On the sixth day after capture, in desperation, some Dominion soldiers rebelled and took a couple of Broken Landers hostage at mealtime, when their food was being delivered by a small party of the King’s own kitchen staff.
The rescue was messy.
Arwhon in mail and helm, sword strapped to his back, strode into the stable yard behind the inn and stood silently for a while before hailing the Captain. Arwhon was quite a sight with his emerald green M’Herindar eyes glaring from each side of the nose bar of his helm and in a loud voice he demanded the Captain come out and parlay with him. The rear door of the inn opened and he saw the Captain standing in front of two of his men who held the captive Broken Landers in the passageway behind.
“If anything happens to me, these hostages will be dead before you can help them,” the Captain stated confidently in a raised voice as he strode out into the yard.
It was the moment Chalc had been waiting for. Wearing the amulet of invisibility, he’d been standing to one side of the doorway. As the Captain stepped outside, Chalc slipped into the passageway behind him, sneaking quietly forward, waiting for his opportunity to act while all the attention was on Arwhon. When it came, Chalc snatched the hostages away from their minders, kicking over one of the soldiers to do it. All any of the observing Dominion soldiers could see were two Broken Landers stumbling along quickly, an arm out in front of each as they headed out the back door. The Captain was knocked off balance as an invisible Chalc caromed into him on the way past.
Arwhon stood his ground in front of the inn door, seemingly impassive to the commotion within. It was his imperturbability which caused Martine’s soldiers to hesitate for a moment as they saw their hostages staggering oddly toward the rear gate. It was only a momentary standoff until the soldiers realised their hostages were getting away. Immediately they charged from the doorway en masse, wielding pieces of wood torn from the structure of the building, to use as cudgels.
The Captain kept out of the way, standing to one side. His men would take care of this young upstart.
Three men together ran at Arwhon, who stood immobile until it seemed he would be overpowered. Suddenly his sword swept out of the sheath on his back and in the same continuous movement one man lay dead, headless while another spouted blood from a deep slash across his chest. The third, just behind the first two, kept coming and the return stroke of the sword removed his raised right arm just below the shoulder. Gore saturating the Captain as the mortally wounded man turned and staggered toward him, desperately clutching at the stump of his arm.
No more men issued from the doorway. Arwhon bent and wiped his sword clean on one attacker’s shirt before resheathing the blade as he straightened. He addressed the wide eyed Captain, now standing totally still, blood pooling at his feet from the remains of the wounded man’s arm.
“I do not like killing but will if you disobey me. I trust there will be no further need for it.”
Arwhon turned on his heel and walked out of the yard, his heart heavy.
The Riders arrived at dusk the following day.
After the Dominion garrison in Wodderel was emptied, the Broken Landers started arriving at the border country with food for the Barsoom Tribes. It was duly paid for and the price was more than fair. The Broken Landers preferred silver to gold which suited both parties. They also started volunteering information as to where more Dominion soldiers could be found and Riders were led to the larger towns and villages.
A number of the Dominion soldiers took the option of surrender but a lot did not. The fights were generally short lived. The Riders found their short curved bows to be the most effective method of dispatch for those who resisted. Fortunately, not many Riders were hurt during the campaign against the Dominion in The Broken Lands.
The Barsoomi King, his Queen and Heirs travelled north to meet the King of The Broken Lands in Wodderel. It was a time for celebration, as The Broken Landers were free from the yoke of the Dominion with their fighting done for them. An accord was made between the two Kings and parchments drawn up to record it.
The Barsoomi would live in the south of the Broken Lands until late spring and pay fairly with silver for any food they received. Their horses were free to graze there. In return The Broken Lands would be protected by the Barsoom Nation. It was agreed that once the Barsoomi left the Broken Lands, further talks would be held regarding their future relationship.
