The Orb And The Spectre (Book 2)

by Martin Ash

  "What of Ombo?"

  Issul straightened, grey-faced, and pushed strands of sweat-damp hair from her face. "Ombo will trouble no one again."

  Then she let her head tip forward against Shenwolf's shoulder and, uncontrollably, she wept.

  III

  They moved stealthily through the old keep. Coming upon the corpses of the men Issul had slain, they armed themselves with their weapons, or with weapons taken from the walls. Issul held to the rear of the group, having no taste for more slaying. Shenwolf stayed close, casting her solicitous glances.

  In the kitchens they found four more of Ombo's men, quaffing ale and eating cold venison. Better men might have put up a spirited fight, but these were blackguards and bully-boys, slack of habit and discipline and without spirit for combat where the odds were not stacked overwhelmingly in their favour. At the sight of the grim and determined men confronting them with swords drawn they threw down their weapons and called for mercy.

  They were quickly trussed up with cord found in a cupboard. Questions about their remaining comrades drew the reply that two were upstairs and another three were at the tavern in the hamlet. Shenwolf led the others to the first floor and in a chamber there they came upon two of Ombo's men making sport with a woman, presumably from the hamlet below. Caught in flagrante they were in no position to offer resistance and, like their comrades below, were bound and led off to the cells.

  Issul spoke to the woman, who was in some distress and had plainly not been a willing participant. Her name, Issul learned, was Marilene.

  "Does this sort of thing happen often?"

  "All the time. They come to our homes whenever it suits and take one or more of us off to the keep. Women, young girls, it makes little difference to animals like these. And if we resist they kill us, or kill our menfolk."

  "Well, be assured that is ended now. We think there are just three more, in the tavern. But the landlord, also, seems to be in Ombo's employ."

  "Aye. Gassar. He threw in his lot and makes a pretty penny keeping Ombo and his beasts well-fed and oiled."

  "When Ombo disappeared, was it not any better?"

  "The same."

  "How was it that Ombo was taken, do you know?"

  Marilene gave a bitter laugh. "I'll say! My boy, Jorm, was in the forest trying to snare a rabbit. He saw it all. Baron Ombo was out hunting with four others. Jorm had to hide as they passed by, for they would've hung him for poaching. He climbed a tree and saw the Karai appear along the path. There were more than a score. Baron Ombo had his men fight, but he kept himself back, and when the others had been killed he gave himself up. Jorm heard him offering the Karai his services. Even offered them his home as a base to use against the King's forces, and his men as fighters too. But the Karai put a rope around his neck and led him off. We hoped he'd gone forever, but as I say it made no difference, for his pigs remained to oppress us as before."

  Through a window Issul gazed down upon the dark roofs of the hamlet, the canopy of the trees and the glimmering tarn a little way beyond. She consulted briefly with Shenwolf, who made off alone into the hamlet and concealed himself in bushes opposite the tavern. Presently the door opened and Ombo's three remaining men lurched out. Stumbling, slewing, swaying, they made their way back along the lane to the keep, belching and swearing obscenely as they went. As they passed through the gate they were confronted by three armed men and a woman. Shenwolf walked up behind them and relieved them of their swords. Hardly sober enough to grasp what was going on, they were tied and packed off to the cells alongside their mates.

  There remained only the landlord, Gassar. Shenwolf and Phisusandra returned to the tavern and hammered on the door until he answered, grumbling and cursing. They dragged him outside. Phisusandra dealt him a couple of hefty blows about the head - "in payment for the treatment I and my companion received at your hands earlier". Then he was likewise bound, marched to the keep and thrown into the cells.

  "Return now to your home," Issul told Marilene. "Alert the other villagers to what has happened here tonight. Tell them their days of oppression are over. They should assemble here tomorrow at midday, in the forecourt of the keep. I will speak to them then."

  Marilene hurried away. Issul turned a pale weary smile to Shenwolf.

  "You look haggard," he observed.

  She nodded. "I mourn."

  "For what?"

