The Call of the Crown (Book 1)

by T. J. Garrett

  The truth was no comfort. Admitting his failings wasn’t helping the boy. Olam was scared, plain and simple. The thought of Ealian dying cluttered his mind with doubt. What am I doing? he thought. You are not going to help anyone feeling sorry for yourself, fool. He put his palm at Ealian’s forehead. The boy was boiling and clammy to the touch. Olam suspected blood poisoning from the dirty arrow. “No! Too soon for that.” He spoke aloud. The years of experience came to nothing. Why did the boy have such a fever, and so quickly? He was at a loss. The only fair explanation was the unexplained. The sudden turn must have something to do with the Black. If that were the case, then no medicine would help. Olam bowed his head and prayed he was wrong.

  Grady and Elspeth returned to the hollow, their arms full of twigs and branches. Elspeth dropped hers in a pile in the centre ground and stepped over towards Olam, while Grady began snapping twigs into manageable kindling.

  “Is he any better?”

  Olam drew in a sharp breath. “He’s hot. I would say blood poisoning, but not enough time has passed, unless the poison was from the arrow itself.”

  “No. I asked them earlier, when I felt him heating up. I don’t know if they spoke the truth, but they said no poison.”

  “Then it’s probably the Dead Man’s Vein.”

  Elspeth put her head in her hands. She looked tired, the sort of tired that spoke of shock. In truth, Olam thought she didn’t look much better than Ealian. She dry-washed her face. Her eyes looked drawn and tired. Her face was gaunt and pale. Yes, shock.

  “What can be done?” she asked.

  “Nothing tonight, bar the usual remedies. We need to break the fever, help him fight it. Keep him warm and hope.”

  “That doesn’t sound like much, Olam. There must be more!”

  “There may be something, if we could find some kharoe ash or liet Root, or preferably both. But I have neither with me.”

  “Then you know my next question: where and how much?”

  “There are no towns within a three-day march, and I doubt any passing traveller will carry it, even if one did pass by.”

  “There is a town, Olam.” Grady interrupted. “Be’olyn. It’s barely ten miles from here.”

  “Well, then, let us go! We can leave now.” Elspeth stood and turned to Grady.

  “You wouldn’t get a mile in this dark, Elspeth. You and I will go at first light, if the boy hasn’t improved at all.” Grady insisted.

  “That might be too late. We must go now!” Elspeth fastened her cloak as she walked to where she’d dropped her pack.

  “Elspeth, no!” Grady took her by the arm. “It is as likely as not that we would get lost in this darkness. And there are the prisoners to think of, never mind we have no word on Daric or Gialyn. We must wait until morning. Please!” Grady put his hand to her shoulder.

  “You don’t care about him. You have as good as said as much. What if he was your brother? You wouldn’t sit and wait on chance. I don’t know how you can expect me to.”

  “I would hope I had someone who could speak sense before I ran off and made things worse.” Grady released her arm. “Elspeth, I do care. This is the best choice. First light. I promise!”

  Elspeth stood a moment in silent indignation, knowing Grady’s plan made sense yet unable to admit to it. She said nothing to him of agreement but walked slowly back to Ealian’s side and sat silently watching over him.

  * * *

  Grady finished making the fire and stored the spare wood in a pile a few feet to the side of Elspeth. “Keep the fire burning. Keep him warm,” he said softly. Elspeth nodded without taking her eyes off her brother. Grady fetched his pack and sat in front of the fire by Olam. “Have we got everyone’s belongings?”

  “No. Arfael’s pack is still in the gully, and I think Ealian’s is, too. I’ll go over and fetch them in the morning.”

  “Good. We might be in need of supplies. We could be here a few days, if not more.”

  Grady took the scroll out of his inside pocket. “Might as well see what all the fuss is about.” He waved the scroll at the Salrians. “Do you want to tell me, or shall I just open it myself?”

  Si’eth raised his head. He regarded Grady with scorn. “If more of my men come, that unbroken seal may be the only thing keeping you alive.” He scowled. “And no, I do not know what’s in it.”

