Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles)

by Dale B. Mattheis

  “Gurthwin and Halric are given to reasoned thought before raising the battle-ax. He will be given a hearing.” Jeff shrugged doubtfully without realizing it.

  Rengeld nodded agreement. “Let us pray he is stout-hearted.”

  Amen to that, Jeff thought. “How do matters progress with the city guard?”

  “Although Imogo is not fully convinced of the Salchek threat, his concern has made it possible to increase the garrison. I have been applying myself to that end with great diligence and some success. However, convincing our sovereign that city granaries must be filled has been a more difficult task. He is loath to antagonize beholden duchies by extracting a greater portion of their crop yields. With the news you bring, I believe progress in that area will now be possible.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. The kingdom is at stake.”

  “Indeed it is.” Unclasping his hands and rubbing them together with a rasping sound, a huge smile further creased the rough-cut planes of Rengeld’s face. “This garrison will soon come to understand the meaning of hard work!”

  Ethbar stood up, prompting Jeff and Carl to do the same. “Our first task in the morning must be to plan a meeting with Imogo that will ensure his full cooperation. I would be honored if you would both accept the hospitality of my home for the duration of your stay in Rugen.”

  Jeff soaked in a wonderfully hot bath when he got up, but Carl was due for breakfast and he had to cut it short. A servant was setting out steaming bowls of gruel and a tray of glazed rolls when Carl made his appearance looking fresh-scrubbed and rested. It was such a pleasure to eat hot food totally unrelated to venison that they took their time and dwelled over a second cup of coffee.

  Comfortably slumped in his chair, Carl looked quizzically at Jeff. “Where did you learn to speak like you did last night?”

  “Don’t know for sure. It sort of grew on me after being around those two for awhile. Can’t always find the right phrasing, though, and things come out in a jumble or I glitch entirely. Wouldn’t be surprised if the same thing happens to you.” Jeff set his mug down with a solid thump. “Well, what do you say we wander downstairs and see what’s stirring?”

  “About that time.”

  Ethbar and Rengeld were poring over documents amid a clutter of breakfast crockery when they walked in. Signaling for a servant to clear the table, Ethbar pushed the documents away and motioned for them to be seated.

  “I believe a meeting with Imogo can be arranged later this day. Will this give you sufficient time to prepare, Jeffrey?”

  “What needs to be said is clear in my mind. I only hope Imogo will be receptive.”

  Jeff’s eyes drifted away from Ethbar and out a tall window that faced north. Recalling memories of ravening hunger and bone-shaking cold, his thoughts leaped far beyond Rugen’s walls.

  “I must leave within several days, for the task that faces me is daunting and winter long. I would deeply value any advice you might offer.” Jeff was not prepared for the degree of fear that accompanied the memories, and he took a deep breath before continuing.

  “I believe you will agree with me when I say that Rugen is the key to a successful defense of the North. Yet, will it survive what is to come without allies to assist in its defense? Rengeld, I am confident your efforts will bear fruit in the form of a well-trained garrison within the city, but we must have means of disrupting Salchek plans outside the walls. Shall we allow them to invest Rugen and assume a leisurely siege that is open to constant resupply from the south? Even with full granaries, how many months, or even granting years, will Rugen stand? We cannot permit these conditions to prevail.”

  “Ethbar and I have considered this, Jeffrey. With full granaries, Rugen might endure for two years.”

  “Just so. The yellow-hairs, or Alemanni as I now term them, must come to understand that if Rugen falls their lands will soon be overrun. Much as I was driven south by great urgency, I have come to know it is my task to unite them in common effort. I fear this task yet see no alternative. Shall I wait until warm summer months? Will the Salchek be receptive to delaying their invasion in order to accommodate us?”

  It was a rare occurrence, but Rengeld was taken by surprise. He frowned at Jeff as if he could not believe his ears. No matter how courageous, there were some things you just didn’t do. Attempting travel far to the north in the dead of winter was one of them. Nervous tension drove him to his feet.

  “My friend, what you propose confounds imagination and leads me to fear for your life. Legends spring from deeds much less severe. While it is more than likely that the Salchek will surround this city no later than next summer, are you certain there is no alternative?”

