Ravian's Quest

by Jerry Carpenter

  One of the men standing beside his throne leaned forward and urgently whispered something in the king’s ear and Groinya checked himself with an obvious effort.

  ‘Anyway,’ the Dekanian monarch said, after he had re-gathered his composure, ‘I think that it is appropriate that we should meet. Warriors should always get the chance to do so face to face.’

  ‘And who is this “man’?’ Groinya asked, flicking a dismissive hand at Lectus. ‘Your lover, perhaps?’

  Ravian flushed hotly.

  ‘Citizen Lectus has been appointed by King Jeniel to travel as my advisor.’

  ‘Your advisor, eh?’ Groinya arched his eyebrows insolently. ‘If you say so – I know what you Southerners are like. Well then, I suppose you had better have separate rooms.’

  He laughed harshly at his own witticism, glancing around at his courtiers, who quickly joined in.

  ‘In light of your feelings towards Tarcus,’ Ravian said tightly, ‘perhaps it would be better if we returned to the ship and sailed with the tide.’

  ‘Oh no, Prince Ravian,’ Groinya replied. ‘We have prepared a banquet in your honour and my people want to see the man who helped so many of their relatives into heaven. Don’t worry, you are my guests and I’m honour-bound to ensure no harm should come to you under my roof – unless, of course you transgress our code. I would certainly advise you against insulting me by refusing my hospitality.’

  Ravian could only wonder at Groinya’s abrupt transition from open antagonist to insistent host. Still, he told himself, they had come all this way to do a job.

  ‘Very well, Your Highness,’ he said. ‘Citizen Lectus and I shall stay this evening and attend the banquet. May I ask if there will be speeches?’

  Groinya smiled mirthlessly.

  ‘We of Dekane usually choose not to spoil the serious businesses of eating, drinking and wenching with frivolous prattle,’ he said. ‘Just try and look as though you deserve your reputation and enjoy yourself.’

  The audience over, they were shown to their rooms.

  ‘I don’t like the look of this at all, Your Highness,’ Lectus said, as soon as they were alone. ‘The faster we get out of this place, the better.’

  ‘I’m inclined to agree with you,’ said Ravian, ‘but we are here on the king’s mission. Let’s get this feast over and done with and we can head south first thing in the morning.’

  Despite his brave words, Ravian was very much regretting the fact that he and Lectus had been obliged to hand over their swords at the castle gate.

  The “banquet” took place in the castle’s great hall and entailed over three hundred large, hairy men eating like ravenous wolves and drinking as much wine as possible. The noise in the cavernous gallery was thunderous and, in a very short time, everyone had become extremely drunk. Ravian and Lectus, seated in the position of honour on the King’s right hand, had thought that they had become used to these northern feasts, yet the rough behaviour in Groinya’s castle surpassed anything they had previously experienced.

  As Ravian watched, a Dekanian warrior pawed at the bosom of a serving woman. This act clearly upset one of his dining companions, who reacted by smashing a flask of wine against the side of the reprobate’s head. The two men then crashed to the floor, punching, biting and kicking, as the surrounding diners cheered their favourites on.

  ‘Look about you, Tarcuns,’ an already drunk and expansive Groinya slurred. ‘Man for man, no one can match a Dekanian warrior.’

  Ravian discreetly refrained from mentioning that he had had no trouble doing so on a number of occasions. Instead, he took yet another cup of the rough Dekanian wine and longed for the evening to be over.

  Suddenly, there was a commotion at one of the tables and two fighting Dekanians came to their feet. Having just witnessed similarly boorish behaviour from two of their fellow diners, Ravian was not surprised at first – but then his eyes widened as the two men drew swords on each other. The prince glanced at Groinya and saw that the king was smiling benignly as the two drunken antagonists careened between table and walls, taking mighty swings at each other with their heavy blades. Ravian turned to Lectus, only to find that a woman had pushed a chair between him and his advisor and now sat beside him, regarding him with bold eyes.

  ‘So, you are Ravian, the victor of the Great Sea War,’ she announced in thickly accented Chesa.

  ‘Indeed, madam, and you are…?’

  ‘Matild,’ she said, extending her hand.

