by Ulff Lehmann
“Jathain has been to Kalduuhn recently, hasn’t he?” Duasonh interrupted Kildanor’s musings.
“Aye.” He turned away from the books and looked at his friend. Some decades ago he would have called him “lad” but that was quite inappropriate now. The once trim figure of Cumaill Duasonh had lost the fight with the courtly lifestyle, despite the weekly practice bouts the Baron still went through. “What of it?”
Duasonh shook his head. “Nothing… I think.”
“You think?” echoed Kildanor, a slight smile curling his lips. He had known the Baron since the man’s childhood, and knew when he was in such a thoughtful mood, something was most definitely wrong.
The Baron cleared his throat. “Maybe you are right.”
Kildanor arched a brow. “Really?”
“Aye.”
“Oh?”
“Aye,” the Baron said. “Look at this.”
He walked over to the ornately carved desk and took the letter Cumaill was holding out to him. The writing was simple yet elaborate. “Someone really knows how to handle a feather,” he muttered as he read on. “Whoever wrote this knew Chanastardh was planning to invade. Look at the date!” He was well aware that his voice had taken on an angry pitch by the time his sentence was finished.
“So it seems,” Duasonh replied. “And that other threat? What do you make of it?”
Despite being away from Harail, Kildanor’s mandate was clear, and no one except the King was to know what other dangers lay hidden in the country. Was this what the writer of the letter was referring to? It could be a multitude of things, he argued. Besides, if these Sons of Traksor were to fight against demons, why would they bother with the Chosen’s mandate? That didn’t make sense.
“Kildanor?” the Baron’s voice pierced his thoughts.
He looked up. “Aye?”
“Something wrong?”
“No, just thinking.”
“Speak your mind, mate.”
“Well,” the Chosen replied. “I’ve no idea what that other threat might be, unless you count your cousin as yet another threat.” Duasonh raised a hand as if to wave him off, but Kildanor continued. “No, listen. Jathain was in Kalduuhn just a fortnight ago.” He counted down fingers as he made his arguments. “Those lands south of Gathran Forest are the most direct route to take if you want to get back here. Jathain’s escort was missing a couple of men and he said they were ambushed, yet all the stuff he wanted to purchase was still with him.” He paused to catch Cumaill’s attention anew since his friend had that faraway look of one who was already pondering the issue. When the Baron looked his way again, he went on, “Suppose, Jathain’s expedition was ambushed, and these Sons of Traksor saved them. Then he was warned about the Chanastardhians, but instead of coming to you so we might levy troops and warn Harail, he keeps silent.” Duasonh nodded in understanding. “And he also has people watching the south road in case these Sons decide to put more emphasis on their warning. But the murderer blunders, the horse with the missive bolts and we get the letter nonetheless.”
For a moment the Baron remained silent. Then he shook his head. “I don’t believe my cousin would do such a thing.”
“And what of the sentinels? The state of disrepair of the walls? Jathain is responsible for the city and he isn't doing his job, Cumaill!”
“And this Jesgar Garinad?”
Kildanor allowed himself to grin. “Oh, he’s the bait.”
“Can you trust him?”
“He dislikes Jathain.”
“You think this is the threat the Sons speak of?” Duasonh leaned back in his chair, rubbed his hands over his face, and yawned.
“If it is, it wasn’t part of the oral message Jathain might have been carrying.”
“So, what shall we do now?”
“Easy. We catch young Garinad as he tries to enter Jathain’s chambers at the stroke of dawn. Provided he lives of course,” he said. If the youth was as good as he seemed, Kildanor was confident Jesgar would make it.
“And if he does not?” the Baron asked.
“Then we’ve lost nothing and are none the wiser.”
“Guess we’ll have to wait until dawn?”
So many things could go wrong, Kildanor knew the risks, but he had made sure the Garinad boy was aware of most of them. There wasn’t much else to say on the matter. “Aye, and hopefully we’re going to be able to bait your cousin.”
