Seth, called out Galan, What do you think? She hadn’t considered that she would be interrupting his thoughts.
I’m going to probe their thoughts, Galan. I need to know their intentions before we go in. And I need to know if their— Seth touched Adrina’s mind slightly, —King Andrew is akin to our Queen Mother.
You shouldn’t, said Galan, Adrina’s thoughts are open and she won’t mind the intrusion.
Don’t worry, they can’t detect it, and besides, her thoughts are prejudiced. King Andrew is her father.
Despite Galan’s cautioning eye, Seth reached out to those within the hall, wandering in through the eyes of a broad-shouldered, broad-backed man seated upon a high-mounted chair. He gazed out through those eyes, regarding those that were gathered before him, seeing only the faces, nothing more. He heard their voices and followed their conversation, silently joining them.
“Out with it, captain, have the rumors been confirmed or not?”
“No, Keeper Martin, they have not.” The captain grimaced.
“Get on with it man,” demanded the black-robed priest.
“Father Tenuus, please contain yourself,” said King Andrew.
“You must excuse me, sire. I am not well. I think I have the chancellor’s cold,” replied the priest.
A raucous laughter erupted from the chamber, audible even behind the closed doors.
“Then we should proceed as planned, sire,” said another priest, the white ribbons of his office decorating the dark sleeves of his robe.
“Yes, Father Jacob,” said King Andrew, “I should think so.” He turned to regard the captain then, “Send word to the garrison. Keep the patrols light but keep them steady. We do not want any more problems.”
The captain’s frown broadened as he waited for the king to finish.
“This should be a matter you handle yourself.” King Andrew paused, regarding Captain Brodst. “Is there something wrong? Or should we find another who is more willing?”
“Sire, there is none more willing to serve than I… You have my word and my oath of honor,” quickly returned the captain as his eyes darted about the room. There was a look of pain as if he had been stung. “Sire, I mean no disrespect but—”
“But what?” demanded Andrew.
“It is nothing, sire. By your leave, sire,” said the captain excusing himself.
Silence followed. A set of doors opened. Seth saw a long, unhappy face stare back at the king from the doorway. The eyes were not quite angry, rather, openly displeased and the frown quickly shifted to a scowl.
The captain looked away. His footsteps echoed across the chamber once more and the doors were closed behind him.
“Father Tenuus?” said King Andrew. “You know what to do. Correct?”
“Yes, sire,” said the priest.
“Good, very good,” said Andrew. “And father, ensure that the poor captain doesn’t discover our little ploy. The celebrations will commence on the Seventh day and carry forward to the next. Imtal has not forgotten the deed!”
“Yes, sire,” said Father Tenuus smiling. He regarded the king, and in his eyes Seth saw a mix of admiration and adulation.
“Ensure the captain has an enjoyable time but have Swordmaster Timmer keep a close eye on him. We want him fit. Remember, no swordplay other than the trials. And Chancellor Yi?” The chancellor turned to regard the king. “What of your sources in the Free City, what do they tell you?”
Chancellor Yi looked about the chamber, seeming hesitant to speak.
“Out with it! What is the lay of it? Is it the same as we thought or not?”
“Yes, sire, I believe it is,” said Yi, a hint of submission in his voice.
“Good, send something special to our mutual benefactor in Solntse.”
“I will at once, sire,” replied the venerable chancellor. “Is this the end of the previous business? Are we then on to those waiting?”
King Andrew nodded, sitting straighter in his chair as he looked about the room.
Suddenly the antechamber doors opened. Seth’s mind jumped for an instant back to the High Council of East Reach. I know what I must do, Queen Mother, he whispered.
“His Royal Majesty, King Andrew, King of Great Kingdom, requests the presence Elf Seth and Elf Galan, friends of the realm.”
Seth stood and took Galan by the hand. As he walked into the audience hall, he said in the polite form of his people, “I am Brother Seth of the humble Order of the Red.”
