Chapter 3: Accusations
Kilren and his father stepped into the common room of The Gilded Chalice to find the scene somewhat altered since the lieutenant and his bride-to-be had passed through it just minutes before. The genial conversation that had filled the room was hushed and many of the patrons had risen from their seats, leaving their half-filled flagons and goblets sitting on the tables before them. All eyes seemed focused on a group of perhaps twenty Mikralian guards who were gathered near the center of the chamber.
At their head stood a small man who appeared to be nearly fifty and whose uniform made it obvious he was a sergeant and, therefore, clearly in charge of the band. The fair Andrea was mere inches from his face; her glaring gaze, the heightened color of her cheeks, and the fact that she had her fists planted on her hips – one still holding an empty tankard – all attested to her current displeasure.
Kilren thought the contrast between the two could hardly be more stark. The sergeant was clearly an old soldier, his face bearing the wear of battles fought and won, covered in chain-mail, a sword hanging from his side. Andrea was young, beautiful, and delicate, protected by nothing more than a dress and apron, and carrying no weapon more deadly than her own fiery temper. Even so, the pair seemed locked in a contest of wills that reminded the young lieutenant of the old question about an immovable object and an irresistible force.
“Do you have a warrant?” the father and son heard her ask as soon as they stepped into the chamber.
“Whether or not I do,” the sergeant replied, glaring at her as he spoke, “is no concern of yours. You don't own the Chalice, my dear, whatever you may think. You're a serving girl, and you'd do well to remember your place.”
“And you'd do well to...” the maiden began, her voice seething with anger.
“Andrea,” Jathan interrupted with a smile. “I don't think any good will come from provoking the sergeant.”
“None at all,” the soldier replied with a meaningful nod. “Although a great deal of trouble could come from it.”
“On the other hand, sir,” Jathan continued, “whenever my wife or I aren't present, Andrea is, in fact, the individual in charge. So, although I have no idea what all this is about, I find myself compelled to repeat her question: do you have a warrant?”
“I do, sir,” the sergeant replied, handing Jathan a scroll which he immediately unrolled and began glancing over. “What exactly is it that you're looking for? Whatever it may be, we have nothing to hide.”
By this time, Erana and her prospective mother-in-law had stepped into the room.
“That's her, sir,” one of the young guards said, raising an accusing finger at the fair elf.
“Believe it not, Illfin,” the sergeant said, shaking his head, “that thought occurred to me almost immediately. In any event, you're under arrest, miss.”
“What?!” Kilren exclaimed. “Why?!”
“What's this all about, sergeant?” Jathan asked at the same instant.
“That's no concern of yours, sir,” the soldier replied.
“I disagree,” he replied, crossing his arms and staring down at the sergeant. “This is my establishment, and none of my guests are going to be arrested under my roof without an explanation.”
This statement was met with a murmur of approval from the crowd of patrons that filled the room.
“Furthermore,” Jathan continued, “this girl is my future daughter-in-law. You're not going to lay a hand on her unless you give me a very good reason for allowing you to do so.”
In reply to this statement, the sergeant stepped back and drew his sword, causing the soldiers under his command to ready their own weapons. Kilren followed this martial example, but Erana stood irresolute, unsure what the best course of action would be under the circumstances.
“You would be very unwise to resist a royal warrant,” the sergeant said, his eyes locked on Jathan's own.
“I'm not resisting anything,” he replied, raising his hands. “Kilren, put that sword away. I'm just demanding the right to know why you're arresting her. A right that you know that I have within the bounds of my own hostelry.”
“Very well,” the sergeant said, lowering his blade a hair. “The girl is suspected of being a spy.”
“A spy!” Erana exclaimed. “I'm a ranger of Innalas!”
“Just what brings a ranger of Innalas to Mikral City?”
“My fiancé,” she explained. “We're here to visit his family.”
“That may be true,” the soldier replied, “or it may not be.”
“It is!” Kilren exclaimed.
“Yes, it is,” his mother agreed. “They've been engaged for nearly a year and have been intending to come see us for months now.”
“It's no good explaining to me,” the sergeant said, lowing his blade even more. “It's not my place to determine whether or not she's guilty. My only duty is to take her to the magistrate. And that's a duty I intend to fulfill.”
“Could she be left here until the magistrate can speak with her?”
“Not under the circumstances, sir, no,” the sergeant replied, shaking his head. “If your son is engaged to this girl and she is a spy, then it's possible you could be charged as accomplices. That being the case, I can hardly justify leaving her in your care.”
“I suppose not,” Jathan sighed.
“We can't just let them arrest her!” Kilren said, staring wide-eyed at his father.
“You don't have any choice, boy,” the sergeant replied. “Me and my men aren't here to ask if we can take her. We're here to take her – one way or the other.”
“I'll go with them,” Erana instantly interjected.
“No, you won't!” the lieutenant insisted, turning to look at his love.
“Yes, she will,” the sergeant replied, laying his hand on Kilren's shoulder. “And so will you.”
“Sergeant...” Jathan began.
