by Guy Antibes
“Not as ineffective as you might think, Jan,” Obsomil countered. “We may have knives in our back at any time. We will have to be on our guard until I can get assemble the army and rout out my brother’s men. Before then, Wilton could be arriving at our docks.” Obsomil made a face and spat on the floor. “This is so distasteful. I gave my brother the internal control of the city of Diltrant. I don’t want him against me. We are not exactly close, but this is not what I want.”
Jan thought back to his own situation back in civilization, as he characterized it.Palace revolts, relations vying for power. Here we are, thousands of years of civilization separate Diltrant from my universe and a relative’s quest for power and control have already shaped my life in the very same way. Humans change, but as they change they remain the same.
“If you are careful you may come back to life, my king.” Captain Yorg said. “I’d hate to see Habamil’s coronation plans upset.” As Obsomil gaped at the captain, Yorg broke into a sly grin and raised a cup to his ruler. Obsomil’s face softened and a grim smile took its place as he took another drink of his wine. Yorg took the lead while all three began to discuss the details of Obsomil’s return.
~
The ship rode at anchor in a small bay that provided the small fishing village with a measure of protection from the sea. A rowboat rode the swells, bobbing as it moved steadfastly towards the shore. The figures on board had an expectant air about them as all eyes scanned the buildings by the shore, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
Within minutes the figures in the craft landed on the sandy beach among the fishing boats, just as the fishermen were putting out to sea. Three men carried equipment out of the boat leaving two of the men to row back.
As the boat departed, Jan watched from the beach, it dwindled in size into the cloudless sky. He looked at his two companions, two strangers from the ship. Yorg and Obsomil continued to sail on towards the city of Diltrant.
Jan felt alone and uneasy. Before, in his old life, events on the planets he had in his charge were abstract; working for the good of the Smith group. Now he met his challenges physically fighting in a true life-or-death struggle for people he actually knew. The fear gave way to determination. His initial need to have every minute detail planned seemed to have become a victim of practicality. Real life situations couldn’t be expected to turn out as precisely as they were planned, but he had learned that reality was much more stimulating. Now he staked his life on the planning, but also general preparation for unpredictable execution.
His two companions were trusted seamen, in Yorg’s employ for years. Horm and Fanwill carried the two boxes. The sailors had built up their bodies through the years of toil on board sailing vessels and even with the advent of the sail-less Diltrant vessels, they still had enough work to keep strong. They needed that strength now. The relics, Jan and Obsomil had taken were heavy.
The three moved as quickly as possible to a stable and then procured the use of the only six horses in the town. Strapping their load to the horses, they bought a few provisions from members of the village and went up the cliffs surrounding the village and disappeared into the forest above. Being much closer to the capital than the smuggler’s bay that the Murgrontians used, the men in the forest would just have to wait.
~~~
Chapter 17
Yorg’s vessel put into port under a dull pewter sky dripping with trails of heavy mist. Obsomil stood on the bow in regal robes. His crown, long an item hidden within his possessions, hardly gleamed on his head in the gloom. Only a few souls lined the pier as the boat swung into the dock. Obsomil noticed a figure vaulting onto a horse, and racing away.
Yorg scowled from Obsomil’s side. “Your majesty, the mist may spoil the plan. The word will not spread as we hoped.”
The vessel rocked slightly as it hit the pier. Obsomil cried out to those on the dock and on the ship. “Go out to your friends and relations! Tell them Obsomil, their king, has returned. Make haste. I will publically proclaim my travels to all and will speak words that will dispel this gloom!”
As soon as the sailors secured the ship, they ran off to spread the news of King Obsomil’s return, as planned. Finally, the pier began to fill up with people. The king smugly looked at Captain Yorg. Fifteen minutes later, a hundred uniformed men marched in double-time up the pier and stopped at the ship.
“King Obsomil! We salute you. Your brother, the Regent, requests your immediate presence at the regent’s offices. We have come to escort you.”
