The Ring Of Truth

by B Cameron Lee

  The other two merely grunted, not their problem, they could fade into the night at any time and Martine, even with her army, would never find them.

  “I’ll treble your pay and let you keep the small magics in your possession if you come back with me to where the lad’s body is. We should be able to find a few brigands to swell our numbers. Money talks and this town does have thugs for hire. Grady, you go and ask around quietly, take this purse and see if you can persuade a few ruffians to accompany us tomorrow.”

  Grady nodded, hefting the clinking purse with a grunt of satisfaction and rose to his feet.

  “I’ll see to it ut immediate Sir. What’n’ll we pay em?”

  Kroy indicated the purse in Grady’s large fist.

  “Whatever it takes Grady, whatever it takes.”

  He knew Grady would offer the least amount possible for a day’s thuggery and pocket the rest. It didn’t matter. Before he left for Goristoum, capital of the Dominion, he might yet slit Grady’s fat throat and take his money back.

  Grady signalled to his companion, who finished his drink in a couple of swallows and got up to accompany Grady out of the tavern. Kroy sat back and waved lazily to attract the attention of the generously proportioned serving wench as his henchmen left. She came to the table swinging her hips seductively and smiling coyly. He was a rich one, unusual for this dive.

  “Wine girl and make sure it’s good quality.”

  She smiled enticingly at him and went to fetch it as Kroy relaxed in his seat. Tomorrow was another day and if he chose it, this serving wench could be an interesting diversion ‘til then.

  Indeed it was another day and Arwhon watched the sunrise with great pleasure on the first day of his new life, feeling the warmth of the sun’s rays on his face and basking in its sweet caress. The weather down here was balmy compared to Cumbrisia’s End.

  It was good to be alive.

  Again.

  After breakfast Chalc took Arwhon through some combat exercises with and without the sword. At the edge of the clearing Kuiran leaned against a tree, watching impassively with his arms folded across his massive chest until they had finished, Arwhon flushed by his exertions.

  “One day I’ll show you how to fight with a staff,” Kuiran told both of them. “It’ll enable you to defend against one better if you learn its use.”

  Chalc nodded in agreement.

  “A good idea Kuiran, I’ve some little knowledge of the staff but we should begin those exercises soon. Arwhon needs all the training we can give him and I can surely learn a lot from you. I’ve seen the masterful way you use your staff.”

  A little later in the morning they packed up their few belongings and Chalc loaded the tent onto Rancid before throwing the saddlebags across Duran and Darla behind their saddles then tying the sleeping rolls on top. Crossroads was an easy half day’s travel from here, so there was no need for them to rush. Kuiran had only a light pack with him containing his cloak and a small supply of food. M’Herindar travel cake mostly, he told them. Light and nutritious. He waited patiently until the packing was finished and both Servant and Master were mounted, ready to go, before slinging his pack over his shoulder, grasping his hefty staff and setting off at a brisk walking pace.

  “If I travel too fast for your horses to walk comfortably, just call out and I’ll slow down,” he threw over his shoulder as he strode off.

  Arwhon and Chalc exchanged glances and quickly rode out after Kuiran. Surprisingly, they had to urge Duran and Darla into a faster pace to keep up with the young giant. Years of patrolling the borders of the Darkwood had made him fit and fleet of foot.

  At the same time Arwhon, Chalc and Kuiran were heading toward Crossroads, a larger group was riding away from it. Kroy, with the two remaining men from his company, had ridden out of Crossroads an hour after dawn accompanied by eight rough looking brigands, who would hire to anyone for money, walking along behind. They were a tough and ugly looking assortment, mercenaries, sell-swords and street thugs, itching for a fight and most were armed with crossbows and swords. The hirelings had been told their prey was a young giant on the road but that fact seemed of little concern to them as they swaggered along in the morning sun. As a band eleven strong, including Kroy and his two men, the thugs were emboldened. The money was good and it would keep them in ale for many a night to come.

  Giant.

  Who cared?

  They were armed with crossbows.

  Inexorably, over the course of a few hours, the two disparate groups drew together like opposite poles of a magnet.

