by J. W. Webb
“Well?” Queen Ariane glanced around at the faces watching her. “Someone help us. What about you merchants? You’re always on the roads.” She hinted to a small group of wealthy looking individuals clustered to the right of the main party.
I’ve been close, Your Highness.” Ariane recognized the speaker as Porric of Port Wind, a city on the coast.
“And saw what?”
Porric muttered a reply.
“We cannot hear you sir!” Ariane snapped.
“I said, it’s a dangerous place, Your Highness. Unsettling—even when you see the line of trees only in the distance as we did. Beautiful but sinister. Creepy—that’s how I felt about it and my men were edgy too. We stopped at a nearby village. The inn’s keeper hinted the forest was once the province of the Faen. The Oracle is rumored to lie deep in its midst. That’s all I know.”
“You have our thanks, Porric. So there it is—the Forest of Dreams.” Ariane twisted in her throne’s velvet-padded seat. “Back to my dreams. My visions changed again, I saw the Tekara shatter. At that point I woke because someone interrupted me.” Roman had gone a bit red, the Queen’s cold glare having fallen on him again. Kelwyn’s champion shifted his feet and scratched an ear. She was feisty, this Queen—just like her father had been. Despite that, she needed looking after and he determined to do so.
“Three warning dreams—each one more or less the same,” Ariane said. “Our realm is in peril, is it not, Dazaleon.”
“It is, Your Highness. Direst peril. Your champion’s suspicions are correct, I fear. Caswallon is to blame. I believe he has total power in Kelthaine. A usurper—clever and conniving. With the Tekara shattered, evil will take hold in the Four Kingdoms again. And Caswallon carries darkness with him. I have long mistrusted Kelsalion’s favorite councilor. Caswallon is a twisted man. Worse by far, he is a sorcerer.
“The meaning of the Dreaming is clear enough,” Dazaleon’s voice rose as he addressed all those present. “Queen Ariane must needs ride north, attend the Goddess’s Oracle, and gain council on what to do next.” “Forgive me, my lord—but that’s total crap.” Roman strode forward.
“Roman, the court will hear your thoughts,” said Ariane, attempting to exert at least a semblance of control over her champion. “Please keep your tone respectful.”
Roman wasn’t having any of this witchy nonsense, however. “If Caswallon is our enemy, then what we need are swords and strong arms, not dream quests and portents.” And the last thing Kelwyn’s citizens needed was their beloved young Queen faring out on some wild caper deep within what was now enemy country. That part he kept to himself.
Dazaleon summoned patience. Roman Parrantios was beloved by all. He was steadfast and formidable, Kelwyn’s greatest warrior. But sometimes he was hard work, even for a priest.
“The Goddess has spoken, Roman—her words are clear. Besides, Caswallon is a sorcerer, and you cannot defeat sorcery with swords. We need knowledge on how to defeat him. We also need to discover what happened to Prince Tarin.”
“Hopefully Caswallon slit his throat,” muttered Roman.
Dazaleon ignored that last comment. “Our contacts in Kella City sent word that the Prince fled after his treasonous act. No doubt Caswallon will hunt him down.”
“So…?” Roman wasn’t backing down. “Why should we care?”
“Because he shares my blood, Roman!” Ariane snapped. “The Prince may be a damned fool, but he is not wicked. I would help him if I can.”
“And we need to know what happened to the shards,” added Dazaleon.
“But why seek out yonder wood, spooks or not?” This came from a fair-haired noble with a lazy smile. He was easy on the eye and had a soft arrogance often shared by those blessed by good fortune and leisure. He’d just emerged from tasting wine at the far tables, where he’d been listening half-heartedly to all that was said. The newcomer was dressed in cool lapis lazuli and looked politely bored. He stood beside Roman, who glanced briefly in the newcomer’s direction and grunted a welcome.
“I wondered when you would show up.” The braided officer glared across at the other man. “Surprised you’re not at the taverns already, Tamersane.”
The blonde noble shrugged. “We cannot all be as assiduous in our duties as you, brother. But pray, what of my question, dearest cuz? Sorry I mean, Your Highness.”
