As they had set forth from the tower, a small number of the escort took the lead, riding far in front of the main group. At the duke's request, the master-at-arms rode at his side and answered questions about the conditions throughout Westfell. This allowed Rory to ride next to Swiftstalker, who initially explained to Rory the art of riding a horse. Under his instruction, Rory soon grew comfortable in the saddle.
"Swiftstalker, did you know my mother?” Rory asked.
"Whenever Brightblade would go to visit her, I would stand guard over the cabin. I saw your mother when she first arrived in the forest. She was quite beautiful for a human and I understood how the prince could become so enamored of her. Midway through her second winter in the clearing, you were born and I was assigned to hunt for your family so you would never want for food. It was after your birth when Abigail decided to disguise herself as an old crone. Such a waste that was."
They rode along in silence for a bit until Rory asked, “How did this pact between the Lords of the Forest and Westfell come into being?"
"The pact has been in force now for almost three hundred years. Back then, there was no kingdom of Aluria. Instead, there were smaller kingdoms constantly at war with one another. The largest two were Westfell and Eastfell. As humans moved farther west up to the Great Forest, we elven folk were hard pressed to keep them out of the woods. At that time, we would do silly mischief to anyone we caught, unless we found them with an axe. Anyone who chopped a tree was doomed per an ancient agreement between the elven folk and the wood nymphs. One day, word came to the Forest Lords that humans were building a tower at the edge of the forest.
"The Forest Lords gathered many of their fiercest warriors, who were ready to destroy the tower and all who were building it. When they reached the edge of the forest, they chanced upon a single man sitting on the ground with his back against a tree and a sketch pad in his hands. He was designing the tower; discarded first attempts lay scattered around his feet like dried up leaves. The first attempts looked more like castles, with curtain walls, corner towers, a portcullis, and drawbridge.
"Forest Lord Alaric stepped out of the forest and questioned the man about what he was doing. ‘I need to build a fortification here to defend my lands,’ the man said. When asked from whom he was defending the land, the man explained about the rival duchy of Eastfell and the constant skirmishing taking place along the borders. Alaric asked why he was building the tower in the west rather than along that border, and the man replied that his people had told tales of the fierce Lords of the Forest and had begged their liege lord for protection. ‘What else can I do?’ the man replied. Alaric then revealed himself as a Lord of the Forest and they sat there under the boughs of the tree throughout the afternoon talking about the forest and the lands of Westfell. In the end, the Forest Lords agreed to protect the lands of Westfell from all enemies who might approach through the forest, as well as from all harmful forest creatures. In exchange, Westfell agreed to prevent any attempt to occupy the forest or to harvest its trees. Hunters and other folks were permitted to go no farther than a single arrow's flight into the forest or they would be subject to the justice of the Lords of the Forest. The man then built the Tower of the Pact, a single stone tower without any means of defense, to serve as a visible reminder of the pact. It is there that each succeeding generation of Westfell has come to meet with the Lords of the Forest and renew their mutual pledge, as you will when it is your turn."
As the vanguard passed a thicket of trees along the road, they startled a stag and three does that darted between the two groups of riders. Before anyone else could move, Swiftstalker had swept his longbow off his shoulder and nocked and fired four arrows. Each had flown true and the four animals dropped before they took another step. Returning his bow to his shoulder, he said, “Venison tonight, Rorrick."
* * * *
It was late afternoon of the third day when they rode up the valley toward their destination. Westfell Keep was a mighty fortress of stone atop a hill overlooking the broad valley below. Surrounded by a curtain wall thirty feet high and ten feet thick, topped by battlements with large towers every fifty feet, it contained the grand keep itself as well as the necessary supporting structures, such as barracks for the men-at-arms, stables for the horses, storage buildings and kitchens. Outside the curtain wall was a wide, deep moat edged in stone crossed only at two points by drawbridges. A clear field existed between the walls and the start of the town of Westfell, a bustling community of shops, markets, and homes. The townsfolk had all gathered along the edges of the main road that led into the village and up to the keep, and they cheered as they caught sight of their duke. They also cheered for Rorrick, which surprised the boy.
