Overland Quest

by D C Ware

  “What is the weather like out there lass,” Gilbo said holding the compass in the air and slowly turning in a circle.

  “You mean right now?” Lyla said.

  “No a month ago! Of course right now. What is the weather like.”

  “It’s clear.” Lyla said.

  “Well it’s going to rain tomorrow. A heavy rain.” Gilbo said handing the compass back to Lyla.

  “How do you know that.”

  “Because that is a weather compass. And a fine one at that. Made in Futuretown. Whoever lost it would pay a pretty penny to get it back.”

  “Can you help us sell it? We would be willing to pay you a commission if you could.”

  “I think I can. If it rains tomorrow, meet me at the port by a ship called ‘The Adamante’.”

  “What if it doesn’t rain,” Lyla said bagging the compass back in her sack.

  “In that case you’ve broken it and I’ll buy it from you myself. But for a lot less than I think you will get for it tomorrow.”

  “How much less?” Oxley blurted out. Not wanting to turn down a sure thing on the account of rain.

  “30 gold pieces more or less. It’s worth that much to me until my next trip to Dwarftown where I could get it fixed.”

  “Thirty gold pieces! Would you pay that now!” Oxley blurted out.

  “I would son but I reckon the lass here is a wee bit smarter than you and wouldn’t sell it to me now knowing what she knows about it. Isn’t that right lassie?”

  “Yes and I thank you all the same for your honesty Gilbo. See you tomorrow.” Lyla grabbed Oxley by his arm and started toward the tavern.

  “But Lyla, at least think about it. What if tomorrow is a trap? What if the old guy is just trying to get us to the port to have some friends of his jump us.” Oxley complained.

  “Then you will have a chance to earn your five gold pieces.” Lyla said without stopping.

  “Five! You just said five!” Oxley exclaimed as he rushed to catch up with Lyla who had gotten ahead of him.

  Sir Ebros had made camp a days ride further into the forest from where he and The Third Knight Swift had parted. In his own way Ebros was glad to be away from Swift. The Third Knight was not a “diplomatic” man and had driven Ebros and the other vassal knights hard during his quest to spread the rumor of the king’s death. Yet Ebros was glad to have spent the time with Swift as well. He had learned much from the knight and even more he had had the honor of fighting alongside him against the Nemesis Knights. Truly Swift’s prowess in battle was a testament to why he was one of the King’s most trusted knights. Sir Ebros hoped to one day be among that circle and this quest would go a long way to seeing that become a reality.

  Other than the advice Swift had given Ebros though he had no plan on how he would track down the whereabouts of The Ferret. The assassin could be anywhere, in any town and his target could be any one.

  For now he was tired. He had rode hard after parting with Swift in the hopes of making up time The Ferret had gained over them since he had slipped out of Wooddam. His horse needed rest and he needed to gather his thoughts.

  Ebros rolled up his pack and placed it under his head as a pillow. He propped his feet on his saddle which he had removed from his horse “Starlight” in order to allow it to get even more rest after the hard ride. Lying on his back he stared up at the dark sky through the arbor of the great forest. Wooddam was said to be the oldest forest in The Overland. It’s trees reached to great heights ranging from 200 to 300 feet above the forest floor. The largest being known as “The Moses Tree” for it was believed that earthly patriarch’s rod was made of wood from the tree. Only the natives of the Unknown Islands had ever scaled any of these trees whose first branches were usually anywhere from 100 to 150 feet above the forest floor.

  Ebros liked looking up and following the height of the trees into the sky. There at the top he was sure he could reach out his hand and touch a star. His eyes grew heavy and sleep settled upon him like a lid upon a slowly boiling pot.

  Vincent watched the young knight finally close his eyes. The thief thought the knight would never fall asleep. But at last he appeared to be soundly sleeping. Vincent motioned for his two companions to come to the fallen tree log that he was hiding within. Gilbert arrived first.

  “Is he sleep?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure? I had the watch before you. And once he got up and removed his horse’s saddle after he had tied it and laid down. I almost walked right up to him as he was standing.”

