A Quick Sun Rises

by Thomas Rath

  Thane’s questioning look was quickly addressed by Ranse. “The city wall is on the south side, for that is where the danger lies. It is not what might approach on the road but what might come out of the Underwoods that begs for defense.”

  “Until now,” Dor spoke softly though all heard him.

  They stopped short of the long and high bridge that spanned the water giving easy access to any who decided to enter the city. It was tall enough to allow rafts or oared boats to pass under but not so large as to permit ships of any grand size. Docks with signs touting different venders and wares dotted the south side of the river, though most were empty at such a late hour and a majority of the workers were already sinking their worries into a pint of ale at their favored pub. No other traffic passed them on the road as they met the guard left at the bridge’s entrance.

  “State yer business,” he demanded with a sharp accent that Thane had not heard during his time on this side of the Shadow Mountains. He eyed Thane, Dor and Tam without showing much interest in the other three and it was obvious by the expression on his face that he didn’t know whether to draw his sword or run screaming for help.

  Though Jace looked as if he’d just as well put his steel into the man’s gut as waste time squabbling with him, Ranse smiled slightly while producing the royal emblem from beneath his tunic. Upon seeing it, the man quickly snapped to attention sputtering out apologies and begging forgiveness while his eyes still darted back to the three Tjal clad Chufa. “My apologies, my Lord. We don’t git, much of royal blood in these parts.”

  “I understand,” Ranse said easily. “Where is the city commander?”

  The guard hesitated, licking his dried lips while glancing at the disguised Chufa trio. “Well, that’s right hard to say,” he finally said, his eyes hardening as if he at last found a reserve of courage as he attempted to stare down Thane, Dor and Tam all at once. Dor’s slight smile seemed to disquiet him though and his glare strayed quickest from his direction.

  Ranse sighed. “I don’t have time for your games or your peacock show of bravado. I am not a hostage to the Tjal, nor do I have the patience or time to sooth your ego, so I suggest you answer my questions forthwith before I have you brought up on charges for insulting the royal family.”

  Thane’s eyes widened a bit to hear Ranse talk in such a manner. The prince had always been such a mild soul, especially when it came to his being of royal blood, though he did appreciate the response it solicited as the guard’s face drained of all color.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, my Lord,” he stammered, stiffly bowing multiple times before standing as stiff as he could without causing himself injury. “The commander is most likely having his dinner at the Orc and Swine Inn right about now. It’s just over the bridge and up the road here, you can’t miss it. Best Inn in town, I’d say it were. Might even suit the likes of yer royal self, my liege.” Suddenly catching what he’d just said, and clearly worried he may have offended the prince, the guard quickly added, “Though, I’m sure that nothin’ could actually compare to yer royal courts as is found in our humble border town.”

  Ranse smiled at the man, his agitation gone. “Thank you,” he said and then placed a gold coin in the man’s hand. “This ought to cover any inconvenience that might arise from you letting my Tjal friends into the city armed.”

  The man looked greedily at the coin, not really hearing what the prince had said until they were already over the bridge and approaching the first row of buildings. By now darkness had almost completely fallen on the city giving way to the long shadows created by the occasionally lit street lamp. Splashes of light from shops that were still open or the infrequent inn or pub lighted the coble street sufficient to make ones way yet leaving many a dark alleyway the safe haven for those who would cause mischief or harm to the unwary passerby.

  Thankfully the streets were already barren of those who bustled about making their trade or purchased goods during the daylight business hours leaving only the rare straggler seeking out refuge for the night or making his way to the nearest drinking hole. And even so, no one dared bother a group such as the one that strode boldly up the center of the street. If Jace was not enough to make one think a second time before harassing their small group, three Tjal-Dihn sent people running in the opposite direction.

  True to the guard’s word, they soon found the Orc and Swine Inn not too far away from where he said it would be. Two large oak doors with stained glass windows marked the inn as one of greater repute, though seeming somewhat out of place with its surroundings. Aleron was not a city that concerned itself with separating its citizenry into classes and areas as did Calandra. Anyone’s money was good enough whether that person be wealthy or pauper. An orc decorated the window on the left side door, its face pulled back in a snarl while the right held a depiction of a large swine wallowing in the mud. What they had in common was lost on the Chufa as they followed Ranse and Jace into the inn tagging Domis along behind them.

  The main room was hazy with the smoke of a dozen pipes that were being dragged on by various patrons throughout the large room filling it with the odor of various scents ranging from hickory to chickweed. Few candles dotted the walls and tables and the fire was somewhat low in the right corner giving the room a hushed feeling. The innkeeper, though maintaining a reputation of keeping to only the finest of clientele, knew that when gambling and ale were mixed, all too often, things got broken. He had discovered that a dimly lit room helped encourage a more mellow feeling in the patrons and so kept the candles to a minimum. Even so, the main hall was not so dark as to conceal the ethnicity of the newly arriving guests—three in particular. An immediate hush fell over the room as all eyes strained to stare at the newcomers without actually looking right at them. Being on the doorstep of the Underwoods Forest created a hearty lot of people in Aleron, but none were foolish enough to test the fragile line between honor and dishonor when it came to the Tjal-Dihn, especially when merely looking at one for too long or in the wrong manner invited steel to one’s throat.

