The Warder

by D K Williamson

  Dech looked down the road they had traveled and grimaced, but said nothing.

  Not lost on Dissy, she said, “You can’t save them all, but they’re not finished just yet. Sparing them what would have happened at Sinfor’s grants them a chance.”

  Dech glanced at her and spared a slight smile. “True enough. Let’s see to the horses and get some rest.”

  . . .

  Chapter 24

  The four readied to leave as the sun came into full view. Sleeping near the wagon with one on watch cut into their sleep, but it also ensured no one tried to see what cargo they carried or help themselves to unattended horses.

  After watering the equines, they fed them and the travelers had their breakfast as well. Saddling and placing harnesses followed and the journey continued. Other travelers in town were duplicating their actions and locals began their days as well, making for a bustling scene.

  Within minutes, the trip came to a stop when a king’s legionnaire rode toward them and waved urgently when she saw the warder.

  “We’ve a report of trouble on the border,” she said. “Sounds like a massacre. Three woodcutters just wandered in with tidings. Word was a contrition knight was here. Glad to see it’s true. You’ll want to speak with them I should think.”

  Dech nodded. “I will. Lead on.”

  At the edge of town was a small legion blockhouse with stables and corral to support express riders and patrols. Dech’s companions stayed with the wagon while he went inside and found a trio of haggard and disheveled men, their garb, calloused hands, and well-worn axes kept within reach evidence of their profession.

  Sipping from earthenware cups and eating hard-boiled eggs, they looked up with tired and reddened eyes when Dech appeared.

  “These three claim to have survived an attack in Nevar,” the legionnaire said.

  “Claim?” one of the men replied. “We was attacked. No call for it neither.”

  “They also claim to be Aratainians.”

  “There you go again,” the woodcutter said with a scowl. “Born and raised in Wodewite. Ask anyone there. Loyal subjects of our good King Harold. All three of us.”

  Dech pulled a chair from its place against the wall and sat near the three. “Where did this attack occur?” he asked.

  “Can’t say exactly. We was on a job. Hired out of Scallon by some nobleman. Turned out a whole crew of folks were needed.”

  “Were you at the ruins of the castle in the Dark Forest?”

  “No. But most of the others went there. We had a cutter’s camp. That’s how it works, no point traipsing out and back every day. They was done with most of us. Kept on ten or twelve and said they’d escort the rest of us back to Arataine. They stopped us in a clearing to rest and next we knew arrows started flying. At first, we thought it was bandits or grey elves out of the Brosalean, but it was the guards, sell-swords that was killing. Some was the same as brought us in. We three and a dwarf named Pete ran for the woods, but he caught one in the neck. Knowing the woods like we do, it wasn’t easy to chase us, but they did for the better part of a day and near caught us.”

  His companions nodded.

  “There be a steep ridge that runs a north-south course out there,” he said with a point toward Nevar, “with not many routes to pass over it. We took the first path we came to. Ran into a sentry post atop it and figured we was dead, but the damndest thing happened.”

  “What was that?”

  “Men from the same pack of sell-swords as tried to kill us manned the post, but when the arbalester that was in charge learned what was happening, he told us to take the road east toward Arataine and he’d tell the pursuers we was northbound toward the Brosalean. We didn’t believe him. Had the look of a first rate brigand with scar to match.”

  “A long C-shaped disfigurement it was,” one of the others said as he traced a line over the left side of his face. “Not saying that one you sport makes you look like a highwayman though, Sir Knight.”

  “No, yours is… knightly-like,” the third said.

  “What happened?” Dech asked ignoring the diversion.

  “Well, since this arbalester stopped his companions on the ridge from chopping us, we figured it was our only chance, we went east, but stopped a ways down the trail. An old cobbled road we figured would make it hard to track us,” the first man continued. “Ducked into the trees and watched. Dull my axe if that sell-sword didn’t send his fellows off just like he said. Don’t know why, but he did. Saved our skins that one. With dark coming on, we made for Arataine. Made it out… obviously. Don’t know about the rest.”

