CHAPTER TEN: CONQUEST
CHAPTER ELEVEN: FULL CIRCLE
CHAPTER TWELVE: BATTLE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: LAST PLAY
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: PARTING WAYS
Chapter One:
Passage
“We cannot just bed down here surely,” came a grumble from a mixture of voices.
Captain Brodst’s cold, dark eyes glared back. No further grumblings were made, yet there was truth to be found in those words. All their gear was soaked. Three men had worked furiously for many long minutes to ignite damp kindling and get a small fire started. The meager fire that warmed young Princess Adrina would not last long, and what would they do afterward?
They could not bed down here. The road was narrow and the mire was on both sides of them. Besides, a night in the dampness of the mire and they would all catch their death of cold.
Captain Brodst had planned to continue the march for a few hours past sunset and reach Fraddylwicke Castle, but it was already night and the castle was still a half day’s march away. Ahead there was a place where hillocks rose out of the mire. Surely there they should have better luck starting a base fire from which they could light the many fires needed for the camp. But that still wouldn’t solve their problems, for he knew those shallow hills, there it would be nearly as cold and as damp as if they had bedded down right where they were. No, Adrina needed to sleep in a bed beside a roaring fire, his men needed a place to dry wet clothes and wet gear. Fraddylwicke Castle and its commons was the only place where they’d find both.
He looked to Adrina then turned to one of his sub-commanders.
“Captain Adylton, command of the foot is yours. I want you to keep the men in good spirits and reach the castle as soon as possible. There’ll be hot food and fires waiting if I have to rouse every innkeeper’s cook within a mile of the castle.”
He turned to his second in command. “Captain Trendmore, muster the horse, we ride for Fraddylwicke Castle.”
As the long file quickly regained formation, torches fanned out and faded into the dismal fog. Adrina seemed to be still dazed. She kept repeating, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” as Captain Brodst picked her up in his arms and carried her to his horse.
A guardsman momentarily held Adrina while the captain mounted, then Captain Brodst took her gently into his arms. While holding reins in one hand, he held her tightly with the opposite arm. He joined the middle of the horse column, Captain Trendmore fell in beside him.
Despite dense fog, he urged the group to maintain a fast pace. They were in a race against time and bone-chilling dampness. The ridesmen feared the captain’s wrath, and none offered further complaints. Their thoughts and concerns were also with the young Princess Adrina. She was royalty and thus revered. There were none among the simple men who would not have given his life for hers.
The night air grew steadily colder as the mire seemed to drink in the last remnants of reassuring heat. When mixed with the damp, the chill reached through thick clothing. An uncanny sense of dread hung in the air and Father Jacob wasn’t the only one who could feel it now. Soon all longed to reach a place where a hearty fire could be raised and the unchanging darkness of the mire left far behind.
With the changing of temperature toward freezing came a slow, subtle end to the fog. Gradually it faded into small patches of outlying mists and as the night drew on the captain increased the pace accordingly. Oddly, though, a relieved sigh did not pass throughout until much later.
A short distance ahead lurked a series of interconnecting low hills and upon reaching them the captain stopped the group to release the stress from the intense pace. This gave the horses a short break for feed and water, and riders time to stretch sore muscles. Also, Captain Brodst wanted Father Jacob to check Adrina’s condition to ensure it had not worsened.
While the good father checked on Adrina, Captain Brodst momentarily stretched tired muscles. He gazed back across the mire they had traversed and into the darkness that surrounded them. He tried to convince himself that Adrina’s accident had not changed his plans. His hope was to reach the castle commons in an hour, two at the most. Once inside the castle, Princess Adrina would be safe, and there she would stay. In a few days, when she was well enough to travel, she would continue on to Klaive. He, however, could not afford to waste precious days waiting for a recovery only Father Jacob could ensure. Five days, he told himself. Five days to reach Alderan.
Captain Trendmore, who had been checking on the men, returned. “It would seem our plans have changed,” he said.
Captain Brodst shook his head, at times it seemed as if Captain Trendmore could read minds. “No, nothing has changed.” He wasn’t in the mood for a conversation, so he spoke tersely.
“With Princess Adrina in such a state—”
“—You are forgetting one thing, we haven’t even reached Fraddylwicke Castle yet. For now, I will change no plans.”
“The Prince’s party will not leave Quashan’ until the Seventhday, that gives us a week to reach our destination. A day’s rest will be good for everyone.”
“Less than a week. At the rate we are traveling, we are already a day or more behind schedule. We will obtain as many fresh mounts as we can and continue south in the morning as planned, unless I decide otherwise.”
“Surely you do not intend to leave the Princess and continue on.”
Captain Brodst turned away, ending the conversation.
Father Jacob finished his examination of Adrina. He told Captain Brodst her condition had not worsened. After more blankets were wrapped around her, Captain Brodst gave the order to prepare for movement.
