by Jon Kiln
Duke Harald paused and looked around the assembled throng of nobles, trying to gauge how much resistance he would face. He would kill them all if he had to. He had come too far now. What was one more life? Ten more lives? One hundred more lives? The druids had foretold that he could be King, he simply had to make it happen.
“My Lords and Ladies of Palara, while we have had our problems, our threats do not come from within the Kingdom, they lie on our borders. We have received intelligence that the barbarians of Vandemland have been building their forces, readying themselves for an attack on our beloved kingdom.” Harald paused for effect at this point. He was pleased to see worry and concern cross the faces of the nobles. It had been a long time since Palara had been threatened by war, a long time since the Kingdom had been embroiled in any sort of major conflict.
“Our homes, our families, our very way of life is under threat,” continued Harald. “We must mobilize our army at once. We must prepare our fleet for battle. We must take the initiative and destroy our enemies before they have an opportunity to inflict any damage on us.” There were nods and murmurs of approval. Harald smiled, he knew that he had them where he wanted them.
“Of course, wars of any kind are expensive. It will take all of our reserves to equip our army and build the ships necessary in order to launch a major offensive against the barbarians of Vandemland. Each of us must play our part. Each of us must make sacrifices in order for our campaign to be successful, and in order for us to be victorious. For this reason, I am imposing a twenty percent tax on all households. Twenty percent of the value of each estate will be forfeited to the crown of Palara for the purposes of funding our defense.”
There was an audible gasp from around the room as the assembled nobles began to register what Harald had just said. A twenty percent tax was crippling, especially as it would be charged on top of the existing range of taxes that were already being collected. For many, it would mean that they would have to sell significant parts of their property, or forfeit them to the crown in lieu of payment of taxes—a consequence that Harald was not unhappy about at all.
With his speech concluded, Harald stood and waited patiently while the assembled nobles slowly realized that they were expected to bow and curtsy to the Regent, who was now their ruler. Harald made a silent note of those who were slow to bow, slow to show their respect for him. They would be the first to feel his wrath, to feel the power of the new order in the Kingdom of Palara.
44
“I’ve got someone here who has been searching for you.” Ghaffar stoked the fire before him, illuminating the room with its flickering flames.
“What do you mean?” Ganry demanded.
Ghaffar looked over the group, his eyes finally settling on Myriam. “Well, to be precise, I have someone here who is searching for her.”
Ganry was ready to pounce at the first sign of hostility. “How do you know who we are?”
“There are no secrets from the trees,” shrugged Ghaffar mysteriously.
“Ganry,” said Myriam softly, beginning to recover from the darkness that she had felt on the boat. “I think we can trust this monk. I feel quite safe here.”
“I agree,” Barnaby added.
Ganry was not appeased in the slightest. “Who is waiting here? Where are they?” he growled at the monk.
“Calm yourself, friend. Don’t be scared. Come with me. The main temple buildings are away from the water, and they are waiting for you there.”
Ganry was uncertain of what exactly was happening, but Myriam seemed determined to trust the monk. Ganry followed warily with his sword drawn, as Ghaffar moved quickly through the back of the temple room, and out into a complex of buildings surrounded by the trees of the forest.
“Princess Myriam, may I present to you Zander Moncrieff and his men, Aban, Yasir, Najid, and Karam,” announced Ghaffar formally.
“Princess,” said Zander respectfully as he and his men knelt and bowed. “It is a great relief to finally find you safe and well.”
“You have been searching for me?” Myriam asked uncertainly.
Ganry stood protectively in front of Myriam, pointing his sword at the men. “Who are you? Who sent you?”
Zander motioned at his men to remain at ease. He directed his words at Myriam, ignoring Ganry’s hostility and drawn blade. “Princess, we are from the Berghein Valley. We have been sent by the Duchess D’Anjou. The Duchess has sent us to find you and return you to the safety of her protection at Castle Locke.”
