The Wolf and the Sorceress

by Brian Pemberton

  “Kaleb was never like this when we were growing up,” said Parlan with regret, “he was always too sickly to take on the responsibilities of running a country. I am sure if I could just talk to him face to face, he would pardon me, now that Tobyn’s evil influence is gone.”

  “If that were so,” said Nemeila, “why are the soldiers still hunting you? If Kaleb wished you no harm, the guards wouldn’t be standing out there with swords in their hands.”

  The heavy footfalls in an adjacent passageway drew their attention away from the drawbridge. If they were to start a fight so close to the courtyard, they would have to take on all the soldiers on duty. The inevitable would happen, either capture or death. Nemeila clamped her fingers over the amulet, as she turned her mind inward to draw upon its powers. Tyler and Parlan silently unsheathed their weapons, if they were to die in this place, they would not make it easy for their opponents.

  To the sound of three heartfelt sighs of relief, Brand rounded the corner, followed by five fellow servants and the two young maids. “There you are,” said Brand, cheerfully, as though he had encountered them on a walk in the park, “we have found a way to get the drawbridge lowered. The stable master has readied a horse for you, wait until we have dealt with the guards and the drawbridge is down.”

  The two girls came forward, each carrying a tray of food and a flagon of frothing ale. “The ale is drugged with a strong potion,” grinned one of the girls, “knowing how the soldiers like a drink, it should take care of all of them.”

  Tyler laughed and clapped his friend gratefully on his shoulder. “I should have known you’d be back to help.” He turned to Parlan, “You take the horse, Nemi and I will go across the moat and get Sox, he should be somewhere along the path. We’ll follow you to the magistrate’s house, where our testimony will add strength to your account.”

  “I’ll not forget any of this,” said Parlan solemnly to them all, “if I can get my name cleared, I will ensure that none of you bear any blame for what is about to happen.”

  As Parlan and a servant stealthily made their way towards the stables, the two maids started towards the men standing on duty. Laughing and flirting with them, the girls passed round the food and drink, complimenting them on the splendid job they were doing in protecting their future king from his enemies. It wasn’t long before the men began to yawn and stagger on their feet, then clasping their hands to their buzzing heads they fell to the ground. Tyler squeezed Nemeila’s shoulder, and accompanied by Brand and his friends, rushed from hiding to winch the drawbridge down. As soon as it had thudded to earth, he and Nemeila sped across the wooden boarding to the relative safety of the tree-lined path and called for Sox. Amber was the first to appear, bounding up to Nemeila and almost knocking her down in his frenzied excitement at the reunion with his mistress. Then Sox trotted up to have his ears tugged by his master. A few moments later, Parlan galloped past, urging them to hurry.

  Tyler helped Nemeila onto Sox’s broad back and mounted up behind her. At the gallop, they followed the path taken by their friend. Angry shouts echoed behind them, announcing that the alarm had been raised and that armed soldiers would be after their two heads. Parlan spurred his mount onward, leaning forward to create as little wind resistance as possible. The stable master had chosen a strong horse, which carried him to the outskirts of the magistrate’s property in good time. Lining each side of the path were apple trees just coming into fragrant blossom, but he scarcely had time to take in their fragile beauty as he thundered past. Ahead, the mansion was a welcoming sight and he hoped that the magistrate would consider his visitor an equally welcoming sight.

  He reined in the horse and quickly dismounted, tugged at the bell pull and heard its clanging reverberate throughout the house. When the maid opened the door, he pushed past her into the hallway. The girl screamed, fearing that she had admitted a thief, about to rob and perhaps murder her master and herself. The magistrate summoned by the girl’s shrieks, appeared at the top of a staircase, and slowly descended to confront Parlan.

  “My Lord Magistrate,” bowed Parlan, “I place myself under your protection and at your mercy, for I am innocent of all charges made against me concerning my father’s death.” He offered his sword across the palms of his hands in surrender to the magistrate. “You may keep the sword,” said the magistrate, “if you wished to harm me and my household, you would not relinquish it.

