"Can you get a message to them?"
"I can contact Blackthorne," said Artus. "Although he makes it as unpleasant as he can. Actually Vicare Dimont is en route to Blackthorne's home. I can reach Dimont and he can speak with Blackthorne. It's worth a try."
"Then do so. Despite Aulan's protests we will need all the help you can procure for us. I will have Nar Tomak speak with you to determine the best way to utilize your mages. If you have enough we can station them on Nantitet walls and join each of the companies Tomak sends out to battle."
"As you wish. I prefer to have the mages work in pairs. I fear for their stamina if they have no one to relieve them. We really haven't determined how long they can draw upon their magic without a rest. It has never been a priority to test their strength."
"Still it will be a tremendous help for the soldiers to know the mages are with them. It should give the Mordynians pause when we meet in battle."
Artus nodded.
"If I may take leave of you, your Highness, I must get started."
"Of course, Artus. Whatever resources you need, just ask."
Artus bowed and departed. Aulan entered shortly after.
"May I come in?" asked the Rose Bishop.
"Yes, Aulan. We must speak of what the Rose Brotherhood will do for the High King."
Armana knew Aulan was keen on gathering as much power and influence for the Rose Brotherhood as he could but did he have other goals? Where would Aulan draw the line? Would being the top advisor to the High King be enough? While some of Aulan's motives were clear the man was still holding back from the High King. Armana could not read all of Aulan's intentions and it frustrated him. He prided himself on being the judge of a man's character and in Artus' case, Armana felt sure he had the measure of Artus. On the other hand, Aulan shielded parts of himself and the High King could only guess what went on behind those blue eyes of the Rose Bishop.
"Your Highness, all of my information gathering resources are at your disposal. I have Rose Knights available for your security."
"Will they ride with me to war?"
"To war?"
"Yes. Do you think I will remain safely in my castle while my subjects are in peril?"
"No, your majesty. You will be leading your troops. My knight will remain by your side no matter where you go."
"Excellent that pleases me. Baer Patros will lead the defense of Nantitet and Nar Tomak will command the army. What would you wish to command, Aulan?"
Armana did not look directly at the High Bishop but he watched him all the same. Aulan rubbed his chin.
"I believe I could be useful organizing the food and water. Your quartermaster will be with the army and he could instruct me on the best methods. I still have a number of knights and servants to aid in the gathering and distribution."
"Well, that sounds very helpful, Aulan. Thank you. I will include that in our plans. We will meet tomorrow for the final planning. By next week we should be have the gates closed and carefully check anyone wishing to enter the city."
"Close the city? Is it that serious already? We don't know that Mordyn is planning anything for sure. Would they send spies so far in advance?"
"There are already spies in the city, Aulan. We must make sure armed Mordynian soldiers do not find refuge within the walls. A spy or two can cause a lot of trouble, but a squad of soldiers can overpower guards and open our gates to the enemy. I would rather be over vigilant and be cursed for it than watch my city fall."
"Wise as always, High King. I will have a full accounting of my knights and recommend those to be your personal guard."
"Very good, Aulan. We shall meet at breakfast tomorrow."
"Until tomorrow your Highness, may Cothos watch over you."
When the doors closed behind the Rose Bishop, Armana sat in his chair and picked up a piece of jerky. He gnawed on it as he planned the defense of his realm.
Chapter 5
The Greyrawk family held estates in Cresida on the Amloth continent for generations. There were rumors that they were friendly to the Celaeri living in the area and even darker rumors of Celaeri blood running in the veins of the Greyrawk's. This proved to be a fact: Loric Greyrawk, one of the captains of the Talos Company, half Celaeri and half Men, had a life span of many thousand years escaping the brief life of Men.
From Gerrand's Histories of Landermass
The headaches were worse, he was certain, and they lingered on after the nightmares faded. The pain sliced right behind his right eye. He paused and leaned against the wagon, unable to focus with the throbbing. That big lunch may have been a mistake.
"Ian, are you all right?" asked Ferran. The trader was short and broad with the red cheeks of a man often in the cold weather.
