by Peter Plasse
“Yes, Sir,” one answered, and they led the benumbed Holt away, who uttered not a word of protest. Better to stay alive for the moment.
Alone in the bedchamber with the Emperor, whose eyes were now closed to slits, a sly smile formed on the lips of Uncutus Twit. It faded away as quickly as it had formed, his facial expression turning into one of grave concern. “My Lord,” he said gently, “I came as quickly as I could. There was a very serious situation in the armory that needed my attention. Are you all right? My Lord? … My Lord … ” The tone of his voice became one of fear, then outright panic. It was acting, of course, but the delivery was stirring, if the sincerity was feigned.
He prodded Malance gently, then a bit harder. “My Lord. Can you hear me? Oh my goodness, what has happened to the Emperor? Guards! Guards!
Summon the doctor. Quickly, you louts.”
Another guard rushed in. This one stood at full attention with his eyes straight ahead. “Sir,” he said. “There is no doctor. There has not been a doctor since the one … well … you know … ”
He was loath to say “escaped” because such a statement might cause him to lose his sword arm, or worse, for no one ever admitted that anyone had escaped from the fortress in Ghasten.
“Of course, you jackass. Who do we have in the way of a healer?”
“I’m not sure, Sir. I will go right now to check if you wish.”
“Yes. Do that. And be back here with a healer in fifteen minutes, or else.”
“Yes, Sir.” The guard took off running, his weaponry rattling loudly as he scrambled away.
“My Lord,” said Uncutus. “I have sent for help. Hang on. Help is coming. My Lord, can you hear me?”
When the emperor did not respond, Uncutus slinked from the room like the slippery eel that he was and crossed the hall to a doorway that had been left open a crack. He quietly opened it the rest of the way, slowly closing it behind him. It was almost completely dark inside, the only light provided by a solitary burning candle. Another Troll, Furnier Gangra, waited in the shadows of the far corner. At first, hidden as Furnier was in the dimness of his hiding place, Uncutus didn’t see him. He muttered, “Why that rotten, lying … ”
Furnier slid out of hiding towards him. “Oh,” said Uncutus. You are here.”
“I am. Whom were you calling rotten and lying?”
“Oh, not you Furnier, certainly not you. Did you bring it?”
“Of course I brought it. Why else would I be risking my life to be here? Are you sure that now is the time?”
“I am. He was hallucinating badly only this minute. I could hear him babbling like a loon from out in the hallway as I approached his room. I got rid of all of the guards. So far the tonic has been working. Everyone of importance has seen him as sick as the dog that he is. When the final act is done, no one will suspect a thing. They will think the sickness that has been plaguing him was finally, well, fatal.
“One of them will be back soon with the healer, an old hag, who may be good with childbirth, but will have no idea how to deal with the Emperor’s present ‘ailment’. Still, I’m sure she will administer some sort of potion to help him sleep, and I am equally sure I will be able to slip this into her concoction. Don’t worry, friend. I know what to do.”
“Just remember who is to be your second, once we have gotten rid of the old boy,” said Furnier Gangra.
“Give it to me.”
Furnier reached into his cloak and pulled out a small blue vial containing a milky white substance.
“And you are sure this will be enough?” asked Uncutus.
“No question. The amount of cyanomin in it would kill an entire brigade.”
Uncutus laughed an evil little laugh. “It will be interesting being in charge of the realm and not the whipping boy for that ignorant oaf,” he said. “Now, give me enough time to cross the hallway and leave out the back entrance. Make sure you are not seen. If you are seen, tell them that I summoned you because I thought our dear Emperor had been poisoned. Do not be soft.”
Chapter 20
“What I am saying, Captain, is that he is my prisoner. I was on the verge of capturing him, of capturing them all, until your idiot commanders sent the troops after them on that wild-goose-chase across the plains and botched the whole thing. The fact that the girl escaped is proof enough of that.”
“The girl?” asked the captain. “What girl?”
Daria folded her arms and turned away, not wanting the captain to see the disappointment that registered on her face at having given away information she did not have to give. She had thought the Captain would have already known of Doreen’s escape, but apparently his subordinates had not gotten around to telling him about their mishap out of fear of the punishments that would surely befall them.
“Some peasant girl. She is of no consequence.”
“I see,” said the captain.
She seized the brief silence and turned back to him, looking him straight in the eye and saying, “I invoke the right of ‘Captor Primerus’. It is my right as a servant of the great Leopold Malance Venomisis, and I will have it. I repeat, it is my right! It is the law.”
The captain eyed her suspiciously. He was clearly having difficulty with her story.
“Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that you followed them during their escape attempt and grabbed on to the tail of one of the horses as they soared from the cliffs at Ghasten, and then followed them all this way through the plains.”
“That is correct,” she said, “Sir.”
“Why would you do that?” asked a lieutenant. “Why would you take that chance?”
