by D C Ware
“Why do you ask huntsman?” Granger said taking a sip of his ale.
“Because I have news for him. And if you are not him then I have an ale to get back to.” The hunter was not big but he was solid. A full beard, grizzled hair, matted down to his head by sweat and slightly larger than normal eyebrows. Cuts and scars prominent on his leather skinned face.
“I am he hunter. What news have you for me?”
“You are being sought by a knight of the land!”
“A knight of the land? Do you know which?”
“Aye, a Bane Knight. The one called Swift!”
“Swift? How long ago did he seek me friend?”
“Less than three days. Him and a brother knight. One called Sir Ebros. We were asked to tell you that a knight of the king has need of you and prays that you find him in the woods if you get this message within the week.”
“Within the week? If we leave tonight we can still find them Maddox. Thank you hunter. What is your name?”
“I am called Wooten. Wooten Brush.”
“Thank you Wooten. Swift will know that he is in your debt when I see him.”
“Then I thank you Greyhound. It is no small thing to be owed a debt by a knight of the land.”
“No it is not hunter.” Granger rose and pulled his hood over his head, retrieved his weapons and left a half gold piece on the table.
“Come Maddox, we must find Maverick and tell him we are leaving.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
End Games
The Ferret despised gratuitous violence. He had no problem killing those who “had” to be killed but killing for no reason offended him. Real killing took work and killing someone specific in a specific way at a specific time was no less a craft than that of a carpenter or iron smith. They all took pride in what they did and would never lower the quality of their work to that of an unskilled laborer or apprentice. It was no different for The Ferret and ‘the work’ he did. Which is why he had no desire to kill the young boy who had inadvertently discovered his plans before they were completed.
The boy was tied up under his bed for the moment but The Ferret knew he could not leave him there. The big fair was not for another three days and he would die of weakness before then if The Ferret did not at least attempt to feed him and let him relieve himself.
Complications. He hated complications. Which is why he hated working for wizards. All of their jobs always came with complications. From leaving Wooddam under cover, to being pursued through the forest by a Bane Knight, to contracting with a mercenary wizard and now…a boy! Complications.
He walked over to the small bed and pulled the bound child from under the bed like he was pulling out a case of apples.
“I advise you in the strongest possible sense young man, when I uncover your mouth not to scream out. I assure you that no one will hear you and that it will be your last scream of any sort if you do.” The Ferret looked the child in his frightened eyes. The sibilant whisper of his voice accentuating the threat in his words. Then he removed the gag over Hugo’s mouth.
Hugo did not speak. He took three deep breaths and stared up from the floor at the assassin seated on the cot. But he did not speak.
“Ah, good. Maybe I won’t have to kill you. Yet. For now I only intend to feed you and allow you to relieve yourself. Then it’s back under the cot for you. Do you understand?”
Hugo nodded his head slowly as a single tear ran down his cheek.
“I hope you like custard. The castle has some of the best in the kingdom and its the only thing I bought a lot of.”
Things seemed normal at Kings Castle. This surprised Father Wilmont even though talk of the king’s death was everywhere. Sometimes whispered, sometimes spoken openly accompanied by amazement and unbelief.
“It is Morcai surely,” some said.
“He is sick. I saw him in bed just the other day,” said others.
“He is traveling in disguise.”
“He is at war.”
“He boarded a ship.”
There was no end to the rumors and speculation concerning the king’s death and whether it was true or not. Everyone had a theory and no two of them were the same. What there was a general consensus about was that the truth of everything would be known at the Castle Fair.
The king never missed the fair. The Royal Proclamation that he read aloud every year was the official start of the week long fair. Surely, if he missed that he was dead.
The fair was still two days off and, unlike the peasantry, Father Wilmont did not have two days to learn the truth of the rumors. If they were true he would need to be at The Lost Men’s Camp raising a crusader army in two days.
Unlike most towns, the monastery assigned an Abbot to each castle in the kingdom. The assignment at Kings Castle was considered the most prestigious and only given to the Father’s most trusted acolytes. That is why he had come to Kings Castle. To see Abbot Vocslav Puckisvich though most people simply referred to him as Friar Puck. The title friar being something he never abandoned when he was promoted to Abbot.
The Kings Castle priory was housed in the lower wing of the south tower. By Church standards it was modest consisting of only a few benches, some stained glass blocks built into the lower loophole, a lectern and communion cabinet.
Father Wilmont and his contingent were led directly to the priory upon his arrival which let him know that the pigeon he had sent ahead of him to the Abbot had made it to the castle.
An orderly led the Father’s warrior monks to an ante room large enough for them all to sit down and lay their stuff out, while the Abbot’s valet, Peter, led Father Wilmont to the Abbot’s office inside the priory.
Father Wilmont was surprised that the Abbot was not alone.
“Puck, I hope you have been well,” said the Father as he removed his scapular and hood.
“As well as can be expected in these times Father. Allow me to introduce Lord Nessleton to you. Lord Nessleton is the Warden of The Lost Men’s Camp.”
