by Tony Roberts
“Oh, child, I fear you’re in trouble now!”
“It’s alright, Mrs. Balkan, go home and tell Lady Lace not to worry. I think the king wishes to speak to me about an entirely different matter. I shall return, fear not.”
“Dark Blade?” the officer snapped peremptorily. “You will accompany us to the palace. The King awaits you.”
Faer nodded and stepped into line. Mrs. Balkan watched as they marched off, Faer casting one look over her shoulder and waving. Faer closed her mind to anything other than what the king would say to her. Nothing else mattered. The men around her didn’t matter. The palace loomed before them and then they were inside, their footsteps echoing down the high corridors. Guards passed by on either side yet she hardly noticed them, nor the tapestries or marble busts on plinths that they passed.
Doors opened and closed and then she was standing before a disapproving chamberlain. “Madam will surrender her sword.”
“Madam will not,” Faer countered, looking up. The four guards and officer were still with her. She shook her head. “If the king wishes to see me he sees me with this or not at all.” She was not going to surrender her sword, especially when she did not know precisely what the king wanted. The sword was a touchstone, part of her.
“Madam will,” the chamberlain insisted.
“Then I shall leave and you can explain to your master why his summons has been refused.”
“You do not have a choice,” the officer interjected.
Faer spun, her hand out, sending two guards flying back against the wall of the antechamber they were in, the sound of their armour striking the panelled walls filling the air.
She swung round, sword out and at the officer’s throat before the others could react. “Drop them,” she snapped to the other two guards, jerking her head at their swords.
They hesitated, looking to their officer. Faer’s mouth turned down. Another push sent the two staggering back. Now only the officer and chamberlain remained on their feet. The officer looked at the chamberlain, his eyes rolling wildly.
“His majesty will not see you if you are armed.” The chamberlain wrung his hands.
“Then goodbye. I shall leave this cesspit of a palace.” She stepped away from the officer and snarled at two of the guards who were shaking their heads and trying to get back to their feet. She made for the door behind her. The officer slid his sword free and came after her.
He got one more step before she turned and slapped his blade aside with one backhanded sweep and clamped her free hand on his forehead, sucking in her breath and willing strength to flow into her fingers, pulling energy into herself through her fingers and along her arms. The officer shook, unable to move, and his men got to their feet, uncertain what to do. The chamberlain gaped at the sight of the officer standing helplessly before the girl, shaking violently. What was she doing to him?
Then Faer released him and he fell at her feet, heaving and gasping for breath, trying not to throw up on all fours. She looked at the chamberlain. “Well? Does your master wish to see me or not? If he does, then he sees me with all I have, or do you wish to remove my arms too? My sword is the least of your worries.”
“Help him up,” the chamberlain waved to two of the guards to help their commander. They pulled the panting man up and he weaved about as if drunk, his eyes trying to focus. “What have you done to him?”
“Drained his strength. He’ll recover in a short while,” Faer said with distain. She felt full of power, the officer’s strength having been added to hers. “No lasting harm.”
The chamberlain shook his head. “Wait here. I shall speak to the king.” He left, leaving Faer standing with arms folded and a scowl on her face, two guards standing by the door through which the courtier had just gone, the officer sitting holding his head in his hands off to one side and the other two guards giving her a respectful wide berth.
None of them looked comfortable being in the same chamber as the half elf and they kept on looking to one another. They had no doubt she could slaughter them if she so wished. Someone with her abilities always frightened others.
The chamberlain returned and held the door open. “His Majesty will see you. You will bow low and address him as Your Highness or Your Majesty.”
Faer strode past him, giving him a look of pure contempt. He followed her, whispering urgently to her to show deference and respect. There was a short corridor and at the end a set of double doors, guarded on either side. The guards opened the doors to allow the chamberlain to precede Faer into the throne room.