“I am Brother Galan, also of the Order of the Red,” added Galan.
Both spoke aloud.
“Welcome unto High Council of Great Kingdom! Please be seated,” said Chancellor Yi. Father Jacob graciously indicated the two seats the elves were to occupy on one side of a large, triangular-shaped table.
Seth drank in the influence the hall held over the mind in one glance as he sat. The king and his advisors were seated on the longest side of the triangle. Others, like Seth and Galan, were seated on the short sides of the triangle, turned at an angle to each other and the king. The high vaulted ceiling, accented by each cutting rib with their intricate tierceron design. The table massed in the center of the hall, following each diagonal cross-section of the vaulting above, with three carefully placed groups of five chairs per side. The enormous oaken pews leading out in three concentric rows. All hinted at an unusual balance of power that Seth wished he understood.
The chamber emanated a subtle power all its own, perhaps it was the gathered knowledge of the men who sat within it or perhaps it was due to the design, Seth couldn’t tell which, although both seemed very real possibilities to him, and here he felt at home. The hall reminded him of another place far away, that place, too, held a far-reaching power.
Keeper Martin spoke first. As head of the Lore Keepers, he spoke the words best that King Andrew wished expressed. “Brother Seth, we of the council of ten have many questions about you and your people, as we are sure you have of ours. The first question we must direct to you pertains to the purpose of your journey. What has brought you to our lands? Why have you come now?”
“I would gladly answer all your questions,” said Seth closing his eyes, breathing in the profound air around him before he began again. “Once, long ago, our people, the Elves of the Reaches, came to your aid in your hour of need.
“The ancient evil has come to our lands now. We are under siege. If you do not help us this evil will spread to your lands—and it will spread until it dominates the world. For this is its goal. Even as I speak armies gather, the war begins, and such a war there hasn’t been in generations of your kind.”
Keeper Martin stood and turned to the king, speaking the king’s will. “You speak of things of which we have no recollection. The Elves of Old are our enemy. We count you, Seth, and you, Galan, friends, only because of your actions in the south and because of the word of a friend who is unknown to this council.”
“I have been granted the right to speak truth by my queen and to show truth. If you would allow me to do so, it will only take a moment of your time.”
Chancellor Yi tapped his staff to indicate approval.
“Keeper Martin, do you recall the Battle of Quashan’ and the injury you received during the battle?”
“But of course,” said Martin. “The battle was turning against us and in the rush to get to Princess Adrina’s company I took a wound—an arrow in the side. Elf Galan removed the arrow, and may have saved my life as well that day.”
“On that day Galan did more than remove an arrow. She gave you a gift for safekeeping, for we were unsure that we would survive the day but Galan foresaw that you would—and that you would one day share the gift with this council. I would ask your permission to remove that gift from your person and share it.”
“But I have no recollection of a gift and I carry nothing on my person.”
“Exactly,” said Seth, “The gift is within you, in the place made by the arrow.”
Chancellor Yi tapped the floor to qu
ell the growing murmurs but that didn’t work to bring silence. Only King Andrew’s raised hand brought silence.
If you will allow me, whispered Galan to Keeper Martin as she moved toward him. I will reach my hand within you and remove the item. It will be painless—I assure you.
As Galan began to reach within Martin’s robes, the keeper put out his hand to the guards who were coming to his aid. “It is all right. There is nothing to fear. Galan means me no harm.”
Please stand still, Keeper Martin, it will only be a moment. You shouldn’t feel any pain. Galan’s hand melted into Martin’s side, and when she removed it she held a slender rod. She handed the rod to Seth.
Seth removed a thin casing from the rod. He began to unwrap the scroll within. “May I read this?” he asked. “You will find it—”
Chancellor Yi cut in, “Why have you waited until now to return to our lands, only in time of need? Why did you not tell this to those who found you? Wouldn’t that have made more sense?”