"Why do they cheer for me?” he asked Swiftstalker.
"You are their future, lad. The people of Westfell have long worried about the succession if something happened to the duke. You are an answer to their prayers."
"But they don't know me!"
"No, not yet, but they do know their duke and they trust him to pass the duchy on to someone worthwhile,” Swiftstalker said. “It will be up to you to live up to that trust."
Taking those words to heart, Rory sat a little straighter in the saddle and smiled at the waving people. He noticed the evident prosperity of the town and its people. Everything was clean and orderly, the people well dressed and well fed. There were also many young and pretty girls along the route, too, and they smiled freely at the young handsome heir.
"Remind me, lad, to have a talk with you about girls. You will soon find yourself in a position to take advantage of these lovely lasses and we must talk about the consequences of that before it happens."
"I would never..."
"Lad, trust me. Don't say anything you cannot possibly hold to. The lure of a pretty lass has toppled the best of us, even among the Lords of the Forest. Your father took one look at your mother and one hundred years of ‘I would never’ came to an end."
The procession eventually passed over the drawbridge, through the sally port, along a winding passage with only room for two to ride abreast, and eventually into a large courtyard. The grooms rushed forward to take hold of the bridles of the horses ridden by the duke, Rory, and Swiftstalker. As they dismounted, the duke groaned. “I had forgotten how long it has been since I'd last ridden a horse. My backside is cheerfully reminding me of each and every year that has passed and just how many miles we've traveled. I am for a long hot soak.” Looking about, he shouted, “Chamberlain! Where the devil is the chamberlain?"
The housekeeper came down the steps and curtsied before the duke. “Your Grace, may I be of service?"
"Oh get up, Mistress Margaret. First off, we will need rooms readied for Rorrick and for Swiftstalker, each with a nice hot bath to soak away the dirt and aches from three days on top of a horse. And I want to see the chamberlain immediately."
"Your Grace, the chamberlain is not here. He has been at court for the past six months,” Mistress Margaret replied hesitantly.
"He's been where? Whatever for? Who has been handling things in his absence?” Duke Richard demanded.
Mistress Margaret looked a trifle uncomfortable as she said, “Well, I have been taking care of things inside the keep itself."
"But what about my duchy? Who's been running it?"
The silence that followed was all the answer he received or needed. The duke stormed into the keep and shouted for the captain of the household guard. When that man knelt before him, the duke asked, “Will you please explain to me exactly what has been going on here in my absence?"
The captain was obviously afraid his answers would not please the duke. “Your Grace, the chamberlain went to court six months ago. He decided that you never intended to return to the keep and that, since you had no heir, it was the king's responsibility to determine who should assume the Duchy of Westfell."
"Captain, I want you to take to your horse this afternoon along with a company of your men. Ride day and night to reach
the king and hand him the proclamation I will have for you in one hour. This document will notify the king and everyone else that Rorrick of Westfell is my heir. Once you have delivered that document to the king, you are to arrest the chamberlain and bring him back to me. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Your Grace. At once, Your Grace.” The captain backed away until he reached the chamber door and then turned and bolted down the corridor to ready his men.
The duke strode into his study and took up a pen, writing his proclamation.
I, Richard, Duke of Westfell, designate my grandson, Rorrick of Westfell, legitimate son of Abigail of Westfell, as my heir to the Duchy of Westfell with all rank, rights, and privileges thus entitled.
He signed the document with a flourish and then stamped it with his seal. He rolled it and placed it in a message tube which he then closed with a wax seal marked with his personal signet well known to the king.
As he finished, Mistress Margaret came in. “Your baths await in your rooms. Should I have supper ready in about two hours, Your Grace?'