“Because they were stealing the personal doctor of our Emperor, that’s why. I am one of his personal nurses. Not to mention that the one you now hold is the heir apparent to the throne of Ravenwild, and I know the Emperor wants him back. Alive. There is no telling the use he might have to us. It was my duty as a citizen of Slova.” She raised her voice in mock anger. “How can you possibly doubt that? I put my life on the line.” She turned to the baby-faced lieutenant, who had been following the conversation with an air of indifference, and snapped, “What have you done today, Lieutenant, in service of Malance Venomisis? Wiped your bottom after you did your daily? Captain, ‘Captor Primerus’ is my right, and I intend to have it! I repeat, I put my life on the line to catch those criminals, and I will not be denied the right of ‘Captor Primerus’.
“Besides, I would not want to be you if I had to explain to the Emperor why you denied it to me. I have spoken with him every day for years as his personal nurse. He likes me. We are close. Do you intend to execute the Prince of Ravenwild out here in the middle of nowhere? Are you that out of your mind?
“Now, I have had enough of this drivel. I am going to get some fresh air and something to drink, and I hope you have some water that is fresher than that goat pee I drank earlier. You decide. If you want to kill him, kill him. You will face the Emperor and tell him what you did and explain to him why you did it. I am through arguing with you.”
She tossed back the tent flap, putting on her angriest face, and marched outside into the night air.
More than anything, she wanted to go and check on Erik, but she knew that would be the wrong thing to do. What she needed to do was keep up the bravado, not an easy thing to do in her constant state of panic.
“Why is she so interested in keeping him alive?” asked the lieutenant.
“Perhaps because she is telling us the truth,” said the captain, his voice dripping with derision. “If we kill the Prince of Ravenwild and she was pursuing them, about to capture them, and the Emperor learns of this … ”
“Why don’t we just kill them both?” he interrupted. “The Emperor would be none the wiser.”
The captain slapped him hard across the face. “You lame-brained halfwit!” he screamed, loudly and forcefully enough that spittle flew all over the front of him. “She is the Emperor’s private nurse. She is a Troll. A Troll does not murder a
nother Troll. Get out of my tent, Private.”
When he had calmed down some, the Captain summoned an aide and ordered him to bring Daria back to his tent. He got out two glasses and a bottle of spirits from his officer’s trunk, setting them on a makeshift table after clearing a spot amongst the maps, supply lists, logs, and other war documents. He considered having a drink before she got back, but didn’t want her to catch him drinking it when she returned. That would be bad form. This was a delicate situation.
“I don’t drink spirits, Captain,” she announced, as she entered the tent and spied the bottle and glasses. “So you may as well put that away. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”
Again they recounted her story of how she was trailing the escapees and had all but captured them, when the troops essentially sabotaged her efforts. In the end, he had no choice but to accept her story. It rang true. Besides, why would a Troll be aiding and abetting three escaping Humans? That would be unthinkable. And she was the Emperor’s private nurse.
“You know,” she concluded, “When we get back to Ghasten and the Emperor is given his prize, I would not be at all surprised if you were promoted to the rank of General. In all honesty, I would be more surprised were you not. Our Emperor is not one to reward allegiance, or duty. He rewards results.”
The Captain poured himself a full glass of spirits and swirled the thick, smoky liquid around in the glass. “Do you mind?” he asked Daria.
“Of course not,” she said. “Our Emperor lifts a glass now and then.”
He took a small sip, then a large drink, smacking his lips contentedly when he had finished.
“All right then,” he said, “I will give you your ‘Captor Primerus’. You certainly deserve it. You have done admirable work in the service of our Emperor.”
He raised his glass to her.
“Thank you, Captain,” she said. “I am sure he will be extremely pleased with your decision tonight. Permission to return to my tent. I need to clean up.
“Of course,” he said. “Dismissed.”
Back in her tent she found herself trembling. Coming upon the camp of hundreds had been terrifying enough. But what was worse was the sight of the cook fires burning and the water in the boiling pots already coming to a boil, knowing that one of these was meant for the Prince. And while she knew she had created enough doubt in the Captain’s mind, by petitioning for the right of ‘Captor Primerus’ to at least buy her some time, she also knew she was nowhere close to out of the woods on this one.
There was a whole host of questions he could ask her that might show glaring inconsistencies in her story, and she still had to come up with an escape plan before they made it back to the fortress. Since she actually had grabbed on to the tail of Spirit, she could conceivably convince Malance that she had been trying to thwart the escape attempt, and she would be spared, but Erik would be killed as sure as the Old One made green apples. No, they had to somehow get away before they made it back to the fortress in Ghasten … but how?
She managed to calm herself down. This was not the time to come undone. She went to the opening of her tent and summoned a common soldier passing by.
“You there,” she called out. “Bring me some of that water from the cook pots. I will have a bath now.”
He stopped and looked at her askance. “And what gives you the right to speak to me this way?” he asked, “I am a fighting Troll, not a scullery maid.”
Daria put on her best scowl. “The authority of your Captain,” she said. “If you want, we can go wake him up right now, but I don’t think you will like the consequences.”
He pondered the matter for only a moment before asking, “How will you bathe, Miss? It’s not as if we carry tubs in the field with us.”
“I know that!” she snapped, “Now, bring me a couple of buckets of hot water, and a washrag or two, and that will do. It’s not like I haven’t been in the field with soldiers before. And make it quick. Or should I go awaken the Captain?”
