by Rutger Krenn
He thought of Arell first. She was asleep and vulnerable but he knew instinctively she was in less danger than the king.
The king! It was on him that so much depended. What if he were slain? The Northmen would be thrown into chaos and would not return swiftly to Thromdar. If Aren Daleth were to be saved that must be prevented at all cost.
That an assassin had come for Thranding he didn’t doubt: who they were and how they were employed could wait. All that mattered was what he did now. He could yell, and soldiers would come running, but that would only precipitate the attack and wouldn’t save the king. Only he was close enough to act in the precious moments that counted most.
There was a whisper of sound nearby; too close for it to be the person near the opening, and he realized there were at least two intruders.
Whatever he was going to do he had to do now. His sword was nearby but not so close that he could reach it without the enemy hearing him and causing them to hasten their assault. On the other hand the assassins would be armed and he couldn’t hope to defeat them by hand.
He decided on his tactics for there was no more time to think. Rolling in one swift movement he reached for his sword and shouted, more to wake his companions than to rouse the camp. Simultaneously he flung his blanket through the air in front of him to disturb anyone who was there. He heard an oath of surprise and then his hand, fumbling urgently in the dark, found the hilt of his blade.
He rose, swaying upward from the ground like a rearing snake, his sword fishtailing in the air in front of him. The movements taught to him by Chow saved his life. He was aware of a body lunging near him and felt cold steel scrape across his chest but it was only a glancing blow. He stepped to the side and swung his sword in a wide arc. A jolt ran up his arm as he struck something with force and he heard a gasp of pain. At the same time there were shouts from close by.
Suddenly a light flared near the tent’s opening as one of the attackers, abandoning stealth, uncovered a lantern. The unexpected brightness hurt Talon’s eyes but it also clearly revealed the situation. Sprawled on the ground was a soldier, his dagger fallen uselessly to the ground and both hands clasped to his neck in a futile attempt to stem spurting blood.
The soldier near the tent flap stood immobile; lamp held high in one hand and a naked blade in the other. Talon’s attention turned to the king and he quickly glanced in Thranding’s direction. He was struggling upwards and Arell stood behind him, one of her daggers already in her hand. It was her scream that warned him.
He felt a calloused hand from behind wrap around his forehead and jerk his head backwards. There was a third attacker! Instinct told him that a knife was slashing toward his throat and he twisted and dropped to his knees to protect the vital blood vessels. He felt the rough hand slip and then take hold of his hair as a mistimed blow struck the back of his head, more forearm than knife’s blade, and knew Arell’s warning had saved his life.
He tried to strike back with his sword but his opponent’s legs were too close and he couldn’t swing the blade. He feared another knife blow would land any moment, but without warning the hand released his hair and the man toppled to the ground. Thranding was there now and in his hand was a sword. He hadn’t used the blade but the hilt, evidently wishing for the chance to question the assassin later, but even so the pommel was stained with blood.
Talon whipped around to the front again but as he did so the light in the room flared crazily. The lamp had been thrown to the ground and the third attacker plunged through the tent opening.
Talon and Thranding gave chase. Running to the opening they leaped outside but stopped abruptly when they caught sight of the guards. Their bodies were sprawled lifeless on the ground; glazed eyes frozen in surprise and their swords still in their sheaths. Beyond, hundreds of men swarmed in uncertain movement. Some were struggling to rise, others standing but confused, while some were running toward the tent. Talon’s yell had stirred the camp but the third attacker had disappeared in the resulting maelstrom. He’d seen the man’s face though, however briefly, and would recognize him if their paths ever crossed again.
Thranding seemed dazed and couldn’t take his eyes from the dead guards. “These were good men,” he said slowly. “They deserved better than to be killed by assassins; to be struck down by trickery and surprise.”
Talon could only nod in reply. What words, he wondered, could he add to those? There was no need however as at that moment Arell emerged from the tent and the first of the soldiers reached them.
“One of the attackers is dead,” she said, “and the other is in a very bad way.”
Thranding nodded but his haunted eyes never left the slain guards.
A group of men reached them; the soldiers hanging back uncertainly but a captain came forward.
“What’s happening?” he asked, his eyes taking in the dead guards.
Talon looked to the king but Thranding showed no signs of answering. “There were assassins,” he said. “Two remain in the tent, one dead and the other nearly so, and one got away.”
“Assassins?” repeated the captain. “But no Goblins could have gotten into the camp.”
Thranding looked up for the first time and his gaze became steely as he spoke. “They weren’t Goblins. They were Northmen, such as ourselves.”
The king allowed the captain a few moments to come to terms with this before giving his orders.
“You’ll need to arrange replacement guards; a half dozen of them so they can’t be taken by surprise. It seems unlikely that there’ll be another attempt but they must be alert anyway. Also, fetch a healer. One of the men in the tent still lives and if we’re to get any information it’ll be from him.”
The captain, now pale faced, saluted and went about his work.
“I don’t think the tent will be a good place for me for a while,” said Arell. “I’ll find the cooks and ask them to make up an early breakfast for us. Dawn isn’t that far away and none of us will get any further sleep tonight.”