  Normally, the spectacle of two northern warriors hacking away at each other at the dinner table would have been more than enough to hold Ravian’s attention – however Matild’s sultry look, cascade of golden hair and pronounced cleavage provided a more than adequate distraction.

  He took the proffered hand, surprised by its warmth, and the way it lingered in his.

  ‘And where do you fit into the royal household, Matild?’ he asked, imagining that she had to be someone of significance to arrive at the king’s table thus.

  ‘Oh, I’m just a decoration,’ she replied saucily, thrusting her bosom forward to emphasise her point.

  Ravian realised that his new acquaintance was rather drunk, although this knowledge in no way diminished her appeal. He had been a long time without a woman and he was already certain that Matild was his for the taking, the fact that her hand still lingered in his seeming to confirm this.

  ‘You must be just about the only person in this hall who is prepared to speak to a Tarcun,’ he said.

  ‘I think that we should let bygones be bygones – don’t you?’ she replied. ‘In fact, anything that I can do to help relations between our countries – you have only to ask, Your Highness.’

  After almost three months of celibacy, not to mention a number of cups of wine, this was too much for Ravian. Looking about the hall he saw that it had settled into a state of comparative calm again. Indeed, the two fighting Dekanians appeared to have overcome their differences and now, even though one of them was bleeding profusely from a head wound, they were toasting each other’s health.

  Ravian leaned towards Matild.

  ‘If this is a discussion that you would like to continue in private,’ he said in a low voice, ‘perhaps we should meet in my room. Do you know which one it is?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, huskily. ‘If you go there now, I will follow shortly.’

  Finding the prospect of entertaining Matild in his room infinitely more interesting than the feast, Ravian quickly excused himself to Groinya and, ignoring Lectus’s poisonous look, he slipped out of the hall.

  The room that Groinya had quartered him in was large and, as the king’s throne room had been, decorated with animal furs. A well-stoked fireplace had kept it warm and the bed, also covered in soft pelts, looked most inviting.

  ‘Very cosy,’ thought Ravian as he awaited Matild’s arrival.

  He didn’t have to wait long. There was a tap on the door and he had barely closed it behind his visitor before she was in his arms, her mouth hungrily on his. Frenziedly shedding their clothing, they staggered to the bed and coupled with wine-fogged, animal lust. Again and again through the night, Ravian plunged into Matild’s seemingly-insatiable embrace, each time feeling like an exorcism of heartbreak and frustration. Matild kept her mouth busy but she spoke little and, even when she slipped away close to dawn, it was with a wordless kiss.

  The door had barely closed behind her, and Ravian was just contemplating a few hours of exhausted sleep, when another knock came. Cursing, the prince got out of bed, shrugged on some clothes and opened the door. To his surprise an obviously-agitated Lectus burst in, slamming the door shut behind him.

  ‘Come on, Your Highness,’ the courtier ordered him. ‘Get your furs and boots on. We need to leave this place immediately!’

  ‘What?’ Ravian declared. ‘It’s the middle of the night, Man!’

  ‘I can’t help it if you’ve only now finished rutting with that she-wolf.’

  ‘You were waiting for her
to go?’ Ravian asked with a smile. ‘You weren’t listening were you, Lectus? I would have thought that a man of your preferences…’

  ‘Yes, yes, Your Highness. Very humorous, as always,’ Lectus interrupted him. ‘Have you any idea who that woman was?’

  ‘Matild?’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness. Matild. Matild, daughter of Bordwar. Princess Matild, King Groinya’s sister.’

  ‘But she never said…’ Ravian began.

  ‘Precisely – she never said,’ Lectus interrupted him again. ‘I didn’t find out myself until after the pair of you had slipped away like a couple of randy teenagers. The fact that she didn’t properly introduce herself to either of us makes a plot all the more likely.’

  ‘A plot?’

  Ravian, who had been on the verge of sexually-sated slumber moments earlier, was now wide-awake.

  ‘Yes, a plot,’ Lectus affirmed crossly. ‘I suspect that, in debauching the King’s virgin sister, you’ve effectively transgressed whatever code we have been enjoying immunity under and I fear that Groinya will seek to exact satisfaction at the earliest opportunity.’

  ‘Debauch? Virgin? You must be joking! That girl was about as much a virgin as…’

  ‘As you are, Your Highness?’ Lectus finished archly. ‘From my observations of the slattern I have no doubt of it – which doesn’t mean that you haven’t given Groinya the opportunity to...’

