The Ring Of Truth

by B Cameron Lee

  “Sit, sit. We have much to do. Shiri tells me you had a useful dream last night. Did you manage to get a look at the country around where the Barsoomi heirs are being held?”

  Arwhon nodded.

  “They are not being kept in a city although we saw one off in the distance.”

  “Excellent.”

  Cristal rummaged through the maps on the table, looking for certain ones while the others took seats. Once more Kuiran was challenged to find something to bear his weight, eventually settling for a sturdy bench. Shiri sat close to Arwhon, her small hand tucked into his elbow. He reddened at her affectionate display but did not move from her clasp. All now seated before her, Cristal looked to Shiri who nodded.

  “We’re shielded now Cristal.”

  Cristal let her gaze wander over them.

  “Good. All of you are trustworthy people which is why you find yourselves in the heart of my domain. As you have probably realised by now, I’m not what I work at appearing to be. I could not sit idly by and watch this city being slowly taken apart by evil doers, so I’ve made it my life’s work to fight them. The Tsalk family have always belonged to the Wardens in Belvedere and although I have to endure the embroidery circle and be a patron to the arts and attend social functions, this is my real work. Sometimes our partners help us but we do not expect it. Your mother, Arwhon, was to return here when her children were grown, to take over the reins of Wardenship. I realise we have many other things to discuss at the moment but I need to know, before you leave, do you think your sister is capable of being a Warden to Belvedere?”

  Arwhon sat, stunned by the question and its implications. There was so much he didn’t yet know and so much he still needed to learn. His sister, Raleen, six years older than he had a large part of the burden of raising him thrust upon her at an early age. Siding with Staril she blamed him for their mother’s death but he could not help that, his only crime was being there. Still, Raleen had been fair with him when he was young, although a hard taskmistress. She was clever with money and Traded honourably for the family business. She was not yet married, claiming no fitting suitors were available. Some families would be embarrassed at having a twenty five year old unmarried maiden at home. Not so for these three orphans, making their own way in the world.

  Staril would not push his sister into marriage; he loved her too much to make her unhappy.

  “I think Raleen would be very capable if she wished to take on the burden. However, she and my brother, Staril, have just started a Trading enterprise with gold my father left them, hidden under the floor of the burnt down warehouse. I think she would be unwilling to give up that heritage.”

  His Grandmother appeared puzzled for a moment.

  “Burden? You do not understand Arwhon. How much fun do you think a woman with adventure in her veins could have in this society? Our house is rich beyond your imagining. Our cause is an important one. I will send an honest company of hired mercenaries to Trugor with a competent Trader. He can stay and help build the Trading business for them while your brother and sister come to visit me. The mercenaries should be enough protection along the way, especially if I can hire Redbeard’s Band. He runs as honest a band of rogues and cutthroats as you are ever likely to find and he’s considered the best.”

  Cristal sat thinking for a moment before she spoke again.

  “I’ll get him to take a sealed missive to your brother and sister which will mention affairs of inheritance. Besides yourself Arwhon, those two are all the family remaining to me. Children are scarce for the Tsalks, a little like the M’Herindar eh?”

  She arched an eyebrow at Kuiran who nodded. Shiri shifted in her seat and settled again.

  “Now, down to business. Master Chalc, in view of your training as a Swordmaster, I would value your input on any plans we make. Your role as Servant implies your duty to keep Arwhon as safe as possible. That means good planning and you’re the only one among us trained in the art of war.”

  Chalc nodded in affirmation as Cristal spread open scroll after scroll of maps, pinning them down with paperweights.

  “Shiri, Arwhon, please come and study these maps of Debrishar and see if you can recognise anything.”

  Shiri and Arwhon’s rose together and joined her at the desk, Arwhon’s arms supporting him as he leaned across it’s wide surface to view the scrolls. Three maps lay before them, at least half the area of each one included a section marked ‘Debrishar’. They were quite different from one another but only one of them depicted the hills and mountains which made up most of that country, except for its flatter borders with the plains of Barsoom. Arwhon chose that one to study.

