She idly touched the key that hung from a thin chain round her neck. Fortunately, the coffers within the Nemond palace were adequate to the task. She had checked the palace shortly after the Old City fell. Luascar’s troops had broken the front doors and the odd vase had been shattered, but nothing of note had been pillaged, and the treasury door as well as all the others was untouched. Sadly, her pledger had apparently died of a heart-attack when Luascar’s soldiers burst in.
She had one surprise, though. Thand’s mother and grandmother had fled the palace, it seemed. She decided to conceal that information from her husband until he was more himself again.
Later, when she remarked on their absence to Sister Illasa she received the enigmatic reply, “They will be plotting your ‘comeuppance’ elsewhere, my lady.”
“What do you mean, Illasa?”
“You love him more than both of them combined, and they cannot abide that.”
“Should I be on my guard?”
“Yes, my lady. I will do my best to ward off a psychic attack, should it happen. You need a new pledger.”
***
First Dekin of Lamous
Red Tellar Inn, New City, Lornwater
Sitting at his desk, his elbows resting on its surface, Ranell held his head in his hands while fleeting images, swirling round and round, plagued his mind. He couldn’t shake them.
Over the years, as he’d grown, he had experienced flashes similar to this, when, he later learned his father was in grave or even mortal danger. Was this the case now? Was the journey to Arisa the cause of this pain and anguish?
He called for Jan-re Osa to supply him with a potion. That finally helped. What did those chaotic images mean? Or had it something to do with his despair concerning Lorar’s situation?
At least a visit from Watchman Welde took his mind off it.
“Ranell, perhaps now is the time to enlighten you about my suspicions,” Welde Dep said, when shown in by Jan-re Osa.
Ranell waved the watchman to a seat. “Suspicions about what – or whom?”
“Epal Danorr.”
Grating his teeth loud enough to be heard, Ranell said, “What suspicions?” His tone was bitter.
“If you recall, I was with you when Lorar’s father died.”
“Yes. It is a night I will never forget.”
“I fear that Epal was instrumental in the death of Hansear Mowensar.”
“You have proof?”
“No, only suspicions. His absence and then sudden appearance at the death-bed. I’ve made enquiries and he was seen in the vicinity of the attack on you and Hansear Mowensar.” He held up a hand. “I will need to investigate further when peace is more assured within the city.”
“Keep your spies on the alert, Watchman Welde. If there’s anything to pin on that man and it will stick, let me know.”
***
Lornwater
Tantian kept busy all day, liaising with Generals Luascar and Accantey of the eleventh and first toumens. There were horses to rest for the chase ahead, the wounded to care for, and weapons to be issued, sharpened or replaced.
While riding alongside Accantey, she observed four men hanging from fruit trees in the avenue. Splatters of dried blood mingled with severed hands, a grisly penis and oranges on the ground beneath them. “Rough justice, General?” she asked, unaffected by the grim scene.
“Two of them were looters, and the third a rapist,” Accantey explained.
“And the fourth?” she enquired.
“Not of my doing. The civilians dealt with him – a money-lender.”
When she returned to Thand’s bedside, he vaguely recognised her. But most of the time his eyes seemed to stare at a world that didn’t exist. He persisted in mumbling about Underpeople.
Having heard the stories brought from the tunnels under the Doltra Complex, she didn’t know what to make of Thand’s ramblings.
Was there a small truth mingled in there? Perhaps one day she would learn the real facts.
Sister Illasa examined him regularly. “He is mending. I know, it doesn’t seem like it, but he is. I believe that tomorrow your husband will be ready to lead the quest for Saurosen.”
Tantian didn’t know whether to cheer for joy or fall into despond at that news.
***
Red Tellar Inn, New City, Lornwater
“Ranell, you recall that night?” Watchmen Welde Dep asked.
“When Mowensar died?”
“The same.”
“Yes. We spoke earlier.” His pulse raced and he dared to hope. “Have you discovered something?”
“Mowensar recognised the family who attacked us. Hin-era.”
