The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 05 - Journey to Uniontown

by Jeffrey Quyle

  “That’s going to cause a stink,” Hierodule sat up straighter, interested in the pending conflict.

  “Oh it did, right there on the ship’s deck. We heard about it clear down in the hold on the benches,” Hiram agreed.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” Kestrel told Hiram. “I want to go look at the palace.”

  “What are you going to do? Go mount an assault on the palace and set your lover free?” Hierodule asked.

  “She’s not my lover,” Kestrel said in a low voice.

  “You followed this woman all the way from who-knows-where and she’s not even your lover?” Hierodule asked incredulously.

  “That’s romantic,” Hiram said defensively.

  “She’s my destiny,” Kestrel said in a low voice. “One of my goddesses told me that I had to rescue her. I’ve been on a quest after her for months; it feels like most of my life,” he spoke more to himself than to the others, and there was a silent pause.

  “I’ll go with you,” Hiram agreed.

  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Kestrel demurred. “It’s dark enough outside that no one’s going to notice my eyes,” he looked out the window. “You can stay here and rest and heal.”

  “You came and rescued me. I’ll go with you if you want,” Hiram stood up.

  “Okay,” Kestrel agreed. He put his bow and quiver over his shoulder to complete his armament. “We’ll be back,” he told Hierodule.

  “You better be,” she said.

  “Good bye,” Hiram gave Hierodule a kiss on the cheek, and then the two departed.

  “Ask him how we get to the palace,” Kestrel instructed Hiram when they passed the front desk.

  With directions in hand, Hiram and Kestrel started walking across the city. They reached a main boulevard, and walked along, noting the many homeless people who slept in the shadows of doorways, and the groups of armed men who walked together in moving packs.

  “Why aren’t the homeless men bothering us?” Hiram asked, as they approached the high walls around the palace.

  “I’ve got enough weapons to scare them off. If you carried a sword and a knife, they’d leave you alone too,” Kestrel said.

  And at that moment a battle erupted in the street next to them.

  Men with swords came pouring out of two alleys on either side of the boulevard, converging on a dozen men who were walking together towards the palace, and vicious combat ensued.

  Kestrel immediately pressed Hiram back against a wall, out of harm’s way, as he drew his sword and watched the battle.

  The party that had been ambushed was in trouble. Out-numbered and unprepared, they were falling victim to their assailants. They had formed a ring around a young couple that stood in the center, watching their protectors wilt under the onslaught, and the girl clung to the boy in a tearful way.

  It was an unfair battle Kestrel felt, and he impulsively decided to participate. He drew Kere’s bow from his shoulder, and began to fire arrows at the blue-robed forces on the attack. His first arrow struck a man in the back, a man who wore white stripes on his shoulder, and who Kestrel took to be a leader or officer. As the man fell, Kestrel aimed at the attacker next to him on his right and then immediately shot at the man on the left of the fallen leader.

  Kestrel raised his aim slightly and shot across the battle, striking the chests of the men who had ambushed the group from the far side of the boulevard. Four men fell in a matter of seconds, as the other bystanders on the street scattered away from the screams and the violence. Kestrel decided to focus on the attackers on the far side of the battle, and shot three more rapid arrows that knocked men out of the fray, before one of his arrows missed a twisting assailant.

  He fired two more arrows at the men who were facing away from him, and suddenly the couple were grabbed by one of their defenders, who yanked them with him as he darted through the opening in the ring of battle and began to haul them directly towards Kestrel.

  Kestrel pulled his knife from his hip and threw it at one of the blue robes who turned to intercept the escapees, then he fired another arrow that killed another man in a blue robe.

  And with that the ambush collapsed; the remaining attackers suddenly fled down the boulevard away from the palace, demoralized by their heavy losses, just as the bodyguard with the children reached Kestrel’s side.

  “You’re safe, you’re safe,” Kestrel shouted to the man and his followers, looking out at the street where only two other bodyguards stood alive amidst the carnage that littered the streets.