Before Father Jacob went to his mount, he told Captain Brodst, “Try not to jostle her so. I know you wish to move swiftly, but you must exercise caution. I do not know what bones she may have broken.”
“Thank you, Father Jacob, I will try to remember that.”
Captain Brodst waited until Jacob was in the saddle then called out, “The princess’ condition has not worsened. There is still hope, but we must move swiftly. Pray to Great-Father, all!”
With renewed vigor after the short reprieve and the captain’s enthusiastic words, the riders began anew. The ground did not level off immediately after the last of the hills were left behind. Instead it seemed to slope gradually downward, its base enveloped in a bank of swirling mists.
Captain Brodst passed a warning along to the riders at the fore. “Watch the trail before you carefully!”
With great reservation and careful hesitation, they entered the gray veil of dense fog a second time. He hoped it would last only until they crossed the shallow point at the bottom of the long downgrade. For an instant he turned his eyes to look down upon Adrina to make sure his heavy woolen cloak was still pulled tightly around her.
“Soon,” he said, “soon, we will stop. Rest, princess, rest.”
Suddenly, the crying whinnies of a frightened mare broke the air followed by the frantic yelling of the lead rider as he jerked harshly on his mount’s reins. “Captain Brodst, captain! Quickly!” the rider shouted.
The others behind him came to a similarly abrupt halt. Captain Brodst urged his mount faster and raced to the front of the group. He was amazed at what he saw as he approached the first rider. Ahead in the distance he could see nothing but water and loose patches of dense fog. The road was gone, apparently washed away. His fears rang true.
A voice reached out into the darkness seeming to stir even the hidden creatures of the mire. “Bring up torches!” Captain Brodst cried out. “Hurry, you louts!”
A large gaggle of men stormed toward the captain. They raised their fiery brands high into the air. The only response to this was a scattered reflection off the water, a dingy yellow mirror of dull orange torch flames.
“It is only an illusion of the fog. The road is washed out at the bottom of the trail nothing more. You there, and you, move out!” He ordered.
Those he pointed to shrank back and his scowl deepened.
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“Mount and ride out into the water,” he ordered again, this time he pointed to two palace guardsmen and made sure he had eye contact with them. “The trail must be there. Find it and be quick about it!”
The chosen two entered the dreadful darkness of the lurking waters with reverent care. Movements of their horses were slow and sluggish as the animals fought for every step through the sticky goo of the mire.
They passed through layer upon layer of swirling gray. It seemed dark waters stretched on endlessly before them with no hope of an end. Their mounts began to sink deeper into the muck with each step. Soon the animals, having better sense than the riders, refused to move further without constant coaxing and even then, they became disquieted and whinnied their disapproval.
The chosen two respected the keen sense of their mounts. When the yearning for a retreat out of the gloom became stronger than the urge to continue, they came to a frustrated halt.
They puzzled for a moment over possible solutions, then attempted to maneuver in different directions but to no avail. Their mounts only got more bogged down. Soon they would not be able to escape the mire’s yearning grasp. And if strong beasts could not break free neither could simple men. The road simply was not there.
“Cap-tain… Cap-tain Brodst,” screamed one of the men. “Sir, there is only water ahead. We are sinking into the mire… We cannot continue.”
“You must continue. We must reach the castle… There is a path, find it!”
“But Captain,” said the other rider, “we cannot go any farther. We will be lost.”
“You must try, there is hope. Do not give up so soon. Push forward!”
The two bravely forced their mounts into movement. With each step the animals sank deeper and deeper into the mud. Soon cold waters lapped at the riders’ boots and then there was no retreat backwards or forwards. They were completely stuck.
Kicked, swatted and cursed at, the horses felt the frustration of their riders and it caused them to panic. The scene quickly turned to turmoil, with neither rider retaining a clear mind capable of rational thought. Desperation fed their frenzied movements and their crazed thoughts.
Panic-stricken screams reached those waiting behind and created an alarm. No one knew what caused such desperation. Had something as black and as grim as the mire found the unsuspecting two? Was it waiting for them all out there in the swirling gray mists?
Captain Brodst called out, “What has happened? Do you need our assistance?”
He paused for a moment waiting for a response. The shouts continued unabated. He quickly dispatched two additional riders to tread into the murky waters and assist the others. They did as ordered, but with great reservation.
“Try to remain calm,” shouted Keeper Martin—he sensed the cause of the panic. “Aid is coming to you.”
Captain Brodst nodded in agreement as he also realized what had occurred. He began passing out orders. He told the riders to wait, ordered several squads to come forward and passed the princess into safe hands.
“Ropes,” Captain Brodst shouted, “Ropes!”
He untied a rope from around his saddlebag and, after he secured it, threw the coil to the closest rider. “Tie it to your length.”