Ranell shook his head. “Yes, I remember, during the fight…” He gripped Dep’s arms. “You’ve found them?”
“No. They’ve gone to ground – or been killed in the fighting. Too early to say. But I’ve unearthed an interesting piece of information. A husband and wife were paid handsomely by a man to watch the attack on us…”
“So it was engineered?”
“Most certainly.”
“And the man’s name?”
“Epal Danorr.”
Ranell licked his dry lips. “Are they sure?”
“Yes. I came across them while doing door-to-door enquiries. Their description seemed to fit, so I asked them to accompany me to Epal’s residence. We three watched from across the street and eventually he emerged and the pair positively identified him as the man who paid them.”
***
Epal villa, New City, Lornwater
A dark-skinned servant dressed in white and gold linen answered the door.
“We want to see your master, Epal Dannor,” Welde Dep said. Behind him stood Ranell and Jan-re Osa carrying a leather bag.
“Who should I say is calling?” the servant asked, though his plaid clothing should have told her he was a watchman.
“Special Investigations Watchman Welde.”
“I will see if he is available. I believe he is in a meeting.” She moved to close the door, but Welde’s foot was faster.
“We will see him now!” he stormed, shoving the door fully open.
She backed away, alarm in her eyes, as all three entered.
“We mean you no harm,” Ranell said. “Where is he?”
Dumbly, she pointed down the passage to a door on the left.
A door on the right opened and Lorar strolled out, her brow creased in puzzlement. “Ranell?” Then she noticed Welde. “Watchman?” Finally, her eyes glazed as she noted Jan-re Osa’s presence.
Ranell’s heart overturned as he saw a bruise over Lorar’s left cheek. Sensing murderous heat rising in him, he evaded her questioning eyes and made for the door on the left.
“Hansear Lorar, our business is with your agnate,” Welde explained and opened the door.
Epal Danorr sat at a table crammed with coins, and opposite him was the hunched form of Gildmaster Olelsang, smoking a pipe, a hand idly stroking his plaited long blond beard. They both appeared self-satisfied until they registered the interruption.
“What is the meaning of this?” Epal Danorr raged, standing.
“I am here to arrest you for conspiracy to murder!” Welde declared.
Puffing on his pipe, Olelsang continued to sit, his deep-set sky-blue eyes darting from Ranell to Welde.
“And,” said Ranell, “Gildmaster Olelsang, you are wanted by Baron Laan.”
The gildmaster rose from his chair, the straw-coloured braids in his hair dangling and dancing. “What for?” He lowered his pipe to the table.
Jan-re Osa stepped forward a pace, opened the leather bag and withdrew a sheaf of papers. “Treachery,” she read aloud.
“Though,” added Ranell, “I suspect there will be other charges. All of which demand the death penalty.”
With remarkable speed and totally unexpected, Olelsang reached over, unsheathed Epal Danorr’s short-sword, and grabbed Jan-re Osa to him, using her as a shield. “Get away from the door!�
� A strong, hoarse voice; used to commands being obeyed.
Jan-re Osa’s face reflected distress, but she didn’t cry or plead. She still held the bag.
With his forearm across her windpipe, Olelsang shuffled towards the door. “Don’t try anything, Watchman! I’ll slit her open if you make a move!”
Ranell realised that Lorar was in the doorway, blocking Olelsang’s exit. “Lorar,” he urged, “let him go.”
As Lorar moved to one side, fleetingly distracting Olelsang, Jan-re Osa swung the bag round behind her head, slamming it into Olelsang’s temple. As his head jerked sideways with the blow, she followed with a hard kick to his foot and slid from his loosened grip.
“He’s mine,” Ranell said, withdrawing his sword.
Before Olelsang could spring through the door or even consider using Lorar as another hostage, Ranell’s blade pierced the gildmaster’s calf.
His shriek of pain transformed into a grunt of anger. His normally blanched complexion turned a startling grey. Turning, he swung the short-sword at Ranell and came close to cutting him. His long reach made up for his short weapon.