  “It’s all right, Maisy. This man has not come here to murder us in our beds,” he calmed the sobbing maid. “Fetch us bread and cheese and a jug of ale, we have much to discuss.” The girl curtseyed and scurried away as the magistrate showed Parlan to the drawing room, and invited him to sit in one of the well-stuffed armchairs.

  “Is your brother still alive?” he questioned the lad.

  “He is, my lord, as are most of the soldiers. A few have sword wounds, but nothing that won’t heal given time. My friend Tyler Marten, the stable master’s son, who aided my escape with a few of his friends, is following me here.”

  “Do you know for sure who assassinated your father?” asked the magistrate.

  “Tobyn confessed, no he boasted of administering the poison, and not only that, he pushed my mother to her death down the staircase of the Great Hall. But now he is dead. Killed by a young girl that Tyler and I were commanded to seek out, how she did it, I will never understand. I owe Tyler and this girl my life, and should you accept my innocence, my kingdom too. I will see that they are amply rewarded.”

  Tyler glanced over his shoulder and saw the swirling dust raised by the hooves pounding after them. They were still a league from the magistrate’s estate and he realised Sox couldn’t outpace them. He was unsure what to do. If they were caught would the soldiers kill them without further ado, or would they allow them to speak to the magistrate? He made his decision and slowed Sox to a canter, waiting for the soldiers to catch up to them.

  “We cannot outrun the soldiers, they will run us down long before we reach the magistrate’s house,” he explained to Nemeila. “Our only hope is to allow them to catch us easily, I don’t want either of us, or Sox stopping an arrow.” Nemeila bent sideways to address Amber, knowing that the soldiers would not hesitate to kill a wolf. “Run and hide, boy,” she urged. “These men will kill you if you stay with me.” Amber gazed up at his mistress with a concerned look then back along the path they had just ridden down. The sound of galloping horses grew ever louder. He hesitated for but a moment, then turning, bounded swiftly into the undergrowth. He stayed out of sight while the armed men surrounded the boy and his mistress, but close enough to go to her aid should any of the men attempt to hurt her. Six soldiers stayed to guard them, while the rest continued on towards the magistrate’s house.

  “Prince Kaleb has ordered your execution,” intoned one of the men, removing the sword from Tyler’s scabbard. “Would you like to die here at my hand, or back at the castle, dangling from the gallows?” “If you harm us, then you will be the ones to swing from the end of a rope when the true king is crowned,” promised Tyler. “He has ridden to yield to the magistrate I suggest you let him decide our fate.” “The magistrate will hang you himself,” snarled the soldier. “A traitor is still a traitor, no matter his station in life.”

  Gathering Sox’s reins, the soldier led them on, towards what Tyler hoped would not be a place of execution. As they approached the Magistrate’s house, they heard the spokesman for the troop of soldiers in the vanguard arguing with him. “But my Lord Magistrate,” gestured the captain, frustration evident in his voice and manner, “he is an escaped prisoner and it is my duty to return him to the castle’s dungeons.” “Your duty was to keep the prisoner in the dungeon in the first place. But having let him escape his cell, you then allowed him to walk out of the castle. I would suggest that you have been most negligent in your duty, and no doubt you will answer for that. Prince Parlan has placed himself in my custody, and has agreed to return to the castle of his own free will. I will personally take char
ge of the prisoner and escort him there myself. Do I make myself clear?” As the words ‘negligent in your duty’ registered in his brain, the captain gulped and bowed his subservience. He knew that should the magistrate preside over his case in court, it might be his own head grinning on a spike. “Very well, my Lord,” the captain acquiesced, “would you like us to provide an escort?”

