Jaegar exhaled slowly, masking his frustration. “I am not sure; the sire thinks it wise to be here.” He then faced Jardarah and said, giving him a half look, “That is good enough for me.” He then left him.
Jardarah lowered his head a tad at the ground. Garan observed him for several moments and left without saying a word.
The first watch came somewhat toward evening, as the stars began to reveal themselves once again, the sharpness of the air becoming more prominent. Most of the camp had been set up, and those soldiers skilled at hunting set out in search of quarry to add to the evening meal. The first kettles of water were being boiled to remove contaminants, the purified water itself being stored in stone jars afterwards for later rationing.
King Pallan came with Jaegar to Conrad, who was lying on a blanket near a fire, one of the soldier’s wives patting his forehead with a moistened rag. “Aye, laddie! Been a’laying here for a little while; it’ll pass.” Percival was at the man’s side, mutedly observing the caregiver tend to his master.
King Pallan could not conceal his worry. He was about to speak but refrained from doing so.
The woman, Elrad’s wife, turned her head to the two men, and shook it slowly. She then resumed patting Conrad’s sweaty forehead, for his fever was high.
Jaegar leaned his head to King Pallan and whispered, “We believe he is dying. His fever is very high …”
King Pallan paid no attention to him and took a step nearer to the trio. “You will be with us, strong, on the morrow; for the morning watch. Together, you and I will surmount these mountains—and find that stone.”
Conrad struggled to answer; after a brief coughing fit, he resumed. “My time a’comin’ laddie; my good lord, king. Seen a’many a thing in my time; only left to see the stars once more.” He began coughing again. Percival came closer to the sickly knight; the dog appeared sadder than usual, as if its eyes were pools of tar, reflecting the harbinger of eventuality, mortem.
King Pallan came next to Elrad’s wife. Looking down at her, he softly commanded, “Take care of him; attend to his every need, Mary.”
Mary paused from wiping Conrad’s brow; he had begun to doze off again, doubtless from the onset of delirium, which was intensifying. She answered quietly, “I will, my king.” She gave Jaegar and him gentle smiles and turned back to Conrad and his dog, freshening in a pail of water the rag she was using to cool the dying soldier.
King Pallan walked away; he had an air of dismay. Jaegar went after him.
“My Lord, My Lord.”
King Pallan pivoted around. “Yes, what is it?”
Jaegar seemed hesitant to put the question to his king. “The matter of the noncombatants; the women and children.”
King Pallan looked away brusquely, sighing. “Yes … I have not forgotten.”
Jaegar, animated and flicking his hands at his king, said with greater emphasis, “My Lord—they are becoming a burden. We cannot risk conflict with them. If we should meet a foe—”
King Pallan cut him off gruffly. “Yes, I am aware; I have pondered this ever since we left Resh.”
“Then what are we to do with them?”
“We cannot send them back to Paladia, can we?”
“No, of course not, My Lord.”
King Pallan made a faint nod. “And, we cannot send them to Ked …”
“Forbid, My Lord!”
“Though King Reydaren and I do not see eye to eye in the least, miserable maggot, I do not believe—think—he would harm our people. But the risk remains …”
“Agreed, My Lord. I do not believe we can place our trust in his friendliness to our people.”
“Then, if we cannot send them there, and we cannot send them to—”
“Kae’lem?”
King Pallan stepped away a little and ran his eyes over the fallen logs and trees behind them, his manner displaying sudden distance. “To there.”
Jaegar fell silent; he seemed to wrestle with the notion of sending the civilians to Kae’lem. He came forward to King Pallan and pleaded, “My Lord—perhaps they will be receptive to taking some of our people. They could be safe there.”
King Pallan made a very faint wince. “Perhaps, Jaegar—but it is quite near to Paladia. King Ibren has undoubtedly already been there looking for us.”
“We do not know that, My Lord. The people of Kae’lem showed our people much kindness.”
King Pallan fired back, “But its leaders showed us the way out—they cannot be trusted.”
Jaegar put his head down for a moment. “It is true what you say, My Lord; but that would be the last place King Ibren would check, after already searching it for Paladians.”
