by Jon Kiln
“Who I am is of no consequence, your excellence. What I have to say, is.”
“Then say it. But if this is some trick of Harald’s to get me to speak about-”
“This is no trick of his or anyone’s.” The stranger shook his head. “But the hour of reckoning comes for the House of D’Anjue.”
“You speak of the prophecy,” the old woman gasped. “The return of the dragons.”
“Aye, milady.” He looked her in the eyes and smiled slightly. “And the end of The House of D’Anjue.”
35
“Bluebell!” Ganry’s deep voice had a child-like exuberance as he hugged the neck of his beloved horse. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
Myriam smiled at the gentleness she witnessed from her war hardened guardian. Hendon and Linz joined her too, with broad smiles on their faces. They stood on the wooden walkway of the fishing outpost where they had first entered the realm of the Lake Men, several weeks ago.
“Oh, here’s Bartok.” Hendon ran up to the saw backed mare, caressing her brow and nose. The horse whinnied softly at his gentle touch. “My thanks to your men here, Linz, for having kept the horses so well fed and cared for.”
The young chief of the Lake Men smiled, nodding appreciatively.
“And there’s Oaken, and Orton too,” Myriam clapped happily. Then her face suddenly clouded, “Oh, Artas.”
“I hope he’s safe,” Hendon said, looking at Ganry.
The tall former mercenary looked out toward the west and shrugged. “He’s lethal with that bow of his, and swift on his feet. I’m sure he’s fine.”
“But I can’t help feeling he’s in danger,” Myriam said, her large eyes misting.
“We’re all in danger, princess.” Ganry placed his callused palm on her shoulder. “All the time.”
“When I touched Orton,” Hendon said, “I thought of Artas and felt hot and thirsty.”
“I did so too,” Myriam said. “Is he still in the Berghein Valley?”
“Hard to say, princess.” Ganry shook his head. “I doubt Castle Locke is still holding out against the forces of Harald.”
“Then every moment we are here, we waste time,” Linz said suddenly, making them turn around. “You have every able bodied fighter of Halawa at your disposal. More than five thousand, and I will have them ready to march with you.”
“But do they know the ways of the world outside?” Myriam looked doubtful. “Do they know how to fight as an army, as well trained and effective as my wretched uncle’s?”
“I… I don’t think so.” Linz looked unsure. “I don’t think there is anyone here who can lead an army into war.”
Ganry spoke up. “Yes, there is. I can.”
“You?” Myriam was astonished. “I always thought you were a soldier of fortune, a one man army by yourself.”
“I did mention, princess,” Ganry offered a smile, “that I have led the armies of Emperor Fontleroy into battle. And victory.”
“Yes, I do recall that you did, back on the road when we first met Artas.”
Linz looked excitedly at Ganry. “Then you will forge my men into a fighting force worthy of Palara?”
“No, we haven’t the time for that. We must leave tonight, travel light and fast, to the lands held by the nobles, gathering up their armsmen to fight for the kingdom.”
“Then who will-” Linz began.
“You will, young chief,” Ganry smiled encouragingly. “I will show you how.”
***
The light was fading fast, and Loren was yet to gather all the eggs from the hen house. He hurried about amidst the cackling chickens, careful not to drop any. In service at Ival Hold's castle for almost three generations of its nobility, the seventy something man defied his age, moving around fast enough for someone half that. The armsmen at Ival Hold were strong and well fed, ever ready to defend its walls, mostly because of him. Morning, noon and night, Loren made sure that everyone in the estate had done their chores and had their bellies full. Why, without him the castle would not have even lasted a decade, he thought.
“Ho Loren, what’s for supper this fine night?” a voice called out merrily, as the old man left the chicken coops and headed for the kitchen.
“Hagar, good of you to come by. We’re having sliced meatloaf in egg omelets tonight with black bread and wine,” he answered the captain of the armsmen. “What news from Castle Villeroy? Is the master coming home soon?”