  “That will not be necessary, thank you,” smiled the magistrate, “I have my own attendants.” The soldier turned on his heel, barking the order to mount up. With a satisfied smile of victory, the magistrate ushered Tyler and Nemeila into his home, to listen to their version of the events. Once his guests’ hunger and thirst had been satiated, the magistrate had his carriage readied, and two-dozen men standing by to escort them. Twelve large men, looking more like thugs than members of a magistrate’s household, sat astride horses beside a carriage liveried in black and gleaming in the light of day. The remaining dozen loitered on foot, awaiting further orders. As she ducked to clamber into the carriage, Nemeila hesitated before addressing the man helping her in. “A wolf travels with me,” she said, “he will follow wherever I go and I don’t want your men to harm him.” “A wolf?” the magistrate said, disbelievingly, “No-one keeps a wolf as a pet.” “He is no pet, my lord,” broke in Tyler, “he stays at her side of his own free will because that is where he wants to be.” Nemeila descended from the step and softly called Amber’s name. Amber stepped out of the shadows cast by the house; for a moment he studied the men on horseback, but as Nemeila approached him, he came closer. She knelt to place her arms round his neck, and in a surprisingly commanding tone for such a young girl, ordered, “He is not to be harmed, he will not attack anyone unless they try to hurt us.” “The carriage is large enough to accommodate us all,” smiled the magistrate uncertainly, “will your animal lie quietly on the floor between our feet?”

  “I’m sure he will,” grinned Nemeila, with a glint in her eye, “providing no-one treads on him.”

  The journey was leisurely, as the horses trotted amiably towards the castle. They saw the drawbridge was down as they emerged from the trees, and the sight of the apparently unprotected castle caused the magistrate to lean from the window and issue a warning to his men.

  “Be on your guard, I don’t like the look of this. Kaleb may still try to keep the crown.”

  Inside the gates, men at arms were visible at every vantage point. There were no swords drawn or arrows nocked into bows, but the sight of them made Tyler and Nemeila’s hearts beat a little faster with unease.

  The magistrate stepped from the coach, his strong authoritative voice raised to reach the men at arms. “I have here, in my coach, your true king. He is innocent of the charge of regicide and I ask that you let us pass, without hindrance into the palace, so that the Council and I may draw up a Proclamation affirming his innocence.”

  The magistrate’s own men had not dismounted, and now arranged their horses to protect the group of people as they emerged from the coach. Flanked by their escorts, they entered by the West Wing and made their way across the great hall. Amber walked by Nemeila’s heel, a ferocious and threatening curl to his lip, so that everyone who caught a glimpse of his glistening fangs backed away.

  The magistrate knew where the Council Chambers were situated, and as he led the way, he instructed one of the soldiers to fetch all the Council Members to him.

  The chambers were cold and the frigid air sent shivers down Nemeila’s spine. Amber remained alert at her side, as if awaiting her command for him to bite someone. He would have relished even a small nip; particularly of those amongst the crowd whose scent repelled him. But no such command was uttered and eventually he gave up all hope of some fun and lay down disappointed upon the cold floor, while they waited upon the Council Members.

  At long last the magistrate faced the dozen stony-faced men before him and dictated his orders.

  “Prince Parlan is to be granted a pardon. Prince Kaleb is to relinquish all claims to the crown and all his followers are to swear their allegiance to Prince Parlan; their true king.” One man wrote down what was being said, stony faced, while his fellow councillors stood equally quiet. “The King’s Sorcerer is dead,” continued the magistrate, “prior to his demise, he bragged to these three people of his hand in the deaths of both the mother and father of the Princes Parlan and Kaleb. Now that the truth has finally come to light, a Proclamation to that effect will be issued, so all will know that Prince Parlan is the rightful heir to the throne.”

  The council members huddled together whispering amongst themselves as they discussed the proposals. Finally a spokesman stepped forward to confront the magistrate and Parlan. “We agree, a Proclamation will be drafted immediately and posted on the castle gates. May we be the first, your highness, to welcome you back to your proper place as ruler and saviour to the people. We gladly offer you our unswerving support and loyalty.”

  Parlan studied each of the twelve faces and nodded his thanks. He wondered if they had offered their support and loyalty equally gladly to his brother while he had been imprisoned, and whether they could be trusted. Time, he thought, would tell.

  “Where is my brother?” he asked.

