Savage Games of Lord Zarak

by Gilbert L. Morris

  “Yes, sooner or later I have to ask this question of everyone. All of the Sleepers have had to answer it.” Goél stood quiet for a moment, and then a smile touched his lips. “In fact, some of the Seven Sleepers were in a dungeon themselves when I asked it. Some of them, also, were facing death.”

  “What is the question? Ask it.” Then Roland’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not sure I can answer it, though. I don’t seem to be very quick-witted right now —not with the Hunt of Death hanging over my head.”

  “This is a difficult time for you, Roland. I know how hard it has been.”

  Roland still wondered if he was dreaming this conversation. He felt as if what was happening was real— and yet not real. His ears seemed to ring, and Goél’s voice seemed to come from far away, clear but distant. He ran a hand through his hair and could only say, “I seem to have been here for years instead of days. I can’t believe—”

  “You can’t believe what?”

  “I can’t believe how arrogant I was!” Roland heard himself saying. He attempted to smile, but it was a poor attempt. “Being a slave knocks a little of the arrogance out of you.”

  “I think most men and women go through something like this at one time or another. Those who do not are but few.”

  “I’ve had nothing to do but think since I was put in here, facing death. I’ve thought about my parents. I’ve thought about how I treated them.” He sighed. “What a terrible time I gave them.”

  “Your parents love you, Roland. They asked me to do something that would bring out the potential for good they knew was in you.”

  “Potential for good! I don’t know how they saw any.” Goél smiled again faintly. “Fathers and mothers have a way of looking beneath the surface.” Silence fell over the cell. Finally Roland lifted his head and asked, “So what is the question, sire?”

  “The question is in two parts. First, are you tired of the life you’ve been living—of being the boy you have been? The second part is, are you ready to follow me and become a different person?”

  Roland did not answer at once. He was thinking of his past life. At last he said with sadness, “No, I don’t want to be what I have been—ever again. As to the second question, I listened to my parents speak of you for years. I listened, but I didn’t listen—if you know what I mean.” He suddenly knelt before Goél, his head bowed. “If you will have me, I will serve you the best I can for whatever time I have left.”

  Roland felt two hands upon his head, and Goél whispered words especially meaningful for him. A warm feeling of joy came over him, and his heart seemed to bubble over.

  While he was still on his knees, he heard the voice of Goél say, “Tomorrow you will have a chance to prove your loyalty and your faith. They will come for you, and no man has ever escaped the sad result of the Hunt of Death. But I am giving you my word that I will be beside you, and you need not fear—no matter what happens. All will be well.”

  Then the voice faded away, and Roland’s visitor was gone.

  Roland felt for the hay and lay down on it in a dreamy state, thinking over and over again of Goél’s words. And then he heard himself saying aloud, “I won’t doubt you, Goél. No matter what happens!”

  The next sound that he heard was that of the rumbling voices of guards outside. He always heard them early every morning when the guard changed. Then he remembered. He sat up straight and looked wildly around the dim cell, almost expecting to see Goél. But no one was there.

  “It must have been all a dream!” he exclaimed. He stood to his feet and closed his eyes, thinking. He discovered, to his surprise, that he could remember it all. Roland never remembered dreams, but the memory of this one was as clear as if it were happening over again before his eyes.

  He heard the guards laughing. One shoved his face up to the grate and said cheerfully, “Last day on earth! Enjoy yourself!” The door opened then, and stale bread and a bowl of stew was set down with a clatter on the stone floor. “Last meal!” the guard jeered.

  And then the door clanged shut, leaving Roland Winters alone with only the memory of a dream.

  11

  Lord Zarak’s Order

  Lady Lara slept very little the night before the Hunt of Death. She rose early in the morning, tired and depressed, and noticed that her maid had deep circles under her eyes.

  “You didn’t sleep, Sarah, did you?”

  “No. Nor did you.”

  Lady Lara usually was very careful about her dress, but today when Sarah asked what she wished to wear, she said, “It doesn’t matter.”

