by G. B. WREN
“How dare you refuse a command to appear before the sovereign!” yelled Gervest.
“I was unaware that Gilvius had issued such an instruction,” Topen calmly replied, while his eyes latched onto Gervest’s threatening glare.
Gervest’s rage gradually simmered when he realized that Topen would not be so easily intimidated.
“If I may, Gervest, perhaps Topen is unaware that your rise to the sovereignty is only weeks away,” said Penlaris.
Topen’s eyes shifted from Gervest to Penlaris.
“I don’t recall that we have met . . . Penlaris, isn’t it?” Topen asked.
When Topen said his name aloud, Penlaris felt strangely uneasy and increased his wariness of the situation that was unfolding.
“I was with Gervest when the guard you sent announced your . . . invitation to join you here,” explained Penlaris, who was aware of his blunder of calling Topen by name.
Topen rose from the table and paced towards Penlaris. He slipped a hand into his cloak’s outer pocket, and when Penlaris detected his gesture, he did the same. But as Topen drew close, he focused on Gervest.
“I have heard your father is very ill. If he is well enough to receive an old friend, I will pay my respects.”
“He must not be disturbed,” snarled Gervest. “He is trying to preserve his strength so he can preside over my ascension.”
Topen ignored Gervest as he spoke, and made it conspicuous that he was not interested in Gervest’s words, but in Penlaris’s cloak. After he completed his visual examination of the covering, Topen refocused on Gervest.
“Your guards were gracious enough to share the news of your ascension,” said Topen. “I would not miss this joyous day for you and your father.”
“Why would I allow—?”
“Soon, many will be arriving from all the provinces,” Penlaris quickly interjected. “The castle will be unable to accommodate those who lack invitations.”
“I do not seek to impose undue stress on the resources of the castle,” said Topen. “I will find suitable lodging close by.”
Topen brushed by Gervest and left the room, unhampered by the guards near the doors.
“Why didn’t you destroy him, or let me?” Spewed Gervest.
“Would you risk all that you have worked for on a battle within this room?” asked Penlaris. “Topen did not meet you without protection,” he assured Gervest. Penlaris stepped towards the doorway and gazed beyond its barrier. “Now I must find out if his suspicions have delivered the knowledge I have carefully concealed,” he whispered.
* * *
Soon after the night had descended on the castle, Kelamar and Topen sat in a secluded area of the crowded dining hall—enjoying the last of their meal.
“So, Penlaris is definitely from your realm?” asked Kelamar.
“Not only that, but his cloak is of a design very familiar to me. I recall it from my days before my rescue; it reminds me of one my father received as a gift.”
“Do you think he is a relative . . . or even Nepsaril?”
Topen shook his head and brought his finger to the tabletop. When he traced the name of Penlaris, glowing letters remained on the wood with each movement of his finger. He then did the same with the name Nepsaril, tracing it next to Penlaris. Kelamar looked at the names that glowed before him and studied Topen as he did the same.
Then, one by one, Topen began to pull letters away from Nepsaril with his finger. He placed them in order underneath the glowing letters of Penlaris. First, the P, the e, the n, by now Topen knew how this would conclude and he finished spelling out Penlaris with the remaining letters of Nepsaril.
“Then it is him!” exclaimed Kelamar. “How did he survive? I saw the ashes myself.”
“He deceived us then, and he has continued to deceive the Avileens ever since . . . but to what end?”
“It is obvious, he is bolstering the ascension of Gervest,” Kelamar replied.
“Yes, but why? What does he gain?”
“Bloody well nothing I imagine when our strategy unfolds.”
Topen nodded in agreement.
“Come, I imagine you have not slept well in quite some time,” said Kelamar. “My chamber is not as elaborate as the others, but you will be safe while you rest.”
“I could not ask for better assurance.”
Topen waved his hand over the glowing letters on the table and they dissipated into wispy remnants of smoke.