  Arwhon searched the topography drawn on the parchment, trying to remember the terrain he’d seen as he and Shiri had risen above it in the dream. There was also the relationship of the tower to the city of Goristoum. If indeed it was Goristoum they’d seen. A river! The keep had been on a cliff beside a river. Arwhon studied the map closely, poring over the terrain near the spot where Goristoum was marked.

  “Here.” He pointed to a bend in the river where the map showed a small dot with a tiny inscription beside it. His Grandmother took up a magnifying glass and studied the writing intently.

  “It says. ‘Gildon’s Keep on the Black River, ruined long ago. Uninhabited’.”

  Shiri looked closely at the indicated spot on the map.

  “That’s it Cristal, see the bend in the river and the cliff beneath the keep. It’s there the Barsoomi heirs are being held.”

  “Mmm, not so far from Goristoum but well secluded. Without your dream wandering, Arwhon, it would have been impossible to find. Now we must plan the rescue of the Prince and Princess. It’s imperative they be returned before the deadline, to avert disaster. If the King of Barsoom doesn’t hand over his country, which he cannot, his children will be killed. Martine would enjoy that. Then there would be war. Again. My spies tell me of troops being levied from the countryside of Debrishar and there’s the odd unsavoury mercenary band drifting over that way too. Martine is massing an army for some reason.”

  Cristal turned to study Arwhon’s face as she spoke.

  “Arwhon, it’s possible you may die trying to rescue them. Can you face that?”

  All the answer she received was a shy smile and two words.

  “What, again?”

  Cristal felt her heart skip a beat. In the short time she’d spent with her grandson, she’d come to know and love him deeply. She glanced toward Shiri and received a slight nod in return.

  The planning went on for most of Satrenday. The best way to approach the keep undetected? Where to leave the horses? What to do about the Mage who controlled the Gryffon? Here, Shiri took over the discussion, seeming more an adult than a young girl as she spoke, offering an excellent idea.

  “I think the sapphire around Empress Martine’s neck contains the life essence of the Mage. The Princess observed a few occasions in the cavern when the Mage seemed reluctant to assist Martine. She put her hand on the jewel when she commanded him, almost as a reminder.”

  Chalc interrupted.

  “How could that be though?”

  Shiri paused to explain the concept to him.

  “Sometimes, when Mages are attempting something exceedingly dangerous, and if they are powerful enough, they can store their spirit in some inanimate object. The spell is done to avoid having the Mage’s spirit ripped out of his body by evil magic. I believe the jewel Martine wears was stolen before the Mage could return to it for his spirit. In effect, if the jewel is shattered, he dies. We must get it back and free him. If we do, then maybe he will assist us.”

  “That’s a pretty big maybe, Shiri.” Chalc opined.

  “Yes, it is a big maybe, especially as I cannot deal with a Gryffon. I doubt even Kuiran would be able to defeat it. Gryffons are immune to magic.”

  Chalc nodded; there was wisdom in this little girl far beyond her years. Not for the first time he wondered just what Shiri was.

&nbs
p; “I still have the amulet Reynaldo passed to me. If I was wearing it in the cavern beneath Gildon’s Keep and if Martine was there also, I may be able to wrest the jewel from her without being seen. Hopefully the Mage would then cooperate with us.”

  “A risky plan Chalc,” Cristal interjected. “Mages are unpredictable at the best of times but if there’s no better plan, it will have to suffice. I just hope that luck is on our side.”

  On and on the planning went, interrupted only for refreshments which were brought to the study by staff under the eagle eye of Mendle. By the end of the day, everyone agreed upon the strategy they had formulated together.

  The most important and overriding part of the whole plan was to get the Prince and Princess back into the care of the King of Barsoom as quickly as possible. Time was of the essence and they would leave tomorrow evening, under cover of darkness, Solvenday being the quietest day of the week. The Empress Martine most likely had spies in the city and they all agreed travelling by night was probably the most sensible option.

  Seven weeks had now passed since Arwhon, at Chalc’s smithy in Cumbrisia’s End, had first dreamt of the abduction of the Barsoom Heirs. Only five weeks remained until the deadline set by the Empress Martine at which time she would slay her captives. It would take nearly three weeks for the rescuers to reach Gildon’s Keep, as night travel was much slower than travelling by day. They must be constantly alert to avoid any encounters with the enemy.

