The Ambersham

by Greg Ricker

  If he only took a moment to try.

  He just felt...alone. Angered, that he could not stop the madness spreading around him.

  Around everyone.

  Victor Malkyr did not take the news of the prince's escape nearly as badly as Nyol and the Lieutenant Commanders had expected. He simply ordered them to leave him alone, with General Jakard.

  The High Lord General was dressed in all white, loose-fitting attire. His hair hung down over the sides of his face. He stood looking out of the window in the High Priest's study. The room had become a stronghold for him since the attack.

  The priest, however, was secretly complaining.

  So Victor had heard.

  He supposed he could not blame Danuel for leaving. There was no point in delaying a solo trip.

  The thought almost made him laugh. He did not though, for now he would have to, inconveniently, change his own plans, as well.

  He turned and walked to Nyol's side, staring at the hardwood floor.

  "Choose your men, General." Said Victor. His anger was clearly present in his voice. "We leave tomorrow."

  Nyol saluted.

  That was what he had wanted to hear.

  Then Nyol left the room, with a sinister smile on his dirty face.

  IX

  Strays

  The cold, cloudy morning did not change much by midday. Danuel and Kaylel rode Moon's Eye northwest along the East Dorols, a group of mountains separated by forest from the main body of the Dorol Mountains themselves.

  The Prince boiled with anger inside. He did not direct his thoughts of punishment at Nyol Jakard, or the four Lieutenants - two of which he saw quite clearly, and could name - they were directed at Victor Malkyr. Even Mason Stark had to be following the High Lord General's orders.

  They had gone too far to go unpunished.

  That would have to wait, however. He would even have to put the fear of his father's kingdom crumbling apart aside, for a time. He would have to see the battle through, and then return as quickly as possible to Bowenn.

  For nearly two hours Danuel had led the white stallion at a running pace. He expected men to follow them, and knew they were undoubtedly making far better time than themselves. Kaylel was being battered to death behind him, and he apologized often along the way.

  She had given in to pulling her dress up to a short skirt that bared more of her legs than she cared for, but she was far more comfortable straddling the horse when it came to riding at full gallop.

  Moon's Eye showed no signs of tiring, at all. The great horse held its head high. Its muscles were large and defined.

  Taron’s and Dalt’s horses were still strong, as well.

  No one had spoken for quite some time, and Kaylel had had enough of listening to her belongings rattle in her medicine bag. From what she could see of the prince's face, he still looked very angry.

  Was he thinking about his father?

  She knew what it was like to lose both parents, also. She had only been six, when it happened to her. They had both caught a deadly, contagious sickness that, in the end, had taken their lives. If not for her grandmother Vola, who took Kaylel and Jarod into her home during the early signs of illness, they would probably be gone, as well.

  That was the main reason for Kaylel's interest in medicine. Something she was determined to practice, all her life.

  Suddenly, Danuel slowed Moon's Eye down to a light run, and eased them into an area against the trees, into the shade, but not halting. Their horses would need a great deal of strength to deal with the oncoming mounted soldiers, and the prince was not about to use them up now.

  "I have never been to Mynnorah, Danuel." Kaylel stated, taking advantage of the slower pace. Actually, just hoping to start any conversation. "What is it like?"

  She thought she might as well learn a little more about the city, for she knew she would not be returning to Bowenn anytime soon. Danuel had told her, back in the Channeron Plains, that she was committed to the journey, until he could find her a safe place to stay. She did not care for the idea much. Leaving all of the injured people at the church infirmary. Leaving her grandmother, who would, without a doubt, be worried sick by now.

  Still, it would be harder to have to face Nyol Jakard again.

  The prince turned his head a little. "The Dwarves have a wonderful kingdom. Probably even more so, since I was last there. You will no longer think of Bowenn as a big city, I promise you that."

