The Faerion

by Jim Greenfield

"I see. You have no access to Lord Daass?"

  "Not for myself. As I said, I am a minor figure in the Brotherhood."

  "Well, then, what do the minor figures of the Brotherhood say?"

  Carle shifted in his chair. "You are not merciful."

  "No, I am not. I follow my husband's example; beast that he is. I want to know what people think of me; people who are not angling for personal gain. I know I do not show an example of the supportive wife. But I want to know more."

  "There are rumors of a tryst," began Carle. The Baroness paled.

  "These rumors, might they reach the Baron?"

  "They might. They are widespread."

  "Widespread? Everyone talks about it? I have exercised extreme care. How can this be possible?"

  "People such as myself, Baroness. People of your station often dismiss servants, merchants, and clergy. But everyone has ears and eyes. Somewhere someone was in the wrong place and spoke of it."

  "I see. There is no way to alter the situation?"

  "None that I know of. Please be assured that most people are sympathetic with your ordeal and wish you only the best."

  "Thank you, Brother Carle. That means a great deal. I am ready for confession now."

  Later, Carle found himself wandering, full of the confession Daass dearly wanted but he was oath bound to keep to himself. He knew Dellana had rented a room in south Nantitet, near the estate of Sir Kirkes, who was still in the field. His return date was yet unknown, so Dellana waited, learning about the man from the people who lived near and worked for him.

  Carle tried to breathe slowly, keeping his eyes in front of him. Each time he glanced right or left he seemed to find someone watching him, and then turning their eyes away abruptly. He told himself that they were more frightened of him, a brother of the Rose, and had guilt they could not face. Still, it was difficult to believe that Lord Daass did not have someone watching him, although he knew he had little importance in the Brotherhood.

  He found the inn where Dellana lived and asked the innkeeper if she was home. One look at his habit brought courtesy from the innkeeper and directions to the room. He climbed two flights of stairs, knocking at the door indicated.

  "Who is it?"

  "Brother Carle."

  The door opened quickly. Dellana's hair glistened as if she had washed it. Her tunic fit snugly, distracting Carle with the contours of her body. "Come in, come in. What are you doing here?"

  "I need to talk to someone, but it may endanger you."

  "How?"

  "I heard a confession today. The Baroness."

  "Oh, I see." Her eyes searched his face. "And you don't know what to do with the information?"

  "You are perceptive. That is exactly what the problem is."

  "Lord Daass would want to know what you heard regardless if it was bound under confession or not."

  "Yes, I know that! Tell me something I don't know. Am I a servant of Cothos, or of Lord Daass?"

  "Sit down, dear one. I cannot answer that for you. It is a question for you alone."

  "What would you do?"

  "Careful. You might not want to know. I have hidden passions of my own."

  "You do?"

  She laughed. "I better rephrase that. You don't know if I favor Daass or not. I could give you an answer to influence your decision one way or another. I think it is wholly up to you and I will not give you my opinion."

  "What will you give me?"

  "Don't sound so hurt. Sometimes you are too trusting. You don't know me, Carle. You could make a mistake."

  "Or I could be overwhelmed with happiness."

  She laughed and hugged him. His lips sought hers but she pushed him away.

  "Not yet. Not yet. We have much to do. I still have to seek out Sir Kirkes. We must find out all the facts before we act. And carefully. Garlac is watching us. He probably knows you had an audience with the Baroness." Carle's mouth dropped open and his shoulders sagged.

  "My life is an error."

  "Don't be so melancholy. Go home, sleep, and come back tomorrow. We shall have a picnic together."

  "All right. I'll do that." He looked longingly at her as she closed the door.

  Behind her, the closet opened.

  "Interesting," said Garlac. "You two are more interesting than I had hoped."

  "Leave, Garlac. You were allowed to listen. I shall do no more."

  "Allowed to listen? Well, you hold yourself high, Dellana. Remember where you were when I found you."

  "Shut up! Out! Or I will shout for the Guard."

  "The Vizier of the Brotherhood of the Rose has no fear of common soldiers."

  "I'll cry 'rape'! I am known here. You are the enemy. And I am still handy with a dirk."

  "You have made your point. Remember, I am followed myself."

  "What?"