  “Why were you working for Nevar?” the legionnaire asked.

  “Weren’t working for Nevar. The nobleman that hired us was from Arataine. Word was we toiled for Duke Philip. Prelude to an invasion or some such. We fell trees for a living, not men on a battlefield. It paid, that’s what mattered to us.”

  “What are they doing at the old castle?” Dech asked.

  “Never went there, but it was restoration work they said. We had our own camp like I mentioned. Felled trees to the carpenters’ specifications. Mostly big timber. That’d mean material for rough bridges, timber stockade walls, and the like, or finished out into beams by carpenters. I’d guess beams. Put them in green and deal with the shrinkage later I’d wager.”

  “Right that,” another said. “Wasn’t no rot or insect resistant trees we cut, so likely not to go into the ground. Beams and planks is my thinking.”

  “Aye,” said the third. “Support, flooring, roofs, and the like.”

  “You are sure the timber was going to the old castle?”

  The first woodcutter nodded. “Heard it said many a time.”

  The other two agreed.

  “Did anyone come out to oversee your work?”

  “Cutter’s camps is rough, knight. Those that pay for our labors don’t much care for such. No, the haulers would bring out papers if any special needs had to be done. We’d see to it and the teams would drag’em off.”

  “Was the crew sent out there large enough to restore the castle?”

  All three men snorted. “Given enough time, but that’d take years,” the first man said. “No, given the amount of timber we cut, it was maybe a great hall or a couple of guardhouse’s worth.”

  Dech nodded. “I thank you for your aid.” Looking to the legionnaire he said, “You’ll see these men back to Wodewite?”

  “We will, if for no other reason than to confirm their identities.”

  The woodcutters groaned. “There you go again!”

  . . .

  Dech stepped outside and found Mayhaps leaning at the side of the doorway, obviously eavesdropping.

  “Tell me we’re not going to Nevar,” the bard said.

  “We’re not. Cruxford is still our destination.”

  “A relief. A leisurely ride to the capital sounds like just—”

  “Step lively!” a man shouted from the road. “Dispatch coming.”

  A look revealed people stepping aside and a legionnaire express rider closing at a full gallop. Within seconds, he reined in his mount and slid to a stop near the legion blockhouse. Pulling a large sheet of parchment from a small, hard leather pouch at the front of the saddle, the rider scrambled from his horse and raced past Dech and Mayhaps with a breathless, “You might have interest in what tidings I bring, knight.”

  The two followed him inside while the legionnaire serving as hostler readied another horse for the messenger.

  The legionnaire that brought the warder in to see the woodcutters set to copying the message on another sheet with quill and ink while the messenger stretched and filled a mug with water.

  After draining the container dry, the messenger said, “Ill tidings from Byrmont. They say a great rip in the sky grows and spouts dark clouds. Some believe it to be the Great Rift. Even if it’s not, it portends a Cataclysm for certain.”

  “So much for a leisurely ride then,” Mayhaps said.

  De
ch nodded in agreement. “We best make haste to Cruxford.”

  . . .

  Leaving the string of seized horses in care of the legionnaires, the five took the wagon and pushed as hard as their horses could bear. By the time they arrived at the capital, it was obvious the threat was real. On the approaches to the city military forces gathered, within the walls things were abuzz with rumors and activity. One rumor that outpaced them told of a landed knight named Sinfor, murdered along with those loyal to him by a rebellious retinue, the killers fleeing to parts unknown with his riches.

  Ordered to see Lord Arundel upon arrival, Dech found the man had also heard the rumors about Sir Jeffress. “Warder, was this your doing or were you too late to extract anything useful from Sinfor?”

  “It was ours, milord. Sinfor and a few of his men chose to fight. We left his body and offered the surviving members of his retinue a head start with the knowledge the king’s justice was at their backs. Once the place was deserted we brought Sinfor’s accumulated wealth and the information he’d amassed on Duke Philip here.”