Obsomil still on deck called out, as people continued to crowd into the entire wharf complex. People were up on the ramparts of the city looking at their newly returned king. “I won’t go to my brother’s offices. I will go to my palace. I will deliver my proclamation to the people there. Please return and tell my brother. I also would be pleased if he would grace us there with his presence.”
The irritation in the last sentence stung the captain. Indecision played out on the captain’s face. Obsomil sensing confusion pressed on, “Who are you? I don’t recognize you as part of my palace guard? I personally appoint all of the captains myself from the army. Where did you come from?”
“I was appointed by the Regent himself. I have served within his domestic forces, your majesty. It is important that you accompany me back to his offices immediately. You can address your subjects there.”
That was that. Obsomil was incensed. The fog began to lift and Obsomil looked out at the assembling crowds. There was no way the soldiers could keep him from the palace now. The docks were packed with people.
The time had come to move. Thronging crowds cheered him as he left the ship and walked on his city’s streets. The crowds grew and grew as he marched closer to the palace. He walked up the steps to its entrance and then turned to face the crowd. Suddenly the sun blazed on Obsomil from a rent in the clouds. The King realized this was the moment for him to perform. He raised his hands to his people. A cheer went up. The crowd began to become silent to hear Obsomil’s words.
“Hear me, citizens of Diltrant! I, Obsomil, your true and rightful king have returned!” The sounds of the crowd intensified.
“I have returned to rule.” More cheering. “The world is ready for more. More freedom, more communication, more interchange of ideas, trade and technology. Yes, technology, a new word we will learn more about. Technology is what makes our ships move without sails. Technology is what will drive us to live in a better world!”
The crowd cheered wildly although few would have understood what he was saying. Their king had returned with new ideas and with more of that drive and infectious enthusiasm he had always used to excited his people. Obsomil knew they cared about that.
He continued, “We, of Diltrant, who have developed our own machines to help us live better, despite the Grethian priesthood, will share our knowledge to make the lives of all people greater. Too long have we kept the secrets to our ship engines. We gave ourselves an advantage and kept others at a disadvantage. And where has this learning gotten us? A police state, which I will abolish as of now!” The crowd went wild again. Evidently, Habamil’s new scheme of things was not sitting well with the people.
“Our ships have been purposely excluded from much normal commerce. No, the advantages cannot keep us out of the mainstream of our world. It is Diltrant’s destiny to unite the world and create a new order. I now reassume my rightful place as your ruler.”
Habamil’s captain stood in the way of the king. “We will escort you now to the Regent’s Offices through this rabble.”
“Now I will visit my brother.” The king said. The group began to make its way through the crowd but their progress slowed as the ever-growing crowd jostled the column as it proceeded.
As the group moved forward towards Habamil’s new offices, the last guard in line was jerked into the crowd and replaced by another man in the uniform of a King’s army officer. With the cheering of the crowd and the concentration on the jostling to keep the crowd away
from the king, no guard noticed the replacement of his compatriots. Another was replaced, then another. Gradually as the group went up towards the offices, the guards were replaced until as they approached the main gate, only the captain remained. The gate opened. The captain turned around to address the king. Seeing his men gone, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped. The king himself administered a lethal blow to the captain.
“Enough of this horrid charade. Merik, let us return to the palace.” He turned to his former captain of the guard. “It’s good to have you back by my side. Have your men taken over the ramparts?” Obsomil asked. Merik nodded as Yorg joined the king’s group.
“It is already done, Your Majesty. We gained control of the outside court of the palace when you made your speech. We have not entered the palace itself, although there have been reports of fighting inside. The off-worlder said it was something you would like to do yourself.” Obsomil’s officer answered.
The wolfish grin appeared on the king’s face once again. “Jan is right.”
~
Obsomil’s brother paced in the palace council room. The slanting rays of the emerging sun made weak stripes on the floor as it cast itself into ribbons of light through the dusty air. An angry scowl played across the face of Habamil, the Lord High Regent. “I can’t believe this! The crowd was much too eager in their acceptance of the king.”