  Although the road to Crossroads was relatively straight, small undulations in the ground and patches of trees along the way kept the two parties from seeing each other until they met face to face on the top of a small rise.

  Kroy let out an involuntary shout of amazement at the sight of Arwhon and Chalc in the saddle and quickly called his men to action. Crossbows were cocked and quarrels inserted as his hired men fanned out behind him.

  “The boy on the horse. I want him dead. I want them all dead. Then cut off their heads.” Kroy yelled, his voice rising in pitch. “Maybe then they’ll stay dead!”

  For their part, Kuiran and Chalc quickly readied themselves. Unused to fighting from horseback, Chalc jumped down from Darla and drew his sword, allowing his mind to empty of all except the men in front of them. For his part Kuiran moved away from Chalc, gripping his large staff loosely, holding it horizontally at waist height in front of him. Arwhon drew his sword and sat Duran lightly, ready to jump to the aid of his friends if necessary.

  “Stay mounted,” Kuiran hissed back at him. “If things do not go well, run. You are more important than either Chalc or I.”

  Run. He would not run. The sort of person who ignored his friends in their time of need was not the sort of person who could save the world. There had to be honour.

  Kuiran had not taken his eyes off the brigands which was just as well. As soon as he spoke to Arwhon, one of them released a crossbow bolt in his direction. Kuiran casually flicked it away with his staff in mid-flight. A number of other bolts were released. Arwhon managed to duck beneath a high one while those aimed at Chalc were chopped out of the air with a flick of his wrist, the sword a blur in his hands.

  Chalc and Kuiran advanced rapidly as the ruffians were reloading, winding the handles of the crossbows as fast as they could. Kroy, now at the rear of his men, sidled his horse sideways around the edge of the group as though backing off the field of battle. Then he casually walked his horse away from the company of his two mounted lieutenants who were zigzagging their horses back and forth behind the brigands to urge them forward or stop them running away, as the case may be.

  Kuiran was the first to engage. It was amazing just how quickly he could move for his size and with two strokes of his staff a brigand fell dead. With no time to reload the crossbows, swords were drawn and one of the hirelings bravely rushed toward the smaller of the two men, choosing what he thought was the easier target. Chalc stood stock still until the mercenary’s arcing sword had nearly reached its intended target before stepping swiftly to one side, neatly avoiding the fatal stroke, before slashing his attacker’s throat wide open, nearly beheading the ruffian. Kuiran was engaging three of the brigands at once and two more were moving in on Chalc while another couple were off to one side reloading their crossbows.

  Arwhon spotted a crossbow being raised by one of Kroy’s horsemen, a large man with a black eye patch. It was being aimed at Chalc, who was busy dealing with two of the other brigands. Without thinking, Arwhon drew his Dagger with his left hand and threw it, all in one motion, wishing it into its target. Unerringly, the dagger flew straight into the man’s good eye, buried to the hilt, bowling him over the back of his horse to land with a loud thump in the dirt of the road. The crossbow bolt shot impotently skywards.

  Chalc and Kuiran were holding their own but Arwhon could see no sign of Kroy. Something felt wrong; his Ring finger was tingling in warning. Looking to hi
s left, Arwhon was just in time to see Kroy nearly on him, longsword drawn, an evil grimace setting his face. Arwhon didn’t need to pressure Duran; the big horse had immediately picked up Kroy’s whereabouts from their connection and instantly spun left to meet the charge, rearing as he did so. Kroy had to fiercely rein his horse to his right side to avoid being struck by Duran’s sharp hooves. As he came level with Arwhon, Kroy aimed a blow to Arwhon’s defenceless left side. Just as in training, Arwhon’s sword leaped to block the blow and repelled Kroy’s Dominion blade with ease.

  There was a loud crackle.

  “You should be dead. I stuck your own knife into your heart myself.” Kroy yelled across the gap to Arwhon.

  “Not so easy to kill as you may think Kroy. Dominion bastard. Unlike you to attack in the open. I would have expected another cowardly ambush.”

  Kroy scowled and drew closer, his sword held at the ready.

