by David Pauly
The senior guard captain strode forward to make his report. 'Prince Alfrahil, Lord Mergin, the King is within, and he is well, if a little tired.'
'Excellent, Captain,' said Mergin. 'We shall now see the King ourselves.'
'Forgive me, my Lord,' said the captain. Turning to Alfrahil, he asked, 'My Lord, how are you and how is Captain Biramin? We are all anxious to hear.'
Noting that all of the faces had turned toward him to hear his news, and that even the guards on duty were surreptitiously listening to him, Alfrahil replied with a heartiness he did not feel. 'Besides a scratch on my head and few bumps, I am fine. I owe my life to my guards.'
Flushing with pride, the captain stated, 'It was only our duty, sir. Were the archers any help?'
Before Alfrahil could reply, Mergin said, 'Once the Prince has seen his father, he may be able to answer a few questions if his time allows.'
'That's all right, Mergin. These men risked much to save me today.' Alfrahil spoke then to the guards: 'Captain, you asked of Biramin. He was indeed injured, and seriously. But I have been told he will make a full recovery, though it will be some time before he will be fit for duty—especially the duty that awaits him at home.'
The men chuckled and passed appreciative looks and grins back and forth, for Biramin's young wife was a resounding beauty from Kozak, a Valkyrja who had given up her lust for battle to be his. The Valkyrja were trained as the personal guard of Bernardus, King of Kozak. Their loyalty was a byword, and tales of their bravery were the stuff of legend. It was well known that any man who wed a Valkyrja must first impress his wife-to-be on the field of battle and on the field of the bed sheets, for the Valkyrja would only marry those they regarded as equals . . . and few men met that standard. Biramin obviously had been one of the few . . . if barely, at least to judge by the first month after his wedding, when, to the ribald taunts of his men, he had seemed more dead than alive each morning when he reviewed the troops outside their barracks.
Continuing now, Alfrahil said, 'Once I have attended the King, I will return and share a glass of ale and tell you my tale.'
Astonished looks spread around the room, including from Mergin. But then they were replaced with looks of the deepest respect. Alfrahil knew this was the right thing to do. While court protocol allowed the captain on duty to speak with him, no other common guardsman was supposed to speak to the Prince, the King, or any ministers without being spoken to first. Breaking protocol and letting his men know that he did indeed care for them was the best insurance policy that he could think of for now.
Striding forward, Alfrahil and Mergin approached an inner door. Two guards snapped a salute and opened the doors before them. Entering the inner chamber, Alfrahil saw a smaller meeting room with several tables close together, with cots lining the walls. The close proximity of so many bodies made the room warm and musty, and dank organic odors revealed too many chamber pots in use with too little changing. Hastily placed tapestries on crude wooden frames indicated small private areas while several of his father's courtiers and council members were all moving like a hive of bestirred bees.
His father immediately approached. 'My son,' said Creon with real warmth in his normally cold voice, 'it is good to see you well!'
In the flickering light of torches and candles, Alfrahil noted that his father's weariness was pronounced, as if the weight of the years were lying more heavily upon his shoulders than usual. Lately the King had appeared slightly haunted to Alfrahil's eyes, looking as if he were in a gilded cage and seeking a way out of his prison. While his smile was broad and welcoming, his eyes were penetrating and questioning, seeking answers in the very souls of men. An air of frustrated power emanated from his body, as if a tiger that had roamed free had suddenly been confined.
Creon pulled Alfrahil into a great hug, kissing him on both cheeks. Alfrahil noted that there was the faintest quiver to his father's embrace, and a look of deep despair under the external layer of confidence his father habitually wore. Releasing his hold at last, Creon greeted his chief minister with as much sincerity, if not as much warmth, and then turned back to Alfrahil. 'Tell me your tale, son,' he said impatiently.
As Alfrahil recalled the successive ambushes, he tried to hold back his emotions, but when relating the last desperate dash, when he had been saved from the assassins only by the timely intervention of the archers of Anscomb, his voice broke, and it was a moment before he could finish.
'Well, son, you have told me much, but I can see there are things that still need to be discussed,' said Creon. Then, looking at Mergin: 'Have you summoned Daerahil back to the city yet?'