All parties were duly satisfied and the Barsoomi King, along with his retinue left Wodderel the following day, returning south to the border. Arwhon and Chalc watched them go, content to stay on a few more days and rest before the next leg of their ride. They enjoyed the peacefulness of the Broken Lands, a place where violence was not a way of life.
The day Arwhon and Chalc were due to leave, riding south to meet up with the Black River Tribe again, the King of the Broken Lands requested a private meeting with them.
“You came to our aid when no others did and overcame great odds. You will both be welcome here whenever you return. I have deeded you each some land with a large farmhouse which will be cared for by stewards until you claim it.”
The King paused as he regarded them both.
“I’ll understand if you never do.”
Arwhon bent his knee to the diminutive King.
“Thank you Sire. We’re both honoured. If there’s a chance or a choice, I intend to spend some time in your lands in the future. Your people have warm and peaceful hearts, much like the M’Herindar and are very different from most Men.”
Chalc nodded in agreement with Arwhon.
Once again the pair rode through streets lined with the small brown folk, cheering and waving. Arwhon’s heart was gladdened as they headed south.
It took four days of swift riding from Wodderel to reach the Barsoomi Tribes and when they arrived, it was to find the Golden River and Slow River Tribes had already set up permanent camps further west along the border and the Blood River Tribe was preparing to set up a permanent camp the next evening near a stream their outriders had found. The King of the Barsoomi was intending to set his camp up near theirs as it would be almost central in the defensive line along The Broken Land’s border with Barsoom.
As Arwhon and Chalc rode for the Black River temporary camp, it was with great joy Arwhon recognised the little girl outside of the seeress’s tent. He jumped from Duran’s back and gathered her up in his arms, smothering her in kisses.
“Put me down, what would people think of you kissing a young girl in that manner?”
She looked at his crestfallen face.
“Not that I didn’t enjoy it.”
They went to the tent which had been set up for them and there Sihron’del’s glamour could be lifted. Resplendent in her green armour, Sihron’del regaled them both with the tale of her time with the Eldest Wise One and the warning regarding her life essence being out of her body for anything more than two hours. Following this, she brought out a short cylindrical case with a cap on it and after removing the cap, pulled out a beautifully made folding bow and a quiver full of arrows.
“Knowing how much I enjoy using a bow, Jahron’dal made a special one for me. It folds down to pack away but once it’s unfolded and strung, it’s as powerful as a normal one.”
Shiri straightened the bow, the arms clicking quietly into place and bending it behind her leg she quickly strung it before passing it to Arwhon. He looked it over and passed it on to Chalc who tested the pull before handing the weapon back to Shiri.
“That’s a fine piece of work, Shiri. No need to ask if you can use it I take it?”
Shiri just smiled as she disassembled the weapon and placed it back into its protective case.
Soon they would leave the protection of the Barsoomi and venture forth into new lands.
4. Trials of Belvedere.
A fortnight after Arwhon, Shiri and Chalc left Cristal’s mansion in Belvedere on their mission to persuade the King of Barsoom to free The Broken Lands from the shackles of Dominio
n rule, news came by a swift messenger on horseback, telling of Empress Martine’s advance into Southland from Graswyn.
Wagons by the score had been rolling into Belvedere for the last fortnight bearing grain, some of it early harvested and still needing further drying. The grain was spread out in the sun to dry the best it could but would still need to be used soon, before mildew struck. One of the city’s bakers suggested turning the slightly unripe grain into hard biscuits which would keep a lot better. The idea had merit so the mill, built against the eastern wall of Belvedere and powered by a giant waterwheel constructed on the outside of the wall in the Wandering River, worked overtime to turn out flour. Much baking was now underway to lay in a large store of hardtack for the war everyone now believed was coming.
The messenger stood before the Council of Nine, Willem’s position remaining unfilled and handed over his sealed missive. Old Baldin took it and broke the wax seal, scanning the contents before raising his eyes to the messenger.
“Well ridden. Go and find food for yourself and your horse and take some rest. There will be an answer.”