  "Daass has people following me. He trusts no one. Your actions must be discreet. The old bastard doesn't miss a trick."

  "Out!"

  "I'm leaving." He kissed her as he passed. She slapped at him; her hand caught by his. "Your spirit is one of the things I liked best about you when I met you. I still cherish it."

  She slammed the door. She put her face in her hands; silently sobbing.

  Chapter 5

  From time to time Kirkes found signs of her passing, continuing higher into the hill country. A stray footprint, bent grass, flecks of blood; and a piece of cloth snagged by a low bramble; Kirkes missed few signs. From the depression of her footprints he guessed she was injured in her escape from Stormridge. She moved much faster than he expected, refusing to stop until she reached her destination, wherever that might be. In hindsight, he wished he had set a faster pace; a thought voiced repeatedly, by Sir Crestan, a perpetual thorn in his side. They moved faster, but not too fast. They could not risk tiring their mounts. To the north, Trolls haunted the passes, waiting for travelers. Even mounted armored knights find the Trolls too much to handle, and they were but two knights.

  "What's beyond these hills, Sir Kirkes?" asked Watty, one of the soldiers accompanying Kirkes. It was a party of six. Sir Kirkes, Sir Crestan, and their squires, Rocodt and Birate, respectively, plus Watty and Holder, two foot soldiers who often worked with Crestan, being familiar with his moods.

  "It is the land of Tuors, but I have never seen one."

  "Tuors?" asked Crestan. "Aren't they some kind of dwarf?"

  "Short of stature, I believe they are human.," said Kirkes. "A rustic race, specializing in weaving. They keep to their own land, rarely venturing out; it's rare to see one in the three kingdoms. They let traders distribute their wares. I think I might have seen one once, but I am not sure."

  "Childhood fantasy," said Crestan. He spat. "I have no time for pixies. A man must do men's work, not listen to nursery tales."

  "Perhaps," said Kirkes. "Children seem to have a better grasp of life's mysteries than adults." Crestan snorted.

  "Are we going there?" asked Watty. "Where the Tuors are?"

  "If the sorceress goes that way, we will follow her," said Kirkes. "We must be cautious. I don't want the Tuors to think we are invading them. They are said to be quite adept with their bows."

  "Who cares?" said Crestan. "Treteste is the power to worry about, not your Tuors. Little people cannot withstand knights. They will move out of our way."

  "You seem to forget that Men are late comers to Anavar. Other races have been here for centuries. We are not as feared as you might think. Oh, Men are dangerous but so are the other races and if we aren't familiar with them then caution is warranted. Do not stumble your way into battle with an unknown opponent Crestan. Many mysteries in Anavar have not been revealed to Men. The other races understand this world more fully than we do."

  "Well, it is time for them to bow to Men. I wish I had gotten my hands on that Daerlan at Stormridge."

  "Do you think so?" laughed Kirkes. "Navir? You think you could have handled Navir? You are more ignorant than I thought. Yes, I too wish you had found him.
Then we wouldn't be having this stupid conversation because you would be dead."

  "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

  "Yes, Crestan. I would. You are a disgrace to knighthood. Your only conscience is gold. You have not earned your title. You only supported Treteste because he knighted you. And because you supported Treteste you were knighted."

  "Yeates wouldn't knight me."

  "He was not a stupid man, whatever his faults. What does Treteste see in you? You are stupid with only a marginal understanding of warfare. There are times when I am not sure if you will injure yourself with your own sword. I fear for your squire's safety."

  Crestan sputtered in anger, yet controlled himself to avoid attacking Kirkes which would only end in Crestan' death.

  The others were careful not to laugh, knowing Crestan' temper. Crestan was a burly man, red-faced and violent. He had killed two men in unprovoked rage last month. Crestan was not an even match for Kirkes but the others needed to look to their lives. Crestan always released his temper in some way and if the gold and black knight would chop him into pieces in return then Crestan must look elsewhere for satisfaction. No one wanted to provide Crestan an easy target.

  The day became long, riding under the sun in their armor. Crestan was muttering under his breath, scowling at Kirkes, who rode as if nothing disturbed him.