“Yes, Lord. Obsomil will be at your offices. He should have been put into a cell by now.“ Dravin replied.
“We will face my brother when I am good and ready, and then I will personally kill him! I should have done this long ago. Have you been able to seize the family compound yet?” Habamil said. The sounds of the crowds outside the palace grew louder, reaching the room.
“We will soon. The queen’s guard has kept us at bay, but we are much closer. A few hours and the palace will be yours.”
A man rushed into the room. “Lord Regent! Obsomil is now at the palace gates. He replaced your guard with his own men and has entered into the palace itself.”
“You know your posts. Escort Obsomil to the World Room.” He waved off the guard and spoke quietly to Dravin. “You know of the bolthole that I had installed. Obsomil does not know it is there, so if something goes wrong, I will leave through it. Place your best man at the bottom to defend me if there is any pursuit. Instruct someone to prepare my horse in the stables, although I hope I will not have to use it. Just make sure my brother is dead.” The Regent turned and strode from the room.
~
Obsomil stood at the Palace entrance, drew his sword and began pounding on the door with the pommel. “Open this door! Let me in. The King commands you directly!”
The guards took up the cue. “Let the doors open, Make entrance for the King!” They shouted their part of the ceremony as loudly as they could. The doors slowly opened. The cheering moved up a notch when the king walked through the entrance.
As the king entered, his remaining guards rushed inside the palace to keep Obsomil protected. Another aide to the Regent met Obsomil and told him he would be received in the World Room. The aide ran on ahead. As the group walked the halls, Jan joined them from an alcove. “Well, Jan, I’m glad to see you made it. Have you placed the ‘valuables’ in a safe place?” the king asked.
“Let me say I am very familiar now with some most of the secret passages in this place. There were a few open cells down in the dungeons below. The relics are in one. I hid the key to that cell and have the portal all set up. By the way, they kept Bloodin in one of the cells. He will be joining us in the World Room, a little worse for wear, I’m afraid.”
The palace was not large, but it was old. For three hundred years, the Diltrantian Kings held court within. There was enough time to have tradition create a series of room names. The World Room was so named because a rudimentary continental map worked in tile on the floor. The atmosphere of the room was purposely grim. There were no chairs in the room, only tables. Obsomil always wanted to change the name to War Room, but his wife forbade him to do that.
Bloodin turned around when the King, Yorg and Jan entered. The man’s face was filthy and disheveled. His clothes were soiled. “Obsomil, my King!” Bloodin cried out hoarsely and went to his king, kneeling at Obsomil’s feet.
“Bloodin, get up. Why were you imprisoned? I was told you were in seclusion at the University.” Obsomil looked into his eyes. Both men knew the truth. “Habamil didn’t appreciate your independence, I suppose?” Bloodin nodded with a cold look in his eyes.
“Where is his strength?” Obsomil asked.
“His disbanded the army just before my arrest. He turned his police into a small, loyal army and quickly took over the city. He thinks he has control of the rest of Diltrant, but he doesn’t control the countryside. Habamil has been planning this for ages, scheming his headquarters.” Bloodin looked around the room and nodded at the familiar faces. “I see the off-worlder found my men. Be careful with your brother, King. Put no faith in whatever he says or does. We have had this discussion before, but the proof is even more plain to see.”
The door opened and Habamil strutted into the room with a few of his guards and now joined by Dravin. “Brother!” cried out the smiling Lord Regent. “We had thought you lost. I am so glad to see you again. I do admit that your entrance has left me surprised. How did you escape from the Hall of Grethia? I am told that you returned by boat?”
Obsomil refused to let his brother embrace him. “What’s all this about disbanding my army and imprisoning Bloodin, not to mention your illegal coronation in ten days?” Obsomil said to his brother. One could feel the tension rise in the room just as if lightning was about to strike.