The first glint of light broke the darkness to the east. As Kildanor stood at his window looking out, he snorted in amusement at the antics of Eanaigh’s church. They had brought down Lesganagh’s church, but they still kept to the tradition of ringing the sun gong. To him this act was the epitome of hypocrisy; killing the messenger did not kill the message. Sure, he had goaded Caretaker Braigh more than enough times on the matter, and it amused him how the priest began to doubt his own church’s dogma, but in the end he knew Lesganagh’s faith could not stay banned.
There was a knock on the door. The Chosen turned and went to open. As expected, Cumaill Duasonh stood before him. The Baron looked as if he hadn’t gotten any sleep. Kildanor couldn’t blame him.
“Jathain has not returned,” Duasonh said as he adjusted his belt.
“I was hoping he wouldn’t,” Kildanor replied.
“You want to take in Garinad alone?”
He nodded. “Best you not get involved directly.” There was no point in revealing Cumaill’s involvement until it became necessary. This, the direct involvement in politics, was what had forced him to leave his brethren in Harail. The others followed Orkeanas’ lead; they remained firm and did not take sides. Kildanor refused to be bogged down by stupid traditions.
“Very well,” Duasonh said. “Good luck.”
The Chosen gave his friend a wink and rushed off, down the corridor and stairs. With the strike of the gong, he was on the landing that directly led to Jathain’s quarters. A quick survey of his surroundings showed him the path was clear, and Kildanor sprinted due north.
He heard muted conversation right ahead of him, but footsteps along with voices receded. Were those two of Jathain’s men? Why else would they patrol this section? Had young Garinad been detected? Cautiously, Kildanor glanced around the corner.
Aside from one kneeling person, the corridor was empty.
The Chosen walked toward the hunched figure. “Found something?” he asked.
“Aye,” the youth replied.
“Good, were you seen?” That Jesgar could be identified was necessary to lure Jathain into the trap.
“Aye,” young Garinad replied as he retrieved a bunch of papers from his shirt. “By none other than the Baron’s cousin.” Turning back to the lock, Garinad gave the wire a twist, and the mechanism clicked open. Then the young man pulled the wire out, drew a dagger, and gave the lock a good scraping. “Don’t want anyone to think the door wasn’t opened, eh?” he asked with a smirk.
Kildanor chuckled. He liked this youth. “Aye. Ready?”
Garinad gave a curt nod, and whispered, “Gut if you please. Not the head.”
“Never thought otherwise, son,” he replied and kicked the false thief’s dagger away. “What have we here?” he shouted. “Trying to break in, weasel, eh?” A resounding blow to young Garinad’s stomach accentuated his second question. The burglar folded like a pair of scissors. “Guards!” Another punch made sure Garinad was out cold.
A pair of warriors trotted into sight.
“This lout has tried to gain access to Lord Jathain’s quarters,” he told the new arrivals. Was there shock in their eyes? Or was it worry? It didn’t matter, but their reaction reconfirmed Kildanor’s decision to take the boy to the dungeons personally. “You.” He pointed at the female warrior. “Help me carry this lout. And you, fetch a Lawspeaker.” It was no court day and the priests of Lliania would be about the city or countryside to judge disputes, so it might take a longer time to procure one. Sure, Cumaill could preside over the thing but as arranged, the Baron would not be i
nterested in a thief who had not stolen a single thing. Procedure was bound to be drawn out for days.
CHAPTER 9
Ninth of Chill, 1475 K.C.
“I called a meeting with Jathain and Braigh,” Duasonh said with a straight face, to offset any spies among the attending servants. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood. “Shall we?”
“Sure,” the Chosen said then added, “What about the Paladin?” Kildanor stood and walked beside the Baron. They headed for the door.
“Nerran? Off to the Shadowpeaks. You know how he is.”
Kildanor grinned. “You two could be brothers if one was to judge by your stubbornness.”
“And that would make you what? Our father?”
“Hardly,” the Chosen said with a chuckle. “But with the invasion looming one would expect he’d put his hunting trips on hold.”