Ariane took a deep breath. Roman, Tolranna, and now Tamersane, his younger brother. Trouble piled on trouble. She ought to have them flogged. Trouble was she liked them too much.
Yail Tolranna and his brother, Tamersane, were both highly accomplished swordsmen. Whilst Tolranna was moody, tough, and blunt, Tamersane owned to a fondness of poetry and song. And attractive women. His idle charm and easy tongue were feared by husbands at court far more than his sword. The other thing about Tamersane—he was beyond disrespectful. Despite that, his sword play was second only to Roman’s and his loyalty to his royal cousin, assured. “Isn’t the answer to it obvious?” responded Dazaleon when Ariane refused to answer Tamersane.
Tamersane raised a lazy brow whilst Dazaleon explained further. “If our Queen dreams of the Oracle, it means she is needed there. Elanion’s power is strongest in that forest. There we can reach her directly—nowhere else in the Four Kingdoms. And whatever knowledge she imparts will be crucial in the forthcoming war.”
“War?” Ariane asked of her High Priest as the rest of the court drew a collective breath. “Is our outlook so bleak, Dazaleon?”
“I believe so, Highness. Caswallon may be clever, but his objective is transparent. That one wants to rule over all Four Kingdoms. He’ll break any rebellion in Kelthaine, smash little Morwella, and then turn on us, and finally Raleen. Aided by his sorcery and with the lands no longer protected by the Tekara, what chance do we have?”
“Then I’ll lead a host forward comprising two hundred cavalry,” urged Yail Tolranna. “We’ll escort Your Highness up there.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, brother.” Tamersane’s gaze was on the nearest arched window spilling sunlight in from the courtyard outside. Fine autumn day. Shame he was missing it. “The smaller the number, the safer she’ll be.”
“Your brother’s right in this, Yail.” Dazaleon stared hard at the two brothers fidgeting either side of Roman. One dark, one fair. Both shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, but Tamersane couldn’t help looking just a little smug.
“A host would only draw Caswallon’s attention,” Dazaleon said. “We need stealth not armored horse, not yet anyway. Disguised as Elanion’s priests, a small party, including Your Highness, could perchance reach northern Kelthaine without detection. It’s risky, however.”
“But necessary.” Ariane had made her mind up. Stewing in court would achieve nothing. “I’ll brook no argument,” she said. And then, raising her voice so that none could mistake her words, the Queen announced: “Elanion has spoken to me, and my duty is clear. I will ride north to this forest.” Ariane’s dark gaze then fell on her High Priest. “Do you agree, my lord?” Dazaleon nodded. “I believe it to be our best option, Highness, however dire. But there is some heartening news. We have allies.”
“I don’t see them. Are they invisible?” Roman ferociously opposed this proposition. His beard bristled and his face grew redder.
“Let me explain,” said Ariane. “Under Dazaleon’s wise council, we reached out to sympathizers. For months we’ve been watching Caswallon sharpen his claws up north. Others have, too.”
“We formed a secret league,” explained Dazaleon. “We communicate only by coded messages sent via birds. Among our confederates are General Belmarius of the Bears regiment; Halfdan of Point Keep, former general of the Wolves regiment and brother of Kelthaine’s late King; and down in Port Sarfe, a certain merchant called Silon. This last contact has proved invaluable. Silon has promised us a guide to lead our Queen to the Oracle. The man is rumored to be coarse and ill-bred but apparently trustworthy and useful with a blade.”
Ariane studied her cour
t. If only her father were here. King Nogel would have known what to do. She remembered as a child how he had single-handedly killed two armed would-be murderers with his bare fists whilst she, her mother, and the King walked the leafy streets of Wynais. Not for King Nogel a cavalcade or palanquin. Kelwyn’s rulers loved their people and mixed with them whenever they could. The assassins were traced back to Kelthaine. Ariane suspected they’d been in Caswallon’s pay. Even back then, Caswallon was on the rise, and he had no love for her father, Nogel having seen clean through the knave, unlike the High King, who doted on Caswallon’s every word.
Father, what would you have done?