“No, sir!” the sergeant snapped. “If what you say is true, he could be helping her – whether or not you're aware of it. Come to that, you may be involved for all I know. I'm going to leave a few of my men here. Don't attempt to leave the premises until after you get word from the magistrate.”
“Don't worry, son,” Jathan said, turning to look at Kilren. “We'll get this all straightened out. I'll send Andrea to fetch an advocate. We'll have you out in no time.”
“I hope so,” Kilren replied with a sigh, slipping his crossbow from his shoulder before taking off his sword belt and handing both to the sergeant.
“Believe it not,” the solider said, taking the weapons from his hand, “so do I.”
“That's Kilren!” Garik exclaimed, gazing at the soldiers who were making their way out of The Gilded Chalice. “And that's Erana!”
“So it is,” Ian nodded.
“We have to help them,” the boy said, reaching down to grab the hilt of his sword.
“We do,” the bard agreed, catching him by the wrist, “but not like that.”
“There are only about twenty of them,” Garik observed. “We can kill that many. Especially since Kilren and Erana will be able to help us once we get some weapons to 'em.”
“Maybe we could,” the dwarf replied, shaking his head. “But I don't think killing twenty innocent men would be the best way to save them.”
“Innocent?” Garik asked. “They've got our friends.”
“Aye, that they do,” Ian nodded. “But why do they have them?”
“How would I know?”
“You could try to find out.”
“How?”
“Like this,” the dwarf said with a wink, before stepping quickly into the street.
The pair followed the marching soldiers and their two prisoners at a distance that didn't attract attention, but that kept them from getting out of sight. This was the more easily accomplished as the citizens of Mikral City weren't overly accustomed to seeing elves walk their streets, much less arrested elves. As a result, Ian and his young companion were not the only ones who followed
the procession all the way to its termination.
The young couple were led into a large stone building less than half a mile from where they had been arrested. At the entrance of this structure, two pike-wielding guards stood at attention. The sergeant and four of his men escorted the prisoners inside while the remaining soldiers were sent back to their normal duties. As the men broke up to go their separate ways, Ian attracted the attention of one of the younger guards.
“Excuse me, sir,” the dwarf said, “may I ask you a question?”
“Depends on the question,” the young man smiled.
“Oh, certainly,” the dwarf laughed. “Discretion is certainly a fine quality in a soldier. And it's one I greatly admire. But I'm sure this question is one you can easily answer. Was that an elf you and your companion just led into that hall of justice?”
“It was,” the young man nodded.
“How very odd,” Ian replied, an expression of surprise on his face. “Are elvish criminals common in Mikral?”
“Elves aren't common at all, sir.”
“I thought not,” the dwarf smiled. “What was she arrested for?”
“Why do you ask?” the young man replied, a tone of suspicion in his voice.
“Not just idle curiosity,” the bard winked. “I'm a traveling minstrel and, as such, a collector of unusual tales.”
“A traveling minstrel?” the young man asked with a look of incredulity.
In reply, Ian sang a short sample of one of the more popular ballads in Mikral.
“I’ve never heard of a dwarvish bard,” the young man smiled, “but I guess I have now.”
“Indeed you have,” Ian smiled. “In fact, you've just met none other than Ian Donald Angus Malcolm McFaren of the clan McFaren. One day, you'll likely tell your grandchildren how you just ran into him wandering the streets of Mikral City one sunny afternoon.”
“Maybe I will,” the soldier chuckled. “Whether or not that happens, however, I can tell you the girl was arrested for spying.”
“Spying?!” the dwarf exclaimed. “Where is she from?”
“Innalas, so they say.”
“Innalas?” the bard repeated. “Why would Innalas send a spy into Mikral? The kingdoms have been at peace for more than twenty years and the last conflict was extremely short lived.”
“That's a question I'm afraid I can't answer,” the young man replied with a shrug, “because I have no idea myself.”
“Could you take me to have a look inside the prison?” the dwarf asked.
“I don't think that's a good...” the solider began.
“Come, come, now,” Ian interrupted, pulling a small gold coin from the pouch at his side. “I earn my bread with the stories I share and the songs I sing. I can't very well describe the interior of a Mikralian jail if I've never seen one. And, as a law abiding citizen, the only way I'll ever get in one is by being given a tour by a soldier such as yourself.”
“I'm not...”
“I understand if you don't have the time,” the bard interrupted again, dropping the coin back in his bag. “I'm sure one of the other lads can lead me through just as well.”
“No, no,” the young man replied. “I'll do it. I'll just have to explain it to the captain. And it would probably be better if you didn't say anything about the gold.”
“I'll never say a word,” Ian replied with a smile, dropping a coin into the soldier's outstretched hand.
The young solider turned and led the bard and his companion quickly into the hall. As soon as they entered the structure, the solider took the pair to see his commander.
“Sir,” he said, stepping into office, “these people would like to be given a tour of the jail.”
“Why?” the captain asked, raising an eyebrow as he spoke.
“This is Ian...” the soldier said before pausing.
“Ian Donald Angus Malcolm McFaren of the clan McFaren,” the bard said, whipping off his hat with a flourish, “at your service.”