Faer paused in the doorway, partly to allow the chamberlain to announce her arrival, and partly due to her drawing in a deep breath at the sight that met her eyes. A vast chamber unfolded before her, the roof lost in the gloom of the winter’s low light. Immense pillars rose from the floor and went up two thirds of the way to the roof before ending in stone arches, linking them to the walls. Wooden beams ran from the tops of the pillars, holding up the roof, but Faer lost the details. Her eyes may have been able to see in the dark but not when both were present; either she needed daylight for normal vision, or darkness for her elf vision. They did not work at the same time.
The floor was of stone, square flagged stone with alternating colours of dull brownish-red, black and pale yellow. The bases of the pillars were square, then they changed to cylindrical at about thigh height. Ahead stood the throne, resting atop a large dais. Soldiers stood everywhere, their armour shining in the light of torches that hung from wall or pillar brackets.
Courtiers watched in fascination as the slight figure with a sword strapped to her back walked slowly down towards the dais, the chamberlain right beside her, whispering to her urgently. The throne was a wooden constructed seat, stoutly made, with rich red velvet draped over the arms and down the back. Well filled velvet cushions of red were placed so that the king could sit in comfort, and he sat regarding the approaching half elf with great interest.
Faer forgot about the grotesque looking chamberlain and his bad breath. The king was much younger than she had anticipated. A thin, gauzy red beard sprouted from his chin and cheeks, and his reddish-blonde hair sat tightly curled atop a smooth, symmetrical face. He had light blue eyes, and very pale skin. The crown of Gorradan rested on his head. His robe was of a luxurious deep red with black fur adorning the edge.
Stood to either side of him were two older men, one with a bald pate and a long robe that went to his ankles, and he carried a staff with a thick knobbed end at head height, while the other was white-haired and large, and clearly had enjoyed a few too many alcoholic beverages in the past if his florid complexion and red nose were any indicators.
The chamberlain hissed for her to stop, so she took one extra step and smiled to infuriate the stuffy man. She bowed, but not too low. He is not a proper king, her other self hissed in her mind. We are a true princess. Faer couldn’t disagree.
King Jerethal put a hand to his chin and rubbed his lips thoughtfully with a forefinger. “Dark Blade, mercenary. Elf blood. Possesses hidden strength and powers that belie your appearance. Not much is known of you, save you recently departed Blade Mountain and entered the kingdom near the Forest of Portris where you slew a band of outlaws who had been terrorising the local populace.”
Faer glanced briefly at the two men on either side of the king, then returned her attention to Jerethal. She nodded curtly. What was there to be said? He was stating the truth and there was nothing to dispute.
Jerethal leaned back, flicking a long sleeve over the arm of his throne. “Outfights royal soldiers, defies royal decrees.” He pointed at her. “You are told to report directly to me the moment you arrived in Gorradan yet I understand you stayed the night at the home of a known dissident.”
Faer said nothing. She merely fixed the king with her dark-eyed stare.
“Nothing to say, Dark Blade?”
“No, sire.” She deliberately omitted any reference to majesty or highness. A murmur of disapproval went around the chamb
er. She felt the chamberlain stiffen in outrage beside her. He is not majestic! her other self snapped.
Jerethal glanced at his two aides. “May I present to you my advisor, Capel,” he indicated the bald headed man with the staff, “and my sage Theruddas.”
Faer ignored Theruddas for the moment. She regarded Capel, the man whose name Lady Lace had mentioned. “A man who uses what you call magic,” she stated.
Capel inclined his head, gripping his staff firmly.
Faer decided to come to the point. “I understand you wish to see me about a contract you were thinking of offering. You are in need of someone with my talents?”
Jerethal nodded. “Not here, in my private rooms. Capel and Theruddas will accompany us. You will follow us.” He waved to four of his soldiers to escort her in his wake. They left the throne room via a door behind the throne and walked along another stone corridor to a chamber guarded by more soldiers.
