“Ah, there you are, gentlemen. Have a nice nap, did we?” Hannock received a filthy look from both combatants but didn’t seem to care.
The wine had been flowing fairly freely by the looks of things and even the younger members of the group were now sporting silly grins. “I hope… you... {burp} excuse me, I hope you don’t mind me ashking, but have you two resolved your… erm… what’s the word I’m looking for? ... differences? Yes, that was it. Have you resolved your differences?” Harley eventually asked.
“No more for you, Harley,” said Yello, taking the goblet from Harley’s grasp. “You’ve had enough, I think.” Harley was about to protest and pointed his finger at Yello before hiccoughing, but then his head rolled onto the back of his chair and he began snoring loudly.
Xarran started to laugh. “What a lightweight,” he sniggered. “He’s only had half a glass.”
“Maybe he’s had more of a sheltered upbringing than some of us,” suggested Emnor, dropping his head and pouting up at Xarran.
“I think you two may benefit from a little of this,” said Yello, holding out the familiar vial that contained the Abigail’s Mercy.
Jared waved his hand in dismissal, “No, thanks. I’ve had a lot worse than this.”
“I haven’t,” groaned Drake. “Pass it over, could you? I don’t think I can walk any farther.”
“That’s the trouble with you youngsters,” said Hannock. “You can dish it out, but you can’t take it.”
“O.k. then, soldier boy. You and me, in the courtyard, but you’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I might be able to see straight by then,” Drake smiled.
Alex, as usual, had dwindled into the background enough for his exit to go unnoticed. Whether the others were engaged in conversation or argument, he had developed a technique that, without actually doing so, seemed to make him invisible to them. He hurried through the doorway and followed the passageway, pausing briefly at the small window and peering through to make sure that the Gerrowliens were still in the courtyard. He screwed up his eyes. The gloom of the passageway was a stark contrast to the bright midday sun. He waited a few moments for his eyesight to adjust to the light but could see neither Poom nor Lawton. Then, something twitched, the tell-tale orange of a Gerrowlien’s fur.
It was a tail, a tail that was hanging from the hay cart that had been Drake’s saviour a short while ago. The Gerrowliens, having found no other place to lounge, had chosen their comfort spot perfectly and were now sound asleep, it seemed. Alex turned and followed the familiar passage before heading to the room where Tamor slept. Entering, he pulled a chair toward the king’s bed and sat staring at Tamor’s drawn, haggard features. He glanced around the room, relieved that he was alone. “What happened to you, old man?” he whispered, “What did Karrak do to leave you in such a wretched state?”
The sound of Theodore’s disembodied voice drifted in the air. “Does it matter?” he asked. “Look at him, Alexander, a proud king reduced to nothing more than a raving lunatic. You could do him a great service if you were to end his suffering. His, and your own of course.”
“Leave me be, Theodore. I refuse to listen to your ramblings. You say the king is a raving lunatic, I suggest that occasionally you listen to your own ravings.”
“He is in pain, Alex, tortured by the visions in his mind. You cannot see them but they are there.”
“I know. We all know, that’s why we’re going to cure him. Somehow.”
“Take the pillow from beneath his head, Alex. Place it over his face. It won’t take long before he stops breathing. Once you confess to Jared, he, in turn, can end your torment.”
“I will not assassinate a king, Theodore, simply for your pleasure at witnessing my execution.”
“Think of it another way then, Brother. If you smother the king, the others will believe that he died in his sleep because his mind could take no more. Do not confess, hide away as you always do. Be the coward that you are, at least you’ll be one step closer with Tamor gone.”
The sound of Theodore’s laughter filled the room. Alex’s confusion was making him dizzy. The laughter grew louder until deafened by it, he placed his hands over his ears. His eyesight was blurred, he couldn’t even focus on the sleeping Tamor, who was mere inches away from him. He couldn’t think. He opened his mouth and screamed. The laughter ceased abruptly, Alex hung his head and groaned…
CHAPTER 14
“Oh, Grubb, just look at yourself!” tutted Faylore. “You cannot be allowed to meet my parents looking like that. You’re a disgrace.”