  Kaylel's eyes grew. "I will like to see such a place. There must be many thousands of Dwarves in a city that large. I have only met a few, myself. They were merchants passing through town that, one way or another, ended up at the Herbearers' School because of an injury. I mostly remember the last fellow that I met. He had a badly infected finger. I asked him about Mynnorah. Only, he did not have anything good to say about it. He said that all the people did there was fight about a group called...the Advancement, or something.”

  She could see on their faces they all knew even less than her about the latter subject.

  Danuel was stone faced, and silent.

  Was he even listening?

  He stared straight ahead. His grim face unchanging.

  “He also said,¨ she continued, ¨that he would sleep in the Blaskies, before he would ever go back."

  Taron looked at Dalt, and saw the same disappointment on his face.

  Kaylel squeezed Danuel more, just the slightest bit, then closed her eyes and sighed.

  "What are we going to do, Danuel?" She asked quietly.

  The prince was surprised by the question. He was also unprepared to answer it. He had hoped to let a few moments pass in total silence. For a while, after that, he got his wish.

  Danuel let the minutes pass before looking back to find Taron and Dalt were busy admiring their surroundings, and Kaylel was about to fall asleep on his back.

  With one hand on the reins, and one hand on Kaylel’s clasped fingers, he continued on.

  The hours passed, and the sun fell behind the mountains and trees in a sea of orange and yellow. Then the moon lifted into view, and it dimly lit the plains as it brought with it the night. It was a short lived light, for clouds began to cross the moon, casting great shadows that raced across the tips of the tall grass. When finally a blanket of clouds hid the moon away for good, the night became black as pitch. Traveling the Channeron Plains on a moonless night, was like exploring a vast cave without inner walls, and without so much as a tOrch, or lamp to light the way, it was even foolish. A great variety of hungry animals roamed the plains at night, and one just might be desperately hungry to a degree, that four armed travelers looked like easy game.

  It had been a long day. Getting as far as the narrow field before Derimon Pass, had been more than Danuel had hoped for. The early start, eating lunch on horseback, and stopping only once for a quick necessary break, all contributed to their making good time. Danuel led them until the moon had vanished, then they tied the stallion and bays to trees at the forest edge. The fire was small, so not to attract attention, but sufficed for warmth, light, and keeping the hungry animals back in the thick of the woods.

  Kaylel was stirring the contents of a nice smelling stew consisting of potatoes, sun dried pork, herbs, and water, while Taron stabbed at the fire with a stick to keep the tallest flames underneath the small pot, while trying not to strike its wobbly, three legged stand.

  Dalt sat leaning back on his hands, watching the night sky, and Danuel was several yards away, removing his saddle and bags from Moon’s Eye.

  “We’re in a lot of trouble, I think.” Taron declared. He spoke just above a whisper, and glanced over at Danuel to make sure he was not listening. “Why did they have him tied up back there?”

  Kaylel did not answer, she only looked at Danuel as he combed Moon’s Eye’s mane.

  Dalt did not appear to even be listening.

  “We escaped Gerhihn to look for help,” started Taron, “but now it feels more like...we just escaped Bowenn.”
<
br />   They both looked at him, then.

  Kaylel quickly filled and passed out bowls of the hot stew to the two southlanders. She was mainly in a rush to end the conversation, even though Danuel was still busy at Moon’s Eye’s side.

  “I shall let his get cold if I have to blow on it.” She mumbled suddenly, and the others laughed as they ate.

  Danuel was eager for the hot meal, though, and they straightened their faces when he sat next to the fire with them. He received his bowl with a smile from Kaylel. However fickle it was.

  “Tomorrow we will stop in Tylas to...”

  “Tylas?” Kaylel interrupted, nearly spilling the stew as she filled her own bowl.

  Taron and Dalt looked at each other. They had heard of Tylas before, as well. It was said to be a town full of drunken brutes and thieves.

  And murderers.

  The prince sighed. ¨You know that was the only food I brought with me.¨

  He was not happy about going to Tylas either.

  “We need clothes, and other things...” He hesitated to say more, but she was staring at him, waiting. “You could use a horse of your own, for one.”

