by Jon Kiln
Arexos looked perplexed. “What do you mean sir? I thought you said that we were here on a trade mission?”
“We are, in a manner of speaking. Duke Harald has asked us to make some inquiries on his behalf while we are here. But it is not an official visit so we don’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves. We just need to pass through this border crossing without setting off any alarm bells.”
“But sir, you are dressed in the insignia of Castle Villeroy. It’s fairly obvious where you are from?” pointed out Arexos.
“I brought a change of clothes with me just for this purpose. It’s getting late anyway. There’s an inn ahead, we’ll spend the night there and then make our crossing into Vandemland in the morning.”
Henrickson and Arexos pushed their horses on to the nearby inn, ensuring that their horses had food and water before taking their rucksacks to their room. They found a table in the bar where they could eat their dinner.
“What can I get you gentlemen?” asked the innkeeper, approaching their table. “We have roast venison this evening which is lovely.”
“Roast venison sounds good,” nodded Henrickson. “And two beers please.” The beers arrived quickly and the food not long after.
The innkeeper noted Henrickson’s castle guard insignia that he was still wearing. “So what brings you from Castle Villeroy all the way out here?”
“Just part of our normal rounds,” reassured Henrickson. “All part of keeping the kingdom safe. Tell me, do you get many people passing through here from Vandemland?”
“Vandemland? No, no one comes from there.”
“But the border crossing is just a mile away,” insisted Henrickson. “Surely there must be a certain amount of traffic coming and going through there?”
“No, not at all,” said the innkeeper, shaking his head. “I can’t say with certainty that no one uses the border crossing, but I certainly don’t get any customers who have come from Vandemland and are on their way into Palara, and to be fair, I don’t get any customers who are heading from here into Vandemland. Why? Are you thinking of going?”
“No no,” laughed Henrickson. “Just curious I guess.” The innkeep wandered away to let them eat their meal.
“Isn’t it going to be difficult for us to pass through the border crossing incognito if they don’t actually get any other visitors from Palara?” asked Arexos, wiping up the gravy from his roast venison with a piece of dry bread.
“That is correct. We might need to rethink our approach here. The trouble is that there isn’t really any other way across the border - it’s such a narrow pass between the cliffs that it effectively forces you through the border crossing that they’ve built. To avoid it we would have to either travel west through the Berghein Valley and then make an attempt across the Schonbaker Ravine, or we would have to travel further north to the port of Brammanville, and take a boat from there that would land us somewhere along the coast of Vandemland.”
Arexos looked forlornly at his finished plate. “They don’t guard the coast?”
“Yes, they have look-outs and a patrol, but we would have more chance of evading those along the coast than we would of sneaking through a border crossing.” Henrickson pushed his plate away and drank the rest of his beer. “Let’s sleep on it for now and we can make a decision in the morning.”
***
The beds in their room at the inn were fairly small and uncomfortable, but Henrickson slept reasonably well. It had been several days of hard riding to get to the border with Vandemland, so it was good to be able to have a night of rest in a proper inn.
Henrickson woke to the smell of coffee.
“I brought you some breakfast,” said Arexos, as Henrickson slowly opened his eyes and remembered where they were.
“Well done Arexos, you look after me well.”
Arexos began pouring Henrickson a mug of coffee. “I’m not sure that the innkeeper was telling us the whole truth.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well I spoke with the stable boy this morning when I went down to check on the horses, and he said that there is some traffic between here and Vandemland.”
“Really? Why would the innkeeper lie to us?”
“Well, you were wearing your castle guard insignia last night. You probably scared him. The stable boy says that the traffic between here and Vandemland is done by Narcs. They are gangs of smugglers that operate in this area.”
“Smugglers? I hadn’t thought of that,” pondered Henrickson.
“What would they be smuggling, you think?”
“Jewels, most likely. Jewels and precious metals that come from the mines in Vandemland. They would get a good price for those and there would be plenty of buyers.”