“News is not good, old man.” The captain dismounted, walking his horse over to the stables. “They say the princess is still missing, and the king, or the regent, is executing anyone who even speaks of her.”
“Sad times, Hagar,” Loren sighed. “Do come inside, I’ll have Lysa pour you some wine as I prepare supper.”
“That I will, Loren.”
Loren nodded and walked into the kitchen. Darkness had already engulfed most of the estate, and the torches on the castle walls lit up one by one. The edifice itself was not too large, but it was imposing next to the smaller cottages and farm houses that dotted the countryside. Held for generations by Parsival’s family, Ival Hold was a rich source of farm products and food grain, a definite asset to the kingdom of Palara.
Hagar walked into the kitchen, refreshed after a wash in the cool water outside the stables. He nodded at Loren’s wife, Lysa, and took a seat at the table. The elderly couple reminded him of his parents, who he hadn’t seen in a decade. His life as a captain at Castle Ival Hold didn’t allow him time for much else. Almost forty, he had served the castle since he was a boy.
“Lord Parsival is well,” Hagar smiled, as Loren placed an appetizing bowl of meatloaf and eggs before him. “Four of my best are with him. There is no fear of him doing anything brash.”
“Oh dear,” Lysa shook her head. “If we know our Parsival, he’s sure to do something, and from what we’ve been hearing over the last few weeks, it’s not wise to cross the new king.”
“He isn’t king yet, Lysa,” Loren said, tearing a hunk of black bread and settling down beside Hagar. “Not when Princess Myriam still lives.”
“But where is she?” Hagar said softly.
“She hides; she knows Harald will have her head when he finds her.” Loren looked grim as he chewed on the dense bread.
“The poor child,” Lysa said, pouring the wine. “We were never so poorly treated when King Ludwig was on the throne.”
“Aye, the new taxes have all but made beggars of us,” her husband added. “That is why we fear Parsival may do something we will all regret.”
“Rumor has it that there already is some movement against the mad regent,” Hagar said in hushed tones. “There was some sort of uprising at the Port in Brammanville, a few days ago.”
“Really? What more have you heard?” Lysa leaned in eagerly. She loved all sorts of gossip.
“One of them was executed recently. Some say he was a spy. Some say he was bribed by the enemies of the regent.”
“If there is any truth in this, and the uprising sweeps this way,” Loren looked worriedly at Hagar, “where will we stand?”
“Almost thirty years I have served this castle, since I was a boy of ten, and what a glorious three decades that has been, under the wise rule of King Ludwig and his father before him.” Hagar continued solemnly. “I will side by his heir, the true ruler of Palara, the Princess Myriam.”
“Well said, my boy,” Loren nodded. “Well said.”
***
“The hunters will still be searching the borders of the Berghein Valley, and the maze of trails in the Cifenon forest,” Ganry said, reining Bluebell in. “The roads leading to the farmlands that the nobles hold will not be much guarded.”
“So far we haven’t run into any hunting parties,” Myriam said. “But we may not be so lucky, Ganry, and we don’t have Artas with us this time to shoot down the dogs.”
“As long as we stay away from the Berghein Valley route, we should be safe,” Ganry assured her. “It seems Harald’s army i
s being reinforced at the border. They still think you might be in the Berghein Valley.”
From high on their vantage point overlooking the road, the three riders sat restlessly on their mounts, with their hoods drawn over their heads. A cohort of Palaran soldiers marched below, heading west.
“Okay, so where are we heading first?” Hendon asked, as the soldiers grew ever smaller before disappearing over the horizon.
“To the south,” Ganry said, studying the little map he had been given by Leonidavus, Myriam’s tutor, when he had first arrived at Palara to spirit her away. “This region, the Ulmet Bay, and then move on up through Crandall country here, and on to Ival hold. If we win the men over in these parts, we will have a strategic position to draw Harald’s forces between us and the Lake Men.”
“And Linz will be ready with his men, within the week’s time you gave him?” Hendon was skeptical.