“Ian McFaren?” the captain replied with a wide smile.
“The same, sir.”
“You're dismissed, Borin,” the captain said, rising from his seat and extending his hand to the dwarf. “I'll escort our illustrious guest myself.”
“You're too kind, Captain,” the dwarf said with a bow.
“Raelen, Master McFaren.”
“Please, call me Ian, Raelen.”
“Gladly, sir,” the captain replied. “Where would you like to start?”
“The armory?” the bard suggested. “I've always been curious to see what additional armaments you keep in smaller halls of justice such as this.”
The captain happily submitted to this request and took Ian and Garik to see the arsenal, where the dwarf spotted the weapons that had been confiscated from his friends, before leading them to the hall's small courtroom. This done, he headed down a narrow stone stairway to show them one of the interrogation chambers. Although the bard was wise enough to praise the vigilance of Mikralian justice to the captain, he gazed at the instruments of torture with internal abhorrence. The chamber was connected to the cells of the prisoners by a narrow hallway. Captain Raelen explained that this helped facilitate prisoner's cooperation, as they could hear other prisoners being questioned before they had to be. Often, he assured the pair, inmates would happily offer up information without having to personally go through interrogation.
“I told you we should have just killed those twenty men,” Garik whispered as the pair made their way away from the prison. “We'll never get them out of there now. Did you see how many guards there were?”
“Aye, lad,” the bard nodded. “Exactly how many, and exactly where they were. Now hush, I need to think and we need to find your brother and Gwendolyn as quickly as we can.”
“Why the rush?” the boy asked. “I got the feeling they may be there for a good while.”
“They think Erana's a spy,” the bard pointed out. “It probably won't be long before they decide they need to question her about that.”
“We need to hurry!”
“I wish they had at least put us in the same cell,” Kilren observed, gazing through the bars that ran across the small window cut into the door that sealed the chamber. “Hey! You! How 'bout putting me in with her? We're engaged, you know?”
“I might do that if you were married,” the guard at the end of the hall laughed. “It could be your last chance to see each other on this side of eternity. Spies don't live long in Mikral.”
“We're not spies!” Erana cried.
“Then you've got nothing to worry about,” the guard asserted. “So just relax. As long as you give the interrogator the answers he wants I'm sure you won't be here long – one way or the other.”
“We need to get out of here,” Kilren whispered.
“That's not very likely, is it?” Erana sighed softly.
“We shouldn't have given ourselves up in the first place.”
“What choice did we have?” the elvish maiden asked. “We couldn't have beaten twenty men and we couldn't get your parents involved. This is all just a mistake.”
“Well, yes and no,” the lieutenant replied. “The fact is that we are kind of spies.”
“We're not here to hurt the people of Mikral.”
“No,” he agreed, “but we were sent here by a lord who serves another kingdom to collect information. And, in some circles, that falls squarely within the realm of spies. I want to know how they knew that.”
“What do you mean?” the maiden asked.
“I mean that arresting elves as spies isn't standard policy in Mikral,” he explained. “Mikral and Innalas have been at peace for twenty years.”
“I know that.”
“Then, why would they think you're a spy? Elves aren't common in Mikral, but they're not exactly unheard of.”
“I haven't seen any since we got here.”
“We've been here less than two hours,” he retorted. “Either way, the fact that you're from Inna
las doesn't scream spy. So, somebody must have tipped them off somehow.”
“Who and why?”
“I have no idea,” Kilren replied. “Maybe it was Valrak or Galrin.”
“How would they have known? And why would they want us captured as spies?”
“I don't know.”
“Come to that, why would they have singled me out? Why not say that Gwendolyn was a spy and have her arrested?”
“Well, they kill spies,” Kilren explained, “and I'm sure they don't want her dead. Still, those are some good questions. It doesn't seem to make much sense, does it?”
“No,” the elvish maiden agreed, slipping down onto the floor. “It doesn't make any sense at all. Which is a good reason to believe your father will be able to get us out of here soon.”
“We can't wait,” he asserted. “If there's one thing neither of us want to happen, it's to have you questioned by the interrogator. Now, give your cell a good search and see if you can find anything even resembling wire.”
“What good will that do?” Erana asked quietly. “We can't just open the door with a guard standing less than forty feet from us.”
“Please, dear,” he sighed, “let me solve one problem at a time.”
“It really is a beautiful day,” Gwendolyn observed, gazing at the clouds above as she walked along at the side of the knight, her arm wrapped around his.
“It is,” he agreed.
“The flowers are lovely,” she continued, turning her attention to the many blooms which surrounded them.
“They are,” he nodded.
“Are you just going to agree with everything I say?” she asked with a coy smile.
“I am,” he replied, returning her smile with one of his own.
“Well, as enjoyable as that is, it doesn't really make for stimulating conversation does it?”
“No, it doesn't, my lady.”
“Are you trying to provoke me?”
“Not at all,” he replied, shaking his head. “I'm trying to bask in the glory of your company in reverent silence.”
“You are?” she asked almost shocked by the eloquence of this assertion.
The Lords of Areon (The Chronicles of Areon Book 3) Page 5