'No, Lord. I wanted to make certain that all was well before I asked him to return,' said Mergin.
'Have him return in the morning if you think that will be safe.'
'It should be safe enough, Lord. But there is a slight problem.' Briefly, Mergin told the King what he had told to Alfrahil.
Creon's face darkened. 'This time he has gone too far. Disagreeing with me in Council and even in public was bad enough, but this is unconscionable. It's treason! Have him come home tomorrow, Mergin, and arrange an escort to bring him before me prior to his seeing anyone else in the City. Take no chances with his safety, but bring him directly to me with the highest security.'
'I will leave you now to send the message personally,' said Mergin. Turning to Alfrahil, he added, 'Your quarters are upstairs next to your father's; it would be wise to remain in the tower until the morrow. I should have a better idea then as to what is afoot, both with Prince Daerahil and with others who may have had something to do with this outrage.'
As Mergin left the room, he mentally shrugged. 'Another example of Alfrahil's poor leadership skills, distracted by the children when his first thought should have been to get to the Citadel as quickly as possible. Where shall I find the man to lead this kingdom when Creon is gone?'
#
As he left the room to speak with Gray Water, leader of the Shadows, Mergin thought back to ten years ago, when the elite group of messenger assassins were first created following his meeting with an unusual Hagarian tribesman called Ichiro. Ichiro had petitioned Creon for protection from Hagarian nomads, offering an alliance with Eldora. Mergin agreed to meet with Ichiro instead of Creon, and as he approached a small conference room with his guards, Ichiro rose from a kneeling position. Two crystal oil lamps revealed Ichiro's unusual appearance. His head was mostly bald, only a long black queue hung down from the back of his head. He wore, long flowing clothes, resembling a dress, with two swords tucked into his soft cloth sash that ran around his middle. Mergin asked Ichiro, 'Would you please remove your weapons and hand them to my guards?'
'Certainly,' replied Ichiro. He bowed as he held his swords up in front of him before placing them in the hands of one of Mergin's guardsmen. He then bowed to Mergin who bade him enter into the meeting room. Walking behind his guest, Mergin, noticed that while Ichiro was short and squat, he gave the appearance of tremendous restrained power. He moved like water flowing over the floor, and despite the fact that he was unarmed Mergin found him both threatening and unsettling.
Mergin ordered his guards to stand post inside the room. A simple lunch was brought in, and Mergin listened to Ichiro with as much feigned sympathy as he could muster, his mind beginning to wander back to the sheaf of papers on his desk. Diplomatically, he said to Ichiro, 'I am sorry, Ichiro, but I cannot see that your people will bring anything of worth to Eldora, and while I would like to aid you against the raiders of which you speak, we have neither the time or the resources to commit to you.'
Ichiro appeared to think about that for a moment, before he pulled a long-tined serving fork from the food tray in front of him and, in a motion too swift for the eye to follow, threw the fork in the direction of the farthest guardsmen in the room. A hiss of pain followed the throw, and as other guardsmen rushed toward Ichiro, others went to the aid of their fellow. As the nearby guards drew their weapons, Mergin cried, 'Halt, bring the in
jured guard here.'
The young man cried that he was stuck and could not come to the First Minister. Glancing at the tribesman, Mergin rose to his feet and went to where the young man stood. Upon his arrival, Mergin saw that the fork had pierced the top of the guard's shoulder, penetrating through a small gap between his shoulder guard and his arm guard. Penetrating his flesh, the fork had slipped between the cracks in the building stone and had become solidly wedged in place. Grasping the fork, Mergin pulled it straight out, though with some effort, and looked over his shoulder at the tribesman, who had not moved since his throw. 'Thirty feet,' mused Mergin. 'Thirty feet with an unbalanced weapon into the most difficult target in the room, and through the target into the wall behind so the weapon would pin the man. Unbelievable.' Turning to the young guardsman, Mergin said, 'Take yourself to the healers and have this wound tended.'
