Floreskand_King

by Morton Faulkner

  “No, merely my destiny,” countered Launette. “Now, your destiny awaits you.”

  Matred shook his head in disbelief. “Magic or not, I don’t know how you deflected my first arrow. It should have hit!”

  Launette glared. “You will give me the answers I seek, Matred, not the other way round.”

  “I will not!” Then he seemed to realise that he was deprived of his escape route via a self-inflicted poison cut. He groaned.

  “Precisely. You will talk before you die. Be assured of that fact.”

  ***

  Lornwater

  Dutifully, Aurelan strode through the Second and Old cities, and checked the barracks. All were ably manned, the men alert. He instructed that the gates between the cities must be oiled, explaining that “they have not been used for a long time.”

  “Indeed, Captain,” the guards responded.

  “Some forty-one years; not since the Third Manderon War which ended in 2009.”

  He left them to implement his orders and continued his inspection, looking for weaknesses that might have arisen in the wall structure as a result of the last tremor.

  It was second nature to always repair damage after every tremor, especially water conduits; however, on this occasion he neglected to mention the water conduits, since he intended using these for his men waiting at Dhur Bridge.

  When the time was ripe, not before.

  ***

  Second Sufin of Fornious

  New City, Lornwater

  Warily, Watchman Snaglip walked among a group of ten soldiers – guardians – who had manned the city walls but had now abandoned their posts. He knew many of them by name and it was plain that they were not happy.

  There was murmuring in the ranks. He heard the whispers: the soldiers were overdue payment. But the king had closed the coffers. The king’s actions made sense at a time like this, Snaglip reasoned.

  Yet he sympathised with the men, too: they and their families had to eat.

  He attempted to ease the tension and said to one of the soldiers who was the most vociferous, “Yes, but the king isn’t going to pay usurper’s troops, is he?”

  “Usurpers, us?” the soldier said.

  “You have left your posts,” Snaglip explained in a reasonable tone.

  “We haven’t been paid!”

  “You cannot throw away your weapons and leave the city defenceless.”

  “We have and we will!”

  “We’ll have to loot the populace,” said another, “to get enough to live off. We won’t be greedy.”

  “But they’re our own people,” Snaglip argued, his hand covering the hilt of his sword.

  “It’s the king’s fault,” the first soldier said. “The king drove us to it.”

  “That’s true…” A cunning smile came to his comrade’s face. “We could insist on other perks, besides money for food, eh?”

  The man’s nudge with an elbow was meaningful enough and caused Snaglip’s stomach to churn icily. “That’s not a good idea,” he warned.

  The first soldier winked. “I don’t know, it sounds good to me – any family who belongs to troops still misguidedly fighting for the king – well, they’re fair game, aren’t they?”

  “Fair game,” echoed his comrade. “Yeah, that’s it, fair game.”

  “And don’t try to stop us, Watchman.”

  “It is my duty to stop you breaking the law,” Snaglip snapped, taking a backward step.

  “Duty and honour have no place in this city now,” said the first soldier.

  “The law is either with us or against us!” said another.

  Watchman Snaglip drew his sword and prepared to fight. It was his duty.

  ***

  Underground

  The last earth tremors had damaged several underground tunnels, and U-Gath employed many Ratava to bail out the flood water, a lengthy process with hide and leather buckets being passed from hand to hand and then emptied in nearby sinkholes.

  A shout went up from a woman at the front of the bucket chain and U-Gath waded through the murky water towards her.

  “What is the matter?” he asked.

  “Look!”

  Floundering in the water was Sos, his face bruised.

  “Over here, Sos!” U-Gath called.

  Sos almost collapsed in U-Gath’s arms. “Militants, I fought them.”

  “Dasse is missing too. Were you not together?”

  “We had to split up.” He peered anxiously behind him. “I don’t think there are any more after me.”

  “Idiots, those militants!” U-Gath clapped a hand on Sos’ back. “K-Kwan has been concerned for you.”

  “I was lost… wandering in the tunnels… then I hit all this water.”

