by D. H. Aire
“I take it you enjoyed conversing with Mother.”
:+:
A second floated out of an upper curtained window; a third rose from under the wagon, where Yel’ane slept. They all paused before him and gave him introductory bows.
“Uh, thank you, I think.” He turned to the device only to see them swoop in, tendrils extending to dissemble it. He watched curiously as they returned the components to his bag, which once they were done stowing it, closed and flew back into the lead wagon.
Shaking his head, he disrobed, crawled under the wagon and climbed under the blanket, trying not to think, Six months? Or about Mother’s other priorities for him or the foster-daughters sleeping above him. How am I going to get out of this? One thing he knew: he had no intention of talking to Greth or Yel’ane, for that matter, about it.
‘You can always recruit while we’re touring?’
He winced, really hating having a telepathic unicorn around.
#
The three bots floated back into the second wagon. Their five brethren were already working on the repairs, tendrils set against five of the girls’ temples. :…: Repair cycle in progress.
The downloaded datastream from Mother provided the necessary information, which had never previously been part of their operational repair or emergency medical knowledge database. The three bots each moved to float above a subject’s head, lowering their tendrils.
Subject Ani’ya’s fingers began to twitch as did subjects Res’yr, Lan’lein, Jhi’hil, Kar’he, Bet’wis, Fil’iah, and Cher’is. The process took hours, leaving Vi’ya, En’sta, Thri’la, and Jen’yan a night of purely restful sleep, dreaming of riding their hounds and bounding through the scraggly brush.
When Casber woke Lawson for his shift, he said, “I just thought I heard something. The first time the mare says it’s nothing for me to worry about… just this sense that things were looking darker around the wagon, then I heard something else and it’s nearly time for your shift.”
“Your friend is still not concerned.”
“She said I should leave it to you.
“Fine,” he muttered, careful not to hit his head on the bottom of the wagon. “My night sight is better than yours anyway.”
“What did it sound like?” Lawson asked.
“You know I think I’ve spent too much time around the hounds…”
“You think you heard a hound?”
“You know how silent they are, but they aren’t completely. You know what I mean?”
“Yes, well, perhaps, one has followed us from the Keep. Go get some sleep.”
Off Casber went.
Frowning, Lawson walked just beyond the camp into the trees. Heard a hound panting. He turned, stared and soon knelt, “Uh, here, girl.”
She padded up to him. He picked her up and she tried to lick him.
“Shh, shh, yes, I’m happy to see you, too,” he sighed, knowing this was bad, very bad. “I, uh, wouldn’t want anything to happen to you,” he said, carrying not a hound, but En’sta, who fell back asleep as he took her back to the wagon. He reached inside for her bed gown, which he slipped back over her head before carefully getting her back under the blankets.
He glanced at the unicorn, who blearily met his gaze across the glowing embers of the fire.
“She apparently had to…”
The unicorn nodded.
Vi’ya bounded out of the back of the wagon and into the woods. He sighed, “Uh huh.”
Chapter 40 – Edous
The Edous Council had been in emergency session since morning due to reports that Fenn du Blain had marched the two days past and had entered the Thorns. The Seneschal begged entry to report the latest news amid complaints that whatever report was about to be made were doubtless not to be trusted. Lord du Blain had personally sent him a letter of assurance that his troops were there only to keep the peace at their border.
“We need to call up another levy, regardless of this reputed letter of yours, or whatever report the Seneschal is about to make,” one of the Counselors interjected.
“We have drawn enough away from their hard earned jobs!” another shouted. “Serving in the levies at what we can afford to pay from the City coffers is at best a third of the wage many earn.”
“More than many of the jobs to be found at your mills,” another Counselor quipped.
And the arguing grew worse as Lord Gerig sat back, motioning the Seneschal
When an officer of the city guard entered out of breath, Lord Gerig was more than happy to demand he explain his interruption.