King Pallan retorted, “But what would prevent its leaders—or an avaricious villager—from reporting to him of their hidden presence. No, it is too risky to send them there—too near to Paladia.”
Both men grumbled and paced in small circles.
Jaegar lifted his head, for he had it bent toward the ground, and said, “What of this mercenary, Garan. Is he not from that village? Can we trust him? As yet, he has not proven himself; to me and Jardarah. For all we are aware, he could be a spy sent to infiltrate our camp and report our every move to Ibren.”
King Pallan looked at Jaegar suddenly; his expression at once became grave, as if what his lead soldier suggested had not entered his mind. He took a step closer to Jaegar and instructed him firmly, “Watch him.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
King Pallan made a motion to leave but was prevented by Jardarah’s call.
“Sire—My Lord.”
King Pallan faced him and squinted. “Yes, what is it, Jardarah?”
Jardarah tapped his chest with his lightly closed right hand. “My Lord, the hunters report of fair game in the area; they have caught several gelaands and elalynds in the wood.” The small, rabbit-like creatures were commonly found in mountainous woodland areas.
“Good; the news of the report gladdens me, Jardarah.” He signalled his intent to leave.
“My Lord, a scout discovered some ruins”—Jardarah swivelled a tad and pointed to a low ridgeline some distance away—“near that ridge.”
King Pallan challenged him. “What sort of ruins?”
Jaegar turned to his second-in-command.
Jardarah stammered, “Ruins—we are not sure, My Lord.”
King Pallan pressed impatiently, “What do they look like? Describe them. Can they house our people; shield us from the elements?”
Jardarah shook his head; his face flushed. “I do not know, My Lord; it is too dark to tell.”
King Pallan exhaled strongly through his nose in evident vexation. “Set out at morning light—take with you Gandis, the surveyor, and Lentald, the mason—reconnoiter the surrounding land. Report to me your findings regarding the ruins—anything that is not familiar—what could present a threat.”
Jardarah bowed and confirmed, “I shall do so, My Lord.”
King Pallan looked at Jardarah with sternness for a moment. He then departed for the solace of his portable shelter, made from white and peach-coloured cloth, suspended by sawed branches, and guarded by two soldiers at its conical entrance.
Early the next day, King Pallan awakened in his tent to cawing. Rising from his blanket, in a stooped fashion, he made his way over to the entrance of his royal shelter; the two guards before it stood motionless.
The cawing continued; it seemed to be coming from close by. It was unmistakable.
The Paladian royal, still half-awake, rubbed his eyes hastily and peered out at the trees, searching for the source of the caws.
One of the guards took notice of him. “My Lord.”
King Pallan, returning only a faint nod to the soldier, crept out of his tent and, standing erect, pivoted his head by fine degrees to ascertain the location from which the caws were coming. His joyless eyes soon panned to a large, velvet-black crow perched in a tree a few yards away. The bird seemed to resemble the one seen in the Resh Woodland
s by Conrad’s dwelling.
The raven continued cawing in profile at distant trees, its eyes hinting at close surveillance of the perturbed Paladian king.
King Pallan watched the bird closely. As he remarked in a whisper, “Almost like—”
The bird, of high lustre, flew off without warning.
The cawing stopped.
For a time, King Pallan eyed warily the tree branch where the bird had been perched. He then turned for his tent. As he was entering it, Jaegar’s voice halted him.
“My Lord.”
King Pallan backed out of his tent and faced the captain of his soldiers.
Jaegar’s expression said it all.
He quickly followed Jaegar to Conrad’s tent, where the aged knight’s strength was failing rapidly.
After remarking Conrad for several anxious seconds, King Pallan knelt carefully alongside him, never removing his troubled gaze from the dying ex-warrior. The old man made a feeble attempt to speak. “Say nothing … you are too weak.”
Conrad’s voice cracked and then broke up. He was trembling all over. Percival, his ever-loyal hound, was at his side. “Laddie …”
King Pallan took his hand gently and gave it a light squeeze; his eyes became misty.