“OH, SO SORRY, YOUR MAJESTY!” exclaimed Grubb. “Must have something to do with the long road journey, trudging through forests in the pouring rain, or maybe the ice fields, before being stuffed inside a dragon’s egg for hours, and shaken up like a bag of dirty washing.”
“We’ve all been through exactly the same, Grubb. Lodren has, at least, tried to give his clothes a brush down. Mind you, it hasn’t improved the smell.”
“Smell!” exclaimed Lodren. “What smell?”
“It’s not your fault, Lodren, I do understand,” replied Faylore.
“Understand what?” asked the Nibby.
“That you have had no opportunity to bathe properly, of course,” she replied.
“BATHE!” exclaimed Grubb, “What, you mean, like… in water?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. I don’t wish to insult either of you… but you stink!”
“That’s charmin’, isn’t it?” exclaimed Grubb. “We come all this way to help protect you and what thanks do we get? You tell us we stink!”
Lodren leaned his head to one side and, not wanting to appear obvious, sniffed his clothes. “OOH my, good gracious! Grubb… I think Queen Faylore has a point, we are a bit… ripe,” he said, giving a little cough.
“You speak for yerself, stinky, I smell as nature intended. If I was meant to go in water, I’d ’ave fins and gills. It’s not good for ye, getting covered in water.”
“Like it or not, Grubb, you are going to bathe before we move from this spot. Even if I have to drag you into the river myself,” warned Faylore.
“Sorry, Your Majesty… not a chance,” replied Grubb, shaking his head. Faylore stepped toward him, but seeing the intent in her eyes, Grubb transformed into Wilf. He started to laugh. “I don’t think you can drag me now,” he said.
Watching the scene, Lodren looked around him. Walking a few steps away, he whispered to one of the young Thedarian girls, who pointed him in a direction. Faylore now had hold of one of Wilf’s arms and was trying with all her might to inch him toward the river bank, unsuccessfully. Lodren ambled over to them, a smile on his face. The tussle between Faylore and Wilf continued and neither saw Lodren tapping his reclaimed hammer on his open palm. Faylore gave one final attempt but as she tugged at Wilf’s arm, her foot slipped and she fell unceremoniously on her… well, you know.
“You are impossible, Grubb,” she shouted. “You can’t expect to meet royalty looking and smelling like that!”
Wilf, throughout, had not stopped laughing, but now his attention turned to Lodren who, hammer in hand, was giving him a strange look.
“Bath time!” exclaimed Lodren, twitching his eyebrows, a sudden air of glee in his voice. Without warning, his right arm swung the hammer. There was a dull thud as the flat side struck Wilf full in the chest. The hammer blow threw him into the air, directly toward the river and with a loud ‘splash’, he landed right in the middle of it. He immediately let out a roar and began to thrash about, flapping his arms up and down as if he were drowning. However, when he stood up, the water level barely reached his waist. Faylore fell about in hysterical laughter and Lodren, dropping his hammer, began to wade, still fully clothed, into the water, following his friend’s reluctant lead.
Along the riverbank were numerous tents and shacks, all fashioned by the careful manipulation of the foliage and vegetation that grew there. The branches of bushes had been twisted and large, roughly-woven pieces of fa
bric were used to adorn them. The Thedarians had found that this was not always necessary, as in some places the foliage was dense enough to provide a natural shelter. A gentle nudge here, a push there and the occasional slender vine to tie it in place was sufficient to produce a habitable, although temporary, comfortable shelter. They milled about, exchanging pleasantries and greetings but could not hide their confused interest in the new strangers who, still arguing, were now bathing in their river. Thus it was that sometime later, as Lodren and Grubb exited the water they were beckoned by a young female Thedarian. She never spoke as she pointed toward the entrance to one of the rudimentary tents before them. Lodren bowed and gave the girl a little smile as he approached. Grubb simply frowned at her. His mistrust of all strangers, regardless of race or gender, quite apparent.
Lodren nudged him, grabbed his arm and pulled him into the tent. “Well, I’ll be...” he said in amazement.