  Ranse seemed to ignore the reaction that his friend’s had caused and instead quickly scanned the tables until he found the person he was searching for. Over by the fire, sitting alone with an untouched plate of food and two pints of ale—one already empty—sat his quarry. It wasn’t so much that he wore anything that might mark him as one employed by the crown or even as a soldier, for that matter, but the air he set about him seemed to scream authority as well as the fact that he was the only one looking directly at them. Such a man was either a fool or one accustomed to being in charge and having the responsibility of protecting those around him. Ranse could almost hear the thoughts that surely passed through the high commander’s mind, trying to remember the duty roster and the idiot that allowed three Tjal to walk into town with their weapons displayed, as if in challenge, against their backs.

  The prince led the others through the maze of tables leaving cringing patrons as they passed until he reached the commander and dropped into a chair at his table without the slightest word of greeting or a by your leave. “Fear not, commander,” he said as the commander’s eyes darted from him to the four figures that quickly surrounded the prince; poor Domis would not have been noticed had he jumped on the table and reeled a jig while singing The Master’s Coming Home. “My friends will not cause any trouble, as long as none is visited on them,” he added as almost an afterthought. “I am Prince Ranse,” he said, using the title he no longer held while flashing the royal symbol that confirmed the station that went with it. “Is there a place more, private, where we can discuss matters of extreme import and urgency?”

  The commander’s gray eyes fell back on the prince, though his expression remained neutral. He was older than all of them, though not by too many years, yet his lifestyle had taken its toll on his features marking them hard and worn at the same time. Though probably once a handsome man, the luster of youth had been roughed away by the life of one set to protect the hostile boarders that w
ere Aleron’s southern fringe. The scars of that life were etched all over his body and were too many to count and less noticeable than the one that screamed for attention just below his left eye that ran down his check and finally ended at the side of his chin.

  The commander regarded the prince for a long moment, his eyes barely moving to take in his Tjal friends as if trying to gauge what his chances might be to escape a fight with his life. Letting out a sigh, as one recognizing that his fate could not be altered, he leaned back in his chair. “Though the bauble you so easily flash would suggest you are who you say, I have to admit that I have never heard of a prince Ranse in the royal household.”

  Ranse’s hand instinctively rose to motion Jace back though whether he did it knowingly or just as a reflex was unclear. The gesture was not lost on the commander who flashed a look at the prince’s bodyguard as if seeing him for the first time. “Nor would you likely since my place in line for the throne is sufficiently distant as to make my life almost without general knowledge to the masses. But,” he continued without the slightest tinge of anger at the commander’s declaration, “this bauble, as you so call it,” he said dangling the royal sign once more for added effect, “confirms my claims no matter whether you have heard of me or not. And the information that I have come to pass on to you is even of more import than my genealogy or your doubts regarding it.”

  “Be that as it may,” the commander countered, “we here on the boarders have our own issues to deal with and can’t be bothered with the intricacies of the court and its…excesses.”

  Ranse could feel, more than hear, Jace’s hand reaching for his sword at the latest insult and he knew that at that point there was nothing he could say or do to stop his large friend from pulling his weapon in defense of his prince’s honor. But what he hadn’t counted on was the speed at which Thane suddenly leaped across the table, drawing his two scimitars while doing so, and then pressing them menacingly against the commander’s throat. Those around the table stood frozen as if made of stone while a sudden rush of chaos filled the rest of the room as the Inn’s patrons quickly fell over one another to reach the large double doors and the relative safety of the darkened city streets beyond. Even the innkeeper disappeared through the swinging door that led to the kitchen at the back.

  “Enough of this talk,” Thane breathed, a look of death overshadowing his face. Tam caught her breath at how much like a real Tjal-Dihn warrior he appeared at that moment, a shiver of trepidation shooting up her spine. The commander, to his credit, did not move as if having earlier conceded in his own mind that he would no survive this night. The look of surprise that crossed Jace’s face at Thane’s ability to move and unsheathe his swords before he even got his out brought a smile to Dor’s face, his attempt to suppress it failing miserably.

  “Well,” Ranse said, almost masking the surprise in his voice, “it would appear that the room has suddenly made itself one of privacy for us.” Leaning forward, he continued. “And now that I have your full attention, I want you to listen carefully to what I have to say and I think you will find that my problems have, of a sudden, become your problems.”

  The commander tried to swallow to wet his suddenly dry throat but the press of Thane’s blades made it rather difficult and nodding was out of the question. “I’m listening,” he said in the half whisper he could just manage.

  “Good,” the prince said, and then continued. “To help you along, I’m going to ask you two questions first. What is the typical number of attacks you deal with monthly from orcs out of the Underwoods?”

  Though failing to see how this would help him, the commander responded quickly. “About one per week.”

  “Now,” the prince went on without the slightest indication as to how he felt about the commander’s first answer, “I want you to think hard before you answer the next question. When was the last time you were attacked?”