“My grandmother? My grandmother sent you?” gasped Myriam. “You are from Castle Locke?”
“How do we know that this isn’t some kind of trick?” growled Ganry. “Duke Harald has his best hunters searching for Myriam, how do we know that you are who you say you are?”
“The Duchess foresaw that you may be cautious. She entrusted me with her dagger. It carries the same stones as the ring of Locke that Myriam wears. The stones grow brighter when they are brought together.” Zander slowly pulled the dagger out from the leather sheath that he wore on his belt, holding Ganry’s stern gaze to show that he meant no harm. The dagger that the Duchess had entrusted him with was a small weapon. It looked almost inconsequential, perhaps decorative, but the stonework and engraving on it was exquisite.
A small sigh of recognition escaped from between Myriam’s lips as she gazed at the blade. She raised her left hand and the assembled men could see the ring there. As she reached out towards the dagger that Zander held, the stones began to glow brighter, both the stones inlaid on the ring and the stones set on the dagger hilt.
“This is wonderful,” laughed Myriam. “Let me introduce my companions, my friends. My protector is Ganry de Rosenthorn, my fearless archer is Artas of the House of Holstein, our wise and learned friend is Barnaby, and this helpful young man is Hendon.”
“I am pleased that you have been in good company, my Princess,” bowed Zander. “The Duchess will be keen to thank and honor each of you personally as soon as we reach the safety of Castle Locke.”
Ganry slid WindStorm back into its scabbard. “How easy will it be to reach Castle Locke from here?” he asked, unsure really where in the forest that they were.
“Well, we may need some guidance from our friendly monk, Ghaffar, here, but we’re not too far from the border between Palara and the Berghein Valley, so we will just need to find a way to avoid their border controls and we will back amidst the safety of our own people.”
“We will need to move quickly, then. We have the Lake Men on our heels and Duke Harald’s men scouring the roads for any sign of us.”
“Yes, you will need to leave just as dawn begins to break,” agreed Ghaffar. “The Lake Men won’t sail in the dark, but they will guess that you will have attempted to flee in this direction. So they will be paddling in their boats as soon as the sun rises.”
“Can you show us the way back to the road, Ghaffar?” asked Zander.
“Yes, but how will you travel?”
“He has a point,” said Ganry. “We had to leave our horses behind with the Lake Men.” Ganry was upset that he had to leave his beloved horse, Bluebell, behind. They had been through a lot. It was odd to think that their journey together had ended so abruptly.
“We will have to ride two to a horse,” suggested Zander practically. “We can sort out the logistics in the morning. We don’t have any other option. We’ll need to travel as quickly as possible in order to try and avoid detection.”
“I have a question,” said Ganry suddenly. “The water dragons, what do they look like?”
“Well,” began Ghaffar thoughtfully, “they have a long body and tail, and they move through the water like a snake. I guess you could just describe them as a very big snake.”
“Thank you,” frowned Ganry. “You have no idea how unhappy that makes me.”
45
“Myriam grows stronger,” said the druid, peering into the smoke that rose from the bowl, which he swirled over the flames of the flickerin
g fire. The elderly druid sat on the floor of the temple, and opposite sat Duke Harald, Regent of the Kingdom of Palara.
“Stronger?” questioned Harald. “What do you mean, stronger? How can she be growing stronger?! She is a girl hiding amidst the trees of the Cefinon Forest!” The Duke’s eyes were red from the smoke, his words hissed from between his teeth, a vein throbbed alarmingly in his right temple.
“The stones are drawing together… the stones of the Berghein Valley,” continued the druid, studying the smoke.
“Berghein,” snarled the Duke, “I knew that old witch was not to be trusted. What are these stones that you speak of?”