  She sat down and motioned Sarah to do the same. For a time, the princess and her maid just looked at each other. Then Lara said, “I have decided to ride beside my father in the Hunt. I have not been able to persuade him to call it off.”

  Immediately Sarah sat up straight. “My lady, then would it be possible for me to ride beside you? As your attendant?”

  “Why, I suppose so—although Bettis would never ask such a thing. Why? Why would you want to do that?”

  “I really don’t know, my lady. It’s just that I am interested in my friend, and I think I need to be there. And I wish Josh could go as well. Would that be possible?”

  “I suppose that would be possible. He could help with the dogs.”

  Sarah brightened. She said quickly, “We Sleepers have been in situations like this before when all looked hopeless. But it is never hopeless, my lady.”

  “It seems so to me,” Lara said sadly. “If my father would only listen . . .”

  “Go to him again, my lady. Perhaps he will.”

  Lady Lara stood, her mind made up. “Help me to dress!” she said firmly. “I shall order horses to be made ready for us in case they are needed. But then I will try to change my father’s mind.”

  Reb Jackson was tramping through the forest with a sack over his shoulder. It was heavy with the squirrels he had killed for supper. He was still not as good with a bow as Sarah was, and he had trapped them with snares.

  Suddenly a figure was standing in his path, and Reb’s eyes flew open. “Goél!” he cried

  “You are surprised to see me, my son.”

  “I’m glad to see you. So will everyone else be. Have you got something for us to do to help our friends?”

  “Indeed I have. But first we must arouse the others.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the Sleepers, Goodman, and Bentain were all anxiously surrounding Goél.

  “This waiting has been difficult for you,” Goél said, “but now the time has come for action.”

  “Give me a command, master,” Goodman cried eagerly.

  “I will. Call all of your men together. Have them come fully armed and meet here as quickly as you can gather them.”

  “I go at once, sire.”

  As soon as Goodman was gone, Bentain stepped forward. He was old and bent, and his hair was white, but his eyes were bright. “Is it a battle then, Goél?”

  “Most battles that are important are battles of the spirit, as you well know, my friend. But this time, at least for now, there will be a physical battle to fight.”

  Bentain smiled. “And I will go with the warriors into battle.”

  “Your courage has never been doubted, Bentain,” Goél said in a kindly fashion. “But perhaps it would be well to leave this to the younger men. Do you not think so?”

  For once Bentain argued with Goél’s suggestion. “No, sire. I am old, and if I can fight one more battle for you, I will die happy. I will serve Goél until I die.”

  A cheer went around, and Goél put his arm across the old man’s shoulder. “Very well, then, my friend. I would that all of my servants were as eager to follow me as you are. Now—” he looked about at the group “—all of you get ready for battle.”

  The king heard a knock at the door of his private chambers. He looked up with surprise as his daughter entered. Her face wore a troubled look.

  “Lara, what is it?” he asked.

  “I must speak wit
h you, Father.” She glanced over her shoulder and said, “Wait in the hall, Sarah.” Then she closed the door.

  “What is it, my child?” The king motioned her to a chair, but she stood facing him. He studied her face and realized that she was troubled indeed. “Are you ill?”

  “I must talk with you, Father, and you must forgive me because I have to say some hard things.”

  The king remained silent. He knew that his daughter had been somehow changing recently and had wondered at the change. “Speak on, daughter. Have I failed you in some way?”

  “I think you have failed yourself, Father.”

  “Failed myself! What can you mean?”

  “I mean that for many years now you have grieved for my mother. That everyone understands. But it has been unmanly grief for you to ignore the kingdom and your people’s needs.”

  The king dropped his gaze. He well knew that there was truth in his daughter’s words. “When your mother died, I was like a madman,” he muttered. “I could not find my way out of my grief.”

  “I know that, Father. I know that. You loved her greatly. You’ve told me so often, but in losing yourself in your grief, the kingdom has fallen on evil times.”