  "Essentially for the loss of what I was. I have been changed in these past days. I can never be the same again."

  "You are a most remarkable woman, do you know that?"

  She shook her head, lowering her eyes. "I am simply a woman who desires nothing more than to return to her husband and children, and subsequently to live a life free of war and hatred and bitterness and betrayal."

  He gave her a consoling smile. "I think you will achieve the first very soon now. Sadly, the second may take a little longer."

  IV

  Issul slept solidly, not waking until well into the morning. She slept on a straw mattress in the main chamber. The thought of sleeping in Ombo's comfortable bed had nauseated her; likewise the bed where Marilene and so many others before her had suffered.

  She rose, bathed and descended to the kitchen. Shenwolf and Herbin sat at the table. They looked up and grinned as she entered.

  Herbin stood. "Jace, sit down and eat. There is porridge, bacon, sausages, and just about anything else you might fancy."

  "We’ve found fine clothing and excellent provisions for our journey," Shenwolf said. "Also a hoard of gold pieces, plus a stable with a number of sturdy horses."

  Issul ate and changed from her own torn garments. In due course the villagers arrived in the forecourt, about forty strong, with several small children in tow. Issul and the others stepped out to greet them.

  "Baron Ombo is dead," she announced. "His men are either dead or imprisoned below. Your days of oppression are behind you. Soon I and my companions will leave, but one of us is injured and asks if he may remain here until I can send men for him from Enchantment's Reach. He is Aurfusk, with the broken hands. If you are willing to attend to him I’ll give you the keys to this place. Everything in it is yours to do with as you will. The men I send will also take away the prisoners."

  "Mistress, we are grateful to you, but must we allow those wretches to live?" asked one old man with tearful eyes. He stepped forward and swept a frail arm about. "They have abused and murdered us. They have treated us as slaves and worse. And we can never be entirely free of them. Look. Look! See what they have left us."

  Issul looked, her eyes passing over the pale, worn, expectant faces before her. At first she did not understand, then it came to her suddenly. So many of the women, tired and drawn and bitter, held babies in their arms, or had scrawny, dead-eyed infants clinging to their skirts.

  "They have left their stain upon us for eternity," declared the old man, his voice cracking. "They have made certain that we will never be able to forget them. Do you really ask us to let these devils live?"

  Issul felt a weight upon her. She struggled with herself for a moment, then said in subdued tones. "I can say only that there is wealth enough here to improve your lives. When the soldiers come they will have instructions to collect any prisoners that might be found. If none can be found, well, they will simply depart with Aurfusk."

  Marilene spoke up from the front of the crowd. "We will gladly take care of your friend."

  Issul was aware of Shenwolf's gaze on her. She tossed the keys to the ground before the old man. "You should elect a leader," she said, then turned and walked back indoors.

  "What else could I say?" she asked as Shenwolf came alongside her.

  "I was not passing judgement."

  "I know. But I was."

  "They are undeserving of consideration. They’v ensured that the memories of the evil they committed will be long in passing from this place."

  "Still, you were surprised that I was prepared to sanction their deaths, for that is surely what they ca
n expect when we’ve gone." She turned and looked at him, her face sorrowful. "Did you see the children? Innocents, every one. But what must they now live with?" She was silent for a few paces, then said, "It was as I told you last night, I have changed. But last night I mourned for myself and what I have lost. Now I see that my own suffering is mild compared to these poor people and what they all must bear, always, even in freedom."

  *

  An hour later Issul and her four companions said farewell to Aurfusk and the villagers who remained at the keep. The villagers had elected a leader from among themselves, the old man who had addressed Issul earlier. He pledged to oversee the fair distribution of the wealth left inside the keep, and once again the villagers gave their thanks. The five passed down the lane and departed the hamlet of Ghismile. Their path took them for a league or so through the forest, before they broke out upon the road south of Crosswood. A ways further on Herbin announced his departure.