This room was luxurious, there was no other word for it. The walls were adorned with tapestries and trophies, shields and coats of arms emblazoned on banners. Chairs lay about the room and benches stood against the walls. There was one large table and the king sat down behind this. Capel and Theruddas took up a standing position to either side. Guards took up their places on either side of Faer, and their weapons were drawn.
Capel gripped his staff and shut his eyes. There came a faint touch of air against her and she smiled. Unconcerned, she glanced at the sage. He was merely watching her, his expression unreadable.
King Jerethal sighed and placed his hands on the table top. “Being a king requires many things; wisdom, loyal followers, a strong army and knowledge, amongst others. It also requires respect, and you, young lady, show a distinct lack of this. I am not sure whether you are the right one for a task of the utmost delicacy and importance.”
Faer turned away and regarded Capel once more. He opened his eyes and looked baffled. He spoke to the king. “Sire – I cannot read her mind.”
“A beginner,” Faer commented and looked back at the king.
Capel’s grip on his staff intensified. “Arrogant girl!”
“Enough,” the king held out a placatory hand. “She is testing you. What I am interested in at present is what your relationship is with the Lace household. Traitors.”
“Traitors perhaps to your regime, King Jerethal, but Captain Lace was a loyal and valiant defender of the throne when you were a mere rebel. That would make you the traitor and he the hero.” The chamber’s atmosphere became tense. Faer folded her arms and held Jerethal’s gaze.
“My lord, permit me to show this disrespectful bitch some manners,” Capel begged.
“First you would have to learn some in order to teach them,” Faer responded before Jerethal could speak.
Capel’s face turned red. His mouth snapped tightly shut, his lips trembling in outrage.
“I will not permit any more of this ill-advised exchange,” the king said loudly, raising his hand to forestall any more talking.
Love it, came a whisper in Faer’s mind. She ignored the whisper and spoke to Jerethal. “Sire, you doubt my loyalty to you. I am a mercenary and once I have agreed on a contract, no matter with whom it is, I shall see the contract through to the end. You clearly require someone like me for a tough task. It has to be tough, else you would have sent your soldiers to do it before now.”
Jerethal pondered on her words. He nodded. “Of course, should you refuse the job you will be shown the door at once. There would be no second chance to earn a lot of coin.”
“How much?”
“How typical of a whore – oh, sorry, mercenary,” Capel sneered.
Faer turned her attention to the advisor. “The last person to use such a word in my presence had his manhood burned off.”
“Enough!” Jerethal snapped. “If you accept this task, Blade, then you will cease this antagonistic attitude towards my inner circle.”
“Let me see your offer, sire, before I make my mind up, and what this task entails.”
Jerethal waved curtly to one of the soldiers by the door who left. The king eyed Faer guardedly. “What I am about to tell you does not go beyond these walls or I shall have you hunted down and torn limb from limb, is that understood?”
“Of course,” Faer inclined her head.
“Very well; I have a son. A boy of no more than eleven years. As I was conducting my victorious campaign against this kingdom, supporters of the now dead king sneaked into my camp and abducted him, just as I claimed the final victory in the war.” He wrung his hands and gazed in anguish at the table. “It was a last desperate gamble by my enemy’s forces, and too late to save them from defeat. Yet they still snatched my son from me, and are even now holding him prisoner somewhere deep in the forests of Losingar.”
“Losingar? I do not know where that is.”
Jerethal pointed to Theruddas. “Show her.”
The sage unrolled a scroll he had and laid it out on the table, then spun it so it was readable by Faer. It was a map of the kingdom. The sea was clearly marked and her attention drifted to where she thought Selanic may be, but it was not shown. The sage pointed to a small stylised walled city. “Gorradan.” His finger followed a black line which Faer took to be a road running eastwards. “Here, Losingar.” There were trees denoted in abundance there, close to the edge of the land. There was sea in two directions at that point, and the forest covered the north-eastern corner of the kingdom.
