by M. J. Sewall
Kett said, “That is not the tale we hear. They came here searching for a man. Just one man and did this.”
Cayne said, “That's right. But it wasn't one man they found. No. There were people living in this forest. They killed them all, ignoring any rights they had, any freedom they thought they possessed. They are murderers of good, freedom loving Asporans. I say we take the fight to them. Their two kings are helpless boys, their Firstcouncilor is dead, their other leaders are on trial. They are weak. Together we can take what others only dream of.”
Lyrra laughed, “Fool, and arrogant pretender. You mean you want to lead us in this madness, as our king? Do you think we are as stupid as you? That we do not see what you are doing? Unite your new kingdom in a great war like the kings of old? I am done talking to this madman.” She began to walk off with her companions.
“I should have known Jott's daughter would be a coward!” shouted Cayne.
Lyrra turned around and stormed toward Cayne, “I don't need weapons to kill you.”
“Only jesting, my dear girl. You grassland folk are so sensitive,” Cayne said, smiling wide. He put his hands before him in a gesture meant to show he was unarmed, harmless. He softened his tone, “Please, Lyrra. My blood is hot, but not for Asporans. No, for the murderous sons of the Thirteen. They come and go over our land as they please. They choose who to trade their wealth with, they spit fire and death on us here below from their airships. We should not fight each other. The enemy is out there!”
Another man spoke, “Yes, with a great sea between us. We could not win this fight. You have no fleet of waterships, and they have airships. Are we to walk over the sea?” A loud cheer of agreement rose, “Will our horses sprout wings then? Will they breathe fire like the mythical dragons?”
Many laughs came from all around. Cayne walked closer to them, “Our ways are old. Our constant squabbling has made it impossible to keep up with the world. Because we fight with each other, very few trade with us. Who wants to come to a land of constant fighting? Yes, we are free men, but why must we freely make the same mistakes again and again? We must unite! We must fight the true enemy on a level battlefield. From the air!”
He let the words sink in, Kett was the first to speak, “Only the Thirteen have airships. The black ships of Extatumm were destroyed at Thure.”
“Not all,” said Cayne smiling.
Lyrra said, “More madness! I've had enough of this. I will not be a part of the evil that took over the kingdom of old Dard.” This time Lyrra would not be baited into coming back. She and her group walked away.
The others had heard enough as well. They all began to disperse. Kett looked into Cayne's eyes and shook his head. He began to walk off with his cousins.
Cayne did not seem upset, “I wish you had joined me.”
Kett's foot sunk in the ground a few inches. He heard a muffled, “Mfft!” Kett slid his small knife from his boot as a man exploded from the ground, like the dead rising. He heard Cayne shout.
“Now!” Cayne said, full of rage, no hint of a smile. He turned it on like a roar of flame coming to life.
Lyrra saw a man erupt from the ground, arrow guns in hand. They are hiding in false pits. Cayne has lured us to a trap. He fired, but she ducked under the arrow as it launched. Standing just next to her, it hit Lyrra's sister in the chest.
All around, Cayne's hidden soldiers were popping out of the ground like vermin from their nests, taking down all those that would never call Cayne their king. Lyrra leapt at the man and kneed him between the legs. Her fist connected with his jaw, knocking teeth loose from the man who killed her sister.
Then Cayne's soldiers were everywhere. Arrow guns cut down all the people that had come in peace. There were fierce battles all over the blackened forest. Cayne's lies had brought the warring families to a slaughter. The few that might escape would be hunted down. The rest would kneel to Cayne that very night, as they saw his full plan laid out. They would become his new allies or be destroyed. Cayne didn't care which.
Cayne lowered himself onto a blackened stump. With the twisted black twigs near him, he felt like a king on his dark throne, watching his plans unfold before him.
Chapter 11: Old Man of the Sea
Gordon, Aline, and Ellice were accompanied by a dozen guards. The crew of Harlow's watership Swiftfoot had been loading their belongings for the long trip to the Outlands. Gordon stood at the interconnected series of wooden walkways that made up the King's docks. It was a deep harbor that made it possible for tall sailing ships to come into their kingdom. He marveled at the forest of tall masts and sails.
