The Fall of Belvedere

by B Cameron Lee

  Whether Arwhon sensed this or not he dressed for the occasion, wearing his chainmail and all of his weapons but leaving off his helm. He asked Shiri to lift the glamour on both himself and Krissi and strode to the meeting place with his left hand resting on Krissi’s back, just forward of the furled wings, about waist height. She walked regally but quietly beside him, as if sensing the occasion through their bond. As Arwhon approached the gathering there were exclamations of surprise and every one present went down on their knees and bowed until their foreheads were touching the ground. The only two left standing were Chalc and Yongsan.

  “You seem to have created quite an impression.” Chalc muttered as he winked at Arwhon, a slight smile on his face.

  “Thought it would be the easiest way to get them to listen.” Arwhon replied.

  For the next two hours, before everyone turned in to get some rest before the evening’s action, Arwhon went over and over his plans. He prevailed on the leaders of various groups to volunteer for whichever position they wanted to fight in and eventually consensus was reached among them. The leaders were in awe of this man from legend, with eyes all of one colour and a tame gryffon.

  What Arwhon didn’t know, and no one had thought to tell him, was that old paintings on silk, from centuries before, had depicted someone very like him, dressed as he was and with a tame gryffon. He was truly a legend come to life for those group leaders. There could be no better omen or good news to give their men. Everyone would fight to the last breath in his or her body to win through and free Tarkent, standing beside a fabled hero from their past.

  Arwhon was too wound up to sleep and chose to sit in a place of concealment watching the city of Kyto from the slightly elevated land the orchards grew on. It was an attractive city, laid out with the streets in semi circles, expanding out from the walls of the Royal Palace like ripples in a pond. From the outskirts of the city, leading directly to the Plaza in front of the Royal Palace, wide avenues, lined with trees, cut straight through the curved streets. Like a giant clock, the major avenue ran due east from the Royal Keep in the six o’clock position while the other straight roads were arrayed in the seven, eight and nine o’clock positions to the south and the five, four and three o’clock positions to the north. The ravine behind the Royal Keep formed a natural boundary on that side of the city.

  From his place of observation, Arwhon thought Kyto was a thing of beauty, so symmetrical and well planned. Most of the buildings of the city were no more than two stories high with most being of a single story construction similar to those seen all over the country. Here, much use was made of thatch, manufactured from the straw of the rice crops grown in the fields.

  The day was peaceful with the smoke from chimneys rising straight into the air. The only discord was the noise coming from the Plaza in front of the Royal Palace and around the Keep itself. The tranquillity was punctuated by yelling and shouting as Dominion soldiers called out to each other or were drilled to allay boredom. Weapons’ training was also being conducted as the clash of arms could be heard and once, Arwhon thought he heard Kroy’s voice raised in command, followed by laughter. It was hard to imagine what the night would bring. He retired to lay down with Shiri and Krissi to feign sleep for a while.

  Kroy was indeed down in the yard in front of the Keep and he was annoyed and angry with life at the moment. The Empress Martine was off fighting a war in Southland which she would probably win. It would be an historic war, the first time anyone had truly beaten Southland and taken Belvedere. A prelude to one ruler having Dominion over all the western lands and once that task was accomplished, Cheshwon would be next. And where was he? Stuck in Tarkent, a stupid rural backwater, full of spineless kowtowing peasants, when he should be part of Martine’s command structure in front of the walls of Belvedere.

  Oh, it was alright for Martine to promise he could marry Mindayo, the King’s daughter and rule this land but that was nothing. Sure, the girl was pretty enough but he could have had Tarkent and her anyway, without having to marry her. Martine just wanted him out of the way, he was sure of it. He was becoming too popular with the soldiers of her army and she was worried he would turn on her one day. Martine had that all wrong. He just wanted to kill and loot and torture the helpless victims of war. Taking the odd string of twenty Tarkenti women over to Goristoum every six months before hurrying back to Kyto, was not his idea of what he wanted for the rest of his life. Okay, he might be able to dabble in a bit more killing when he became the ruler here but Martine would keep an eye on him.