  “Is this what you are after?” Arwhon yelled, raising his sword hand and wiggling the finger with the Truth Ring on it. Another contortion crossed Kroy’s face and he charged again, once more to be met with a perfectly executed parry. Another crackle. Arwhon risked wheeling Duran in a full circle to check on Chalc and Kuiran. In the brief glance he was able to take from his lofty perch on Duran’s back, Arwhon perceived they were holding their ground. In fact, they had nearly run out of opponents as the last remaining horseman backed away from the fray. Arwhon spun around to face his opponent again, levelling his sword at Kroy.

  “If you attack me again I will retaliate.”

  “You, you’re just a young pup, still wet behind the ears. You don’t have the balls for a real fight.”

  Kroy raised his sword, it was now or never, his men were dead or scattered. He had to get the ring right now. Driving forward he swung his longsword, aiming for the hand with the ring on it, hoping to lop the appendage off and steal away with it to remove the ring later. It was a desperate plan but Empress Martine was not someone you could displease without suffering for it. Arwhon saw the blow coming and wasn’t there, Duran and he twisting in unison but his own sword whistled through the air at speed before connecting with Kroy’s sword arm at the wrist. There was a flash of red fire which took both men by surprise until pain and astonishment registered on Kroy’s face. His sword, still gripped tightly by his right hand, tumbled to the ground but there was no accompanying spray of blood. The flash of fire had cauterised the wound immediately. Kroy’s face paled and he gripped the reins more firmly with his left hand while holding his smoking arm to his waist.

  “You will pay dearly for this insult you young upstart. That ring is mine.”

  No it’s not, Empress Martine wants it, whispered Arwhon’s Ring.

  “The next time we meet I will have enough men to grind you all into the dust.” Kroy shouted at Arwhon before he swung his large black stallion around and kicked it brutally in the ribs. The beast shot past Arwhon at great speed, heading in the direction of Crossroads.

  Arwhon and Duran turned in unison to find Chalc and Kuiran finished with the fighting, Kuiran leaning on his staff, catching his breath while Chalc cleaned his blade on a dead ruffian’s clothing. Off in the distance, heading back to Crossroads in a cloud of dust, the other mounted henchman could be seen whipping his horse for more speed as Kroy caught up to him. Chalc and Kuiran had finished their scrap in plenty of time to watch the last of the engagement between Arwhon and Kroy. Kuiran smiled a grim smile and strolled over to the torn up earth at the side of the road where he picked up Kroy’s sword with the hand still attached. The wrist was cauterised.

  “How did you do this Arwhon?” he asked, showing the seared flesh to the young man on horseback.

  “Did I do that? I thought it was some magic of Kroy’s, bought in Forbidden.”

  Kuiran said nothing, merely shared a look with Chalc. Arwhon spoke again.

  “Chalc, you did wonderful work making this sword, I hardly felt it bite through Kroy’s wrist. It’s amazing. I feel like a fool for talking the way I did about my old sword. And the Ring! It really does get to the truth of the matter. It picked up the Truth from Kroy once again when he spoke before he left. It’s definitely not him who wants the Truth Ring but Empress Martine herself. Now why would she want a Truth Ring?”

  Chalc chuckled. “In the land of the blind a one eyed man is King.” Arwhon shook his head, puzzled. Chalc explained.

  “In a place where everyone lies and cheats, the one who knows the truth of it will always be one step ahead. Empress Martine wants to rule for a long time and time is what she apparently has aplenty. The only puzzle is how she learned of the Ring’s existence.”

  Arwhon digested this information as he dismounted and walked over to retrieve his dagger from the dead man’s eye socket, cleaning all traces of blood from it before resheathing it carefully. As Chalc had instructed him; care for your weapons and they will care for you. His sword was clean having no blood on it whatsoever, nor had the blade been nicked.

  Arwhon and Chalc sheathed their weapons and checked on horse and mule while Kuiran once more carted bodies into the trees beside the road. Then they mounted and rode off, Kuiran striding easily along beside the horses.