He turned to the rest of the Council, who were waiting expectantly, before reading the message aloud.
“’Empress Martine has crossed the border with around five thousand troops and a horde of common folk behind her. They are moving quickly to secure farms as our own troops attempt to harry them with a rearguard action. We are trying to protect the last of the farmers we sent off before we fall back and are burning unharvested crops but fear we cannot burn them all. I don’t have enough soldiers here for an open engagement as I don’t know how many troops Martine has in reserve. We’ll protect as many of the refugees as we can along the way. Prepare for a sudden large population increase.’ It’s signed, Jorgen de Frie, Commander in Chief of the army.”
“Straight and to the point.” Cristal remarked. “Well, we all have work to do. Cradon, have you given thought to the defence of the harbour?”
“Yes Cristal, that grandson of yours was a great help. I have three of my largest and oldest ships moored in the channel leading from the harbour to the bay. At the first sign of the Reavers, we’ll sink them.”
“What if they row in at night, Cradon?”
“Oh damnation, I hadn’t thought of that. We’ll sink them now then.”
He scurried out, followed by Kirta, who, besides fish, knew a thing or two about boats.
Cristal raised an eyebrow at Merdon, who nodded and slipped out quietly. It was his job to make sure the new swords were being distributed properly and their recipients were being trained in their use.
Bertran was next to come under Cristal’s eagle eye.
“We’ll need bandages once the fighting starts in earnest Bertran. Cotton is best but any fabric is better than none. I suggest you pick the poorest of the silks you have tucked away in your warehouse and hire a few folk to help make bandages from them.”
Bertran’s face paled and he half rose from his seat.
“How did you find out about..?”
He sat quickly as Lareeta took one step forward.
“Very well then but not the finest. They are irreplaceable.”
Cristal nodded. “We all have sacrifices to make. This is yours.”
Turning in her seat, she regarded the stony faced man on her right side. His hard gaze relaxed slightly under her scrutiny.
“Duke Dalvan. How’s the City Guard coming along?”
“Excellently Cristal. Crime has dropped right off and the men have had time to practice the sword moves taught them by Master Chalc and Kuiran. I’m working on a roster of patrols to protect the city.”
Cristal arched an eyebrow.
“Don’t forget to give a copy to Merdon. It would be awkward if the patrols bumped into a band of armed men.”
The Duke agreed. “What we don’t know won’t hurt us I guess.” He shook his head at Cristal. “You’re too devious by half but I’m glad you are who you are and on our side. Someone needed to take charge.”
Old Baldin coughed noisily and the Duke turned to him.
“Yes, I realise you’re Head of Council but in these times we need a quick thinker. In times of peace, you’re our rock to lean on but at the moment Cristal is doing a damn fine job.”
Timid Trelin spoke quietly.
“Yes and a far better one than most of you realise.”
“I’ll second that.” Callandor added.
Cristal nodded to both, colouring slightly.
“Thank you. Now I must go, there’s yet more to be done.”
She exited, followed closely by Lareeta who now chose to be dressed in the royal blue robe edged with white.
Cristal’s house colours.
Trelin resumed her knitting, a small smile playing over her lips. No one paid her a lot of attention but before Jorgen de Fries had left for the border, he’d spent two pleasant evenings at her house going over the tactics to use for most eventualities of a border crossing by the Empress Martine. Trelin was happy he was so attentive to her plans and the explanations of them. She may make something of him yet. Pity he was married, she liked to have a man in her life. She was an anchor for men like him and she knew just how much rope to let out. Let them believe she was timid.
Mere camouflage and misdirection for those who couldn’t be bothered to look at her closely.
Cristal had taken to riding horseback lately, it was quicker and easier than the carriage and she could see a lot more from the saddle. Besides, Cristal could have no better teacher than her bodyguard Lareeta who had spent most of her life on horseback.