Ichiro remained perfectly still as Mergin returned to the table and took his seat. 'Your throw was unbelievable,' he said, 'but an affront upon the King's guards is an offense that is punishable by death. Since you have disobeyed the ancient laws of heraldry by using violence within a foreign city, your life is forfeit.'
Smiling, Ichiro replied, 'I think not, my Lord, I think not.'
'What, you will defeat the eleven other guards along with myself to flee the Citadel and the City below alive, much less unscathed?' asked an amused yet skeptical Mergin.
Ichiro moved his hand amongst the fruit in a blur; Mergin became aware of screams behind him. He moved his hand to his knife, but before he could touch it, the tribesman reached out and touched his chest rhythmically for a fraction of a second. It was if a knife had cut his lungs. Suddenly Mergin had no air to breathe. Slumped in his chair, he watched helplessly as Ichiro turned and, with a few rapid movements, produced more screams before returning calmly to his seat. Studying Mergin for a moment, he reached toward him with his open hand.
Expecting a deathblow, Mergin instead felt the fingers of his attacker touch the side of his neck. Suddenly his lungs filled with air, and he could breathe again. Grasping the arm of his chair, he pulled himself back into an upright position. Gasping, he glanced around the room: four of his men were on the floor, writhing with pain, and the other seven were either doubled over clutching their stomachs or, like the first soldier, trying to pull free of the instrument that pinned them to the wall.
'Verily I can see you could have escaped,' muttered a raspy Mergin. 'Why are you still here?'
'As I said, my people need your help.'
'How did you dispatch my guards?
'I took down seven of them with the tableware in front of me. The other four have Date pits in their eyes.'
'Dates,' repeated an incredulous Mergin. 'You took down four of my best guards with Date pits?'
'If these are your best, I hesitate to see the support troops,' replied Ichiro wryly. 'But yes, Dates, Lord. Each of them has a Date pit in the eye, a pit they cannot remove without help. Before you react, Lord, no, they are not blinded—one of your healers can remove the pits and restore their sight, but it will take a few weeks of unguents and an eye patch before they are ready to resume their duties. Surely such skills as these have a value to you and your King.'
'In exchange for our protection, what do you offer us?' asked Mergin
'I and some of my kinsman will teach a select group of your men the rudiments of our skills. Who knows? After fifteen to twenty years of intense training, some of them might actually become worth regarding.'
Thus they had struck their bargain: the tribesmen of Hagar would be allies of Eldora, training a select group of soldiers as phenomenal warriors in exchange for foodstuffs, cessation of hostilities, medicines, and trade.
Mergin asked, 'Why, with your superior skills, have you not simply eliminated the nomads yourselves?'
Ichiro answered, 'In all, we comprise barely six hundred people. The nomads have ten times our number. In open warfare, while we are unmatched as warriors, we cannot deflect or dodge all arrows and spears sent our way. When enough men attack us at a given point, even we cannot stand against great numbers. Therefore, if soldiers of Eldora can protect the borders of our small land, we can honor our commitments.'
From that day forward, the legend of the Hagarian tribesmen had spread, and a full cavalry army of twenty Faris of Kozak protected the tribesman from the marauding nomads.
#
After Mergin's departure, Alfrahil turned back to his father. The shock and weariness he had noticed earlier were gone, replaced by signs of white-hot rage. Placing a restraining hand on his father's arm, Alfrahil said, 'Father, try to put aside your anger for a moment. These events could be a harbinger of worse to come. We may have only seen the length, to which these assassins can reach, not the depths to which they can descend. Nor do we know why these events transpired now. Mergin has his methods, I know, yet it seems to me that these mysteries will not be quickly or easily unraveled.'
'They tried to take your life! What could they hope to gain?'
'The obvious answer, Father, is that they would hope to have my brother in line for the throne instead of me. Or perhaps Frederic, Prince of Amadeus, if something was to befall Daerahil.'
'Your brother is rash and bold, but until today I placed no more credence than you in the rumors that he had designs on the throne,' said the King. 'If there is any truth to what Mergin's reported, then he has much to answer for. You and he disagree on many things, and while someday you will be King, I know that you do not desire the Kingship as Daerahil does. However, until today I believed that he would no more seek out your death than he would mine. In that, I thought I knew my son, but now I shall have to speak with him about these matters, perhaps even put him to the Question. His prior acts of defiance and sedition, flagrant disregard of me and my policies, along with his statements of today, will lead to a severe outcome this time, regardless of his actual participation in these most dire events.'