  “But Lord Zarak—”

  “Lord Zarak is a cruel, wicked man who has somehow managed to cloud your mind!” Lara said firmly. “You must do something about him. He is no fit man to have authority in this kingdom! How could you let such a man rule in your place, Father? You are the king! You should have seen to your subjects!”

  “But when Zarak counsels with me, he gives me some relief from my sorrow,” King Falmor protested. “When we meet together, he has an incense that he burns. And he talks soothingly to me, and it numbs my sorrows . . .”

  “He has also numbed your kingly aspects, Father. I do believe he has cast a spell over you. Can you not see that?”

  “Well . . . perhaps . . . perhaps so,” the king said uncertainly. “Very well. I will meet with him no more. Does that please you?”

  “And remove him from his place of authority. And, Father, call off the Hunt of Death! It is the cruelest thing Lord Zarak has brought about.”

  “It is true that the Hunt was Lord Zarak’s doing . . .” Then he said, “Still, you are right. I am the king. I should not have listened to him.”

  “Then stop this Hunt today!” Lady Lara cried. “Now! Do not let it take place.”

  “Perhaps so. Perhaps so . . .” He looked at her curiously. “This slave—Roland. You seem especially interested in him.”

  Lara flushed. “He is a human being, and he has fine qualities, and we have treated him shamefully.”

  “I see,” the king said, and he thought he did. Then he drew himself up to his full height. “Very well, I will give orders to stop the Hunt.”

  He strode to the window and looked down to where Zarak and the lords sat on their horses, waiting. The dogs were yapping eagerly. Over to one side he could see the captive, Roland. Even the serfs who worked in the garden were leaning on their tools and wheelbarrows, waiting for the Hunt to begin.

  “Lord Zarak!” the king called down to his counselor.

  Zarak looked up with surprise. “We await Your Majesty’s presence. It is time for the Hunt of Death to begin!”

  “There will be no Hunt of Death!” the king replied. “Take the prisoner back to his cell. And, Lord Zarak, come to my chambers at once. We have things to talk about.” King Falmor turned from the window. “Why, I believe I am myself again, daughter.” He took a deep breath. “Somehow I’ve known for years that I have not been acting like a king, but I will do so now.”

  Down in the courtyard, Lord Zarak’s face was pale with anger. He gritted his teeth, then shouted, “Loose the prisoner! Start the Hunt!”

  “But, my lord,” Sheriff Cranmore said nervously, “the king said—”

  “The king is ill. He knows not what he says. I will deal with him when we get back.” He rode over to where Roland stood, and he lifted his spear. “Run, you vermin, or I will kill you even now!”

  Roland knew death when he saw it, and he saw it in Zarak’s eyes. He fled across the courtyard, across the drawbridge, and down the road that circled the castle.

  Sarah stood waiting in the hall, as Lady Lara had instructed her.

  Then the chamber door opened, and the king himself started out into the corridor. However, he immediately stopped in the doorway and seemed to be listening. “What is that noise? I canceled the Hunt,” he said, sounding puzzled. He hurried back into the room.

  Quickly Sarah moved to where she could see him. He was at the window, leaning out.

  “What is going on down there?”

  From below one of the soldiers, probably, called up to him, “Lord Zarak has commanded that the Hunt begin, Your Majesty.”

  King Falmor turned back from the window. Astonishment, then anger, darkened his face. “So. Now I see what Zarak is! He is a traitor himself, and I will deal with him.”

  The king hurried past Sarah, down the corridor and down the stairs. Lady Lara and Sarah followed close behind.

  “Bring my horse over here!” Falmor ordered.

  As he swung into the saddle, Lady Lara reached for the bridle of her waiting mare. “I’m coming with you, Father.”

  “Come, then!” And he spurred his mount forward.

  Sarah leaped into the saddle of the horse that had been readied for her. Quickly she reined him past the garden. “Come on, Josh! We’re going, too.”