  They had set out early that morning from the castle at Stormridge. Soldiers discovered that the sorceress Wynne had escaped sometime during the night. A guard recalled a woman matching her description passed by a group of soldiers who had been drinking. They tried to force her to join them but she escaped. The soldiers couldn't recall how she got away. The enraged Baron beheaded each man involved.

  After a time, Kirkes approached the Baron and requested the opportunity to scour the countryside for the sorceress. The Baron had agreed at once but did not let Kirkes chose any companion other than his squire. Kirkes felt stung when his rival, Sir Crestan, had been chosen along with two of Crestan' most trusted vassals. Kirkes wondered at Treteste's motives. Had the king, he was king now in reality, lost his trust in Kirkes? Had the king finally listened to the gossip about Kirkes and Baroness, now Queen, Richela?

  Kirkes felt a fear growing inside, a fear for Richela. Who could stop Treteste from doing what he wanted now? Perhaps he had been biding his time until he was king, waiting until he would not be denied in punishing those who angered or insulted him.

  He looked over at Crestan, a knight lacking in virtue. Kirkes tried to deny him knighthood but the Baron interfered and Crestan became a knight. That was the first indication that the Baron did not fully support Kirkes any longer. Kirkes did not ask Treteste for an explanation to forestall the moment when his relationship with the Queen becomes an issue. He thought it better to let it simmer, dodging its undercurrents when they became too unbearable.

  The trail was cold, but Kirkes could follow it, winding upward to the mountain passes. The trees grew thick as the trail disappeared behind a wall of green, flecked with white at the higher elevations. Each man gritted his teeth at the impending thought of snow. Perhaps they would capture the sorceress before she could reach Paglo or whatever haven she sought.

  "The blood has grown less," said Kirkes. "Apparently the wound was not as grievous as the King hoped."

  "She cannot escape us," said Crestan. "The King has laid that charge upon us."

  "I agree. She may be able to put up more resistance than I initially expected."

  "She turned coward at the castle," said Watty. "She ran from us. Yeates was screaming at her to use her magic, but she fled. I don't think she will trouble us much."

  "No, she won't," agreed Crestan. "She's not much of a sorceress. The rumors about her must be true."

  "At the castle she had a means of escape," said Kirkes. "If we trap her, she will have to fight. Keep that in mind. A desperate sorceress could be formidable."

  "If you are not up to it, I shall do your work for you," said Crestan, sneering. "I'm capable of killing a woman if you are not."

  "Yes, I believe you have a particular knack for it. It is unfortunate that personal gain is your sole driving force, Crestan. You might have grown to exhibit the virtues to earn your knighthood." He looked intently at Crestan. "On second thought, I take those words back. You are and will always remain a cockroach."

  Steel whined as Crestan drew his sword.

  "Sir Crestan!" cried Holder and Birate together.

  "Have a care," said Birate. "Remember the King is counting on you to capture the sorceress."

  "Yes, of course." He sheathed his sword, breathing hard. "How careless of me. I must do the King's work." He glared at Kirkes who had dismissed the incident already, looking for the trail of the sorceress.

  Kirkes led them higher up the pass. Snow was in the air, causing Crestan to spew curses between breaths. The trail rose higher, winding back and forth through the trees. Suddenly, Kirkes left the trail, entering the thicker woods heading back down toward the valley beyond.

  "All be praised," said Watty. "I glad she had some sense."

  "She is definite heading for the Tuors," said Kirkes. "Watty, you return to King Treteste with word. We'll want more soldiers."

  "For these pixies! Kirkes, you alone could trash all the Tuors," said Crestan. "Together no one can withstand us. Even I doubt that you are a coward."

  "You either overestimate our abilities, or underestimate the Tuors, I can't say which. However, your conclusions may cost us our lives."

  "Bah! I should ride in alone and bring her back myself."

  Kirkes shook his head, gesturing with his hand for Crestan to lead them. Crestan moved directly to the front; Kirkes and Rocodt waiting to bring up the rear. Watty looked at Kirkes who motioned for him to follow Crestan.

  The grasses gave way to rockier ground. The horses picked their way slowly through the large rocks covering the trail.

  "Why are there so many rocks?" asked Watty.

  "Troll country," said Kirkes. "Those are pieces of larger rocks broken against the ground. They were thrown by Trolls."

  "Thrown? At travelers?"

  "That's how they catch their meals."