  “My lord, you were extraordinary! You saved the young duke and duchess!” the bodyguard shouted. He was an obvious veteran of battle, with a pair of scars on his craggy face, and a hairline that had retreated high above his forehead, while a goatee had streaks of white sprouting upon his chin.

  “I don’t know that they’re safe yet,” Kestrel said, looking past the survivors at where the blue robes had regrouped not far down the street. “Is there someplace safe you can get to in a hurry?”

  “We were heading towards the palace,” the guard said. “Come with us to help us, and you’ll be amply rewarded by the old duke for your service.”

  Kestrel saw the other two survivors of the ambush helping one of their injured comrades to his feet.

  “Come with me,” Kestrel said to Hiram, a fantastic scheme forming in his mind. He walked with Hiram and the guard and the youthful nobles out to the battlefield, where he appropriated a sword and a pair of knives from dead attackers, and gave them to Hiram.

  “Here, you take these and look aggressive; walk back to our room and stay there with Hierodule until I return,” he said in a low voice as he pulled the slender man aside.

  “What are you going to do?” Hiram asked in a worried voice.

  “I’m going to go with them. They can get me into the palace,” Kestrel replied.

  “And then what? What about us?” Hiram asked in a worried voice. “I know I just watched you casually slay a dozen men, but what are you going to do against a whole palaceful of people? You’ll be killed!”

  “I’ll take my chances and rely on my gods,” Kestrel answered. “Now you get going. Be careful and wait for me.”

  “You be careful Kestrel,” Hiram unexpectedly seized Kestrel in a tight embrace, and he returned the hug.

  “I will, now get going,” Kestrel swatted the man on the seat of his pants to send him on his way, drawing a startled exclamation and a look by Hiram over his shoulder at Kestrel as he departed.

  Kestrel liked the man. He was loyal and, though Kestrel knew he would be of little value in a fight, Kestrel didn’t doubt that Hiram would put his life at risk for a friend.

  He began to gather up the arrows he had shot, pulling them from the bodies of his targets.

  “We need to get going, my lord,” the guardian said to Kestrel.

  Kestrel bent down one more time and pulled Lucretia from a dead man then stood up. “I’m ready. Let’s go,” he answered, and the small knot of survivors began a plodding walk towards the palace, slowed down by the pace of their injured companion.

  Within minutes they reached the safety of the palace gates, and Kestrel was admitted without question as part of the noble party.

  “You two take Hermes to the infirmary,” the veteran guard with the beard instructed his fellows. “We’ll take the youngsters to the old duke.”

  Kestrel watched the injured man limp away through the hustle and the bustle of the palace traffic, accompanied by his companions.

  “Let’s go,” the veteran tapped him on the shoulder. “Keep your eyes open. We should be safe in the palace, but we should have been safe in the streets as well.” Kestrel watched him gently press the young duke forward, then take the girl by the hand to lead her as they walked through the palace. It was a touching moment of affection between the guard and his young wards, and Kestrel felt his heart lighten to think that such friendship was possible even in the heart of Uniontown.

  "What's your name, warr
ior?" The young duke turned and spoke for the first time as they started to climb a plushly carpeted staircase.

  “I'm Hiram," Kestrel answered, afraid to mention his name. He guessed the youth to be fifteen or sixteen years old.

  "Your eyes are so pretty," the princess had turned to look at him. She was younger than the boy, perhaps thirteen or fourteen.

  The warrior turned as well, looked at Kestrel, then suddenly missed a step on the stairs, falling forward and pulling the girl down as well.

  "Demons!" The man swore. "Are you the Destroyer?"

  Kestrel stepped backwards a step, downward. "I don't think so," he said nervously. There were many people walking across the hallways above and below them. He'd have a tough time escaping if the guard raised the alarm. "I just happened to be on the street when you were attacked."

  "How'd you get those eyes?" asked the man as he scrambled upright, and pressed the girl behind him while he drew his sword.

  "I lived with gnomes," Kestrel answered truthfully, making no move to draw his own weapons. It was a potentially fatal situation, one that he could only pray he would defuse somehow.