  It was cutting things fine and Arwhon could only hope the Empress Martine would not grow impatient and act upon her threat earlier.

  12. Gildon’s Keep.

  Solvenday. The one day of the week on which only a few people in Belvedere worked. The day originally set aside for the population of the city to attend the temples and houses of their religion. In Belvedere, religious belief was no longer very strong and the habit of worship had almost disappeared as it tends to in times of peace. Solvenday was also a day when workers spent whatever spare coin they had enjoying an afternoon in the tavern or fishing off the wharves with their children. It was a day of rest and togetherness, a time to enjoy the gift of life. Or it was to most people in the city.

  The closed carriage, its curtains drawn, rolled around to the back of Callandor’s establishment and its occupants were quickly admitted through the rear door. Callandor was there to greet them in person and guided them down a passageway to a back room which he had to unlock with a big key to allow them entry. There was only a single candle burning in the room but the pale flickering light reflected from a pile of chainmail lying on a trestle table against the wall.

  “We don’t like advertising some of the things we make, as questions may arise which could be difficult to answer.” Callandor remarked as they entered. He picked up the smallest of the chainmail shirts and handed it to Shiri.

  “Yours I believe.”

  Shiri slipped it on over her head; it covered her to mid thigh.

  “It’s a little too large but so light I can hardly notice the weight and it’s ever so soft.”

  Callandor squatted down so he faced Shiri.

  “The garment has been made that size to allow for growth and so you can wear the padding underneath which stops it chafing, especially when the weather is wet.”

  Kuiran was next, then Chalc. Both were extremely pleased with their mail, particularly its lightness.

  “Will it stop a crossbow bolt?” Chalc asked Callandor.

  In answer, the Armsman asked Kuiran to hold out his new hauberk and taking down a crossbow from a hook on the wall, cocked it and inserted a bolt. Pointing at the mail, he fired. The bolt shattered when it hit, leaving not a mark on the mail. They were all suitably impressed.

  The trestle was now bare and Arwhon had not yet picked up a mail shirt for himself. He looked toward Cristal who addressed Callandor.

  “We appear to be one shirt and a helm short, Callandor.”

  He bowed. “I think not Lady, we have been honoured.”

  From a dark corner came the sound of someone clumping up stairs. In the gloom, they could just make out a trapdoor rising in the corner and someone climbing through it. Held in his powerful, short arms hung a gleaming chainmail and a helm. The figure stepped toward them and Arwhon realised, for the first time in his life, he was looking at a real dwarf. The person in front of him was shorter than Shiri and very much broader. Pale skinned and covered with fine brownish hair wherever Arwhon could see. Stumpy strong legs wrapped and bound in leather emerged from beneath a leather tunic, belted at the rotund middle by an intricate, interlocking metal belt. Hanging from the belt was a small, shiny pick. Arwhon noticed the scars of smithing on the dwarf’s arms before the dwarf’s face finally became visible in the candlelight. It was a strong face with thicker hair growing over it. The nose was broad and flattened but it was his eyes which were the most striking feature. Large and luminous beneath bushy brown eyebrows, they exhibited curiosity and awe. The dwarf swept a cursory bow and spoke with a thickly accented voice.

  “I’m known as Silverseam, son of Copperlink. We don’t often talk to Men but this is an important matter. Step forward whomever this helm is meant for.”

  Arwhon took a pace forward and Silverseam handed the mail and helm to Callandor to hold while he took Arwhon’s hands into his own work-roughened ones. The Ring glinted and the dwarf examined it closely.

  “Ah, it has bound you. Those with magic felt it take another; even under the mountains we knew it so. You’ve been watched by Dwarfish means, our oldest Mage can see far, far away when he wishes to. It’s obvious you’re not false in any way. The Ring wouldn’t have become one with you unless you were a Man of Truth. For what purpose did the Ring bind you I wonder? Nothing petty. Of that I’m sure. We’ve waited a long time for the Ring to choose.”

  Arwhon was puzzled. “Sir, you speak in riddles. If you know something of this Ring, would you enlighten me please? I’d like to learn more of it.”

  Silverseam looked up at him.

  “Is there a Dagger also?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah, then there is trouble brewing. Big trouble.” The dwarf slowly shook his head.

