel, please." He told the both of them.
"As you wish, my lord." Vola closed the door behind him, and rushed to the stove, grabbing a kettle from the wall. "I shall make some tea for us. Would you like some tea, Danuel? I assure you that it will not be the mule kick that Kaylel could brew for you."
Her granddaughter shot her a look, but it was the same look she got every time she poked fun at Kaylel's practice. Vola figured women were busy enough in life with children and kitchens, to go making themselves slaves of a trade. She was, however, very proud of Kaylel for being quite good at it.
"No, thank you, Vola." Danuel had not removed his eyes from Kaylel's, nor had his smiled lessened in quality. "I can not stay long."
He thought he saw a strange look from Kaylel then, as if his visit being short, made a difference. No. He was still wishing for her to do things like that.
Vola, on the other hand, wore a very disappointed look.
"May I speak with you, Kaylel?" Danuel asked.
She felt awkward. Given her present attire. Who could blame her? She hid it well, though.
She seemed taller to Danuel since he had seen her last. He had always seen her as a woman proud to be whatever she was. Sure of herself, and confident of her purpose. Perhaps with age, she had become even more so.
"Of course." Kaylel answered. "Please sit."
She motioned a hand to the best seat in the room. A large, heavy, wooden chair with thick arms and legs, and a firm cushion that the prince found quite comfortable. His shining scabbard stuck out past his left knee.
"Is there something I can help you with, Danuel?" She sat in her chair, her feet off to the side of the large pot on the floor.
Danuel could smell the powdered rose petals, and he found his mind was wandering. He cleared his throat, and regained focus.
"I wanted to make sure that you and your family were okay.¨ Danuel´s voice was a little shaky to Kaylel. ¨I was walking by, and I...I just...It is very late, and I do apologize."
"It's alright, Danuel." Kaylel assured him. "Thank you for thinking of us."
She looked over her shoulder at Vola, who had returned to her unnecessary housework, obviously so she could listen. "How are you? Is your wound bothering you?"
He grabbed the nasty gash on his left shoulder. The Orc dagger had struck deep. It still ached, but one of the elderly Herbearers had stitched and bandaged it.
"No. It's getting better." He shifted in his chair, but not because it was uncomfortable. It was he who was uncomfortable. "I'm leaving tomorrow, and I..."
"Leaving?" Kaylel was shocked. "Where are you going?"
"To Ayarlyn." Danuel replied. "I must go there in place of my father, to honor the Kings' Peace."
Kaylel suddenly remembered Danuel's father did not survive the attack, and she felt very sad for him.
"I am sorry about your father, Danuel."
The prince nodded slowly, his head held low.
Kaylel thought that continuing the conversation quickly would be best. "If you must lead an army to war against our attackers, then they are in good hands."
A compliment she hoped would bring a smile to his face.
It did not.
Danuel sighed. "I have no army."
That confused Kaylel. "But I saw hundreds of men who avoided injury. Surely they will..."
"I am going alone." Danuel interrupted. "That is the way it must be."
Kaylel was at a loss for words. The prince suddenly stood, and she quickly did the same.
"I must go." Danuel stated. "I have many preparations to make tonight, and I have to be at the Square Stable early."
He headed for the door.
Following close behind, Kaylel began to feel very sorry for the prince. Why was he alone in this?
"Leaving so soon, my lord?" Asked Vola as she walked to Kaylel's side.
Danuel's eyes met Kaylel's once more, and he did not answer Vola. "Goodnight, Kaylel. Take care of yourself."
"Goodnight, Danuel." She replied. "You do the same."
She could sense this felt more like a goodbye.
Then he was gone, as the first thunder of a coming storm was heard.
"Did I hear him say he was leaving Bowenn?" Vola asked.
Kaylel stood staring at the door for a moment. "Could you help me do something, grandmother?"
"Only if you go to bed soon." Vola smiled.
As soon as the first flash of lightning lit up the streets of Bowenn, Taron felt a small raindrop hit the top of his ear. Not a night for walking, but what else could they do? He and Dalt could not find his bow when they returned to the infirmary, and hours later found it in the hands of a novice soldier. Without proof, it had cost them the coin that Park Brommul had given them to get it back. Now, without money, they roamed aimlessly through the city, choosing whatever streets they wished. Every one, however, was dark and strange, and at that hour, theirs alone to travel.
The only signs of life were at small taverns that could not afford to close, unlike their much larger competition. They could offer no entertainment after what had happened that day, but men could relax, drink, and spread rumors for their enjoyment. Always the first thing people did after any event worth speaking about.