Nessleton stood and gave a polite bow. He was a tall man at least six feet three. He had golden, almost auburn, hair that stopped at his shoulders. He appeared to be in his forties with a clean shaven mustache that curled slightly at the ends and a half goatee. Both auburn like his hair. He was lean but appeared strong. And he was a longbow man. The Father could spot this instantly by his enlarged left arm and the bone spurs on his left wrists, left shoulder and right fingers.
“It gives me peace to see you here Father,” Nessleton said as he sat back down.
Puck continued his introduction after Nessleton sat down.
“Lord Nessleton came from the camp when the rumors reached him. He is awaiting an audience with Bonelord to request more troops to guard the camp until the fate of the king, and possibly, the kingdom is certain.”
“Bonelord?” Father Wilmont asked. Then thinking to himself, Father Wilmont reasoned that ‘Bonelord was the King’s First and most trusted knight. Surely if the king were dead Bonelord would support his heir. If he had one and Bonelord knew of him.’
“Yes the First Knight, my superior. He was running affairs at the castle before the rumors started and has continued in those duties until the rumors are confirmed.”
“Why was Bonelord running the castle prior to the king’s death?”
“Forgive me, my superior.”
“Puck call me Wilmont. We were both acolytes together long before either of us were considered worthy of the lofty titles we bear now.”
“True my sup… Wilmont. What I was about to say is forgive me because I forgot you were not privy to the king’s activities immediately prior to his death. Or I mean the rumors of his death.”
“Not privy to. Were they unusual in some way Puck?”
“Well the king moved up his annual fox hunt by almost a month. They were on the third day of the hunt when the first rumors made it back that the king had been killed in a hunting accident. According to those who were there the king was thrown into
the river while pursuing the fox. He hit his head when he was thrown, passed out and was washed downstream. Three search parties have been sent out to the area where he was said to have been thrown but so far there has been no sign of the body.”
“Did Bonelord go out with any of the parties?”
The Abbot and Nessleton looked at each other. Nessleton answered.
“He did not. And he called off any more searches yesterday.”
Nessleton clasped his hands together, put his elbows on his knees and bent over and looked Father Wilmont in the eye. Then winked.
“So you aren’t here to get more troops for The Camp are you Lord Nessleton?”
“I’m here to serve my king, good Father.”
“So are we all Lord Nessleton. It would seem, so are we all.”
Lord Nessleton stood up. He looked at The Abbot and looked at Father Wilmont. The Father just sat and looked up at Lord Nessleton as if he was waiting for Nessleton to finish his assessment. At last Lord Nessleton spoke.
“Look Father, if what me and Puck believe to be true is happening, we will all have to make our allegiances known soon enough.”
The Father nodded but did not speak. Nessleton looked at The Abbot again and continued.
“I am here to stand by Bonelord, The First Knight. And while I am not privy to the king’s plans or intentions I do know Marcus and where he leads I will follow.”
The Abbot broke in at that point.
“And as far as I am concerned my superior, the Church must follow as well.”
Father Wilmont stood up. He paced to a window overlooking the Gatehouse and stood silent. The Abbot and Nessleton looked at each other and then looked at the Father, waiting. Finally, the Father spoke.
“I agree. I do not know The First Knight as well as I knew the King but what I know of him is that the King trusted him above all others - even myself. So whatever he asks of The Church he will have.”
“Even the Acolytes?” Nessleton asked referring to the Church’s order of Warrior Monks.
“Even the Acolytes.”
“So we are united then” said the Abbot.
“It would seem we are” Nessleton replied.
“But united against whom gentlemen?” The Father turned back to the window as he spoke, “united against whom?”
Sir Ebros was not having any luck locating The Ferret. He didn’t know The Ferret’s real name. He didn’t know what The Ferret looked liked. He didn’t know what direction The Ferret was heading in. His quest was hopeless.
He had manged to bandage up the cuts and bruises he got in the attack by the thieves and he had brushed and fed Starlight, his warhorse. Now he was simply sitting and sharpening his sword and thinking.
He was so caught up in thought in fact that he had not noticed the winged creature making passes overhead spying on his camp.
Kane’s gargoyle had located Sir Ebros but he did not know if he was one of the Bane Knights pursuing The Ferret.
It perched in a tree and swallowed the silver tablet Kane had given it.
As it fluttered down its appearance slowly began to transform until its taloned hands and feet transitioned into fingers and toes, its bat like face took on the appearance of a kindly old man and its wings shriveled into its back.
By the time he reached the ground he appeared as a kindly old man. A naked old man. The wizard had not anticipated that. Then the creature thought, something it had not been able to do, per se, as a gargoyle. It thought as a man and suddenly realized that maybe the wizard had anticipated that. Then it screamed.
“Help me! Help me kind knight! Robbery, robbery is afoot! Foul robbery!”
Sir Ebros was startled. He grabbed his sword and ran toward the cry! There before his eyes was a kindly old man. Naked. Naked and terrified.
“Sir! I am a knight of the land. The robbers? Which way did they flee with your belongings!”
“Up that path good knight!” The gargoyle pointed down a beaten path.