“Lordship, a dragon has been sighted flying north out of the Thorns!”
“A dragon?” Lord Gerig’s eyes narrowing.
“The militiamen who rode in at the Colonel’s order claim it was as black as night!”
“The Demonlord’s Black Dragon?” Gerig asked in wonder.
“That’s lunacy… an old wives tale!” a Counselor shouted.
Lord Gerig sat back, “So, you don’t want us to pull out of storage those centuries old dragon lances?”
“You can’t mean we actually have any of those things depicted on the gallery walls?”
Lord Gerig glanced at the Seneschal, he flipped through his new accounting book –– Gerig had not trusted his late predecessor’s accountings of anything. “We have precisely three hundred and twelve dragon lances, and six mounted great bows, which, hmm, all need new ropes to fire them. I’ll pay for those personally.”
“Kind of you, High Counselor.”
Lord Gerig nodded. “So, before this interruption regarding a dragon flying north of the Thorns, rather than in our fair city’s direction, we were listening to the report about the Thorns being invaded and attacking the keep in the dead of night.”
“Fenn would have done no such thing.”
“So, you said. Seneschal, what did our spies report?”
“Scouts, High Counselor,” the man gently corrected him.
“Sorry, our scouts.”
“Seven thousand Trelorian Regulars infiltrated the Thorns in the dead of night and planned to scale the keep’s outer wall.”
He frowned, “Sir Gwilliam does have the Seeress of Trelor guesting with him.”
“Aye, High Counselor.”
“What casualties did Sir Gwilliam take in the forest?”
“Our scouts reported none.”
“None? Did they not fight?”
“High Counselor, there appeared to be none stationed in the forest north of the keep.” “Then what happened?”
“Our scouts reported that there appeared to be an earthquake and the Great Wall fell upon those preparing to assault the keep.”
“Preposterous. We felt no quake, nary a tremor!”
“Our scouts are certain?”
“Yes, High Counselor… they said more, but… it—”
“You are going to tell us that Sir Gwilliam counter-attacked depending on the Seeress’s foreknowledge. Yes?”
“Uh, no, I’m sorry, Milord. They reported… well, a black dragon burst out of the earth and apparently spat fire upon the Trelorians. Those that survived fled through down their arms… or were captured.”
There was a stunned silence. Then a great deal of shouting.
“What kind of spies do we have, making a report like this?” demanded Fenn’s agent on the Council, looking terribly pale.
Lord Gerig stood, “I withdraw my request.”
“What?”
“Sir Gwilliam and his rabble, as you call them, certainly have no need of arms. He has, what, thousands on hand courtesy of Fenn’s Trelorians.” He raised his gavel, “So, I suggest we adj…” he lowered it momentarily, “Unless, you would like to reconsider our need of raising another levy?”
“High Counselor, the populace will not stand for conscription!”
“Hmm, would any be against our accepting only volunteers?”
There were sudden amused looks. “That sounds acceptable.”
Lord Gerig
said, “A show of hands?”
“Thank you, this session stands adjourned. Seneschal, please see to the notice of our seeking volunteers.”
#
As the dragon lances were raised into place, Sir Gwilliam arrived with five hundred well-armed soldiers marching at his back, bearing defaced Trelorian standards. He entered the city walls with an honor guard and a wagon covered with a thick blanket. Lord Gerig came out of the Council Hall and stared at the one standard he had never expected to see. The goblin’s body was dumped unceremoniously, drawing flies.
“Sir Gwilliam?” Lord Gerig said. “What is the meaning of this? You cannot mean that…”
“Lord Gwilliam of the Kingdom of Thorns, Milord.”
“He dares claim!” Fenn’s pawn shouted, coming down the other side of the street.
“You claim that ill-–omened and abandoned land by what right?”
“The Right of Arms and victory over he who thought to take another land from me as he did my beloved Gwed.”
“They exiled him for King-slaying!”
“Truth.”