“You like it here, don't you?” asked Aline.
Gordon smiled, “Yes. I come down here sometimes and just watch the ships coming and going. Mostly, I think of how much has happened since the day I was chosen king.”
“I know. I've seen you here,” said Aline, “I don't think of the past much.”
“Not even about your mother?” Gordon ventured.
“Of course I think of her. But she was gone a lot. Some days it doesn't seem real that she's gone forever. She might walk off one of those ships like nothing happened.”
Gordon knew how sensitive the topic was. He had wanted to bring it up often, always wanting to know more about their relationship. But there never seemed to be a good time to begin to untie that knot. Instead he changed the subject, “When do we leave?”
Aline answered, “As soon as your mother finds this Harlow. His second in command says he sometimes disappears before a long voyage.”
“Damn that man.” Ellice said, walking back over the ship's ramp to the dock, “No one can find him anywhere. I wanted to leave an hour ago. Maybe Mantuan was right.”
A blood curdling scream interrupted her. Aline put her hand to the hilt of her longknife. A man came howling towards them, rope in hand from one of the tall masts. At first Gordon thought the man was trying to kill himself, he had jumped from such a height. As he swung closer, the scream turned into laughter. The rope swung wide of the ship, the man sliding down it as it swung toward them.
He landed safely only a few feet from Ellice, skillfully using the rope to slow his momentum. He landed on the dock, then leaped to Ellice. To everyone's surprise, he picked her up by the waist and spun her around in a circle, “My lady! How long has it been? Five years? Longer?”
“Put me down, Harlow, right now.” said Ellice. He set her back down on her feet. Turning solemnly to Gordon and Aline, he bowed low.
Then he stood and furrowed his brow, “Ahhhh!” he pointed his finger at Gordon, “You must be the boy that put an end to TrTorrin on that airship. Oh yes, I've heard about you.” He rushed at Gordon, a wide smile on his face.
“Harlow, don't…!” Ellice shouted, but it was too late. As Harlow came towards Gordon, Aline stepped in front of him. Gordon now stood behind Aline, and she had a shortknife to Harlow's throat.
Harlow stopped, but he smiled slyly, “Ah, the fierce Aline is it? I knew your mother. My girl,” his tone changed as he looked into Aline's eyes, “Do you feel that?”
Aline registered surprise as she felt the point of Harlow's blade at the small of her back.
Aline smiled back, “We'll just see who cuts first, old man.”
Being this close, Gordon realized that Harlow was very old. When he was in motion, he seemed like a young man, but this close, the lines in his face betrayed the truth. Harlow's laugh radiated around the docks as he put his knife away and stepped back from Aline's blade. Aline detected the odor on his breath and realized it was something stronger than wine.
“I yield to your skill.” He relaxed. “and your beauty. How old are you, my dear?”
“Far too young for you, Harlow. You can put your knife away Aline,” said Ellice.
Aline put her knife away slowly but kept looking at Harlow.
Harlow turned to Ellice, “You're not too young for me, my Lady.”
“Everyone's too young for you, Harlow. Sometimes I think you must be
the oldest man alive,” Ellice shot back.
“My lady, you wound me,” he dramatically put his hand to his heart. “The sea keeps me young. You used to think more of me.”
Ellice replied, “There used to be more of you to think of. Have you shrunk with great old age? I remember you taller.”
“Always a sharp tongue,” Harlow laughed, “No, still a full five feet of manly muscle. But why stand here and chatter away the day? You'll make us late for this great and foolish adventure.”
Ellice glowered, “It's you who's made us…! Wait…. No, I will not let you draw me to anger this fast. I will have plenty of time to rage at you later.”
Aline asked, “What do you mean foolish adventure?”
Harlow led them on board, “The Outlands are a wild place, full of wild people, strange things, and groups of people that mistrust all visitors, even each other.”