  “This is the worst flooding we have experienced for many years,” U-Gath said. “I fear that we have not suffered the last of the series of tremors.”

  “I only hope that Dasse is all right.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CONDEMNED

  “The momentary intoxication with pain,

  the wish to hurt, is the face of violence.”

  - Tangakol Tract

  Dasse Wenn roamed the tunnels, talking to himself.

  He trudged into a water-logged tunnel, hardly aware of it sloshing up to his thights.

  His torch highlighted an ugly creature wallowing in water just ahead. Memory surfaced and he recalled it was called a schwarm. Instinct made him wary, though he didn’t know why. Perhaps the creature posed a threat?

  He needn’t have been concerned; it didn’t attack him.

  Lingering memory told him that the schwarms were due to migrate to the Sonalume breeding grounds soon. Perhaps this was one such?

  As he passed the creature, he examined his reflection in the water and observed that his hair appeared different; was it always so white?

  ***

  New City, Lornwater

  The odds were too great, Watchman Snaglip knew, but he had no option but to fight them.

  “We have no quarrel with you, Watchman,” said the first soldier. “Put away your sword and leave us to get our payment in kind.”

  “I cannot do that!”

  The soldier gestured rudely. “Be it on your head, then – though that will be leaving your body soon enough!” He withdrew his sword and briefly eyed his companions. “Leave him to me!” Then he charged.

  Snaglip parried; the force of the soldier’s blow was strong and jarred his arm. He swung his sword free and sliced sideways at the soldier, catching the point on the man’s midriff, cutting fabric that spewed stuffing of some sort.

  “You’ve ruined a perfectly good jacket!” the soldier snarled, attacking again.

  He’d let anger control him, though, and Snaglip sidestepped and slammed the pommel of his sword on top of the man’s head. He tumbled to the ground, unconscious.

  Facing the others, Snaglip said, his tone exhibiting a forcefulness he didn’t possess, “Who wants to be next?”

  “Rush him!” snapped one of them.

  He’d feared this would happen. He’d go down fighting, but he would definitely die under their onslaught.

  He expertly skewered the impetuous foremost soldier, and pulled the sword out in time to beat off two more attackers.

  A whistle sounded; a watchman’s signal.

  Out of the corner of his eye Snaglip saw Watchman Xiat and Welde leaping into the fray, swords zinging, and metal clashing.

  Ordinarily, three watchmen would not have been a match for seasoned soldiers, but these warriors had not fought in a campaign for a considerable time, while the watchmen were duty bound to practise their sword skills daily. Two more soldiers succumbed, lying dead. The rest ran off.

  “Well done, Snaglip, Xiat,” Welde Dep said, breathing heavily after the exertion.

  Briefly, Snaglip explained how the fight started, and why.

  “This is grave news,” said Welde Dep.

  “What about the dead men?” asked Xiat, ev
er the practical watchman.

  “I’ll make arrangements,” said Snaglip. He pointed to the soldier he’d knocked out. “He can do it.”

  “I must go to the Hansear household,” Welde Dep said.

  “Why, sir?” Xiat asked.

  “Sh,” hissed Snaglip, “you don’t ask a special investigator why!”

  Clapping a hand on the shoulders of both men, Welde Dep said, “I need to find someone who can pay the soldiery before they all abandon their posts!”

  Welde Dep was able to negotiate the streets unmolested. Most people still retained respect for the law and, besides, he was well known and even liked in certain quarters.

  He knocked on the door of the Hansear household and was let in at once and taken to the gildmaster.

  “Watchman Welde, what brings you here?” asked Great Gildmaster Mowensar.

  ***

  Second Sufinma of Fornious

  Hansear house, New City, Lornwater

  As dusk dusted the Hansear household windows with darkness, Welde relayed his message. “My concern is that the men may be grumbling now, but it won’t take them long to turn ugly.”

  “You’re right,” Ranell said. “From what your watchman has witnessed, it may already be too late. The soldiery is liable to ransack the city.”

  “They need payment,” Watchman Welde said. “They need to buy essentials for themselves and their family. They’re anxious, it’s only natural.”