“Yorg, I want Habamil’s guards out of the room now!” Obsomil commanded. Swords flashed out of scabbards. First to go down was Dravin, Habamil’s aide. When Obsomil pulled his sword from the dead man’s chest, the others laid their swords down.
~
The Lord Regent danced through a sequence on the floor and slid through a trap door that opened beneath his feet. Jan already knew about the door and plunged down the opening, head first, just as it was springing shut. He fell down a chute, descending in complete darkness.
Suddenly, Jan hit the end and flung himself off to one side just as he heard the singing of a sword past his ear. He drew his own sword, but gasped as a line of pain struck him across his back, causing him to drop his weapon. Dodging unseen attacks, he groped for his sword in the darkness. He heard steps close in and threw himself at his assailant’s legs. Jan struggled with his attacker until they parted and Jan rolled to one side yet again, hearing the singing of the sword hitting the stone floor. He moved to the far end of the room.
Neither of them could see in the pitch black, so the attacker tried to be silent. Jan concentrated on listening to breathing to discover that there were two men were in the room! He heard a scratching sound and a tinder-box flared briefly. Jan saw the only door in the room across the room until the tiny flame shone on Habamil’s face. Habamil ignored Jan and ran through the door, leaving Habamil’s guard with sword drawn on the other side of the room.
Jan spied his own weapon and dove for it, rolling until he hit the wall and jumped up. The guard glared at him in the faint light of the still-burning tinder and the open door. They again took up their fight. Pain still lanced across Jan’s shoulder as he pushed with all his might against his surprised opponent and flung the man across the room, away from the opening.
Jan ran through the door and closed it, throwing the bolt on the outside, relieved to hear furious pounding on the other side of the door. A faint glow lit the corridor. Jan could barely make out fresh footprints in the dirt floor heading away from the door.... Habamil’s!
Up ahead, Jan saw a figure look back, and then scurry up a ladder, before the light was cut off. Jan ran to the exit, found the ladder and climbed up a vertical tunnel.
The door at the top was closed, locked. Jan moved down to the bottom of the stairway and moved to si
de aiming up with his blaster, now made operational by a modified power cell taken from the Grethian temple. The pain in his shoulder and back began to stiffen and he doubted he could fight anyone with a sword. A beam of light pierced the darkness, followed by the splintering of wood. The remains of the door fell on him, but that didn’t deter Jan from anxiously scrambling up the ladder to emerge in a small stable. He gaped at the empty stalls, while he heard the hooves of a horse racing out the yard, onto Diltrant’s streets and, presumably, out into the countryside.
The hooves became a far distant clatter, fading in Jan’s ears. The flow of adrenalin that kept him pursuing Obsomil’s brother had run its course and Jan cried out in pain as his vision began to fade. Through the fog he heard a shout and then running. A disembodied voice spoke into the middle of his head. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, lad”
Jan thought to rise up and tell the men that Habamil had fled. The only action his rescuers saw was a slight rise, a mumbled reply and then he lost consciousness again.
~~~
Chapter 18
Ichar paced across the room towards the Murgrontian Lord. “The departure of our “guests” from Actobal was abrupt. Who were they? The theft of our relics...AGAIN! “ Ichar shouted at the top of his lungs with fists clenched, body shaking. The thought of such heresy was unbelievable! “I won’t rest until those men are killed. Oh, to have them in my hands!” He shook his fists with a startling violence.
“They were Diltrantian, Ichar. I am sure of it. One of their merchant ships left port the same night that they disappeared, but it was not unexpected,” Lord Wilton said calmly looking intently at the shaken priest.
“Yes, yes. This is not the Lord Regent’s style. This was a masterstroke, bold and reckless. Those two men couldn’t have gotten from Diltrant to Actobal before the Regent came to power. This is more of what I would have expected from Obsomil, his brother.” Ichar paused, his gaze turned inward and then he clutched his robes in anger.