Heads turned, seeing the standard bearer. He sighed, meeting Lord Gerig’s gaze.
Gerig swallowed and turned to the Counselor. “The King-slayer sits its throne as you clearly would have him do to our city, as well.”
“Truth.”
“What? You call me traitor?!”
“Truth!”
“Because you are!” Gerig shouted back.
“Truth!”
“Stop that! Damn you! Just who do you think you are?”
The standard bearer marched forward, “I am a man, who has given up his name as penance… I swore a vow and fool me my very Blood made it true. I am Truthsayer. I am the brother of Fenn du Blain, King-slayer and minion of the Demonlord.”
“He is kin to Thorinskath, the Black Dragon,” Gwilliam said.
“Truth!”
“As am I,” Gwilliam said. “The Black Dragon flies free in his hunger, and now feasts on Fenn’s reserve force sent to destroy me, once and for all.”
“Truth.”
“TRUTH!” his Honor Guard shouted. “TRUTH!”
The Counselor gaped, his guards backing away.
“You are a Fenn’s,” Gerig said. “And shall help him no more.”
“Truth.”
The Counselors’ honor guard stepped forward and restrained him. “No! Let me go!”
Lord Gerig knelt, “My Prince… King of the Blood of the Dragon, I am yours as is my city in all but name.”
The red banner with the Black Dragon wings spread rampant fluttered in Truthsayer’s arms.
Interlude
She wiped tears from her eyes, carefully not to let them land on the page. “Oh, that was wonderful.”
I cried, too, as I wrote it.
Sitting back, she said to the book, “You’ve foreseen everything, then?”
The future is not set; if it was this, and the other books, would never have been written.
“You expect me to change this somehow…? But I can’t! These are just words on a page!”
Change is possible… or would you be who your Lady Mother thinks you are?
“I am not an insolent, spoiled brat!”
No, you are just a little girl who wants her Papa. Until today, you know only what you’ve heard or overheard, of which you have overheard too much. There is truth and then there is Truth. That the future is bleak does not mean there is no hope.
“But –– but the unicorn is dead!”
So were the Hounds, weren’t they? But they exist there.
“In a story!”
The story of your past, yes. The True story.
She trembled, wanting to slam the book shut again.
The library rippled around her.
She mouthed, “Oh, all right.”
The library’s existence steadied.
She looked back at the page, which remained blank for a moment, then the outline of a face appeared, the brows were drawn, nose, cheeks, eyes, a lock of unruly hair. She swallowed hard, “How could you…?” she moved to slam the book closed.
He lives… Must live. Not just for you, little girl, but to save the world.
Those words took her breath away.
She turned the page.
Chapter 41 – Trelor Border
Spreading his wings as he walked the ground where Fenn du Blain’s Reserves marched south, the Dragon paused to pluck up and feast upon the best of the bits he had seared. The tents their commanders had set up were little more than cinders.
He spat out the now twisted and often partially melted helms and daggers as well as the hardened leather that, while not giving him indigestion, were not tasty. His sinewy neck scooped up more promising morsels as horses cried, struggling to rise from where they had been cast with their former riders.
Sniffing the air, he scented another goblin mage. He knew he should not relish the taste, which would displease his Demonic Master, but being free of him, gave their flesh an added spice.
Fenn’s du Blain was not with his army. No, that Minion had depended on his disguised goblin mage to call him to the Master’s Order. He cradled his scaled, bare, injured arm. Until it was healed his Promise held and the Demonlord’s Army would do no further harm in the Crescent Lands.
His hearing was keen. He could hear the frightened men fleeing north. He smiled, he could safely pursue them as far as Gwed’s northern border, but to do more might bring down the Demon’s wrath.
That the Dragon’s own banner flew over the Thorns was not something he cared to think about. His line lived. He cringed, then looked about for something more to kill. Perhaps, this Fenn du Blain would seek to challenge him.
He spat flame into the air, daring him to try. I AM FREE!