Gordon asked, “Who's in charge? Who would want to attack us?”
“That's a good question. No idea, and not my problem. The rulers live high in the mountains, above the forests, and there are at least three different groups of very different people before you reach those mountains. I only know the first types, who live on the river and the cliffs. Never got past them. Lucky to be able to tell the tale.” He turned his attention to his navigator, “ready to launch boys! Wind's strong today!”
“You heard Harlow, get to it,” said the lead pilot.
The men on board worked fast, and soon the sails were out and they were moving. Gordon looked as the sail filled with wind.
“Better stop smiling. Remember our luck with boats,” Aline said.
Gordon smiled anyway. This time he hoped for an adventure with fewer brushes with death.
Chapter 12: Banner Burning
Mantuan walked into the drinks house. He saw the banner of the kingdom, the thirteen longknives shooting out from the center of the pyramid. He noticed the banner was upside down, the old symbol of his resistance group. That's a bad omen, he thought. The morning light shone through the windows, but the gloom stuck to the dark wood paneled walls. It was early in the day, only a few men and women occupied the wooden benches, and they paid him little attention.
Walking to the back of the place, there was a man eating his first meal of the day behind the bar. Mantuan asked, “Morning friend, I wonder if you can help me?”
The man's attention was occupied by a pamphlet, his spoon got half way to his mouth before he looked up. The spoon stopped, and the man stared.
“I'm guessing from your expression, you know who I am,” Mantuan said.
“Everyone knows the patch. Wild stories about he who wears it,” said the man, returning his attention back to his meal.
“Some of them are even true,” replied Mantuan.
“What does Mantuan, the great hero of Artoth and Thure, need of me?” The man spoke words of praise, but his tone remained flat. Mantuan felt the air of hostility.
“Well, friend, our king is concerned about a group calling itself the Council of the Thirteen. Have you heard of them?”
“Don't you mean one of our kings? I couldn't say. I wonder what this council has done to involve the great Mantuan,” again it felt more like an insult than an answer. His emphasis on certain words made Mantuan feel he meant the opposite.
Mantuan continued, “They've done nothing. Yet. But I sure would like to talk to this group.”
“Why ask me?”
“Oh, just a feeling really,” Mantuan looked around the drinks house casually, “plus the last five drinking houses I've been to this morning said I might ask you about it.” Mantuan saw the man's eyes dart to the left and he quickly turned in his seat, narrowly avoiding a small knife that was now embedded in the wall next to his head. That was aimed for my throat, Mantuan thought in a flash.
The man behind the bar swung his own knife, but Mantuan caught his hand and twisted. With his other hand, he took the man's wooden bowl and smashed his head with it. The man fell to the floor behind the bar and Mantuan turned back to whoever had thrown the knife just as another knife was flipping in the air toward him. Mantuan used the wooden bowl as a shield, and the knife sunk into it.
Mantuan threw away the bowl and charged for his attacker, who was halfway across the room. The slender young man jumped onto a table near the wall, tearing the banner down and lighting one end on fire with a gas lamp on the wall. He jumped to another table, scaring the man sitting there as he grabbed the drink from the man's hand and doused the banner. Flames roared to life, leaping onto the startled drinker.
It only took a fraction of a moment, but when Mantuan reached him, the man was on fire and the young attacker had already fled out the open door. Mantuan pushed the burning man to the ground, using the rug to put him out. Luckily, although terrified, the man did not seem badly hurt. The other few drinkers had already fled. Mantuan turned back to the man behind the bar, who was just standing up, holding his head where he had been hit by his own bowl.
Mantuan went to him swiftly. Before he could object, Mantuan had pulled the man over the bar and threw him to the floor, “Who was that?”
The man looked scared but did not answer. Mantuan punched his fist into the wooden floor next to the man's head. The wood splintered, and the man said, “One of the Thirteen. They meet here sometimes, but I don't know who they are.”