  For all his ambition he would just be her puppet.

  It rankled.

  His anger was really due to something entirely different. Mindayo. She was an irritant thorn in his side. Martine’s instructions had been implicitly clear; he was not to harm the Royal Family nor any member of it. Martine had been around for a long time and was a clever woman. She knew the Royal Family was revered by all in Tarkent and if any harm came to any member of it, the whole of Tarkent would rise in rebellion. Kroy was well aware of the situation, as he had been placed in charge of Tarkent after the episode at Gildon’s Keep but still it rankled.

  Mindayo was going to be his one day. She was beautiful and innocent. A delicate blossom of a girl coming into the first flower of womanhood and he wanted her, desired her. When the time came, he could inflict pain and take her when she was vulnerable and sobbing, such was his taste. He would be her master and have her running to his every beck and call, always subservient but Martine had made it clear the union would only come to pass after Belvedere was hers.

  Kroy had tried seducing Mindayo but the seemingly demure girl repulsed his every advance and refused to be left alone with him. He had roughly taken a peasant girl or two to vent his frustrations and lust upon but found he remained unsatisfied. Mindayo occupied his thoughts more and more. This morning she had even refused to see him, claiming she had a headache and felt unwell.

  How dare she!

  Kroy looked around the yard between the wall and the Keep and spotted a couple of soldiers lounging against a wall.

  “You there! You’re supposed to be on guard duty. Get to your posts and stay alert or you’ll feel a taste of the lash.”

  Hearing the tone of his voice the two guards leapt to comply, snapping to attention and saluting. Kroy was not someone you ignored if you wanted to live. A cruel smile flickered at the corner of Kroy’s thin lips.

  He enjoyed power.

  Dusk. The sun slipped down behind the Royal Keep as the day drew to a close and the shadows darkened and lengthened. Chalc and Yongsan had left the orchards an hour before, their black clothes in packs borne across their shoulders. It would take some time to clamber to the bottom of the ravine behind the Keep from where they’d start their long, relentless climb just after dark.

  Arwhon was up and restless, his impatience conveyed to both Duran, who tried to remain calm and Krissi who paced back and forth behind Arwhon swishing her tail. Sensing he was part of the problem, Arwhon sat down beside Shiri and tried for stillness. Krissi came and sat by his side to be absently stroked as Shiri tried to settle Arwhon.

  “Everyone knows what they are to do. In a few hours the rebel forces will be moving into position and the plan will begin to unfold. It will all be fine. Hopefully the garrison will surrender and we will avoid too much loss of life.”

  Arwhon gave her a sideways glance.

  “Kroy is in there. You saw him at Gildon’s Keep, the man with the silver stump. He’ll not give in nor will he be at the front of his men. He’s a bully and a coward and very cruel. We’ll have to watch out for him getting away again. If I see him, I’ll kill him. No quarter.”

  At his side Krissi felt the intensity of Arwhon’s feelings and a low hissing growl escaped her throat.

  “Easy Krissi, it’s not time yet.”

  In the rift below the tower, as darkness fell, Chalc and Yongsan made their way to the bottom of the cliff through deep shadows. Far above, the last rays of the dyin
g sun gilded the top story of the Royal Keep. It seemed a long way up and Chalc secretly wondered at Yongsan’s ability to climb so high but his old Teacher was adamant he could manage it. They opened the bags they’d carried, taking from within the black clothes and special shoes. Form fitting at wrists and ankles, the light garments of dull black cotton were loose enough to give them room to move in. A close fitting black hood with eye holes was also donned. If anyone looked toward them, only the slits left for vision would be visible and a little soot around the eyes took care of that. Their footwear consisted of tightly laced black suede shoes for a sure feel while climbing and a small black cloth, tucked into their waistbands for drying damp hands completed their outfits.