"That would be excellent, Mistress Margaret. Perhaps I should introduce these two. The younger one is Abigail's son, Rorrick. The other is his personal weapons master, Swiftstalker of the Forest Lords."
Mistress Margaret curtsied before Rorrick, saying, “I know your mother well, young Rorrick. Will she be joining us?"
"I regret that will not be possible, mistress. My mother was murdered two months ago,” Rory said.
"Oh, my sweet Abby!” With those words, the housekeeper began to sob. Swiftstalker moved to her side and put an arm around her shoulders, slowly leading her from the room to someplace she could regain her composure.
"Well, lad, let's give this message to the captain and send him on his way, then we can find those baths and soak away the miles on the road."
"Sir, what's a bath?"
* * * *
Rory lay in the large copper tub soaking in the hot water, letting it ease the soreness from his muscles. Although he had never complained, he had found the past few days a bit uncomfortable. To be more honest, his backside and the insides of his thighs hurt like the blazes from the chafing and bouncing on the saddle. One he had learned to “post” properly, he had saved his backside from even more of a pounding. With this luxury called a “bath", he no longer minded how sore he had been. The one thing he had stubbornly refused was letting someone else wash him. He had forced the valet assigned to him to leave the room before he had undressed and climbed into the tub.
"You'd better start scrubbing the dirt off, lad, before Mistress Margaret comes in here to do it for you. And don't forget to wash your hair."
Rory spun around to find Swiftstalker leaning against the wall behind him. “How did you get in here? I swore I locked the door."
Swiftstalker pushed away from the wall and walked across the room to sit in one of the chairs by the table across the sitting room. “Door? Lad, I'm an elf. We don't need to use doors when we want to get in somewhere. Now, don't change the subject. Get washing!"
As he washed, Rory asked, “What was all that business about the chamberlain? What is a chamberlain, anyway?"
"The chamberlain is someone the duke appointed to act in his stead when he was away from the keep. In this case, it looks like the chamberlain was attempting to declare the duke as unfit in order to take over himself."
"There's nothing wrong with the duke! Why would the king set him aside?"
"In the kingdom of men, you have the king on top. Below him come the dukes. There are four dukes in the Kingdom of Aluria. You know about Westfell and Eastfell. There are also Kendrahl in the north and Solange in the south. These dukes own vast areas of land and have their own standing armies, but owe their allegiance to the king. Next you have the various earls. Earls live within Aluria itself, on lands owned by the king. They do not have armies and usually hold some political office in the king's court. The lower offices are held by counts. With me so far?"
Rinsing the soap from his hair and slicking it back from his face, Rory said, “Yes."
"The most powerful men, after from the king, of course, are the Dukes of Westfell and Eastfell. Between them, they hold over sixty percent of the land in Aluria. Well, make that usable land. Most of Kendrahl is composed of high mountains and the majority of Solange is desert. As a result, these two dukes have the largest armies, aside from the king's own troops. Kendrahl's forces are all specialists in mountain fighting, while Solange has their famed desert nomad forces. Oh, Kendrahl also has a small navy since their land borders the North Sea and they have our only ports."
Swiftstalker tossed a towel to Rory. “Get out of the tub. You're turning into a prune. Now, for the last twenty-five years, peace has been maintained throughout the kingdom by carefully balancing one force against another. When the old Duke of Eastfell died and his son took over, that balance became very precarious. For a while, the king sought to appease the new Duke of Eastfell by promising to arrange a marriage for him with Abigail, the only child of the Duke of Westfell. Frankly, that would not have been a smart move since Eastfell would rule both duchies and then have a standing army larger than the king's, plus the two remaining duchies combined. At that point, the kingdom itself would have been in jeopardy."
"So why did the king suggest it?” Rory asked.