  “So I should leave it… Is that what you suggest?” Grady looked at Olam in amazement. “They caused all this trouble, and I should behave myself and not open his precious scroll. I think not!” Grady broke the seal with his knife and unrolled it. He started to read the contents. Second by second, his expression became tenser. He moved towards the fire to get a better look. Grady sat down, still eyeing up the scroll for a further two minutes. After he had finished, he rolled it back up and put it back in his coat. “Do you know what’s written on here, Salrian?”

  “I’ve already told you, Surabhan. No!”

  “You have precious little time, Salrian. Answer me truthfully or, by my oath, I will forget I’m a soldier and end you and your child where you sit.”

  “For the last time, I don’t know what’s in it! They are sealed orders.” Si’eth spat out his answer.

  “What is it, Grady?” Olam asked.

  Grady sat for a moment, his eyes fixed on Si’eth. The Salrian stared back impassively. He either knew or was scared; a captain wouldn’t be so deadpan over such a thing, not even a Salrian. Either way, Grady wondered whether to answer Olam in front of him. “The scroll… The scroll contains drawings of the Tunnels of Aldregair: entrances, safe routes, known dangers—accounts from both sides of the border.”

  Olam sat back against the tree. Slowly, he turned his eyes towards the Salrians. He raised a hand to his mouth and stroked his chin. He was thinking of something. “What do you have to say about that, Si’eth?”

  “Why are you asking him?” Grady asked. “He has earned no right to speak. We don’t know if he’s involved.”

  Olam spoke. “I’m guessing he didn’t know, judging by the look on his face.” He turned back to Si’eth. “Am I right?”

  Si’eth refused to answer.

  “You know what this means?” Olam went on. “There can be but one reason why a Northlander wants a map of the Tunnels of Aldregair: passage beyond the border. Your people are planning an invasion!”

  Si’eth sat with his thoughts. Olam was right; he did look shocked by the contents of the scroll. Either that or the man was playing him, and Grady didn’t think he was that good an actor. “It wouldn’t be us,” Si’eth answered quietly.

  Bre’ach’s head spun. “Father! What of your duty?”

  “Quiet, Bre’ach, this is of no concern to you. My duty lies with my people. These orders… this… fool’s errand the general has sent us on is wrong.” Si’eth turned to Grady, and with a sincere look, he continued. “This scroll is for the aid of another, and I have no duty to them.”

  “And what of your duty to orders?” Bre’ach insisted.

  “As I said, this is a fool’s errand, with orders written by a fool.” Si’eth dropped his gaze to the ground. He looked like a man who knew what he must do but drew no comfort from doing it. “Alaf’kan, general of the Southern District, personally gave me my orders. I doubt the leaders in Barath know anything of it. Kan is known for having a love of finery. I would wager a sale for profit was his aim.”

  “So why go to such lengths to retrieve it,” Grady asked, “when you thought it no more than this ‘fool’s’ profit?”

  “It was my hope to be gone swiftly from your land, with the scroll intact and the seal unbroken. Alaf’kan may be a fool, but he does hold power over me.” Si’eth shook his head. “This is going too far. I will not be party to war. I have had enough of it.”

  Grady took the scroll and opened it again. “This bears the Moya seal from the palace at Bailryn. Did you steal it?”

  Si’eth shook his head again. “No! I collected it from a man in Northwest Aleras, by the Am’bie
th, close to where my son took your boy. The man who delivered it was Surabhan, an ambassador, a man called Faelen.”

  Grady’s shoulders slumped. He looked vacantly into the fire. “What have we stumbled into?” he said softly. He rolled up the scroll and put it to his forehead, as though praying to it for answers, but only questions came to mind: Who wants the scroll? Is Si’eth telling the truth? Is there someone in the palace aiding this mysterious enemy? He pulled his knees up to his chest, still tapping his forehead with the scroll. A game was being played, a web of treachery and deceit being woven. Thinking of the consequences of this game suddenly left him feeling helpless.

  “The guard recruits!” Olam suddenly piped up. “Of course. The guard recruits!” He rushed over and knelt in front of Grady. “The palace knows of this danger, my friend. You said a messenger came to Albergeddy to invite participants. That always seemed a strange errand to me when usually they post such things without ceremony. I think maybe I know why!”