  Without hesitating, Josh sprang up behind her. “What’s happening? What’s with the king?” he asked as they pounded over the drawbridge.

  “I don’t know. But one thing is clear—he’s not Lord Zarak’s man anymore.”

  12

  The Battle

  Roland’s feet flew. The road that ran alongside the castle turned east into the forest, and he thought,

  I’ve got to get into the deep woods at once.

  When he had gone no more than two hundred yards, he heard Lord Zarak’s cry, “After him!” At once Roland turned and darted into the forest. He sought the densest part, knowing that the thick trees would make it difficult for the horses to follow. His greatest fear was the dogs. But he had a brief plan in mind.

  The stream, he thought. I’ve got to get in the stream!

  The brook that curled around the castle and then made its way into the depths of the forest was shallow during the dry season of the year. It would be no more than inches deep except for a few deeper pools. By the time Roland reached it, he could hear the barking of the dogs.

  He plunged into the stream, crossed it, and then cut back into the water. The water will kill any scent, and they won’t know whether I’ve gone upstream or downstream. They’ll have to check both ways.

  He splashed along, making sure that his feet did not touch the bank. He listened to the dogs, hoping that the barking would fade. If so, that would tell him that they had gone the other way. But instead, their baying grew stronger. “They’ve taken this direction, all right. But they can’t track me through water,” he encouraged himself.

  He remembered his dream of—or, perhaps, his actual visit with—Goél. I promise to believe in you no matter what happens, Goél, he thought. So whatever comes next, I’m trusting you. And he remembered that he had a long way to go.

  For what felt like miles, Roland splashed through the brook. He could no longer hear the dogs. They were behind somewhere, searching for a trail. Then the stream became a pool so deep that he could no longer run in it. But it was probably safe to leave the creek now and plunge into the wilderness itself, he reasoned. He tried to get his bearings. I think I’d better go this way. Seems that the woods are thicker in this direction.

  Briars caught at his feet and tore his clothes as he pushed along. He was weakened by his days in the dungeon without good food, and his breath was labored. An open branch caught him across the face and made his eye burn, but he ignored it.

  Roland never knew how far he had run w
hen he threw himself down on a grassy spot to rest. His breath came in sobs. He had no idea where he was. For all I know, he thought, I may be going around in circles. But at least I still don’t hear the dogs.

  When he had caught his breath, he tried to take a bearing on the sun. It was going down rapidly. The huge trees around him now cast great shadows, darkening the area under their foliage. There was no sign of a path.

  Roland began trotting along again, conserving his strength. He had not gone twenty minutes more when suddenly his ears caught a faint sound. He stopped and listened with dread. It came again, and he muttered, “The dogs—they’ve picked up my trail!”

  He plunged ahead through the thickness of the forest, hoping to find another stream where he might lose the dogs. There were no streams, however, and he thought their baying grew ever more powerful and strong.

  A wild notion came to Roland then. He glanced up into the trees and thought of climbing one and going from tree to tree until he had lost the dogs. They couldn’t track me up there, he thought. But he had no time to get far that way. And once he was up in a tree, he was trapped. He threw himself forward.

  He came to a sharply crested wooded hill. His breath was coming in spasms now, but he struggled up the incline. Just as he got to the top he looked back to see the dogs, huge blue-colored animals, emerge from the thicker woods below. They sighted him and let loose a tremendous baying.

  With no plan at all now, Roland ran along the crest, hoping to again find a place too thick for the horses—wherever they were—to follow the dogs. But the timber was thinning out, and he had to escape the dogs at once. He looked down the steep slope and started over the edge into the canyon below. He fell, rolling down the hill, his flesh scraped by sharp stones. When he got to the bottom, he scrambled to his feet and ran, but the hounds were already baying up on the ridge.

  And then he came to a sheer stone wall and knew that he had run into a blind canyon. Whirling, he snatched up a dead branch to defend himself, the only weapon available. Now the dogs were in the canyon.