  “Sir, please, this Ring has bound me and I know nothing of it. We here all fight on the side of good.” Arwhon was having difficulty containing his excitement.

  Silverseam stood silently for a moment or two then signalled Arwhon to sit down.

  “It saves my neck. You know, from looking up all the time at you tall folk.” His voice dropped and he spoke so quietly only Arwhon could hear what he had to say. “The Ring has been missing for many, many generations although its legend lived on. We thought it lost until you put it on and it accepted you, then our Mage felt it again. I will tell you of it. Only the Dwarven Peoples know fully of this thing and then only a handful of us. It’s a closely guarded secret and you must swear to tell no one, ever, what I am about to tell you.”

  Arwhon swore, on his honour and the dwarf seemed satisfied.

  “The Ring was found a long, long time ago in a large cave beneath the mountains to the east, the mountains you know as Mehgrin’s Wall although the Dwarves have another name for them. It came to us long before the M’Herindar and Q’Herindam parted company. Long before the Rift came to be and long before Man came to these shores. None of us knew its purpose and it was many years before it accepted one of us to bear it. Then the troubles started. The Ring wearer at the time mined a metal little known to us and made a Dagger, inscribing the design of the Ring into the length of the blade. It was not an easy task; the design does not allow itself to be reproduced easily. Because of the trouble the Ring wearer caused, the Ring and Dagger were replaced in the cave where they were found and the entrance sealed by magic and the location hidden. Sometime after that they were both stolen and disappeared.”

  Arwhon felt excitement; his sword was out in the carriage, guarded by Cristal’s retainers. He would fetch it and show the dwarf.

  “Excuse me for a second or two Silverseam;
I have something I must show you. Please wait for me.”

  Arwhon got to his feet and rushed out, returning shortly with his well wrapped sword. He undid the ties and removed the binding cloth then resumed his seat in front of Silverseam, placing the sheathed weapon on the ground between them. He then took his Dagger and sheath from his belt and laid that beside the sword. The rest of the company knew something important was unfolding, so they remained quietly in the background, watching man and dwarf conversing in low tones.

  Silverseam reached down and picked up the sheathed Dagger first, withdrawing it partially from its plain sheath and exposing the design. He sighed, then resheathed it and reached for the sword in its plain sheath. When he exposed the length of the sword blade, his face lit with wonderment.

  “So, another weapon has been added to the legend. Did a great Mage make this?”

  Arwhon grinned, pointing to Chalc. “No, that man over there. A Swordmaster and swordsmith from Tarkent. He made this weapon for me and it engraved itself with the design you see here, the first time I held it in my hand.”

  The dwarf resheathed the sword and placed it reverently on the floor beside the Dagger before rising and approaching Chalc to kneel before him, taking his hand and kissing it.

  “You Sir, may become an honorary dwarf whenever you wish. You have completed a task which even our best metalsmiths would find daunting. If you’re ever in any difficulty and you meet a Dwarf, just mention the name Silverseam son of Copperlink and claim aid. It will be given.”

  The Dwarf got to his feet and returned to sit in front of Arwhon, leaving a bemused Chalc behind him.

  Silverseam leaned forward and again spoke softly to Arwhon so only he could hear.

  “Momentous things are about to occur in the world. The sword confirms it. We made your helm and were puzzled by the design allowing itself to be easily reproduced but now I understand. Because the design permitted itself to be, we thought to aid you. When we came here from our home, we brought an ancient suit of chainmail with us in preparation for we knew not what. One of our ancient legends says the mail is coupled to the Ring somehow, although we’re not told why. It’s a Dwarvish thing, not known to many and we felt you should have it. Your tasks will be mighty and your burdens heavy, if indeed you are the one, and you’ll have need of our help in the future. It’s rumoured the mail acquires Power from sunlight. If you abuse that Power, the chainmail will suck all the energy from you and take your life. The portents are strong, so we help as we can. Remember, the origin of the Ring is unknown but it is ancient. If you worship any Gods, think on it. Now you must go but before you do, remember the name Silverseam son of Copperlink. If you ever need help, come and find the Dwarves under Mehgrin’s Wall and mention my name. Good luck and I hope we meet again.”