  “Most effective, Sir Dech. Unfortunately Philip’s treason must wait. As you must know, a rift has begun forming over Byrmont, the Great Rift it is feared. In addition, Malig’s readiness to launch a campaign against Arataine from Nevar is imminent. Some of your brethren in the order have provided excellent intelligence on the disposition of his army and it is not unsubstantial. Were we not concerned with Marador and the coming Cataclysm, this force would be concerning, but not a threat. Given current events it is.”

  Dech nodded. “Given that Malig will move through Philip’s duchy, does that not make the duke’s forces useful?”

  “It does. Philip and his lands must survive if he is to continue plotting against his king. For the time being, he will fight with us. He must. There is a war council convening later today you should attend, but before then I suggest you see the mages delving into the derkunblod issue. It is odd such a thing as dark and blood magic rears its head just before an event of epic magnitude.”

  “It is, milord. I shall go see the mages now.”

  . . .

  Dech made his way to the Hieronymus Institute. Asking to speak to McGrew or Wace, he was directed to a chamber not far away and found the pair speaking with Abbess Dealan and Adelbert Granum.

  “No doubt you’re here on the king’s business,” McGrew said with a greeting smile.

  “Likely I am. Have you found out Mirkness’ plans?”

  “To a degree,” McGrew said. “We are still delving into several areas of interest.”

  Granum nodded. “The question remains, how does derkunblod factor into the Cataclysm? We have scant evidence of the mechanism for initiating such an event. Common thought says it is not sourced from our plane at all, rather it is external.”

  “The council has faced many serious events since its founding. We split members into groups according to their talents. One such group has been seeking the location of Mirkness while another seeks to find if his actions are linked to the Cataclysm,” McGrew said.

  “An interesting thing occurred,” Granum said. “Those seeking Mirkness initially found no sign of his presence. None. Then suddenly he appeared. They believe he came from another plane. A feat if true. While projecting one’s inner self is fairly common, projecting one’s own physical body is rare indeed. History records several instances of this, but it is exceedingly uncommon.”

  “Where is he?” Dech said.

  “Now? We would need to see the mages seeking him. When he was first found, it was in Nevar where contrition knights reported Malig’s encampment to be.”

  “Have you found a link between derkunblod and the rift?” Dech asked.

  “No, though we hoped it might prove the theory that the Lord of the Vile tears a hole connecting the planes of infernal and mortal,” Conway Wace replied. “We sensed nothing of derkunblod prior to the rift appearing, but did feel other infernal incantations of the sort we’ve never observed before. An unknown magic worthy of study, but we have neither the time nor mages available to pursue it.”

  “Could this be the mechanism?” Dech asked. “A mage or gathering of immense power opening the rift from our realm?”

  “Such as that I mentioned back at the abbey?” Dealan said.

  “I suppose,” Dech replied. “I’m not a mage.”

  “A novel idea,” McGrew said.

  “Novel indeed,” Granum agreed. “But these incantations were sent forth far from Byrmont. In Nevar, near the Brosalean. Recall they were not derkunblod and it is a considerable distance from Malig’s position.”

  “Was this location near the old fortification called the Castle of the Dark Forest?”

  “A map, we need a map,” Granum said.

  “We do not,” Dealan said. “That is the location. Not derkunblod, but drawn from the same source.”

  “Is it possible Mirkness may know more than one form of magic that draws from the Gout?” Dech asked.

  “Of course,” McGrew said. “What makes you think Mirkness is responsible? Are you suggesting he leads a cabal of mages?”

  “I was simply asking. It seems you suggested it.” Dech glanced at Dealan before continuing. “Connections and convergences seem to be the order of the day. If Mirkness can physically cross planes, is it beyond him to rapidly cover great distances within a plane? Could he travel from southern Nevar to the Dark Forest?”

  “Beyond him? I would think not,” Granum said. “Though how he might would be of great interest. You know something we do not?”