“You really think Nerran would let a war spoil his mood? Or his schedule for the hunt? His Riders are the same, and you know how they are.” Duasonh rolled his eyes at him. It was as much a joke as it was a show for the servant who opened the door and bowed.
As he walked into the hallway, the two guards left and right of the door snapped to attention, and Kildanor’s amused look changed to the stern face that the Palace’s inhabitants had come to expect of him. He turned and walked toward the main audience chamber, slowing his pace until Duasonh and his escort caught up.
When they arrived, a small crowd had already gathered. Kildanor recognized the usual suspects. Veteran sycophants who looked more at home in Harail’s Royal Palace than in the rustic castle of Dunthiochagh. A few priests waited their turn to speak with the Baron.
Although Kildanor himself represented a faith, albeit a banned one, he had never become used to churchly matters influencing so many monarchs and nobles in whatever way struck their fancy. Most of them had never even heard their deity’s voice, and even fewer were given the blessing of performing miracles in the name of their god. These were the people who had brought the downfall and banishment of Lesganagh’s church. He sighed inwardly and nodded a polite greeting to those men and women who dared meet his gaze.
The petitioners’ murmurs swelled to a steady buzz from which only individual voices escaped. “My Liege!” and “Lord Baron!” were shouts accompanied by a waved parchment. Duasonh ignored the persistent petitioners and walked on.
“I won’t see anyone today!” the Baron announced, his voice booming over the collective mutterings. “Tomorrow anyone whose needs supersede those of King and country may come before me!” The drone quieted as astonished minor nobles and merchants gaped at their liege. “Now be gone!”
As they reached the door, Duasonh waved the single guard to his side. “No one but Lord Jathain and Caretaker Braigh may enter.”
“They are already here,” the man replied and opened the door.
Duasonh and Kildanor stepped through, leaving the mumbling assembly of disgruntled petitioners behind.
When they entered the main audience chamber, Kildanor saw Baron Duasonh’s two other advisors: Braigh, Caretaker of Eanaigh’s church, stooped over the table, ignoring his fellow advisor, Jathain, as he always did when they were called to attend Duasonh. Despite his youth, Braigh’s hairline receded at the rate the man climbed the church’s hierarchy, and his shoulders seemed bent by the weight of his many obligations.
Kildanor saw the priest grasp the tabletop, and then stiffen as he and Duasonh approached. It was the man’s usual reaction when meeting him. After all, it was Eanaigh’s church that had most fervently persecuted the followers of Lesganagh. Kildanor grimaced as he stepped closer.
Jathain stood opposite Braigh. Lean and tall, Duasonh’s cousin towered over most people. His gaunt features gave him a vulture-like look, the long thin neck supporting a head that resembled a skull, with a face that rarely smiled. Today, he looked even more tired, accentuating the skull. Ever since Kildanor had taught the two cousins he disliked Jathain.
Both advisors bowed before the Baron.
“Cumaill,” Jathain began as expected. “I’ve been told you have arrested the scoundrel who broke into my chambers.”
“Kildanor caught him.”
The Chosen wasn’t sure what the glimmer in Jathain’s eyes meant. “Cousin, I demand the thief be tried at once!”
“He stole nothing,” Duasonh stated. “He can wait.” The Baron glowered at Jathain. “And never demand anything from me! I am the lord and the law here! Demand something of servants, villeins, freeborn or warriors, cousin, but don't demand a bloody thing from me! Understood?”
Jathain grew even paler, gulped, and said, “Yes, milord.”
“So, now that this is settled,” Duasonh said as he sat down on his massive chair. “Any word from our spies?”
“No, Cumaill,” Jathain replied crisply. “Nothing.”
The Baron frowned. “How can this be? We should have heard something by now.”
“I am certain Eanaigh will guide their steps safely,” Braigh quipped. “As long as they have faith in the All-Mother everything will be all right.”
Kildanor snorted. “Sure,” he muttered.
The priest glared at him. “You should be aware of the goddess looking out after everyone, after all she is the Lady of Health and Fertility.”
The Chosen glanced at Duasonh, saw the Baron slightly shake his head, and said, “Aye. That I know.”