  "There's my heir," a voice boomed loudly from the top of the stairs.

  The two children turned their heads, then ran up the stairs. "Father!" They both shouted.

  "Where are your guards? Is something amiss?" The duke asked, observing the sword his man held.

  "It was an attack! An ambush!" The boy answered as he reached the top of the stairs two steps ahead of his sister. "We lost most of the escort! That stranger Hiram saved us! He killed a dozen of Fields’ men."

  "And he has pretty purple eyes," the girl spoke up. "Stuart doesn't like his eyes! He thinks he's the destroyer. What does that mean?" She asked.

  The two men with the duke drew their swords at the girl's words.

  The duke looked down at where Stuart and Kestrel faced each other, and he put his arm around his daughter.

  "Gates, take them to the box, and put a guard on them," Kestrel heard the duke tell one of his guards.

  Kestrel felt the sweat beading on his forehead as the situation grew more perilous. He shouldn't have tried to be so clever, he told himself; he shouldn't have tried to sneak into the palace so brazenly.

  “My lord,” Kestrel looked up at the man at the top of the stairs. “I came into the palace only because your man invited me. I saw your people being ambushed in the street, and I thought it was unjust to see forces so outnumbered.

  “I mean you no harm, and if you wish me to leave, I shall,” he finished his speech, hoping he had at least saved his life, and would be allowed to exit.

  “Stuart, come up here and talk to me,” the duke ordered the veteran who still stood above Kestrel with his sword drawn. “You, Hiram, stay where you are for the moment.”

  Stuart backed away from Kestrel, up the steps slowly, then turned and slid his sword into its scabbard as he climbed the last steps, and knelt before the duke as soon as he reached the top of the stairs. The two of them turned their backs to Kestrel and held a low, spirited conversation as the duke’s remaining guard kept an eye on Kestrel. No one else used the staircase as Kestrel stood midway up.

  He turned and began to examine his surroundings. With his elven leg strength he’d be able to leap over the bannister to the hallway not far below and either backtrack towards the exit from the building and towards the gate to the city outside, or he could try to go to his right and penetrate further into the palace. While a deeper plunge into the palace was likely to be a one way trip to capture or suicide, it offered the only hope to try to find Moorin, where ever she might be in the palace.

  He closed his eyes and tried to reach within himself, looking for the great energy the goddess had given him. Ironically, the power had come from the Viathins, and he now stood in the heart of their own kingdom. If he could find and use his energy here, against them, it would be a fitting return.

  He reached for the energy, knowing that it was not something he truly understood. He’d begun to have a glimpse of it, the first tentative understanding of where it resided. He wasn’t sure he could coax it out, except in a situation of dire emergency, when the power seemed to show an uncanny ability to leap forth to his rescue, unpredictable though its manifestation might prove to be.

  “You, Hiram, approach me,” the duke ordered, and Kestrel jerked his head around to look at the men at the top of the stairs. There didn’t appear to be anything threatening in the posture of the men, other than the guard who still stood with his sword pulled, holding it and watching alertly.

  Kestrel moved up the stairs and stopped on the step just below the Duke’s floor. He slowly moved his hands towards his hips, ready to pull his knife free if needed.

  “Don’t be trying to fight a duel; step up here where I can see your eyes,” the duke ordered, deliberately allowing Kestrel to approach dangerously close to him. “If you didn’t kill my children, you’re not going to kill me,” the man added, giving voice to Kestrel’s very thought.

  Kestrel stepped up and stepped forward. The duke reached out and held Kestrel’s chin, turning his head left and right to see the eyes in the different lights, while Kestrel’s eyes remained focused on the duke’s own brown eyes.

  “They’re pretty, but they don’t look dangerous to me,” the duke said as he released Kestrel’s chin. “You say he used his bow to pick off Fields’ men?” the duke asked Stuart.