Chapter Thirteen
DECEIVING DECEIVERS – PART I
HUNTERSTON, A SMALL VILLAGE FIFTEEN miles north of the largest city in the Kileson province, shuddered when a spirited horse broke through the calm of the early dawn. His furious strides revealed the urgency of the rider to deliver his dispatch. Arriving at his destination, the rider leapt from his mount and onto the hardened ground beneath him. The building in his path was once the pride of the Kileson family, long before the winery relocated closer to fields that were more fertile. Still, the name of Kileson Winery remained above the entrance, and this location served warehousing needs for barrels headed further north.
Once inside, the rider sought out the man who oversaw the activity at this location, which wasn’t too difficult since he was about the largest man he had ever seen—in both height and girth—and easily stood out among the twenty or so men in the warehouse. The rider stepped before the big man and raised the dispatch he held. The behemoth snatched it, lifted the parchment to his face, and scoured over the words on the paper. His eyes narrowed just ahead of the enormous grin that followed.
“We’re in business, boys,” he bellowed. “Prepare the pimuss root!”
All of those within earshot yelled in excitement and jumped to immediate action. The day they were waiting for was finally here. The men began rapidly filling barrels and kegs with a fine powder of crushed pimuss root.
“If you would like some wine before you return, I’d get it before the pimuss hits those barrels,” the big man said, and slapped his massive hand onto the rider’s shoulder.
“And be careful with the amount,” he yelled into the warehouse. “We’re not trying to kill them—not yet anyway, eh?” he said with a laugh, and planted another swipe on the rider’s back.
The gigantic man in charge lumbered over to a couple of kegs of wine that were being re-capped. He hoisted one under each arm and carried them to a waiting wagon.
“Prepare all the wagons,” he shouted into the bustling room. “We move out as soon as they’re full.”
* * *
Covering thirty acres of land, the estate of Liam Preece was modest for a man of such wealth, but it was his sanctuary. Liam sat at the head of his dining table, sharing wine with a guest who had never before graced his home.
“Pimuss root? Isn’t that deadly?” asked Rolam.
“Not if you mix it in the proper proportions,” replied Liam. “But it will make any soldier who consumes the wine too ill to sit on a horse, let alone fight. It will take nearly a week to flush the effects of the root from their bodies.”
“You didn’t elaborate at the gathering how you managed to be in control of a warehouse belonging to Samuel Kileson.”
“It was a business transaction, one designed to appeal to the greed of Samuel. Once I discovered that Samuel was supporting a camp of soldiers, loyal to Gervest, in the northern region of his province, I sought out a means to place myself in line with his supplies. Then, I remembered the warehouse where he stored some of his wine. Samuel purchases his wine barrels and kegs from me, so I offered him the opportunity to eliminate the cost of his labor, by allowing me to manage the warehouse, in return for a fraction of the amount he was paying his workers. He didn’t even bother asking how I would manage a profit. He just jumped at the arrangement. I replaced the workers with my men, who are loyal to Gilvius.”
When Liam detected a glint of concern behind Rolam’s eyes, he raised his hand to forestall the question he imagined was forming.
“Before you ask, and I know
you will, because your father’s compassion is within you as well, the laborers were offered other work—with sufficient incentive to relocate if they desired.”
“You are not known for such benevolence,” said Rolam.
“Nor should I be,” stated Liam. “It is a trait that would be exploited in commerce—particularly so in the outer territories.”
“Then, I will remain silent of one of your better virtues,” said Rolam. He raised his glass of wine to Liam, swallowed the remaining sweet nectar, and stood to leave. “I’ll inform the others that Gervest’s soldiers will not answer a call to his aid, at least for the next week.”
* * *
Kelamar, Casimit, and several other guards passed through a stretch of tunnel built beneath the castle as a secure pathway for the castle protectors in times of siege. The tunnel coursed from the quarters of the guards to a hallway near the kitchen in the inner castle. Torches, attached to fixtures on the wall, tossed shadows on the carved stone as the men passed by. Soon, they walked into the bright light that streamed into the castle—where Topen was waiting.
