Floreskand_King

by Morton Faulkner

  There were two doors; he chose the first, opened it onto a large room with bare floorboards. It was familiar, two walls filled with shelves crammed with scrolls and leather-bound books. On the right was her bedroom, on the left his room. The cooking stove stood cold in a corner, its furnace empty of wood.

  “Anybody home?” he called.No answer.

  Making his way into her room, he sheathed his sword and checked the wardrobe. Her clothes – mostly dresses – were all there. She hardly wore them anyway, preferring leggings. He unfastened his pack and removed the gift he’d brought. Another amulet! As far as she was concerned, she never had enough. This one was particularly intricate, an effigy of Osasor. He dropped it on her bed and spotted a parchment note on her pillow.

  He read it. Clen, I may not be back when you return, but if you ask at the Red Tellar, Ranell will tell you where I am. Love, F xxx Curious now, Clen decided to investigate.

  When he arrived at the Red Tellar Inn, a sentry on the entrance door barred his way.

  “Don’t inns want custom?” Clen said with irony.

  “You must be new around here,” the sentry observed with a smirk. “The city’s in the midst of a rebellion and this is the rebel headquarters.”

  At that moment a serving girl edged past the sentry, exiting.

  “Off already, Bea?” the sentry observed.

  “I have a family to feed, as well you know!” she berated.

  Clen smiled as inspiration hit him. With the utmost care, he followed Bea.

  ***

  First Sidin of Darous

  Red Tellar Inn, New City, Lornwater

  Ranell stood up at his desk as Jan-re Osa knocked and opened the office door. “Yes?” he asked gruffly.

  “Bea wishes to see you,” Jan-re Osa said. “On a private matter.”

  “Oh?”

  Bea, one of the serving girls, entered.

  Jan-re Osa made herself scarce. Must apologise to her later, he told himself again.

  “Well, Bea, what personal matter do you–?” Ranell stopped, stared and squinted at Bea. There was a slight shimmering of air around her, hardly discernible, a difference in her aura. “Who are you? Because you’re not Bea.”

  Involuntarily, he took a step back as Bea transformed into a man of medium height with hazel eyes, long black hair and an angular thin face. “A shapeshifter?”

  “No, I’ve cast a Sardan spell; you call it a glamour, I think. Anyone who meets me sees a woman in the form of your serving girl Bea.”

  Ranell tensed, warily on guard as it was possible that an enemy in the royal palace could be using someone with shapeshifting ability, no matter what this man said. It couldn’t be a melog, surely?

  The man moved closer. “My apologies for the deception, Ranell, son of Ulran. I am Brother Clen. I have come to ask about my sister Fhord.”

  “Fhord?” Ranell repeated. “Is she a Sardan sister?”

  “No, she isn’t in the sisterhood – she’s of my blood.”

  “Ah, that kind of sister! The name sounds familiar…” He searched his memory and an image slithered into his mind. He clicked his fingers. “Wait, there was a young man with that name who came here.”

  “Oh, she isn’t playing that game again, is she?”

  “What game is that?”

  Brother Clen sighed. “She dresses as a man as she believes we all live in a man’s world and she can accomplish more if she appears to be male.”

  Light dawned. “I never knew! She played the part well! So your family name is Cobrora, is it?”

  “Yes. Cobrora Clen.”

  “You’re right. Cobrora Fhord was dressed as a man – a mysterious bearer of ill omen, it seemed to me.”

  “She’s exceedingly superstitious and has always been very attached to her effigies. When was this?”

  “I cannot recall precisely, but it was ten or so days ago…”

  “Ten days?” Brother Clen swore. “Where is she now, then?”

  Ranell shook his head. “She left the city with my father.”

  “What business could she have with the esteemed innman?”

  “I cannot say.” He recalled Fhord’s phrase “Trouble in Arion” but was not going to divulge that to Brother Clen.

  “Will they be long?”

  Ranell remembered all too well now. Fhord said they had to get to Arion before first durinma of Lamous – seventy days’ journey. So they had about sixty to go. “I fear they will not be returning for quite some time. That is all I can tell you.”