Then he turned to one of his sub-commanders. “Captain Ghenson, throw your rope to the other rider!”
Captain Brodst continued to pass out orders, his mind quick and calculating under pressure.
“I need two more lengths of rope,” he said.
Another man handed two ropes to Father Jacob, which he in turn gave to Captain Ghenson and Captain Brodst to add to their lines for additional distance.
When all was ready, he turned back to the two riders who were awaiting his orders. “Take up the slack, move with caution. When you reach them, toss each a line and tell them to tie it off securely. I pray we can provide them the extra strength necessary to return safely. When you are ready, yell loudly. We will begin to pull on a three count…”
One of the trapped guardsmen had lost his torch in the frenzy. The other’s had expired and now only darkness remained to add to the worries of their already troubled minds. Slight shifts in the air around them caused their minds to flee in all directions. What could be out there lurking around them unseen and unknown?
Alone and isolated, they searched for any sign or source of light to pierce the blackness. A barely audible splashing, slurping noise crept into range of their listening ears. One of the guards drew his blade and, after a brief moment, the other did the same. In the stillness of their surroundings, the sound seemed to grow in intensity until it became an unnerving clamor.
Two tiny points of light pierced the darkness as a glowing pair of spheres—eyes to the beholders—that grew in intensity with each passing moment. A shrill voice cried out and without heed to the message the trapped two prepared for the end, for they knew it came.
The voice cried out again. “Where are you? Say something, are you there?”
A moment of realization passed between both men. “Over here, over here! Here we are!” they cried.
The rescuers homed in on the direction of the voices. They saw only darkness and proceeded cautiously. The endless spans of the darkened mire pulled and played upon them, and took them deep into its folds. Soon they too could barely coax their mounts through the muck.
“We cannot reach you!” shouted one of the approaching riders.
His frantic partner screamed, “Where are you? We are sinking!”
Panic spread also to their thoughts. They didn’t want to be stuck like the others. They had to escape before the mire swallowed them like it surely would the other two. After they had ensured their own ropes were properly secured they began to shout wildly. Several sharp tugs at the lines caused those waiting to quickly pull them back in.
Not entirely pleased with the performance of the two before him who he now considered cowards, and nearing the end of his patience, Captain Brodst began a thorough chastising. His anger forced him to become irrational. Sword withdrawn, mount turned, eyes glaring, he stared down the first, while he waited for the second to emerge fully from the darkness.
With his free hand, he motioned for them to dismount and step forward. They did so reluctantly.
In a series of lightening swift slashes, he lashed out with his blade, and cropped the lapels from their shoulders. The guardsmen had not flinched at the sight of the captain’s blade, yet they had felt its wrath as if it had pierced their hearts.
Pity entered the thoughts of the onlookers, for they all understood the sign and knew it could have just as easily been their own fate. Even Keeper Martin, who was not an initiate, understood the unspoken meaning of the captain’s gesture. The two were no longer members of the elite palace guard.
Stripped of the privileges of their rank and all its entitlements, the two nearly wept as they withdrew. Failure was not an easy notion for Captain Brodst to swallow. He had no regrets for his actions.
“Give me a torch!” He yelled, his voice boomed. “Tie these ropes off and prepare for my signal… Father Jacob, keep Princess Adrina warm. We are going to get her to the castle if it requires my last breath to do it… Keeper Martin, can I have your long walking stick?”
He took the keeper’s walking stick, then mounted. “Hold on, keep talking so I can maintain a bearing on you,” he yelled out.
He drove his stallion onward in the direction of the screaming voices.
“Where are your torches?”
“One is lost and the other is burnt out.”
“If you have some flint lay a spark to it. It may yet burn.”
Even in the fog, he saw the light the tiny sparks afforded as they were struck and knew he was close. Progress was becoming arduous now and he had a difficult time persuading his mount to move ahead, but he did not retreat like the others. Inch by inch, his mount crept closer to the trapped riders.
“Find a dried cloth in your bags. Anything dry. Tie it to the top of the torch. Then lay a spar
k to it!”
He waited for a response. A shout of hooray erupted from the two as they managed to light the torch at long last and confidence began to replace their unease.
He now had a beacon to follow toward the two. He changed his harshness to gentleness, and soothed his horse while he urged it to trudge through murky waters. The stallion, responding to his master’s faith, pushed onward using its powerful legs to advance slowly and methodically.
He readied the rope as he approached. An ecstatic cheer erupted from the hapless two as the first line was caught in yearning hands.
He untied the rope from his saddle horn and tugged the line sharply three times to signal those waiting to start pulling. The slack was quickly taken up as the rope went taunt, the initial strain audible in the air as a loud twang that continued as a stretching noise caused from the heavy tension in the line.
Complete Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches Page 20