  Dech told of the expedition sent to the Castle of the Dark Forest.

  “There may be something to this,” Wace said. “We may need to call the entire mage council together for discussion.”

  McGrew nodded. “I fear we may know more than we thought. Cross-purposes and duplicate efforts may be occurring.”

  “Since so little is known, could Mirkness be the initiator?” Dealan asked. “Let us suppose an agent on this plane is what’s needed. If so, must this agent or agents be where the Great Rift appears?”

  McGrew nodded. “We simply do not know, but it sounds plausible to me. We need a meeting of the entire council.”

  “Can you pinpoint the current location of Mirkness?” Dech said.

  “Yes, but it is a trying process,” Wace replied. “A mage as adept as Mirkness will detect such probing unless extreme measures are taken. It requires hours of effort by several mages.”

  “It seems we need confirmation of Mirkness’ presence at this castle,” Dealan said.

  “Agreed,” McGrew said with a nod. “It will take some time. That is one of the topics we must bring to the council meeting.”

  “Time may be a commodity in short supply,” Dech said.

  “Which is why we must make haste.”

  Dech nodded. “I must attend the war council. I will return when able.”

  . . .

  Dech went to the order house to clean up and prepare for the meeting Arundel had mentioned. Knowing it was a war council, there would be representatives from across the realm present with more on the way.

  Upon arrival at the keep, the warder was directed to the king’s private office.

  “I wished to speak with you,” King Harold said when Dech arrived, dispensing with the usual conduct required when meeting royalty. “There may be little time once the council convenes. You and just three others emptied Ganesome I am told.”

  Dech nodded. “Once Sinfor was dead, the others realized staying in Arataine was not wise.”

  “Of that I have no doubt. I recall the man you brought with you to the council prior to your departure. A rebellious son of the Earl of Rase, yes?”

  “Your memory serves you well, Sire.”

  Harold chuckled. “And he was one of your group. A thief and a Brosalean ranger also. You gathered quite the unconventional force to deal with Philip’s operative. Much as you did when you served here. Keep them. I lead the army west as soon as we are re
ady. I fear we will depart before the mage council devises a strategy for dealing with Olk Mirkness. Malig’s incursion must be dealt with first, then we can focus on the Cataclysm. If Mirkness has some connection to bringing both to afflict Arataine, all the more reason to pursue him.”

  “I spoke with some of the mages just a short while ago, Sire.” Dech detailed what they discussed.

  “Such things tax my brain. If after their meetings they are confident he is at the Castle of the Dark Forest in Nevar, I want you to pursue this. Stay here in Cruxford until the mages find the answers we seek. Bring word as soon as possible and bring your comrades with you. As much as I would like to have you against Malig, Mirkness is an enigma. An unknown that may be most dangerous.”

  Dech nodded once again. “I go where ordered, Sire.”

  . . .

  Dech made his way to the keep’s great hall and found it teaming with chattering beings of every race and rank within the realm. A page tapped him on the arm shortly after he entered.

  “Lord Arundel would like to speak with you,” the boy said over the noise.

  “Where is he?”

  The page pointed to an alcove in the far wall near the throne. Thanking the boy, Dech wound his way through the crowd.

  As the warder approached, Lord Arundel waved away those with whom he was speaking. Standing close, Arundel spoke just loud enough for Dech to hear.

  “I have learned Dukes Frederick and Philip will be in attendance today. I would ask you stay in the fringes and try to avoid drawing attention. The rancor among many of those at the table will be hard enough to suppress as it is. Picking at festering wounds might cause an issue or two between Frederick, Philip, and King Harold we do not need at this time.”

  “I understand,” Dech said. “I would likely not have anything to add in any case.”

  “Your counsel is valuable, Warder Dech. I appreciate your aid in this matter. Our Majesty spoke to you about Olk Mirkness?”

  “He did.”

  “I am sorry the task of pursuing Mirkness may fall to you, but there is no one as capable at dealing with such an opponent. If there were….”