Seth turned to the chancellor, reaching out with his hand and pointing a sinewy finger. “Chancellor, as a member of the High Council, you know why we left your lands and why we haven’t returned. Your kind drove us away… in the Race Wars all was destroyed.”
Wide-eyed the old chancellor sat back, leaning away from Seth’s outstretched hand. He did not make further comment. Keeper Martin quickly stepped in, saying, “Brother Seth, please continue.”
As with the chancellor, however, King Andrew didn’t want Seth to speak. He stood purposefully, and when he did so all eyes in the room went to his. “We are in a time when the careful peace we have had these many past years has been broken, and we are working to repair the damage to prevent the collapse of the Kingdom Alliance.” The silver of Seth’s skin and the odd color of his eyes called to Andrew as he spoke. “Our new alliances with the South will ensure peace, and we have no desire to bring war to our door or to carry out war on a distant shore.”
Seth switched from talking aloud to speaking with his mind. A whisper of his thoughts met each person sitting around the table, touching King Andrew last. Then Seth spoke aloud with purpose, “I waited for this moment when I could sit before your council and address it as an equal. I wanted to know the thoughts in your minds, your concerns and most importantly your reactions. This is why I waited. These words were meant for me to speak, and not from a sick bed.”
To hold the others in check, Seth switched to thought, sending words and emotions, But standing before you! War will come to your door and when it does it will be too late. You must act now! The Elves of the Reaches need your support, do not wait until it is too late.
Directing his words to Andrew and others who he could see were confused, Father Jacob jumped into the conversation. “Do not be alarmed! As I have told you, Seth and Galan can speak with their minds.”
Brother Seth speaks the truth. Please, you must help us! The voice that touched their thoughts was Galan’s. Let him speak from the scroll and all will be clear.
Chancellor Yi thumped his staff. “Brother Seth, when you speak of support, what type of support do you mean?”
“Ships, men, supplies! We need all you can spare and we need quick action beyond all other things!”
“We need to know more of your lands and your enemy. Speak to convince his majesty. In this instance, we, the council, are echoes of his will and serve only to raise questions and get answers.”
The tide of the conversation flowed heavily back and forth, growing heated at times, stopping at other times. Seth carried on the debate with Galan acting as his support. The discussion went long into the afternoon with the council considering each point and counterpoint carefully.
Seth was never allowed to read from the scroll.
Chapter Fourteen:
A Lonely Path
Two days came and went, with Vilmos spending most of his time on the opposite side of a playing board from Edward. Although the break was enjoyable, Vilmos was growing increasingly anxious for Xith’s return.
The inn was an unusually empty place, with Edward and Vilmos being the sole occupants. In the three days not a single visitor or traveler arrived. Vilmos would often glance out the window when he heard a noise hoping it was Xith, usually it was the wind rattling the shutters. Edward noticed this and often told Vilmos not to worry, his friend would find him soon enough. Vilmos fretted nonetheless.
Vilmos and Edward were in the middle of yet another game of King’s Mate. So far Vilmos had lost three of his fools and his keeper. Edward had not lost a single piece. Vilmos did, however, have his king in the center raised square, which meant for a time he controlled the board.
Cleverly, Vilmos swung his second swordmaster onto an adjacent raised square, now it could not be taken. Edward thought long and hard and only after careful calculation did he move his priestess diagonally forward to endanger Vilmos’ first swordmaster.
Vilmos rotated the swordmaster around the King, taking one of Edward’s fools. This left Vilmos in a position to take a keeper or swordmaster the next turn.
Edward could not counter the move. He sought to gain by a loss. He moved his swordmaster, hoping Vilmos would claim the keeper.
Vilmos studied the board. The keeper was an easy piece to take, but the bold move was to take nothing and move his priest adjacent to Edward’s king and swordmaster. Vilmos could not take the king while the swordmasters remained. He would wait until Edward tried to claim the priest. The priest was backed up by his own keeper, which in turn was further supported by a swordmaster, which could swing one space further to the left if necessary. The play was tight and tricky, but Vilmos attempted it.