“Maybe we could get them to smuggle us in?” suggested Arexos.
“They’re hardly going to agree to do that, are they?” laughed Henrickson. “As you’ve already pointed out, the Narcs aren’t going to be particularly welcoming to my castle guard’s uniform.”
“The stable boy has a contact. I said that you were a mercenary on a spy mission into Vandemland. He said that he would get a message to the Narcs and see if they were willing to transport us across the border.”
Henrickson spurted his coffee from his mouth in alarm. “You told a stable boy that I was here on a spy mission!”
“Stable boys don’t care about that kind of thing,” reassured Arexos. “Neither do Narcs. They just care about money.”
“So when do you think we’ll hear back from your well-connected stable-boy?”
“Shouldn’t take more than a day or two. I said we’d wait here until we heard from him.”
“You’re quite good at this spying game,” smiled Henrickson, admiring the resourcefulness of his young page. “You’d better go get some more coffee. Looks like we’re not going anywhere in a hurry.”
15
The mournful sound of a cawing raven somewhere outside the castle walls carried distinctly down into the dungeon of Castle Villeroy.
“Why does he still let us live?” asked King Ludwig, holding his head in his hands in despair.
“Because our daughter continues to elude him,” replied Queen Alissia, placing a comforting hand on the arm of her husband.
“She is just a child,” sighed King Ludwig. “What hope has she got against Harald and all the armies of the Kingdom?”
“She is not just a child,” corrected Queen Alissia with a smile. “Myriam is a resourceful young woman, and she is our daughter. We have taught her well. She was clever enough to avoid capture when Harald took control of the castle, cleverer than we were. I have every faith that she will find a way to stay beyond Harald’s reach.”
“But why not kill us first while he continues to search for Myriam?” King Ludwig wondered aloud.
“Perhaps I could answer that sire?” It was Lord Holstein, the father of Artas. Loyal supporters of the King, Lord Holstein and his wife Elisabeth had also been imprisoned by Harald. They occupied a cell next to the King and Queen. “If he were to kill you and Queen Alissia now he would still not be able to claim the throne because Princess Myriam would be the rightful heir. He would run the risk of alienating the people of Palara and strengthening support for Myriam. If he can capture Myriam and kill all three of you, then he is next in line to the thrown and he can claim the crown and be free to rule the Kingdom of Palara unopposed.”
“Precisely, Lord Holstein,” agreed Queen Alissia. “So the safety of our daughter is more important than ever for all of our sakes - and for the future of the kingdom.”
“I feel so helpless, locked up here in my own dungeon!” groaned King Ludwig. “I just wish that there was something that I could do to help her!”
“The Queen is right sire,” said Lord Holstein quietly. “Princess Myriam is a bright girl, I’ve no doubt that she is making her way to Castle Locke, to the family of the Queen. She may be there already, preparing an army to march against Harald, to liberate the Kingdom.”
>
“I have a feeling that she hasn’t quite made it to safety yet,” said the Queen softly. “The roads will all be watched closely, she will have to find another way. I have been dreaming of forests… and fire.”
“Fire?” asked King Ludwig. “Why fire? You haven’t mentioned fire to me before?”
“I know, I didn’t want to worry you. It was just last night, but I dreamed of fire, I dreamed of dragons.”
“There’s been no news of your son Artas?” asked the King, changing the subject.
“No,” replied Lord Holstein. “Again, I think that is a good thing. If he had been captured or killed I think we would know about it by now.”
“There is a chance that he is with Myriam,” suggested the Queen.
“Really?” Lord Holstein was surprised to hear this. “What makes you say that?”
“My dreams are never very clear,” sighed the Queen. “But I do have a strong sense that Myriam is not alone, that she is with friends who are helping to keep her safe. Artas shoots a bow, doesn’t he?”
“Why yes. He is a very good archer.”
“I feel then that they are together,” confirmed the Queen. “I feel that they are both safe.”