  “He is asleep you twit! Its been ten minutes since he closed his eyes and I threw a small rock past his head a minute ago and he didn’t even blink.”

  The third thief, Damon, made it to them as they were talking.

  “Next time one of you take the look out on the other side of the brook. It took me five minutes to wade through that with my weapons and stuff. So what is the plan. Do we kill him or just rob him? Or both?

  “To kill a knight of the land is punishable by death” said Gilbert. “I can get his purse without waking him.”

  “What if his purse is empty you twit!” Damon replied.

  “He is right Gilbert. We will only get one chance. If we take the purse and have to flee and it is empty then all this waiting has been for naught. Not to mention he is likely to pursue us to the Southern Coast to get it back. For no good reason other than his pride. Him being a knight and all. No. Either we finish him and get all his stuff, including the horse, or we move on. And I ain’t moving on.”

  “I’ll kill him. He’s asleep. How dangerous can he be?” said Damon as he drew his dagger.

  “Ok. Gilbert you go to the horse and make sure it doesn’t bolt or kick if he screams out. Those horses are trained to defend their masters. I will grab his arms and keep him from his sword as soon as Damon stabs him.” Vincent stood and drew his dagger as well.

  “On three,” he said “one, two…three!!”

  Damon broke into a sprint toward Sir Ebros with his dagger raised and poised to come down into his chest. Gilbert ran to his right straight toward Starlight and Vincent ran to his left to come at Sir Ebros from the side.

  Just as Damon reached Sir Ebros the knight delivered a hard kick to his groin. Damon buckled over. Vincent lunched at Sir Ebros with his dagger taking a wild swing at his face. Sir Ebros was standing now and parried the dagger with the metal gauntlets he had fallen asleep still wearing over his hands. He followed the quick parry with a hard swipe across the old thief’s face. The heavy metal gauntlets drawing blood from his nose and lips.

  “Help me you fool!” Vincent yelled out to Gilbert who had reached Starlight but could not get near him as the warhorse reared and neighed.

  Damon had recovered from his kick and was in a rage. He was the biggest of the three thieves and about forty pounds heavier and five inches taller than Sir Ebros.

  He yelled and came at the knight with his dagger held straight out to stab him in his gut.

  Sir Ebros, who was only wearing his chainmail shirt took a gamble and let Damon drive the dagger right into the mail. ‘The armorer at King’s Castle he had paid to make the chainmail shirt had earned his money’ he thought, as the dagger jammed into the chainmail but did not penetrate it. The momentum of the blow still felt like a punch to Sir Ebros’ stomach but he withstood it and then brought his arm down upon the thief’s arm while the point of the dagger was still lodged in his chainmail. Using his left hand Sir Ebros grabbed the wrist of the large thief’s arm and held it and brought his right arm down hard on the theif’s elbow, breaking it. Damon screamed in pain and fell to his knees clutching his broken arm with his left hand.

  Vincent came at Sir Ebros again with his dagger, this time trying to pull the knight closer to him with his left hand so as to drive his dagger under the knight’s chainmail with his right.

  Sir Ebros pushed him away and dashed for his sword which he had rested by his horse, Starlight. Gilbert who had still not moved and was shocked
to see the big thief Damon moaning in pain just looked at the young knight.

  “Stop him you twit! He is trying to get his sword!” Yelled Vincent as he got back on his feet.

  Gilbert went for the longsword in its scabbard just as Sir Ebros reached it and grabbed it as well. Each man had two hands on the scabbard.

  “Release my sword thief!” Demanded Sir Ebros “Release my sword and I will let you live. As for your two friends they are already dead. They have laid hands on a knight of the king. Your life yet hangs in the balance. Release my sword and run and you have my pledge not to follow you. Hesitate and I will command my warhorse to bash your head in where you stand!”

  “He is lying you imbecile! Do not release his sword or we all die. Especially you!” Vincent had recovered his dagger and was helping Damon get to his feet.