Minutes later, after a little squabbling that could be heard from outside, the pair emerged looking far more presentable than when they had entered. The Thedarians had seen that they had been through some tough scrapes and their clothes bore the scars of them. It was an easy task for them to make a couple of outfits by adapting clothes that would normally fit a Thedarian child. They gave up on the sleeves on Lodren’s outfit and simply detached them. As they stood in their perfectly fitted attire, offers of haircuts, beard-trimming or shaving were offered, but all were declined.
“My, don’t you both look splendid!” Faylore exclaimed as she approached them.
“Not too bad at all is it, Your Majesty?” asked Lodren, giving a little twirl.
“It ain’t natural, getting’ all wet like that. I’ll probably catch something nasty from that river and die now. It’s washed all the oils and things from me skin, I just know it has,” grumbled Grubb.
“And the lice and the ticks,” laughed Lodren. “And the fleas, and the natural layer of mud from under your fingernails.”
“I did not ’ave fleas, nor nothing else ’orrible. I was fine as I was.”
“Well, it’s done now, Grubb, and I must say, you look very handsome in your new clothes. Green really does suit you.” Leaning forward, she sniffed Grubb, “And you smell divine. Spring flowers, if I’m not mistaken.”
“One of them stupid girls kept splashing me with something. I smell like a flower basket,” he protested. “It’s not right for a Vikkery to smell like a flower basket. What would me friends think of me…”
“We are your friends, you pillock!” exclaimed Lodren.
“You know what I mean. I mean Jared and Hannock, and the wizards. They’d think I’d gone soft in the head.”
“What! You mean you haven’t?” asked Lodren, sarcastically.
Grubb took a playful swipe at him.
Their conversation was interrupted as a procession of Thedarians approached in silent, solemn ranks as an official greeting. They bowed to Faylore, offering the respect that one should when facing a queen.
“Welcome back, Queen Faylore,” said the girl leading them. “You have been greatly missed.”
“That is most kind, Seenara,” replied Faylore, taking the girl’s hand. “It is good to be home. May I introduce you to my friends?” The girl turned slightly and smiled. “This…” continued Faylore, “… is Lodren the Nibby and Grubb the Vikkery. Gentlemen, this is my sister, Princess Seenara.”
Seenara bowed to them in turn, and they to her. “Our mother is looking forward to seeing you, Your Majesty,” said Seenara, turning to Faylore.
“How is Father?” asked Faylore, her expression turning to one of concern.
Seenara glanced at their guests and stepped closer to Faylore. “Physically, he is in perfect health,” she whispered. “Unfortunately, his mind is more confused than when last you left.”
“There is no need for you to whisper, Seenara. My friends and I keep no secrets from one another. Father is simply sick, it is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Anythin’ I can do?” asked Grubb, holding out his hands and wiggling his fingers.
Seenara gave Grubb a confused look. She had never known a Vikkery before.
Faylore placed her arm around her sister’s shoulders, “Grubb has a healing touch…” she explained, “… but I fear that even that would not be enough to help Father.”
“If ye change your mind, Faylore, just give me a nudge and I’ll do what I can,” said Grubb. “Always willin’ to give it a bash.”
“And if there’s anything he especially likes to eat, I’ll be more than happy to cook it for him,” Lodren added.
“We have people who cook for us, thank you,” replied Seenara, slightly offended at the slur on Thedarian cuisine.
“Not the way that Lodren prepares meals, Sister dear. Wait and see. He’s a wizard when it comes to pots and pans.”
“You mustn’t speak of wizards, Faylore,” urged Seenara, nervously. “That’s what started this whole mess.”
Lodren and Grubb gave one another a fleeting glance, although intrigued by Seenara’s last comment, they held their tongues.
“He’s not a real wizard, Seenara,” Faylore assured her sister. “It’s just that his meals are so delicious, they seem magical.”
“I do not require any magical meals, thank you. Traditional Thedarian meals are good enough for me,” replied Seenara, frostily.
“As you wish, Sister,” said Faylore, hugging her sister. “Come, let us go to our parents.”
The procession, with Seenara at its head, turned and moved away. Faylore gestured to her friends, and Lodren and Grubb tagged along at a suitable distance. “She don’t like wizards, does she?” whispered Grubb.