  “Please, Olam, no riddles. Out with it!” Grady’s head was spinning with a thousand bleak scenarios. He couldn’t grasp where Olam was leading.

  “Well, I know what he’s talking about,” Bre’ach said. The whole group, including Elspeth, looked at the young Salrian. “They are recruiting for war. It’s obvious.”

  Grady let out a sigh and stared to the heavens. “Stone me for a fool, of course they are. Damn them!” He kicked out at the edge of the fire, sending spirals of burning embers into the air. “Damn them for their deceit!” He stood and started to pace. “Why not just ask? We are not a country of cowards.”

  “My friend, I would guess they are acting on rumour, which makes this information of vital importance. We may have stumbled on the enemy’s invasion plans.” Olam turned to Si’eth. “Do you know anything of those who would receive this scroll?”

  “No. Only where to meet, twenty leagues northwest of Cul’taris, by the Vale of An’aird.”

  “Then we must make haste!” Grady said. “It is three hard days at least to the northern keep. We must go there and share this information. When were you supposed to deliver this scroll, Si’eth?”

  “Six days from today.”

  Grady stood. He no longer thought of Si’eth as an enemy, more of an asset. However, he had to be sure he spoke the truth. He picked up his sword and walked towards Bre’ach. With the point of it at the son’s neck, he asked again. “Six days, you say?”

  Si’eth began to fidget in agitation, his eyes drawn between Grady and the point of his blade. “Yes! Yes! I’m sure!” Grady pushed a little harder into Bre’ach’s neck, the skin creasing under the point of the blade. Grady paid no heed, his eyes fixed wholly on his father. Again, he pushed. Bre’ach began to moan in pain, his eyes wide and frightened. “For the love of peace, yes, six days!” Si’eth cupped his hands at Grady, pleading with him to stop.

  Grady withdrew the sword. Bre’ach sat back up, rubbing his neck. Grady bowed. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

  Si’eth tended to his son, checking his neck for wounds. “That wasn’t needed. I was speaking plain and true.”

  “You know well enough what is needed in situations like this, Si’eth.” Grady threw down his sword and sat back by the fire. He brought his knees up and rested his chin upon them. “So we have six days, maybe seven, if they allow a delay, before they realise something is wrong. And we are a long week from Bailryn, and that is if the rest of the journey from the keep is done on horseback.” Grady pondered a while. “The keep must come first. We will wait for our friends and give Ealian fair chance—but two days only! After then we must make for Cul'taris Pass and the keep at Gieth'eire, regardless of our state.”

  * * *

  Elspeth said little of Grady’s plan. Whatever was said, she had no intentions of leaving Ealian, whether the world caved around her or not. But she did need rest. The past hours had taken toll; the sick feeling of uncertainty left her hollow and in need of comfort. She sat as close to the fire as she could, seeking some solace from its warmth. Yet that helped little more than to increase her weariness. She began to rock back and forth, grasping her knees in front of her. Shock and fear were taking hold. Her face grew pale; her fingers turned as yellow as dead leaves. She was about to fall to her side when Olam came with a blanket. As strong as she was, or thought she was, there and then, she needed her father, someone to hold her and tell her all would be well. Olam was not a father, yet she accepted his kindness readily.

  “Look, child, I have readied your bedroll by the fire. Take some water and rest now. I will wake you if needs be.” He guided her the few feet to bed and helped lay her down. She pulled her knees up and placed her hands between them, guarding her gut against the sickness she felt within. Olam covered her with the blanket and kindly stroked the hair away from her eyes. “Rest and sleep, child,” he said softly. Elspeth would have never asked for it, yet her heart yearned for gentleness. A blessed comfort came over her, and she slept.

  CHAPTER 24

  Tor’s Landing

  Tor had spent nearly two hours on the wing and the excitement of flying again had long since passed. His chest ached and burned with fatigue, his mouth was parched, and his back twinged, like daggers in his spine, every time he drove down with his great wings. He glided as much as possible. Since passing over the forest—and out the way of prying eyes—he staggered his journey—five minutes of painful upward spirals followed by fifteen minutes of gliding, while he recovered for the next rise.