Ariane saw how Roman’s face was still red with emotion. Her champion was clearly not happy, and she didn’t blame him. Yail Tolranna looked hungry—eager to be part of the quest. Tamersane looked thoughtful whilst others watching looked worried and confused.
“Enough for now.” Ariane stood and her court bowed obeisance. “We need a little time to cogitate and plan. I will hold a second council this evening when my mind is clearer. Only my closest advisers need attend. You few I would have return in three hours, the rest of you enjoy the evening.” Ariane bid her court depart with a dismissive wave.
At her word those in the courtroom departed briskly amid chatter—all save Dazaleon and Roman, whilst Tolranna hovered with the guards at the doorway, Tamersane having already departed for the taverns at speed. Ariane turned toward her High Priest.
“Can this Silon really be trusted, do you think?”
“I don’t know, Highness, but we don’t have a choice but to trust him. Certainly he’s no friend to Caswallon, who will most likely impose trade-strangling tariffs. Silon’s artful and has many contacts. He’s been around a long time, and like us, he fears the usurper’s ambitions. We need cunning allies like him, not just armies with steel.”
“Armies would be better,” growled Roman.
Ariane stared at them both and then turned away. After a moment she spoke, her gaze still on the courtyard outside.
“Summon them back, Roman.”
“You said three hours, Highness.”
“I know what I said.”
“But—”
“My mind is set, Roman. We ride north today. Three shall accompany me, yourself included. We leave before dusk, so I suggest you tell the others and get ready.”
“First I need to know who they are.” Roman was looking worried.
When the Queen told him, Roman’s concerns worsened. He kept his tongue, however, just stomped moody out of the throne room. Dazaleon, watching the champion depart, raised a quizzical brow.
“Strange choice, Your Highness.”
“Strange times, Dazaleon.” Ariane smiled briefly up at him and then reclaimed her seat on the throne. Father, what would you have done?
***
It was actually quite dark by the time they left Wynais, a quiet party of riders garbed in priestly green. Few heeded their passing.
They rode north, deep into the night, finally taking shelter in a small wood beside the rocky stream marking the boundary between the Queen’s land and Kelthaine. Roman insisted they take stag despite small risk of danger this close to home. Ariane complied, and the champion took first watch. Soon the other two men were snoring hard beneath their blankets.
But Ariane couldn’t sleep. She was restless and edgy, her mind racing about her decision and this trip. She opened her eyes. It was hopeless—she was wide awake.
On a whim, she rolled free of her blanket and sat hunched and bleary over the fire. Roman turned, raised a brow.
“Get some sleep, old friend, I’m wide awake.”
“But my Queen, the watch is a soldier’s task.”
“A soldier is what you trained me to be, Roman,” the young Queen smiled at her champion, and he shrugged. “We are a team now, each of us must contribute. I am no exception. Besides, I really cannot sleep so you might as well turn in. I’ve no doubt we’ll need your strength and council the next few days.”
Roman smiled. “You have your father’s mettle, my Queen.”
“I hope so.”
“Do not doubt it. I see him in you all the time. But thank you. Yes, I am weary, so I shall happily retire. Don’t forget to wake that lout Tamersane. You know what he’s like, and I don’t want you on watch all night.”
“I’ll wake him.” Ariane waved Roman lie down. “Go get some shut eye.”
Time passed, the fire guttered. Ariane sat hunched and dreamy. Close by, Roman’s snores eclipsed the other two’s. Ariane was not sure how late it was. Perhaps she should wake Tamersane, but what was the point? She knew she wouldn’t sleep tonight.
She felt rather than heard a noise in the bush behind her. Close by, the horses shuffled and clustered as though disturbed. By whom? Ariane turned, glimpsed his shadow standing there beneath the waxing moon.
King Nogel, her father.
He stood thin as smoke and pale as mist, his sad dead eyes watching her from beneath the trees.
Father!
The King turned his back on her and faded into the night.
“Father!” Ariane found her feet and noisily approached the place where he had been. She saw him again watching her from the edge of the forest.
“What would you have me do?” Ariane called after him.