“These are the last of them,” said Kelamar, and pressed forward.
Topen followed the guards to a large room normally used by those in service, when gathered for their meals.
As Kelamar entered, he immediately took a count of how many men among their ranks, loyal to Gilvius, were present. He tallied nineteen men who could be trusted with the task before them, less than Gervest now commanded. But Kelamar knew he had personally trained every guard in the room. He was confident that he needed no more.
The guards’ eyes focused upon Kelamar, eager to hear his first words.
“Everyone in this room shares a common commitment; it is our loyalty to our sovereign, Gilvius.”
Several of the guards nodded in agreement and looked among their colleagues within the room, bolstering their mutual pledge with one other.
“We are awaiting word on the first phase of our strategy, to remove the foulness that has slowly taken control of the true desire of Gilvius,” Kelamar continued. “The wrong twin now sits only an arms distance from the sovereignty. All of us loyal to Gilvius will see that he never gets any closer.”
The guards released their pent up frustration that had been building for months with an enthusiastic roar within the room. Laughing and energetic excitement took hold as they celebrated the start of the quest now before them.
Topen stood at the entrance of the room, alert to any sign that others may be close by. A figure appeared down the hall and moved towards him. When he arrived, Rolam acknowledged Topen with a glint in his eye—hinting that the news he bore would not disappoint.
Rolam met Kelamar at the front of the room. He leaned close to his ear to assure that Kelamar would hear him above the loudness of the revelry. With a firm pat on Rolam’s shoulder, Kelamar was ready to execute his part of the strategy born in Loran’s chamber. He raised his hands to quiet the group.
“For the next week, Gervest’s guards in the castle are cut off from any support of his soldiers in the Kileson province,” informed Kelamar. “Look closely at the faces in this room. By nightfall, we will be the only ones among the castle defenders not occupying a cell in the dungeon.”
Another roar of excitement filled the room, and then swiftly quieted by Kelamar.
“We will work in two groups,” said Kelamar. “I will lead the first group of five to capture Gervest’s most trusted protectors: These six guards rotate shifts, so that two of them are always by his side. Casimit will lead the second group, and place the remaining of Gervest’s guards in the dungeon—without triggering suspicion. Whether conscious or not does not matter, as long as no warning is given to the rest of the castle. Be mindful of the guests who are already in the castle for the ascension ceremony. Avoid a battle if possible, but dispense with any resistance quickly.”
Kelamar singled out the guards who would follow his command, and the others gathered near Casimit. Rolam joined Topen at the doorway.
“I do not doubt my sister’s courage or determination, but I must again voice my concern over the strategy you are about to embark upon,” said Rolam.
“Penlaris, as Nepsaril now calls himself, deceived all of us by simulating his death. If we are to avoid a repeat of the great castle war, deceit is the tactic we must now deploy.”
“Yes, but seeing the passion of the men in this room, I can’t imagine it will be less so with Gervest and Penlaris,” said Rolam, with unease. “They will not be defeated easily.”
Topen placed his hand on Rolam’s shoulder.
“You have, on more than one occasion, boasted of Loran’s ability to devise strategy. She knows the risks all are undertaking. She will not seek to escape peril for herself.”
“Just assure me that you will do all you can to protect her from any acts of . . . undue boldness.”
“At the moment of greatest peril, it will be Loran who will wield the power to protect. Perhaps you should be concerned for me,” Topen quipped.
* * *
Two guards lingered outside the entry door to the chamber of the sovereign; while inside, Gervest stood in the bedchamber alone, at the foot of his father’s bed. He stared at his decrepit appearance. Gervest had chosen a time when his mother was absent. Facing Leanna had always left him with feelings of shame for the sorrow he always detected in her eyes, but as Penlaris had always taught him, compassion is weakness. Avoiding Leanna was the only way he could escape the weakness he felt when near her.