  The tiredness had reached his mind. His thoughts were all about survival, about keeping airborne. It occurred to him, after the two-hour mark, that he hadn’t paid attention to where he was. Suddenly panicked, he looked for landmarks. Have I passed the river? he thought. His breath was wheezing uncontrollably; a curtain of black breached the edge of his vision. Clearing or not, I’m going to have to land soon. Then he saw the tree—the lone oak on top of the hill that lay just north of Kirin’thar’s village. He fixed his glide, the slightest twist left, and made for the grand oak.

  “Oh no! Too fast! Too fast!” He pulled up his back legs, fanned his wings with all his might, but the tree kept coming. He closed his eyes and turned his head to the side. A whack in the stomach and the sounds of bows breaking greeted his first full landing for a hundred years. He clawed at the tree’s thick trunk, left over right, frantically trying to steady his fall, but it was no use. He landed flat on his back at the base.

  He lay there a moment, feet up in the air and tail wrapped around the oak. He spun his head, pulled in his wings, and rolled onto his right side, then clumsily got back to his feet. He wobbled a few steps before deciding to sit and recover a while. He could already hear a commotion down below. I hope they bring water.

  * * *

  “Dragon!” the villager cried. The Cren ran from their huts and houses and stared into the northern sky.

  “It’s Tor!” Cal said. He turned quickly to the two stood by him. “Go find Kirin’thar and bring torches. We must go up and meet him.”

  “I’m here.” Kirin’thar came down the steps of his hut and walked over to Cal, all the while looking to the north. He cringed when he saw Tor crash into the tree. “Ouch… Tor, you really shouldn’t be flying in the dark, my friend,” he muttered. He wrapped his cloak around his shoulders and grabbed one of the torches the others had brought. “Come, Cal, let’s go see what has our friend so worried that he would risk crashing into a tree.”

  Kirin’thar, Cal, and two other Cren made their way to the base of the hill and started to climb the path. By this time, Tor had regained his balance and was coming down to meet them.

  “We’ll go over to the clearing,” Kirin said. “Signal our intent. He can meet us there.”

  Cal waved his torch in the air and then pointed it towards a small clearing by the southern base of the hill. Tor gave an exaggerated nod and changed his direction accordingly.

  Kirin and the others gathered in the clearing. After a few minutes, Tor joined them. “
Hello, friend,” he said. “Forgive my untimely arrival. It’s good to see you again and… uh, sorry about the tree.”

  Kirin looked behind him, up to the top of the hill. “Never mind the tree, Tor. It looks in better condition than you.” He laughed. “My friend, it is good to see you, too, but what are you doing here? Is it safe for you to fly?”

  Tor saw the snigger on Kirin’s face. He obviously found the whole “crashing into the tree” fiasco rather amusing. “I thought you’d appreciate the effort,” he said with an embarrassed smile. Tor sat on the ground and stretched his neck; the bones clicked loudly as he raised his head back. “We need to talk, old friend.” He growled the words out while twisting and stretching his back.

  “Strange that you should say that. I have news of my own. Cal was coming to Braylair at week’s end to tell you of it.”

  Tor sank his head, wondering why he had bothered. “Well, I needed the practice.” He stood up and stretched while looking around the clearing. “Can we go to water while we talk?”

  “We can go towards the village. I’ll send someone ahead to fetch buckets.” Kirin gestured to the two others. They ran off in the direction of the village.

  “Lots of buckets!” Tor shouted at them as they ran.

  Tor, Kirin, and Cal began to walk back. Kirin began telling him what he had discovered.

  “It’s not good news, I’m afraid. We had heard rumour of a rising in the northeast, which I’m sure you have, too. Cal travelled downriver and took a ship up the coast. He found the Madden massing on the eastern shore, near to the old Toi’ildrieg landing grounds. He couldn’t land for the risk he might be seen, but he put their number at around seven thousand.” Kirin bowed his head; his tone turned solemn. “And the dragons were there!”

  Tor stopped and looked to the heavens “Did you see Sek?”

  Cal shook his head. “No. There were maybe seven. None were black.”

  “It won’t be long before he’s there, too. He will be with her, if she is alive. Have you heard anything?”