  “Oh, that’s disappointing. I wonder… You know, there’s a lot of trouble in my sector.”

  “There is. Throughout the city, in fact.”

  “Could I stay here? I’d feel safer.”

  Looking sceptically at him, Ranell answered, “I don’t know… Our people are busy attempting to break into the Second City. And many of them are being housed here. Even if we had room, it might not be appropriate for you to stay. It could be dangerous.”

  “You mean because this is the headquarters of the usurper?”

  “He isn’t that – I advise you not to use that term.”

  “I meant nothing by it. Who is seeking to take the throne, then?”

  “Royal Prince Haltese.”

  “Interesting, overthrowing his father…”

  “It happens,” Ranell said with a shrug. But not in my family.

  “All the time, according to my sister’s books. Well, can I stay?”

  “I repeat: it may be dangerous to stay here.”

  “I am capable of taking care of myself.” Clen raised an eyebrow. “And I could be useful to you.”

  “Yes, indeed, your Sardan abilities, whatever they may be, could help our cause, if you have a mind?”

  Clen grinned. “My mind can help, yes.”

  ***

  First Dloin of Darous

  Underground

  Dasse Wenn coughed, spewing blood. He used the sword as a walking-stick. Now, the floor of the tunnel was clinging mud and each unsteady step was a huge effort. Light from his torch glinted on the wet surface; and then the flames flickered.

  His heart jumped as fresh air wafted over his skin. Fresh – not stale – air!

  Here, too, he found a cluster of puddles that sprouted not flowers but bizarre crystals of white and green shapes.

  He limped into a cavernous area, where curtains of glistening white stone hung from the ceiling, and spotted three exit tunnels.

  Of a sudden, voices, harsh and guttural sounded behind him, the way he’d come.

  No, no! Not here, I won’t die here!

  Gritting his teeth, breath hissing from his mouth, he tightened his grip on the sword.

  Supporting himself with his back against the rough-hewn cavern wall, he glanced to his left.

  Then to the right, and finally straight ahead.

  Which tunnel?

  Before Dasse could make up his mind, three Nhyrachons wandered into the cavern.

  One charged immediately, while his two companions stood back, one of them with a rushtorch.

  Splashing through the mud, the Nhyrachon wielded a short-sword – shorter than Dasse’s.

  He parried the first down-swiping blow, the metal clanging, echoing in the tunnels.

  The force of the blow unsettled him, and he felt shaky on his feet. His arm ached and his chest pain increased as he used torn muscles.

  Shrieking triumphantly, the Nhrachon raised his sword to strike – and Dasse thrust his blade deep into his opponent’s throat.

  Now, the two remaining Nhyrachons moved towards him as one, swords ready, eyes glinting in the torchlight.

  Wielding the torch in one hand and his sword in the other, Dasse prepared to meet their charge and die.

  His sword deflected one slashing blade; it barely missed his scalp. His torch sizzled against a Nhyrachon face, but it had no effect; his face-hair burning, the Nhyrachon swung his sword at Dasse.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  COUNTER-ATTAC
K

  “Store force like one drawing a bow;

  issue force like shooting an arrow.”

  - The Dialogues of Meshanel

  Doltra Complex, Second City, Lornwater

  When darkness had fallen, as planned with Haltese, a contingent had assaulted the Long Causeway gate with terrible ferocity. He feared there would be great loss of life. Taking advantage of the diversion and guided by eight shadow-men, Ranell had rushed across the set of ladders that spanned the moat. He used the key to open the tripdoor and silently entered. Clinging to shadows, they passed through sector seven and entered eight.

  Now, from his position in the deep shadows under the Doltra Complex, Ranell watched and listened. And that assault and sacrifice was all for this, he thought, eyeing the eight men armed with spears and swords who slunk amidst the ruins. Here, they’d discovered the openings of mine tunnels, just as the miner had revealed. Using his Sardan ability, Brother Clen had asserted that the tunnels burrowed under the complex, all the way beneath the Second and Old cities. Haltese said it was too good an opportunity to miss.