Gervest raised the blackened stone he had used so successfully over the years and aimed it with an outstretched arm towards his father.
“You would never have given me the chance to prove myself worthy, father,” said Gervest. “I know you wish that Rolam had been the only one born. But I now have the father I deserve, and he will be proud to rule by my side.”
Gervest lowered his arm and hid the stone from view.
“Not yet,” he whispered. “Your eyes will behold the result of your treachery, after I am sovereign.”
As Gervest pulled away from the bedframe and exited the room, Gilvius opened his eyes . . . then closed them again—in pain of what had become of his son.
Chapter Fourteen
DECEIVING DECEIVERS – PART II
CASIMIT LED A CLUSTER OF guards through the main hall. When they filed by the alcove where Leanna and Loran were sitting, mother and daughter looked at each other, and Leanna heaved a great sigh.
“It is beginning,” said Leanna.
Loran nodded quickly and joined in her mother’s anticipation.
“While I hold the same concerns as Rolam, I also have the greatest confidence in you,” said Leanna. “We all do,” she added.
Loran knew what her mother meant. There were many counting on her to complete her role, but none more so than Topen.
Loran embraced her mother.
“Do not worry,” said Loran. She pulled back to view her mother’s compassionate eyes. “I control my destiny, and on this day, it will not fail us.”
A raised voice near the alcove seeped in and drew the women’s attention.
“What is the meaning of this?” The voice asked, and then, silence—until a faint dragging sound came from the hall.
The noise grew closer, and the cause of it soon passed into the women’s view; two guards, on either side of a third, were supporting an unconscious guard’s weight as his feet dragged underneath him.
“I better go,” said Loran.
Leanna nodded and wrapped her arms around her daughter one last time before she departed.
* * *
Two of Gervest’s personal guards marched towards the receiving room. They traveled this path every day on their way to relieve the guards presently stationed at Gervest’s side. When they passed near the library, the doors flexed open. Kelamar, and five additional guards, stepped out and blocked their path. Three of Kelamar’s guards swiftly moved behind Gervest’s guards—to prevent their retreat.
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“I would like a few words,” said Kelamar.
Gervest’s minions glanced all around—assessing the strength of their position. At the same time, Topen stepped into view, just inside the entrance of the library.
“We do not answer to you, Kelamar,” declared the bolder of the two detained guards. “Step aside old man or answer for your foolishness,” he ordered, then grasped the handle of his weapon.
Kelamar laughed at the guard’s effort to intimidate him. He glanced at Gervest’s other protector, but he knew that his rapid eye darting, increased respirations, and beads of sweat that rapidly formed on his brow, meant his antagonistic colleague stood alone in his actions.
One of Kelamar’s hands was on the throat of the hostile guard before he realized that Kelamar had answered his threat. The guard impulsively released his hand from the handle of his sword, and Kelamar replaced it with his own. With both of his hands on Kelamar’s arm, the guard tried desperately to wrench his crushing grip from his throat, but he was no match for the strength of the man he had so casually dismissed. The helpless guard’s eyes bulged in fear while Kelamar forced him through the library entrance, slammed him against the nearest wall, and removed the guard’s sword from its sheath.
Kelamar released his captive when Topen stepped close. The befuddled guard slumped to his knees and took a deep breath. He brought a hand to his throat—in shock of how defenseless he had been in Kelamar’s grip. The young guard was more thankful for being alive than embarrassed, when his eyes focused on the two men who hovered above him.
With pointed steel at his back, the other captured guard had walked into the library without resistance. He joined his partner and helped him up from his knees. They both stood passively against the stone wall.
“We do not wish to delay you from your responsibility to protect Gervest,” said Topen. “In fact, we insist that you perform that duty well.”
The two captured guards looked at each other, their faces filled with confusion, as a fog of colorful shards of light illuminated the gap between them.