Sir Ebros tried to quickly don his tunic that he was carrying before setting off but the old stranger grabbed him by the arm and said “knight, please wait! I am as a babe newly from its mother’s womb. I pray you not to leave me as such.”
Ebros was caught off guard. Not by the old man’s request but by his grip. It was strong and powerful. Ebros was sure if he had tried to break it with all his might he could not.
He looked the old man in the eye and did not speak. Seconds passed between the two and then the ‘old man’ released his arm.
“Beg my pardon good knight. I am a simple man. I did not mean to accost your person.”
“Even so it is forgiven,” said Ebros. “And I am sure the robber has made good his escape by now. As for your apparel I have a camp on the other side of the mound. Accompany me and I will lend you a tunic and some breaches.”
“That would be more kindness than I deserve good sir. But I will gladly accept your offer.”
The rain had slowed to a drizzle. Less than an hour ago it was coming down so heavy a lot of the vendors at the port were tying down their goods. Zafton’s port was one of the busiest in the world. It saw more ships and goods than Kings Harbor. It was second only to the port at Monet that housed the Royal Navy in The Joint Kingdoms.
Lyla told Maverick that the meeting was to take place where a ship named The Adamante was docked. He and Oxley had walked the length of the pier twice with no sign of the ship. Oxley wanted to ask around but Maverick refused, not wanting to let the potential buyers know they were there before he had a chance to check them out from a distance.
As they started their third pass a large fishing boat rowed out from between two larger Brigantine ships. As the boat moved further back Maverick could make out the letters on the side of the largest ship A-D-A-M-A-N-T-E.
He grabbed Oxley by the arm and pointed to the name.
“That there is our ship Ox!”
“My name is Oxley. Not Ox!”
“That there is our ship Oxley. And we are early. Come on, let’s keep a look over there by the roping.”
Maverick bought an apple and leaned against the support of a building used as a shipping office that was located next to the pier.
“Why so quiet Ox? You thinking because I came to make the sale instead of Lyla you won’t get your three gold pieces?”
“Well sort of. And it was supposed to be five. But I suppose three gold pieces is still a good deal seeing as how I don’t suppose I will have to do much fighting now.”
“Not so fast! Just because I am here instead of Lyla doesn’t mean I’m going to be doing any fighting. Remember, I’m Lyla. Would Lyla be doing any fighting?”
“Yes.”
“Well you are right about that. But I don’t have a crossbow or elven armor so you can’t expect me to be acting like the precocious young daughter of a rich merchant.”
“You mean ‘a used to be rich merchant’?”
“Aww her father is still loaded. Listen to me Oxley you don’t accumulate the kind of wealth that old man did for all those years and just ‘run out of it’. I’m telling you he’s hidden a lot away for those two. Besides if you do have to fight I will pay you six gold pieces instead of five.”
“Six. That sounds fair. Just so long as you don’t go starting trouble just to see me fight.”
“Aww Ox, I’m hurt. Do you really think I would do that?” Maverick finished the apple and tossed it; patted Oxley on the back and said “but I do like to see you fight!”
Midas and Boris were less than a day away from the monastery. If they kept walking they would clear the forest by daybreak. But they had not stopped for any length of time in twelve hours.
Midas preferred to keep walking but Boris was ready to eat and his weapons and armor were a lot heavier than Midas’ robes.
The had come to a clearing in the woods not far from a pond. The moisture from the pond caused the surrounding area to be covered in an emerald green moss which was a lot softer to sleep on than the ear
then floor.
Boris lowered himself to the ground and sat against a tree. He unbuckled the belt holding his scabbard and dagger and started unstrapping his leather armor harness. Midas did a quick survey of the area checking for signs of snakes or even worse. Satisfied for the time being he went back to where Boris was sitting.
“What about a fire?”
“Make one if you like? I’m so tired I will be asleep before it gets going good anyway.”
Midas started to protest but then realized it would have been a waste of time.
“Well I will need some kindling. Mind my pack will you?”
Boris just nodded his head and continued removing his armor.
Midas shrugged to himself and started walking off looking for some suitable kindling. Most of the ground around their camping was damp so he went further out. Eventually he forgot that he was supposed to be gathering kindling and simply enjoyed walking in the woods. The smell of the damp earth, the crunch of leaves and branches under his feet. The wind on his face as it maneuvered through the trees. The sound of small animals likes birds chirping, crickets cricking, chip monks scurrying and squirrels gnawing. He sat down on an old decaying tree that appeared to have come down in a storm long ago. Between his legs a large crack in its trunk shown bare. Whitish yellow inside but weathered with moss and termites.
Midas took a deep breath and looked around and felt at peace. He envied the men who lived in the forest. Even those who only made a living in the forest like The Hunters. This place was pure, it was genuine and it was ancient. It was a place to be respected and feared and in return for such respect and fear would shelter you, feed you, and give you drink.
Just then Midas felt something. Not something he should normally be feeling. Indeed it was near imperceptible but it was there. Midas concentrated and tried to ascertain which of his senses was alerting him. The answer was even more curious to Midas. It was his Cleric training? Yes, it was that. The training that Father Wilmont had started him on but he had never finished.