Ranell countered, jabbing again, this time briefly impaling the gildmaster’s left arm. Blood dribbled from the gildmaster’s wounds. Olelsang swore and pressed forward, expertly, the speed of the slices and swipes disconcerting. But yet again, Ranell’s blade reached past the blurring steel and found the gildmaster’s other leg. Olelsang grimaced, bringing down upon Ranell all the ailments known to Bridansor.
“Enough!” Welde called, an arm-lock on Epal Danorr. “Finish it, innman, or I will!”
Shrugging, Ranell said, “So be it. A reckoning is due!” With a final parry, feint and powerful thrust, he plunged his blade full into Olelsang’s chest.
Lorar let out a cry of shock as Olelsang snorted, the sound changing into a gurgling eructation of blood that splattered over Ranell.
Oblivious of the blood, Jan-re Osa rushed into Ranell’s arms and hugged him.
Over Osa’s shoulder he saw Lorar turn into the passageway and walk from his sight.
***
First Sidin of Lamous
Oquar II forest
General Nhev’s physician had bandaged Saurosen’s wound and given him a potion from the poppy, which soon eased his anxiety. He and his entourage had been presented with horses – “Dead men’s nags, you might as well have them,” said the fourth’s ostler.
“I can give you my squire to attend you, sire, but that is all. All my company are fighting men. There are no servants.”
Saurosen grimaced at a twinge of pain as he mounted a palfrey. “Thank you for the offer, General. I can manage. I used to campaign without servants. Treat me as one of your men, if you will.”
Bowing graciously, Nhev answered, “Never that, sire.”
Saurosen was supplied with a dead man’s breastplate, a helmet and gauntlets. “In case we meet any opposition, sire,” said Nhev.
Saurosen sniffed and forced a smile. Ye gods, the armour stank of body odour. “You are most considerate, General.”
An armoured captain bearing the pennon of the sixth toumen rode up. “Sire, this is Captain Lue-ka Golavil of the sixth. He will accompany you with a hundred men from that toumen.”
“Ah, yes,” Saurosen interjected darkly, “I recall, General Yordine Edural only sent a portion of his toumen to my aid.”
“Sire,” replied Captain Lue-ka, “General Edural’s strategy was sound. Now, we can escort you to Taalland and meet up with the bulk of the toumen. All of whom are loyal to you and the Black Sword.”
Saurosen glowered at General Nhev. “And your men, General?”
“I can spare a hundred from the fourth, sire.”
“Why so few?” Saurosen demanded. “Your allegiance is to the Black Sword, not Lornwater.”
“Aye, but when you return to claim your throne, my liege, you’ll be wanting a relatively intact city with loyal subjects. It’s my job to ensure both.”
“You’ll give me loyal subjects by force of arms?”
“If it pleases you, yes, your highness.”
“It pleases me greatly!”
On their way through the forest towards Dhur Bridge, the poppy juice eased his mind as he swayed in the saddle and helped allay his concerns about an enemy hiding behind every tree in this damnable immense forest.
The soldiers of the fourth offered reassurances and bragged repeatedly, which helped too.
Once they’d crossed the bridge, they’d ride varmanron, keeping Mount Altohey on their left. It was a long and arduous journey to Taalland. General Nhev had sent a saptor ahead to the Yordine toran there, to arrange for a welcome. For now, Saurosen kept his own counsel, grateful that the Black Sword ensured his safety. Glancing sideways at Nostor Vata, the only female in his company, his heart overturned. He sorely missed Jikki.
***
Lornwater
Traditionally at sunset the gates of the city would be shut, but not this night. Column upon column of warriors rode out, accoutrements clanking, armour jouncing, bridles jingling, and drums pounding.
At their head astride a black stallion rode Nemond Thand, and beside him his wife Tantian, both clad in armour. His shone pristine while hers was battered and blood-stained. Next to them rode the great bulk of General Accantey, his pennon-carrier alongside him.
People in the crowds that lined the avenue cheered and whistled. Some shouted encouragement; others wished dismemberment and death upon the fleeing king, Saurosen.