Edward smiled at the move—it was amateurish. He quickly devoured Vilmos’ swordmaster with his priestess. A broad smirk was evident on his face, until in a series of quick and calculated maneuvers Vilmos stripped four of Edward’s pieces: the priestess with which Edward had taken his swordmaster, the swordmaster which had been backed by the priestess, the keeper Edward could do nothing to protect, and, lastly, Edward’s only remaining swordmaster. Now Edward’s king was without protection.
Edward could do nothing to prevent Vilmos from taking the pieces, only sit back and watch with amazement. Wide eyes replaced the smile. Edward couldn’t maneuver his king out of the trap. In another move it was check. In one more, the game was over.
“Where were you hiding those moves? That was brilliant—your best playing!”
Vilmos held the black king in his hand. The ebony from which it was carved was cold and, though the piece itself was smooth, Vilmos felt as if the carved edges could slice into his fingers. “I just did as you said. I sacrificed the priest to gain the king.”
Edward chuckled. “Do you know in all the years I’ve been playing that I’ve never been defeated? I’ve never lost until just now—and it was a grand loss at that! Brilliant play—you finally started to think like a King’s Mate player and not like a boy playing Cross Rocks!”
“You are the one who told me to think five moves ahead. I tried that, honestly—but it took more than five moves to win. It was like I could see the board in my mind, how it would change with each option, and each option’s option. Paths crisscrossed, the checked spaces of the board blurred and then everything become … became—”
“Real,” said Edward. “Real, as if you were living the game rather than playing. Yes?” Vilmos held out the black king to Edward. Edward took the king and started setting his pieces on the board. “One more game and then we’ll call it a night. Okay?”
Adrina had recounted every moment of the attack to Emel and the mere mention of Oshywon was enough to convince him that the attack was much more than it seemed. If there was anything a summer at High Road taught him, it was this: the lost kingdom did not exist and any dim-witted soul who said otherwise ended up at the wrong end of a blade. Gutted, usually neatly—split down the middle like a ripe melon. He had no aspirations to end that way, but he would make inquiries all the same. It was an impor
tant tidbit, more so than anything else Adrina had said, too important to let go.
He paced back and forth, his movements erratic. The supply caravan was already a day’s ride away. Ebony could catch them and they could easily make their way to the east—if he was smart, if he would let what was lost stay lost. A few seasons in the Territories, that’s all it would take. He would return, the dark days, the dark desires, would be behind him.
Foolish. Foolish to be sure. Why couldn’t he listen to reason?
He threw up his hands, batted his head against the wall. Crazy. Crazy thoughts—not foolish.
For good measure he batted his head against the wall again but this didn’t bring reason. He picked up his rucksack and went down to the stables, making his way to Ebony. The stalls for the horses of lesser knights and other riders were at the far end.
Ebony was already saddled and bridled. His bedroll, sword and other belongings were in a pack on the ground nearby. The sack he carried now contained mostly food, the necessities of the road: hard bread, jerky, nuts and seed meal.
He checked Ebony’s saddle and rubbed the stallion’s mane. “Soon,” he whispered, “I promise.”
He put the packs in place. The sword went on top of everything, at the ready and, as when riding the High Road, he tucked a half dozen throwing daggers into each side of the saddle. The dagger he tucked into his belt at the back made thirteen. Another thing a summer on the High Road had taught him was how to survive the wilds.
As he rode Ebony out of the stable he shook a fist at the early afternoon sun. He would ride hard, fast. With luck he would catch the caravan near Mellack or Ispeth.
“Chase the wind,” Emel whispered to Ebony as they exited Imtal’s gates, “Chase the wind.” He looked back as he reached the low hills of the Braddabaggon, but by then his resolve was firm.
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