“Hold to courage, little one,” King Nogel’s voice was dry leaves on a windswept path. “You ride into danger, a peril far greater than I ever faced.”
“Caswallon?”
“He is part of it but only part. From where I stand now, I can see the bigger picture. But it is bleak, my love, so bleak.”
“What can I do?”
“Follow your heart. You have your mother’s intuition and my…strength. But you’re smarter than I. Trust only those your heart allows. Seek out the Goddess, but be prepared. This is only the start. And be careful who you love.”
“Love?”
The pale shape of her father turned away. She could see clear through him. Love? He was fading fast, barely a wisp of drifting fret as light paled the fields beyond the wood. Night was nearly over.
Ariane called out one last time. “Why did you leave me, father? You were so strong. I-“
“I was murdered, child.”
“Caswallon.” Ariane bit her lip, tasting the blood in her mouth.
“He and his accomplices, among them one we trusted.”
Ariane’s pale face whitened. “A Kelwynian? A traitor? Who?”
But King Nogel no longer stood there. Instead the morning’s breeze put paid to the fire’s last breath, and behind her she heard her men mutter and groan as they woke beneath their blankets.
Tamersane approached her with a sheepish grin.
“I must have slept through, cuz. Have you been up all night? You look awful, like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”
Ariane glared at Tamersane. “You, my dear cousin, can take the first two watches tonight.” She turned to where the others were stirring. “Galed, get breakfast underway. While you’ve been sleeping I’ve been thinking. Ten minutes gentlemen. Then we’re on our way.” Throughout that morning, Ariane stayed quiet. The Queen was clearly troubled. But the men all knew her well, so they let her be. Besides, they were in enemy country, and the fewer words said the better.
***
That night, whilst Queen Ariane of Kelwyn and her aids rode north, Caswallon’s spy sent urgent word up to Kella City. He had the perfect guise to travel freely in Wynais, being robed in green as one of Elanion’s sacred priests. He smiled. Both his masters would be pleased, and he stood to gain much.
When he returned to his quarters, a letter awaited him. Caswallon’s spy recognized the hand and paled slightly. A summoning—his other master.
Ten minutes later, shaky and worried, he tapped the door on the officer’s chamber.
“Enter.”
He complied and stood silent as the dark-eyed officer watched him from behind his desk—a nobleman, handsome and intelligen
t, and very dangerous.
“You sent word?” The noble asked him.
“I did, my lord—three birds.”
The officer sighed. “It’s regrettable. There are few who love our Queen like I do, but we must think of the realm. Ariane is reckless and naïve. Caswallon is invincible. He will rule all Four Kingdoms sooner or later, war or no war. So it’s in our interest to court his affections. What we do is for the best, hard though it surely is. The letter I sent you bears my seal. Caswallon will reward you well.”
“I’m to go to Kella?”
“Yes. One cannot rely on pigeons alone.”
“But, my lord—”
“Report back on your return.” The officer looked up sharply. “Well? Away with you, man! No time to waste!”
The man in the priest’s garb nodded and left the highborn officer to his thoughts. As he gained the stairs, he had the nasty feeling he had been played. The sorcerer in Kella was not known for his equanimity.
Meanwhile the young noble returned to his papers. It was a difficult business. He loved his Queen and had respected her father. But he knew how the world worked. Sink or swim—the only choice. Ariane’s devout passion would destroy Kelwyn, whereas were he to rule (as he could so easily with Caswallon’s blessings) the country would surely prosper.
Caswallon would probably kill the spy, but that didn’t matter—he would send other birds tomorrow.
Chapter 3: The Last Ship
Corin loosened Clouter’s harness and sloped the long blade across his left shoulder, allowing him to walk faster and avoid trapping the hilt on branches and twigs. His second blade, a sax—broad and nasty, one-edged and slightly curved toward the tip— hung at his left hip, adjacent to a heavy knife.
This one he called Biter—good for up-close work. Gut slicing and tripe spilling. The knife he hadn’t named: he hurled it at people who pissed him off. Corin knew he’d lose it one day, hence no name. He had smaller knives secreted in various compartments. You can never have too many sharp things in this world.