Talon looked to the sky and knew she was right. The stars were still bright but the eastern horizon was several shades lighter and day would come before they were finished with the assassin.
Thranding went back inside the tent and Talon followed. The king stood the dropped lantern upright and lit others while Talon saw to the man Thranding had struck down. He was unconscious and blood had stained and matted the hair on the back of his head.
Soldiers came in soon after them and removed the body of the dead man.
“Make sure the captain identifies him,” Thranding said. “I don’t care if every soldier in the camp has to look at the corpse. I want to know who he was.”
Talon turned his attention back to the unconscious assassin. He removed the man’s sword and searched for any other weapons. There was only the knife lying on the ground, which had nearly cut his throat, and holding his temper in check, he carefully tied him to a chair using the man’s own belt.
It was only when he’d finished that he realized Thranding had been watching him for some time and there was an intent look on the king’s face. He suddenly became aware that his pendant, the Eagle of the North that had belonged to his mother, was hanging free. Quickly he tucked it into his tunic.
Thranding spoke. “Very few of those were ever awarded, Talon. But that’s not your actual name is it? I think can guess what it is.”
Talon sighed. “I think you guessed from the first, my king.”
“I wondered,” said Thranding. “But I didn’t know for sure until just now.”
The king let out a long breath. “We sent search parties you know. The Duke as well.”
Talon stiffened. “My father no doubt only wished to confirm I was dead.”
Thranding looked troubled but didn’t contradict him. “If so, he was disappointed. The bodies of your party were discovered but no trace of you was ever found. We didn’t guess that the Chung would become involved.”
“I was lucky, very lucky indeed. Not just t
hat I was saved from the Goblins but with the man who did it. He would have brought me back to Aren Daleth but I convinced him otherwise. He adopted me as a son and was a far better father than the Duke ever was.”
Thranding nodded but didn’t reply.
“Arell doesn’t know who I am,” Talon continued. “I want to make my own name in the world; the name of my father is history. I want to live for the future and find my own place in Aren Daleth.”
The king considered this statement for a while. “You can hide your name,” he said, “and certainly your secret is safe with me: even from the Duke, but these matters have a way of coming out. Your true inheritance will not be denied.”
Talon shook his head. “I’ll never reveal who I am.”
The expression on Thranding’s face showed that in his experience the more someone tried to stop something from happening the more likely it was to occur, but he didn’t interrupt.
“Anyway,” said Talon, “my father I know about; it’s my mother I’m interested in. I’ve had this pendant since I was a child but never knew what it meant until Arell told me. What did my mother do?”
The king sighed. “You may not know as much about your father as you think. Your mother though, she was brave, braver than you can know. Others were awarded the Eagle of the North as was she, but only a few. Some, like Duke Kenrik showed exceptional valor and their very names are a byword in the north for bravery. Your mother showed courage of a different sort and her deeds are known by few. There are shadowy forces at the heart of any society. Tonight’s events are proof enough of that. There will always be those who succumb to corruption, who seek to destroy and not build, to take and not give, to subvert order into chaos for their own benefit. Years ago, there was such a group. They plotted my overthrow and the Duke of the Seamark was invited to join them. There was ill feeling between us and they thought him ripe to gather into their plans. Perhaps he was, but your mother became aware of the situation and she convinced him to remain loyal to me. Together, we formed a plan. The Duke didn’t reject their advances but invited them often to his estate. He remained aloof but your mother allowed herself to be drawn, bit by bit, into the plot. She let me know what was being planned and rose high in their counsels. They tried to subvert the Duke through her, but had they guessed her loyalties she would have faced death, or worse. Time and again she met with them, always getting deeper into their plans and always with increasing risk. She gambled her life for me, coolly looking men in the eyes that would torture her for information and then cut her throat if they even suspected what she was doing.”
Talon noticed the king had said his mother gambled her life for him, rather than for Aren Daleth, and wondered if there was any significance to that. Just how well had she known him? He couldn’t give the matter any thought though for Thranding went on.
“At the end she risked her life once more and invited the conspirators to a meeting where I and others were concealed in a hidden chamber. It was a perilous task for we couldn’t be sure who to trust and who to fear. To tell the wrong person was to expose her and would have been a sentence of death, yet we must also have witnesses of high standing. In the end, their guilt was exposed and proven at that meeting. For the risks she took, the courage she showed, I gave her the Eagle of the North. After all these years I have not forgotten what she did; the cool bravery she showed over and over again when others would have faltered.”
There was noise at the tent entrance and an old man entered. He wore no sword but carried a small leather bag and Talon guessed he must be the healer. He wasted little time on ceremony, giving the king an absent minded frown by way of greeting and then looking at the assassin. His frown deepened when he saw the man’s bloody head. “If you expected to keep him alive, why did you hit him so hard?”
The king didn’t answer but the old man didn’t seem to expect any reply and carried on with his examination. Talon, for his part, was just as happy that Thranding had hit the assassin hard. Otherwise he mightn’t be here at all.
The healer peeled the man’s eyelids back and looked at his pupils. Apparently, he didn’t like what he saw there and muttered under his breath.