  Chalc wore his sword in a special harness strapped to his back while Yongsan had a knife in a black sheath strapped to each calf. Chalc also had his amulet in a small pouch at his belt, if he wore it now Yongsan may not be able to see him, although Yongsan generally saw what ‘was’. They hid the packs, which now contained their clothes, among the boulders at the base of the cliff and stood for a moment, heads bowed in silence, collecting their thoughts and clearing their minds for the task ahead before approaching the rock face of the ravine.

  Although the light had virtually fled, the first hundred feet was relatively easy, following a crack up the cliff wall but hand and footholds soon became harder to find. They stopped to rest, leaning into the cool rock-face where they could and after a couple of hours had come to the foundations of the Keep itself. The stones were large and smooth but luckily, on this side of the tower, not much maintenance had been done on the mortar binding them together. The cracks between the blocks made for useful hand and footholds. Once, from a window above them, someone emptied a bucket of dirty water. It spread out to form fine droplets in the air as it fell and both Chalc and Yongsan received a shower which also wet the smooth stones. On Chalc’s next move, he slipped and it was extremely fortunate he had his hand thrust into a deep crack with a fisted pressure hold or he would have followed the water down. Breathing deeply to regain composure Chalc glanced down while he carefully dried each hand in turn but all was inky blackness below.

  Both Chalc and Yongsan avoided climbing near any windows, as being silhouetted against the light would surely give them away. The last obstacle which presented itself to the intrepid pair was the balcony of the topmost floor of the keep, where the Royal Family was imprisoned at night, their quarters occupying the whole level. The balcony formed a formidable overhang which was just too difficult for either man to negotiate and after urgent whispered words, it was decided to enter a window in the level below and make their way to the top floor by way of the internal staircase.

  As the city of Kyto gradually went to sleep towards midnight, the various bands of rebel forces were moving silently into position to await the signal from the top of the Royal Keep. Arwhon wore all of his armour, including his helm, ready to lead the rebel force. He was determined to face the enemy at the front of those he commanded, nothing less.

  Shiri had objected at first but when she saw that her objections fell on deaf ears, she elected to join him, which occasioned further discussion until she pointed out her armour was probably better than his and that she was still his Shield. They would both be at the front of the rebel forces, she just behind him, protecting his back. Duran was to be left behind; this was an engagement to be fought on foot. It would be easy for friends to be trampled by the big grey stallion in the turmoil of battle on a dark night. Arwhon hoped for the hundredth time that his new found tactical skills proved worthy of the situation. A whisper passed in the night and an owl hooted, then another. All was ready.

  Chalc and Yongsan, seemingly no worse for wear despite his advanced years, climbed into a window and allowed their eyes to adjust as they sensed the room. It was a sitting room for daytime use by the Royal Family, whose murmured conversations could be heard from the floor above. Moving silently toward the door, Chalc whispered his sword from its sheath as Yongsan followed stealthily along behind. Moving the sliding partition a hairsbreadth, Chalc peered through the crack and observed a set of stairs leading to the floor above, at the base of which stood two guards, facing toward them. He withdrew and slowly moved to his right along the internal wall to the end of the room with Yongsan close behind. Here Chalc silently drew back a partition giving access to the adjoining room and slipped through noiselessly to pad alongside the sliding panels giving onto the corridor. At the far end of them, a small peek through a tiny crack verified they were now positioned a little behind the soldiers guarding the bottom of the stairs, which suited Chalc fine.

  He drew back and let Yongsan view the layout before using hand signals to convey his intentions. Yongsan nodded and Chalc noiselessly slid open the partition in front of him, far enough to slip silently out. Yongsan followed behind him just as quietly. Everything now depended on the guards keeping their vision forward. Yongsan drew one of his knives as he advanced on the nearest guard while Chalc moved under the stairs behind the other. Just before Chalc could knock out the guard in front of him, the man turned to his fellow and spotted Yongsan behind him. A cry now would be disastrous so Chalc reacted and plunged his sword into the man’s neck, neatly cutting through the larynx and stifling any outcry. The other guard turned at the noise but Yongsan quickly hit a pressure point from behind and drove the tip of his knife up under the man’s chin and into his brain. The Master then lowered the limp dead body quietly to the floor before removing his knife and wiping it on the dead guard’s shirt.