Rolan sat with Thargen, Luke, Dorin, and Borok, along with the Queen Isabella and the wizard Taber, around the table in the planning room of the Mount Gothic hideaway. It was time to leave. The wizard Taber had reviewed all the spells with his newly graduated wizards-of-the-first-school that would, in their absence, cloak their lair against discovery by their enemies.
“It is decided,” said Rolan. “We will attack the fortress in Ghasten. Thargen, Luke, and Dorin will command all of our remaining forces. You, Wizard Taber, will accompany the troops, assisted by every one of your charges. At the same time, I will travel with Borok, the Queen, and a few of whoever remains of the King’s Guard. We will make for the very heart of Vultura itself to assess the Gnome situation. The rumors are all the same. They are chomping at the bit to get out from under the domination of the Trolls. We will attempt to make contact with one of their high ranking officials and strike an alliance with them.”
The wizard Taber stood. “My King,” he said. “Two things. First, I must protest the plan to ally with the Gnomes. They have been our sworn enemies for all time. We will never be able to trust them. At the first opportunity, they will betray us to the Trolls. Don’t do it, My King. It is a mistake.”
“Second, if you must go, I beg you to take at least one of the first-school lads with you. I would recommend Paulimas. He is certainly the best and brightest of the bunch. You should have the most protection possible, you and the Queen, of course. With no disrespect, My King, to do otherwise would be folly. We cannot have you and the Queen so exposed.”
Rolan folded his arms across his chest and slowly surveyed the faces of everyone present, making eye contact with each.
“As to your second point,” he said. “You’ll need every possible advantage in this campaign for you to have any hope of prevailing. The most important factor in deciding the outcome of any campaign in life is to clearly define the end-point. Have we done this?”
Thargen spoke, “We had decided that the main point of our assault on the fortress in Ghasten is to kill or capture Malance Venomisis. Has this changed? After all, My King, we cannot possibly hope to conquer the Troll stronghold. Yet, with a properly directed assault, there is a chance, however slim, that we can kill the rat that rules them. The way I see it, we get in, we do as much damage as we can and, hopefully, leave their army leaderless.
“We will also, of course, attempt to rescue the Prince and the girl that is with him, under the shroud that the wizard Taber will provide.”
“Borok,” said the King, “What is the escape plan?”
“Your Majesty, as we speak, a force of about a thousand is making its way towards The Gate. As you know, the Trolls have us flanked to the west by about that same number. They are camped out in the Pass of Defiance. If our forces are seen by any of their spies in the area, they will think we are sending troops to try and engage them. Still, they will know that we cannot possibly hope to prevail with such small numbers. The pass is way too narrow to the west to permit a frontal assault, and the cliffs are high enough to the north to annul any significant assault from above them by way of arrow or spear.
“But before our forces get there, they will disappear farther to the north towards Salem, and from there to the woods via the King’s pass where they will fashion rafts for the troops who will be retreating from the direct assault on Ghasten. For in truth, none of these first thousand are soldiers at all, but woodworkers. They will not even be carrying weapons, but the tools they will need to fell the trees and fashion the boats. In less than a week’s time, they should be able to assemble the rafts that our retreating troops will use to cross Wolf Lake on its southernmost aspect. Having done that, our retreating forces should be able to easily crush any resistance forces between the western shore of the lake and The Gate. Half of the main force will then proceed straight past the fortress and attack the flanking Troll forces to the east, where the valley is wide enough to permit a frontal assault. The other half will enter the fortress and secure it from
the inside. They will then rearm themselves and join the half that has taken the fight straight to the flanking Trolls. We will use a straightforward pincer move to subdue any that survive the frontal assault.”
“So the main force will be hiding out in the mountains to the south of Salem while the woodworkers complete the task of fashioning the rafts?” asked Rolan.
“Correct, My Lord. They are en route there at this moment. We are moving them no more than a thousand at a time under the cover of darkness.”
“And once they have vanquished the Troll flanking forces, and the troops have turned back to hole up at the Gate, how do we intend to feed them?”
“That,” said Thargen, “could be a problem, but maybe not. Because we have not been able to gain access to the fortress, we cannot speak to the status of the food stores. If there is not enough to feed them, we will need to organize supply deliveries from the north but, by then, we will have secured the Pass of Defiance, as Borok has discussed.”
“All right,” said Rolan. “Now we need to address the first point made by the good wizard. Do we attempt to strike an alliance with the Gnomes or not? I want an opinion from everyone here. Thargen, what say you?”
“I agree with the wizard. They are a slimy lot, the Gnomes. Never once have we authored an act of war, nor made the slightest move against them, other than the trivial border skirmishes of the north, yet they have thrown in their lot with their ugly second cousins and would have all the free races of Ravenwild exterminated like insects without so much as lifting a finger in protest. No, to throw in with them is a fool’s mission.”
“Luke, how say the Dwarves?”
“Well, with my fellow Dwarves the history is a little more muddied than it is with either the Humans or the Elves. We all know of the border disputes in the north that have been going on for longer than any of us has been alive. And I would never call them trivial. Blood spilt is never a trivial matter.