  Gilbert looked the young knight in his eyes and he knew Sir Ebros was not lying. He saw death in those eyes. ‘Death and justice are a knight’s inheritance’ was what his father used to tell him. And by looking in his eyes Gilbert could see this young knight had dealt out them both in his short years.

  Before he could come out of his thoughts he heard the sound of Sir Ebros’ sword clearing the scabbard with a metal on metal twang.

  “Run thief!” were the only words Sir Ebros spoke before turning on Vincent and Damon. Terrified Vincent pushed Damon hard onto Sir Ebros’ sword and his weight pushed Sir Ebros back forcing him to brace himself and push the dead thief’s body off the length of his sword. By time he finished he saw Vincent scurrying through the woods in the dark, darting back and forth to keep the knight from having a straight shot at him from his horse.

  Sir Ebros untied Starlight and followed the old thief anyway.

  Just as he was about to overtake him, Vincent reached the brook and started to wade in. As he slowed to navigate the wet rocks, Sir Ebros gave a command to his great horse,

  “Starlight, to battle!” he yelled.

  Starlight reared and raised his front legs high in the air and then neighed and brought them both down thrashing on top of the old thief’s head. Starlight’s heavy iron horseshoes bursting Vincent’s head open like an orange under a rock.

  Gilbert watched in horror peering from behind a tree. He had followed the chase hoping to catch up with Vincent at their camp on the other side of the brook. The young knight had not been lying. With but a command that could have been his head torn open under the hooves of that great horse instead of Vincent’s.

  Gilbert slumped down against the tree and chuckled to himself as he thought about Vincent’s plan to rob a knight of the land,

  “Twit!”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Encounters

  Lord Arcturus Aranrood did not like Vandrel. It was not that he did not trust him but he did not like him. The elven king had known of Vandrel since the days of the Crimson Wars when Vandrel had arrived in The Overland shortly after Lord Aranrood and his host had come from the Elven Kingdom of Lyss on The Continent of Men.

  What he knew about him was that he had studied science and magic in The Joint Kingdoms mostly at the School of Science and Magic in Monet and later had tried to obtain an appointment to the prestigious Industrial Lab at Lyss. Like most non-Elf applicants, Aranrood’s cousin the High King Nemeus Malorian had denied his request for a special recommendation.

  So Vandrel had come here, to the Overland. Chasing word as it were of “weapons of power”. He had come here and had played a part in that great conflagration at the war’s end in the area now known as The Darkmen’s Domain. Some even believed he had played a part in the disappearance of the town known as Misery many years after that.

  What Vandrel knew of Aranrood, he did not know. No doubt he knew like most that Lord Aranrood was originally from Lyss and that he had led the Elven expedition to relieve King’s Castle against the will of his cousin and king, Malorian. What more than that Vandrel knew about Aranrood he did not know. Prior to today their paths had never directly crossed.

  Aranrood had sent him dispatches from time to time about adventurers seeking the Resurrection Ring and Aranrood had heard reports of many that Vandrel had dispatched in their vain attempts to possess that ring. But they had never spoken. They had never met. Until now.

  Vandrel was impressed by the workmanship and craft of the Elves. All who saw it were. Unlike the Elves in Lyss, here in The Overland, the elves of Elf Mountain had adopted and incorporated the architecture of men in their realm as well. However they imbued everything they made or designed with a beauty and grace only the elves could create.

  Vandrel sat in a low chair in a circular chamber with similar chairs. The chamber connected to a long hall by way of a walkway that rose up to the audience hall of Lord Aranrood. The chair was made of cocobolo wood and had carvings of the sea and of ships and seabirds inlaid into it. However the carvings were such that the shapes of the ships, the sea and the birds swirled into and merged with the natural weaves of the wood as it changed color from its light, almost white sapwood to its brown almost red oily heartwood.

  All of the furniture in this particular room was made of this wood and when the wind would blow through the diamond shaped windows an almost musical sound would whistle through the room as the wind passed over and through the cocobolo wood.