  Not what he was going to say, but more of the truth. Her smile said she was at least slightly satisfied with the answer, but Tylas was probably not on anyone´s list of places to see in their lifetime.

  “We will also be staying there for the night.” He added.

  Kaylel’s eyes bulged, but she knew she was trapped in this flight right along with him. She would go where he led, traveling further from home. Further into strange lands.

  Danuel wondered if she would still follow him, if he led a party of murderers from Tylas.

  Pounding a white-knuckled fist onto his desktop, Wade Levin cursed and stood. His chair fell over backward, and he checked to see if it broke, despite his rage. It was a fine chair. Even if stolen. Not many things in Wade's house were obtained in a legal manner. For him, being a thief, a smuggler, a hustler, a cheat, and a cold-blooded, backstabbing murderer, had paid off immensely well, and with very little diligence. His pockets were always full, and rarely an evening went by that he did not have a woman clinging to each arm as he walked the streets.

  There were, bad days, however.

  It seemed a man who had worked for him for four years, had finally worked up the nerve to steal from him. Something Wade severely disliked, and did not let go of easily.

  In fact, it was a fatal mistake.

  He began to pace, slowly. His hands clasped behind his back. He was a man of great charisma. Found highly attractive by women. He was tall, dark-skinned, and muscular beyond most men's limits. He had a chiseled face, and broad mustache, which was equally as jet black as the hair on his head, slicked back into a tiny, tied tail. The women loved his hair down, but he preferred to show his face. Wade was also always dressed in fine clothes. He wore loose-fitting trousers of a light, sand color, and a vest so white it seemed to glow. He adorned a sleeveless shirt beneath, so his massive, tattoo covered arms were free to intimidate.

  Deril Bahr sat in a chair opposite of Wade's desk. He did nothing but twist the dagger in his hands, and stare at the floor. He was a tall, skinny man with short, curly, red hair, and a tuft on his chin to match. He wore his battered, brown vest over his blue shirt, tucked into trousers of a dark brown. The same clothes he wore every day. As if he owned only the one outfit. He kept them clean, though. Except for the one single stubborn stain that he could not remove from the knee of his left leg.

  It was not as if he were not paid well. He was an excessive gambler, and probably in debt to his neck at that very moment.

  No doubt, that his neck was on the verge of being slit one day.

  "Tell everyone the same as before." Wade said suddenly. "A reward for whoever finds him. Double the amount stolen."

  Deril's bloodshot eyes quickly turned up then. "You are too kind, sir. You should be careful what you pay your men. Six horses at double the value..."

  He trailed off, shaking his head. "A year's wages, for some men."

  Not himself.

  He was well paid by Mister Levin, at the present.

  Good money this reward, though.

  Wade stopped in his tracks. "I know what it takes to get things done in this town, Mister Bahr. I have to buy loyalty. It is quite expensive, and always vulnerable to losing its value."

  He leaned on his desk, and looked Deril in the eyes. "I intend to keep my present position a long time, Deril, if you don´t mind. No matter the cost."

  Deril smiled, and twirled his dagger. "I was counting on that, Wade."

  Wade eyed him curiously.

  "Bring him in!" Deril called out.

  The door to the room was abruptly opened, and two men pushed in a third, who was tied around the arms and legs with a thick rope. His mouth gagged with a dirty rag.

  Wade smiled at Deril, showing nearly every tooth inside. Again he delighted in the day that he hired Deril Bahr. He walked to the trembling thief, and snatched the gag out of his mouth.

  "Did you get a good deal on my horses, Frinn?" Wade asked.

  "It's well known that you have the best horses in town, sir." Frinn wearily replied. His voice was shaking even more than his body. "The man found my employment to you to be intimidating and asked me to..."

  Before Frinn could say another word, Wade had snatched his chin.

  "My permission was neither asked for, nor granted!" He shouted.

  "I have kept your share of the coin in my coat!" Frinn feared for his life, and with good cause.