“Maybe they had some bother with one of those bad ones. You know, Karrak’s lot,” replied Lodren, in similar hushed tones.
“There’s plenty of ’em by all accounts. Let’s keep our ears peeled,” suggested Grubb. “We might find out later.”
“In that case, don’t be your usual self and start asking stupid questions.”
“Me?” asked Grubb, acting innocent, “I never say a word.”
Lodren sighed as they both quickened their pace in order to keep up with the long-legged Thedarians.
They followed the procession through the quiet meadow. The Thedarians were so light on their feet that their steps were silent, allowing the slightest sounds around them to be heard. A lark song from above; the croak of a frog or toad over the bubbling of the narrow stream and the buzz of a dragonfly as it whizzed past them.
The toil of their arduous journey seemed to be sapped from them as they walked, and both Lodren and Grubb felt invigorated by their surroundings. They crossed a small bridge spanning the stream, a bridge formed by the natural knitted roots of the trees at its banks. Clearing it, they entered an avenue of straight-trunked trees growing like columns on either side that led to a clearing a few hundred yards ahead. Standing in its centre was an elegant Thedarian woman, and by her features, it was obvious that this was Faylore and Seenara’s mother. Faylore bowed to her mother and then flung her arms around her. Her mother seemed quite taken aback by the show of emotion and gently pushed her daughter away. “Faylore,” she urged. “It is most unbecoming for a queen to behave in such a manner. Please, contain yourself.”
“Forgive me, Mother, I am just so happy to see you.”
“I do not know where you are learning these bad habits, my daughter, but you must remember who you are. You are the Queen of Thedar and must set an example to your people.”
“Exactly, Mother…” replied Faylore, grabbing her mother’s hand, “… and I intend to. I intend to show them how much I love and care for them, as I care for my friends. Meet them, Mother.” Without waiting for a reply, she tugged her mother forward, “This is my dear friend Lodren the Nibby, Lodren, this is my mother, Erenthas.”
Lodren bowed as Erenthas looked him up and down, “Charmed,” she said haughtily.
“And this…” continued Faylore, “… is my dear friend Grubb
.” Grubb also bowed but, not being one for ceremony, it was half-hearted.
“A pleasure,” muttered Erenthas.
“Yeah. Sounds like it!” grunted Grubb.
Erenthas glared at him as a few of the Thedarians stepped forward. How dare he insult the Queen Mother.
“Hold your positions,” snapped Faylore. “Mother! These are my friends, my guests, and as such, friends and guests of Thedar. They shall be treated with respect.”
Erenthas, for whatever reason, had been uncharacteristically hostile toward Lodren and Grubb. “I apologise,” she said. “Forgive me.”
“No bones broken,” said Grubb, “I can be a miserable sod meself sometimes.”
“What he means is…” chipped in Lodren, quickly, “… no problem at all, thank you for receiving us into your home so graciously.”
In an attempt to ease the tension, Faylore ordered refreshments. Drinks were brought and her family and friends relaxed as they made themselves comfortable on cushions that had been scattered on the ground around them. They chatted amongst themselves, but it was not long before their conversation became gravely serious and Erenthas was informed of the danger now threatening their world.
“You had him in your sights!” exclaimed Erenthas. “How is it that you missed? You are one of our best with a bow.”
“He is a sorcerer, Mother. My arrows were incinerated before they could strike. If not for Grubb’s distraction and Lodren’s hammer, we may have all perished that day.”
Erenthas smiled weakly at their guests. “I thank you for that,” she said, gently.
“No bother,” grunted Grubb. “It was just a shame stumpy wasn’t a bit closer. That ’ammer of ’is would’ve finished the job if ’e ’ad been.”
“If that was supposed to be a compliment, thank you. I think,” replied Lodren.
“If you were to find this, Karrak,” began Erenthas, “why would you…?”
“IT’S THE SECOND ONE, NOT THE FIRST! REMEMBER, THE SECOND. NOT THE SECOND, THE SECOND, NOT THE FIRST,” bellowed a voice from behind them.
The Bane of Karrak: Ascension II of III (The Karrak Trilogy Part Two) Page 18