Mantuan pushed his fist deeper into the wood floor, another crack followed, “Then why did you pull a knife on me?”
The man's eyes changed, defiant, “My brother was on one of the fire airships at the haunted forest. He died because of you.”
Mantuan considered this and relaxed his grip, standing up, “I'm sorry your brother died. Those were needless deaths, and I am sorry for your loss. I was not the one that killed him.”
“We hear the stories. The great Brenddel and Mantuan at the forest. We still grieve our brothers, and two false kings still rule. How are you any better than Trunculin?”
Mantuan's anger flared, but he knocked it down, “I have asked myself the same question. But I am not Trunculin. He worked for his own glory, the collection of power. All I want is to return to a time when we were free.”
The man seemed unconvinced.
Mantuan said, “Now get up and tell me everything you know.”
The man slowly rose and sat in a chair. The banner had burnt out on the table and they were alone. Mantuan hoped the blackened banner was not another bad omen as the man reluctantly told his tale.
Chapter 13: The Smoke
Kett put a hand over Lyrra's mouth. She almost knocked it away, but they could not chance being heard, no matter what bitter family history they had. Now it was about just surviving the night.
It was only chance that they were together at all. When Cayne's men popped out of their hidden holes in the forest floor, most of the men and women of the tribes were killed within moments. So much for peace.
Some fought bravely, without weapons or with the small weapons they had brought hidden, but for the most part the day was awash in treachery and blood. Kett didn't know if they were the only ones to escape or not. It took everything in him not to stand and fight, despite the odds. Only the pleading of his dying cousin had made him run from the fight.
Darkness had fallen, and they found each other a full mile from the burnt remains of the haunted forest. In a small thicket of trees, they crouched beneath the rock, hidden by dense brush. Cayne's soldiers searched nearby.
“No one here. They must be dead.” the soldier shouted to someone that Kett couldn't see.
From a short distance away, “Cayne says there are at least two missing. That girl from the grass folk and the skinny one from the river lands.”
The man near them just grunted, wishing he was already at whatever celebration they were having after the slaughter. Lyrra peered around the rock at the soldier. He was walking away from them, toward a small thicket he imagined might be hiding them. The smoke was getting thicker from the soldier's camp, like a th
in fog winding its way among the trees. It must be a large celebration if the smoke reached this far.
They thought they might finally be safe, but then the other man came into the clearing next to their rock, “This is useless. It's too dark.”
“You know what will happen if we go back empty handed,” the first man said, wandering back.
“I doubt anything will happen. The whole army is gathered; we would be two among thousands. Most are likely drunk by now, especially Cayne.”
“Not tonight, I think. He's entertaining those outsiders tonight. I saw them coming in.”
Lyrra looks into Kett's eyes. It was dark, but he though he understood her stare and her silent hand gestures. They took out their hidden small knives and surprised the guards. Their gamble worked. Lyrra and Kett dispatched them more fiercely than they had intended, taking their rage at Cayne out on the two men. Within moments they had stripped the guards and wiped the soot from the men's faces onto their own. The fresh blood on their newly acquired clothes would be hidden in the dark and the smoke, they reasoned, and moved away from the scene of death.
“This should mask us, we shouldn't be noticed,” said Lyrra, looking back toward the burnt forest.
“Wait,” said Kett, looking the other way, back towards home, “you want to go back there?”
“Not all the way into camp, just close enough to see what they did.”
Kett said, “You know what they did. We've finally escaped, I'm not going back.”
“I have to see it,” said Lyrra, staring toward the source of the smoke, “I have to know why Cayne thought he could do this. He must know he can't hide this massacre. All of Aspora will rise against him. You can go where you want.”
“Will they rise?” asked Kett, “Or will they just fear him now? Strength speaks in Aspora, you know that. Some will flock to him like dark birds.”
“There must be something else. Cayne has never been this bold. Cruel, yes. Evil, always. But this feels different, too much planning for him. I have to see. Leave if you must, water boy, slink back to your people.”