"My head is pounding."
"Sampling your own ale?"
"No, nothing so enjoyable. Didn't sleep well last night. Been like that for several days now."
"Probably, coming down the ague," said Ferran. "Here, there are only three more boxes to unload. I do it myself. Where do you want them?"
"Just inside to the left. Thanks, Ferran." Ian Greyrawk patted his friend on the shoulder and went in the back of the inn to find a stool. Greyrawk stood well over six feet and despite his middle age, he held back the extra weight an innkeeper usually carried. He still looked like the mercenary soldier who lived by his sword in his youth. The Greyrawk Inn stood on the main road on the edge of the town of Peradon, a trading hub on the north road of Anavar. Ian and his wife, Jaele, started the inn after a career as mercenaries and the impending birth of their son Davan. Ian took to the work and the inn thrived. Ian found contentment at the inn for the last seventeen years working with Jaele and Davan.
Davan came down to the storeroom.
"Hi Ferran."
"Hey, it's the young man. Boy, you are growing Davan. Another half a foot I guess." Davan had nearly equaled his father in height and was beginning to broaden. His arms were long and muscled. His grin lit up his face, framed by long light brown hair.
"Dad, I need another keg."
"Can you handle it yourself?" asked Greyrawk.
"Sure," said Davan. The young giant hoisted a keg and slowly trudged up the stairs.
"Stout lad," said Ferran.
"Yes, he is a great help around here. Hard to believe he will be seventeen soon. It will be hard once he leaves."
"Has he talked about it?"
"No, but he has been getting restless."
"Well, they all do. I remember when I left home. Ma cried and Pa hugged me and wished me well."
"Did you ever see them again?" asked Greyrawk.
"Once about ten years later. I had made a little money and went back to see them. I paid all their bills and gave them enough to live on for a few years."
"That was wonderful."
"Yes, I never felt so good before or since. I still can see my old pa's eyes welling up." He paused. "Well, the wagon's unloaded, I best get on the road."
"Thanks Ferran."
Greyrawk watched the trader turn the wagon around and head out to the road. A sharp pain hit him behind the eyes and he gasped. He doubled over. His heart pounded and he smelled blood but he didn't think it was his. Then the wispy strains of music started again. He didn't recognize the melody but it seemed familiar although he never grabbed hold of what it was.
He started as if coming out of sleep. He felt feverish and went for a drink of water.
Davan tapped the keg and poured the ale for the travelers at the corner table. The inn dining area was half full, mostly travelers. There were a few regulars who came by in the evenings for a pint of ale and to discuss the day's events. The dining area was large with a dozen stout tables and the bar ran the length of the room. The Greyrawk Inn was popular for its ale, food and clean accommodations. Jaele Greyrawk seemed to have few concerns other than a clean inn. Davan could hear her voice upstairs admonishing a servant for shoddy work. Davan wiped down the bar, glad that he was able to do more than just the cle
aning although no one fully escaped that, not even his father.
Davan kept busy from dawn until past dusk, seldom pursuing his own interests. He leaned on the bar and listened intently to the tales of the travelers and traders who stopped for food or lodging. He did not consciously think of leaving Peradon to find his own way in Landermass but something stirred in him when tales of far lands and peoples filled the inn. His parents spoke little of the events of their lives as mercenaries except as generalities. He never heard a battle recounted or a danger relived. It was if the door was shut and would not be reopened.
The cook called to Davan and he went into the kitchen to get the plates of food for their guests. More travelers stopped in and Davan found himself too busy to think of anything. Jaele finished upstairs and came down to help with serving. Jaele's auburn hair started to grey but she was still a striking woman, often brushing off the comments of the rougher guests. Davan's sister followed their mother around the room. The red-haired Tera was only ten years old and kept close to Jaele. She did stick her tongue out at her brother each time she looked at him. Davan smiled and kept working.
"Have you seen your father lately?" asked Jaele, pulling her hair out of her face.
"He was helping Ferran unload supplies some time ago. He hasn't been in here."