  "My home lies a short way yonder," he said, nodding to a track which led off into the forest. "I am sad to be leaving you. A while ago, before my capture, I h’d made the decision to leave my home to join the King's army and fight the Karai while my brother stayed at home to help my parents. Now, with both my father and brother dead, I am obliged to return to look after my mother. Still-" he held up the modest bag of coin that Issul had permitted him, and the others, to remove from Ombo's keep "- at least our lives, though filled with loss, will not be as harsh as before."

  "Go well, Herbin," said Issul, and smiled. "We will meet again, and when we do I think you’ll be surprised. In the meantime, be sure that I will not forget you. I’ll send word to you, soon."

  With that Issul turned away and began the final stage of her journey back to the great city-castle of Enchantment's Reach.

  FIVE

  I

  On the day following his meeting with Grey Venger in the burrows of Overlip, King Leth received Venger's reply. Venger agreed. He would come. He would come to Orbia and speak to Leth about the Legendary Child. How much he was likely to reveal Leth could not begin to guess. But the fact that he was willing to place himself in the King's custody and say anything at all indicated just how much value he and the True Sept laid on the matter.

  Leth allowed himself a few moments of satisfaction. He had gambled, placing more than he could afford to lose upon the table, and his gambit had paid off. But it was a gambit only. There was still an immeasurable distance to go.

  Almost immediately Leth's satisfaction gave way to misgivings. He had allowed Venger to believe that he was in possession of information relating to the suspected Child's background, which in fact he wasn't. Venger would now demand that information. How would he respond when he learned the truth? Leth knew that he had acted with a certain impetuousness, for he had had nothing more to go on than Issul's suspicions, later backed up by the report from Fectur's men who had escorted Ohirbe to Lastmeadow. It was still not much. Issul had been so certain, yet even she, by her own account, had still been awaiting confirmation of the Child's existence.

  He knew her so well. Her word, the look upon her face when she had spoken of the Legendary Child, had been enough to convince him that she knew what she was doing. But that would not be enough for Grey Venger.

  What was it that had made her so sure? What had she known that she could not divulge to her own husband? And now, her disappearance at the same time as that of the Child. . . a connection was strongly implied. Yet still it was hardly sufficient evidence to coax Venger into yielding his ancient secrets.

  "He must come to no harm," Leth instructed Lord Fectur. "He has my guarantee. Is that understood?"

  "Quite." Fectur faced him with his hands linked behind his back, his eyes steely.

  "You will bring him here and then leave us. Venger is bringing information of vital importance which he will not give up casually. I won’t have him compromised, nor made to feel menaced in any way. He is a guest, Fectur. A dignitary, to be accorded the respect and attention reserved for personages of high station."

  "I understand perfectly, Sire. But I would reiterate my view, if I may, that you have embarked upon an extremely dangerous course. If word leaks out that you entertain Grey Venger--"

  "Word will not leak out, unless you wish it, Fectur."

  "Sire, it is not so simple. The factions have spies in cracks in the walls. No matter his own efforts to maintain secrecy, Venger can’t be so naive as to believe that none will be aware that he has entered Orbia and confers with the King."

  "None knew that I entered Overlip, and Venger is accustomed to hiding his movements. Why should it be any different for him?"

  "I say only that nothing is guaranteed."

  "Make it guaranteed, Fectur. Your position depends upon it. Do you understand?"

  "I can guarantee his safety, Sire," said Venger testily. "Beyond that I’m not prepared to go. However, I wish to make plain my personal opposition to this venture."

  "Yes, yes. You’ve done that." Again Leth wondered about Fectur's anxiousness to distance himself. He displayed solicitude, but something in his attitude made Leth apprehensive. "Now, Cathbo waits outside. If you are done. . . ."

  "I am done, Sire. For now." Fectur bowed, stony-faced, and took his leave.

  *

  Sir Cathbo entered, bringing news of the slooths' fire-attack upon Giswel Holt.

  "What is the damage?" enquired Leth.

  "Several deaths, a few buildings gutted. The fires were extinguished before they could spread. But the bulk of the Karai army now sits afore Giswel Holt. Sire, what are your instructions?"