  He never finished the sentence.

  The door flew open with a crash and a Dekanian warrior, closely followed by a second armed man, charged towards them, his heavy sword raised to strike.

  To Ravian’s astonishment, Lectus moved like lightning.

  Grabbing the first man’s sword arm and throwing him over one hip, the Tarcun courtier twisted the weapon from the warrior’s grasp and then plunged it into the throat of the second assailant in a single, fluid movement. Then, as the mortally-wounded Dekanian dropped to the floor, Lectus twisted his blade free and brought it down to cleave the skull of the first assassin. Ravian stood, dumbfounded, as his countryman kicked the second man’s sword across the floor to him and then stooped to wipe his own blade on one of the dead men’s clothes.

  ‘Come on, Your Highness!’ Lectus panted as he straightened again. ‘Get your boots on! The game is afoot!’

  Ravian needed no further encouragement and, quickly finishing dressing, he picked up the sword and followed the big man out into the dark halls of the slumbering castle.

  ‘There are guards at the gate,’ Lectus whispered as they slunk down passage after passage, ‘but I think that it would be best if we avoided killing them. Defending ourselves against assassins in your room is one thing – blatantly butchering the castle guard is another. Let us see if we can find a way over the walls.’

  Ravian recalled that, as they had approached the castle, he had seen that the terrain rose higher against the walls on its northern side. At his suggestion, the two fugitives made their way outside to the battlements on that part of the castle, where they found that the snow was continuing to drift down steadily out of the freezing night. Fortuitously, the same conditions had built up a large snowdrift to only ten feet below the northern battlements, the soft, white blanket making no sound as the two Tarcun fugitives leaped for their lives. They struggled through the drift to a dark, skeletal stand of trees, the leafless grove giving them some cover as they made their way to the edge of the bluff and looked down. The road leading back to the harbour was crowded by houses on both sides, but they could see no sign of any life between them and the indistinct shape of Sea Eagle alongside the snow-covered wharf.

  ‘That was a fancy piece of work back there at the castle,’ Ravian commented, as they waited to be sure that the way was clear. ‘Where did you learn to fight like that?’

  ‘I wasn’t always the sophisticated, well-rounded creature you now behold, Your Highness,’ Lectus replied. ‘I’ve done my service time like any other Tarcun and I saw a lot of action with Acrusta when he was clearing out the last of the pirates in the northeast.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ grunted Ravian. ‘You clearly haven’t let your skills become rusty.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Highness. You may one day come to realise that appearances don’t tell the whole story.’

  Chastened by what he took as a subtle admonishment over his tumble with Matild, Ravian led the way down to the swordship where the four Tarcun sailors on duty watch were astonished at the sudden arrival of the sword-carrying pair.

  ‘Call all hands and prepare to cast off,’ Ravian ordered, as he and Lectus tossed the incriminating evidence of their Dekanian swords into the harbour.

  Godart was beside them in moments.

  ‘Your Highness!’ his captain exclaimed. ‘What happened?’

  ‘A minor misunderstanding with the Dekanian royal family, Captain,’ Ravian told him. ‘We need to put as much distance between ourselves and Durst as quickly as possible.’

  There was no wind but the continuing snow muffled any sound as Godart ordered the mooring lines let go and the swordship pushed off from the wharf. Prudently, he waited for Sea Eagle to drift some distance out into the harbour before ordered the oars muffled and run out. Then they pulled away into the safety of the freezing darkness, the snow quickly blotting out the lights of Durst behind them, and rowed southeast until a slight paling overhead signalled the arrival of dawn. A light, off-shore breeze accompanied the return of daylight and, mercifully, the snow abated. Godart ordered the oars shipped and the sails hoisted, and Sea Eagle ghosted southeast towards the coast of Gerouf. By that evening, they had left Dekanian territory behind them and, four days later, they were able to set a course south to run out of Grimspot Gri and down to the Sapphire Sea.

  There had been no sign of any Dekanian pursuit.

  Chapter Five

  Their arrival at the main island of the Delenes group three weeks later could not have provided a sharper contrast to the three months that Sea Eagle had spent in the Grimspot Gris.