  Jeff shook his head with downcast eyes. Rengeld’s concern had fueled his fear until it was nearly unbearable.

  “There is no option other than rallying the Alemanni. As you have said with different words, time is our great enemy. I also agree that unless the Salchek meet determined opposition in the south we can expect Rugen to be invested no later than next summer. There will be no opposition in the south.”

  Ethbar winced at what he had to say. “Even as you say, this is your task and must be attempted this winter. Without its completion our outlook is greatly diminished.”

  Although his expression gave little away, Ethbar felt like he had just signed Jeff’s death warrant. He paused to ponder the gods. Why they were using this young man so harshly. There was no answer. No possibility of understanding the minds of gods. Ethbar stirred from reflection.

  “Come, let us combine our thoughts and hearts to achieve understanding of this task, for you must not perish.” Locating a clean sheet of parchment, Ethbar picked up a stylus. “Let us consider clothing…” They only adjourned when the tailors Ethbar had summoned showed up.

  Some hours later and standing in front of a tall mirror, Jeff and Carl felt a bit like two musketeers in drag. The fact that the mirror was full of distortions didn’t help matters. Baggy pants were stuffed into shiny dragoon boots complete with rowel spurs, all topped by gold-trimmed doublets and wide-brimmed hats with long feathers attached.

  The palace was not far from Ethbar’s residence near the central lake, so they walked. Boot heels clumping on stone paving blocks, spurs and swords jingling and clinking, the men felt more than a little foolish. As they walked, Ethbar filled them in on court etiquette.

  “…Finally, do not be dismayed by the rabble posing as courtiers. Their insolence is a consequence of ignorance, and for a certain number of them something far more ominous. We will confer privately with Imogo following the audience.”

  The chamberlain kept them waiting in an outer room while he peeked into the audience chamber. Eventually deeming the timing right, he swung the door wide and announced their presence. Ethbar swept into the room and stopped three or four feet from the throne to bow.

  “Your Majesty, I am honored to present Jeffrey Friedrick, our emissary just returned from the South. Attending him is his trusted companion, Carl Jorgenson.”

  As he walked toward the throne, Carl three steps behind as directed by the chamberlain, Jeff surveyed the throne room and its occupants. He was not impressed. The room was no more than forty feet to a side with a centrally located dais. Tapestries of modest quality covered portions of stone walls. Even so, the room felt cold. The two objects of obvious quality were the large carpet of intricate weave on the stone floor, and the ornately carved chair that served as a throne.

  Jeff’s first impression of Imogo was that of a short, somewhat bored, balding man sitting nonchalantly on his throne in a heavy robe. He appeared to be in his late fifties and sported a spade beard dappled with gray. Jeff caught himself staring at Imogo. For the first time in his life he saw truly black eyes. The effect was not so much sinister as compelling.

  Although the room was not crowded with courtiers, Jeff estimated there had to be twenty-five or thirty present. He couldn’t help wondering how many would like to see him dead or run out of town. Whatever, he
decided, from their expressions they sure as hell don’t know what to make of us.

  Stopping beside Ethbar, Jeff bowed. “Your servant, Majesty.”

  Imogo sat up straighter and studied Jeff with considerable interest before speaking in a high, piping voice. “We are pleased to welcome you, Jeffrey Friedrick. Newly returned as you are from southern lands, we anticipate fuller conversation with you and your companion. Now we would wish for you to be introduced to the members of our court.” Signaling for Ethbar to do the honors, Imogo left the audience room.

  Positioning himself between Carl and Jeff, Ethbar guided them toward the largest group of courtiers. As they approached, six or seven pointedly turned their backs and strolled in the opposite direction.

  Carl wasn’t about to let them off so easily. Jeff couldn’t take the risk of being snubbed in public, but he could. Time to get some information. Carl squeezed Ethbar’s arm and gestured with his head at the retreating backs. Ethbar nodded and they set off in pursuit, leaving Jeff to his own devices.

  Surrounded by courtiers, Jeff caught Carl’s move and thought, Right on, man. Go for it.