  "They are as before. We wait."

  Sir Cathbo puffed his cheeks, cleared his throat, shuffled his feet.

  "Sit down, Cathbo, and tell me what it is that prickles you."

  Sir Cathbo took a seat, contemplated his fingernails for a moment, then spoke out. "I am a soldier, Sire. I am unaccustomed to inaction in the face of adversity. When an enemy advances upon me, my instinct is to move against him while there remains space to move."

  "Even when he is immensely stronger and battle-hardened? Even when he has supernatural allies?"

  "I don’t deny his advantage, yet he must be met at some point."

  "Do you consider me overly meek or cowardly, Cathbo?"

  Sir Cathbo reddened. "No, Sire. I know that you are not. I intended no slur."

  "Do not think that I make this decision easily. I understand your impatience and frustration, and I’m not immune to such feelings myself. I would love nothing more than to ride forth and take the Karai by the throat. But tell me, what will happen if I do?"

  "If we drive into their rear while they sit before Giswel Holt - if Duke Hugo strikes simultaneously - we can do them serious harm. We have a chance!"

  Leth shook his head.

  "My troops are truly chafing at the bit."

  "Then they must chafe some more. I won’t send good men to fight knowing that I am sending them to their deaths. It’s a trap, pure and simple."

  "A trap?"

  "Anzejarl goads us, Cathbo. He antagonizes us with acts of audacious violence, and beckons us to him by placing his army where we may strike on two flanks. But he’s not a fool."

  "I’m not suggesting that we charge in blindly," the knight protested. "But we could position our forces within striking distance, seek moments of opportunity."

  Again Leth shook his head. "I will rather wait if can, in the hope of finding a sure alternative. He wants a clean kill, and I will not give it to him. Enchantment's Reach is his goal and his greatest obstacle. If he wants it he must come to me, and then blood will flow, but much of it will be Karai blood."

  Sir Cathbo sat stiffly, his mouth atwitch.

  "There is something more you wish to say, Cathbo. Come on, out with it."

  "You asked if I think you meek, Sire. I reiterate, I do not. But the people talk, morale is low, speculation flies and certain persons in positions of influence take advantage."

  "I am
accused of cowardice, publicly?"

  Sir Cathbo drew in his chin. "The Karai are here, yet you do nothing. That is how the people perceive it."

  "And the army?"

  "Many of the men are unhappy, Sire."

  "So for the sake of temporarily appeasing the people, and those villains who stir them, you would have me lead the army of Enchantment's Reach into a battle that we can’t win? Would you? Really?"

  "Passions are high, Sire. That’s all I’m saying."

  Leth rose and went pensively to his window. "Do you still have scouting units observing Karai movements?"

  "Of course."

  "But you’ve learned nothing more of Prince Anzejarl's consort?"

  "It’s impossible to get near her, Sire. Only a Karai could infiltrate the camp."

  "Even at night? A skilled group?"

  "It would be inadvisable."

  "But if there was a diversion?"

  "Of what kind?"

  Leth gave a short ironic laugh, then said, "Cathbo, send a force: three hundred elite fighters. Place them close to the Karai, but not so close that they will be detected. I don’t want Anzejarl aware of their presence. Have them depart over today and tomorrow, in companies of fifty, with hours between each company's departure. You will go with the last company. Perhaps we can test the Karai a little, and even appease our citizens. Also, send word to Duke Hugo: he is to sit tight inside Giswel Holt until receiving specific instructions to the contrary."

  "What is your plan, Sire?"

  "I will discuss that with you immediately prior to your departure. But inform all scout units to seek out the troll-creatures that Anzejarl commands, as a matter of priority."

  II

  Did he dare? Had he time? A ghost of a plan was forming in Leth's mind, prompted both by Sir Cathbo's assertions of the sentiments of the people and army, and by Prince Anzejarl's irksome attacks. If it worked he might deliver Anzejarl a damaging blow; if it failed Leth might still escape with minimal losses.