“Well, that gives me great comfort,” said Lord Holstein. “I am proud that he is able to be of service to Princess Myriam.”
“How old is your son Artas, now?” asked the King.
“He is now twenty years, sire.”
The King cocked his head. “No wife yet?”
“No, afraid not. I have suggested several suitable matches to him but he has declined every one. His passion seems to lie with his archery and his horse. Not that it matters much now I guess.”
“If he is able to help Myriam he will help save the kingdom. He will return home a hero and will be able to have his pick of the daughters of all the noble families!” declared the king.
“Perhaps he chooses not to marry?” suggested the Queen. “Like your brother Harald who has never shown the slightest interest in women.”
“That damn fool Harald,” spat the King furiously. “Betrayed by my own brother!”
16
“The light is fading, Ganry. How much further do you want to travel?” Artas was a skilled horseman, but riding in the dark with Myriam and Barnaby would not be wise.
“Yes, we should find shelter soon.” Ganry looked back from the direction they had come. “This track just seems to be taking us in circles through the forest though.”
“We’re still heading in a westerly direction.” Artas traced the arc of the sun with his hand. “But you’re right, this forest does seem to stretch for eternity. Have you not traveled this way before?”
“Normally I stick to the roads,” said Ganry with a wry smile. “But the forest does extend all the way to the border of the Kingdom of Palara, so it will at least provide us with cover until then.”
“They will come for us in the forest, wont they? They did last time. And now we have Barnaby with us we seem to be moving slower than ever.”
“Yes, you’re right Artas, but I can’t think of any alternative.”
“Have you been to the Castle Locke before? Do you know Myriam’s grandmother, the Duchess D’Anjue?”
“No, never. I’ve heard stories of her, but I’ve never had any business to be in the Berghein Valley. Have you?”
Artas shook his head. “No, but the stories I’ve heard intrigue me. She seems to be a resourceful woman by all accounts.”
“Where are you going with this?”
“What if we could get the Duchess to come to our aid?”
“To send forces across the border, into the Kingdom of Palara? Even if we could get a message to her, I can’t imagine she would provoke Duke Harald so blatantly. It would be the perfect excuse for him to launch an attack on Castle Locke, an outright hostile act!”
“Yes, but it is her granddaughter that she would be protecting, and her daughter too. Protecting them from a usurper who has stolen the throne,” insisted Artas.
“But would she be strong enough to withstand the might of Palara’s armies? To withstand the wrath of Harald?”
“Of that I’m not sure, and I don’t think Myriam has much insight into that either. What if I took the message to the Duchess?”
“You?” asked Ganry. “What, ride ahead, while I follow along behind with this motley lot? That leaves me too exposed. I could never protect them if the soldiers caught up with us or if we ran into any trouble.”
“Well, what if we sent Hendon?”
“That simple boy has no chance on his own,” dismissed Ganry. “He belongs in a cottage in the forest, not riding messages to Castle Locke. No, I think it’s best if we stay together and just keep moving as fast as we can. Look, there’s a clearing, let’s make camp here tonight.”
The group quickly got to work and secured the horses and built a fire. Artas went off with his bow to try and find something that could be cooked for dinner.
“I think I can hear a stream close by,” announced Hendon. “I’ll go and see if there are any fish.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Barnaby, and the two of them bustled off through the trees.
Ganry looked over at Myriam who was tending to the fire. “How are you holding up?”
Myriam appeared pensive. “Do you think we’re going to make it to Castle Locke?”
“I can’t promise you anything,” replied Ganry honestly. “I’m not even exactly sure where we are.”
“This forest does seem to be going on for ever.” Myriam pulled her cloak around herself as she studied the sturdy old trees that surrounded them on all sides. “If they follow our trail from Athaca it won’t take them long to catch up with us, they can’t be that far behind.”
“I know. Artas and I talked about him riding ahead to ask your grandmother for help, but it seems too risky.”