"Darn man. He seems inattentive lately. After this lot gets served, run downstairs again and see if you can find him."
The front door opened and Brevin Tarbin burst into the room.
"Hello everybody!" bellowed the trader. "I'm glad to be back."
"Hi Brevin," said Davan. He slapped the fat man on the back.
"Hi Davan. Look at the size of you now. Hi Jaele. Hey Tera." Brevin's voice boomed in the room. Brevin moved among the tables greeting familiar faces, pounding others on the back.
"Pour me an ale Davan," said Brevin. "Where's Ian? Napping on the job?" He leaned against the bar. Tera looked at him from behind Jaele. Brevin stood eye to eye with Davan but was easily twice the young man's weight. A bear of a man, his reddish brown hair tied back into a long ponytail, he had an ill reputation when in his cups. However, he was never drunk at Greyrawk Inn.
"He's around here somewhere," said Davan.
"Yes, and I asked you to find him," said Jaele. Davan made a face to Brevin and handed him the ale. Davan went to the stairs.
"Where are you going to now?" Jaele asked.
"Nantitet," said Brevin. "I haven't been to Calendia in years and even longer since I've been to the crown city. I have a special load for the High King himself. It's a long journey but this load should pay nicely. I wanted to ask you for some time; do you miss the road?"
"Not as much as I thought. The last couple trips were tense and dangerous. There were times I didn't think we'd survive but I enjoyed it. It was hard to see how life could be trying to act like normal folk. When we decided to settle down and start the inn I was as unsure about it as Ian was, but I never let him know that."
"Ha," grinned Brevin. "Smart woman. It was only about ten years ago that he told me he was content as an innkeeper."
"Well, that's good," said Jaele. "Were you ever married?"
"Me? Who'd marry me? Nah, I enjoy the travel, the food, the drink and the pretty wives of the innkeepers."
"You are a rouge," said Jaele warmly.
"How is the little one?"
"Aravan is wonderful. A cheery baby. He's napping upstairs. Hard to keep Tera from picking him up when he's awake."
"She's a good big sister."
Davan came back up the stairs.
"He's not down there. I checked the entire basement and walked around the building. The door was wide open."
"Hmm. Well, back to work. I'll check with some of the neighbors. Someone may have seen him. He's probably helping someone with a wagon or fence. Brevin, I'm glad you're back. How long are you staying?"
"Not sure. I'd like to stay a day or two to get my strength up. Another ale, Davan. So I'm sure you'll see me again, Jaele." He settled heavily in a chair.
"Any stew Davan?"
Jaele and Tera left the inn, walking around the perimeter then stopped at the basement door when Ferran had unloaded his wagon. She looked out at the surrounding area to see if she might spot a likely destination for Ian. Although it was early spring, it was dry and she couldn't see any obvious tracks. She walked across to the butcher's warehouse. Hargman saw her coming and walked out to greet her, his tunic splattered with blood. Tera stopped several feet away.
"Hi Jaele. What can I do for you? Another side of beef?"
"Thanks Hargman, but we have enough for now. I was wondering if you had seen Ian lately."
"Well, I'm not sure. I thought I heard someone in the back of the building a little while ago but when I got back there, I didn't see anyone. However, I thought I saw movement beyond the creek, heading up to the hills. My first thought it was Cragor the hermit, snooping around for scraps but I just saw him heading toward the stables."
"You think it was Ian?" asked Jaele.
"Well, I don't know. All I know is someone was going that way and if you don't find Ian anywhere else, then that's as good as place to start as any."
"Yes, thank you. Come on Tera; let's go over to the blacksmith."
"My friend Roake?"
"Yes, to Roake's house. You can see if Roake can play while I talk to Rynan."
"If I see Ian, I'll tell him you're looking for him," called Hargman.
"Thanks."
The pounding of Rynan's hammer was rhythmic and very loud. Tera had her hands over her ears. Rynan was a short thick man with forearms knotted with muscle. His black beard was burned at the edges from the heat of his forge. He neglected to trim it as his wife regularly requested, letting the singeing keep it in line.
"Rynan! Rynan!"