  “But they’re Saurosen’s soldiers,” Lorar objected. “Why pay men who would oppose you and yours?”

  Ranell grinned. “You make sense, Lorar. But most of these soldiers will fight for us – if we find payment for them. A good number by all accounts have abandoned their posts already and are ripe to be mercenaries. If we pay them, we have a better chance of controlling them.”

  “Yes, I see…” She flushed and then was distracted by her father.

  Gildmaster Mowensar paced the room and all of a sudden stopped. “I will go to my secret cache and bring gold. If we can pay the soldiers, we may prevent anarchy.”

  “I will take some men and go with you,” Ranell said.”You and the gold need protecting.”

  Lorar sidled up to Ranell, her eyes full of anxiety. “I hate to see the two men I love risk this enterprise at the dead of night.”

  Aeleg stepped forward, his old black skin creased in anxiety. “I should go instead of you, Ranell. If anything were to happen to you, your father would never forgive me.”

  “Yes!” said Lorar. “Let Aeleg go.”

  Shaking his head, Ranell eyed Aeleg and Lorar. “No, I must lead – and protect your father, Lorar. His generosity towards the city and the soldiers must be repaid by my loyalty.” He turned to Aeleg and rested a hand on the short aide’s shoulder. “Thank you for offering to go, but I must be by Gildmaster Mowensar’s side.”

  Watchman Welde said, “I will go with you, Ranell.”

  “In that case, sir,” Aeleg said, “I have no worries.” He walked to a chair and sat.

  Ranell hugged Lorar. “We’ll be all right, you’ll see. I will leave Jan-re Osa with you for comfort and companionship.”

  Gildmaster Mowensar collected several empty sacks for transporting the gold, and then they sneaked out into the darkness.

  When the men had gone, Lorar accosted Osa. “Why are you here with Ranell?” She gestured at a curtained section. “Especially as you have a baby to care for…”

  “He is full of concern for you, my lady. As he said, he thinks I may provide company for you while he combats the king’s supporters.”

  Lorar nodded. “He is considerate like that, yes.”

  “He is, my lady. Very considerate.”

  “I would benefit from the closeness of a sister, or even a brother. None of my servants are close, alas, despite their faithful attendance on me.” Lorar eyed Osa. “You don’t hold yourself like a servant. And talk freely, unlike my servants.”

  “That is because I am not a servant, Hansear Lorar. Ulran gave me my freedom.” Osa glanced anxiously toward the curtains. “I must feed my little Uka now.”

  “I envy you your child.” Lorar touched Osa’s arm. “I fear childbirth yet want so much to honour my Ranell with many children.”

  “And so you shall, my lady. Believe me, when the time comes, you will find it the most natural thing.”

  “But the pain? I’ve heard terrible stories, and heard screams from the birthing bed…”

  “Ah, that is womankind’s triumph. Only things of true worth are gained through pain. That is what our religion teaches us.” She laid a hand over her breast, intent on the curtain again.

  “Go. You must go to her, feed her.” Osa moved a pace to the curtain. “It will be a long night. I shall not rest till father and Ranell return.”

  “It will, indeed, my lady,” Osa said and ducked behind the curtain.

  ***

  Manderranmeron Fault

  Torchlight flickered over the grim faces of the men assembled on the lip of the fault. Others clustered on the floor of the chasm, still waiting to cross and ascend the other side.

  Standing on the platform with Omagma, Ren-kan Sig and a soldier, Launette noted that nobody with him seemed to be enjoying the spectacle.

  Torture had that kind of allure: it either appalled or excited.

  Many knew Matred and Launette didn’t doubt that some had considered themselves the assassin’s friend. But now that was all academic. He was condemned by his own hand.

  Matred was dangling over the edge of the fault, next to the crossing point. His wrists were tethered to the rope fastened to one of the beams that hung out from the lip. Tied to his ankles was a large wovenrope basket, presently half-full of stones.

  Omagma threw another big stone into the basket. The already taut ropes groaned as they took this extra strain. Matred groaned between rapid intakes of breath as he attempted to assuage the pain in his limbs; or perhaps he was suffering from the anjis newt poison.