  Crossroads, when they drew near to it later in the afternoon, was the largest place Arwhon had ever seen in his life. He had no idea until now what the word, city, meant. Crossroads was the Capital of Cumbrisia, sprawled at the confluence of Cumbrisia and Barsoom where the Grand Valley Road ended and the Great Southern Road began. In the scheme of things Crossroads was a relatively small city but to Arwhon it seemed huge. Here the Laws of Cumbrisia were passed by a Council of Ten, a system adopted from Southland where it had proved workable for many centuries. Those Laws governed the lives of all in Cumbrisia but in the larger towns and villages people were mostly left to get on with their daily toil with only a Sheriff to keep the peace. There was also a Militia but as Cumbrisia was sparsely settled the force was not large. It was garrisoned in Crossroads.

  The Rift lay somewhat to the north. There, a few hardy fishermen eked out a living fishing close to the shore, none being game enough to travel far out in those waters. Too many disappeared when out of sight of land. Where they ended up, no one knew but nary a trace of a body nor a piece of wreckage was ever washed up on the pebbled beaches of the Rift.

  The main industry of Crossroads was trade. From the west, down the long valley, came timber and farm produce, meat, grain and vegetables with fruits later in the year and the prized, woven woollen goods the Grand Valley was famed for. Not much came from Myseline, except in really hard times when food, especially grain, would be brought by wagons up the long, steep and sometimes treacherous road through Mehgrin’s Wall at Durhain’s Pass. From the east, Barsoom traded finely worked leather goods, woven grass pots and baskets plus intricate bangles and necklaces of stone and horsehair, said to have minor magical properties and used as charms to keep the wearers healthy or make them more attractive to the opposite sex.

  Ale was made locally but wine came up the highway from Southland along with many manufactured steel goods and cotton items. The iron, gold and precious metals mined in the mountains of Cumbrisia made their way south to Belvedere mostly and in times of drought, when food was scarce in the south, cattle from the surrounding countryside would be driven down the highway for much profit at the southern end.

  Arwhon gazed eagerly around him as the little group entered the outskirts of the city. The houses were simple cottages, one story affairs made of local stone, wood and adobe. The inhabitants looked to be poor, poorer than any resident of Trugor over in Myseline but not so poor as those unfortunates dwelling in Cumbrisia’s End.

  Kuiran’s size drew the attention of many of the locals but their eyes were rapidly averted as folk turned away about their own business. Not much laughter was evident in those they saw. The people were of mixed origin, some light and some dark, short and tall but all wore similar utilitarian clothing, dark and loose fitting, trousers and jerkins on
the men and long skirts on the women. Occasionally a bright headscarf or some flowers tended in a front yard made a splash of colour.

  Crossroads appeared to be a melting pot of everything Man.

  The locals minded their own business and shushed excited children who were busy pointing out the largest man they had probably ever seen. Kuiran seemed not to mind and smiled and waved to the little ones as their parents dragged them away. As the Master, Servant and Arm travelled further into the town, inns and shops started appearing, along with two storey residences built entirely of stone, many with glass windows on the upper floors. The streets started narrowing.

  Arwhon turned to Chalc.

  “Why are the streets narrower here?” he asked.

  Chalc told him. “This is an old, old town. The centre was built long ago and no allowance was made for growth. Narrow streets are easier to blockade and defend. Stone buildings do not burn. Note the extremely small windows on the ground floors. No way in except through the very stout front doors.”

  Eventually the three of them reached the square at the centre of Crossroads where a market was in full swing. Here there was noise and colour, with crowds of people walking past the open stalls which fronted open-shuttered shops, looking at what was on offer. Choice was everywhere; silks and linens, leather goods, weapons, tools and food. Lots of food, from meat to seasonal vegetables, spices to fish and everything in between. Arwhon’s nostrils were assaulted by the smell of ready-to-eat prepared foods cooked over braziers in small booths and sold on the street. The aromas that arose from the cooking made his mouth water.

  Rancid was totally unused to this many people in one place. The mule’s ears were swivelling in every possible direction and his head swung back and forth, trying to observe every possible threat, as his agitation mounted.