He put down his hammer and scowled. Then he saw who it was that hailed him and he grinned. His white teeth gleamed through the dirt on his face.
"Jaele and Tera! You brighten my day. Tera, Roake is behind the shed doing who knows what. Well Jaele, what can I do for you?" He wiped sweat from his brow.
"I am looking for Ian. He's usually working the kegs this time of day. He unloaded Ferran's wagon and hasn't been seen since."
"That's odd for sure. I usually mark the time of day by what Ian is doing. I tend to get lost in my work. I saw Ferran's wagon go up the road but I didn't notice anyone else-no one walking or riding. Now, that doesn't mean there wasn't anyone, I was focused on this gate I'm making."
"Have you heard anyone needing help with anything that Ian may have gone to assist? Something to be fixed? Injured horse? Anything?"
Rynan shook his head. "Not since the stable door came off its hinge."
"Well, thanks. If you don't mind, can Tera stay here for a while?"
"Oh, of course. She helps tone down Roake's antics and keeps the trouble to a minimum. If I see Ian, I'll send Roake over to you."
"Thanks Rynan. I better get back to the inn. Davan will need my help."
Jaele walked slowly back to the inn and walked in the front door. Davan looked up and Jaele shook her head. The room was fairly crowded and Davan had it under control with the help of Varga, the older servant girl. Jaele knew Varga had her eyes on Davan and made sure Varga couldn't corner him somewhere. Tera had standing orders to follow Varga and interrupt any private moment Varga may have planned. Davan was a bit flattered and Varga was appealing but Davan knew his parent's view of Varga's intentions.
"I didn't find him," said Jaele. "Well, we have a lot of work to do. He'll turn up."
Ian did not show up by nightfall and Jaele put Tera to bed. Davan could hear his mother pacing in her room with the crying Aravan. The main room was nearly empty. Brevin sat in a corner sopping up the last of his stew with a bread crust. Davan finished cleaning the bar; Varga had gone home for the night. Davan bolted the door and shuttered the windows.
"Looks like a cool breeze coming up from the bay," said Davan.
"Yes, I f
elt some of the chill last night. My wagon is not the best place to keep warm during the night, but I didn't think I'd make it here before midnight."
"Too courteous to wake us up?" asked Davan.
"Your tone tells me you don't believe that."
"Probably too tired to continue I'd guess."
"Watch your tongue, youngster. Be polite to your betters." Brevin grinned and checked his bowl for any bits of stew remaining. He set it down with a sigh.
"Is that keg still tapped?"
"Nope. Everything's shut down. Time for bed, old man."
"Just wait until I tell your mother how your treat the guests." He pushed away from the table and lumbered toward the stairs. "Davan, don't worry; Ian will be back by morning. You'll see."
"Goodnight, Brevin."
"Davan! Open up!"
The pounding on the front door jolted Davan from his pallet behind the bar. Several people were at the door. He recognized the voice of Hargman, the butcher. He unbolted the door and opened it. Hargman and two other men were carrying his father. They hurried in and laid him on the bar. Jaele had come downstairs and lighted the lamps.
"Is he alive?" asked Jaele.
"Yes," said Torrey, the stable boy. "Cragor found him up in the woods and came to the stables and roused me."
Jaele put a coat under Ian's head. "Why you?" she asked gently.
"I'm his friend," Torrey said to the strange expressions of the others. "Cragor had no one else to tell."
"Torrey's my friend," agreed Cragor, who smelled worse than usual.
"He doesn't seem to be injured," said Hargman. "Except for cuts and scrapes probably from brambles."
"Davan, be a dear and give these men ale. Even young Torrey. I can't thank you enough for bringing him back."
"Mumbling," said Cragor.
"What did you say dear?" asked Jaele. Cragor flushed at Jaele calling him 'dear'.
"Mister Ian was mumbling when I found him. Something about vera-lyre or some such. Had to reach vera-lyre."
"What else did he say?"
"Nothing I could make out. He passed out and I ran for Torrey."
The Vlakan King (Book 3) Page 5