  “Shot the shafts through holes in the battle no wider than your sword, and did it as fast as a flea jumping onto a hound. Didn’t strike a single one of our men,” the guard recounted. “I thought we had lost until the blue robes starting falling one, two, three, four – down as fast as I just counted,” the man added enthusiastically.

  “Where’ve you been using your bow?” the duke asked Kestrel.

  “Estone, Graylee, Seafare,” Kestrel answered. “I won the prince’s tournament at Graylee last year.”

  “And now you’re here in Uniontown. Why?” the duke wanted to know, his eyes watching Kestrel closely.

  “Things are unsettled up north,” Kestrel answered glibly. “I thought it might be less dangerous down here,” he answered.

  “But I might have been wrong about that,” he added after a moment’s pause, and he saw Stuart’s grin from the corner of his eye.

  “My lord, the time,” the body guard spoke up gently.

  “Come walk with us,” the duke suggested. “Well, as you’ve observed,” he began as they started to walk along the hallway, “I’m going to be in need of several good new members of my household guard. Perhaps you’d consider joining my troop. My children clearly are going to need protection while they remain in the city.”

  “My lord, I’ve briefly watched Stuart with your children, and there’s no one who can watch them any better than he can, or with more concern,” Kestrel answered. “There’s real affection there. But I’ll give serious consideration to your offer.”

  The duke looked at Kestrel, and there was a flash of surprise on the man’s face, surprise that his offer hadn’t been immediately accepted.

  “Why don’t you come to my box and sit with my children and me to watch the prince’s audience?” the duke suggested. “Maybe you’ll learn or see something that will persuade you.”

  “Any decent man would jump at the first chance to work for Duke Listay,” Stuart said in a quiet voice on the other side of Kestrel.

  “He’s being prudent, Stuart. There’s nothing wrong with that in these troubled times,” the duke said. They split off the main corridor onto a smaller one, a richly decorated hallway that gently curved to the right, then they stopped at one of a series of small doors, and the guard knocked twice, then once, then twice, before he cautiously swung the door open.

  Through the door they entered a small room, one whose far wall was mostly an open window that looked out over a large reception hall. The children and their guard were already in the box, the two children sitting quietly beside one another, whi
spering.

  Kestrel walked to the front of the box and looked out. The seating on the floor of the reception hall was nearly full, facing towards a raised dais on which a throne stood atop another raised platform. Numerous guards were already stationed upon the dais. There were other observing windows like theirs cut in the walls around the vast chamber, and Kestrel could see people moving within the shadows of those other boxes.

  “The king is going to speak tonight!” said the girl, who was standing beside Kestrel. “He’ll sit in that chair,” she pointed at the throne. “Father hasn’t allowed us to come to the palace in a long time, so it’s very exciting to get to see the king on our first time back here.”

  Kestrel smiled down at the girl.

  “Look! Here come the king’s special guards,” the girl spoke again, and Kestrel looked down at the stage, then sucked in his breath. A quartet of walking Viathins were on the stage, taking up positions near the throne. They held their man-like form, standing on two legs, faces with subdued snouts. They were in the same form that Kestrel had seen in Albunan, and when the Moorin-impostor had revealed itself, and he recoiled from the sight, taking an involuntary step back.

  “Don’t like them?” Stuart questioned softly, having arrived next to Kestrel. “Neither do I, but they are the force that runs the kingdom now, self-styled as an empire. We must keep our heads low and persevere.”

  “I’d rather shoot four arrows right now,” Kestrel muttered.

  Stuart gave a soft laugh and slapped him on the back. “I hope someday you’ll be in a position to be able to shoot a thousand arrows at them and their fellows,” he replied. “But for now we mustn’t get the Duke in trouble.” He turned and walked back to where the nobleman was sitting with his son, talking.

  Kestrel remained at the window, looking down. He could still feel the force of the goddess’s gift within him. It was restlessly churning within his soul, stirred by his earlier examination, and now by his agitation over the sight of the monsters below. If he were to find Moorin, the power would come alive, he suddenly told himself, convinced that the premonition was true.