  “Talk,” grated Launette, “and we will give you a quick death. Otherwise, you will stretch to the point where your limbs are dislocated. That will not give you release, though. The butcher will drug you to stay conscious, to suffer extreme agony while the poison eats into you!”

  Swearing, Matred let out a hissing sound. “I can’t – can’t stand the pain!”

  “Then talk!”

  “I was bewitched to assassinate you. Honestly. By the gods, I swear!”

  “Bewitched? I think not!” He signed to Omagma and a fist-sized pebble landed in the basket. Matred hissed between his teeth. “Who hired you, Matred?”

  “Her – her witch cursed me – truly!”

  “Witch? Who, man? Tell me!”

  “S-s-sister Illasa!”

  Launette raised a staying hand to Omagma. He had what he wanted. Sister Illasa was a Sardan nun, a Nemond witch often seen in the company of Adama, the octogenarian mother of Thand. “Did she tell you why I was to be slain?” he demanded.

  “No, my – my lord…” Breath hissed through his clenched teeth. “I was not able to ask, I was enchanted.”

  Launette moved away slightly, stood next to Omagma. Why didn’t the witch attempt direct dark magic, if she desired his demise? He knew that certain individuals – many of them official witches – exhibited paranormal powers, and bound weird and esoteric forces to themselves. Indeed, on a number of occasions, he’d spoken to Watchman Welde Dep on the matter, since as a special investigator Welde had encountered preternatural incidents. Perhaps the distance from Lornwater to here was too great to exert mystic influence?

  He pursed his lips in frustration and turned to Omagma. “She probably wished to remove me from possible succession if Thand is declared incapable of ruling.”

  Omagma frowned. “My lord, do you think it will come to that, the king being usurped by his first cousin?”

  “Saurosen has only himelf to blame.” He eyed Matred. “We won’t get anything else from him.”

  “An ar
row through his black heart?” suggested Omagma with uncharacteristic eagerness.

  “No, nothing so quick, Captain.” He beckoned to Ren-kan Sig who stood on the opposite side of the platform.

  Ren-kan Sig’s eyes were red-rimmed, his face ashen and grim. “My lord?”

  Launette pointed to a large stone on the platform at Omagma’s feet. “If you wish, you may hurl this.”

  More a grimace than a smile, Ren-kan’s mouth curved. Wordlessly, he bent and heaved the stone up to chest-height. Gauging the distance, he raised it above his head and threw it down.

  The heavy stone landed squarely in the basket; a smattering of stone chips flew off, and in the same instant Matred gave a high-pitched scream that rebounded off the rugged walls of the fault. The ropes stayed taut, the basket swaying now, doubtless adding to the assassin’s agony.

  “One more should do it,” Launette suggested.

  “It will be my pleasure.” Ren-kan bent to pick up another stone.

  “You promised me a quick death!” Matred screamed.

  “I made no promise, assassin!” Launette snarled. “It was an offer.”

  “But…” Matred said, gasping between each word, “I talked… like you … wanted!”

  “You talked, but not nearly enough!” He signed to Ren-kan.

  “No, no!” squealed Matred.

  “Murderer!” Ren-kan Sig threw the rock into the basket.

  Matred yelled in extreme agony and both of his arms were pulled out of their shoulder sockets.

  Blood splattered the fault wall and he fell, leaving his two limbs dangling.

  The thud of the assassin’s bone-crushing landing was echoed with a muted chorus of cheers from the watching crowd on the lip.

  Straightening, his chest pushed out, Ren-kan Sig said, “Thank you, my lord. That eased the pain a little.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss. Now, can we continue with the crossing?”

  ***

  The entire caravan crossed the vast chasm floor, dotted with boulders, lush oases, occasional trees sprouting, and dried teens of black lava from Mount Danumne; the terrain proved difficult for the wagons to negotiate.

  Finally, they were across, ascended the far side, and on the lip of the chasm Lord-General Launette met with more advance guard to swell their numbers.