Conrad made a final attempt at speech. In a low and raspy voice, but distinctly his own, he said, “I am going to the ever lands; where the sky never grows dark.” He began to shake harder. Using all his remaining strength, he turned to King Pallan and whispered, “May you find what you are searching for, laddie … a Paladian I have always been.” After the sound of his voice dropped off, his shaking lessened. It soon ceased, and his eyes froze at the heavens.
King Pallan remarked softly, “He is gone.” A tear fell from the corner of his eye.
Jaegar put his head down and sniffled. He placed his right hand on his chest.
King Pallan held the old warrior’s hand for a while and nodded gently to Mary, who smiled ever so kindly back at him.
King Pallan got up as Mary partially covered Conrad’s inanimate countenance with the edge of his blanket.
In the early afternoon, with all gathered, the venerable warrior was laid to rest in a grave, under a tree with peat moss encircling its base, some of its exposed roots. The shallow grave had been dug by Jaegar, Jardarah, Garan, and Genray. The towering Gedarek had stood watch.
After the ceremony was over, the people dispersed quietly to their tents. As King Pallan was walking off by himself, a woman came running up behind, saying, “Sire, sire.” Expressionless, King Pallan pivoted slowly around and asked, “Yes?”
The woman gave a full bow. “My Lord, I know this is not perhaps the best time; it is just that—” She winced and struggled to continue. “My son, he has been without father—since the time of Paladia’s fall—and he is very much alone. The boy and his father were very close.”
“Percival’s dog … he may have it.”
The woman put her hand to her chest and refused. “Oh, no, My Lord, I could never take that; he is yours.”
King Pallan shook his head faintly.
The woman mistook his gesture. “My Lord, the dog—it gave such great amusement to the children as we left the Resh Woodlands—it would bring them and my son, now, so much happiness to have the dog. To care for it.”
“What is your son’s name?”
The woman cracked a big smile. “My son’s name is Edyl.”
“And what is his age?”
“He is nearly seven; along with the other children—”
“And what is your name?”
The woman seemed taken aback at the question. “My Lord, my name is Qellan.”
King Pallan made the most indistinct grin back at her as his face, perhaps only a degree, lightened and became less sullen. “Qellan, you may take the dog; it is yours and your son’s to have. May it bring you and the children much happiness.” He turned and walked away.
Qellan continued to thank him. “Oh, bless you, sire! Bless you! We shall take the very best care of the dog. Bless you.”
King Pallan, out of sight of Qellan, closed his eyes and tapped a tree with his clenched hand as he shed silent tears. After a few moments, he headed off for a secret spot, where he would whittle wood before a fire, seated on a sawed log acting as a makeshift stool. The location was known by few; it was on the other side of the campsite, at a lower elevation and alongside a tiny stream.
Garan came to Jaegar and Jardarah and asked, “Have you seen the king?”
Jaegar answered, “We have not.”
Jardarah viewed Garan with the subtlest of misgivings.
Garan bent his head at the ground. “Hmm …”
Jardarah inquired, “Why do you ask? Our lord desires to be alone—and we honour this. You ought to as well.”
Garan raised his head and made a weak snarl. Briefly looking Jardarah in the eyes, he walked off, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
The afternoon whittled itself away, the sun plotting its drooping arc in a cloudless sky as a moribund king whittled a fragment of log. The sound of a few steps, capping the deeply melodic trickling of the stream, roused King Pallan from his reverie.
Garan stood still at the base of the rise that led up to the camp. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
King Pallan eyed him with dithering caution and annoyance. He spoke first. “I see you have found my retreat.”
Garan did not answer. He approached the king gradually.
The melodic sound of the stream persisted.
King Pallan completed a part of the wood he was shaving. “Don’t tell anyone.” He blew hard at some of its wood shavings, which formed a small cloud, drifting and falling slowly away.
Garan nodded back very faintly. He came by King Pallan and watched him whittle the wood into the form of a statuette.
King Pallan paused. “Have you any hobbies, Mister Garan?” He resumed his task of shaping the wood into something else.
Garan eventually spoke, low at first. “I once had a Carageight.” This was a ferret-like creature found in the grasslands near Kae’lem and in other areas.
King Pallan chuckled very softly. “Suppose that counts.”