  Vandrel knew if he tried he could sleep here. He could get some rest. Mmm, how long had it been since he had actually rested. One of the burdens of being the Guardian of the Ring was that the worlds of the living and the dead converged most often and most easily when he was asleep. Meaning he got very little sleep and often dreaded when it did come to him. But here, for some reason, he knew if he wanted he could sleep and that the wards protecting this realm would preserve that boundary between the living and the dead even from the ring.

  “I would not be offended if you slept, good wizard.” Lord Aranrood’s voice startled Vandrel causing him to lift his head up from the floor where he had been focusing his attention.

  “Lord Aranrood. Or do you prefer King Aranrood?” Vandrel stood.

  “Lord is fine. There is only one who bears the title king in this land which is of any significance. And I assume that is what brings you to see me after lo this many years?”

  The two stared at each other in silence.

  “My lady. My lady. Awake my lady, we have reached the end of the wood.” Friar Damian’s voice was soft but Gabriel heard it as if he was calling to her down a long hall with a echo. She had been dreaming. She had seen the wizard the one that now called himself Vandrel. And she had seen the elven king, Lord Aranrood. She had seen Matthew who was once called Mathias and now Morcai ‘bringer of fire’. But none of them troubled her. It was the last one she had seen that disconcerted her for the first time since she had entered these lands. Had she made a mistake. Had she misread the Oracle, something it should not be possible for her to do. But still she had seen him. The King.

  “My lady. I am sorry to wake you but we have reached the edge of the forest and Captain Heymann begs you come out and spy the castle. It is visible from here.”

  “Yes Damian. I will. Shortly. Please leave me for a moment and tell my drivers to park my carriage.”

  “As you wish my lady.” Damian closed the curtain to the carriage and signaled to the drivers to move the carriage off the path and park it under some shade. Heymann rode up to him.

  “Well. I thought she would be anxious to see Kings Castle after all these years in that darkened land you inhabit. For or against the king there is no stronghold quite like Kings Castle.”

  Visible in the far distance in a vast open grassland Friar Damian could make out the ramparts and crenelations of Kings Castle. It was a vast castle even for a king. The stronghold consisted of a central castle made in the style of the Krak des Chevaliers but it was walled and at either end of the wall were two lesser but still formidable castles made in the style of Dunrobin Castle with their white spires and fountains and windows. Kings Castle personified strength flanked by bea
uty and grace. Friar Damian only stared. He had been much younger when he last saw that castle before making his escape to the dark lands and The Lady. All these years he had thought he did not miss it. But he did.

  “Yes Captain, it is impressive. But what of the monastery. There not as far off and to the right!” Friar Damian pointed to a structure of cathedrals and domes resting on five gentle hills. Green grass highlighted by the gold of the ceilings and arches.

  “Indeed Friar, it is grace and love. I took my vows as a knight within the walls of that monastery.”

  “A knight of the land or a Nemesis Knight Captain?”

  The Friar’s rebuke hurt Heymann and he replied in kind as he gathered his reigns and rode back to Sir Dubois and his men.

  “Remember dear Friar that I am not the only one who has forsaken his vows.”

  Lyla was not feeling well. She had come down with a cold since arriving in Zafton where the weather tended to be wetter and cooler than in Milestill. Being right off the sea it was to be expected but neither her or Oxley had dressed appropriately for the weather.

  She was lying on her side on the cot in the room they had rented at the lodge above the tavern. They were to meet the Innkeeper, Gilbo in two hours at the third mooring from the peer. She had just managed to turn from her side to her back when a knock came at the door.

  “Lyla, it’s Maverick. Are you decent?”

  Maverick opened the door slowly and let himself in.

  “Normally if you ask if a lady is decent you should wait for her to answer Maverick.” Lyla said as she sat up on the edge of the bed.

  “Sorry. Oxley said he didn’t think you were feeling well. I half expected you to be sleep.”

  “It’s okay. I think I have a cold. It’s probably nothing but I just feel a little weak.”

  Maverick sat beside Lyla on the cot, not quite able to fit his entire frame on it with Lyla’s.