Thranding stepped closer. “Is he going to live? Will he wake for questioning?”
The old man frowned even more and wrapped a bandage over the man’s head with well-practiced speed. In a few moments he straightened and looked at the king. “Head wounds are strange things. Anything is possible, but I should think this man will die. I doubt he’ll wake again; rather he’ll get worse and worse before finally dying. There’s nothing you can do. It’s no good hitting people in the back of the head and then expecting me to just fix things up.”
The healer shook his head and left the tent muttering words of reproach.
Thranding swore. “Damn! I’d hoped to find something out.”
Talon was reminded anew of what Arell had said about the king’s manner: he really did treat everybody equally and showed remarkable tolerance. “Perhaps I can do something,” he said. “I learned a few things among the Chung.”
Thranding gave him a look of interest. “I thought the Chung were warriors, not healers?”
“Chow used to say that if you learn how to hurt you must also learn how to heal, though I doubt anything can save this man. Just maybe I can wake him for a little while though.”
“You may as well make the attempt,” said Thranding.
Talon massaged certain points that Chow had taught him, working to influence the vital force of the assassin; the energy that flowed through his body. He didn’t tell Thranding what he was doing: his explanation wouldn’t be believed but the proof would be in the results. Also, he took a pinch of one of the dried herbs he kept and placed it on the man’s tongue. It was a deadly poison but in small amounts had stimulating properties.
He stepped back a pace to where Thranding stood and the assassin groaned. His eyes flickered open, pupils dilated, and he swore in a slurred voice.
“I don’t think he’ll stay conscious for long,” warned Talon. “You had better ask your questions quickly.”
The king wasted no time. “Do you know who I am?” he asked the man.
The assassin’s eyes focused on him. “You’re the king,” he said vaguely.
“That’s right. Why did you try to kill me?”
The man seemed to struggle with his memory for a while, as though reaching back to a time beyond his recollection, and though his mouth formed words no sound came.
“Who sent you?” asked Thranding urgently.
The assassin seemed to focus his thoughts more clearly. “I don’t know. He was a strange man. He offered us money and we took it. He said we didn’t have to do anything, but if the army looked like returning early to Aren Daleth, then and only then, we had to act. We couldn’t see any reason why the army would return sooner than expected so we took the money. Worst mistake we ever made.”
The man’s eyes lost their focus again and he shuddered. Talon rubbed his wrists and pressed more points, using his knuckles to better target them, and the assassin revived though was seemingly oblivious to what had happened.
“He looked at us all afterwards and drew some sign in the air with his fingers. I never saw the like before. It was like fire burning on the tips of his fingers. He just flicked his hand and then we were covered in little sparks. Said we were marked now, and if we went back on our word we’d die in flames. We didn’t believe him, but when we heard the army was returning early we started to get mighty scared.”
The assassin began to tremble.
“Who were the others?” asked Thranding.
The man didn’t try to answer. His eyes rolled in their sockets and he groaned. Talon tried to revive him again but he stiffened and then went suddenly limp.
Thranding shot Talon a thoughtful look. “Well, we got something from him at least. It seems you’re a useful man to keep around.”
Thranding led his soldiers next morning. He was mounted on a snowy maned m
are that pranced with restrained energy in the cool morning air. In the van with him were a mounted guard of some fifty soldiers and Talon and Arell. Behind, the army of Aren Daleth advanced on foot.
It would be a long march to Thromdar and must be done with speed. The men stretched out behind the riders in long lines: winding columns of fast stepping soldiers, filled and fuelled with purpose; with the kings resolve to return to Aren Daleth and save their homeland from the Goblins.
The valley fell away behind them as they climbed its higher slopes. Coming through the pass a host of Dwarves, about five hundred strong, became visible. Out of their ordered ranks a leader stepped forward and saluted the king.
“Hail, Thranding, King of the Northmen,” he said.
The king nudged the mare a few paces forward. “Hail and well met. What news?”
“Little from the Dwarves,” said the warrior. “Save this: when we had need of you, you came and fought by our side. Now, your nation is hard pressed. Our Drighten has sent us to help, and we will march by your side and fight with you in Aren Daleth.”
The king eyed the host with approval. “So shall it be, and may you march with us to victory.”
“That is our hope,” said the Dwarf. His attention shifted from the king and focused on Talon. “Wyndrinc,” he saluted.
“Wynmot, Beorht. It’s been quite a while.”
Beorht turned his attention to Arell and bowed gracefully. “I don’t believe someone of such beauty has ever walked these mountains before. There must be a quite a story attached to your travelling with Talon.”
Arell inclined her head and when she looked up favored Beorht with a dazzling smile.
“Oh my,” she said with a laugh. “Talon told me the Dwarves were great craftsmen but he didn’t tell me they were wordsmiths as well. You know how to make a lady feel appreciated.” She glanced at Talon. “That’s more than can be said for some I’ve met lately.”
Beorht’s eyes switched from one to the other and he suddenly laughed. His mirth was loud and deep for the Dwarves were happy people and able to find humor in any situation. Evidently, he observed something very funny here.