“My Lord, what is that to be? What are you forming?” Garan took a step closer as he strained to see what it was King Pallan was making.
“A dwarven elf; my mother used to read to me when I was a little boy of such creatures. When I was a young lad, before the age to marry, I would carve wood to pass the time—these figurines.” He held up the half-finished item to Garan, whose curiosity seemed to increase.
“That is impressive, My Lord. Quite good, if I may say. You are very talented.”
King Pallan scoffed, “Talented. Pfft. Talented at making a muck of things, my good solider.”
Garan challenged the king. “How so?”
King Pallan carved the wood piece for a few moments. “Oh, like losing my kingdom, being made an idiot by King Reydaren. And when I was little, talking when I shouldn’t have, being very clumsy. Things such as these … and more.” He became gloomy and began to whittle the small block of wood more vigorously.
Garan made the first signs of a smile. “You are not clumsy, My Lord.”
King Pallan retorted, “I was—still am.”
“But you are not clumsy at that; that is remarkable. That piece of wood you are shaping into a figurine …”
King Pallan muttered, “Thank you. But it is not just that.” He put down the piece he was working on.
Garan remained standing before him, a little off to the side.
King Pallan took up the wood block again, and with a pause, remarked, “My lead soldier has expressed his doubts about you to me …”
Garan responded straightaway, “I know.”
King Pallan glanced up at him in apparent surprise.
“When you’ve been alone, out in the field for so long, you come to know a man’s intentions, his heart, by his look. The subtleties of his movements, of his wa
y.”
King Pallan bobbed his head as if to agree. “Jardarah also has expressed his doubts concerning you.”
“I am what I am, My Lord. I make no pretense to you or your men. I shall prove my loyalty when the opportunity arises …”
King Pallan whittled a curve into the piece, near the figure’s puffy cheek. “Jardarah is a good soldier—a loyal fellow, though perhaps a little too determined at times. Rash …” He began to grin.
Garan grinned by degrees in return.
King Pallan’s countenance sunk again; he became distant as he continued to shape the elf.
“I’ve never been to Paladia … what’s it like?”
With a jolt, King Pallan stopped carving and looked up. The two men’s eyes met.
King Pallan hesitated. “It is beautiful.” He went back to working the piece of wood into a gnome.
“In what way, My Lord?”
King Pallan stopped what he was doing and looked up at Garan. He searched for words. “It is-it is beautiful in many ways. There are rolling hills and verdant fields, streams running in various places. There is a lushness to it, perhaps; it is beautiful. Or at least it once was …”
“We have heard of the strange things that have been occurring there. Is it only rumour and hearsay?”
King Pallan sighed heavily. “No, unfortunately, it is true. We once had such regular changing of the seasons, such peaceful springs, lazy summers. Now, no more. The weather has become chaotic and unpredictable, changing sometimes almost in a moment. Torrents of rain flooding fields, lightning striking trees and the ground causing fires in places, unusual winds and snows seemingly out of nowhere … No, Garan, the rumours are true. Paladia is cursed.” He then commented very softly, almost to himself, “All because of me …”
Garan’s acute ears caught the words. He took a step closer to King Pallan and said with evident concern, “Because of you, My Lord?”
King Pallan was startled, for Garan had clearly heard his words. “Because of me.”
Garan shook his head lightly; he had a perplexed air. “That can’t be; you are not responsible for such things. The people do not hold this against you; neither does anyone at Kae’lem.”
King Pallan cracked a thin grin and put down the wood piece he was working on. He seemed slightly amused by the warrior’s apparent naivete. “These Denaveive, as my people call them—they are the ones who threatened my kingdom. Made us search for this stone to recover the kingdom. I must confess, I have my doubts that even if, somehow, we do recover this mystical stone and restore it to its proper place, a temple long abandoned, now derelict, that it will somehow lift the curse from the land. So, yes, I am not directly responsible for the calamity that has come upon my people; I am, however, indirectly responsible.” He seemed to muse about this for a few moments. “Or is it that I am directly responsible for what has happened to Paladia, my people. I cannot be sure … in either case, I am to blame.”
Overlords Page 18