Tantian swivelled in the saddle and looked behind. The train of provisions and troops was breathtaking – and all for her husband. Her heart swelled.
Yet grim reality asserted itself and her brow wrinkled a little at the daunting prospect of their task ahead. They were four days behind Saurosen.
She hoped the scouts would bring news soon.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
ULRAN
“As Ulran turned Versayr for Lornwater again,
a final parting shot reached him: “No need to hurry, Ulran.
Ranell is handling the situation well.”
A shooting star crossed the sky.
She had been to Sianlar. Farewell, Friend Fhord.
– The Annals of Floreskand, Book I – Epilogue.
First Dloin – First Durin of Lamous
Oquar II forest
Leaving Lornwater on the first Dekin, Cobrora Clen found that the days blurred as he flitted from leafy concealment to verdant bush, virtually invisible. When they played as youngsters Fhord had always expressed frustration at his ability to conceal himself in plain view.
The ache of her loss weighed heavily in his chest.
Clen had taken to heart Sister Illasa’s urging and left the city two days ago. He slipped through cordons of sixth and fourth toumen sentries without discovery. He was not intent on following Saurosen, but solely determined on getting to Taalland as quickly as possible. For that, he would require a horse. A mount was too obvious in the forest, so he would wait until he had emerged from Oquar and then he would seek a housestead willing to sell or lend him a horse.
As he moved like a ghost, even more silent than the men of the fourth toumen, he was able to avoid confrontation.
The fastest route for him was to Lowdorl, Mathile and thence to Rubala. He reached Lowdorl on the first Sufin.
***
Nemond Thand and his troup were not so versed in concealment. Their numbers announced their presence. General Accantey despatched scouts far and wide throughout the forest, to detect any sign of an ambush.
Yet inevitably the men of the fourth toumen were like dappled shadows in the verdure, shooting arrows without warning. Each attack cost the column in men, but the fourth suffered losses as well.
Accantey was impressed with the way that Nemond Thand responded to the attacks; he didn’t hesitate to ride his charger into the fray, cutting left and right, throwing impetuous foresters off the back of his horse, harvesting skulls and arms in a bloody frenzy. And b
eside him his wife Tantian was as bold and as bloodthirsty. Fleetingly, Accantey suspected that she fought at her husband’s side to defend him, though he didn’t seem to require any protection now.
There was a third combatant, but she carried no weapon. Sister Illasa seemed to be surrounded by an orange-red aura that no sword could penetrate. Anyone who attempted to kill her found his sword-hand shrivelled down to the bone.
An eerie triumvirate, indeed. Accantey was glad they were on his side.
***
Saurosen watched Nostor Vata riding alongside him. Her eyes were closed and she idly stroked the crease above the bridge of her nose. The action was almost sensuous. As the third eye flickered open, he gave a start. It affected him the same way every time he witnessed the unnatural phenomenon.
The third eye glowed red for an instant, its edges flickered with moisture, perhaps tears, and then slowly closed, until only the crease in her forehead remained.
He waited with baited breath, hoping she had something of note to divulge.
Nostor Vata’s eyes opened and she blinked, then levelled her gaze on him.
He waited.
“This immense forest at present has three adepts within it.”
He was quick to realise. “Sister Illasa is on our trail?”
“She is – with Nemond Thand and his wife.”
“That pretender, a usurper!” He gritted his teeth. “Who is the other adept?”
“He is young, not fully aware of his latent power. He is someone to be wary of, for he has deep links with Osasor, which I find difficult to fathom.”
***
First Sapin of Lamous
That night, Aurelan Crossis rode his horse across Dhur Bridge; the mount had been strong and swift, and he’d forced it mercilessly to outrun Saurosen’s company. A short while later he reached his men’s camp. Thanks to the round piece of wood with a burnished metal crest clamped to it, he had gained safe passage past any fourth toumen soldiers.
Lieutenant Danscar greeted him. “I was pleased to get your message. We were concerned, since we hadn’t heard from you for so long.”
Floreskand_King Page 36