“Somewhere in there is my son,” Jerethal said harshly. “Your task is simple, Blade. Go in there, find him, get him out safely and bring him to me”
She studied the area. A couple of wriggly blue lines flowed into the forest. Rivers. “How big is the forest?”
Theruddas pointed to Gorradan again, then down to another black mark below it. “Portris. You travelled between there and Gorradan, did you not? Three days’ travel.”
She looked at the distance between Gorradan and Portris, then at the forest. The forest was nearly twice as big all the way round as the distance between the two settlements. “That’s a very big area.”
“Indeed. Populated by creatures of all kinds. Terrible beasts. Nobody dares venture into it, yet the enemy has found a lair deep within and are threatening to kill my son unless their demands are met.”
Faer looked up. “Which are?”
“The release of your friend Captain Lace for one, and a substantial amount of money!”
Faer sucked on her lower lip. Thinking of taking the job, darling? came the familiar voice inside her. She sent a silent affirmative back. “No idea where they are, sire?”
“If I did I would have sent my army in there to destroy them!”
Capel sucked on his teeth in disapproval. “And they would have killed your son, sire, before your army would have got close.”
Faer stood up straight. “I will take the job.”
Jerethal looked at her in surprise, then gratitude. “Even with no idea where my son might be?”
“Indeed. One question sire: why is Captain Lace so important to the abductors?”
The king nodded to Capel to reply. “Captain Lace commanded the men who abducted the prince. This is the only reason why Captain Lace is alive – as a bargaining tool. The king has threatened to remove his head unless his son is surrendered, and the traitors say the same thing about their prisoner.”
Faer nodded. “And the prince is more valuable to the king than Captain Lace is to his men.”
“Nevertheless, an exchange will have to be made sooner or later; patience is wearing thin on both sides,” Theruddas interjected, “and the place of exchange is the Kartoth Bridge, the place where the royal road crosses the River Kartoth on the border of the forest. It is a well-known landmark and identifiable for many miles around.”
“So why not exchange? You gain your son and merely lose a relatively unimportant prisoner.”
Jerethal clenched his fist. “I will not show weakness to these swine! I have vowed to destroy
them to the last man, and by the gods that is what I shall do! They have insulted me and my honour by taking my son, and none shall survive.” He stopped as the door opened and in came a nervous looking man with large cheeks and wet lips. He carried a round vessel. Jerethal motioned him forward. “An indication of my generosity, Blade,” and the vessel lid was removed.
Glittering coins met her eyes, gold and shiny. Her eyes widened.
“Yes, all of it is yours if you bring my son back alive.”
Faer turned away. It was a king’s ransom. “I do not want any of that,” she heard herself say. There came a squawk of disbelief inside her head.
“Wha-at?” Jerethal looked stunned. “But – this would make you a fortune for life! You turn it down?”
“Only because, sire, my price is somewhat different.”
The men looked at one another, then all turned their eyes on her. The king spoke for them all. “So what is it, Blade, that you want in return for freeing my son?” His tone told everyone he was not best pleased, and was dreading her terms.
“It is in two parts; first, an advance payment of my visitation to Captain Lace. I wish to speak to him, in private. Secondly, on successful return of the prince here, Captain Lace is to be freed with a full pardon and his wife and household allowed to live as free citizens wherever they so choose.”
The silence in the chamber went on for some time. Capel, unable to stand the silence any more, was the first to speak. “No money? Just – the freeing of a traitor? Are you mad?”
Faer smiled at him in a way he didn’t care for. “What I think is of no concern to you. Captain Lace helped me when I was in need, and I intend to repay his act of kindness. I don’t care whether you like it or not, Advisor.” She turned to the king. “Those are my terms. If they are unacceptable I shall go on my way and not trouble you again.”
Jerethal’s nostrils flared. He disliked being forced into any agreement he was unhappy with. As king he ought to dictate terms, not this impudent half elf woman! But he really had little choice at that moment. For the moment… He nodded. “Very well, it is agreed.”