“I know that having Barnaby and Hendon with us slows us down,” said Myriam. “But I don’t know… there’s something about them both that tells me that we’re doing the right thing. Hendon is like a woodland spirit, and Barnaby is so old and wise that I can’t help thinking that perhaps he could cast a spell or two and keep us all safe.”
“Don’t let your imagination get away from you,” smiled Ganry. “Barnaby is a good storyteller, but that's probably all. Unfortunately I don’t think storytelling is going to be much help with keeping us safe from the long arm of Duke Harald.”
“I shot a pheasant!” announced Artas proudly, displaying the bird as he came back to the clearing.
“Just one?” asked Ganry. “Looks like it will be a light meal for us all tonight.”
“Well it’s better than none!” protested Artas, pulling out his knife and beginning to prepare the bird so that it could be roasted over the coals of the fire.
“Thank you for offering to ride ahead, Artas,” said Myriam, touching Artas lightly on the shoulder. “It is very brave of you, but I think Ganry’s right. I think it’s better if we stick together.”
Artas continued plucking the feathers of the bird. “When was the last time you saw your grandmother?”
“Not since I was a small child. She came to Castle Villeroy for my twelfth birthday. She told me that my twelfth birthday was an important one, that she had come to give me her blessing. I was scared of her I think, she seemed somehow distant and cold. I hope she remembers me. I hope that she will be willing to help me.”
Just then Hendon burst back into the clearing where they had set up camp.
“Quickly!” he gasped. “You have to come and see this!” Ganry, Artas, and Myriam followed Hendon back to where he had left Barnaby. “We came this way looking for a creek or river,” explained Hendon. “Barnaby said that he could feel water nearby. We found the creek and followed it down looking for a good spot to fish and then we began hearing this noise, like distant thunder, so we followed it further, and the noise got louder, and then suddenly, we found this!”
“That’s amazing!” ga
sped Myriam in astonishment as they stood at the top of the waterfall, looking down into the churning waters below.
“Look!” pointed Hendon. “There’s three different creeks, all feeding into these falls, from here it seems to form a fairly substantial river.”
“What river would that be then?” asked Artas.
“I’ve no idea!” admitted Myriam.
“It would have been helpful if your tutor had focused a bit more on geography lessons instead of romantic poetry,” said Ganry sarcastically.
“Which direction is the river flowing?” Artas crouched down to get close to the water. “Do you think it’s heading west? Maybe we could follow it as a way through the forest?”
“It’s getting too dark now to do anything about it anyway.” Ganry turned to walk back to their camp. “Catch some fish Hendon and let’s get some food in our bellies. We can think about how we tackle it in the morning.”
***
They had agreed to take it in turns to keep watch during the night. Myriam took first watch, handing over to Hendon, who woke Ganry when it was his turn.
“Everything okay?” asked Ganry quietly as Hendon roused him from his sleep.
Hendon yawned. “The forest is watching over us. See, there is an owl in the tree above us, and those eyes over near the tree belong to a fox.”
“Do you really talk with animals?”
“I don’t know,” replied Hendon. “Sometimes I think that I can hear what they’re thinking, sometimes I can’t. Barnaby is better at it than I am. He can have whole conversations just by looking in the eyes of an animal. He always says that goats are very intelligent, but I think foxes and owls are cleverer than goats.”
Ganry added a log of wood to the fire and propped himself up against one of the nearby trees. “Get some sleep kid. I’ll keep the fox and the owl company for a while.”
Ganry stared out into the deep darkness of the surrounding forest. He almost found it amusing that the strange twists and turns of his life had brought him to this point, sitting in the middle of an unfamiliar forest, on the run from everyone, trying to keep a disparate group of travelers safe from harm. He was a long way away from the plains of Mirnee - not just geographically, but in every sense of the word. He wondered whether the Emperor Fontleroy was still ruling, now known as Fontleroy the Mad. It had been a while since Ganry had had any news from Mirnee, there wasn’t really anything connecting him to that place now. He had left with nothing but his horse, Bluebell, and his sword, WindStorm.