  "I'm not going to be a meal," said Crestan.

  "Good thing," said Kirkes. "You'd make a Troll sick."

  "I know what you are doing!" cried Crestan. "And it won't work. I won't fall for your schemes!"

  Kirkes merely looked at Crestan until the latter turned back to the trail, picking up the pace. Kirkes and Rocodt stayed back, not wishing to injure their mounts.

  "By your remarks regarding other races, Crestan," said Kirkes. "I would guess that you were a member of the Brotherhood of the Rose."

  "I am a knight! I do not hold with Daass' practices. Can you open your mouth without insulting me?"

  "Perhaps. But it remains that you do Daass' work for him. And the Brotherhood has their own knights. You would fit in well with those inadequate knights."

  Crestan did not respond, mulling Kirkes' words over.

  "A knight must take responsibility for all results of his actions. Remember that, Crestan. Daass appreciates your efforts. You forward the aims of the Brotherhood."

  "Bah! I will deal with Daass and his Brotherhood of the Rose when King Treteste takes residence in the castle at Nantitet. I have long felt Daass oversteps his authority with regularity. His followers worship openly, rejecting all manner of royal decisions; setting themselves up outside the law. It's criminal."

  "I agree with you, Crestan. However, Daass has spent nearly forty years building his power base. He has influence in unlikely places. Worst of all, his eyes and ears could be anywhere. Even Treteste does not have the spy system of the Brotherhood of the Rose."

  "Yes, I would suspect you have a special dislike for Daass. Especially with your activities. I'm sure Daass would take special delight in vilifying you."

  "What do you mean by that?" Kirkes's voice rumbled low and hard. Crestan chuckled; glad to have finally gotten under Kirke
s's skin.

  "Nothing. I'm sure you have nothing to hide."

  Crestan rode slightly faster, still grinning. Kirkes exhaled slowly, riding an even pace downward after his companions.

  Kirkes saw the Trolls before the others and rode forward with a shout. Crestan soon followed. Three Trolls waited for them at the bottom of a ravine. Watty and Holder crouched behind a rock with the squires.

  "We can't fight Trolls!" cried Holder.

  "Let's retreat," said Rocodt.

  "Good idea," said Watty. They ran while the knights held off the Trolls.

  A huge club dented Crestan's side, nearly toppling him. Kirkes's lance broke against the tough Troll hide. The Trolls grinned. The knight drew his sword, dancing out of the reach of the lumbering creatures, striking at the tendons behind the Troll's knees. The Troll danced out of the way with surprising speed. Kirkes struck again, hitting only air. Then he faked a blow, striking from the opposite side. The Troll could not change direction quick enough and Kirkes' blade found sinew. The creature screamed, slumping to the ground. Crestan had seen Kirkes's maneuver and tried to emulate it. The Trolls, not as dumb as expected, backed away, finally turning to run. Watty shouted in victory.

  "Wait," said Kirkes. "They will be back."

  "We beat them," said Watty.

  "Ride down the ravine quickly. We might be past them before they attack again."

  "Surely you can do your trick again," gasped Crestan, holding his side.

  "Trolls may seem slow and stupid, but don't bet your life upon it. They will be back and with more Trolls. If we do not clear the ravine before then, we best turn back."

  "We can't do that!" cried Crestan.

  "Agreed. Now move!" shouted Kirkes.

  They spurred their horses to a quick pace down the rough trail. Their eyes searched the hills while Kirkes concentrated on their route. He held his sword ready. His horse snorted, sensing his tenseness.

  They had ridden a hundred yards when the horses shied, suddenly.

  Trolls rose up on all sides, screaming and waving their clubs. One hurled a huge spear, gazing Holder and ramming him into the earth. Howls of laughter deafened them. Kirkes charged; his sword held high. The Trolls scattered into the shelter of the trees. Rocks hailed down on his armor, driving him off. He circled back, attacking from the rear. Crestan tried to defend himself against two Trolls who surrounded him, snatching at him when he turned to the other one. Watty and Holder ran into the woods. Birate and Rocodt found safety behind a three. Five Trolls now confronted them. When Crestan realized they moved to the same side; he veered off to the opposite side while calling to the others to follow. The Trolls gaped at the rapid turn allowing Kirkes his chance to disengage.