  Casually moving away from Carl’s theater of operation, Jeff fielded a number of questions. Although the questions were general in nature, Jeff carefully selected his words to avoid revealing the Salchek presence before Imogo was fully informed. That, he concluded, would be a fatal mistake, perhaps literally.

  Taking the initiative, he described Khorgan in detail. The topic proved so exciting to his circle that he never was pushed into the realm of politics. Ethbar and Carl returned unobtrusively and they bowed their way out of the chamber.

  Their footsteps echoed loudly in deserted hallways as Ethbar penetrated deep inside the palace. Stopping at an unremarkable door, he rapped lightly on its panels and entered. Unpretentious and small, the room was comfortably furnished with soft chairs, a table, and thick carpets.

  They found Imogo with his feet resting on a stool, robes cast aside and sipping on a glass of wine. Seated next to Imogo was a young man of perhaps eighteen years. Must be his son, Torget, Jeff decided.

  With an informal wave toward empty chairs, Imogo indicated they were to sit. “If you would, Jeffrey, please relate what you observed in the South.”

  The setting was casual, but Jeff was under no illusion that the circumstances were. Passing over the trip south with only a few words, he described the situation in Khorgan and what he had concluded. When he related the amount of tribute Khorgan was being forced to pay, Imogo’s face went blank with disbelief.

  “You are quite certain of the amount, Jeffrey?”

  “Yes, your Majesty. Four hundred weight of gold each month. I must say we were all nearly overcome. Such an amount went far to explain the crushing taxation imposed by the city council.”

  Their trip to Tradertown in search of confirmation was received with an appreciative nod.

  “A wise decision. One must never base conclusions on supposition only. Now this Tradertown. A most interesting name. Please continue.”

  Jeff proceeded to describe everything he had observed and experienced. At the last minute he included Carl and Zimma’s rescue. As he had earlier, Jeff concluded with the traders’ evacuation to Astholf and decision to trek north to Rugen.

  The room was quiet for some time. “The rescue of Carl and your Zimma—you effected their escape unassisted?”

  Considering the circumstances surrounding the rescue, Imogo’s question was not unexpected.

  “Your majesty is most astute. Their rescue would not have been successful against such odds without this.”

  Experiencing a sense of deja vu, Jeff removed the Colt from under his doublet. Popping the cylinder open, he tilted the pistol up and caught the cartridges as they fell out. Not willing to risk damage, Jeff closed the cylinder and set the weapon and cartridges on the table.

  Showing more daring than Belstan and Rogelf, Imogo picked it up. Turning the Colt over in his hands, he marveled at the workmanship.

  “Silver steel with no hint of rust,” he murmured in a wondering tone of voice. He set it down with the care usually afforded a delicate object. Imogo gazed at Jeff with a new level of intensity, all the while stroking the metal with a finger. “There is another story here, it would seem. Would you be so kind?”

  “I am not of this world, nor is my companion. We have been brought to this land by my ancestors in defense of the yellow-hairs and Rugen.” He let it drop there.

  Imogo didn’t blink an eye. “The Redhairs of legend.”

  “Yes, your Majesty.”

  “We must admit to being captivated, Jeffrey, and are quite willing to accept your alien origin.”

  Lost in reflection, Imogo gazed into the middle distance. The silence that ensued was not uncomfortable, for it was as if they had ceased to exist. Quite abruptly, Imogo’s eyes refocused. In a series of deft motions, he picked up the Colt, released the lock, swung the cylinder out and plucked a cartridge from the table.

  Although taken by surprise, there was no way Jeff would allow the cylinder to be shut with a cartridge in it. Holding the cartridge up to catch the light, Imogo nodded and slipped it into the cylinder. Before Jeff could react, he tipped the revolver up and caught the cartridge in his hand.

  “We must assume this smaller device is the actual instrument of death.”

  Primed to explode into action, Jeff forced a calm reply. “Yes, your Majesty, it is.”

  Imogo nodded gravely. “Never have we imagined such craftsmanship, or experienced the imminence of death so closely.” Setting the cartridge and pistol down on the table, Imogo let his breath out in a long sigh. “Very well. Let us examine matters more closely.”