  Taking a quick look up the stairs Chalc could see no other guards. He paused for a moment, listening but no alarm sounded. Satisfied, he lightly ran up to the floor above, closely followed by Yongsan. For an old man who had just made a five hour climb, his Teacher moved with a grace astonishing to Chalc. He knocked lightly on the screen door to the upper rooms and a melodious voice bade them enter. Chalc slid back the door and taking off his hood entered a step before Yongsan. Both men dropped to one knee, heads bowed in front of the King and Queen and their daughter, Mindayo. The Queen gasped in fright but she was Tarkent Royalty and even if one was about to have their head cut off, dignity had to be maintained.

  “High One, we have come to free Tarkent from the Dominion shackles. Martine is involved in a war many leagues to the west and we have raised a small army of Tarkent rebels to help us. We have a plan but you’ll need a place to hide for now as we have to pretend you’ve escaped so the defenders will leave the Palace Keep. Is there somewhere near where you could conceal yourselves for a time?”

  It was Mindayo who answered.

  “There’s a large storage cupboard on the next level down. We could all squeeze into it for a while. Will that do?”

  Chalc smiled. “Excellent. Please, follow me.”

  He stood and led off, Mindayo and her parents close behind as he led them downstairs, Yongsan at the rear. Mindayo did not even pause to look at the guard lying in a pool of blood as she passed, before directing Chalc to the left and taking them back into the room through which Chalc and Yongsan had earlier entered the stairwell. At the far end Mindayo opened yet another partition which was the entry to a small storage area. Without questions, the Royal Family squeezed into the constricted space and made themselves as comfortable as possible.

  Chalc bowed again and addressed his King.

  “Whatever you hear, please stay quiet and remain in here. We’re about to start the rescue.”

  Chalc pulled the screen closed and took out his amulet, placing it over his head and vanishing from normal sight.

  “I’m going to raise the alarm now Yongsan. It’s time for the light signal. I’ll return shortly.”

  Chalc glided down the stairs silently, invisibly. He only had four more floors to go. He heard voices on the third level but they were not his concern, he had to open the front doors of the Royal Keep and the front gates to make it look as though the Royal family had escaped through them.

  On the next to
last level Chalc came within a few feet of a guard on duty by the stairs and had to proceed with silent caution but the amulet worked well and he was not detected. On reaching the lowest level Chalc was gratified to see no guards on duty inside the front doors. Carefully opening one of them, being as quiet as possible, he looked out. Two guards at the bottom of the steps leaned on their pikes, half asleep. Chalc mentally thanked whoever kept the hinges well oiled as he pulled both front doors wide open and moved quietly down the stairs to the yard below, passing invisibly between the dozing guards. It was only a matter of moments before he was at the front gates and sheathing his sword, he lifted the huge bar locking them and quickly swung both gates open wide.

  Far down the main avenue he caught a shadowy glimpse of the approaching rebels. Looking up he spotted a lamp being waived back and forth on the uppermost balcony of the Royal Keep.

  Most excellent.

  Turning, Chalc yelled at the top of his voice in what he hoped was a passable imitation of a Debrishar accent.

  “WARE, WARE. THE ROYAL FAMILY HAVE ESCAPED!” he ran around, unseen within the amulet’s spell of invisibility and yelled some more until the cry was taken up, passing from group to group in the yard and among those outside. He tried a desperate gambit.

  “FIND THEM, SEARCH THE CITY STREETS.”

  Once more the cry was taken up and soldiers, used to following commands, started pouring out of the gates, like angry ants from a disturbed nest, to mingle with those beyond in the Plaza. Captains were getting groups of men organised into their troops when suddenly there arose a cry from one of the soldiers, pointing.