The druid breathed deeply, surrounded by the pungent smoke that filled the temple, staining the walls as they had been stained for centuries. The relationship of the druids to the rulers of Palara was a complicated one. While they recognized no one as their master, they had been used as trusted advisers to the powerful since the days of the great chief Terrick. The druids had been at his side then, and they still sat at the side of the House of Villeroy.
“The Berghein Stones are old, ancient stones, powerful stones… their coming together symbolizes the uniting of a family… uniting against you, my Duke,” whispered the druid.
“Ha! You and your stupid old prophecies,” dismissed Harald contemptuously. “There is no power in stones! There is only power in weapons—in steel and in iron, weapons that will destroy any family that dares to stand against me. Weapons that will destroy the armies of the Duchess D’Anjou and her wretched brood from the Berghein Valley.” Duke Harald stood impatiently and began pacing the room. “Tell me… tell me of my victory… tell me when I will be crowned King of Palara!”
“I can only see what the smoke will reveal to me.”
“You old fool,” sneered the Prince. “You’re all fools. I should cut off your head and burn this place to the ground!”
“My death would be inconsequential, as has been my life,” replied the druid calmly.
“Why won’t you tell me what I want to hear!” shouted Harald, his voice echoing around the small temple.
“Perhaps you are not listening to what I am telling you,” suggested the druid.
“What do mean?”
“There is a power in the Berghein Valley that is drawing the ancient stones together. There is a family that is united against you. Perhaps Princess Myriam is just a distraction—your real threat lies within Castle Locke… your real threat is the power that is calling these stones home.” The druid watched carefully as Harald tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
“So…. if I could strike at Castle Locke… if I could destroy the Duchess D’Anjou… Princess Myriam would have nowhere to turn, and I would soon rule not only the Kingdom of Palara but also all of the Berghein Valley as well!”
“Only the gods can see the future. We can but try and interpret the signs that they reveal to us.”
“Druid, your life is spared for another day,” growled Duke Harald. “My horse! Bring me my horse. I must return to Castle Villeroy. We have a battle to fight!”
Harald rode back to the castle as fast as his horse, Thawban, could carry him.
***
“A change of plan, Zaim!” announced the Duke, as his arms-bearer entered the throne room. Duke Harald was peering over a map of the region. “Vandemland is no longer our main problem. Instead, we march on the Berghein Valley.”
“The Berghein Valley, sir?” asked Zaim in surprise. “But Castle Locke is impregnable, it has never fallen. Do you intend to lay siege?”
“I intend to smash that miserable place to pieces… to dismantle it brick by brick… to erase it from the memory of time,” snarled Harld, smashing his fist against the table.
“The fleet of ships that we have been preparing for the attack on Vandemland will be no use to us against the Berghein Valley,” pointed out Zaim.
“We have not forgotten about Vandemland. Our ships will not be wasted, but if we are to realize our ambitions, it is Castle Locke that must fall first. It is the Duchess D’Anjou that must feel my wrath!”
“Understood, sir. We should be cautious not to underestimate the Berghein Valley. Do we have any information as to how large a force the Duchess has at her command?”
“We will send everything that we have. Let the full force of the armies of Palara rain down on her!”
“But the walls of Castle Locke,” counseled Zaim. “We need some sort of strategy as to how we will break them.”
“I have a strategy,” grinned the Prince. “The druids have stores of fire-powder. We will line the walls of the castle with barrels of fire-powder and blow that old witch into the sky.”
“But the druids only use the fire-powder in their ceremonies. They would never give it to us, especially if they knew that we planned to use it in battle.”
“The druids do not rule Palara, I do! Take a force of men and storm the druid’s temple. Seize as many barrels of fire-powder that you can find.”
“And if they resist, sir?”
“Of course they will resist,” replied the Duke. “Slay them. Slay them all!”