  Wade looked even angrier. "My share? Those horses were never partly yours, you idiot!"

  He reached down with both massive hands, and ripped off the pockets of Frinn's coat. A dozen silver coins fell to the floor.

  Two silver coins for each horse!

  Wade had been right.

  Frinn was an idiot!

  "Take it all, sir." Frinn looked like he might cry. "Please. I had no right, and I know it. I will never do this again, I promise you."

  "I know, Frinn.¨ Wade´s tone did not sound comforting at all. ¨What shall we do with him, Mister Bahr?"

  Wade was looking directly into Frinn's eyes. They were full of tears and sweat. "Perhaps hot oil, dropped at random. Very small drops."

  He grinned, devilishly, as Frinn's eyes grew. "Lots of them."

  "I have a better idea." Deril spoke up. He turned in his chair, but did not stand. He had been using his dagger tip to clean under his nails. "I think, since he seems to like horses so much, we should play a game of wishbone with him."

  Laughing, Wade turned to look at Deril. "I have heard of that. Four horses that pull a man apart. Limb from limb."

  "No!" Frinn was crying then. "Please, sir!"

  "Come on, Frinn!" Wade smiled at him. "Be a good sport. I have never seen a game of wishbone before."

  He landed a hand on the thief 's cheek. "You shall be the first, my friend."

  Frinn began to shout out, but Wade was quick to stuff the gag back in, and the blood drained from his face as he struggled to get free. He was taken from the room just as fOrcefully as he was brought in.

  "Let's go." Said Wade, as Deril stood. "I have an appointment in less than an hour."

  It was, actually, a date with a favored prostitute of his.

  After all, it was just another day, in Tylas.

  Elssamon's steps were getting longer, it seemed, as he made his way quickly down the castle hall. He had addressed many matters that day that seemed so trivial, compared to what really troubled his mind. It was common knowledge for a King, though, that normalcy maintained order, in these circumstances. It would be some time before his life would be back to normal.

  For someone with so much time in his long life, he felt as if he stood on a bridge, watching helplessly as both ends crumbled away.

  Trying to keep up behind him, was Steol Lurrand, the Elf king's Advisory. He was tall and scrawny, with straight, white hair to his shoulders, and his job was to be o
verly scrupulous about important matters. He was usually seen walking behind Elssamon whenever the king was not in his bedchamber. He held three large books in one arm, which he had to keep straightening with the other. He was almost always in a state of annoyance, but did not show it. Steol had a patience that no one could challenge. It allowed him to be the observant person he was.

  At the moment, Steol could see the king was becoming apprehensive.

  Two women servants approaching them from the opposite end of the hall, quickly backed against the wall, holding their heads low, with their empty serving trays flat against their breasts, until Elssamon and Steol were passed them. Then the women carried on, as before. Even they had noticed the king's unusually fast pace, but they dared not speak of it.

  Not until they rounded a corner, and were well out of sight.

  Steol finally dropped one of his books when Elssamon stopped suddenly at a door. He knelt down, and retrieved it from the red carpeting, standing before the king's knock was answered. His green and gold sombay did not even need straightening.

  When the door opened, he looked into the eyes of Jerimen Collairenn, the Spellfinder.

  Jerimen's profession explained itself. He spent hours each day with the students of his class, trying to help them discover their Dy'Shin talent. All had either no knowledge of their power, or were unable to control it properly. He could tell how strong in the power someone was, that was Jerimen's talent. Ironically, his power was considered weak in strength, even to himself, but he knew, as well as any Elf, that the weakest talent could prove itself desperately needed, one day.

  Weak his was, and it was needed daily.

  Jerimen bowed before the King, instantly. "Your Majesty. It pleases me to see you on this day."

  Then he turned to the Advisory.

  "Steol." He gave a noticeably slighter bow for him. "We are all excited about the Annual Talent Show coming up. Please come in. It would be an honor for us to have you visit our class."

  He was always polite.

  Too polite, sometimes. Especially when he was around the Queen.