  “You come with me,” Ranell said, gesturing to three of general Luascar’s prime soldiers. The remaining five waited.

  Once out of sight in the stygian darkness, and standing within the dank tunnel, Ranell lit a shagunblend torch. The eerie dull green glow highlighted splinters of marble, aslant pillars of ironwood, a couple of human skulls, ancient vestiges of the city that had collapsed in 1823.

  Leading the way, one hand carrying the torch, the other shifting with care obstructing beams of wood, Ranell moved down the gradual slope of the detritus-strewn tunnel. “Signal for the rest to follow!” he said over his shoulder,

  Abrupt scuffling noise reached him from the entrance. “And try to be quiet!” he called hoarsely, neither whisper nor shout. Obediently, one soldier ran back the way they’d come.

  Accompanied by two soldiers carrying spears, Ranell had not gone far when he stopped, his ears now attuned to the slightest peculiar sound. He held up a hand and the men behind him halted.

  “Something is moving ahead,” Ranell whispered, drawing his sword.

  ***

  Underground

  The blow never connected with Dasse. A spear impaled the Nhyrachon and he fell to the cavern floor. The surviving Nhyrachon stared, distracted by his dead companion, and Dasse despatched him with a thrust to his heart.

  Leaning on his sword now, Dasse stared, hardly believing his eyes. Three men stood in a cave entrance; and he recognised the one in the middle. “Ranell? Is – is that – is that you, of the Red Tellar?”

  “It is, friend!” Ranell hurried to his side, clasped his arm.

  “Who is this?” asked a soldier, his eyes wide in wonder, gazing at the corpses, then at Dasse.

  “It’s Dasse Wenn, a miner,” said the other soldier. “We’d caroused and drunk in the Pick and Shovel!” He shook his head. “But I don’t understand, he was in the Oxor disaster! His looks are so changed!” The torchlight emphasised Dasse’s thinness and the blue tinge to his flesh.

  Ranell looked dubiously at Dasse. “We feared you were dead, among all the others.”

  “There – there was an explosion, wasn’t there?”

  “Yes. But that was about ten days ago. How have you come to be here?”

  Coughing up red phlegm, Dasse sank down against the rock wall. He stared at the foremost inquisitive soldier. “You – you wear the colours of – of Prince Haltese…”

  “Aye, I do. We are rising against the king.”

  Again, Dasse coughed up blood. “I – I am loyal to the king…”

  “Don’t worry about the politics, friend. You need medical aid.” Ranell scanned the corpses. “What manner of creatures are these?”

  “Nhyrachons… Some of the – of the Underpeople…”

  “Underpeople,” whispered a soldier, a fearful tremor in his tone.

  “Aye. I have much to relate, but I – I fear I’m dying…” He clutched Ranell’s tunic. “Take me into the fresh air. Please.”

  “Let us help him,” Ranell told the two soldiers.

  Between them, they half-carried and guided Dasse along the tunnel.

  Before long they encountered the remainder of their small contingent. “Four of you go on ahead, scout the rest of the tunnel, but have a care, they are doubtless flooded.”

  “Wait,” Dasse said, his voice quite faint.

  “What is it?” Ranell asked.

  Dasse coughed again. “The – the openings into mines … they – they are visible now… since water level has – has dropped.”

  “You’re sure?” Ranell asked.

  “Yes. When the flooding st – started, it – it was almost up – up to my knees…”

  Jubilant now, Ranell turned to the soldiers. “You heard him – go, find those tunnel exits, we want to use them to get into the Second City! Go!”

  The soldiers jogged on, leaving Ranell with Dasse and the two men. “Let’s get you to the surface.”

  Dasse chuckled but didn’t enlighten anyone why he was amused.

  Finally, they doused the torch and clambered out of the tunnel, amidst the detritus of the old city ruins.

  Dasse gasped, sucking in the fresh air.

  “Does it taste good?” Ranell asked.

  “Better than wine, son of the innman.”

  “We must get you medical aid.”