  “He is on his way, my lord,” spoke up one of the twelve. Kaleb wafted into the room a few moments later, trailing perfumed ermine and satin robes in his wake.

  “I am relieved to see you well, brother,” he smiled, taking Parlan in his embrace. “Are you?” asked Parlan, stepping away from the bodily contact. His tone held the bitterness he had tried so hard to suppress. “When you learned of the sorcerer’s death, you should have come to me immediately, so we could be reconciled, but instead you sent soldiers to kill me. Do you still wish my friends and me dead?” “Parlan, you must understand. Tobyn confused and distorted my mind. Everything that happened after our father was murdered was not done of my own free will. He bewitched me, controlled me, so that his own desires became mine also; I was his puppet and could not help but do his bidding.” Parlan cast his mind back to when Tobyn had held court with his father, remembering how much his father had been influenced by him. Was he the only person in the castle to have mistrusted the man? He recalled how often he had had to persuade his father to go against the sorcerer’s advice. How on those occasions malevolent, vengeful eyes had speared him with anger from beneath the dark hood, how he and the sorcerer had barely tolerated each other. Maybe Kaleb was right, and he was not to blame for his misdeeds, maybe it was time to forget the unfortunate past and concentrate on a happier future. “I suppose I do understand,” agreed Parlan. “Do you now recognise me as the true heir to the throne? Will you give up entirely your false position?” Kaleb knelt before his brother and taking Parlan’s hand he kissed the Royal Seal on his hand. “I hereby swear allegiance to you, my king.” There were many things that Kaleb wanted to say as Tyler helped him to his feet, but now was not the right time. The bitter hatred had not been extinguished, he hated his brother more than ever, but he would bide his time and for the moment, let them think that all was well in the kingdom.

  The date for Parlan’s coronation had been arranged, and preparations for the celebration were being hurriedly undertaken throughout the land. The people accepted the Proclamation wholeheartedly aware that nothing could be worse than having Kaleb as their ruler, taking almost everything they worked for in taxes. Their memories also dwelt on all the large estates that had been confiscated, leaving many families with nowhere to go when the new owners brought in their own people to live in and manage them. Nemeila and Tyler had been invited by Parlan to stay in the South Wing of the palace where the best rooms were situated. Everyone in the palace tolerated Amber, but no one trusted an animal who hunted for its food, or who revealed too many teeth for comfort when it grinned at them in passing. Even Parlan, who had travelled all the way from Ikasar in their company, could not understand the animal’s devotion towards the young girl who had saved his life.

  Tables had been set up and multi-coloure
d tents flapped in the breeze, turning the courtyard and surrounding fields into a giant fairground. Tasselled banners and streamers hung like the gaudy cobwebs of a giant spider, from every house in every village for leagues around and the invitation from the future king welcoming all who wished to attend his coronation was gladly received.

  The coronation took place in splendid and unforgettable pageantry, and when the celebrations were over, Kaleb informed Parlan that he would leave the castle to take up residence on an estate he owned. Parlan agreed with his decision, and was secretly relieved his brother would not be close at hand. Maybe with Kaleb out of the way, the resentment in the local villages and from many of the barons, whose livelihood had been severely crippled during his short reign, would be forgotten and harmony would be restored to the kingdom.

  Chapter 12

  Homeward Bound

  It seemed now, to Nemeila, that her task was finished. She sought Tyler out in the stables, as he was carrying Sox’s velvet coat.

  “I think it’s time I returned to Ikasar,” she said, losing her fingers in the horse’s burnished mane. “Now that Parlan has been crowned, there seems little need for me to stay.” “I am going to miss you,” confessed Tyler, raising a hand to brush a stray lock of hair from her cheek. “When I first learned that we had to find a girl to help us,” he grinned cheekily, “I thought our quest was doomed to failure, but how wrong could I be. None of this would have been possible without you.”

  “You had as much to do with it,” Nemeila blushed. “Admittedly, I killed Tobyn, but without your support, I doubt I would have had the courage to face him.”