"To buy time, I suspect. The young Duke of Eastfell was quite taken with our lovely Abigail. When she was banished, it put an end to any possibility of a marriage between the two duchies.” Swiftstalker paused a long moment in thought. “You don't suppose the king himself arranged for Abigail to be caught in the queen's bed, do you? It solved his dilemma without making an enemy of Eastfell."
Rory looked stunned. “I thought the queen was Abigail's friend."
"She was, lad, and a good one for all that. But, and this is something you must never forget when dealing with the king or the queen, the good of the realm comes before anything else. If sacrificing the good name of the queen and banishing the Heir of Westfell could serve the kingdom, they would not hesitate to do so. The more I think on this, the more likely it seems that poor Abigail was deliberately set up."
Rory walked over to the wardrobe and looked at the clothes within. Holding up a thin pair of silk breeches, he looked confused.
"You wear those under the heavier breeches, lad."
Coloring, Rory slid the silk breeches on and then a pair of woolen hose. He then donned a pair of heavy breeches and a silk undertunic and dark green doublet. He slid his feet into the soft leather half-boots and fastened his belt with the dagger around his waist. Turning, he saw his valet standing in the doorway and sat in the chair the man had indicated. The valet started to brush out Rory's hair and then gathered it into a clip at the back of Rory's neck. After Rory stood once more, the valet fussed around him, straightening the collar of his undertunic, fixing a sleeve there. Finally, the man knelt and began to brush the half-boots.
"Is all this really necessary?” Rory asked.
"You are the Heir of Westfell, my lord,” the valet said. “You must look your best at all times."
"Get used to it, lad.” Swiftstalker laughed. “Soon it will be second nature."
"So the King of Aluria is maintaining stability in the realm by balancing the dukes against one another, and you suspect Abigail was sacrificed to further those aims. So what purpose was served by permitting the duke to attack her before she was banished?” Rory asked.
"I doubt the king was involved in that. I am sure the Duke of Eastfell merely paid the jailers to look the other way. It matters little now as far as the Duke of Eastfell is concerned."
"What do you mean?"
"Your mother made your father promise not to take any revenge against Eastfell for what happened in that dungeon cell. By having her murdered, Eastfell signed his own death warrant. His life is for the taking by any of the elven folk. If I should chance upon him before the prince does, I will kill him myself but I doubt I will have much of a chance of that. The pri
nce is undoubtedly on his way to Eastfell at this very moment."
"What effect would the death of Eastfell have on the balance within the kingdom?” Rory asked.
"Aside from the immediate disruption created by the death of anyone in power, it would probably reduce the overall tensions within the kingdom. The Heir of Eastfell is a lad of about your age, still too young to rule without a regent. The regent will probably be his mother, the Duchess of Eastfell, formerly the second daughter of one of the various earls in the court. Not known for her brains."
A new voice broke into the conversation. “You are remarkably informed for someone who lives in the forest.” The duke followed his voice into the room. “For what it is worth, your analysis of the state of the realm was cogent and accurate. I have long suspected Abigail was manipulated into that scandalous position since she had never exhibited any tendency in that direction before. There is very little that goes on around this keep I am not fully aware of.” The duke looked Rory up and down, then said, “You look nice."
"Your Grace, I cannot thank you enough..."
"Rory, you needn't be so formal when it is just us like this. I wish you would call me grandfather.” Duke Richard smiled. “After all, you are my grandson and heir. No thanks are necessary. You are all the family I have left.” As he turned his attention back to Swiftstalker, his tone became more serious. “Should you happen to encounter the Duke of Eastfell, you may not kill him. To do so while in my party would be to declare war between the two duchies. As much as I would like to see that bastard boiled in oil very slowly, I must set my personal need for revenge aside for the good of my people."
Swiftstalker bowed his head. “I will obey, Your Grace."
"Very well. I do believe Mistress Margaret has had ample time to regain her composure and to arrange something for us to eat. Shall we?” the duke asked as he gestured toward the door.
The Heir Of Westfall [The Alurian Chronicles Book 1] Page 3