“Well, I trust that he will. There is something about that boy, something that inspires people.” Ganry scratched his grizzled chin, peering into the southern plains that lay before them. “The sun is about to set, princess. The roads will be less guarded with the army marching off to the west.”
“Let’s be on our way, then.” Myriam eyes shone with determination. “Every moment we wait, another one of my people dies.”
36
The chill in the air made Leonie grip the cloak around her small frame tightly. She pulled the hood down low as she stepped outside onto the street after Parsival. The huge stranger followed them out, just the tip of his crossbow showing under his heavy brown cloak.
“This way, please.” The man waved at a small single horse drawn carriage. It stood under a dimly lit street torch, flickering in the wind.
Leonie’s eyes went wide. She gnashed her teeth and shook her head. “You must be mad to think I’ll get into that carriage with you.”
“We have little time,” the stranger hissed in low tones, gesturing with his crossbow for them to step into the waiting carriage.
“Where do you intend to take us?” Parsival asked, as he helped Leonie up the footboard.
“Just a few rounds of the city, as we talk,” the big man said gruffly, nodding at the somber looking carriage driver to get going.
The carriage moved forward with a lurch as Parsival managed to squeeze himself beside a fuming Leonie. She glared at him as the stranger took the seat opposite them in the tiny cabin. They moved past the dark streets and the castle loomed up ahead. For a moment Parsival thought they were going to be handed over to the guard and thrown in chains, but they passed the castle and moved on. He opened his mouth to speak, but the stranger motioned for silence. He felt his heart beating hard against his chest.
After what seemed like an eternity of slow ponderous movement, with only the creaking of the carriage wheels echoing around them, the stranger cleared his throat. He pushed back his hood a little, but the dimness within the carriage kept his features hidden.
“Let my name yet be unknown, but I am a friend and not a foe to your cause.” His voice was a deep rumble, with a rich accent slightly familiar to Parsival.
“And what do you know of our cause?” Leonie retorted before her companion could stop her.
“I know more than you do, at the moment.” The huge man nodded, his immense bulk taking the entire seat that was made for two.
“You expect us to trust you without knowing anything about you?” she spat back. “Why should we do any such thing?”
“Because the Lords Devein and Lancaster have taken me into confidence.”
“What?” Parsival blurted. He couldn’t believe that the two most prominent lordships in the north would be a part of their little insurgence against the mad regent.
But Leonie did not react, affirming her knowledge of their allegiance. Yet why did they not tell her of this stranger, and what his part was in all this. The stranger deduced that from her grim, thoughtful expression, and laughed.
“The lords of the north have more powerful allies than you do, milady,” he said, his accent enriching her title with a lilt.
The carriage wheel bounced off a small rock, jolting them in the little cabin, effectively hiding Leonie’s sudden gasp. She realized that even she was not entirely trusted in this little endeavor. She hid the sudden disgust that rose in her and looked directly at the stranger.
“What is the purpose of this meeting?” she demanded.
Parsival looked at the stranger in earnest as the huge man leaned back on his seat.
“To kill Harald, the mad regent of Palara.”
***
The Lord Devein was a tall, stately man. His proud and arrogant bearing would suit him well if he had ever considered taking the throne. But he wasn’t a man who lusted for power, and ruling a kingdom was a burden he preferred to leave to men with the back for it. He was interested in wealth, and the comfort it had so far brought him and his family under the peaceful rule of King Ludwig.
And now that blood-thirsty fool, Harald, had destroyed in a month the prosperity his brother had built for over a decade. Devein knew from the moment that Harald took the throne, Palara was doomed as a nation, and its people would suffer in more ways than could be imagined.
He stood in the lavish crenelated terrace of his summer mansion, overlooking the rich lands his family had held for generations. Some of this he would have to sell, if he were to meet the new tax demands of the crown.
“Do you think it was wise to trust someone we barely know?” The slender young man reclining on a lavish divan looked up at Devein, a goblet of wine held lazily in his effeminate hand.