46
“Massage my shoulders, boy,” instructed Qutaybah as Arexos helped to bathe his master. Villa Salamah wasn’t his master’s principal residence, but in the eyes of Arexos, it was lavish. Qutaybah’s private quarters at the villa contained a large bathing complex with a steam room, a dry sauna, and several different pools containing water heated to varying temperatures. Arexos poured some oil into the palms of his hands and began to gently apply it to the muscular shoulders of his master. He marveled at the contrast between the dark black skin of Qutaybah and his own white hands.
“Excuse me, master,” interrupted the housekeeper Badr al Din, bowing as he cautiously entered the room.
“What is it?” snapped Qutaybah, annoyed at having his bath interrupted.
“I’m sorry sir, but your deputy has requested an audience with you.” Badr al Din was still bowing deeply.
“Yazid? Of course, send him in.”
“Would you like me to leave, master?” suggested Arexos.
“Of course not, boy. Keep massaging my shoulders. Concentrate around the back of my neck, that’s where the tension is.”
“Sir,” greeted Yazid, kneeling down on one knee and using his right hand to clasp his left wrist in front of his face in the traditional military greeting of Vandemland.
“What is it, Yazid? It must be important to be interrupting my bath?”
“I’m sorry sir, it is indeed important. I felt that you would want to hear this straight away. We have received a messenger from the Duchess D’Anjou of Castle Locke.”
“The Duchess? Contacting us? That is unusual.” Qutaybah became noticeably more interested in the conversation. “What does that old witch want?”
“She wants to employ us.”
“She has a job for us?” laughed Qutaybah. “We are not some petty mercenaries for hire! We are the best soldiers that Vandemland has ever seen!”
“She is gathering her forces for an assault against the Kingdom of Palara. She plans to march against Duke Harald. She seeks our support, and she’s happy to pay for it.”
“Keep massaging my shoulders, boy.”
Arexos hadn’t realized that he had stopped. When he had heard mention of the Kingdom of Palara, his mind had suddenly gone blank. It was the first time that he had thought of his homeland for days now. Arexos wondered what had happened to Henrickson, his master who he had traveled to Vandemland with, on the orders of Duke Harald, on the orders of the man against whom armies were gathering. At the urging of Qutaybah, Arexos quickly resumed massaging the big man’s shoulders, trying to remain inconspicuous as the two soldiers continued their discussions.
“So if we were to accept the Duchess’s commission, what would she have us do?” asked Qutaybah.
“She has asked that we travel to Castle Locke to meet with her there. She is gathering her forces in the Berghein Val
ley, and then plans to march on the Kingdom of Palara, pushing eastward until she has captured Castle Villeroy and slain Duke Harald.”
“Fascinating,” mused Qutaybah. “I’d always thought of the Duchess as being one of Palara’s closest allies. However, the coup by Duke Harald has obviously changed things.”
“He has executed her daughter,” advised Yazid, “and Myriam, who is the heir to the throne, is missing.”
“Ah, I see,” nodded Qutaybah. “There is nothing more dangerous than a mother who is forced to protect her children. I wonder if Duke Harald realized what trouble he was stirring up when he began to toy with the House of D’Anjou.” Qutaybah closed his eyes as Arexos continued to steadily massage his muscles. Yazid remained standing silently beside the bath, waiting for some sort of instruction or indication from his leader as to what steps should be taken.
“What is our intelligence on the armies of the Kingdom of Palara?” asked Qutaybah, opening his eyes.
“Even well before the coup, Duke Harald had taken control of Palara’s military,” replied Yazid. “He significantly increased their ground forces and has also built a sizeable naval fleet. They are a formidable force. We had assumed that they were readying their forces for an attack against us here in Vandemland, but perhaps their focus has been the Berghein Valley all along.”
“They do mean to attack you,” interjected Arexos.
“Did I tell you to speak?” roared Qutaybah. “How dare you interrupt the conversation of your masters!”
“I’m sorry master, but Duke Harald does mean to launch an attack against Vandemland,” insisted Arexos. “It’s the reason that I am here… it’s the reason that I was captured and sold as a slave.”