  The rest of the afternoon was spent answering questions from Imogo, each one penetrating deeper into southern affairs. It wasn’t long before Jeff understood what it was like to be cross-examined by an expert. He was also walking a razor’s edge. Molding each answer to document the need for preparation carried a big risk. Kings did not like to be manipulated, and this, Jeff decided, was one smart king. Several hours later, large sweat circles were visible under his arms. He was outlining plans for the winter when Imogo smiled dryly and broke in.

  “Nobly have you withstood this day, Jeffrey. We have learned over the years to discern honesty as well as deceit. That you are honest we have no question. That you are a man of valor and honor we have come to understand. We must dwell on all that you have conveyed.” Everyone jumped to their feet as Imogo rose and left the room, closely followed by his son.

  On the way back to his home, Ethbar muttered to himself off and on, “Well, well. Yes; well, well!” He offered no explanations until the evening meal had been consumed.

  Gathered near the fire once again, Ethbar finally enlightened them after filling Rengeld in on the day’s events.

  “You must know that Imogo surprised me today. It was a most refreshing experience. He has never been one to cherish deceit, and can be quite harsh to those in whom it is perceived. Today he found no deceit in spite of dogged effort.”

  “What surprised you?”

  “The full acuity of mind he was forced to employ, Jeffrey. I have not seen it before.”

  “He’s an intelligent man. I have never experienced such intense scrutiny.”

  “The opposite also being true in the form of your answers. I have rarely enjoyed such a meeting of the minds.”

  “It was a battlefield of a different sort, all right,” Jeff said with a relieved expression. “Glad it’s over.”

  “You did most well, moving carefully between pitfalls astutely put in your path by our Imogo to test your veracity. I believe you have succeeded. It will be most difficult for Imogo to remain uncommitted. Yes, yes! Very difficult!”

  “Hopefully, but those courtiers who walked away aren’t going to give up without a fight. Am I correct in assuming they’re the troublemakers?”

  “You have judged them correctly,” Ethbar replied with a droll expression, “alth
ough it is likely I would have employed a much stronger descriptive term. I look forward to hearing Carl’s impressions. It is always helpful to obtain a fresh view.” Ethbar winked at Carl and called for the household steward. “A fresh consignment of Makla beans arrived earlier this day. I am told they are a new variety that holds much promise. Let us discover the truth of the matter.”

  Thankful for the reprieve Ethbar had given him, Carl began ordering his thoughts. The conclusions he had reached were not going to be easy to express.

  The Makla arrived freshly brewed and was so good that Carl gained an additional period of time while its qualities were debated. Stout without being bitter, it was reminiscent of Colombian Supremo coffee with a spicy taste all its own. Ethbar gestured for Carl to speak when the chatter died down.

  “I don’t know what I was expecting, but what I heard and observed confirms my belief that some folks will promote their narrow self-interest and selfish ambitions until the sword is dropping on their necks, not to mention everyone else’s as well.”

  “You could be describing the councilors in Khorgan.”

  “A lot like them, Jeff,” Carl replied with a quick nod. “The councilors had it all and were willing to sacrifice their city and people in an attempt to keep it. This bunch dreams of obtaining such wealth and power and are equally willing to make the same sacrifices to that end. And that attitude, it seems to me, is where the real danger lies. I may be wrong, but I think they know the Salchek are coming.”

  “Collaborators,” Jeff growled, “the worst possible kind of trash.”

  “Maybe. Please remember that what I’m saying is the rawest form of speculation. There was just something about the way they reacted when we discussed the situation down south. Sort of a smug cocksureness and a ‘go screw yourself and tell us something we don’t already know’ attitude.” Carl said to Ethbar, “Please disabuse me of this opinion. It is a terrible thing to believe of anyone.”

  Ethbar was impressed with Carl’s analysis. “I cannot. Rengeld’s agents have carefully documented every aspect of their lives for some months now. They are not only traitors, but relatively stupid traitors.” Ethbar raised his eyebrows and smiled ever so slightly. “But then, I suspect this is usually the case and represents a marriage of convenience.”