“Parsival is a good lad, my dear Lancaster. Farm stock, but a noble no less. I knew his father well.” Devein smiled down at the languid figure before him.
“I am not concerned about the young Lord of Ival Hold, my friend.” Lancaster sighed loudly. “It’s the dark stranger from beyond our borders that worries me.”
“Cease your fears.” The older man smiled, almost sagely. “Qutaybah of Vandemland comes highly recommended. Added to that, his country has an arrangement with Palara, little known to others. Harald’s reckless rule threatens to destroy everything that has taken years to build, and no one is going to take that too kindly.”
“Who has been so gracious enough to recommend Qutaybah, and how can we trust him?”
“You have seen her, in that mockery of a court held by Harald, a week ago.”
“You mean… the Duchess D’Anjue?”
“None other.” Devein looked pensive. “Though she is in fetters, she stands to gain the most by avenging her daughter’s gruesome murder. And we gain as much, by removing the insane regent and bringing the rightful heir of Ludwig back to Castle Villeroy.”
“True, we do stand to gain much.” Lancaster sipped more wine. “So now this Qutaybah will help our hot-blooded friends to remove Harald from the throne. And how exactly will they achieve this, considering Harald is constantly surrounded by his guardsmen?”
“The plan is for the Vandemlander to cause a distraction outside the castle walls with his retinue of a hundred warriors, while our more energetic allies slip into the regent’s room in the dead of the night.”
Lancaster sat up, slightly amused. “And have him chained in his own dungeon.”
“Chained?” Devein laughed softly. “Oh, no, no, no, my dear friend. They must slay the usurper, and end it all in one fell swoop.”
***
“I don’t trust him,” Leonie said, for the fifth time since they had alighted from the carriage. They stood before the decadent tavern once again.
The stranger had departed from the carriage before it reached the tavern, giving the two enough time to discuss what he had said. Parsival liked the straight forwardness of the man, even though he had never seen his face or got to know his name. But the fact that there were more nobles, especially the more powerful ones, who were against Harald, made him feel a whole lot better than when he had started off earlier that evening.
“But you have to admit, his plan, or whoever’s he is playing out, is one that is practical and possible,” Parsival said, looking over his shoulder.
“It is, and we are the ones who will be risking our necks for it.”
“Would you trust something like this to some paid mercenary or street rabble?” Parsival laughed softly. “No, this is something we must get done with our own hands; the satisfaction of doing this must be experienced intimately, and not heard from some second hand source.”
“Then it will be you who draws the first dagger across his throat,” Leonie said, her eyes shining in the torchlight.
“Agreed,” he nodded. “Now, let us make our way back to the castle before we are missed.”
“You go first. I will follow soon, using another route.” The woman pulled her hood down even lower.
“Yes, we must not be seen together. Lest Harald decides to pair our heads atop matching spikes come the morning.”
37
Artas knew he was in big trouble when he opened his eyes. His whole body was hurting as if he had wrestled with ten men. In fact, hanging upside down, stuck to a dragon, buffeting against its granite hard skin, felt much worse. As he looked around him, the rushing wind and swirling dust were making it hard to keep his eyes open. The horrific sound of giant beating wings made it difficult to get his bearings.
He shielded his eyes and tried to focus. The dragon was flying toward the sun, heading east. His eyes went wide as he realized the dragon’s target destination. It loomed up majestically under them, even in its battered and bombarded condition. The Palaran army held Castle Locke and the keep around it. And every man down there looked up at the horrendous nightmare rushing toward them.
“This is madness,” Artas yelled. “This is all a dream. And if I am not yet dead, I soon will be.”
The lean young man used all his might and energy to push himself up. His belly was on fire as the abdominal muscles tensed. He grasped desperately with his hands at the spear haft that held him imprisoned to the giant creature’s scaly leg. His fingers touched the rough metal chain, but the intense burning pain in his abdomen made him slide back down again.