They often saddled their own horses when the stable boys were busy, although her staff loved to serve her, basking in her gratitude and the smile which accompanied good work. Leaving the carriage at home meant Cristal and Lareeta could move around more freely in the city and leave more of her servants available to defend the manor. It was not really necessary to do so at the moment but soon it would be and routines were good for servants.
There was no concern about their horses being thieved, as Lareeta always rode Binaway and she couldn’t be stolen. Some of the more genteel citizens of Belvedere were disturbed when Cristal first took to riding a horse like a man but had now grown accustomed to it, although a few comments were still made within their hearing about Cristal’s mode of dress.
Arriving back at the mansion, Cristal asked Mendle if Kuiran or Raleen were in.
Mendle’s smile was mischievous.
“Don’t usually find them apart much nowadays. They’re in the library.”
Cristal hurried off. Everyone seemed to move and speak so slowly of late. Reaching the library, she paused outside the door and adjusted her clothing before entering. Kuiran and Raleen were poring over some of the older maps and there was a foul smell in the room. It resulted from a job Cristal had requested Raleen to undertake, without realising how many old maps there were. It had taken time to check their accuracy. Raleen was marking one with a pen dipped in red ink as they entered the library.
“Cristal, Lareeta, greetings.”
The two women nodded in acknowledgement.
“Any word of Arwhon?” Raleen asked.
“I’m afraid we’re not going to hear from Arwhon for quite a while. We’re on our own here and we’ll have to do the best we can. How did your day go?”
Raleen glanced shyly at Kuiran before answering.
“We’ve actually been out to examine some of the pipes and tunnels marked on a couple of these maps. Kuiran went with me in case of danger. He insisted I tie a rope around me so he could drag me out if there was a problem. We found two tunnels impassable and I’ve marked them so on this map but surprisingly, a clear tunnel leads from the back yard of the mansion down toward the town. It’s a big one. Kuiran could just fit in doubled over so he came with me. Farther down, there were signs others knew of it, so we returned.”
From the look on Cristal’s face it was obvious the news regarding the tunnel at the rear of her property
wasn’t unexpected. The Tsalks had lived at the mansion a long time.
“Why were the others impassable?”
“The sewage in them rises nearly to the roof of the tunnel and I didn’t know how far it went like that, the lamp light didn’t travel far. I started off by walking along the pathway beside the foul stuff but still had to wade in it a couple of times.”
Cristal wrinkled her nose as Raleen grimaced.
“Yes Grandmother, we have bathed but it’s awfully hard to shake the smell. Much the same as it’s somewhat hard to breathe down there. We plan to follow the clear tunnel tomorrow to find out where it eventually comes out. That is if you’ve nothing else for us to do.”
“No, your exploration of the various pipes and tunnels running under Belvedere is most important at the moment. The war has begun, Martine has crossed the border and soon the city will start filling up with refugees. We’ll have to allow temporary camps in the courtyard for a few families but I’ll pick those families myself. Any inkling of your other two magical abilities yet? I may have thought of one.”
“No, Grandmother, not yet, I’ve seen no more glamoured spies but I am getting stronger every day at moving objects around. It just makes me tired to practice. What’s the other ability you think you know about?”
Cristal regarded her granddaughter and Kuiran before answering. She wondered whether her announcement may affect their budding relationship.
“When you arrived, Redbeard gave you a horse, something he’s never done before to my knowledge and since then Mendle has been bringing you little titbits throughout each day. Do you find people often give you things?”
“Why yes Grandmother. It’s been so for a long time. I just thought it was generosity.”
Still observing Kuiran slyly, her Grandmother answered.
“I think one of your other magical abilities induces people to be generous to you. An entirely unconscious act on your behalf but it would explain why so much comes to you which you don’t seek out. Not like other folk I know. Trader blood and wild Earthmagic can throw some interesting mixes. That leaves just one more ability to discover Raleen, pray you discover it soon.”
The Fall of Belvedere Page 11