  Zedezee, the capital of the small nation, sat upon the shores of a sheltered, south-facing harbour. Spring had begun to arrive in the islands and, as they had sailed past the many coastal vineyards on their way to the capital, Ravian noticed that a number of the vines were already sprouting their first leaves.

  Delenes had always been a friendly, loyal, trading partner of the prince’s homeland and, although the combined landmass of the Delenes Islands was at least twice that of Tarcus, the populations of the two nations were about the same – their people enjoying similar cultures and sharing a number of the same gods. The wines the country produced were lauded as the best in the world and were much prized throughout the Sapphire Sea, but it was the merchant vessels of Tarcus, and the protection of her swordship fleet, that allowed the vintners of the islands to enjoy access to markets as far west as Grenwain and as far east as Ezreen.

  The close proximity of the Delenes Islands to the northern mainland had made the Great Sea War a tense time for King Zecretes. However, despite extreme pressure to join Bordwar’s alliance, the Delenian king had maintained a position of neutrality during the conflict, knowing that a Northerner victory would have dire consequences for his country. He been enormously relieved at the emphatic outcome in favour of Tarcus and now, for the first time since the war, he was to entertain a formal visit from the Tarcun royal family. In addition, he had available a comely daughter of marriageable age and it was known that Prince Ravian had been told to find a royal bride. Consequently, Sea Eagle’s arrival in Zedezee harbour was the signal for a festive reception the like of which none of the Tarcuns had ever experienced.

  As they sailed between the breakwaters of the harbour, a light breeze easing them along in the sunshine, trumpeters heralded their entry from both sides. Brightly-coloured pennants fluttered everywhere about the city, especially about the palace itself. A large, cheering crowd awaited their arrival at the harbourside and, as Sea Eagle drifted gently to her berth, a white cloud of hundreds of doves rose up into the
clear blue sky.

  ‘How delightful!’ exclaimed Lectus, standing beside Ravian on the quarterdeck. ‘I must say that, if there was a place that could steal me away from Tarcus, this is it.’

  ‘I’ll live in hope then, shall I?’ the prince replied, dryly.

  ‘Now, now, Your Highness,' Lectus chided him. 'I hope you are not going to turn nasty. It looks as though the King himself awaits us on the jetty. We want you on your best behaviour for your potential father-in-law.’

  Zecretes had, indeed, come down to greet their arrival in person and, as soon as the swordship had tied up, he led his royal party up the gangway.

  ‘My Dear Prince Ravian, it has been far too long!’ the slightly-built, bearded monarch cried, embracing the Tarcun prince before he could even begin to bow.

  ‘Your arrival has given us a wonderful beginning to our spring festival holiday,’ he continued, taking Ravian by the arm and leading him down the gangway. ‘You know spring – flowers, lambs, love and all that sort of stuff. You must come straight up to the palace where we can show you some hospitality.’

  ‘Umm, Your Majesty,' Ravian finally got in, 'I don’t know if you have met Citizen Lectus.’

  Zecretes turned at the bottom of the gangway and seemed to see Lectus, who had followed them ashore, for the first time.'

  ‘We know Citizen Lectus very well by reputation,' he declared. 'One of King Jeniel's closest and most trusted advisors, I'm informed. I trust that you will be dining with us tonight, my Dear Lectus?’

  ‘Oh yes, Your Majesty!’ Lectus gushed. ‘It will be my pleasure.’

  ‘Good,’ replied the king, eyeing the courtier's substantial girth. ‘My chefs and vintners like nothing more than to see their creations enjoyed by someone who knows how to appreciate them. Actually, you both look a little on the lean side – I hope that you are ready for a good, long stay.’

  Zecretes didn’t stop talking all the way up to the palace and, although Ravian had met the Delenian king on a number of occasions prior to the war and liked him well enough, he didn’t recall him as ever having been quite so garrulous. To his surprise, Zecretes didn't bother with a formal audience, but took them straight to a reception where, to Lectus’s barely concealed delight, a table of fine food and wine awaited them. About fifty men and women from the king’s court had gathered for the luncheon and Ravian re-accustomed himself to the task of diplomatic small talk. He was in the middle of discussing the practicalities of transporting wine with Zecretes’ agricultural advisor when the king interrupted him.