  The commander didn’t move but his eyes betrayed the thoughts that passed like lightning through his mind. How did the prince know? It had been a welcome reprieve, yet had weighed heavily on the commander’s mind for quite some time. While most would see the sudden end of attacks as a gift from above, the commander knew that more than likely it was an ill omen of even worse things to come. And now, suddenly, he felt that doom; not from the steel poised to severe his head, but from the words he anticipated coming from the prince’s mouth. “It has been forty-eight days this very night,” he responded. “And you know why.” It was a statement more than a question. Why else would the prince have come to Aleron?

  Ranse watched him for a moment as if judging the commander’s resolve. He was right when he’d said that he didn’t know the prince. No one here would. And Ranse knew that without the commander they wouldn’t get the men to budge from where they stood. He needed to win him over and convince him to move his men to the Keep. “Thane,” he finally said, waving him off. Thane only hesitated for a brief moment before putting his swords away almost as quickly as he had drawn them. “The orcs have left the Underwoods,” Ranse said in a tone that left no room for argument. He paused to gauge the commander’s reaction but his features did not change. “They have joined with troll and goblin under the command of an evil sorcerer who is intent on destroying all that resist him.” Now the commander’s face betrayed him. It was too ludicrous a statement to falsify since even the smallest child knew that never would such races spend even the briefest moment together without fighting amongst themselves. And now for the ultimate test. “Haykon and Calandra have already fallen.”

  “That can’t be,” the commander breathed, “Haykon and Calandra fallen?”

  “In mere hours,” Ranse replied, his face set like stone.

  “How is this possible? How does one command an army that would kill itself off with infighting before they had the chance to attack anyone else?”

  Ranse pressed him. “The questions of why and how are luxuries we no longer have the time to contemplate. It’s what we do to counter that matters and the ability to resist is rapidly slipping past us.” Ranse had the commander’s full attention now and his training as a soldier was finally overcoming the overwhelming feelings of hopelessness that naturally followed such news as the overthrow of the capital city.

  “We must make for Bedler’s Keep,” the commander suddenly interjected to the surprise of all. “It is the only place defensible enough to hold off such an army as the one you describe.”

  Ranse smiled, though his surprise at the commander’s interjection flashed across his face. “That is precisely why we are here. How long will it take you to gather your army to march for the Keep?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Domis stuffed a loaf of bread into his pack before deciding it would be a good idea to add another. The shop was empty save for him and the three Tjal clad Chufa who were busy filling their own packs. It had been like this all morning. Commander Garet didn’t wait for morning after hearing what Prince Ranse had to say about the invasion. He immediately left the Inn with the prince and Jace to seek out his captains to ready the army to move. It had been determined that those able to fight would leave immediately while the rest of the city could come later or stay according to their desires. This mission needed speed and necessity dictated that they could not wait or be slowed down by carts, merchants or the elderly and infirm. Cruel as it was to leave the city almost defenseless, the fight would be at Bedler’s Keep where no one would be safe should the battle go against them.

  Thane’s group, on the other hand, needed to ready themselves for a different journey and had the night to rest before preparing to leave the following morning. Domis had never laid down on such a comfortable bed in his life and was disappointed to the extreme that sleep seemed to elude him most of the night as the anxiety and excitement of what he was about to be part of overtook him. He found it strange that Thane and the others forwent the comfort offered by the best room and beds in the Inn to sleep on the floor. Apparently they were more than comfortable
though as their snores quickly became his lullaby songs.

  They were up with the sun the following morning and found they had to fix themselves breakfast as the Inn was completely empty of guests or service staff. Luckily, the kitchen was well stocked leaving them to feast on venison, cheese, day old bread, onions, peppers and even fresh milk that the innkeeper must have left early that morning before they were up. Even with armed Tjal-Dihn in the building, the cow still needed to be milked.

  After filling themselves they had departed for the town center where they’d hoped to supply themselves for whatever might greet them in the Underwoods. Every shop they’d entered had been the same. At first sight of their garb and the wicked looking swords attached to their backs, the patrons and shopkeepers alike immediately raced from the store leaving it completely open to whatever they decided to take. They were so overwhelmed by this at the first shop that they waited for the merchant to return so they might pay him for the goods they needed, but it evetually became evident that no one was coming back. So, they left the money they thought was fair along with a little extra for the bother and went on to the next shop where the same thing occurred again.

  “You’d better put in a third,” Tam said, looking over her shoulder at him while stuffing a loaf into her own pack. She had taken to mothering Domis ever since finding out about his past and the events that brought him to where he was now. She’d asked about his parents only to find out that his mother left when he was very young and that his memory of her was only that her hair was long and deep brown. His father, who was employed as a guard at Haykon, raised him as best he could but was killed in a goblin raid near Nomad’s pass when he was just five years old. From then on he worked in the stables and was cared for by the rough men that had made up Haykon’s city guard drifting from home to home on occasion but finding himself sleeping most often in the warm hay in the stables with the animals he cared for. Tam felt a strong pang of regret for the boy that his life had been so filled with tragedy and difficulty. She had faced her own hard trials of late, but a loving mother and father were always in the back of her mind to give comfort when things got particularly bad.