'I do love my brother and have no desire to think ill of him,' answered Alfrahil. 'Please, Father, presume that Daerahil is innocent until you have spoken with him. Decisiveness is one of your strengths, yet it has failed you on occasion.'
Frowning slightly, Creon replied, 'Do not presume to lecture me, my son, regarding me or your brother, but I promise he will be treated as fairly as he deserves. There will be no special treatment for him. He will be treated as any other citizen of Eldora would be in similar circumstances.'
Alfrahil tried another tack. 'Frederic is the real benefactor if all of us were to be killed, Father. Perhaps that was what today was supposed to start.'
'Maybe,' mused Creon, 'and perhaps the real result that they want is for the Kingdom to be thrown into chaos, for if our family and your cousin Frederic were killed, that would leave Paladir as the rightful King. Paladir has never been popular, and I can see men of wealth and power rallying to the cause of one of your younger cousins, or even Frederic's son. Regardless, we cannot find out until we have more information. Let us go now, son, to our apartments above, for we might as well sleep in comfort and peace one more night before we see whither this evil and twisted path leads us.'
Departing the inner room, Creon strode through his guards proudly toward a small stone spiral staircase that Alfrahil had not noticed on entering into the tower and, turning, saw that Alfrahil had paused.
'Forgive me, Father, but I would like to sit here with the men for a moment and share a glass of ale,' said Alfrahil.
Murmuring and appreciative looks stole across the faces of these men as Alfrahil took a seat among them.
'You are welcome to join us, Father, in a glass.' Sensing the appealing looks amongst his men, Alfrahil hoped that just this once his father's infamous regard for court protocol would stand aside and allow him to sit among his men.
Creon's eyes flickered as if he were about to rebuke his son, but some inner voice told him, 'Not today, for their sacrifices have been great, and they alone are responsible for the safety of both myself and my so
n.' Aloud he said, 'Nay, my son. I will retire to my chambers, and you may call upon me if you need me.' Turning to go, he paused and turned back to speak with the beginning of a scowl on his face. 'Ale, my son, did you say that you were drinking ale with these men? Are they not on duty?'
'Yes, Father,' said Alfrahil, quailing inwardly, 'they are drinking ale, and I will drink a glass with them. Of course, those on duty will abstain.'
'Ale,' muttered the King. 'No, I don't think that will do.'
Summoning his chief courtier, he looked as if he were about to have the ale confiscated from his men. Then, after a brief conversation, Creon said, 'It is not ale that the men who saved my son today should be drinking, but wine from the fields of Chilton. I have ordered a small barrel to be brought here. Please accept this as a token of my thanks, for while you men of the Citadel did nothing that was not your duty, I am grateful nonetheless.'
As an astonished cheer rang out, the King held up his hands for silence and said, with a wintry smile upon his face, 'Enjoy the wine, men, and let my son tell you his tale, but try to keep the noise low so that an old man can have his rest.'
'The cunning old fox,' thought Alfrahil. 'This tale will spread like wildfire, and the King will be more revered than ever by tomorrow.'
Turning to the guards, Alfrahil told a carefully edited tale, focusing on the bravery of his guardsmen and their individual accomplishments. By the time he reached the last ambush, Alfrahil's voice began to shake as the fear that he had kept at bay all evening began to overwhelm him. He felt a black silent wave of despair and grief, begin to overtake him. Silently it came, as if he were trapped in a nightmare without end building higher and higher. Shrieks broke his internal silence, the screams of men and horses and the overwhelming odor of burning flesh. His glass suddenly fell from his hand, shattering upon the floor.
Startled out of his waking nightmare, Alfrahil glanced around him and, instead of scorn for his feelings, saw only pity and compassion. Alfrahil felt a hand on his shoulder and saw one of the oldest veteran servers standing next to him. Alfrahil looked up into the grizzled countenance of a man who looked old enough to be his grandsire.