“What is going on in Herascor?” Duasonh snapped.
“We’re awaiting our spy’s report daily, you know that,” Jathain said.
“And by the time we’re done playing ‘who and why’ the Chanastardhians are laying siege to my city!” Kildanor hadn’t seen his friend this angry in a long time, and he hoped Cumaill wouldn’t betray their ruse. “I want scouts out there now! I want spies in every blasted city, every village from here to Herascor! If that fool king of ours is too inept to do anything, we will have to do the work!”
“At once, my Lord Baron.” Jathain bowed and hurried out.
“Now,” Cumaill Duasonh said. He glanced at the letter he had received last night, and turned to Braigh. “Ever heard of the Sons of Traksor?”
The priest shook his head.
“They claim that the lands south of Honas Graigh are their fief,” the Baron said. “I made some inquiries.” This statement explained why Cumaill looked so tired. Kildanor listened attentively. “Merchants coming in from Ma’tallon reported that the lands south and west of Honas Graigh have been unusually free of robbers for some time now, however.” Duasonh scratched his neck and yawned.
“Braigh?” the Baron mumbled.
“I don’t think so, my Lord. What letter is this?”
“It was brought to me last night.” Duasonh passed the parchment to the priest. “Have a look.”
“It’s dated from four weeks ago. Why did it take so long?” Braigh mumbled. He looked up at the Baron and frowned. “It takes less than two weeks to travel from the Kalduuhnean border-regions to us. Less on horse. This man should have arrived here at least two weeks ago.”
The Baron nodded. “Agreed.” He looked at Kildanor. “When did Jathain return from Kalduuhn?” he asked with a frown.
“Three weeks ago,” Kildanor said.
“And he must have passed through the area these Sons of Traksor claim to protect,” Braigh added.
Kildanor arched a brow and looked at the priest. He didn’t like the man, or the church he represented, but he had to admit that Braigh had his wits about him. “Indeed.”
“When Jathain returns none of this will be spoken of, understood?” hissed Duasonh.
“Certainly,” both men said in unison.
“So, it is entirely possible that Jathain met this order, these Sons of Traksor?” Duasonh asked for confirmation.
“If the area around the forest is their fief, I’d say so,” Braigh said.
Kildanor smiled in surprise. Braigh and Jathain were known for their strong friendship, but maybe the priest had been suspicious far l
onger than he. He thought on it for a moment.
He had also taken a long time to resent the King he had been charged to protect. He’d lived in denial up to the point when he’d discovered Harail’s biggest and bloodiest secret. Even after that he’d tried to find excuses, tried to rationalize the cruelty he had witnessed. Until it had been too much. Maybe Braigh had gone through something similar.
“So,” Cumaill Duasonh said, pulling Kildanor’s thoughts back to the present. “These Sons knew of Chanastardh’s invasion plans well before we did. And they tried to warn us. Not only of that, but of this other danger as well. Whatever it may be. Somebody who has been in contact with them didn’t want us warned about the invasion.”
“Why do you think they wanted to prevent this news from getting here and not the other warning?” Braigh said.
“Because the Chanastardhian threat has been named, this other one hasn’t.” Duasonh looked at them and was about to continue when the door opened and Jathain strode in. “As I was saying,” he changed the topic without missing a beat. “I think the Chanastardhian army will lay siege to Harail first before it bothers with other cities.”
“I agree,” said Kildanor, and Braigh nodded sagely.
“That is to be assumed, cousin.” Jathain took his place at the table. “Your order is being carried out.”
“Good.” Duasonh smiled.
“I also took the liberty of sending new commands to our outposts,” Jathain went on.
Kildanor glanced at Duasonh and saw him shaking with rage. He knew that to voice his suspicions to Jathain now would accomplish nothing except to make the man even more guarded. Jathain assumed too much, he thought grimly and was surprised when Cumaill spoke.
“Jathain, dear cousin,” Duasonh drawled. “Who the bloody Scales do you think you are? As far as I know, you are not responsible for the outposts. Nerran is the commander of our field forces.”