#
At his headquarters in Trelor, Fenn du Blain was currently curled up, writhing in pain on the floor.
A green tinged fire burned in the hearth, where a seared, booted, leg was all that remained of Fenn’s offering of the messenger who had reported the latest debacle to his dreaded lord. The Demonlord had not been mollified in the least.
“Please!” Fenn cried out in agony.
First, you let the Seeress live, which allowed Gwilliam to reclaim the Talisman, which had you it now would restrain my long lost pet!
Second, you failed to take the Imperial Keep, which I had prepared for you!
“Not my fault!” Fenn screamed.
I allowed that the Mage was the root of the cause… but you had him!
“But he was Human!”
I granted you that error, your having enchanted the elflord with him. But, I sent you goblin mages to aid you and still the Keep held against your forces… A single mage and an ogre holding your entire army back!
“Please, Master!” his veins coursed with pain.
Now this? More than ten thousand lost in less than two days!
“Master, the Dragon!”
Should I reward you for finding it so? Bah!
The agony faded, leaving Fenn limp and exhausted.
Do not fail me again, Fenn!
Gasping, he said, “No, Master, never again.”
Abandon Trelor, let the Dragon burn it. Take all its people to serve your Gwedians. Offer peace to Gwire in the Northlands. Bring about the fall of Gwire, take the Northlands from the Imperials, and all is forgiven.
“Yes, Master… It shall be done.”
The fire flared and coughed a foul smoke that made Fenn choke. He lay there more than an hour and none dared interrupt him, knowing to do so would mean their deaths.
Chapter 42 – Rehearsal Time
Yel’ane climbed out beneath the blanket as the wagon above her creaked as the girls stirred.
“Morning,” Lawson said, adding wood to the fire, stirring the embers. “I’m making caf. Saw we have oatmeal and sugar.”
“Sounds good,” Yel’ane replied. “Hope you had an uneventful shift.”
Shrugging, he said, “
You know I have come to appreciate the idea of quiet time.”
She smiled and began to head off into the bushes.
“Ahem, I’d try that way,” he gestured.
Pausing, she glanced at him. “What did you do?”
“My stomach… sorry,” he lied.
She nodded, heading off.
Nessa rose. “Best that way,” he told her, too, as Greth rolled over and yawned, then stood up and stretched.
Casber rolled, “Everything fine.”
“You heard a small animal, which scurried away when it saw me.”
“Oh, good.”
‘You are a terrible liar,’ the unicorn whispered in his mind, to which Lawson made no reply other than to work on putting together a nice breakfast.
Minutes later Yel’ane checked on the girls, “En’sta, your feet and hands are filthy… Vi’ya, Thri’la, Jen’yan! Go out to the brook and wash up before putting on your costumes. How could you go to bed like that?”
The other girls stared at their friends, puzzled as they, frowning uncertainly, hurriedly jumped from the wagon’s gate to the ground and ran toward the brook.
Greth saw the unicorn look away, then looked at Lawson, who said, “What?”
“Heard you saying you appreciate quiet time.”
“More and more,” Lawson nodded.
“Uh huh.”
#
Nessa climbed Greth’s harness, trying to get used to the extra weight of the chains wrapped around the ends behind the hand straps. Greth belted himself in moments later. “Now that we’ve basically agreed on how we will be introducing our act and everyone’s back in costume, you girls get those timbrels and triangles and play that lovely tune you know, again.”
Ani’ya frowned as they went into the wagon to get the instruments. Climbing inside, she opened the case, looking at the fiddle. Lan’lein and Res’yr hesitated by the two flutes as the other girls began to pass around the timbrels, taking up positions by the curtained windows. “You’re supposed to take the timbrels or a triangle,” Jen’yan half-whispered as the six girls who were to perform from the lead wagon, scurried across the connecting plank to it.
Ani’ya grabbed the fiddle, “I’ll play this, thank you.”