  “No,” Dasse said, his voice stronger than before, as if invigorated by the fresh air. He breathed in, grimaced. “Promise me you will get word to my brother Watchman Dasse Clan.”

  “Yes, but–”

  “Tell him I died well.”

  No sooner had Ranell’s promise passed his lips than the light was extinguished from Dasse Wenn’s eyes. Closing those staring empty orbs, Ranell wondered about the miner’s wounds; sword cuts, but delivered by whom – those Underpeople creatures? And how had Dasse survived underground so long? He’d never explained.

  ***

  Second City, Lornwater

  Later that night, the rebel force identified mine tunnels that ran from the gaping hole in Svernree Park all the way to the Doltra Complex. Word spread about the possibility of a Doltra Complex access to the Second City.

  Yet Ranell was hard pressed to allay the superstition that clouded the area; some of the men were unwilling or fearful to risk their souls against the fabled Underpeople. He didn’t mention the ugly corpses they’d hidden. In great numbers, those souls who shunned superstition scaled down into the hole and trudged through the tunnels and entered the Second City, spreading throughout the place, surprising the defenders. Bloody and gruelling fighting claimed many dead.

  Finally, the city fell to the rebels.

  There was little jubilation, though. The Old City was going to be harder to crack – unless they could extend the tunnels further.

  ***

  Red Tellar Inn, New City, Lornwater

  Vamir Wei, the water gildsman approached Baron Laan. “Your lordship, I have grave news concerning a gildmaster.”

  “Step forward, gildsman. Who?”

  “Olelsang. He has been trying to align gildsmen against you – and has in part succeeded, but not enough I suspect to cause you great harm.”

  Laan ground his teeth. “I never trusted that man!” He turned to a sergeant. “Bring Gildmaster Olelsang to me, at once!”

  “Aye, my lord!”

  Turning to Vamir Wei, Laan said, “Thank you for the warning. Olelsang’s treachery could have proved serious as we mount an attack. I am greatly relying on your fellow gildsmen.”

  “Those loyal to you, my lord, will serve you well.”

  ***

  Ranell had arranged for two of Luascar’s soldiers and a group of armed townsmen to guard the Long Causeway gate, and then returned to the Red Tellar.

  On his way, he’d heard, mixed with the shouts and cheers of rejoicing men and women, the wails of the bereaved and the moans of the wounded and maimed.

 
; “The dead are piling up,” he told Haltese as he entered the inn.

  The prince nodded, his eyes weary, drawn. “Freedom from tyranny requires the blood of good men and women.”

  “A pity you couldn’t organise your family disagreement with less bloodshed,” Baron Laan opined.

  Haltese glared. “You should have a care, Baron. When I am enthroned, I might use the Black Sword to sever old ties.”

  “I trust we will not be replacing one tyrant with another of similar design?”

  Nursing a sling, General Luascar growled, “Enough, Baron! Ranell, set watch in case there is a counter-attack.”

  “I have already done so,” Ranell responded, biting on a cutting retort. “I will check on them shortly.”

  Unexpectedly, the floor beneath them trembled and a deep rumbling rose from the ground.

  “The earth weeps for the blood spilled on it,” Cobrora Clen observed ominously.

  ***

  First Sufin of Darous

  Second City, Lornwater

  It was hard, dirty work in the tunnels that ran from the Doltra Complex, as men cleared rubble and uncovered ancient skeletons. Gradually, they made progress.

  “Soon we will gain access to the Old City!”

  “If we don’t become like those!” barked another, pointing at the grisly shattered bones.

  ***

  Underground

  Warily, Sos and U-Gath trudged through the mud-laden tunnels, nerves on edge, fearing another encounter with Nhyrachons. They passed pointed teeth sprouting from the ground and columns of stone of great girth, and occasionally slabs of flowstone, rock that resembled water caught frozen in the act of flowing. Some stone on the walls was twisted and folded like material or shells, glistening with buttery reflected light.

  Sos feared that if he showed himself after so long, particularly in the state he was in, the city troops would not wait to ask questions but silence him, fearing a threat. Then again, was his mushroom addiction so strong already that he could no longer live above-ground?